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supremeinlilac · 4 years ago

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Three’s not a crowd, especially when it’s us (3)

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader x Wilhelmina Venable

Word count: 4010

Warnings: Brief insinuation of nsfw activities, language.

PART ONE | PART 2

The next morning Cordelia had made an offhand comment about going into town. She’d admitted that she needed to find someone. A witch. “I can feel her. She’s close, the feeling is strong, although it seems calmer today, maybe she’s settled slightly. Anyway, I’ll be out today to see if I can track her down.” You felt Wilhemina’s eyes dart toward you across the room. It was subtle, but you caught it.

You imagined how the feeling must have been for Cordelia yesterday, when Wilhemina was angry and possibly scared. You’d tried to push down the lingering feeling of heat in your stomach from when she’d pulled you into the empty room. Needless to say, you’d slept horrible once again, thoughts plaguing your mind and keeping you from fully settling.

You’d had your first lesson with Wilhemina that night, and were blown away by her unwavering attentiveness. Also the fact that she made not one snarky comment or condescending laugh the whole time. You’d like to think it was because she was coming round to the idea of you being an actually half decent person to spend time with. Realistically, and having watch her get lost in the spell book before her, you knew it was more her ability to invest herself in her work, without distractions, such as having to bark out unnecessary comments.

You hadn’t considered however, how teaching Ms Venable magic, would mean she would be using her hands. A lot. And you would have to watch their movements, to make comments and critiques on her technique. This would often leave you flushed and hot under your black attire, tight coil in the pit of your stomach at the thought of were else her slender fingers could go, what they could do.

You’d have to turn away, disguising your embarrassment as a cough or walking to the window to conspicuously check the weather. “But it’s dark outside,” she’d say every time in response to your excuse, lips drawn callously into a smirk. She actually found your shyness to be quite endearing, not that her expression would allow you to conclude.

During a lesson in which you were both practising your telekinesis, since it wasn’t a skill you were exactly well versed in either. Unsurprisingly, the wonder came innately to Wilhemina, and she was quickly controlling more than one object at once, making them dance a silent jig above her. She stuck her tongue pointedly out in concentration, and you were fucked, the peek of tongue between tightly pressed lips had your mind wandering back to the gutter.

As a teacher would with a gifted student who drifted through the tasks with ease, you wracked your brain for a more difficult task for her to really challenge the natural magic. That and to distract yourself from the way her nose would scrunch and the tips of her ears flush with effort at her magic.

An idea flashed in the front of your mind, the book you’d been making rise cracking back against the desk and drawing the attention of Wilhemina. It was risky. A blatant opportunity for the secret to be lost; so much could go wrong and yet you couldn’t make the thought ebb. You figured Wilhemina’s hubris would rise to the challenge anyway, shrugging the doubt from your mind as you turned to her.

“I have an idea” you smirked, Wilhemina piquing her brow in interest at your obvious mischief.

***

You lingered by the door, watching Wilhemina stroll confidently into the kitchen and take a seat at the table and barking at Madison to fetch her a tea while she made her own. Madison, as you’d hoped, snarked about her having her own legs and that she should get it herself, making no attempt to get another mug from the cupboard.

You saw the corner of Wilhemina’s lips curve into a sly smile, and you had to clasp a hand to your mouth at the sight of Madison’s tea hover in the air behind her as she reached for the sugar. The older woman seemed pleased with herself at the flourishing telekinesis, becoming confident as a flick of her index finger had the mug flying towards her.

Madison turned toward the counter where it had been just seconds prior, doing a double take before rounding on Wilhemina, who’d raised her hands to meet the mug. She cocked her brow at the blonde, as if daring her to accuse her, a mere human, of such speed behind her turned back. Her confused face, the fact that Mina had rendered Madison speechless for once, made you want to laugh till your lungs protested for air.

“Wha- How did you do that?” Madison was confused, angry at having her drink stolen and scared that she hadn’t seen the other woman move from her chair, her cane was leant precariously against the table and Wilhemina wasn’t exactly a nimble woman. Or fast.

Disguised by an irritated scoff, Madison marched past her and out of the door opposite you

“Be a dear and make me a coffee?” She requested, pushing the steaming mug towards you with a grimace. You huffed, gesturing to the drink she’d literally just stolen from Madison, albeit having been your idea.

“Oh no, I despise tea.” She remarked dryly, left leg coming to cross over her right as she made herself comfortable, watching you swill the tea down the sink and the trickle of water as you refilled the kettle.

Even though she was still being just as bossy as ever, you’d grown softer for the hardness of the older woman by the day, grinning over your shoulder at the look on Madisons face. You cocked your brow in imitation of how she had moments before, and you swore her lips picked up slightly in affectionate amusement.

***

It had been 5 weeks since you’d used your powers on Ms Venable, and in that time she’d grown and her powers had flourished quickly, possibly exceeding your own strength as a witch. Her dedication was astounding, and she was a good student, despite the condescend remarks and dry humour she couldn’t seem to help but drawl at every opportunity. That and the vaguely suggestive things she’d say, that would make your throat close and brows pique in shock. You also both gotten better at hiding it. Hiding why you’d both be in the greenhouse late in the evening or why Cordelia’s favourite rug had gone up in flames when practising pyrokinesis.

Cordelia passed by the open door of one of the empty classrooms on her way to office. An open book at the table caught her attention, and she glanced to see if anyone had recently left, finding empty corridors and only the dull chime of the other lessons that were happening. She strode towards the book, ready to have yet another conversation about forgetfulness with the younger witches about their property. God forbid they leave something like their spell book in public, for anyone to see. No, privacy must be upheld, and absent-mindedness could not be tolerated.

Brushing her fingers over the font of the pages slowly, she was about to close the book when she read the familiar title, fingers stilling on the ink and eyes widening slightly. Clairvoyancy. Her brows furrowed in confusion, none of the current witches at the academy had this gift, to her knowledge; she would have known. Fumbling though the pages to the front, she saw your name scribed into the delicate paper, and she was even more confused. You definitely would have told her that you were clairvoyant, wouldn’t you?

Picking up the book, the supreme stalked towards the classroom she knew you resided in with Queenie and the rest of the older girls. Not even bothering to knock upon arrival, she burst through with a simple nod to Queenie and took a calm stance, hands tucked to the book at her waist.

“Y/n, come with me.” She announced, turning quickly on her heel and leaving the room. hearing the echoing taunts and ooohs of the girls as you scrambled to follow her. Turning back at the girls momentarily, they nodded at you, now in silent comfort and sympathy. Cordelia never came to lessons to get one of the girls herself; everyone knew that it meant trouble.

“You must know why you’re in here” she stated, settling into her office chair and motioning for you to sit too. You fidgeted in your seat, wracking your brain for something the supreme could be mad at you about enough to pull you out of class herself. Shaking your head in confusion at her and staring down at your hands which wrung at each other anxiously as you waited for her to speak.

Taking your silence as an answer, Cordelia slammed the book heavily down onto the desk between you, face smug as she flicked her wrist her wrist, so the pages fanned before you and settled spread on a page you didn’t recognise. She let you scan quickly over the writing, crossing her arms at her chest and raising her brow when you finally looked up to her.

“Well?”

“I’m not sure, what does this have to do with me?” You were genuinely confused, knowing full well that the only witch you knew of that had the rare gift was Nan, and she had passed well before you’d arrived. You also didn’t know why Cordelia was so insistent that it was you that had been reading from the book; to your knowledge, your copy was still safe with Wilhemina in her office.

Tapping her fingers impatiently against the wood of her desk, she watched you mull over an answer before settling on silence, fingers drumming nervously against your thighs. Cordelia always radiated energy, that would seep into the house and give everyone else strength. Everyone could feel it. It wasn’t until now, however, when you were sat opposite her and on the receiving end of her annoyance, that you truly felt the extreme of her power, the confident aura and way in which she held herself tall. The way she could make grown warlocks fall to look like stammering schoolboys in her presence.

“It’s your spell book, Y/n, left open, unattended in a classroom at this page. Now I just wonder why you’d be reading up on clairvoyancy. It’s not a gift you have, is it?” Her tone was impatient, a slight mocking lilt as she believed you to be lying about your knowledge about the book. She reminded you of the way Wilhemina would accuse a young witch of being tardy, regardless of age she’d be mocking and speak with the often cruel lash of a tongue.

Confusion and nervousness turned to panic when you finally realised why the book had been left on such a page. You’d leant the book to Wilhemina while you studied so that she could practise in the safety of her office without having to take a book from Cordelia, who would notice, of course.

“I um, I heard Queenie and Zoe talking about Nan, and how she was clairvoyant, and I just got curious. I’m sorry Ms Cordelia, I didn’t mean to leave it open and unattended. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

She regarded you through slightly narrowed eyes as you tried to remain as calm as possible and clear your head under her gaze. You weren’t stupid, and neither was she. She knew something wasn’t quite right but didn’t know how to go about asking as she couldn’t pinpoint the route of her suspicions. Nodding, and drawing back her chair as if to stand, she paused and reached over for your arm.

“I hope not, Y/n. I’d like to think I can trust you as one of the oldest students here, hm? Secrets can be dangerous within us witches, okay? Don’t make me have to remind you again.” Her tone was guiding, the tone of a teacher and it made you ache because that was all you’d ever be. Her student.

“I understand Cordelia. No secrets.” You trailed off into a whisper, guilt flooding through you as you thought of the secret you shared with her girlfriend of all people. She offered you a small smile, that seemed to cloud the sadness behind her eyes, masking what she really wanted to say. Clasping your hands together and rolling your shoulders, you made to turn before startling her with a hug. Initially tense, Cordelia melted into you, a palm coming to rub between your shoulder blades in comfort. You’d never been one to initiate physical contact with anyone in the coven, so your hug wasn’t expected by the older woman.

A whispered “thank you” broke the silence when you pulled away, turning away but keeping eye contact until you walked. You could feel her eyes on your back as you walked out, tempted to turn back but not wanting her inevitable worry to illicit you to betray Wilhemina’s command. The pull of Cordelia’s safety was almost magnetic, your charges opposite and strong, willing you to turn around. You didn’t.

It was ironic how your knowledge of Mina’s powers didn’t make you feel closer to the coven, like you’d imagined. You’d always wanted to know the inaccessible woman more, but now that you did, you wished you didn’t. It felt wrong. Like the secret itself didn’t approve. It seemed to want to claw it’s own way up your throat and pry itself past your lips, promise to Mina broken with it.

Your toes curled in on themselves throughout your lessons that day, a biting sensation in the back of your head, flashing warning signs ad you felt like you were lost in mist. Thick and unrelenting and flowing like treacle to swallow you up into your own anxiousness.

Yet again you found your mind needing to release itself, your magic fizzing dangerously in the pads of your fingers and you could swear you would not have any fingerprints left to show with how they burnt. Lilac invaded your head and like a petulant child clinging to the leg of their father leaving for work, refused to budge. You’d just promised Cordelia that you wouldn’t let yourself get distracted and here you were, not even an hour later, distractions more prominent than ever.

When lessons relented, you tried to still your beating heart, as you allowed anger to coil in your veins at the woman you now sought to find. She wasn’t in her usual place at the empty desk in her shared office with the Supreme, and neither was she perched on the cushions of the rocking chair out the back. It was her favourite place to peruse a favourite book under the warmth of the evening sun, yet the chair was empty, wood alight with the glow of the light.

Sauntering into her room, not heeding any need to knock before storming in, your arms raised as if expecting a fight. Wilhemina was reapplying her plum lipstick at the mirror, one hand pressing her fingers into the wood of the cabinet for support, the other running smearing the colour across perfectly pursed lips.

“You’re clairvoyant?!” You hissed, angry at Wilhemina from keeping it from you. It wasn’t as if her gift was just telekinesis or another common inherited gift, clairvoyance was rare. “Fuck, you didn’t think that maybe that was something I needed to know?” Snapping at her in frustration as she snapped the lid back on the lipstick, and turning to glare at her when she quipped about your language.

“Like you did you mean?” She bit back; voice raised in warning at your tone. Pulling her face into a sneer she raised her arms dramatically, moving away from the drawers cane waving at you. “Oh no, I burned my families house down, boo hoo.” She sung, bringing the back of hand up to her forehead in mock anguish. “My only gift is pyrokinesis, and is absolutely not the fact that I can give magical ability out like FUCKING candy.”

You’d folded your arms at your chest, lower lip jutting out as you loured at her antics. She was finding this situation entirely too amusing for your liking, acting like your nervousness was unnecessary, yet insisted on being uncharacteristically reckless with the secret.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh my dear, and I thought I was the one who had no sense of humour, took everything too seriously you could say. Needs to just loosen up and have a laugh?” It was clear she was enjoying herself now, the teasing edge of her voice in full swing. Unknowingly to you, she’d heard you think that very thing mere days ago when you’d been in the kitchen, pranking Mallory and she’d happened upon you booby trapping her cupboard. You hadn’t caught onto her blatant remark however, still preoccupied with the problem at hand.

“Why did you leave the book in a classroom? Open for gods sake Mina.” You frustrate, palms coming to press against your forehead and fingers curling to pinch at your hair.

“That’s Wilhemina to you, young lady.” She barked, before raising an eyebrow with a knowing glint in her eye. “Don’t make me punish you, for your insolence, we wouldn’t want that now would we? Hm?” You flushed hotly at her words, swallowing thickly as you busied yourself with looking anywhere but to her.

You suddenly froze, finally catching onto her earlier words and realising that she could probably hear your thoughts too. It hadn’t crossed your mind until just then, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course she could, since gaining her abilities she’d spend excessive amounts of time with you alone. The thought made you blush and cringe inwardly and stutter in question: “I- You can’t read everyone’s thoughts can you? I mean, its just some people, right?”

A smirk pulled at her lips at your stammered questioning, Wilhemina flexing her fingers against the handle of her cane, tapping it twice against the wooden floor which made you flinch. She walked sauntering and slow towards you, the predatory glint present in her eye that you often saw when she’d taunt the younger students for tardiness. She leant into your space, causing you to hold your breath as you felt hers hot against your cheek.

“Oh yes darling, I can hear all the thoughts in your pretty little head.” She teased, watching the shiver of your physical reaction to her voice as well as your screaming thoughts at her closeness. You closed your eyes and attempted to still your mind, you could practically feel how exposed you were at this distance. Why had you thought it was a good idea to test your power on Ms Venable; you should have known she’d just have to go and be clairvoyant. Just to spite you. Your thoughts were dangerously unprofessional at times and yet here the most professional woman you’d ever met, or ever would meet, was standing before you and reading you like a children’s fairy tale book. You were pulled back out of your thoughts again by her voice, so close to your ear you could feel the way her breath prickled the hair at the nape of your neck to stand on end.

“Your thoughts are-” she paused, reaching a gloved hand to slowly brush your hair behind your ear and lingering at your jaw, “quite loud, little one.” She spoke the last words slowly and purposefully drawling, pulling away just enough to remain entirely too much in your space, so that she could watch your scared eyes dart back and forth between her own. She watched you, amused, at the way the tips of your ears flushed pink and how you looked simply delicious when embarrassed.

Wilhemina loved the chase. She loved watching her prey squirm and fall victim to her stoic dominance. They always did in the end. It just depended on how long she wanted to toy with them for. She wasn’t finished playing with you just yet, at least until she’d been able to coax Cordelia into joining the fun.

The leather of her glove was cool against your skin, and you had to resist the urge to melt into her touch, attempting to regain whatever semblance of dignity you still had after basically confirming Wilhemina’s accusations about your ‘loud thoughts’. You wanted to curse yourself. The low growl of her voice brought you slowly back out of your thoughts, paired with the way she’d brought her fingers to fiddle with the bow of your top that had loosened.

“The only person I struggle with is my dearest Delia, although I can’t be surprised of course. She’s had prior experience with a clairvoyant witch such as myself. She knows how to hide her thoughts.” The smirk had returned, fingers tapping twice on your temple as if to remind you that you don’t have that capability; making you blink as if to break out of the trance she had you in with the steel of her gaze.

“Cordelia found the book.” You stammered, eyes breaking contact and focusing on the way the gold of her earring caught the light above as she moved.

You suddenly remembered the reason you’d come to find Wilhemina in the first place, bar wanting to confront her; having been so lost in the selfish embarrassment of your blossoming feelings for the two women that you’d completely forgotten. The smirk on her face faltered slightly as she processed your words, moving backwards with a slight shake of her head.

“Wha- How do you know?”

“She called me to her office, it was my spell book! She wanted to know if I was clairvoyant.”

“What did you say?” Her voice was urgent, raspy with her hand clawing at your shoulder to shake you. You felt much like you were being interrogated, for something that you shouldn’t have had to deal with in the first place. You weren’t the witch in the wrong here.

“I had to lie to her, of course!” You hissed again, scoffing at the insinuation that you’d betrayed the weird sort of trust you’d both formed over your shared secret. “I couldn’t very well say, ‘oh well actually, it was your girlfriend that was reading it, because, and soz for not mentioning sooner, I turned her into a witch. Surprise!”

You made a point to shake your hands as if finishing a performance, your nervousness about the situation surfacing through blatant sarcasm. You could see the vein in Ms Venables neck pulse in time with her heart, face angered with your stupidity.

“Stop being so facetious” she warned, voice low as if daring you to make another nervous joke at her expense. Stepping dangerously toward you, like a cat stalking prey until you could feel the warm tickle of her breath against your cheek. She tilted her chin to look down at you along the bridge of her nose, her cheek bones protruding as she sucked on her tongue in annoyance.

You so badly wanted to kiss her. Pull her in by the hairs at the back of her neck and surprise her with it. Fuelled by the beating of your heart and the way her face lingered just a breath’s worth away from your own. To stop yourself from doing just that, you dodged her glare and her face, rounding it to the side and stammering out to bringing you both back on topic.

“We need to tell Cordelia.” You burst out, using Ms Venables momentary stunned face to quickly step back and out of her close proximity, trying to still the heavy heave of your chest.

Wilhemina looked as if she was going to protest and get close to you again but she saw your eyes widen in fear, looking over her shoulder towards the door, and she whipped round. You both were now facing Cordelia like deer caught in the blinding headlights, who stood fast and looked at you both expectantly.

“Tell me what, exactly?”

PART 4

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austarus · 5 years ago

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Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader - Integrated Revelations (2/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me.

*Tbh, I was attempting something and I don’t I feel like I’m getting really bad at writing Eobard.. I’m trying ;-; bear with me things will deviate from the plot. Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

Part 1 Part 3

Word Count: 4687

You shut your eyes, upon reopening them you soundlessly shifted over to your boyfriends’ side as he spoke with a raspy, chilling voice. Like a Queen should to a King. “I mean, who are you really?” Eobard questioned skillfully; one leg crossed over the other. You glanced between both men before your blank gaze settled upon Barry.

“Dr. Wells, what are you doing?”

Eobard’s demeanor did not falter at Barry’s question. The villainous speedster dropped his leg from where it was and sat forward. He hunched himself, elbows pressed onto the edges of the armrests. “None of it adds up. The interference with the comms, the speed equation, the Time Wraith.” You pressed your lips into a thin line as Eobard shook his head while continuing. Barry eyed the dark-haired scientist closely. “That's what we call them. Time Wraiths. Scary, aren't they?” Eobard chuckled darkly to himself. “I thought, ‘Oh, no, a Time Wraith has found me.’ But then I thought, ‘No, no, no.’ You know what you're doing.” He snapped for emphasis. You dropped your gaze, running your fingers over the back of his chair before deciding to take a step back and lean against the pebbled wall. No matter how many times you were in the Time Vault, it always unsettled you the amount of power and knowledge and secrets Eobard can keep within it “Now, the Time Wraith is after someone who's travelled through time...” Eobard tilted his head at Barry, “and doesn't know what they're doing.” A smirk remained plastered on the Wells imposter while Barry’s eyes flickered up at you momentarily. His apprehensive green hues met Eobard’s icy gaze.

Your speedster boyfriend’s words clicked. This version of Barry doesn’t have the faintest idea of how to manipulate time travel like Eobard. He can easily get caught by those monsters. You crossed your arms as you observed the two speedsters. One in control- potent, as always, and the other rendered helpless in those meta-dampening cuffs. Unlike the other version we met. The one who knows about my powers, who denied me an answer.

Barry looked incredulously at Eobard. Choking out a nonchalant laugh, Barry glanced away while feigning his innocence, but the two of you knew this was not your Barry Allen. “Dr. Wells come on. It's me. It's... it's Barry. I don't...” Barry reached out to touch the cool metal of the cuffs. You wanted to step forward to help him out, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to trust this version of Barry either. At least this one’s not giving me headaches.

“Really? You are good.” Eobard puffs out a curt laugh, shaking his head one more and clapping mockingly. “You are good, and I would believe you, except that…” The scientist sped off from his chair, icy blue eyes with a piercing gaze as he towered over Barry. You took a step forward at Eobard’s sudden display with a frown grazing your features and eyes widening a fraction. Intimidation exuded from the older speedster. But your eyes quickly flickered to see Barry’s response. Nothing. “Nothing? I move like this, you barely flinch.” Barry glared up at Eobard with such abhorring emotions in his eyes. “You know who I am. Don't you?” You watched Eobard taunt Barry as he stepped back beside you, leaning back as well. Tension hung thickly in the air. Barry crinkled his nose at you and Eobard then attempted to phase his hand out of the cuffs but to no avail. He should have known better than to try that with those cuffs on. You cleared your throat as Eobard snickered at the younger speedster. “Oh! And you're from the future. Do you know how I know that? Because I haven't taught my Barry Allen how to phase through objects... yet.”

Barry laughed mirthlessly dismissing your existence, but the speedster knew he was defeated. He wasn’t as skilled in the art of deception as you and Eobard were. “Let me out of here, Thawne.”

You heard Eobard sigh at the utterance of his name. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you eyed the speedster while he pushed off the wall. “I know. You're upset.” Eobard dragged his white chair to take a seat once more. The genius deceiver coyly grinned at the scarlet speedster, bound to the wheelchair. “But it does me good to hear that name again. Now, onto the bigger question.” He fumbled with his fingers, anticipation- ideas- possible reasons on exactly why The Flash had decided to take another detour to the past whirled inside his mind.

“Why are you here?” You piped up unfurling your arms, instead tucking your hands into the back of your pants pockets. “You’re from a different time obviously, couldn’t you figure out your own problems from there? Why bother looking for solutions in a past you clearly despise?” Barry refused to answer you. “Or do you always need to run to Dr. Wells whenever little Barry Allen gets stuck?” Eobard glanced back at the venom dripping from your words. The hard look on your face, the sheer coldness settling within your eyes at his archnemesis. It made his heart swoon yet… Eobard felt worried at just how frigid you can be. How easy it was for you to turn off those positive emotions that you carry on inside. Would you do the same to him?

“Because I want to go faster,” Barry’s sneered, an abrupt response after your malicious tone caused Eobard’s head to snap back at towards him. “And he’s the only one who can teach me.” The forensics scientist forced out the statement, a steely expression on his face. Barry narrowed his eyes from you down to Eobard, a hint of curiosity in those hazel-greens. “You're the only one who's figured out the equation. The Speed Force. You've manipulated it. How did you do that?”

Before you could say anything, Eobard stood up with crossed arms, whispering to himself. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No.” The older speedster locked his gaze at the wall, running the tips of his fingers over the pebbled half-spheres. Curiously, you quirked an eyebrow before your eyes met with Barry’s, who only slightly shrugged at you. Eobard circled Barry, like a predator circling its next kill. Instead… you sensed something was off by the way his shoulders tensed. “You'd only come here if something went wrong.”

You uttered; a wave of uneasiness flooded over you, “What-but-”

“-If you're still alive, then that means...” Eobard turned to Barry with a grimace. He was one the other side of the room now. You were between the two men, a good distance between each. Your fingers fidgeted as they now remain beside you, heart clenching that all of this wouldn’t work. Dread began stirring inside you, fueling the headache you head earlier, and a sense of insecurity snatched your heart. So, the other Barry was onto to something, he just didn’t want to tell me… I don’t-We don’t get our happy ending. “I haven't beaten you. If you're still alive... that means my plan fails.” Eobard swallows thickly as the words escaped him, avoiding your gaze as a pained expression crossed his face. I don’t go home. I don’t end up taking her with me, making her my bride like I promised all those nights ago. Living far away together from The Flash robbing me from anything else that brings me joy. He blinked a few times, his moment of realization that he would fail turned to pure ballistic intentions in milliseconds. “And if my plan fails,” you shuddered at Eobard’s frustration flourishing as he kicked the chair over. You felt stunned in your place. You felt small. You hated whenever he was in these rage fits, especially when they were about Barry. “I don't get to go home, and if that's the case, well, then-” Eobard had aggressively rounded in quick strides to the restrained speedster, a phasing hand slicing through the air to strike Barry.

“No, no, no! Hey, hey, hey! It's the opposite! It's the opposite!” Barry shouted rapidly to stop the futuristic speedster, holding a hand out to protect himself from Eobard’s phasing hand. His other arm reflexively pulled at his restraint, wishing he could phase out of the cuffs and manifest his speed again. “It... you trick me. You harnessed my speed. We turn on the accelerator to create a path for you to go home. I go back in time. You go back to yours.” The scarlet speedster nodded his head in your direction as he spoke up again before letting his eyes meet Eobard’s heated gaze. You dare say that you saw a hint of sadness in the young speedster’s eyes when he looked at you. “She goes with you. You won. Yeah.” Barry took a breath in, muscles taut at the prospect of his enemy killing him before he got the chance to stop Zoom and his reign of terror.

“Eobard, stop.” You didn’t know when during the exchange you had found yourself right by his side, maneuvering yourself to stand in front of him, promptly blocking his view of Barry. “Eo, look at me.” He did. The dark-haired man gave you a dangerous look, jaw clenched while you reached out to hold onto his raised arm. Your fingers touched his wrist gently. “Breathe,” you spoke intently, searching his eyes for any sign of reason that he normally held. “Anger blinds even the strongest of people- the smartest of people, including speedsters.” You told us that. The phasing hand subsided as you lowered it with ease. Eobard shut his eyes, his hand slipping into yours as he reopened them. The speedster knew what you were saying, knew that he needed to rationalize before acting- before he executed this version of The Flash.

A disposable version, if it means anything to you.

Barry ran a hand over his opposite shoulder, his arm was beginning to numb in place, but his eyes never left the two of you. He clenched and unclenched his hand to circulate the blood. As volatile as Harry is back in his time, Eobard was on equal par. The only difference being that you never knew exactly when the Reverse Flash would bite back, or to what degree. Barry made no comment when you linked hands, but the brown-haired CSI caught the flicker of change in Eobard’s eyes. The yellow speedster’s anger dissipated behind those baby blue hues as his gaze softened for you. Barry observed how you and Eobard deeply cared for each other. All over again. He almost felt bad for the events that would surely lead to Eobard’s removal from existence and your forever broken heart. How the two of you would be forever separated. Almost.

You were conflicted. Hurt. Frustrated. You dad no clue what to think. Barry’s your best friend. He wouldn’t… intentionally hurt you, would he? But then a way future version of Barry seemingly dismissed your existence and your concerns over Eobard. Now this version treated you with the same dismissal, if not with even more loathing. Both versions clearly knew you were with the man in the yellow suit, but… Your heart is a kind one, no matter how damaged or twisted it could get. Deep down, you knew that whatever version of Barry you meet along the way, he’d always be your best friend. Even if Eobard did despise the young speedster and his existence.

“Then why are you here? Why are you here now?” The yellow speedster reverted to a more defensive stance; eyes now locked with Barry’s. You turned to look at this version of your best friend.

“Because when I got back, a singularity had formed. And now the only way for me to learn how to get faster and stop the singularity from happening was to come here. Now.”

“Well, that's good to know.” Eobard sighed to himself, icy hues glancing to yours as a twisted smile greeted his features. Barry looked up at you for any indication that you would help get him out. You pursed your lips regretfully with hesitation. Eobard walked over to his chair, setting it back before pacing once more in the Time Vault. The heroic speedster was increasingly growing uncomfortable on the cold ground. “There's just... Just one thing that occurs to me. I don't need you. Do I?” You watched him turn to Barry, dismissing the look you shot him. “Not this you certainly. Oops. You probably should've thought of that before you came back here. Shame...” A malicious laugh left Eobard as he slowly approached Barry’s helpless form, his fingers twitching to use the powers of the negative speed-force to end Barry Allen. “You ran all the way back here just to die.”

“You can’t be serious,” you hissed at the man you love, side-stepping in front of Eobard. The corner of his lips twitched in an unsettling manner; amusement slightly present in his eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt him!” A quiet air of relief left Barry. He didn’t… He never knew of the promise you had made with Eobard. That his life wouldn’t be in the hands of death in any way. But he could use this.

“This isn’t your Barry,” Eobard protested in a low voice.

“This is a future version of my best friend, whom you promised me you wouldn’t hurt, maim, and/or kill! Our promise includes any version of Barry Allen.” Eobard chewed on the inside of his cheeks at your words, a sour planted itself on his face when he glanced once more at Barry. The man in the yellow suit knew he would honor his promise to you in the end. He keeps his word, after all.

“You heard her, I’m untouchable.” A cocky smile crossed Barry’s face, shooting it right at Barry. You threw a glare at him, shut the fuck up Barry. I’m the only one holding him back from phasing a hand right through your heart. Any version of you. For once, think before you do something like speaking, especially when you aren’t in a state to be taunting an evil speedster that has you bound. “But by all means, you kill me... Barry... this Barry, your Barry, he learns it all.” He gestured to you and Eobard. Dread filled Eobard as Barry continued to tout out words confidently. The speedster had carefully planned this out, just in case he was to get caught by Thawne. “There's a hidden letter telling him how it ends, how to beat you, everything. Anything happens to me; you never make it back home.” Barry turned to you with stoically cold eyes. “She never sees you again.” Take those words as you will, Thawne. Your hands fell limply beside you as you Eobard clenched his hands into tight fists. You heard your heart drum loudly in your ears at the prospect of this Barry’s threat. With heavy feet, you padded away from Barry before turning to eye him with cautious eyes. Eobard’s face was devoid of any emotion as he took a seat while you settled beside him. “Go on. Kill me, Thawne. See how this all ends.” Eobard held his breath, weighing his options. Pros and cons. Gains and losses. “Now, you're gonna help me get faster.” Resting a hand on Eobard’s shoulder you squeezed it, trying to use your touch to convey ease into him while Barry smirked triumphantly at the two of you. Eobard’s face twitched in silent fuming.

“Dr. Wells, Ms. (L/N),” Gideon’s voice cut through the deadly second of silence, “the time wraith has appeared.” The AI broadcasted a screen of Cisco and Caitlin running to the Pipeline, entering the cell that Hartley resides in and sealing it. Its grotesque body swayed in the air. Half-formed limbs scratching the glass as your friends screamed for any indication that this thing can be yoinked away and out of existence.

“Barry! (Y/N)! Dr. Wells!” Caitlin shrieked as the Time Wraith pounded on the glass, shattering a segment, but not piercing through into the cell. Ghostly fumes emitted from the hauntingly decaying figure. Cisco and Hartley were fumbling with the gauntlets while another piercing scream echoed throughout that sector of the labs.

“Oh my god, we have to do something! It’s going to kill them!” You whipped your head to the two of them. They’re the ones with speed.

“You let it track you here,” Eobard turned with a pointed look at Barry.

Barry shook his restraints, with an anxious look, “Get me out of here! Come on!”

Eobard sneered in a gruff tone, “If that thing comes after me and messes with my plans, you're all dead.”

“Now’s not the time to be making death threats, especially when he’s the one with max speed-force in his veins!” You reprimanded Eobard, who threw you a look while rolling his eyes at you before setting Barry free. Standing up, Barry felt his speed return to him as he shook his numbed limb. The two men nodded at each other, yellow and red electricity crackling in the air. Eobard wrapped a lithe limb around your waist, his other hand firmly grasping the back of his wheelchair. Both speedsters sped out of the Time Vault in a torrent of lightning.

***

“I'm sorry that we didn't come sooner,” Barry apologized, for the 2nd time as he stepped quickly into the Cortex with you trailing behind him and Eobard. His heart was heavy at the prospect of his presence here was causing his friends more trouble than he intended. Caitlin and Cisco took their respective seats at the main Cortex monitors while you and Dr. Wells lingered a bit behind.

“It's all right, Inky's gone. I don't see anything,” Cisco breathed out, eyes focused on the computer screen. He flipped through all the camera footage before turning his head to Dr. Wells. “You know, we'd be toast if wasn't for Hartley and those gauntlets.”

“Well, self-preservation is a very strong motivator, but he stays in the cell until I say otherwise,” Eobard starkly dictated, subtly out of breath from the little run around the labs to the Pipeline. Your eyes raked over him worriedly. He didn’t have all his speed, especially since he used up a good amount on Christmas. Eobard’s body’s still feeling the side effects of his speed-force in a state of flux.

Cisco turned back to the monitors, “Okay, I'm just saying.”

“So, the two places this thing has attacked are here and CCPD.” You took your tablet and ran scans over the Labs then the city for an abnormal particle signature. You also had Gideon secretly run a scan over Barry’s lab, just in case it decided to make a reappearance there. Particularly ones of tachyons or from the speed-force.

“The common denominator being...” Caitlin trailed off, swiveling her chair towards Barry.

“Me. Yeah, I know. I just... I don't know why.” Barry let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, you must have done something to piss him off.” Cisco added in; his computer pinged negatively after a couple of scans. “Satellite hasn't found anything.”

Eobard nervously wrung his hands, eyes meeting yours for a moment. “We need to find a more permanent solution to this problem.” He gestured when he continued to Caitlin and Cisco. “Start by repairing Hartley's gauntlets. That's about as good a first step as any.”

“I got some parts for it.” Cisco nodded at Dr. Wells, glancing at you. You already knew what he was about to ask.

“I’ve got any vitals and scans for the city until you two come back.” You held up your tablet with a little smile on your face. “Don’t worry, I’ve go your back.”

“Let's go for it,” Caitlin grinned, turning to Cisco. The two of them took their leave. Once they were out of earshot and out of sight you whipped around with an incredulous look on your face.

“You don't know how to stop a Time Wraith?” You and Barry both quired, which irritated Eobard at the sync.

“None of us do.” The speedster responded roughly. You felt bad for Eobard, his entire plan to get home is in jeopardy because of a future version of Barry. “That's why we always try and avoid them in our travels.”

“‘We’?” You and Barry just gave each other looks, simultaneously responding together once more. The scarlet speedster sneered at you, that was enough to shut you up and take a seat back at the monitors.

“‘Speedsters’... we're not the only two out there, you know?”

“This isn't the first time I've time traveled. How come I've never seen one of these until now?”

Eobard stood up, his demeanor clearly showed he was pissed and exasperated, but he kept his emotions in check. Especially with the Time Wraith looming around somewhere. He stepped closer towards Barry. “Because you ran out of luck.” You watched Barry lean against the railing, shaking his head when Eobard continued before grudgingly meeting your eyes. You offered him a sympathetic smile, he reluctantly returned it. “And Time Wraiths hate it when speedsters manipulate the timeline, and now that thing's gonna do everything it can to end you.” You wanted to say something but decided against it. Barry scoffed at Eobard, rolling his eyes when the man turned away from him. “Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna go to CCPD. You're gonna see what you can find to help us stop this thing-” Eobard nodded at you. You collected your things and got up, ready to work. “-We'll do the same here.”

“Well, what am I supposed to be looking for?

You started, “Barr, You're in forensics-“

“-Figure something out.” The man in the yellow suit only sent a warning glare to Barry, pulling his damned wheelchair along with him.

“Hey, what about the equation? Me getting faster?” Barry’s nostrils flared, stepping forward and gesturing to the clear board that held the speed equation.

“If we don't stop this thing, there's gonna be no point in me teaching you anything.” With that the two parted, Eobard sat back in his chair and he wheeled to his side lab whereas Barry let out an exhausted sigh. He rubbed his face, eyes meeting yours once more. Grabbing his coat, the young speedster pushed past you, his shoulders bumping yours. The action didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who narrowed his eyes from afar then turned back to his work. Your eyes lingered for a moment before an idea popped into your head.

“I think I should go with him,” you turned towards Eobard, running a hand over your hair and loosening your hair out of the hair tie. Maybe that’ll help with the headaches.

“What?”

“With Barry”

“No, absolutely not!”

“Why not?” You pouted, taking a seat beside him. You subtly wanted to see how many buttons you can push while this version of Barry was here.

“Over my. Rotting. Corpse.”

You froze at his comment, his body was already turned away from you. A mental image of Eobard’s corpse vividly plagued you. Blinking a few times, that phrase echoed in your head. It’s like I’ve heard that before… but where? You needed to shake the feeling off. “Don’t say things like that! If anything happens, I’ll let you know what’s going on.” You lightly slap his arm. The corner of Eobard’s lips turned up slightly then he leaned over for a kiss. You gave him a chaste one to finish your defense on the situation. “Plus, you and I both know you can handle things here at the lab. You don’t need me around.”

“I will always want you to be around me, even if I’m working. Besides the point- stay away from Barry.” He emphasized. “The Time Wraith is here for him; it hasn’t detected me. I don’t…” Eobard sighed through his nose, his gaze locked onto yours and you felt your breath hitch. “I can’t lose you to that monster.”

“…”

“Please, kitten.” He looked at you desperately.

“Only because you said ‘please’,” you kissed his cheek fondly, giving in to him. You didn’t miss the way his voice strained at the thought of losing you or the fact that he asked. Eobard generally never asks, not until he met you. The speedster glanced at you when you were recalibrating the satellites, he noticed the fake grin that you plastered on your face at his corpse comment. He made a mental note to ask you what’s wrong later. It hurt his heart to see you put up a wall right now, but it was understandable, to say the least. “You know, I always like watching you work.”

“Why is that?”

“Dunno, maybe I just like watching you work your magic with those capable hands of yours.”

“I can show you just how capable these hands are tonight.” Your speedster wiggled his eyebrows at you, eliciting a deep blush and giggle. His hand left the device on the table, resting on your thigh. You felt your body temperature spike up even more at his touch.

“Eobard, you can’t say things like that at work!”

“Why not? I’m the boss.” The speedster whispered to you, his blue eyes hypnotizing you. Eobard leaned close, slotting himself to kiss your neck a few times.

A sweet sigh left your lips. “What if the others walk in on us?” You pressed a hand against his sturdy chest. Eobard pressed a kiss below your ear before a chuckle left his lips.

“I’m sure they’ll allow me a free pass, just this once.”

***

After a few hours or so, Cisco and Caitlin came back with the gauntlets. The two explained how the managed to save every piece and analyze their potential. Cisco and Dr. Wells remained in a heavily – mechanical engineer type of conversation that you and Caitlin stayed silent for.

“So, can these gauntlets be salvaged?” Dr. Wells questioned, wheeling closer to the displayed Hartley’s sonic gauntlets.

“Their electron guns are fried,” Cisco shook his head.

“So, it shorted the wave tubes-“

“-And destroyed the amplifiers.” They both finished the thought.

“Yeah, but to be honest with you, I don't know how to manipulate the frequency variance.” Cisco spoke, glancing at the three of you.

“Hartley would know.” Caitlin added in, hands on her sides, “He's the one who did it.”

“As much as a dick that he was, he seems to be an expert with sound waves and frequency variance of such caliber,” you mused, nodding with Caitlin.

“See if he can help, but he stays in the cell,” the genius scientist instructed,

“But then what? That thing's gonna come back.” Cisco retaliated

“I don't know,” Dr. Wells stated exasperatedly. He didn’t know what to do, Hartley’s guns were the only thing he’s known to deter the Time Wraiths. If only the electron guns weren’t fired then he would have been able to dissect and adjust the gauntlets.

“Hey, its going to be ok,” you tried reassuring everyone, mainly Eobard. “We always end up crossing over these kinds of bridges. We’ve got the smartest minds and the most skilled scientists here.” Cisco and Caitlin smiled a bit at you. But you saw the calculating look on Eobard’s eyes. The futuristic villain was taking this harder than Barry himself, walking on eggshells particularly with concealing his speed. Taking any precaution to ensure his safety as well as yours. Your boyfriend explained that if you had gotten closer to the Time Wraith it would sense you. You blushed slightly at the next thought Theoretically, he said his speed-force signature particles had rubbed off on me… Probably from one too many nights of-

“Where is he? Where's the other Flash?” A different Barry demanded. Your version of Barry demanded, out of breath and pissed as hell. Your eyes widened at the sudden appearance of this time’s Flash, mouth open for a bit before closing it. Eobard just covered his face, silently counting to 10 before he choked a bitch.

Well shit, I totally forgot about our Barry.

“Right here.”

Well fuck

87 notes · View notes

goldinavonlea · 6 years ago

Note

Prompt: Anne/Gilbert courting they’re in Anne’s room and then marilla returns so Gilbert has to sneak out lol!

OKAY HERE WE GO! I actually finished something for once! It is TOO LONG and SELF INDULGENT and I had the BEST TIME! A few people have expressed interest in this (madmen, all), so I’ll tag you in then post with a cut, or you could rock on over to read it on Ao3! @platonic-oxymoron, @jump-on-winds-back, @chocolatelatte121, @andim-pirate, @neliel-deathberry

So without further ado (or only the brief ado it takes me to figure out how to cut on desktop)…

Summer had arrived in Avonlea. In all truth, summer had arrived in Avonlea several weeks earlier, but the inclement internal weather of Anne’s life of late had rendered the view rather cloudy from her window for a while there, and so perhaps it was better to say that summer had arrived—finally—in Anne.

And what a summer it was.

The Snow Queen had advanced her reach so far that year that, with Anne’s window thrown open to the warm breeze, her outermost boughs reached past the casement and allowed the scent of blossoms to settle without having to do the tremendous injustice of cutting any sprigs loose. In the deliciously lazy few hours after lunch, the sun was in its prime and perfect position to extend its rays into the gable room, that so beloved tree stepping in again to render the light not sharp or overbright, but soft and golden and glorious, throwing shifting patterns on the floorboards. All the air was warm, perhaps under other circumstances too warm but with the light wind, the shade being indoors offered, the lack of necessity—there, in her own space—for long thick stockings or fussy aprons, no one to tell her to roll her sleeves back down her arms, rather than oppressive the afternoon seemed sweet, a little sticky but not unpleasantly so, stretching out slow and endless like toffee.

The house was quiet, Matthew tending the back field and Marilla having retreated to Rachel’s for the afternoon, leaving Anne alone but for the beating embodiment of her sudden shift in seasonal outlook, making himself quite at home as he lay, barefoot and trousers rolled to the knee, nose in a book with his head hanging upside-down off the edge of Anne’s bed.

He had more freckles, in the summer. Anne could count them all, if she wished to, but for the moment found herself quite content to sit propped up against the footboard, a book of her own in her lap, watching.

Well. Almost content.

“I don’t believe for a moment that actually works.”

“Sure it works,” came Gilbert’s reply as he lazily turned a page, the book obscuring his face for a moment though she could hear the smile in his words. “The brain needs oxygen to function, oxygen is carried in the blood, blood is as amenable to the affects of gravity as anything else, therefore: lying upside-down makes your brain work better.”

“There’s a logical fallacy in there somewhere, I can smell it.”

“Oh can you?” Gilbert asked, the smile in his voice broadening. “Where?”

“Don’t know,” Anne replied with a sigh, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. “It’s too hot to think: ask me again in Autumn.”

“I strongly suspect neither of us will remember to raise the argument again come Autumn.”

Anne snorted. “Me, miss an opportunity to point out a flaw in your intellectual argument? I think not.”

“Well that’s true,” Gilbert agreed, his smile finally reappearing to Anne’s eyes as well as her ears as he set his book down, still open, on his chest. Blinking at her a few times (and looking rather comical doing so, being as he was upside down), he sighed. “I’ve been reading the same three pages for half an hour and I don’t think I’ve taken in a word of it.”

“Probably too much oxygen to the brain,” she quipped back, before setting her own book aside. “I never would have thought there was any circumstance that could deter me from the written word, but even I am struggling to process much from the page on so compellingly syrupy an afternoon,” Anne said, swallowing down a yawn and swinging her legs round so that she could lie back besides Gilbert, eyes drifting shut. “It’s like bathwater: I just want to fall asleep.”

“If you fall asleep now you won’t tonight, and then you’ll have hell to pay from Marilla when you refuse to get up in the morning.”

“Oh why should we get up in the morning, anyway? There’s so much day to be getting on with at the moment, surely some small portion of it could be given over to that most delightful and rare of luxuries that is the lie-in?”

“I thought mornings were for chores around here,” Gilbert said with the grin of one allowed entirely free reign over his own comings and goings.

Anne groaned. “Oh don’t, it’s summer: a season much too romantical to be tainted by the likes of laundry before ten in the morning. And don’t think I can’t feel your smugness without looking at you, Bash keeps you on entirely too long a leash.”

“Hey, I do laundry!”

“You do laundry precisely when you do everything, which is at whichever point in the day suits you. I love Marilla with the depth and wholeness of my heart, but Lord in Heaven does the woman love a schedule. I swear, once I have my teaching certificate and the promise of endless, uninterrupted summers, I won’t be getting out of bed before eleven a single day of them. I won’t even sleep that long, I’ll just wake up and stay in bed for hours and hours and hours, simply because I can.”

Gilbert’s grin softened at this, all teasing and fond. “I don’t reckon you could last ten minutes in bed after waking up without being bored to tears.”

“I certainly could,” Anne insisted, warming to her theme. “I’d keep a veritable mountain of books on my bedside table and spend the whole morning just reading. Maybe I wouldn’t even bother with a bedside table: just pile up all my books on the floor and balance my coffee on top of them.”

“If you don’t plan on getting out of bed,” Gilbert began slowly, clearly aware that he was walking into a trap and full of the imminent delight of being thus caught, “how do you suppose you’ll be getting ahold of coffee?”

Anne paused, then rolled her head ever so slightly to the side and cut a pointed and speculative glance at Gilbert.

The beaming, boyish smile that overcame his face was thrilled.

Gotcha.

“Now that seems decidedly unfair.”

“Well,” Anne sniffed, returning her gaze to the ceiling. “Doctors don’t get summer holidays.”

“That is a sore wound and rubbing salt in it is actually very cruel.”

“Oh how you shall suffer, upheld as you shall be as a paragon of upright gentlemanliness wherever you go—”

“I’ve no doubt you plan to make that very difficult.”

“Positively fawned over by your grateful patients bringing you flowers and cakes and… and jars of various preserves—”

“From which you will get equal if not greater enjoyment, so you are, in advance, welcome.”

“People naming their dear children after you—”

“God, I hope not.”

Anne pulled up short at that, snapped out of the playful exchange as she turned again to Gilbert with a frown. “Well what’s that supposed to mean?”

His face screwed up in evident distaste. “We have to swear an oath, you know: Do no harm. Not sure I’d be able to say I was honouring my promise if my presence lead some poor child to being named Gilbert.”

“What’s wrong with Gilbert?” Anne asked, contrarily offended on his behalf. “I like it.”

He gave her a look that suggested she might have gone quite mad.

“Well I do! I don’t think I’d considered it all that much prior to coming to Avonlea, and… I will admit for a while it did prompt a thrill of what I generally assumed to be rage, but now… names are just words for people, aren’t they? Gilbert is the word that means you, so naturally it has to be one of my very favourites.”

Again his faced softened, became something that wasn’t exactly a smile but was so unflinchingly open, so tender, Anne was of half a mind to look away. She didn’t.

“You know,” he said, absently tangling their fingers together on Anne’s faded quilt, “for someone who seems to relish in being mean to me you can be incredibly sweet when the spirit moves you.”

Anne shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

Like that, the broad, delighted grin was back. “That’s Whitman—Song of Myself.”

“I know. I might have to wait until sunset at the moment but I have managed to do some reading.”

“And you chose to read Whitman.”

“Of course,” Anne said, genuinely a little baffled that he seemed so very pleased by the fact, as though it wasn’t obvious the copy of Leaves of Grass would leap directly to the top of her extensive to read list the moment he placed it in her hands. “I know it means a lot to you.”

He simply blinked at her for several moments, before his mouth went crooked in a wry smirk. “I might start handing you copies of The Lancet, just to see if you could force yourself through all that dull writing.”

Anne, forsaking for a moment the mantle of a mature young woman, stuck out her tongue. “Now who’s mean?”

“I suppose we’re equal.”

“Well then, rejoice old world, for all is as it should be.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes soft and brown-sugar warm, something in them that, even in the summer, always seemed to remind her of Christmas. He smiled. “Yeah.”

Anne wasn’t sure, with all the years and years of promise she had ahead of her in order to test the truth of such a belief, that she’d ever grow accustomed to this part. For all the marvellous, sweeping romances she’d read through the years not one of them had ever truly provided any great detail on a kiss, shying away into the vagaries of metaphor which, while lovely, paled in comparison to the focus and specificity of the real thing, and to that entire grand pasture (until recently existing entirely unbeknownst to Anne even in her wildest imaginings) of all that was around a kiss in and of itself.

For example, this: those breathless moments leading up to it, wherein contact became an inevitability and yet still—even after several seemingly eternal weeks of increasing familiarisation with one another—the thrill of nerves, the restless, impatient aching in the palms, the sides of the neck, the small of the spine that those eyes, suddenly heavy, brought forth in her. The fading out of the outside world, only ‘fading out’ wasn’t quite right, it was more like fading in, all the focus that had been spared for other things narrowing its scope (and how could she ever have imagined that a narrowing of scope might bring such a rush of muchness!) until all it encompassed was her, and him, and them—this thing that they became together, united in purpose and humming like one of Miss Stacey’s wires, the length and breadth of them startling and electric and alive.

God, he hadn’t even touched her yet. Perhaps attempting this with their heads hanging off the edge of the bed wasn’t their wisest of plans: the whole thing left her light-headed enough when she was the right way up.

Still, Anne had never been one to back down from a bad idea, and Gilbert had never once tried to dissuade her—only ever asked for the chance to join in.

He asked her now, with the tilt of his head, his breath warm in the already warm room, the soft downturn of his softer eyelashes blurred to dark brown smoke from this close (and he really was terribly good at getting that close without Anne entirely realising it was happening. Probably she should ask how he did it, but really she already knew that the answer was magic).

Anne, as she was so often inclined to do where he was concerned (now that she had allowed her inclinations the free reign they rightly deserved) said yes.

Oh, she was certain she’d never get used to this.

It started soft, as it usually did, the barest brush of lips that sparked and made her breath catch, reminded her that she was breathing at all. His fingers, still intertwined with her own, tightened their grip involuntarily, and even with her eyes closed Anne could feel the furrow of his brow, that little line of concentration and control that baited her, bothered deliciously at her until she inevitably managed to soothe it flat, until he relaxed and melted into it like clay under her hands.

That wasn’t just yet, though: that part came a little later.

For now it was delicate and fluttering, not indecisive but unhurried, a little awed. There was no reason, Anne had concluded, no reason at all why placing one’s mouth on someone else’s ought to be so thrilling to every last thread of her, except for the fact that every point of contact, every movement of his lips against her own (a little firmer, now, a little longer, a little more intent) sang with the knowledge that this was Gilbert, Gilbert with the good heart and the gentle hands and the lopsided smile and the brilliant mind, and that that mind had chosen in that moment to put his mouth to her, to kiss her this way and then that, that of all the things that he could have elected to be doing right then it was kissing her that he wanted… that was where the thrill lay. Kissing in general, she supposed, might well be fine enough, but kissing Gilbert…

He shifted his attentions from Anne’s top lip to the bottom, and she pressed her sudden advantage to slot them together properly, like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Surely no-one else would fit her the way he did? Surely they were made for each other, when they worked together so well?

Ever so gently, his teeth scraped against her lip, and any question marks in her thoughts turned to dust.

Loathe to lose the contact, Anne decided against trying to sort out which fingers belonged to who on their entangled hands, instead rolling onto her side just enough for the hand she had spare to reach Gilbert’s face, trace the high of his cheek, the cut of his jaw of which she was so inexplicably fond—perhaps because its sharpness under her palm felt so very real, perhaps because the roll and motion of it took her back, again, to the mechanics and deliberation and will—his will, Gilbert’s!—behind his mouth on hers, or perhaps because of the way that every time she touched him there he shivered a little, and she felt the kick of it in her bones. She felt rooted, certain of and one with her skin in a way she rarely had the luxury of experiencing: she knew she was solid, and grounded, and there, because Gilbert was, and she had moved him. What a power that was, she thought as her fingertips skimmed the shell of his ear, found their way to the curls at the nape of his neck (which she had found she was also tremendously fond of)—to know that she could put her hands on him and he would move for her, just like that. She couldn’t entirely fathom what she’d done to deserve such a thing, but then she felt the instinctive shift of her own spine under his hand as it found her waist, and realised perhaps that was it: the utter trust it took Anne to be able to respond to him without thought or hesitation was a gift that earned the same in return. It was about balance, and faith, and equality, in this as in all things between them.

She loved it.

She ran her fingers down the line of his throat to his collarbone, felt him draw a sharp breath straight from her own lungs as his hand flexed, tightened against her waist, and then gave her breath back in the shape of her own name.

“Anne.”

She wondered whether that was one of his favourite words, too—it certainly sounded that way, when he said it—and decided it was only fair she got the same opportunity to voice the name of her own joy that he did.

“Gil.”

Things blurred and sharpened then, the passage of time becoming hazy and malleable even as otherwise minute details—the exact pinpoint location and pressure of his thumb against her ribs, the back of her foot brushing against his shin, how she could just feel his heartbeat against her palm with her fingers hooked over his shoulder, the only fast thing in a world gone slow as honey.

What a thing, to feel with her hand the impact she had on the heart of him; to know his love (he loved her, he loved her!) as something tangible, this thing she’d longed for no longer only curled through the landscape of her imagination but right there, held close, a rhythm against her skin.

His mouth sought out her throat, the exact spot just above the collar of her dress where her pulse beat strongest, and how could she do anything but smile, laugh breathlessly at the reassurance he was searching for? Yes, she said, with her fingers tangled in his curls, with the tilt of her head to make room for him, yes, Gilbert Blythe, I love you too.

And so they went, the tick of Anne’s clock forgotten amidst the heady sweetness of being together, and close, and in love in their own little corner of the world, into which nothing else might enter and from whence no-one might remove them.

Or… almost nothing. Almost no-one.

Divinely and determinedly distracted as she was, even Anne’s dubious sense of self-preservation cut sharply through that most pleasant of fogs at the creak (oh blessed creak!) of the kitchen door. Gilbert, who had eventually corralled enough mental direction to unwind their joined hands and set about one of his favourite pursuits—the utter destruction of whatever sense of order Anne had managed to impose upon her hair—displayed less wisdom, taking a few moments to respond not to the sound of the door itself, but the sudden tension of the girl in his arms.

“Anne?” he asked, withdrawing with evident reluctance from the crook of her neck, eyes dazed, colour high in his cheeks and—and this Anne noticed with a dangerously distracting level of satisfaction—his hair just as dishevelled as her own would inevitably be.

“Shh,” she hissed, utterly still as she strained to hear any further sound from downstairs, as yet hopeful that she might have been imagining things.

Footfalls, sharp and eminently recognisable. Anne’s eyes snapped back to Gilbert’s, wide and alarmed as the same sudden understanding dawned on his face. “Marilla.”

Sitting bolt upright (and fighting the sudden head rush the movement prompted), Anne let out a soft curse she’d never have voiced in any other company, hands flying to one of her braids as Gilbert followed suit, the protocol for such a disruption already perhaps an undignified level of established.

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until five?” Gilbert whispered sharply, doing, Anne had to admit, an admirable job of not becoming sidetracked as he combed his fingers through her hair and set about reconstructing her right braid.

“She’s an autonomous being, Gilbert: evidently she changed her mind! See this is precisely why we should meet at your house instead of here.”

“And risk Hazel wandering in? If you’d like to explain to Bash how his mother came to have a heart attack then be my guest!”

“You have a barn, don’t you?”

“You have a barn!” Gilbert replied, sounding just a little hysterical as he fumbled with her ribbon and dropped it. Twice.

“My barn is regularly occupied by both Jerry and Matthew, idiot.”

“And mine by Bash.”

“Better Bash,” she said, turning her focus to the potentially tricker task of flattening out Gilbert’s hair into some semblance of decorum, “than Marilla.”

“I… that’s fair. Okay, what am I doing?”

Anne bit her lip, casting about the room for escape routes. “You could climb out the window?”

“Out the window?” he repeated, managing to sound simultaneously amused and horrified. “Anne, I’d land directly outside the window downstairs, do you not think she might notice?”

“Well what if I climbed out the window?” Anne asked, rather clutching at straws at this point.

Gilbert was evidently trying to swallow down laughter. “What good would that do?!”

“Fine, okay, okay you’re just going to have to be quiet and hope she doesn’t come in here, and then we’ll… figure it out.”

“Anne, what do you—”

“Shut up, shut up she’ll hear you just, just shh!”

“Alright, alright I’m—” he stopped mid sentence, falling abruptly silent at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Again they stared at each other, eyes locked in panic, although it became rapidly obvious that this was a mistake as Anne felt a fit of giggles bubbling up her throat.

“Anne? Anne, are you up here?”

Praying that the Good Lord (being entirely responsible for sending trouble her way) might allow her passage through her current trials unscathed, Anne swallowed the laughter down and attempted to even out her voice. “Afternoon Marilla!”

If the look on Gilbert, eyes screwed shut and the back of his hand pressed to his mouth as his shoulders shook silently, was anything to go by, her attempt had failed.

“Oh, you are home! I’d not have expected to find you inside on a day like this,” came Marilla’s voice again from the other side of the closed door.

“I… it’s only, you know,” Anne began a little desperately, thwacking Gilbert with the back of her hand as the trembling of his suppressed laughter increased, “sunburn is such a tremendous pain to be dealing with, I thought I’d better not chance it.”

“Well now. How uncharacteristically responsible of you.”

At this Gilbert threw his head back, having to turn his hand to cover both his mouth and nose as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, the suggestion of her responsibility whilst she desperately fought to evade the detection of a young man in her bedroom clearly proving itself too much for him. Not today, and perhaps not even tomorrow, but some day soon Anne was going to push him into the Lake of Shining Waters for this.

“Yes, well. Thanks.”

“Well I’m only back for a minute or two—Rachel’s gotten it into her head that she absolutely must furnish you with a new quilt when you leave for Charlottetown, honestly that woman has too many sons and is far too intent on spoiling other people’s daughters,” Marilla added in a undertone which threatened to unbalance Anne’s tenuous grasp on herself and reduce her to Gilbert’s level of amusement, “so she’s sent me back to collect all my patterns that she might judge the most appropriate.”

“That’s… that’s very kind of her. She really needn’t trouble herself.”

“As I have endeavoured to explain to her, though she’s having none of it. Still, I don’t suppose it can do any harm—I do hate to imagine you getting cold all alone, come winter.”

Something about the tone of Marilla’s voice bled the hysterical amusement from the moment, leant it a fond softness that Gilbert clearly felt too, since he was able to uncover his mouth and reach for her hand, thumb brushing softly across her knuckles.

Anne squeezed his fingers. “I won’t be alone.”

“No,” came Marilla’s reply, before a pause. Anne, who was well acquainted with Marilla’s various pauses, could hear the smile in it. “No, I don’t suppose you shall. Well, anyway, I just thought you ought to know my return may be a little later than I’d anticipated, what with Rachel on a mission, so you and Matthew may have to fend for yourselves for dinner. Stick to the stovetop, mind, and don’t be laying a finger on the cake in the pantry, it isn’t for you as you well know.”

“Yes, Marilla, I know.”

“Good. And enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“You too,” Anne replied, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders as she heard the footsteps retreating back down the stairs and then, a few moments later, the opening and closing of the kitchen door.

A further few beats of silence, and then a great relieved sigh from her co-conspirator. “Well. That was a bit close.”

Anne, entirely without hesitation and displaying the height of dignity, picked up the small cushion Marilla had sewn for her and whacked him over the head. “You rogue, you utter disaster of a man, could you not have made a little more of an effort to contain yourself? She could have heard you!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Gilbert laughed, sounding anything but as he raised his hands in defence.

“You are not, scoundrel, you’re no good at lies and they don’t become you so you’d do much better not trying. See if I invite you here again.”

“Perhaps it’d be wiser if you didn’t,” he replied, still evidently amused. “Wouldn’t want Marilla thinking you aren’t responsible.”

“Oh she already knows I’m not,” Anne said primly, standing at last from the bed and smoothing out her skirts. “It’s your dishonourable conduct she’d be shocked by: she thinks you’re such a nice young man.”

“Most do,” Gilbert agreed cheerfully, leaning back against her headboard with that lopsided grin again, entirely at his leisure. Oh how intolerable of him, to make her love him so even when he was being absolutely insufferable. “And what do you think, Miss? Do you find my conduct to be dishonourable?”

Though he smiled, Anne was attuned enough to him by now that she could detect the undertone of sincerity in the question. Seating herself again on the bed beside him, she raised a hand to his face then ran it back through his curls, flooded with impossible fondness at the way he leant into the touch. “I believe… that there surely cannot be anything dishonourable in offering a young lady precisely the affection with which she longs to be treated.”

“Well then,” he said, his hand coming up to cover hers where it had come to rest against his cheek. “Can’t imagine anyone else’s opinion matters all that much.”

Anne grinned. “Except Marilla’s.”

“Except,” Gilbert said, tilting his head in deference to her point, “perhaps Marilla’s.”

They sat like that in tender silence for several long moments, before Anne sighed and broke it. “You do realise you have to leave now, right?”

The wide-eyed, childlike disappointment on his face was Anne thought, tremendously comical. “What, why?”

“Because if you don’t we’ll only end up having this exact palaver again in a few hours.”

“We’ll keep an eye on the time!”

“Do you have the faintest idea what time it is now? No, don’t look.”

Having been instructed away from the small clock on Anne’s bedside, Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “… One…ish?”

“It’s half past three,” Anne informed him, unimpressed.

Blatantly disbelieving, Gilbert sat up to get a look at the clock himself. “It never is, it can’t…” He stopped, blinking at the hands. “Are you sure that’s right?”

Anne grabbed his hand and pulled, tugging him up from the bed. Probably her pillows would smell like him that night. “Come on, out.”

“No, Anne, come on, don’t make me go home: Dellie’s teething, the crying’s unbearable.” He fought her as she dragged him to the door, not hard but enough to make her laugh at his recalcitrance. And to think, she’d once thought mystery and melancholy to be the grand romantic ideal: how much better this was, to love and be loved by someone who shared his feelings with her unreservedly, however fleeting or ridiculous they might seem.

“Then don’t go home,” Anne suggested, pulling him behind her down the hall, then giving him a gentle shove in the direction of the stairs. “Go for a walk, get some fresh air: they say it’s terribly good for you, Doctor Blythe.”

“Sunburn isn’t,” he argued, somehow managing to reach the ground floor without falling as he took the steps half-backwards, eyes still on her as she followed him. “It’s a terrible pain to be dealing with, I hear: I could be laid up in bed for days, and then how would you feel?”

“Find some shade,” Anne said, restraining a grin as she held the kitchen door open for him.

“Surely, being the far greater adventurer of the two of us, you’d be much better at such a search than I would,” he said, standing firm in the doorway and giving her a look of such utterly unconvincing false innocence she couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, it’s a beautiful day: how could you stand to miss out on it? And think—it’s a matter of weeks before we’re off to the city, surrounded by smog and buildings and the great urban sprawl.”

“Eight weeks, which is in fact two months.”

Gilbert elected to ignore this correction. “Think how badly you’ll long for a summer afternoon with trees and flowers and rivers then. Can you really throw away this chance, when it’s right here for the taking?”

Anne crossed her arms, fighting a smile and doing, she knew, a very poor job of it. “I suppose it is a glorious day…”

“Glorious,” Gilbert agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

“And I wonder… have I introduced you to my very favourite tree yet?”

He tilted his head, considering. “The Sugar Maple, up near the Andrews’ place?”

“Elm, outside of town—past the old bridge beyond the schoolhouse?”

“Then no, I don’t believe you have.”

“Well then,” Anne said, answering his triumphant grin with one of her own as she fetched her hat from the hook by the door and slid into her boots. “Who am I to deny the most wondrous call of summer?”

“Who indeed?” Gilbert replied, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her beside him, out into the sun.

#anne with an e #awae #avonlea writes #shirbert #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #awae fic

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rosethebookworm · 5 years ago

Text

Safe?

This is my take on what happened when Logan got yanked out of the episode, I just had to write it.

Aka:

Logan finds himself in the dark side of the Mindscape and isn’t quite sure what to make of what he finds there.

Warnings: Remus being himself, (mentions of bloody things etc), Spoilers for the new episode! Mentions of the other sides I guess? (sorry for the long post, I don’t know how to put things under the cut)

.•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•..•°°•..•°°•..•°•. .•°°•.

When Logan was unceremoniously dumped into the ‘dark side’ of the Mindscape, robbed of his tie, and left in darkness, there were several questions that were prominent in his thoughts. The most bothersome of those, however, was what in the world was he standing in.

Lifting up a shoe, it was slightly unnerving to find that it stuck to the floor ever so slightly, and with a faint grimace Logan forced himself to ignore that sensation and instead continued on. He couldn’t stay here in the ‘dark side’ of the Mindscape, even if the others had not been appreciating his information- no, that was an issue to be dealt with at a later date, not when he was currently walking along ground that was unnervingly sticky.

Eventually Logan began to hear what he believed was loud singing, followed by a similarly unsettling thwack of a weapon against flesh, and reluctantly turned his feet towards that direction. Seeing as he was not well versed in the mental map of the ‘dark side’ of the Mindscape, it would be important to find someone who would be at least somewhat helpful in finding his way back to the others. He was not going to think about whether or not they would want him to return, that was not something he was supposed to worry about.

Luckily, his feet stopped sticking to the ground as he came closer to the sounds, instead his feet sinking into soft mud that Logan would argue was objectively better than whatever that previous substance had been made up of.

“Remus!”, Logan called, now close enough to see the green-clad side smashing through what looked like badly rendered figures that somewhat resembled monsters- badly rendered simply because they were so bloodied. His call had caused Remus to pause mid-swipe, and the song to stop, Remus instead letting out a delighted cry and rushing over to Logan as though about to hug him, Logan reflexively stepping back and holding out a hand- he was not in the mood for hugs, he was simply on a mission.

“Come down for a visit? You even lost your tie! That’s a shame because I’d love to use that tie to-“, Remus began, eyes lighting up as he swung around his morningstar in order to emphasize his sentiment- however he was quickly cut off by Logan beginning to speak. It was a little strange to Logan that that had been enough to gain the others attention and listen, whereas the others sides were known for- no, once again, this was not the time nor place to think about the other sides.

“I did not willingly come down here, Remus. Deceit had ah... taken my place, and seemed to think that bringing me here would keep me out of sight. I am looking to return to them in order to offer more context to their moral argument.”, Logan explained, shifting slightly in order to keep his feet from sinking too deeply in the mud.

“You’re leaving so soon?”, instantly Remus’ shoulders sank and his eyes darkened slightly, a strange reaction, at the realization that Logan was just here to leave again.

“Yes? They are in need of my facts, even if they do not realize their necessity to the conversation at hand.”

“They don’t realize- I’m going to kill them! I’m going to crack open their skulls and use all of their squirmy little brains as spaghetti with their eyes as meatballs!”, Remus screeched, his eyes even wider than before as he swung around his morningstar angrily, turning as though he was about to go and rip the spines out of the other sides, before Logans hand on Remus’ shoulder made him freeze.

“Do not bother with that. It would only serve to make them more terrified of you, which would be overwhelmingly damaging to Thomas’ already fragile mental state, and I have enough trouble getting them to listen to me without you overriding their fears.”, Logan cautioned, trying to speed past the fact that the other sides had a frequent problem of ignoring Logans input.

Remus had stilled, morningstar dragging on the ground as he peered at Logans face. It was slightly unnerving to the other, to be studied so closely by someone who was hardly ever seen to be serious.

“Let’s see what they thought of your disappearance then, they couldn’t forget their dearest little glasses wearing dork! Which means-“, Remus quickly changed his pace, sending Logan an alarmingly sharp grin as he threw an arm over the other sides shoulder and gestured to the ceiling, Logan coughing pointedly in order to cut the others words off, causing a raspberry to be blown at him in retaliation.

But strangely, even with the chaotic sides arm around him, Logan did not feel unsafe, in fact it was oddly comforting, not that he would ever admit that.

Waving a hand, the dark sky slowly shimmered into a view of the others- Patton had become a frog? Was this another one of Remus’ strange fantasy’s? A quick look at Remus’ face proved otherwise as the sides face pulled into a displeased one, once again waving his hand and rewinding the images until it was back to when Logan got pulled off of the screen.

Together they watched as Patton, Roman and Thomas continued to argue past Logans Disappearance, not one of them commenting on Logan getting pulled away. Together they watched as the conversation shifted entirely away as Deceit revealed himself and shifted into himself as they all became a video game. Together, as Logan felt his heart drop lower and lower with each passing second, and Remus’ grip on his shoulders became more and more protective.

“I have seen enough. Thank you, Remus.”, Logan finally managed quietly as the others continued to fight, Remus instantly sprinting up and slashing through the screen with his morningstar which brought to mind Romans similar action with his sword from earlier, though this time the action did not displease Logan.

Remus turned back to Logan, and the other was surprised to find his face shinning with tears. ‘Dark Creativity’ crying? That was peculiar, but Logan did not even feel any ounce of curiosity as to why he was upset, instead Logan simply felt numb.

“You’re not going back to them. If they won’t appreciate you, I will.”, Remus growled, and for a moment Logans mind connected the man before him to some sort of attack dog, ready and able to destroy anyone who stood in his way.

“I must return to him. Thomas’ mental health is more important than I am. Besides, I am very used to them not acknowledging me, Remus, that is nothing new. Their... clear absence of concern is... is something I have not witnessed before.”, he mused softly, eyes glancing upwards towards the darkness where the images had been but now only comforting darkness was surrounding them.

Remus growled, clearly not pleased with Logans insistence that he needed to return but he sighed, defeated again by Logan.

“Will you come back? I created this delightful chess set the other day where the pieces have to fight to the death and smash each other into the ground- pure mindless fighting! But maybe you could order the pieces against me? It’s gets more boring than Roman’s rants about Disney to fight against myself.”, Remus asked, something similar to what Logan would call a “puppy dog” look on his face, and for the first time Logan allowed a look of shock to cross his face.

“You want me to teach you how to play chess? Well, if the pieces destroy themselves then I would assume it would be closer to wizards chess which is still objectively fascinating, but still, you would want me to teach you about a variant of chess?”, he questioned, sounding genuinely shocked, something that made Remus’ expression turn to something mischievous- not malicious, oddly enough.

“Well you are a teacher after all! Unless you don’t think you could teach me, maybe I’m too difficult for the little teacher man to tame.”

“I... I will return then, Remus. It would be... mentally stimulating to teach you how to play wizards chess and... perhaps a needed distraction from the days activities.”, Logan acquiesced, and Remus instantly began to celebrate, rushing forward and kissing Logans cheek before continuing his strange dance into the distance, cheering something about getting the board set up with all sorts of fun obstacles.

“Remus I still need a way out-“, the glasses wearing side called out, sounding amusedly exasperated, which surprised himself. Since when was he amused by the others antics?

“Oh! Be sure to tell SnakeShit that he is not welcome home tonight and he has to sleep in the shed with worms and spiders and snails and-“, Remus’ voice faded out as Logan felt himself begin to disappear, the man suddenly coming to the realization that his tie was missing, before subsequently realizing that Remus has thought of that, and once again he had his signature tie on.

“Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just here to deliver one last fact, and then I will do you all a favor and spare you my company.”

After the others had been sufficiently schooled, Logan kept to his word and sunk down, back to his room. He was not expecting Remus to have actually meant it, and he was not entirely sure he would be able to sink to the ‘dark side’ of the Mindscape.

However, Logan was greeted with the sight of a mostly clean Remus perched on his pillows, a disappointed look on his face.

“You said you’d come baaaaaack.”, Remus whined, sending a pout Logans way and fingering his morningstar as though tempted to swing it through a wall.

“I- I had not truly thought you would still want me to come, or that I would be able to find you in the da- other side of the Mindscape.”, Logan explained, looking ever so slightly baffled even as Remus beamed, jumped up from the bed and rushed over to grab Logans arm.

“Well why didn’t you just say so instead of standing there like a corpse stuck in concrete! We are gonna have so much fun- I already have the pointy men all set up and ready for us to destroy!”, Remus cheered as the room slowly started to dissolve around them, something that had often been the cause of concern for Logan, especially when Remus’ twin was involved, but strangely was not concerning at all.

“You mean statues, correct? Wizards chess is played with statues of people, not actual people.”, Logan corrected, sounding vaguely exasperated, glancing over at Remus with a raised eyebrow.

“But humans are so much more satisfying to destroy!”

Came the gleeful response as Remus smirked back at him and laughed as the room fully dissolved. However the cackle did not alarm Logan- for a moment as a room melted in around them, revealing a large chessboard with suspiciously human-like pieces, Logan felt safer and more comfortable than he had in a while. Perhaps he would stay down here for some time, the others clearly did not value his input, and Remus was already waiting for his explanation of the game with a strangely endearing expression of interest.

Maybe someone was willing to listen to Logan after all.

#ts spoilers #sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #ts remus #remus sanders #logan angst #please give me validation

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dontcare77ghj · 5 years ago

Text

Heart ii

Dean x reader x Cas

Notes; The whole white witch plot is borrowed from Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters.

Part 2 of 3

After Sam had forced Dean to admit the three of you were soulmates, Dean and Cas had sent Sam back to the motel so they could explain it all to you.

As Cas had said, you were a white witch. This was further proven to you by the fact that in your shock of the whole conversation you’d dropped a coffee mug only for it to begin levitating before it hit the ground.

Dean had taken over explaining exactly why this coven wanted your heart. Once every thousand years the planets aligned and the term blue moon was not just an expression. Apparently if these witches, or demon whores as Dean so eloquently called them, could cut out your heart it would become an ingredient to a spell that would render witch killing bullets useless.

And then had come the conversation that you were most dreading. You needed an explanation on the soul mate thing. The two took turns explaining the whole situation, explaining it from both the points of view.

Dean recalled a conversation the two of you had had after a few drinks the night before.

“I said Cas was my soul mate but we had another and we were waiting for them. That’s the story.” He explained, leaning back.

Yeah, his explanation left little to be desired, but Cas was able to really explain it all to you.

Every angel was given a single soul mate when they were created. In the earlier years it was much more common to find them until rules against angel/human were introduced. After that angels rarely left heaven and already existing pairings were killed off.

“Cas here is a bit of rebel and a freak, that’s why he found me and there’s two of us.” Dean chuckled.

“That is not the reason.” Cas sighed.

With that the two of them explained how they met, and then gave an additional explanation as to how Dean died, and how you fit into their dynamic.

“You do have a choice here.” Dean told you. “You don’t have to accept us; you don’t have to think you’re stuck with us. You have a choice.”

When he said this, you sat there and mulled it over for a minute before you nodded.

“This is not me rejecting you. I accept that we’re bound together but I’ve been fucked over by people so many times that I have major trust issues. I don’t do relationships very well so can we please just take this slow?” You asked the two. Cas’s eyes lit up and Dean let out a chuckle.

“Sweetheart, you are definitely ours.”

After a couple more hours, Dean and Cas left to go pack up the motel and pick up Sam. It made more sense to have the three staying in your spare rooms while looking for the coven and so you could bond with your soul mates.

When the boys left you made a beeline to the kitchen but let out a sigh when you realized there was nothing to drink.

“I should’ve told them to pick up a six pack.” You sighed and made your way back to the bedroom.

It had been two weeks since the boys had sat you down and talked to you. The boys weren’t terrible houseguests and you did enjoy their company but there was a part of you that was incredibly annoyed they were there.

You didn’t believe in this shit. At least you didn’t use to. Honestly, before Cas’s eyes glowed that bright blue, you were just going to pretend to believe them. Sure, this as half out of not believing and half because of your own issues.

Dean was currently out getting groceries, the three didn’t particularly like you leaving the house alone, Cas was taking care of some angel business and Sam was typing away on his laptop at your kitchen table as you made some lunch for you and Sam.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to try and find your birth mother? It could be my apology for wanting to kill you?” Sam asked, watching you move around the kitchen.

“Sam, we’ve been over this, I don’t blame you.” You said, shutting the oven door. “If I had been in your position and seen the evidence you had, I would assume it was me too. And no, I don’t want you to find her.”

“Can I ask why?”

“I already met my mother. And she was a wonderful, intelligent, woman, despite her choice of husband, and unfortunately, she passed recently. I won’t disrespect her memory by pretending she’s not my mother.” You smiled, stirring the pasta on the stove.

“I can respect that.” Sam said, continuing to type.

“Sam, can I ask you a favour?” You asked, not looking up from the cooking.

“Yeah, sure. What do you need?”

“Can you tell me a bit more about Dean and Cas? I want to get to know them from someone else’s point of view. You know, the stories they won’t tell me themselves.” You said, looking up from the meal shyly.

“So, you want the embarrassing stuff?” Sam clarified. You gave him a nod causing him to laugh. “Where to start?”

“We’re back.” Dean announced an hour later. He and Castiel entered the kitchen with a bag each to see you and Sam sitting at the table, eating your lunch.

“You two look happy.” Cas commented., setting his bag on the counter.

“Suspiciously happy.” Dean added, looking between the pair of you. “What lies has Sam been telling you, sweetheart?”

"I don't think he's told me anything untrue."

"Everything that comes out of that man's mouth is a lie."

“So you didn’t pull your pants down and yell, ‘Pudding’?” You smirked, standing and bringing your plate to the sink.

“It was for a case.” He defended himself.

“Of course, it was. Go, take a seat. Have some lunch and I’ll finish up.” You said, pushing him toward the table. “You too Cas, I know you don’t eat but you’re going to sit too.” You added, pointing to the table.

“You know we can put away a few groceries, right?” Dean asked as you handed him a plate.

“Yeah but you always put things in the wrong place.” You said, beginning to put your groceries in the correct spots.

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Milk doesn’t go in the cupboard.”

“She’s right.”

“You do the same thing back at the bunker.”

“You guys all suck.”

It was week three of living with the boys. In the past week they had come no closer to finding the coven but Cas had been attempting to teach you how to use your powers. You weren’t taking to his teaching very well and the best you had done was use it accidentally.

Sam had decided to go out for the day, leaving you and your soulmates alone in the house. The three of you were slowly growing closer and you found yourself very much liking being around them.

Sam had been gone for two hours. You were in your room reading when you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey.” Dean started, knocking on your doorframe. “Are you doing anything right now?”

“Nothing I can’t do another time.” You said, putting your book down. “What’s up?” You questioned him.

“Me and Cas were going to watch a movie, you want to join?” He quizzed you, leaning against the doorframe with a smile.

“You sure you don’t want some alone time?”

“Some alone time with our girl? Yes.” He smirked, making you chuckle.

“Then sure you cheese ball. I’ll join you.” You said, climbing off the bed. Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he led you into the living room.

“Look who I found.” Dean announced to Cas who had taken his trench coat off and was sitting on the couch.

“I did say she would gladly join.” Cas said as you sat next to him.

“Yes, I know you’re always right angel.” Dean rolled his eyes sitting on your other side. “What did you pick?”

“Something called Ouija.” Cas answered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Is this okay?”

“It’s fine, Cas.” You smiled as Dean took your hand in his and intertwined them. About half way into the movie you had to ask. “Please tell me this shit doesn’t actually happen.”

“Well the board itself works but that’s not how possession works.” Dean explained, making you sigh in relief. “You ever used one?”

“Oh God no.” You chuckled. “I never used to think that kind of stuff was real.”

“I guess we kind of destroyed your world view.” Castiel commented. “If not for us you would’ve continued on as normal.”

“If not for you I could be dead right now.” You shook your head. “It was happening all around me and I never even knew it.”

“That’s the point of what we do.” Dean said, squeezing your hand. “We don’t let the public know and keep them safe.”

“Except in this case you did tell me.” You teased.

“Yeah, well, special exception. You’re our soulmate and part of it, little miss White Witch.” He smiled, throwing his arm around the back of the couch. “That’s not how possession works!” Dean yelled at the scream twenty minutes later.

“It’s a movie, Dean. It’s not real.” Cas said, leaning his head back on the couch.

“It’s not even a good movie.” Dean grumbled. “I mean who writes these?”

“Wait to we get to the credits, then you can yell at them by name.” You smirked as Cas groaned.

“Don’t encourage him, please, Y/N.”

“Lighten up, Cas.” You said shifting so you faced him. “This is the best part of watching a bad movie. Mocking it.”

“See? She gets it.” Dean said, moving closer so you were sandwiched between them. “We won the soul mate lottery.”

“That is a statement I can agree with.” Cas agreed, shifting closer to you. “We are very lucky to have you.”

“You’re not going to say that when you really get to know me.” You chuckled bitterly.

“We could say the same about us sweetheart.” Dean informed you.

“There are many things about us that we are not proud of. There is many we have done that we regret. It doesn’t matter what any of us have done or the parts of us that are broken what matters is how we move forward and live our lives.” Cas told you.

“And that there is the angel, been alive for eons and knows better than all, talk.” Dean chuckled, reaching over and taking the man’s hand.

“We’re all broken, I think that’s why we were bound.”

“So, we’re a mess that the universe is rooting for?” You smiled, relaxing into the men’s embrace.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Dean said, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Is it too fast for me to ask to kiss you?” Cas suddenly asked. “You don’t have to say yes if it’s too fast.”

“It’s not too fast at all.” You breathed as he now leaned in incredibly close. You could almost feel his lips when he suddenly vanished without a word. “What the?”

“Cas?” Dean yelled, standing from the couch. Dean rushed towards the front windows before letting out a curse. “Y/N, come on!” He said, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the kitchen. “Take this and call Sam. Tell him they’re here. Go out the back.” He told you, shoving his phone into your hand and grabbing a knife from the counter.

“What about you?” You asked, moving towards the back door.

“Never mind about me just get out of here.” He said as the front door ripped open. “Go!” Following his directions, you shoved phone into your pants pocket, turned and rushed towards the back door. You hadn’t even made it to the door when it was shoved open and a woman stood in front of you.

“Ah ah ah.” She tutted, outstretching her hand towards you. With a sudden pressure on your neck you were raised from the ground and shoved into the wall behind you. “Where you going? The party’s just starting.” She smirked before smashing your head into the wall and the world turned black.

When you awoke it was to the moon light shining onto your face. You let out a quiet groan before jolting upright as you remembered the previous events. You glanced quickly around the small room, recognizing the room instantly before jumping up.

“Dean!” You exclaimed, noticing yournd across from you. You went to rush to his side only to be pulled back by chains wrapped around your wrists. “Dean, wake up. Come on Dean.” You begged, pulling on the chain.

A low groan escaped the man after you called his name several more times.

“Sweetheart?” He groaned, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Where are we?”

“Old jail on the edgxplore it on our weekends.” You smiled as he began to remember what happened.

“And we’re chained up.” He sighed, tugging on the chain attached to his ankle.

“Will Cas be able to find us?” You asked him, leaning against the wall.

“Unfortunately, probably not. Soul mates or not, they’ll have some serious cloaking going on.” Dean sighed.

“Oh, shit wait.” You said suddenly, reaching for Dean’s phone. “This place used to have reception; it should still have.” You finally managed to pull out the phone and tossed it to Dean who caught it easily.

“Ha ha. We have signal.” He smirked, rapidly typing out a text. “With any luck Sammy and Cas will get here before they cut your heart out.”

“Jesus do you have to say it like that?” You laughed nervously.

“Sorry sweetheart but you know we’re not going to let that happen, right? I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Dean, we’re both chained up in a cell. Neither of us can get out and I can’t grasp how to use my magic. I think we’re pretty fucked.” You sighed, sliding down onto the floor.

“When we get out of this, we’re going to work on your positivity. Cas’ll show you his beehives, that’ll cheer you up.” Dean said, making you laugh. “Seriously, Y/N, we’re going to be fine.”

“Promise?” You asked him meekly, wincing at your own tone.

“Swear on my life.” He smiled. “And when we get out of here, you want to maybe go on a date with us?”

“I can’t believe you’re making a move now.” You shook your head, grinning.

“I never waste an opportunity, sweetheart.” Dean smirked. “So, what do you say?”

“If we make it out of this alive, I’ll gladly go out with the pair of you.”

Before either of you could say another word, you could hear the loud click of high heels echo throughout the room. The two of you stood and watched as an older woman approached the cell.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” She grinned nastily. “It turns out there’s a lot of setting up to do for this party.” She said, opening the door and walking in your direction.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean yelled, surging forward.

“Oh, calm down, Romeo.” She sighed, simply raising a hand and flicking it so Dean was shoved into the wall.

“Dean!” You cried out watching with wide eyes as he struggled against her invisible hold.

“You little miss have caused a lot of trouble.” The woman said standing right in front of you. “Do you know how long it took to find you and how much energy we had to use killing off your parents and little friend?”

“You bitch.” You snarled, going to lunge only to be held back by the chains. The woman only laughed before snapping her fingers loudly. You and Dean shared a look before two more women entered the room with emotionless faces.

The two didn’t say a word, or a make a noise, as they approached you and in silence grabbed the length of chain and dragged you towards them.

“Get off me!”

“You fucking touch her and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“We’ll be back for you later boy.” The first woman pointed at Dean as she stood behind your struggling form.

“Dean!” You yelled as you were yanked forward.

“Y/N!” He choked out before you were pulled away and the cell door shut behind you.

No matter how much you struggled, how much you fought back, the two women continued to drag you down the hall as if you were merely a rag doll.

“Fucking demon whores.” You snarled, trying to throw the women off you.

“Now that is just rude. There’s no need for a superiority complex. The only part of you that’s even valuable is right here.” She said, moving in front of you and tapping your heart. “You’re making a generous contribution to our masters.”

“Fuck you bitch.” You growled, spitting on her face. The woman simply narrowed her eyes before smacking you across the face.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” She smirked, leading the three of you into an adjacent room. The room screamed culty. Candles of every colour and size littered the room, the bright glow of the moon was the only other source of lighting and in the middle of the room was a slab from the morgue.

“No! No get off me!” You shrieked as you were dragged to the table, slab, and chained down.

“It’s no use. The sacrifice is happening whether you like it or not.” The witch said, moving towards an altar.

“Fuck you!” You snapped, attempting to lunge off the table. As you continued to struggle, the three women all gathered at the altar and began reading from a large book. As your struggles intensified you felt a burning from deep within.

The women were now gathered around you and as their chants grew louder the burning became unbearable. You let out a short scream as the fire burst and the three women had to shield themselves from it.

One woman was too slow to dodge and you watched as she caught fire. The woman screamed and flailed as she was brunt to a crisp. The other two women didn't even attempt to save her as they stood

“The ritual continues!” The first woman screamed. “We will be immune to fire! To the hunters! It continues!” She said , raising a knife and stabbing it into your stomach. "Weak little witch can't even control her powers." She mocked over your scream of pain.

"At least I'm not a whore who sold herself for hers." You snapped, groaning as the second woman twisted the dagger.

"Continue!" She snapped, raising the knife. She and the second woman began chanting again. You could barely find the energy to struggle any more, you were bleeding out and weak from the blast of magick you sent out.

A single tear streaked down your cheek before a loud gunshot echoed throughout the room. Your head snapped to the side and you saw Dean, Cas and Sam marching towards you.

Dean raised his gun again and shot the woman with the dagger once in the head. He and Cas appeared next to you as Sam quickly took care of the last woman.

"You're okay, what did I tell you? We weren't letting them cut your heart out." Dean smiled, unlocking the chains as Cas pressed two fingers to your forehead. A bright glow emitted from the room as you felt yourself healing.

"And I thought I told you not to say it like that." You groaned as Cas helped you sit up.

"Are you okay? Do you need a hospital? Is there anywhere else that hurts?" Cas asked, holding your face in his hands. You gave him a tired smile before leaning forward and pressing your lips to his.

"I'm okay." You told him. "I'm fine." Cas gave you a smile before stepping aside so Dean could stand in front of you. "Are you okay?" You asked him.

"I'm fantastic" He said, leaning forward and kissing you.

"Guys, not to interrupt the soul mate moment but we gotta get out of here. The place is on fire." Sam pointed out.

"Yeah sorry about that." You said as Dean helped you off the table.

"You did this?" Dean questioned, catching you as your knees gave out.

"Uh huh. Got the bitch in the corner." You told him.

"We're going to continue training once you get some rest." Castiel nodded. With Dean holding you up the four of you made your way to the exit. Dean helped you into the back of his car with Cas sitting next to you, with the burning building behind you, Dean started up the car and drove the four of you away.

You were leaning your head against Cas's shoulder when you suddenly had a thought.

"Hey Cas, do you really have beehives?"

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Dean x reader x Cas

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jenovahh · 5 years ago

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 8 - The Office

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you trudge into Zenos’ gym, spotting him once again meditating in the middle of the floor.

“Good morning, my beast.” He greets, not having even opened his eyes.

“Can you explain why we have to get up at ass-o-clock just to train?” You groan, dropping your gym bag unceremoniously to the floor.

His eyes slowly open, landing on you with a mix of amusement and excitement. “We get up at ass-o-clock as you so eloquently put it, is because I always start my day this way. It’s only logical that you match my schedule.” He replies smoothly, slowly uncrossing his legs. “I have other matters to attend to through the day, a company to run mind you.”

Grumbling underneath your breath about rich people, you suppose you couldn’t really fight that kind of logic. “So what, we’re just gonna fight each other every morning ‘til one of us knocks a tooth out?” You ask, watching as he stands to his feet.

“The opposite today, actually.” His biceps flex as he once again reaches up to gather his hair into a ponytail. “While I do appreciate the challenge you present, I won’t allow your terrible form to shame me. I will be instructing you on proper technique and form until I am satisfied.”

You can’t help but groan at that, your whole body sagging with the thought. “Can’t you hire someone to train me?” You whine, grumbling as he beckons you to join him.

“Easily. But that requires more effort than teaching you myself would be.” He answers without missing a beat, lips curled upward. “Now...what do you know about yoga?”

You snort, looking him up and down. “You? Doing yoga?”

He remains silent for a moment, before carefully lifting his leg behind him, hands reaching backwards to grab hold of his ankle. His body flexes naturally with the motion, completely still as he balances on one foot. Your jaw drops slightly; he’s massive, how on earth--

“Yoga is important to keep the muscles limber.” His voice is smug, eyes glittering with amusement. You watch dumbfounded as he easily goes back to a normal standing position, looking every bit pleased to have rendered you speechless. “So, my beast, still questioning my ability to teach you?”

You shake your head dumbly, head craning as he comes to stand directly before you. You’re not so easily impressed, and for the Galvus heir to have done so leaves your head in the clouds a bit. He cracks his knuckles, mouthwatering muscle seeming to flex with every action he does, no matter how minute.

“I will take your silence as permission to begin.”

For how smug and condescending Zenos is any other time, he is a surprisingly patient teacher. You realized it was because he was a perfectionist; he was unsatisfied until your arm or leg was perfectly in place. His voice was entirely neutral as he instructed your every movement, hands both gently and firmly guiding your body with almost robotic efficiency. You found yourself strangely enjoying his guidance, your body feeling the best it ever had in years.

It is certainly the most peaceful the two of you have been around each other.

He was...almost tolerable.

"How do you feel?" He asks, looking fairly relaxed himself. It almost feels like being around a different person entirely.

“I feel...good actually. Really relaxed. I think I’ll be sore tomorrow morning though.” You answer, watching as he gives a stoic nod, groaning in disgust as his lips pull into a smirk.

“As I expected then. In that case I will work yoga into your daily routine and perhaps we can even work on your flexibility as time goes on.” He walks over to the nearby shelves and grabs a towel, wiping away sweat. “We’ll conclude there for this morning. We are long overdue to head to the office.”

You quirk an eyebrow at that, heading to reach for your gym bag. “Overdue?”

His eyes cut to you as he towels himself off, lips still curled in that predatory grin. “Yes, my beast. Instructing you has taken five times longer than running through my daily routine. You’ve set me quite behind.” He goads and though you know he’s messing with you, you can’t help but get red in the face.

“Good. I’m in no rush to follow you around all day.” You huff, snatching your bag from the floor to heft it upon your shoulder, heading to the door. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Please do. I’d rather not be stuck in a car with your odor.”

You do not stop yourself from flipping him off as you walk out the room.

Self-centered, narcissistic, condescending--

A stream of insults rush through your mind much like the water coming from the shower head, washing all the sweat you had accumulated during your workout down the drain. You can’t help but give yourself a light whiff, thinking you possibly couldn’t smell that bad after a little yoga. Either he had an incredibly sensitive nose, or was being a bastard.

You were willing to bet your salary on the latter.

You picked the most fragrant soap and shampoo you could find in your closet, smelling close to a perfume aisle by the time you were done. Your uniform at least ran standard to what most bodyguards wore: a crisp, white button down, a black blazer, and matching slacks. A glossy, black tie embroidered with the Garlean logo completes the look. Putting the ensemble on, you noted how all the pieces fit perfectly, almost as if tailored to your exact size. You quickly run through your head if any doctors had gotten your measurements while you were convalescing.

You couldn’t complain overmuch though; if Zenos could have his way, you wouldn’t doubt he’d jump at the opportunity to put you in some ridiculous get up for his own amusement. He’ll find a way to insult your uniform somehow, but at least its simplicity shouldn’t make it easy on him.

You eye the gun lying on the table, remembering there was a hidden pocket on the inside of your blazer. You had to admit you missed the weighty police belt, along with your taser and baton. The faces of Raubahn and Merlwyb shine in your minds eye for a second, a pang of homesickness coursing through you for but a moment. Shaking your head, you gently tuck the gun into your pocket, and place the linkpearl in your ear.

Stepping out into the hallway, you take a deep breath. This would be your first day on the job, and you felt not excitement, but apprehension.

Walking down the hall, you nod politely at any workers going about their days, hands fisted at your sides as a sudden shock of nerves races up your spine. Even despite the circumstances, you found yourself wanting to do well, to do a good job, to be the best you could be.

“Daydreaming, my beast?”

Even if it meant being stuck with him.

Dressed in slacks and a simple button down, Zenos looked concerningly casual for someone who was going to oversee one of the biggest companies in the entire world. The scent of his cologne drifts into your nose, teeth biting down unconsciously on your lip for the briefest of seconds.

“Yeah, I was thinking of how nice it would be if I could wear a skirt instead of slacks, you know. The three piece isn’t exactly flattering, you know?” You shrug, making a show of turning in front of him.

“Would you now? Though considering what you were wearing when we first met I suppose this probably too...conservative for your tastes.” You fix him with a hot glare at his quick rebound. He somehow knew how to quickly insult you without batting an eye. “Come, we should have left a while ago.” He orders before you can get in your retort, grumbling underneath your breath as you follow him out the door.

Ardbert stands in his own three piece suit in the driveway holding the door open, face neutral until his eyes land on you. “Ah, good morning, Lord Zenos, Miss Honey.” He greets, eyes twinkling as he flashes you a quick smile.

“Good morning, Ardbert.” You return easily, preparing to walk around to the other door until Zenos gives you a rough nudge that pushes you in front of him into the car. “Hey!”

“Friendly, are you?” He asks, not even waiting for you to scoot over before he begins to step into the car. You quickly slide over as to not get crushed, flashing him a glare.

“Forgotten your manners? Or do you not know how to speak when spoken to?” You sneer, meeting him eye to eye as you pull on your seatbelt.

“Of course. When they are worth my time.” He answers flippantly, and you wonder how you could’ve ever thought he seemed like a different person just a bell before. So caught up in what he is saying, you fail to miss what he is not.

“When the day comes you get sick and need people that aren’t worth your time to make you better, I hope I’m there to see it.” You snap at him, crossing your arms as Ardbert quietly enters the driver’s seat and puts the car into gear.

“If I am sick and require care, they will be worth my time then, my beast.” He chuckles, and you turn to him with a frown.

“That’s not what I... that’s not how it--” You blunder, realizing he had outplayed you this time. Victory dances bright in his eyes, and with nothing to say, you resolve to sulk in silence as Ardbert takes you to your destination.

The car ride is silent the rest of the way, making sure to keep your gaze focused on the city as you ride into town. It wasn’t often you came downtown, to hear the hustle and bustle of commerce as people littered the streets, going about their day. Despite your mood, it was a lovely, spring day, the sun beaming down with just the right amount of warmth that you wouldn’t bake in your suit.

Pulling up to the curb, you make a move to get out until Zenos holds you still. Ardbert carefully gets out and walks around to Zenos’ door, opening it for him with a bow. Releasing you, Zenos steps out standing still until you have exited the car yourself. You throw Ardbert a small smile, one he nods to to let you know he saw it.

Rushing to catch up with Zenos’ long strides, you aren’t afforded much time to gape and gawk at the Galvus highrise. Before you even near the door, the doorman is already greeting Zenos with a respectful bow as he strolls by without so much as a thank you. You give one in his stead, watching the doorman’s eyebrows shoot up much like Ardbert’s eyes did those few days ago.

Several more employees greet Zenos as he walks through the foyer, and all of them are promptly ignored. You wonder if people were to treat him the same, would he demand they address him, or does he ignore them because he doesn’t care?

A man rushes over to Zenos, spouting numbers and flipping through papers. Zenos looks more bored than anything, but you glimpse his eyes scanning over the paper with great detail. Orders are given to the man who rushed over, who leaves with a quick bow and scurries off elsewhere.

“I’ll have you know, you are a terrible bodyguard.” He comments as you board the elevator, truly feeling like you’re following him like a lost puppy.

“Oh? How so?” You ask dryly, complete with eye roll.

"That man could've been sent to kill me, and yet you let him run up to me without a problem." He answers, reclining against the metal wall.

Floundering for an answer, you pray you're not red in the face. He was right. "Well, since you didn't seem alarmed, I saw no reason to interfere. Not like I know who all works for you. It is my first day on the job, you know." You huff, brows furrowed in annoyance as the elevator comes to a stop. You nearly bump into him as he comes to a halt as soon as he exits the elevator.

“Could you try to give a warning?” You snarl, glaring at his back as he presses the button to call another elevator.

“Certainly not. Though I see I must clearly work on your awareness as well. Had I not fought you myself, I’d doubt you were as skilled as you claimed.” He drones, crossing one leg over the other as his arms do the same. “I seem to have forgotten that I would have to train you in the mundane as well…” He murmurs, and you can’t help but snicker. He flashes you a deadly glare but that only makes you laugh harder. “And what is so funny?”

“Oh, nothing.” You snort, stepping onto the next elevator. “Just that you were so caught up in making me your gym buddy you forgot you’d have to teach me to do the actual work.” You giggle into your hand, watching as glare takes on a vengeful note.

“Actual work indeed...actual work I can come to make you regret.” He drawls, leaving you standing there mouth agape as he steps out the elevator.

Sure enough, he does intentionally make your first day hell. There is an absurd amount of walking; a poor office worker forced to give you a tour of the entire skyscraper that was surely over 100 floors tall. Even though you were healthy as a horse, you could tell you would need a good soak in the bath later tonight when you went home. You felt worse for the poor office worker made to lead you around, explaining every department, every floor in painstaking detail as if being watched. At this point would actually need to carry a small notebook to keep tally of the poor, everyday people Zenos has abused by being in power, and punishments for each.

The thought of such a list is what keeps you from diving across his desk when he asks you to recount the information of your tour in the same amount of detail, having the gall to interrupt you any time you glanced over who was head over what department or what floor to find something on, leaving you to wonder if he somehow had eyes everywhere despite not seeming to move from his desk.

It was humiliating as much as it tiring, demoralizing as much as it was tedious. You naturally called him out on his mistreatment, which he deflected by giving you another errand to run if you wanted to keep your job.

I’m undercover. I have to do this, for Chief Merylwyb, Commander Raubahn, the entirety of Kugane…

“Savage, go fetch Zephirin from accounting would you? And make sure to take the stairs.”

Even if it kills me.

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy 14 #THP #q

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pokemagines · 6 years ago

Text

chrom, alfonse, & hríd + protecting their s/o from a creep

anon asked: “Omg hi!!! I'm so glad I caught you on a time that your ask box is open! Could I request a summoner x Alfonse, Chrom and Hrid (separate) where the reader is getting hit on and gets pretty uncomfy and they save the day? Maybe the reader and the guy aren't in a relationship yet but def have feelings? I saw that you guys did something similar with Gaius and a few other heroes and I love those scenarios! Thank you so much you guys!! Keep up the great work 💗💗💗”

a/n: whoever this is.... know that u legit picked my 3 faves and yes i know i have bad taste but listen... if no one will develop my faves then i will gdi --mod touko

hríd:

you and hríd were sitting in a small tavern in one of the smaller towns in nifl. it was his favorite spot for a quick bite to eat and a drink, as it was one of the more classy establishments for those types of things.

he did, however, notice how the bartender kept winking and throwing little flirtations your way. obviously, he didn’t know who hríd was, lest he wouldn’t be so obviously flirting with you in front of him. you weren’t officially dating, no, but anyone who knew hríd even a bit knew he was head over heels for you. he just hadn’t found the right place to confess his feelings to you yet.

hríd excuses himself to go ask for another drink for you, and while he’s waiting, the bartender comes over to you, his eyes glimmering as he uses this opportunity to touch your arm, getting a bit too close for comfort. you try and move your arm without seeming rude, but his grip is firm.

“sorry, darlin’, you’re much too cute to keep my hands off of you...” he smirks at you, and you pray for hríd to come back quickly. “are you single? i don’t work for too much longer and wanted you to come home with me, how does that sound?”

“heh, no thanks but i’m good.” you force yourself to be polite, despite getting a really bad feeling from him. his smile drops, and his grip on your arm grows ever tighter.

“oh really? are you sure? i’ll be so much better to you than that g--” before he can finish his sentence, hríd forcefully puts himself between the two of you, feigning innocence and setting your cup on the table in front of him.

“any reason your hands are on [name]?” he asks, his normally cute voice suddenly turning icy as the winters in nifl. you feel yourself shudder, glad that the lech’s hands are off of you, but also mentally thankful that you’ll never be at the receiving end of hríd’s cold glare.

“you got a problem with that?” the guy puffs up as big as he can, but hríd is still at least a head taller. “i don’t see that you’re doing any good by them, anyways. leavin’ them all alone like that.” something in hríd snaps, and suddenly, he hoists the man up by his collar, and the people in the bar gasp. you stand up now ready to spring into action if you needed to hold him back (you couldn’t have him ruining his reputation as nifl’s peaceful prince because of you).

“alright let’s not cause a fuss now!” you say as cheerily as you can, the smaller man still in the prince’s grasp. “hrid, please.” you say, quieter to him, trying to diffuse the situation. “let’s just go.” he looks down at you for a second, then drops the man onto the floor. you apologize to the owner, who looks shocked, before dragging hríd outside.

“i’m sorry i don’t know what came over me.” is the first thing he says. you shake your head, the winter air stinging your cheeks. you aren’t mad at all, you just didn’t want him going through unnecessary trouble on your behalf.

“no i’m not mad i just... thank you for coming when you did.” you pull your coat across your chest trying to warm yourself up. “i thought--”

“i’m sorry i wasn’t there before, i shouldn’t have left you alone.” he looks embarrassed, but when he sees you shivering his gaze softens. he pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you trying to warm you up.

“it’s okay... we got out of there and that’s all that matters... plus, it was kind of cool when you picked that guy up.” you look up at him, the moonlight illuminating your face and giving you an otherwordly glow. it makes him want to hold you like this forever. he’s rendered speechless by your beauty, until he feels you shiver in his arms again.

“sorry,” he says with a faint chuckle, “all i can do is keep you cold.”

the two of you walk to the nearest inn, his coat draped across your shoulders after much reassurance from him that he’ll be fine without it. he doesn’t speak much, solely because he can’t get the image of you smiling up at him out of his mind. he tells himself that he has to confess to you soon.

that time comes much sooner than he counted on though, when the innkeeper tells the two of you that the only rooms left have one bed...

chrom:

usually when the two of you are in crowded places, he’s stuck to you like glue. he’s clingy, yes, but also he just wants to keep you safe. even if you assure him that you’ll be okay by yourself, he insists that he just likes being close to you, (”i am a man, after all”, he admits).

he has to leave you for a moment, however, when frederick ushers him aside to talk to him about something important, leaving you to wander about through the market by yourself.

you’re looking at some books in the market, when you feel a hand grab your shoulder gently, squeezing it for a moment too long. thinking it was chrom, you turn around to say something when you’re face to face with a man you’ve never seen before, who seems to be eyeing you intently. you try to move out of his grasp, but he continues to pester you.

“need help lookin’ for something lass?” he says, and this time you recoil out of his touch, bumping into another pair of arms, this time they belong to your husband, who has the tell-tale sign of fury etched across his face. chrom was a hothead, that most people knew, but when someone touched the person he loved most? nothing pissed him off more.

“no, but i’d advise you to keep your hands off of my spouse.” he says firmly, gripping the hilt of falchion just in case. you put a hand on his exposed bicep, trying to calm him down with your touch. you didn’t want the exalt to get into a fight with a civilian over you.

“chrom, please, just--” he turns his gaze to you, and he softens instantly, sizing you up to see if you looked upset. when he sees that you look fine, just a little rattled he asks:

“did he... hurt you?” he says gently, and you flush, glaring the man down. he’s sweating, eyes shifting trying to find any way of escape.

“he... he tried to... but nothing happened.” you try to diffuse as best you can with your words, but it seems chrom has already decided what to do. he grits his teeth and calls for frederick.

“milord, what do wish me to do with this cretin?” he says, a smile on his face while his eyes betray nothing but coldness.

“send him to the dungeons for a few days. that’ll teach him to keep his hands to himself.” frederick nods, and apprehends the felon, leaving the two of you alone near the small book stall.

chrom then asks you if you are okay once more, pulling you into his strong arms as he kisses your forehead gently. he promises to keep you safe from then on, but also advises you to stick up for yourself and make a scene if you feel uncomfortable. above all, he’s just glad you’re safe.

alfonse:

you and alfonse were out buying fabric for anna, who had the“brilliant idea” of making new years robes for the third year in a row. you didn’t mind much, because you got to spend more time with alfonse, and alfonse acquiesced once he saw how excited you were.

you hold his hand and drag him through the streets (alfonse trying not to overthink it too much but he’s a blushing mess because you’re touching him), until you get to the supply shop anna had recommended (which was oddly enough run by someone who looked exactly like her... and had the same name as her...). the other anna somehow manages to convince the two of you to try on some other costumes she had lying around. alfonse went first, shoved into the dressing room by anna after much begging by you to try it on. while he’s changing, she advises you to go ahead and try on your outfit. it’s a simple winter festival outfit, much like the one eirika wore last year, and you quickly get changed.

when you step out of the changing room, anna is nowhere to be found, and the only person in sight is a man who appeared to be shopping, but now that he sees you he flusters.

“wow didn’t know i would get a show too when i came here,” he chuckles, walking closer to you, “what’s your name, baby?” you resist the urge to swing at this obvious creep, and instead try and puff yourself up, not backing down from his stares.

“back off, weirdo,” you say, trying to keep your distance, but he doesn’t seem to get the memo, and continues advancing on your, spouting all kinds of degrading comments your way. seconds before you completely knock his lights out, alfonse steps out of the dressing room, looking quite pissed despite his tux and bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands.

“they said back off,” it’s a bit more high-pitched than he would’ve liked it to sound, and the guy doesn’t back down.

“what... this dude your boyfriend or something?” he says dismissively, looking him up and down and scoffing at his outfit.

“yes, and also the prince of askr. i would advise you to not make me repeat myself twice.” you flush at his words, you two weren’t dating but for some reason him claiming you were made your heart beat wildly in your chest. the guy sputters after alfonse mentions that he’s a prince, apologizing profusely before rushing off. he then turns to you, blushing, but also with a resolute look in his eye.

he tells you that he was changing as fast as he could when he heard the guy start to hit on you, and then he asks if he did anything to you. you assure him that you’re fine, just a little bit shaken up, and he smiles, pulling you into a hug. alfonse is never one to initiate physical affection, so you savor every last minute as he clings to you.

when you pull back, his arms still around your waist, you ask him what he meant by him being your boyfriend. he stutters and turns as red as anna’s hair, before you hear the familiar click of a snapshot tome, effectively ruining the moment as you go to wrestle anna for that picture.

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bitch-ass-bangtan · 6 years ago

Text

The one about how you met.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 3k

A/N: ay yo figured I could share my writings for once instead of just writing it and then never looking at it again like I normally do, hah. Anyways, enjoy some good ‘ol fluffy Yoongi. I wrote this at 3 am and never bothered to edit because I figured I would lose it between all the other stories but guess who just played themselves? And to be honest I can’t really be bothered to edit now because I’m lazy lmao. Also, please message me I have 0 ARMY friends and I want some to cry share all the memes with because oml.

Yoongi watched from where he was sat at his desk, smiling contently, as you slept peacefully on the sofa in his studio. An overwhelmingly sickening feeling of love and luck coursing through his veins. His stomach turned as he realised just how lucky he was to have found someone so pure, so beautiful, so content with just being with him. He slowly drank in every bit of you from the way your hair was sprawled out over the back of the armrest, to the way your arm was thrown over that same armrest, slightly covering your face. He smiled slightly as he heard you sigh contently in your sleep.

Yoongi didn’t realise how long he had been staring until his computer screen went black, indicating he hadn’t touched his mouse or keyboard in at least fifteen minutes. He didn’t even bother to get it to light back up, nor did he take the time to close it down properly like he know should do. He just simply stood up and sauntered over to the sofa. His heart hammered in his chest, the overwhelming feelings not fading in the slightest. In fact, they seemed to intensify with every step he took towards your sleeping form.

In the single year you had been in his life things had changed for him. He never knew how much impact a love interest could have, only knowing the incredibly romanticized version of the movies he would sometimes watch. The ones he would always deny to have seen whenever he was asked about it. But here you were, sleeping soundly on his sofa, and her he was, heart hammering against his ribcage at the reality of him having you here.

As soon as he was in reach he stuck out his arm, the back of his hand softly caressing your cheek as he crouched down next to your sleeping form. His touch seemed to have tickled as you scrunched your face and turned away from him, your body fully turning so that you were on your side. Your face was pressed into the back cushion of the sofa and your arms crossed in front of your chest.

Yoongi smiled, not even bothered by you turning away in the slightest. He knew he should wake you, get you to bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so quit yet.

He enjoyed the peace and tranquillity that coated the room like a thick blanket. Completely silent apart from your heavy breathing.

He looked at your back, his eyes resting on the exposed skin of your lower back where your- or in all fairness his- hoodie had risen up slightly. Once again Yoongi couldn’t help himself as he reached out to touch the exposed skin. It was cool under his warm touch and he smiled slightly at the goose bumps that appeared as he ghosted his nails over your skin.

His mind drifted once again as he absentmindedly drew patterns. He thought back to how you met. Your wide eyes, a bit anxious and full of wonder, still fresh in his mind as you took in him and his bandmates. At first he had thought you were a fan, stunned by seeing them in person, but as you stuttered out for your manager to come and help you he realised the only reason you were so shocked was because Namjoon had spoken to you in Korean and you –at the time- didn’t speak a word of it. Namjoon had apologized profusely, none of the boys realising you didn’t speak their language, and you had just smiled politely before telling him not to worry about it.

It had peaked his interest. He had wanted to know why you were working in Korea when you clearly didn’t speak a word of Korean. Hell, you didn’t even know how to greet someone in the language.

So, the next day, after Yoongi had left his room key in his room and closed the door by accident he found it a good enough reason to saunter back to the hotel lobby. He had felt so dumb as he slowly walked up to the desk, his cheeks slightly tinted pink as you were the only one there and he had to test his English abilities without help of his friend Namjoon.

You had greeted him with a smile, asking him how you could help him, and Yoongi had stuttered. Slight panic was evident on his face as he pondered over his words.

“I- um, I left my keys.” He nodded firmly, confirming to himself that it was in fact a solid English sentence. However you had frowned at him.

“You mean you lost them?” You questioned.

Yoongi shook his head. No, if he had lost them he wouldn’t know where they were.

“It’s in my-uhm.. room.” Proud of yet another sentence he met your eyes.

You smiled brightly at him, amusement radiating off of you as you nodded.

“Do you want a new set or do you want me to walk up with you to unlock your door?”

Yoongi had lost you there. He had no clue what you just had said, the words had flown out your mouth way too quickly, so he just sheepishly stood there.

“Yes?” he tried, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

This time you couldn’t help it as you let out a small laugh.

“I’ll just walk with you to unlock it, then,” you nodded.

Yoongi smiled at you as you made your way from behind the desk. Your master key card was hanging from a keychain around your belt and you tapped it in confirmation.

“What room were you in again?” you asked, leading the way to the elevator. Yoongi followed you, stumbling over his feet as caught up to you.

“Uh- one, five, three, nine?” He really hoped he had the correct translation to the numbers, otherwise this would turn out to be an even more awkward experience. And if he was honest, he really wasn’t looking forward to that, especially not at 1:15 in the morning.

Yoongi watched as you pressed the button for the elevator to come down. He kept a respectful distance, his eyes studying your movements.

The elevator dinged as its doors opened and both you and Yoongi got in. You went to press for the number 15 but Yoongi had beat you to it, resulting in an awkward touch of hands and an even more awkward elevator ride.

Yoongi cleared his throat as he folded his hands together, looking up at the ceiling. He was silently praying for God to end his misery already.

The doors to the elevator closed and the ride up begun.

Yoongi couldn’t stand the tension in the small space and cleared his throat again, desperately searching for a way to start up conversation. If only he had studied harder with his English, he thought.

“Why-,” he started, grabbing your attention, “Why you in Korea?”

You smiled at him, his attempt to speak English endearing you.

“Adventure,” you had simply shrugged, and it had peaked a whole new interest on Yoongi’s part.

“You learn Korean?” Yoongi, even though he still felt awkward, felt his ego grow as he realised he was having a conversation in another language. The boys would never believe him when he’d tell them.

“I want to, yes,” you smiled, trying to keep you sentences short so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed with foreign words.

“Maybe I can teach!” he smiled happily. You smiled back, his smile was contagious. Eyes crinkled and cheeks puffy.

“Maybe,” you mused.

The elevator dinged, indicating you had reached the right floor, and this time it was Yoongi who led you through the corridor. He stopped in front of his door and waited patiently for you to unlock it.

“Thank you,” he smiled, nodding at you.

“You’re welcome,” you had smiled back.

The two of you had stood there rather awkwardly, simply just smiling at each other, before you cleared your throat.

“Well, have a good night, sir.” You spoke politely before turning around. Yoongi didn’t reply, as he didn’t know how, and just watched your retreating form until you rounded the corner.

He pursed his lips, biting the inside of his cheeks as he entered his room. He really wished he could have spoken more to you.

After that it had become a habit for Yoongi to leave his key in his room, but only when he knew for certain you were at the front desk. Every night he would saunter down to the lobby with a sheepish smile and a little shrug.

By the third night you had caught on to his little act, but you didn’t say a word about it as you both stepped into the elevator.

On the fourth night you had surprised Yoongi by asking how he was doing in Korean. Your foreign tongue was evident, but Yoongi had been so impressed by it that he answered without even thinking about it. You had chuckled sheepishly as you told him you weren’t able to understand his replies yet, and Yoongi had laughed loudly at that.

On the fifth night Yoongi came down you were already waiting for him. You had grinned at him, waving your key card, and he just grinned back shook his head in response. You were surprised when he threw a bag of snacks onto the marble top of the front desk. He leaned on the marble surface with his elbows and smiled sweetly.

“I would take you out on a date but you’re working so this is the next best thing.”

His English had been so perfectly that you were rendered speechless. For a second you were convinced his entire broken English thing had been an act. But Yoongi had smiled as he opened up the bag.

“I practise that all day,” he had stated proudly, holding out the bag for you to grab some chips.

You had smiled brightly, a slight blush on your face. You couldn’t believe he had been practising just to talk to you and it made you feel special.

“So this is a date now, huh?” you asked, leaning forward in your seat.

Yoongi simply nodded, not even questioning whether you were okay with it. He figured if you weren’t you would have told him.

“Cool.”

On the sixth night Yoongi came down, but he wasn’t alone. Namjoon had caught on to what he was doing and was adamant to come down with him to make sure Yoongi would be too embarrassed to do it again.

You were slightly confused as you saw the two of them together, Namjoon dragging towards the front desk Yoongi by his arm.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you but Sugahyung seemed to enjoy his midnight adventures so much that I just wanted to join and see for myself!” The tall man had smiled brightly.

You had been too taken aback by his appearance and behaviour that you completely failed to see Yoongi shaking his head with pleading eyes.

“Sugahyung?” You questioned, choosing to focus on just a tiny bit of his sentence.

Namjoon smiled brightly, letting go of Yoongi’s arm, and nodded.

“It’s what we call Yoongi, but anyways; so what do you guys do? I find it hard to believe it’s talking.”

The silent jab by Namjoon made you frown and look at Yoongi for the first time in a while. He just looked at you guiltily as he grabbed his elbow and pushed his arms into his chest. You instantly felt sorry for him just by looking at him.

“We speak a lot, actually,” you shrugged looking back at Namjoon.

The tall boys eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Really? How?” He questioned, his smug and annoying attitude faltering for a second. It was only just a second, though, because Namjoon quickly remembered why he had come down here in the first place.

“Anyways, Yoongi-hyung keeps falling asleep during the day because he thinks his night time adventures are more important than our careers, care to tell him anything about that?”

You just frowned and shook your head.

“Namjoon, please,” Yoongi felt ashamed as he begged his friend to back off.

Namjoon turned to Yoongi fully and shook his head at the uncomfortable looking man.

“No, you have to understand that wasting your sleep just to get some ass is not the way things work!”

Yoongi looked shocked, eyeing you and praying you didn’t understand a word they were saying.

“Stop, that’s not what we do,” Yoongi spoke, his voice weirdly monotonous for the argument they were having.

“Right,” Namjoon nodded with a scoff, “you two talk.”

At this point you had had enough, the initial shock had worn off and you really didn’t like the way the dude was talking to Yoongi as if the poor man was 5 years old.

“Look, excuse me,” you started, catching both of their attention. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I would really appreciate it if you’d act like an adult here, we don’t want to scare away our clientele now, do we?”

Your voice was sickly sweet, the typical customer-service voice, as you smiled at Namjoon. The man looked around before looking at you like you were insane.

“There is literally no one here.”

You just simply shrugged, “My lobby, my rules.”

Now it was Namjoon who was taken aback.

The corner of your mouth quirked up at the fact you finally got to quote Mr. Mosby before you looked at Yoongi. He just mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again as he looked at your completely mortified. You just smiled calmly at him, wishing you could fix this situation for him.

“Look, just tell him to stop coming down here after 10 at night, or something,” Namjoon all but whined.

“Once again I’m sorry sir, but I am not mister Min Yoongi’s mother.”

Namjoon just scoffed as he looked between you and Yoongi, the latter not being able to hide a small smirk at how worked up you had gotten his friend. It was quite impressive if he was being honest.

“Please, it’s nothing personal,” Namjoon tried again.

“I think mister Min Yoongi is very capable of making his own decisions, sir,” you nodded with a polite smile.

“Oh, drop the act!” Namjoon cried out. “No need to use the customer-service voice on me.”

You just smiled, not giving the man a single inch.

“Fine,” the tall man huffed, “have it your way, then.”

He stomped off towards the elevator and Yoongi looked at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry for this,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled brightly at him and shook your head.

The seventh night you hadn’t expected Yoongi, and you couldn’t blame him either. But when the elevator dinged at 2 AM and a smiling Yoongi stepped out you couldn’t contain your smile.

“Second date, huh?” you questioned as he neared the front desk.

Yoongi smiled brightly, his eyes turning into slits, and nodded before throwing a new bag of snacks on the marble counter.

“If you still want, yes,” he spoke, his smile faltering slightly.

You snorted and without a reply ripped open the bag, causing Yoongi to smile brightly yet again. If the single most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in his life didn’t scare you away he had a good feeling about it.

“You learned new Korean?” he questioned, popping one of the sweets into his mouth. Both of you choosing to not mention the previous night as you fell in conversation with each other.

Yoongi cringed at the memory of that faithful night where Namjoon had acted like some psycho father. It had taken a whole lot convincing on his end for you to start liking Namjoon once the dates you two had turned into something more serious.

Right now, though, he was happy with the way you liked his bandmates. You all got along greatly and he wouldn’t wish to change things for the world. It was very important to Yoongi to be able to share his entire life, his highs and lows, with you. And BTS was a part of that. A huge part.

The fact that your Korean had gotten better to the point where he hardly even needed to speak English anymore filled him with pride. You were so smart, and beautiful, and loving, and funny, and persisted in learning Korean just so you could talk with his parents when you met them, and he was completely whipped; but he couldn’t give a shit about it.

Yoongi’s hand ghosted through your hair and you whined softly, alerting the man that you were waking up.

As you turned your body towards him, stretching in the process, and Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You smiled back tiredly, your face scrunching up as your supressed a yawn.

“Hey,” you mumbled, closing your eyes again.

“Come on, it’s late, we should go to bed,” he mumbled, his hand stroking through your hair again.

You sighed, enjoying his touch, and nodded. The sofa was comfortable, but it was nothing compared to Yoongi’s bed.

“I love you,” you stated lazily, still not moving and eyes closed.

You suddenly felt his lips touch your own as he captured you in a kiss that made you feel so incredibly loved you almost cried. When Yoongi pulled back you opened your eyes to stare up at him with big eyes.

“I love you, too,” Yoongi smiled, his eyes looking into your own.

You reached out to touch his face, a smile breaking through on your own. Yoongi leaned into your touch as you cupped his cheek. You pulled him back down for another kiss, your arm wrapping around Yoongi’s neck while the other grabbed his sweater.

Yoongi chuckled through his nose at your response and pulled you up, never once breaking the kiss until you were stood up straight. As he pulled away you whined softly, missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” Yoongi spoke lowly, a tiny smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah, let’s.”

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #min yoongi imagine #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #bts imagines #bts imagine #suga imagine #yoongi imagine #bts fanfic

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nickelkeep · 6 years ago

Text

Every Little Thing

Read on Ao3

When Charlie returned to the bunker after her LARP weekend, the last thing she expected was the chaos and disarray that greeted her. Boxes and books laid spread out in the War Room, rendering it claustrophobic and useless. She picked her way through the mess to the hallway that led to her room, determined to find someone, anyone, who could explain what the hell she missed.

After dropping off her duffle bag, she came across Sam in the library. Stacks of books surrounded him, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in a few days. “Yo, Sasquatch. Fun weekend?”

Sam looked up briefly from the book in his hands and offered a small smile. “Hey, Charlie. Not as fun as yours, I’m sure.”

“What’s all this?” Charlie swirled her finger around, gesturing to the influx of books. “Huge yard sale?”

“Not exactly.” Sam huffed out a chuckle and closed the book in his hands. “Jack found a hunt. Witches, over in Kansas City. Easy enough to stop. They were just improving their luck, but it turned sour on them. They wanted out. The demon they were using to improve their luck? Didn’t like that they wanted to stop.”

Charlie nodded in understanding. “Ok, but that doesn’t explain the sudden increase in the bunker’s inventory.”

“Dean said, and I quote, ‘Find anything suspicious and grab it, we’ll inventory it at the bunker.’”

“Ok?”

“Jack was with us.”

“Say no more.” Charlie picked up the book nearest to her. “Blood Types and Their Uses. Quite the topic.”

Sam grabbed the book out of her hand. “I kind of have a system going. I’m sure Dean or Rowena could use your help. Dean’s got the objects and Rowena has the spell books.”

“Point me in Dean’s direction. I know Rowena is a master, but I don’t want to disrupt her casting any spells.”

“Follow the loud complaining and griping. You won’t miss him.”

“Right. I’ll go search in the storerooms. Have fun?”

While Sam had not been kidding about Dean’s complaining, he neglected to mention the sheer amount of frustration emanating from their older brother. Charlie knocked on the door frame, “What’s up trouble?”

Dean pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaned miserably. “This is all shit.”

“It does look like I walked into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Shut up. I said, ‘See if there’s anything worth taking.’ I wanted to make sure nothing dangerous could fall into the wrong hands. Jack thought everything was dangerous.” He threw a cassette tape at Charlie. “Look at that. The Police. It’s an abomination, yes, but it’s not something for us to lock up and keep out of the reach of the public.”

“You’re just upset that you weren’t clear with Jack. That is no one's fault but your own.” She looked at the tape in her hands. “Dude, this is Ghost in the Machine! Easily their best album.”

“Forgot you like that crap. Keep it.”

Charlie stuck her tongue out at him. “And here I was going to ask if you wanted help organizing this…” she pointed her fingers around the room as she thought of a word, “disaster. Guess I’ll go find Ro and hope she doesn’t accidentally change me into a frog.”

“Pretty sure Sam sent her to the Arsenal. That way she could blast the training mannequins down there if she came across anything interesting.” Dean looked up and smirked. “Won’t have to hear your lame attempts at flirting either.”

“Jerk!” Charlie flipped him off before turning and walking out of the storage room.

“Brat!”

Charlie walked nervously through the hallway, tapping the tape to an unknown beat in her head. It wasn’t that Charlie regretted telling Dean about her crush on the witch, but she regretted the moments when he could tease her about it. Going to see Rowena right after being teased was causing her heart to beat a mile a minute.

She turned the corner into the arsenal to see her fellow redhead pouring over an ancient tome. A cup of tea was perched next to her, not surprising Charlie in the least. Rowena looked up at the sound of Charlie entering the hall and flashed her a soft smile. “’Ello Dove, come to keep me company?”

Charlie tucked her hair behind her ear. “I came to see if you needed any help. But I can keep you company too.”

“Yer brothers think they’re clever.” Rowena chuckled as she patted the seat next to her. “Come on Dove. I’m glad for ye.”

“Quite the haul of books they grabbed, huh?” Charlie asked as she sat. “I know Sam was pulling his hair out.”

“I think he has the harder job. Those wannabes, they were such droll housewives. Lots of Harlequin romance novels and gossip rags.” Rowena pointed at the cassette in Charlie’s hands. “What ye got there Dove?”

“Oh, this? It’s just a tape that was found at the house.” Charlie shrugged. “Dean declared it trash because he doesn’t like the band and I do, so he gave it to me.”

Rowena laughed heartedly, sending a warm shiver down Charlie’s spine. “Does that boy like anything besides that stuff he calls music?”

“Some of his stuff is good too. He’s just stunted in his musical growth.”

“Well, shall we see how much better your taste is in music?” Rowena pointed to a tape deck on the other side of the room. “Castiel left that down here. He listens to some sort of tape that Dean made for him when he’s on maintenance duty.”

Charlie blushed. “You’ve heard of The Police, haven’t you?”

“Aye Dove, but ye seem to forget how old I am. Go put it on. It cannae be worse than Dean’s music.”

“Okay.” Charlie got up and walked to the tape deck, removing Cas’ tape and putting in hers. She pressed the rewind button to make sure that it was queued up at the beginning and turned to look at Rowena. The witch was already looking back in her book, but unlike before she was smiling. Charlie hoped that was because of her. The tape deck clicked, signifying that the tape finished rewinding, and Charlie hit the play button. She waited a few moments for the music to start, but no sound came out. “Huh. That’s strange.” She hit the fast-forward button.

“What’s the matter, Dove?” Rowena perked up and closed her spell book.

“It’s not playing. There must have been a magnet or something nearby to wipe it.”

Rowena stood and walked over next to Charlie. “Charlie. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, then I should stop it.”

“I dun think ye should touch it.”

Charlie reached in to press the stop button as Rowena grabbed her wrist to block her. As the tape came to a stop the lights in the bunker shut off. Shouts of surprise could be heard echoing throughout the hallways. Sam and Dean scrambled to get the lights back on. As the lights finally flickered back on, the brothers were shocked to find that the bunker was suddenly short two fiery redheads.

“Charlie?! Please wake up, Dove!” The younger redhead found herself gently rocking in a warm embrace. Fingers were running through her hair as someone whispered soft and sweet words over her.

“Five more minutes?” She snuggled into the embrace. “I’m comfy.”

“Charlie!” Rowena’s relief-filled voice was clear as a bell. “Ye scared me.”

Charlie shot out of Rowena’s grasp. “I’m sorry.” She looked around. “I don’t think we’re in the bunker anymore. Where are we, Ro?”

“I’m not sure. Where did the boys say the case was again?”

“Uh,” Charlie closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, “Kansas City, I think? Yeah. Sam said that Jack found a coven of witches in Kansas City.”

“Dean dinnae do a very good job checking those items. That tape was cursed, Charlie.”

“Ok, then.” Charlie reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “We just call the boys, and have Dean come pick us up since this is on his ass anyway.” Charlie swiped on her phone before lifting it around and waving it in the air. “This is strange.”

“What’s the issue?”

“There’s no signal.” Charlie stood up and offered a hand down to Rowena, pulling her up to her feet. “Like none. I hacked my phone myself. I should be able to get a signal anywhere.”

“Did the spell damage yer phone?”

“I doubt it.” Charlie showed the screen to Rowena. “It’s doing everything else just fine.”

“Well, we should get moving Dove. We can ask to use a phone at a business or something.”

Charlie nodded then looked around. “Which way do we go?”

Rowena closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Charlie watched as the witch spread her arms out slowly. She turned as her arms came together, pointing in a direction. “That way, Dove.”

“I love watching you do that.” Charlie internally kicked herself. “I mean like. I like watching you do that.”

Rowena started walking in the direction her spell pointed her. “Ye know I can teach ye. ‘Tis not a hard spell and would be easy for ye to pick up.”

“I’m not a witch Ro. We’ve been over this.” Charlie followed. “And before you start, yes, I know I can do the stuff with the ingredients and what not, but so can Sam and Dean. That’s like cooking with exotic ingredients.”

“I’ve told ye before. There’s magic running through yer bones.”

“And I’ve never been able to do anything Ro, ever. I don’t know why you can read magic in me. Maybe it’s residual from Oz.”

“Aye, I can feel that magic on ye Charlie. But there’s more to ye than that.” Rowena walked up next to a building and looked around the corner. “The bloody hell?” She stepped back and walked around the corner.

Charlie chased after the witch, running into her when she was distracted by the obnoxious neon nights of the night club, they were near. “Sorry, Ro.” She looked up at the sign. “Silver Compass? This place went of business when I was in elementary school.”

“Yer familiar?”

“Yeah. It was a night club that was popular in the late 80s, early 90s.” Charlie added extra emphasis on both instances of the word was in her sentence. “It got shut down hard. Several churches in the area teamed up against it, calling it Satanic. Then two young girls died back to back within a week of each other. It never recovered. Some people bought into the churches’ rhetoric while some people thought the churches set up the club.”

“What do ye think, Dove?”

“I think I was six when everything went down and don’t remember much.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought they tore down the building.”

“Charlie?” Rowena looked over in surprise at the other redhead. “What if that cassette didn’t just transport us to another place?”

Realization lit up in Charlie’s eyes. “No.” She shook her head. “You think we went back in time too?”

“It makes sense. Ye have no signal on yer phone.” Rowena ticked her fingers. “There are bright obnoxious neon colors everywhere. A club that has been shut down for near 30 years is open. A building that was torn down is standing again. We might be in Kansas, but it’s when we’re in Kansas.”

“How do we get back?”

“We find the witches who cursed the cassette.” Rowena pointed to the night club. “And ye’ve already told me where to start.” Rowena started walking to the door.

“What are you doing?!” Charlie gently grabbed Rowena’s arm. “I know you’re powerful, but I can’t protect myself. I have none of my stuff with me.”

“We’re just two girls going to the club, Dove.” Rowena placed her free hand over Charlie’s. “Show me a good time?”

The hunter looked at the witch, lost for words and nodded. She looked down at where she had grabbed Rowena’s arm and finished sliding her arm through, linking them together. Charlie looked into the smiling face of the other woman before letting Rowena lead her to the entrance of the club.

The line for admittance was short, and before long the two ladies were in the club, enveloped by strobing neon lights and the warm melodies of one-hit wonders from the 80s.

Rowena sighed annoyingly. “I honestly hoped I would never see this decade again.”

“Really? Remind me to get rid of your cans of Aqua Net when we get back to the bunker.” Charlie winked.

“Ye wouldna dare.” Rowena feigned offense. “How else am I going to keep my coils perfected?”

“Wait? You don’t use your magic for that?” The barely taller woman joked. “I thought the Aqua Net was Sam’s.”

“We share.”

Charlie let out a snort and covered her mouth as she giggled at Rowena’s quip. “Not that this is the ideal situation, but I’m glad that if I got stuck here with anyone, it’s with you, Ro.”

“Aye, Dove. ‘Tis always my pleasure to spend time with ye.” Rowena stopped suddenly. “Did ye feel that?”

“No?”

Rowena pulled Charlie over to an alcove “Dove, listen to me. I need ye to clear yer thoughts. Almost meditate.” Rowena looked around the club. “There’s some strong magic at work here. I need ye to see if ye can feel it out.”

“Ro, I’m not– “

“If the next words out of yer mouth Charlie are ‘I’m not a witch,’ I’ll turn you into a salamander myself.”

Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’ll try?” Rowena nodded in acceptance and kept a lookout while Charlie took in a deep breath through her nose. She closed her eyes slowly exhaled, trying to ignore the bass and beat around her. A tickle of energy traveled up her spine, but she didn’t know if the feeling was her nervousness, or if she could feel the magic. “Ro, this isn’t working.”

She felt Rowena grab one of her wrists. “Focus, Love. I know you can do this.” Charlie inhaled through her nose again, focusing on the warmth of the witch’s hand on her skin. She allowed the beat of the music to embrace her as she exhaled, grounding her as she tried to feel for anything unfamiliar to her. The shiver from before was stronger and pulled at her.

“Charlie?”

“Do I follow it?” Charlie opened her eyes and looked at Rowena, both frightened and exhilarated by the string tugging at her sternum.

“Yes. But stay at my side. I couldna take it if something happened to ye. There is powerful magic at play here.”

“Ro, may I?” She slowly slid her hand up into Rowena’s.

She felt a reassuring squeeze. “Aye, Dove. I much prefer this. Now, lead the way.”

Charlie inhaled deeply again and let the imaginary string pull at her chest. She started walking back towards the rear of the club when Rowena stopped her.

“Dove, yer positive that’s where we need to go?”

“That’s where it’s pulling me. Do you think I’m doing it wrong?”

“Nay, I think yer spot on. Look above the door.” Rowena nodded towards the door.

“Are those sigils?” Charlie squinted, trying to read them. “I can’t read them from here. Are they obscured, or is it just me?”

“Yer magic is taxing ye, Dove. I know what they are though. They block unfriendly magic. If we go through that door, we’re both without power.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We destroy the sigils over the door, get in, find the cassette here in this time, and destroy it. It won’t exist in our time, and we go back.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Ro. I think we’d be stuck here. And I don’t want to make a time paradox.”

Rowena sighed and squeezed Charlie’s hand again. “Then we find the spell we need, get the reagents we need, and we send ourselves back.”

“Sounds better to me. Now, how do we destroy the sigils?”

“I need ye to drop the tracking spell.”

Charlie exhaled and looked at Rowena. “How? I barely understand how I got it to work.”

“What does it feel like?”

“The spell? Like a string pulling me.”

“Good. Imagine scissors,” Rowena mimed a pair of scissors with her fingers, “and cut it.”

“Just like that?” Charlie closed her eyes after Rowena nodded and pictured a pair of scissors. The first time she tried imagining them cutting the string, she felt no different. The second time, she copied Rowena’s actions and mimed the scissors with her finger and cut the imaginary string at her sternum. The tension disappeared, and Charlie found herself breathing easily, not realizing the toll the connection had caused her.

“Good, Dove.” Rowena gently caressed then patted Charlie’s cheek. “Ye dunnae happen to have a knife on ye, do ye?”

After a quick pat of her pockets, the taller redhead nodded. “Yeah, I have one. Are you thinking, what I think you’re thinking?”

“I cause a distraction and ye mar the sigils?”

Charlie nodded. “Yep. That’s what I thought you would say.” She rubbed her free hand over her eyes before pinching the bridge of her nose. “What are you going to do?”

Rowena laughed. “Yer picking up Dean’s habits. I’ll head to the bar, ask for a drink, and cause a commotion.”

“Your favorite wine not on the menu?”

“Too easy, Dove. Now, go get over by the door.”

“I can’t be that obvious.” Charlie listened for a second before pointing up to the ceiling. “Besides, this is a great song to dance to.” She started swaying her hips to the beat of China Girl. “I’ll make my way over. I promise.”

Rowena smiled and winked appreciatively before heading over to the bar. Charlie continued dancing, attempting to blend in with the rest of the club goers. She watched as her witch – could she call Rowena her witch? – ordered a drink then turned to watch her. There was a smile on the other woman’s face, and it set the butterflies in Charlie’s stomach to flight.

The bartender brought Rowena’s drink to her, and after she took a sip, she nodded to Charlie to start moving towards the door. Charlie nodded and started dancing towards the door. She forced herself to not look over towards the bar as she heard Rowena cry out and the commotion that followed.

As she made it to the door, she took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching her. She pulled her pocket knife out and flicked it open. She couldn’t reach the sigils just standing and reaching with her blade. She turned to look again, and upon confirming that no one noticed her, she jumped and swiped her blade across the five sigils over the door.

Each one flashed upon their break, and Charlie quickly pocketed her blade. She moved towards the bar, putting on a concerned face. “Ro? M'eudail?”

Rowena pushed through the crowd and collapsed dramatically into Charlie’s arms. “Ye wouldna believe what they’re tryna do, Dove!” She feigned hysterics and clung onto Charlie’s shirt.

“I’m sorry miss.” The bartender came over to the pair. “Let me help you get her into a booth.”

“What’s going on?”

“Charlie! It’s terrible!” Rowena’s sob was pitiful, and it took of all Charlie’s willpower to not laugh.

The bartender gently helped Charlie walk Rowena over to a booth. She slid in first, Rowena sliding in next to her, curling against her.

“Another patron made a move on your girlfriend.” The bartender explained apologetically. “The patron wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“And ye all did nothing to stop him!”

Charlie gently carded her fingers through Rowena’s hair before turning to the bartender. “Is that person still here?”

“No, he’s been escorted off the premises. The manager has advised me that any drinks you ladies want are on the house. Is there anything I can get you now?”

“We’ll be ok for now. I’ve got her.” Rowena faked another sob, causing Charlie to sigh. “Actually? Two waters, please.” The bartender nodded and walked away.

Rowena looked up at Charlie once they were alone. “Did ye break them, Dove?”

“Yep, all five.”

“Good. Now, when we get back home. Remind me that I have a serious question to ask ye.”

“Can’t you just ask it now?” The bartender returned with two glasses of water and set them in front of the ladies before leaving again. “I mean, no time like the present.”

“Aye, Dove. But we’re in the past.” Rowena sat up and took a sip of her water. “I want to have this conversation at home. Where I know we’ll be safe.”

Charlie nodded. “Ok. So, what’s the next step then?”

“We go in. Drink up.”

“Just like that?” Charlie played with the rim of her glass. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

“That’s the fun part.”

Charlie sighed and drank her water. “Let’s get this over with?”

“Aye.” Rowena slid out of the booth before leaning in and taking Charlie’s hand. “We can do this.”

The younger woman smiled and climbed out of the booth. She gently squeezed Rowena’s hand and followed her to the door. She had faced down evil witches and flying monkeys in Oz. She could do this with Rowena.

The two women paused in front of the door and Charlie checked over her shoulder. Rowena checked for any residual magic that would negate hers. “We’re good, but I think they’re expecting us. Stay behind me, Charlie. Please.” Rowena opened the door slowly.

A honeyed voice surprised both of them. “Do come in. We’re not going to hurt you. Yet.”

Rowena looked up to Charlie and nodded before swinging the door open confidently. She walked in with her head held high and her shoulders squared. “Good Evening.”

A blonde witch to their left spoke first. “Who are you, and why do you think you can destroy our protections?”

“My apologies, dearie,” Rowena spoke, her Scottish Brogue heavier than usual. “I dunnae like to go anywhere I cannae use my magic.”

“We can disable them from our end. You needed only ask.” A grey-haired witch to the right responded. “You’re far from home. In more ways than one.”

“A pair of witches far from their coven. Ha!” A male witch hidden within the shadows laughed.

The blonde witch moved forward and examined Charlie. “They’re not like us.” She leaned in and sniffed at Charlie’s neck. “They smell different. Here to judge us?”

The male witch stepped out of the shadows. “Here to kill us?”

“They want to go home.” The grey-haired witch spoke up. “Perhaps we can strike a deal.”

Charlie leaned forward and whispered in Rowena’s ear, “Is that the demon, Ro?”

Rowena let out the smallest of shrugs that only Charlie could see before addressing the grey-haired witch. “What do ye know of our home?”

“That it’s not a matter of where, but when.” The other witches in the room snapped their attention to the grey-haired witch. “Tell me. Which item brought you here?”

“Tell us how to get home.”

The grey-haired witch signaled to the blonde witch, who lunged at Charlie. Charlie, expecting an attack, stepped back and wrapped her hand in the witch’s long locks, snapping her head back and holding her in place. She reached down to her boot and pulled out her witch killing blade from Oz, causing the grey-haired witch to stare in awe.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind?” She turned her head to look at Rowena. “Did you know your lover owns that toothpick?”

“Of course. She is the one who killed the Wicked Witch of the West. Ye wouldna know that yet, cause it hasn’t happened yet. She helped free Oz of the tyranny of evil witches. Trash. Like. You.”

The male witch stepped forward, but Charlie spoke up. “Don’t come any closer, Romeo.” She held pressed the blade against the blond witch’s cheek. “She won’t be the first witch I’ve killed, and she won’t be the last.”

Rowena smiled at Charlie before turning to face the grey-haired witch. “Now. I’ll tell ye which item brought us here if ye tell us how to get home.”

“No.”

Charlie pressed the blade more firmly into the blonde witch’s cheek, causing her to whimper in pain. The male witch looked back and forth between his coven mates, helpless.

“You honestly think I believe that you killed the Wicked Witch?” The grey-haired witch stood up from her seat. “A pathetic runt like you?”

“Charlie– “

“I don’t care if you don’t believe if I did it or not. I doubt you’ll be alive in thirty-some years to find out. You keep coming closer though?” Charlie moved the blade to the blonde witch’s chest, the tip pointed at her heart. “At least I’m merciful.”

“Your lover will be so frightened of you if you kill my coven mate. You realize that, right? Don’t you feel the way she’s pleading for you to spare her?”

“Charlie.”

“I know, Ro.”

The grey-haired witch laughed. “See? Just let her go.” She walked up to Rowena. “You two are each other’s weakness, aren’t you?”

Rowena’s eyes flashed purple. “Now, Charlie!”

The grey-haired witch tried to move but found herself frozen in place as Charlie started chanting in Latin.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis legio! Omnis con potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis legio! Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica! Ergo, Draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te! Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis legio! Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica! Ergo, Draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!"

Black smoke poured out of the witch’s body before burning out and scorching the floor. She collapsed to the floor, her body shaking and convulsing.

“Mother!” The blonde witch struggled against Charlie, who let her go. She ran to the grey-haired witch and pulled her into her arms. “What did you two do to her?”

The male witch spoke up. “Was she possessed?”

Rowena nodded somberly. “Dearie, I know ye dunnae know us or trust us. But let me see if I can at least get her breathing a little easier?”

The blonde witch nodded, while the male witch came over to Charlie. “Which object?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We each placed a spell on an object. Siobhan, our mother, placed a spell on a locket. Erin, on a snow globe.” He offered his hand. “I’m Sean. I placed it on a cassette tape.”

Charlie tentatively shook his hand. “You realize you were just about to attack us, right?”

“My mother was a demon. I never agreed to that. It’s like a fog has been lifted.” He looked over at his mother and sister. “Which item?”

“Yours. The cassette tape.”

“Damn, and here I thought I was clever that no one would figure out how it worked.”

“It was an accident?” Charlie offered. “We didn’t think it was cursed, and I’m a huge fan of The Police. And when I didn’t hear music, I pressed the fast-forward button while it was playing. Which is what triggered it, I assume?”

Sean nodded. “Yeah. The music shouldn’t be wiped though. What year are you two from?”

“2019.”

“That’s thirty-three years from now. While I’m glad to know the magic lasted, I’m flabbergasted.”

“Can you get us back?”

“Yeah. Let me go talk to Erin.” Sean walked over to his mother and sister and Rowena came and joined Charlie.

“Dove, we messed with time. Remember the story ye told me?”

“Yeah. I figured. Good news is Sean said we can get back. We can see how bad we screwed it up.”

Rowena softly cupped Charlie’s cheek. “I need to say something, just in case.”

“Hmm?”

“I promised myself I’d never love again. And on the chance, we get back, and things are completely different. I need ye to know, Charlie.” Rowena closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before looking in Charlie’s eyes again. “I broke my promise for ye, Dove.”

Charlie smiled and rested her forehead against Rowena’s. “If somehow the world is that drastically different when we get back Rowena, I will find you. There’s no way that my heart can forget this.”

“Ladies?” Sean called over. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s now or never to get you back.”

Rowena took Charlie’s hand and squeezed it gently, leading her over to the three witches.

Siobhan spoke first. “I understand that I need to thank you, Charlie. I’d been trapped by the demon for so long, that I didn’t know how to fight anymore.”

“We can get you home,” Erin frowned, “but it comes at a price.”

“Each of us tied a piece of our soul to the object in question,” Sean explained. “When you triggered the spell, it brought you to the closest possible time and place to its casting.”

“Ye used soul magic?” Rowena scoffed. “Chuck Almighty, they’re as bad as yer brothers and the angel!”

“Angel?” Erin and Sean asked at the same time.

“Long story.” Charlie put her hands up to stop them from asking more questions. “So, you split pieces off your souls to put into your spells, to make cursed objects. I’m assuming we’re going to need pieces of our souls to go home?”

“No,” Siobhan spoke up again. “I have enough soul left to send you both back. My soul is destined for hell, so might as well use it up so they can’t have it.”

“We can’t leave you here soulless.” Charlie shook her head in defiance. “We’ve known too many people that way.”

Erin spoke silently. “She won’t survive the spell.”

“And it’s my choice, Erin.” Siobhan looked between Charlie and Rowena. “These two are going to shut down the club and lay low. They have promised to practice white magic strictly after this. And, if they’re still alive in your time, you can count on them as allies. They are bound.”

“We are bound.” Erin and Sean confirmed in unison.

“I have a lot to atone for, for what I did while under the demon’s control. I’m sorry to pass this burden onto you two.”

Erin looked away while Sean squeezed his mother’s hand. “We should have been more diligent and recognized what happened.”

“That wasn’t your job. Now, go prep the spell. I want to talk to these two briefly.” Siobhan waited until her children walked away. “I don’t know how your future will change, but I hope that you two are still together the way you are now.” Siobhan smiled. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little exchange between master and apprentice.

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t aware that I was making a deal with a demon. I thought I was talking to an attractive man in a bar. Sean and Erin never made a deal. We’re pure born, like the both of you. I don’t know if they’ll find you, but I hope they do.”

Sean walked over and interrupted. “Sorry to interrupt. We have everything.”

“Time is of the essence.” Siobhan held her hand up to her son, who easily pulled her to her feet. “Once their incantation is done, you both will have only moments to go back to your time. Do you remember the date and location?”

“Aye,” Rowena responded, “but does the exact time matter? I’m not familiar with this kind of magic.”

“It doesn’t,” Sean explained, “two versions of your soul cannot be in the same place at the same time. It’s a paradox. So, the spell should put you back to a time after your soul came here.”

“I hate soul magic. No offense.”

“None taken.” Sean nodded at the two women. “When you two are ready, Erin and I will start the spell.”

“I need one second, I’m sorry.” Charlie slipped her hand out of Rowena’s and pulled a pen out of her pocket. She scribbled something on her hand before turning to Rowena. “Give me your hand, Ro.” She took the other woman’s hand and wrote something on the palm before closing it. “Open it when we get home.” She slid their hands back together. “We’re ready.”

Erin forced a smile. “Both of you need to think of the exact date and the location of where you two were.” She turned back to her mother. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, dearest. Be strong. For both you and Sean.” Siobhan turned to her son and smiled. “Watch out for your sister.”

Sean nodded. “Love you.”

The siblings began casting their spell, and a portal opened next to them. One of them yelled “Go!” loudly, signaling for Rowena and Charlie to make their move.

Charlie woke up in her bed in the bunker. While she didn’t feel completely different, she knew that life was different. She opened her hand to look at her palm.

Even though my life before was tragic

She smiled, knowing that she remembered writing those words and why. The question that plagued her was if Rowena still returned those feelings. She sat up and rubbed her eyes before looking around her room. While it was still very obviously hers, she noticed items in the room that didn’t belong to her. Her heart pounded in her chest, nervous to find out who those items belonged to.

She got out of bed and looked at the books on her desk. Her favorites were still there, but alongside them were several spell books that she found she could read. Charlie couldn’t read spell books. She needed Rowena to translate them for her.

Charlie wrapped herself in her robe and walked out of her room and down the hall to the kitchen. Dean and Cas were sitting at the table drinking their morning coffee. Dean looked up and smiled. “Hey there, Kiddo. How you feeling?”

“Little bit of a headache. Slightly confused.”

“Well, considering what Rowena explained, that makes perfect sense.” Cas offered. “She did want us to tell you she wanted you to come find her when you woke up. She said you were so peaceful this morning, she couldn’t do it herself.”

“She was in my room?”

“Uh, yeah Kiddo.”

“Dean. Remember what Rowena said?”

“Yep, better let the two lovebirds go figure it out.” Dean winked at Cas before looking at Charlie and smiling. “She’s in the library with Sam. He’s interrogating her, so your damsel probably needs a rescue.” Charlie heard a thud. “Ow! Dammit, Cas! That was right on the shin.”

“Right, the library. Thanks.”

Charlie exited the kitchen and made her way to the library. As Dean had said, Sam was tossing question after question at Rowena, asking about what had happened the day before.

“Samuel! Ye already asked that!” Rowena pinched the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if I dinnae need to know the changes in the timeline, I wouldna’ve told ye anything.”

Charlie cleared her throat, causing Sam to jump and Rowena to look up and smile. “Need a break, Ro?”

“Aye, but I’m not letting him at ye yet.” The smaller witch pointed at Sam. “Out. I need to talk to Charlie. Alone.”

Sam threw his hands up in defense and chuckled but walked over to Charlie and gave her a bear hug before walking out of the library. Charlie walked over to where Rowena was sitting and sat in the chair next to hers. “So, the stuff in my room?”

“Aye, tis mine.”

“And us?”

“Per Samuel, we’ve been together since shortly after the issue with Amara.”

Charlie squeaked with excitement before composing herself. “Any other major changes?”

“Another witch lives here.”

“Did Erin or Sean find us?”

“Erin chose to break the bond her mother set. Sean came to warn us. While he does not live here, he is a very valuable ally that we trust. Jack is also very fond of him. Apparently, he brings the best sweets.”

“You sound like a jealous auntie.” Charlie laughed. “Seriously though. Who is the other witch?”

Rowena tapped Charlie on the nose. “Did ye not listen to anything me or the other witches said? Did ye forget what ye did when we were trapped back in time? I told ye. Ye had the power all along.” Rowena smiled. “According to Castiel, after the business with the Mark of Cain, I took ye on as my apprentice. Yer strength is in nature and healing magic.”

“Really?” Charlie stared at Rowena in awe. “I knew something felt different when I woke up, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, Samuel is more than happy to talk to ye about the past few years, the scholar and librarian that he is. But he does want to ask some questions as well.”

“That’s fine, I mean, it makes perfect sense. We tell them that this happened, we screwed with the timeline. They’re going to want to figure out if we really screwed the pooch on something.” Charlie giggled. “I’m rambling.”

“Aye, but I’m used to it. ‘Twas always endearing.” Rowena carded her fingers through Charlie’s hair. “’Tis probably a moot point now, but when we were in the club, you called me M'eudail. When did you learn that?”

Charlie turned bright red. “You heard that?” Rowena nodded. “I looked it up. I was trying to build up the courage to tell you how I felt. So, I thought if I knew terms of endearment, then perhaps I could call you one and it would get the point across.”

“Like how I call ye ‘Dove?’” Rowena smiled playfully.

“I’m sorry I’m oblivious. At least I’m not as bad as Dean, right?” Charlie asked with confidence, that abruptly shattered when Rowena laughed. “What? No. Please, Ro. Don’t tell me he’s less oblivious than me in this timeline.”

“I’ll let ye ask yer brothers that.” Rowena took Charlie’s hand and opened it so she could read it. She smiled warmly. “Charlie?”

“Yeah, Ro?”

Rowena opened her hand and showed her palm to Charlie.

Now I know my love for her goes on.

#spnsaffic #spnsafficchallenge #rowena x charlie #80s challenge #time travel #every little thing she does is magic #cursed objects #rowena macleod #charlie bradbury #tw: original character death #warning: background ship

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codywalzel · 7 years ago

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It is my personal belief that no one can teach another human being a single useful thing about how to make art. My understanding of “teaching” is giving someone something directly, like a full-proof method for balancing algebraic equations, or the definitions of SAT words. I went into art school with the hopes that cryptic lesson plans would lead to a Mr. Miyagi style evolution that would unlock my hidden powers. If I knew what I do now about how to art-learn, I might have gotten something substantial out of college. But in my experience, art education begins and ends with either: 1. Another artist opening your eyes to an idea about drawing that you hadn’t noticed before, or 2. Elaborating on their go-to solutions they use in their own work. Someone can tell you that you can ground your storyboards by drawing a ground grid. But using that grid in correct perspective, to it’s intended effect, is not something someone can do for you. Art educators and mentors can help you identify solutions to problems, then you work out how to implement it yourself. At the risk of sounding like a pedant for drawing that distinction, I’ll say that since I started approaching creative learning from this perspective, I get a lot more out of it. It’s become more “guided experimentation” than recording a recipe for the perfect painting. That said, storytelling in art is definitely something you can teach yourself. You’ve identified a trait already, storytelling, so you’re already at the limit of where some teachers can take you. Plus you identified something astute, because I’ve been trying to incorporate storytelling into my art for a while, and have only recently started to get a handle on it. So in my opinion, you’ve done the bulk of the thinking work. Now comes the heavy practice work to master this new spell. This journey has a lot to do with finding your voice as a storyteller, so the tone of “YOU”, and the style of rendering that best expresses that tone in this time and place, will have a unique set of challenges for each person. But, I’ll take you through some of the realizations I had on the path to where I am now: A proud adult with two cats and a hit or miss batting average at clearly expressing thought in a sketch.

Capturing an entire scene in a single, static drawing is something my mentor Ian Abando does masterfully. I used to try to emulate the personality I saw in those drawings, but I was only copying the surface. I realize now that me and Ian’s outlooks are so different, that Ian and I would never tell the same type of stories, much less the same exact same story about those people at the adjacent cafe table. He’s personable, outgoing, jovial. Ian is like a friendly labrador with a dark streak in his sense of humor. He can sketch two strangers and capture a warmth that makes you realize they’re actually two old friends that haven’t seen each other in years. I can find something in that coffee shop too, but I’m just a way bigger weirdo, so I’m more interested in weirdo shit. For me, the first step in capturing those stories was finding the right subject. I keep a sketchbook with me at all times, and I’ve developed a patience for waiting, for hunting the right subject. When Ian and I meet up at a coffee shop to sketch, it always seems like he can draw anything. He seems to rest his gaze somewhere in the room at random, then drop pencil to page and watch that snippet explode into life. But now, I think he’s hunting too. I think he’s searching for what’s interesting, what’s worth drawing to him. It only seemed random to me because I couldn’t see what was beautiful about a subject. That he can see a particular magic in a certain 6 square feet of space, and not 6 feet next to it, has to do with who he is. In my mind, he was making that table of pleasant, unremarkable strangers more interesting on the page than it really was. But in his mind, maybe he saw that a girl was counting down the seconds until the end of a bad date, and the guy was trying to find subtle ways to flex. Even now that I can “see” more, I might never appreciate the specific things that Ian does until he draws them.

The potential exists for that to be true of all of us. Art is a magic that lends other people your eyes. So let people see the pieces of your world that only you can. Just like he can do for me, I can see what’s interesting in scenes that Ian would overlook. And there are a million scenes where we’d see the same fascinating thing, but we’d have a different approach to it (for one, his approach would be to be way better at drawing than me). And there are a million more scenes that we’d both see something interesting in, but we’d each attach to a different feature of it. All of that to say, don’t just pick out something and draw. If you want to tell a story, then don’t draw just to put something down on the page. Wait. Observe. Find a moment that makes you laugh. Find somebody despicable, and capture what’s despicable about them. Use a sketch to vent. Or make a sketch intentionally cold, and show everyone what your specific brand of loneliness feels like without begging for sympathy. I’d rather keep observing and draw nothing than to try to draw something dull because it’s in front of me. Find the stories you’re personally interested in, you probably have something funny or insightful to say about a given situation that is unique to you. Try to put that weird part of you on display. If it scares you, then it’s probably coming from an honest place, and you should keep going. It may be clumsy at first. The story I want to tell still doesn’t come across on the page every time. Meanwhile, Ian seems to capture his stories without a single failure. If stories are Pokemon, he’s tossing great balls while I’m stuck with a standard issue poke ball. He’d probably say that comes down to pencil mileage. So keep practicing. Keep putting pencil to page even on the shit drawing days. It’s a toll you have to pay to be good down the line, even if you’re not good today. But, please, keep your brain turned on, that means always make an effort to be interesting. (Everyone go ahead and make that same effort in life too. Being boring around the water cooler at work is super rude and depressing.) Like I said, being interesting in your art usually just comes down to taking an extra second to consider your subject before you start drawing. What am I seeing here? Is this the thing I want to draw? Where am I going with this? Is this coming from a real place? Am I digging to find the best I have today, or am I just making the same tired observation about airline food that I’ve seen before? And if I’m drawing something a lot of people draw, I make sure to ask what can I bring to this? What story can I tell about this that no one else is telling? Example: for the most part, if everyone around me is gushing about some new Star War via fanart, another well rendered post telling the story that you also enjoyed the Star War isn’t that interesting to me. I’d rather a worse drawing driven by a more interesting idea. You can participate in the cultural conversation without just repeating what’s already been said. I’m more likely to enjoy your Star War art if it comments on that one character’s funny butt pose in the third act. Or whatever. That’s just an hypothetical it doesn’t have to be butts. The point is to put more thought in to your art. Wait a sec for the right idea, don’t just start drawing. You will know when you spot the right subject because you will already see it on the page. Plussss, when you start drawing with a clear idea where you’re going, not only is it more interesting, but it actually informs your craft- your drawings will come out better. Okay, let’s say I’m not interested in the people a table over at the coffee shop, how do I know what else to look for? As stupid as this sounds, tweeting helped. Not just reading other people’s tweets, but putting myself out there, wording an idea with limited characters, figuring out what types of things could be explained, and what things were hard to express. And then I started to notice more and more effective way to express those ideas with a specific tone. One thing I realized about myself was that I trying to say two or three things about something at once. It made good ideas muddy, and weakened all three. I challenged myself to clarify, to combine, to present a single, strong idea. I’m still working on it, but for me tweeting is a storytelling exercise that’s helped put more “me” into my art. It forced me to get thoughts, ideas, jokes, frustrations, etc. out into the ether unadulterated by technique. There was no consideration of line quality or volume, so a thought had to stand on it’s own two legs. I doubt tweeting would help many artists in the same way. But I think in words exclusively, images come later. I write outlines and dialogue in detail before I ever touch storyboard or comic thumbnails. But I’m in the middle of transitioning into writing, so I think my brain is naturally more verbal than most artists. Even with so much internal commentary, my art was without clear storytelling for a long time, because ideas either got lost in the drawing stage, or were too complicated to fit into a single image. Tweeting taught me how to be concise, (I’m clearly not using that skill for this reply, but whatever). So find your own method for making yourself comfortable enough to open up. Which leads me to the most my recent storytelling realization: Don’t be afraid to put your opinions in your art. What you feel passionate about from the deep to the mundane can guide you in your search for a subject. I think people’s egos are funny. LA’s coffee shops are flooded with aspiring creatives mouth-shitting hot takes on art with dogmatic authority, and all from their designated unemployment-check-opening-butt-crater that they’ve worn into the cafe couch. I’m not denigrating anyone that hasn’t made it yet. But I am laughing at the unearned confidence of beardy over at the next table, and the volume at which he’s dropping that savage insight into the Black Mirror episode using stolen lines he just finished reading in a Robert McKee book. Beardy is a “writer” you see, I know because he might have mentioned it a few times to the people he’s with. So yeah, one thing I like to draw is people with their ego’s showing. It makes me laugh. Probably because I too have a big, fragile ego.

That “storytelling” thing is a muscle, like being funny at a party. You get good at party banter if you put yourself through the pain of attending multiple parties close together. (I’m convinced no human being actually enjoys parties, by the way. We all think we’re the idiot just outside the conversation circle that can’t find a big enough gap in people’s shoulders. But parties are the hardest social video game and It’s a little fun to be good at it.) The same way, you keep that storytelling muscle active in your drawings, and you’ll get momentum. If you take a month off, it’ll get weaker, and you’ll have catching up to do when you come back to it. Draw “you” day in and day out. One day you’ll starting getting these bursts where you stop thinking about the drawing process. You’ll stop actively trying to make it “good”, you’ll be swept up, and you’ll disappear into your own rhythm. It’s probably on that day that you’ll look down and realize you just communicated on the page. But let’s move on to a matter of real importance:

The older I get the more I resemble an anime. Thoughts?

#ask #art #advice #storytelling #writing #sketching #drawing #artists on tumblr #Cody Walzel

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merigreenleaf · 7 years ago

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AU Tuesday - “Stuck With You” Part 8

(Next week we'll return to the regularly scheduled platonic shenanigans of the dorks, but Etri wouldn't let me take away his canon crush on Adair, so, well... here's some romantic fluff in a story I didn't intend to have any fluff lol. The prompt I’m using is "A [platonic] soulmate AU where you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you for the first time and it turns to millions of colors once they do." The events are all [or mostly] canon to the series; the only real change are the soul-marks. These can really be read in any order because each part pretty much stands on its own. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9.)

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Harsh light far more dazzling than daylight prevented Etri from seeing anything but Blythe and the six wooden targets lined up across the stage. This was intentional; Sol knew his fears and lit the stage lamps as blazingly bright as he could. With the audience out of sight, Etri could convince himself that this was merely another knife juggling practice with Blythe, one such as he shared in solitude with her each day. Performance never failed to set him on edge despite the presence of one who meant so much and the aid of the stage itself. In addition to the lamps, auditory weaving built into every stage prevented audience distraction by muffling their voices. While sound could pass through the intangible barrier, it became muted, making it nearly impossible to pick out individual voices unless they, too, were on stage. Etri would forever appreciate a country where weaving was so readily available.

It did, however, have its disadvantages. When one of the troupe’s acrobats hoisted herself up onto the stage and passed through the barrier, her sudden shout of Blythe’s name came without warning. As Blythe turned her head, Etri lunged with his own weaving at the knives he had tossed. The shadow caught them just as they reached her. He held his breath until the blades safely passed through Blythe and into the target behind where she stood. It was unlikely the audience would notice the split second of intangibility and would assume he had intentionally thrown the knives around her instead of to her for her to catch and throw back. It was always a risk to use his weaving in public, but the safety of Blythe mattered above all else. She was his soulmate and his best friend, and he would do anything in his power to protect her, up to and including telling off the girl for disobeying troupe rules and putting Blythe into unnecessary danger.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves at the thought of confrontation, only to have his heartbeat speed up when the acrobat spoke to Blythe. “Come quick! Your roommate’s sick and Wysta wants you!”

Logic would have dictated remaining behind for further information. Logic, however, was irrelevant when the situation involved Adair. His condition must be serious if Wysta deemed it important enough to send someone to interrupt their performance in such a dangerous and urgent manner. Despite the message intended for Blythe, Etri dashed through the carnival and then the performers’ camp at her heels. Adair had been in perfect health when they’d left him with Sol, so perhaps one of Sol’s inventions backfired and caused him harm. If this were the case, surely the message would have stated an injury and not an illness...

If it was an illness, it was one entirely unfamiliar and, at least at first glance, not dire. Adair sat next to Sol on one of the cots in the lead healer’s wagon and it was Sol’s reaction, not Adair’s, that first belied the normality of the scene. He clutched the hand of his friend so tightly he hid from view the rainbow mark designating Adair as a soulmate. However, it was Adair’s complete lack of reaction to Sol’s painful grasp, Blythe’s touch to his forehead, or Wysta's repeated attempts at calling his name that concerned Etri most. Adair had proven himself much like Sol in that sitting still for any length of time should be an impossibility, yet here he was, still as a statue or one of Sol's garbage sculptures. His soft brown eyes, usually so warm and amiable, failed to notice the presence of his friends or their concern. Despite all effort to gain his attention, he continued to stare vacantly at the wall across the wagon.

Blythe grabbed Sol by the front of his shirt and yanked him off the bed. “What happened to him?”

Sol released Adair's hand so he could free himself from her grip. Adair's hand and arm hovered in the air for several seconds before slowly lowering to rest on the bed. “I don't know! We were just playing cards and I got bored and so we went to find you guys and then he started doing this thing where he just stares. I had to carry him here and it’s like he doesn’t see me. Why doesn’t he see me? Is he mad at me? I was trying to let him win because he didn’t know how to play the game and I wanted to teach him but I’m not very good at teaching and do you think he’s mad because I was cheating for him? Should I-”

“Solei, please sit over there so Blythe and I may work.” Wysta’s bracelets jingled when she pointed to the cot against the far wall. “I said you may be contagious and you disobeyed my instructions to stay at home.”

Sol's lower lip and voice both trembled. “Did I hurt him? I didn’t mean to hurt him! He’s my buddy and my important and I never want to hurt him!”

Blythe looped an arm around his waist and led him over to the corner cot. “I know you don’t. Please sit down so we can figure this out, okay?”

With a sniffle and a nod, Sol listened. After Blythe and Wysta finished checking over Adair and had began to theorize about the potential cause of his condition, Etri took Sol’s vacated spot on the bed. He wished to take Adair’s hand as Sol had done, to reassure himself that Adair remained flesh and blood, and it was an effort of will to keep his hands firmly locked together on his lap. It would be improper to allow himself to touch someone he had known only a few days.

To avoid the temptation of contact, Etri stared down at his own hands and the half-changed marks representing Blythe and Sol. On both hands the shifting rainbow granted by his two discovered soulmates intermixed with the original black stain indicating a soulmate yet to be discovered. Now, as often happened when his attention was drawn to his hands, he found himself questioning his decision to hold onto old traditions. He could instead touch as freely as Sol and discard the last few customs as his brother had done. It was always the fear of being found unwelcome, of the other person recoiling away, that kept this decision alive. It was possible Adair would not mind and that a few days of friendship no longer meant impropriety, yet Etri would not try this now, not when Adair could not respond with either consent or disapproval.

When the healers' conversation turned into an interrogation of Sol, Etri closed his eyes to attempt to shut it out. Raised voices, even when not directed at him, left him unsettled and with his stomach in knots. He breathed in deeply once, twice. They were not angry at Sol, nor would anyone confront Etri himself. He would remain here for the sake of Adair. Adair was his… yes, Adair was his friend and he would not allow discomfort to chase him away. Caught inside his own head, it took Etri a few moments to realize that the bed had shaken. The healers were across the room with Sol, which meant… Etri’s eyes flew open in time to see Adair pass through the doorway. No one else noticed; still they argued only a few feet away. A choice between delaying to get Blythe’s attention and following Adair to be sure of his health was not a choice. The safety of Adair could never be a choice. He left one of his knives on the bed to alert Blythe that he was with Adair, then sprinted after him.

Etri need not have hurried because Adair was in no hurry. He walked as though his legs were weighted, with slow steps heading for- “Atair! Watch out!”

Adair swerved just in time to miss walking face-first into the neighboring wagon. Etri’s hope that his warning had been heeded was crushed when Adair continued his slow, steady trudge westward with no reaction to the presence of Etri or anything smaller than a house. If Adair would not respond, perhaps his destination would grant an answer as to why he walked in a daze. With this thought in mind, Etri stayed near Adair when he left the camp and entered the city. Adair had no more narrow misses with walls, but the same could not be said for people. Adair paid them no more heed than he had Etri, which resulted in collisions with anyone who blocked his path. The strange looks they received did nothing to ease Etri’s earlier apprehension and his apologies quickly became short, anxious mutterings directed more to the ground than to the victims of Adair’s inattentiveness.

He turned away from apologizing to the shoes of yet another stranger to find Adair no longer in sight. In a sea of taller people, Adair was a head of dark hair among many. It was only the flash of his familiar blue shirt that caught Etri’s eye in time to prevent disaster. As Adair started his oblivious shamble across the street, Etri grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him out of harm’s way. He ignored the rude gestures and shouts and deposited Adair back on the sidewalk, only to have him step off the curb again. Etri’s worry about touch was rendered moot. Again he caught Adair by the waist and carried him away from the street.

Once out of the flow of pedestrians, Etri set Adair down in the doorstep alcove of a shop closed for the night. Having learned better than to let go, he rested his hands on Adair’s shoulders. Adair attempted to continue his blunderous trek until he found himself stopped by Etri, yet still he tried to walk forward. Etri had no desire to hurt him, so instead of tightening his hold, he leaned down until he was eye level with his friend. Was it purely hope causing him to see what there was not, or was there a little more spark of life in Adair’s eyes? They seemed a little more focused, although not enough for Etri to believe that Adair was aware of him. A passing snide comment about getting a room made Etri step away, but he gritted his teeth through the worry that they were being watched and returned his hands to Adair’s shoulders. Softly he spoke Adair’s name.

All remained as it was until Adair blinked a few times, slowly, but in much more rapid succession than his previous stare. His hand came up to rest against Etri’s chest. Etri fought the urge to check that they were not being watched and spoke his name again.

This time it was enough. Adair’s eyes came into focus, then darted around as he took in their surroundings. He clutched the front of Etri’s coat with a hand that trembled slightly. “Etch? What happened? Where are we?”

Etri brushed Adair’s shoulders with his thumbs in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “You are safe. You were unresponsive and Blythe and Wysta could not discern why. You then walked into the city as though in a daze. Are you now well?”

“Yeah… At least, I think…” A frown came over Adair’s face and he tipped his head backwards until it tapped the wall behind him. “I did that sleepwalking thing again, didn’t I? That’s how I got to the carnival in the first place.”

“You have done this before?” Etri let his one hand fall from Adair’s shoulder and brought the other to rest between Adair’s head and the wall. The last thing Blythe would want would be Adair bringing harm to himself. While the building stones were not traffic, Etri wished to take no chances.

Adair smiled sheepishly and stood straight, releasing Etri’s coat and lowering his arm. “Yeah. It’s my map doing it. It’s over… there. Yeah, that way. I gotta go get it while I can still feel where it is. I think it wants me to find it.”

As much as Adair’s stolen art held importance to him, it must not be allowed to let him act so rashly. “I believe first you should see Blythe. You nearly walked into traffic and I wish her to determine that you are truly well before you seek that which you lost.”

“I did what?”

It seemed that Adair had no memory of what occurred while he was in a weaving-induced trance. This was all the more reason to return him to the healers. “You were unaware of your surroundings. I brought you here so you would not be harmed.”

Adair bumped his head against the wall, this time with more vigor. “This is so dumb. I’m so dumb. If I didn’t let it get stolen, this wouldn’t be happening.”

Again Etri placed his hand between Adair and the wall. “Please stop this. You must not come to harm now that you are awake.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself.” To Etri’s relief, though, Adair stopped. A moment later Adair took his hand and held it between them. “Etch! When did this happen?”

A realization that had nothing to do with Adair’s question left Etri reeling, as though he was the one knocking his head against stone. Adair did not mind his touch, which meant it was proper to touch him. Adair was not disgusted or thought it unwelcome. He wanted to touch Etri.

It wasn’t until Adair held their joined hands up to eye level that Etri saw that which Adair questioned: his soulmark had changed. A quick check of the other hand revealed that both were now a shifting chromatic pattern. He knew he had not touched anyone else, only Adair. “It is likely when I carried you from the street.”

Adair gasped and dropped Etri’s hand, leaving him wondering if his assumption about Adair’s approval of touch was incorrect. Adair lifted the hem of his shirt, which was bewildering until Etri noticed the matching marks peeking out from Adair’s waistband above both hips. Before Etri could say anything, Adair threw his arms around his neck. “You’re my sentinel!”

Etri wrapped his arms around Adair and he could swear he felt Adair smile even through the thick coat he wore. His impulse to protect and touch Adair was not only acceptable, it was fated. Yet he could not be sure... “You have many marks, yes? It may be one of them. Blythe, perhaps.”

Adair pulled back only far enough to look up at Etri and the intensity in his gaze denied all possibility of an incorrect guess. Etri would do anything to keep this boy with his expressive eyes in his life forever. “You protected me. Blythe and Sol care, but you’re the one who kept me from getting flattened. You knew I could be in danger and followed me. One of my marks has to be a sentinel's. That's you, assuming you want to be stuck with an artist who sleepwalks into carnivals and traffic.”

There was no hesitation or doubt left in Etri’s mind. As a sentinel, he would protect Adair no matter the situation, and if that meant protecting Adair from himself until he recovered his map, so be it. If it meant a furious Blythe because they retrieved said map before checking in with her, so be that, as well. Etri took a step back and caught Adair’s hand. “Lead me to your map. I will help in whatever manner you wish.”

Adair’s warm fingers threading through Etri’s matched the warmth of the smile he gave. Perhaps it was not such an improper thing to touch someone after a mere week of friendship.

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(I hope this chapter isn’t too confusing. It’s the one that ties in most to the plot of book 1 involving Adair’s stolen map and his magic-induced sleepwalking and the whole sentinel thing. If anyone’s curious about anything, please let me know. :) I promise next week’s chapter will be less plot-heavy and less serious. As always, if you want to be taken off the list of people I tag when I share stories, let me know. If you want to be added to the list, also let me know. And please definitely do tag me when you share stories and excerpts and things, too. @ageekyreader @lynnafred @the-gay-hufflepuff @firewritten @joshuaorrizonte @writtenhastily @writerlydays @ava-burton-writing @josephmxa @megan-cutler @dragonscanbeplantstoo @alittle-writer @perringwrites @an-author-in-progress @aceduchessdragoness @madmooninc @thatwriternamedvolk @elliot-orion @wchwriter @lady-redshield-writes @shadow-maker @zachdoesawriting )

#writing #writeblr #soulmate au #au tuesday #short story #unexpected inspiration series #au story #stuck with you story #UI POV: Etri #I missed last week but hopefully I'm back to posting a story regularly once a week #I tried to keep this one platonic I really did but it just wouldn't work when I added soulmate marks to Etri's crush #and to the whole thing where Adair knows that one of his marks inevitably belongs to a future sentinel #Adair and Etri are definitely my two most romantic characters so I was doomed from the start lol

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kaette-kita-slayers · 7 years ago

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Slayers Special 2-6 - Little Princess 2 (Part 1)

I’m splitting this one into two parts, since it’s longer than usual. (Here’s part 2)

(If you haven’t already, you might want to read the writeup for the first “Little Princess”, since this story is a followup to the events there.)

“Help! Someone, please, help!”

I could hear the desperate, panicked voice of an old man coming from the area where the highway reaches the forest.

“Give up, old man. Nobody’s gonna help you!” a brutish-sounding man’s voice said.

This is where an ordinary person with no guts for a fight would pretend they hadn’t heard anything and move on, but Lina Inverse isn’t like that! Without hesitation, I ran toward the direction the voices had come from.

It was probably a traveler being threatened by a bandit or something like that. In which case, I could demand a huge reward for saving him!

Lina catches up to them and sees a bandit, sword raised, advancing on an old man on the ground. Behind them, there’s a girl struggling with two other men.

Lina draws her short sword and dives for the sword-wielding man. The two cross swords, and then Lina spins to the side and elbows him in the jaw. As he falls, out cold, she thinks to herself that he’s no better than any other generic thug.

One of the remaining men yells at her not to move, and Lina looks over to see that they have the girl restrained with a sword to her throat.

It’s an effective tactic, if stereotypical.

“Help me!” the girl cried out. She was blonde and petite… wait, what the–?!

“Make a move and she dies, bitch!”

I ignored the man spouting cliches and made a mad dash for the three.

“H-hey, I told you not to–”

The men went into a panic, but I still ignored them!

“How dare you show your face in front of meeeeee?!”

My jump kick hit the hostage–Laymia–right in the face.

The story resumes in a simple restaurant in a nameless little village near the highway, with Lina apologizing awkwardly to Laymia, claiming that her “foot slipped”. Lina had had trouble with a girl claiming to be Laymia before, but…

She sorta turned out to be the real one. It’s hilarious, really. Normally, this is the kind of thing that we could all laugh off (I think), but in this case, unfortunately, I was dealing with the daughter of a nobleman, complete with an attendant.

Said attendant–the old man–is furious, veins popping out on his forehead, yelling at Lina that “I’m sorry” isn’t good enough. Laymia says nothing, fiddling with a rose she’s holding.

Lina assumes she’s trying to strike some kind of pose, but the mark left on her face from Lina’s kick ruins it. Lina also notes that the two of them aren’t wearing the kind of nice clothing she would have expected, presumably to keep from standing out while traveling.

Laymia’s servant continues berating Lina.

“This girl that you kicked is the daughter of Duke Turadia, holder of lands entrusted to him by the king himself! And even worse, you kicked her in the face! If the mark doesn’t go away, Lady Laymia will… Lady Laymia will… be stuck with this hilarious face for the rest of her life!”

“Well, excuse me for having a ‘hilarious face’…” Laymia muttered, side-eyeing the old man, who quickly bowed his head.

“Eh… heh. Forgive me, my lady! That just slipped out. Please forgive your humble servant, Crambe!”

Laymia lets it slide, but orders him to stop berating Lina and especially to stop referring to her aloud as the duke’s daughter, since they’re traveling in secret. Silently celebrating, Lina apologizes to her one more time.

“By the way… judging by your appearance, I assume you’re a sorceress…?”

I nodded in response to her question.

“I thought so.”

“Even a cat could figure that out.”

“Old man…”

“Oh, just another slip of the tongue!”

Casually flinging her rose under the table, she asks Lina if she would agree to accompany them as a bodyguard. Lina doesn’t want to, but she knows she can’t refuse outright after what happened earlier. Still a little suspicious that she might be dealing with a fake, she asks Laymia why they didn’t bring soldiers with them.

Laymia says that she would have preferred to do so, but her father’s lands are in an economic crisis. Crambe interrupts, protesting that she shouldn’t reveal that, but she counters that Lina needs to understand the situation.

Picking up a leafless rose from under the table, she explains further.

“You’ve probably heard rumors about this, but a short time ago, an ambitious chancellor in our lands did something unwise…”

Believe me, I know.

“Thanks to the strange golems he unleashed, the city suffered massive damage, and we’ve exhausted our resources trying to rebuild.”

I started in shock, and froze. T-that… that couldn’t be… don’t tell me…

“Er… that… that sounds awful…” Sweating profusely, I forced a smile.

Damn it, Naga, you picked the perfect time to disappear on me…

Laymia tells her that because of the disaster, they were left without money to pay their soldiers and staff, and now only the old man with her is left. As she attaches a leaf to the rose, she adds that she has to make artificial flowers to earn money.

She begins to cry, and Crambe puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t cry, princess… that’s just acknowledging that you’re one of the worthless poor now.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with me…?”

“Why… how could you ever think that? You have my deepest apologies! It just slipped out.”

This old guy… I think maybe he only stuck around with them because no one would want to hire him if he left the castle.

Returning to the subject, Laymia tells Lina that they’re on their way to Figaro City to see Duke MacGarrell, a relative of hers, to ask him for a loan.

“So please, I beg you! I… I don’t have anything to pay you with right now, but I will as soon as I can raise some money! And if that’s not enough, I’ll rub your shoulders! Make you tea! I’ll be your slave!”

“Princess… you’re abasing yourself a little bit too much…”

“Stop crying, old man, and you bow too!”

Both of them were sobbing. Naturally, I couldn’t refuse her request.

The trip to Figaro City goes well. Laymia gets caught running out on her bill a couple of times, and they encounter some bandits and other assorted lowlifes, but nothing worse happens.

Despite being roughly the same size as Tyrell City, it’s a very different place, with an oppressive atmosphere. In contrast to the run-down areas populated by commoners, the castle is surrounded by opulent mansions. There are clearly far more impoverished than wealthy, and Lina thinks that lords of places like this are almost always rich.

The group heads straight for the castle (Lina suspects because Laymia has no money for sightseeing and shopping, anyway). When the guards at the entrance stop them, Laymia announces herself as Laymia Ul Turadia, the daughter of Radius Von Turadia.

The soldiers call her a liar, rendering her speechless. Furious, Crambe demands to know why they think so, and the soldiers reply that she’s too suspicious. She has no soldiers accompanying her and looks too poor to be a duke’s daughter, and besides, they were never notified that Laymia would be coming to visit.

“You didn’t contact them and let them know you were coming?!” I asked Laymia in a low voice.

“Come on! If I had enough money to send a messenger, I wouldn’t have had to skip out on paying for my meals!”

A soldier in armor decorated with gold emerges, demanding to know what’s going on. Judging by the extravagance of his armor, Lina guesses that he must be officer-class or even part of the duke’s personal guard. He’s solidly built, with close-cropped hair and a square jaw.

One of the other soldiers addresses him as “Captain Barrell”, but before he can continue, Lina cuts in and tells him that he needs to teach the soldiers under his command better manners. He retorts that she’s got a big attitude for someone so tiny.

The other soldier tells him that Laymia claims to be the daughter of the duke from Tyrell. Barrell laughs scornfully and pulls out a few silver coins, telling the soldiers not to bother with people like them, just to send them away with a little money. He then flings the coins on the ground in front of Lina and the others.

Lina is furious.

“I said, don’t mock us! You think you can throw a few coins at us and make a mockery of us and our pride and our situation?! And you, Miss Laymia! Don’t pick up any of the coins this jerk dropped! It’s disgraceful!”

“Miss Lina…”

“What?”

“I think you’d be more convincing if you weren’t picking up the coins yourself…”

… Oops!

“Oh, uh, it’s kind of a reflex… Even silver coins are still money–no sense wasting it!”

Moving on, Lina asks Laymia if she has any proof of her identity, and Laymia remembers that she does have a letter from her father. As she begins rifling around in her basket of crafting materials, Lina exasperatedly thinks she should have just done this in the first place. Having trouble finding it, Laymia wonders aloud if maybe she sold it somewhere along the way. Finally, she remembers that she’d used it to put under her flowers while applying starch to them, and pulls out the letter (well-starched) and hands it to Barrell.

Barrell pales, but, still suspicious, he takes the letter and starts to open it to see what’s written inside. Lina interrupts, telling him he’d better be prepared for the consequences if he’s planning to open up and read a letter from one duke to another without permission. Getting even paler, Barrell disappears inside with the letter.

After a long wait, Duke MacGarrell emerges with a group of soldiers. Barrell is not among them.

Later, the three of them, plus the duke and his five sons, are seated at a narrow table in a room deep in the castle. The duke is a seedy-looking, lanky man in his forties, with a short mustache that only makes him look worse. His children resemble him, with unremarkable faces.

The food they’re being served, in contrast to the grandeur of the castle and the duke and his family’s clothing, is all commonplace fare. The duke offhandedly apologizes for the solders’ behavior, and Lina thinks that they don’t seem too thrilled with Laymia’s arrival.

Laymia and Crambe appear not to notice, both staring at the food.

“Look, old man! There’s dressing on the salad! They really went all out!”

“Oh, to think that I would once again be able to eat a fish larger than the palm of my hand… It’s been so long…”

“And… is that chicken?! Oh, I wish I could box it up and take it home to everyone…”

The duke awkwardly invites them to go ahead and eat, since the two of them are already stuffing their faces. He doesn’t even bother saying anything until they start slowing down a bit, then says that Laymia’s father must be in trouble, if he’s sending his only daughter out on a mission for him. Blushing, Laymia agrees that it’s shameful, while stuffing some fried chicken into a pocket.

He tells Laymia that he will give them the amount her father requested. Lina thinks to herself that he must have mistaken her for a servant of Laymia’s in disguise, to be willing to announce that in front of her.

The duke adds that he’s not talking about a loan, either–he’s offering the money outright. Lina is puzzled, since everything so far had indicated that he was unhappy to see them (unsurprisingly, since they’d shown up out of the blue asking for a huge sum of money). She wonders if Laymia’s father might have actually requested less than she thought.

Wiping up some sauce on his plate with a piece of bread, Crambe protests that, regardless of how desperate they may be, it would shame Duke Turadia to accept that much money without giving anything back. Lina would have just taken it with a “Don’t mind if I do!” but she supposes that rulers do have to take things like honor and reputation into account.

The duke muses that he can’t very well go back on his word and insist on repayment. After a short silence, he suggests that they do something for him instead, since it will take a little while for him to gather the necessary funds anyway.

Laymia asks what that “something” is, but the duke says he hasn’t thought of it yet. Nevertheless, they agree to his terms.

He ends up giving them a simple job to do: deliver a letter to an old associate of the duke’s, now retired and living in an old fortress by a lake north of the city. The journey should take about four days, total, and the duke assures them that his men have eliminated the bandits that used to attack travelers along the route.

Of course, it doesn’t work out that way–it’s only noon on their first day when something happens. As they’re walking, Lina suddenly grabs Crambe and tells him to stop.

“W-what is it, all of a sudden?”

“Don’t tell me…!” Laymia looked at me with an expression of shock and horror. “You dropped your wallet?!”

Does she ever think about anything but money?

“No! Somebody’s after us!”

A muffled voice congratulates her for noticing, and Lina mocks them for staying hidden, asking if they’re that afraid of just three people. Taking the bait, they begin to emerge from the trees, somewhere between twenty or thirty people in all.

They aren’t simple bandits, either. All of them have matching armor and weapons–plate mail, longswords, and full helmets–and they move like a trained unit. It’s obvious that they’re soldiers from somewhere.

“Hmph… I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but I don’t have any money to give you!” Laymia suddenly stepped forward, delivering her proclamation firmly.

She hadn’t had any money before, but right now, she had a bit of money for expenses given to her by Duke MacGarrell.

“Rather than hand over my money… let me apologize!”

“Uh… we don’t need you to apologize…” said one of the men, who seemed to be the leader, sounding puzzled. “First and foremost, we don’t want money, we want–”

“Our lives?” I interjected.

The man shook his head and said, “No. We want the letter you have.”

“What…?! How do you know about the letter?!” The shocked voice belonged to Crambe.

“I don’t need to answer that.” The man bluntly stated, “If you hand over the letter and don’t give us any trouble, we’ll spare your lives. We’ll even pay you for it.”

“It’s all yours. <3”

“You can’t just hand it over to him with a smile, Miss Laymia! You won’t get the money from the duke!”

“She’s right. You shouldn’t be so disloyal.” For some reason, the man was nodding in agreement with what I had said.

Laymia comes around and refuses to give up the letter, and the men draw their swords.

The story resumes that night, at an inn. Lina had taken care of the soldiers easily, leaving them to scramble to run away from her.

Eating some fried crab, Laymia says that she’s worried about the fact that the men knew about the letter. Lina responds that the three of them may have gotten caught up in some kind of plot. Since the men after them knew about the letter, it’s reasonable to assume that there’s a spy among MacGarrell’s people. Lina lowers her voice before continuing, telling them that she has a theory about what’s really going on.

Her guess is that MacGarrell is preparing to go to war against someone, and when the three of them arrived, he saw the opportunity to contact someone connected to his plans without the enemy noticing. She doesn’t have any idea whether they have the real letter, or if they’re just serving as decoys for other messengers, but either way, the enemy probably learned about them thanks to the spy in the castle.

Disbelieving, Laymia points out that the duke had originally offered her the money with no strings attached. Lina tells her that she’s being naive; the duke must have known that, as the representative for another duke, she wouldn’t have been able to accept his initial offer. Besides, it defies common sense to think that, in return for nothing more than an ordinary letter delivery, the duke would be willing to give them the kind of money it would take to fund the government of an entire region, even if he is related to Laymia.

Laymia and Crambe begin brooding over the idea. Keeping her tone light, Lina tells them not to worry too much, because all they need to do is deliver the letter as quickly as possible. Besides, Lina can handle anything that the enemy could throw at the group. Laymia and Crambe aren’t convinced, but then, they have no idea how powerful Lina actually is.

Finally, Crambe says that they can’t turn back now, regardless of what the duke’s real intentions might be. Laymia agrees, and Crambe continues…

“Then all we can do is continue on! We’ll reach our destination by afternoon tomorrow. We might be ambushed again, but who cares about that? If we die, we die. We could have avoided all of this if we’d gone looking for Lord Phraon and adopted him into your family, but what does that matter?”

Lina interrupts Laymia attempting to strangle Crambe, asking her who Phraon is. Looking sad, Laymia replies that he's a cousin of hers, an orphan who was, at one time, the only person other than Laymia with the right to inherit her father's title and lands.

Unfortunately, the chancellor had planned to force her father to abdicate in favor of Phraon, then control the government from the shadows as his advisor. Phraon wasn't actually involved in the scheme, but after everything came to light, people grew suspicious that he might have been an accomplice. Finally, he renounced his right of inheritance and left the castle.

Blushing a little, Laymia says that it must have been difficult for him, since he's so sensitive. Lina puts two and two together and asks Crambe if she's in love with Phraon, and he tells Lina that it's true.

Unfortunately, Crambe can't resist getting in another jab at Laymia, and the two don't stop arguing until late that night.

Notes

Not really much of anything, except that the story mentions Laymia using tape to make her roses. That struck me as a little... technologically advanced for the setting.

Edit: There’s one major thing I forgot! The word I translated as “chancellor” really means minister, but there’s a reason for that. The story hinges on how stereotypical the plot is (until Naga gets involved), and I get the impression that more people are familiar with the trope referring to “chancellors” rather than “ministers” thanks to games like Chrono Trigger. (That’s what the TV Tropes page is called, even.)

#slayers #slayers special #slayers special v.2

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harukatomoe · 8 years ago

Text

Special (Yumeno x Reader)

Originally posted on January 4th, 2017. Yumeno’s birthday.

So like, I imagined you to be in your twenties in this one-shot bc I have yet to think about a young!Reader, interacting with Kyūsaku. BUT LIKE DON'T GET ME WRONG ABOUT THIS THIRTEEN YEAR OLD AND A TWENTY-SOMETHING YEAR OLD BEING TOGETHER. More friendly? ------------

Special

There was no difference.

There was no difference to him.

There was no sign of any concern in his deranged eyes. Only focus on the individuals that "hurt" him. The madness that welled deep in his veins was definitely displayed in his actions. He seemed soulless almost; just his words kept your thoughts back that he was still sane. Screams were audible from half a mile away, the area being the source of the screams. Red, warm liquid everywhere; consistently being shed within every few seconds another swing was given at a person.

But, he was only a child.

No, he is a child.

Your eyes could not follow the various different activities going on around you. There was bloodshed everywhere. Bloodlust in everyone's eyes. Constantly they attacked each other, brutally.

They didn't know.

They didn't know that they were being controlled.

They didn't know that they were being controlled by Q's ability; Dogra Magra.

You had to live with this. You were Yumeno's partner after all.

After the threeway clash with the Mafia, Agency and Guild, it was decided that Yumeno would be released from his containment and allowed to roam freely as he pleases; as long as he had someone watching him, that someone was you. You could still remember the dryness in your mouth when your boss had informed you that you'd be the one supervising Yumeno Kyūsaku, a.k.a. "Q". You could remember being unable to speak upon his order, remembering your boss asking if you were okay; you were pale.

Even though it was multiple times that you've seen Yumeno use his ability - with his twisted laugh, you could never get used to how much he looked like he enjoyed hurting others. Never being able to succumb to the amount of body bags you had to see after a large mission that was given. Never being able to-

"(Last Name)-san?"

You felt a strong tug on your jacket sleeve. You instantly snapped out of your thoughts, feeling like the breath you just took was your last. A slight chill ran down your spine as you felt like all over you just sweat. You looked down your right arm, to see Yumeno smiling ecstatic up at you.

"I'm done~"

He sang.

You nodded as you followed him.

"Would you like to play?" You could already hear his sick laughter, he was trying to scare you; and honestly, it was working a little.

"Kyūsaku, let's just get back to base."

Yumeno spun back around to you on his heels, an unamused face given to you. His mouth was tugged to the right of his face as he blew a raspberry at you, booing at you afterwards.

"Boo...(Last Name)-san you're no fun~"

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the boy. He was always like this; after every mission, asking if "you'd like to play" with him. He knew how you felt about him, how much you couldn't stand looking at his work. He barely cared, he'd say. But, he knew what he was born with; he never wanted it, he wanted to be happy. He didn't want you to know that though, he kind of liked the thought of you being scared of him, but yet again; he wanted to be happy.

You were only slightly scared of him though. Knowing what he could do. The only reason you were his partner was because of your ability. It was similar to that of the great ex-executive of the Port Mafia; Dazai Osamu. You heard many stories about him; his nullifying ability, how he became an executive at a young age, how he betrayed the mafia - you heard everything about him. Though, you were much different than him, they told you. You were less of a threat than him, which made it easier for them to control you. With their ability to control you and your ability, you were to watch over Yumeno. You had the power to drain the physical energy out of a person, with a single touch. You could render them unconscious even; so if Yumeno ever decided to go against you, or the mafia mainly, you could stop him.

"(Last Name)-san, I'm hungry. Can we go for dessert?"

"Yes...we can."

❣ Some time later ❣

There you sat, watching the white and brown haired boy scarf down on his many desserts. He mostly ordered the brown sugar flavoured desserts that he was very fond of.

As he was sitting there, you became lost, deep in your thoughts.

❣ Flashback ❣

"I don't understand why you don't talk to the boss about this," Chūya shook his head softly, gulping down another sip of his wine. You sat beside him, staring down at your wine cup as well. The atmosphere was a little depressing, you had to admit; but you couldn't blame it, it wasn't something to be happy about at all.

"you could get hurt, or worse even; killed."

"I know..." you sighed, lowering your head even lower than before. You raised your head for a moment, just to have a sip of the expensive wine Chūya presented to you a few minutes before. You tasted the bittersweet liquid in your mouth, savouring it as you felt a bit of your worries lighten. Your eyes half lidded as you gazed over to the side to listen to what he had to say next.

"You 'know'. Shit, (First Name) are you even listening to me? I don't want to see you in a body bag, alright?" You felt a bit honoured that you were really close to one of the five executives. Chūya cared deeply for you, maybe even more than just one of the people he's working with; but a friend. After all, it was you that saved him from his mass injuries; you could still remember the pain in his face when he arrived back at base a few years ago. You didn't know what happened and didn't question it, you used your ability; not only could you drain, but give as well to heal any injury. Not too grave though.

"Last thing I need is another person I know to disappear out of my life." [dammit, Dazai why-]

❣ End of flashback ❣

You rested your chin in the palm of your hand, staring glassy-eyed at the boy who was in his own little world of sweets. You could feel the table shake as he swung his legs back and forth in his seat. You observed him without any thought: his porcelain-like skin, pink-hued cheeks, odd shaped pupils, and his different coloured hair.

"You should kill him." You remembered Chūya saying. You were capable, but unwilling.

"He's only a child," you remember replying. It was those four words that kept you from ever hurting the boy. Even though Yumeno's ability was triggered from pain to him, with your ability, you could counteract that.

"He's only a child," you were right, he was only a child. With all the consistent comments about Yumeno, you could tell what kind of trauma he's been through just by looking at him. The white hair on his head; it's not anything from having bad blood, it was having tons and tons of emotional trauma that caused his hair to turn white. Also known as the Marie-Antoinette Syndrome.

You could never find yourself to blame him for anything that's happened; you didn't know about his past, but what you did know was that he was raised in the mafia. Who knows what the mafia was capable of, what he's seen; all there was to know was it wasn't anything pleasant.

Suddenly, Yumeno stuck a piece of his brown sugar cake in your face, the piece stabbed by a fork. You raised your chin off the palm of your hand, tilting your head at the boy to question his actions. You parted your lips slight, very confused by him. Yumeno shook his hand a little, pushing the delicious dessert closer to you. You pursed your lips at him, shaking your head no.

"No, but thank you for offering it to me, Kyūsaku."

"Hmm~ You should at least try it, (Last Name)-san. It's good!" You could already tell that he really meant that last part, crumbs of the pastries and drink on his cheeks around his mouth. The boy waved it around, not seeming like he would give up offering it to you unless you accepted it. You let out a sigh of defeat, opening your mouth so he could feed you. Yumeno reached farther, sticking the fork in your mouth along with the sweet pastry. Once he pulled away, he continued with his food, letting out sounds to exaggerate how good they were.

"How is it, (Last Name)-san?"

You shrugged, picking up the napkin next to you, "It's good..." It's too sweet...! You thought, cracking an uneasy smile. Yumeno nodded excitedly, attempting to speak through the food in his mouth. You clicked your tongue, holding his face as you wiped the frosting and crumbs off of his face. "Don't speak when your mouth is full, Kyūsaku."

Whenever you two were together, which was basically ninety-percent of the time, leaving out some time for yourself (sleeping, bathroom breaks, etc.), you would look over him like a mother and her child. You were like a mother to him, or a big sister. There would be times that Yumeno would say inappropriate things regarding the chaos he could cause, and you'd be there to tell him not to mention it, scolding him then and there. There would be times where he'd be impolite and you'd teach him manners that were never taught to him. You were teaching him how to be a decent human being during your time together, despite the type of work you two do.

You and Yumeno lived together in an two-bedroom apartment, it was weird at first but, you two eventually got used to seeing each other everyday. You knew that when you were assigned, it meant keeping an eye on him 24/7, so you took him into your home and set everything up for him. He didn't mind it as long as you didn't pester him so much when he was at home.

Yumeno nodded at your lesson, only to start talking through his food again.

"Iwt's doh gowood." [It's so good.]

❣ On the way home ❣

"I'm so full, (Last Name)-san, could you carry me?" He reached up to you. Your eye twitched at his request; Yumeno was thirteen years old, did he really need to be carried? Also to add, Yumeno was only inches shorter than you, just enough that it would seem awkward for you to carry him.

"You don't have any sharp things on you, do you?" With knowledge on how Yumeno went about on using his ability, you were cautious. It took a few seconds before he actually responded to your anxious question, shaking his head no with a smile on his face. A part of you felt queasy about picking him up, but you obliged anyway. You opened your arms as he wrapped his around your neck, you hoisted him up and jumped a bit to get him comfortable and secure.

Yumeno held onto you tightly as you started moving in the direction of the Port Mafia base, just to drop off your report before heading home with him. There was complete silence between you two, only the small light breathing that came from Yumeno was audible in your ear. You strolled down the streets with the cursed boy in your arms, rethinking your thoughts. Yumeno was a nice boy, despite his twisted personality.

Yumeno felt like he could close his eyes, just trusting you enough to relax. He knew that you wouldn't do anything to him. He inhaled deeply, inhaling your slightly rich, floral smell. It relaxed him, putting him at ease. The warmth he was getting off you soothed him so; he never experienced this kind of care before, but he had to admit, he loved the feeling.

Was this the feeling he was craving for his happy life? Were you the key source of his dream? Could he live a happy life with you in the twisted one he's living in?

No. He told himself, it couldn't be.

He's seen the way you look at him, with great disapproval. He knows how you feel about him, like he was some monster. He's heard you talking to others, looking down on him behind his back. He's thought about your thoughts, your plan. He's felt your fear.

Or was all that in his head?

Everything was going in slow-motion, as if this was something important playing in his life. The warmth he was feeling had gone cold, the scent he snuggled up against had gone sour. He couldn't understand, he couldn't believe his own two eyes. How did you two switch positions? How did it all happen so quickly? Why did you do it? Why were you shielding him?

A sharp gasp echoed in his ear, almost bloodcurdling. He felt a strong grip on both his arms, holding him in place. He felt the warm red liquid splatter on him, staining him from the torso up; it wasn't a huge amount though. His eyes couldn't focus in front of him, everything was a blur; in his peripheral vision, he could see the people around shrieking in terror, gasping, running.

It was only until you stomped down, snapping him out of his blurred vision that he could finally comprehend what was going on; blood running down and out of your mouth, your uncontrollable trembling, the bloody coughs that you choked back on when you tried to speak to him, the unknown object that was impaled through your back. He finally understood, there was an unknown man with an ability behind you.

"Ky-Kyū-" You called, more of the metallic liquid running over your tongue.

Had the man behind you mean to aim for him instead? Had you seen him while he was lost in his thoughts? Had you quickly spin around so that you would be the one hurt instead of him?

Yumeno knew what was going on, a hitman was sent to eliminate him, but you had gotten in the way. That was the only part that Yumeno could't follow was that, you were always so strict towards him, looked at him differently, feared him; or was that all in his mind? This whole time, were you actually caring for him? Was he seeing this all so differently?

"(L-Last Name)-s-sa-...?" he called, his breath hitching in his throat. He gulped down the hard lump in his throat, reaching out to you; reaching to touch your cheek. He could see how weak you were, how much you were struggling to keep standing.

"R-Ru..run..." What?

"Kyūs-saku...run.." What?

As his hand came closer, a burning sensation filled his eyes, tears pooling up in his eyes. He didn't know what to do, he just wanted to touch your cheek for answers; he always felt so calm when you touched him.

Just about when Yumeno was close to seeking for your feeling, you dropped onto your knees, then falling down flat. The unknown ability had been pulled out of you, blood pooling from underneath you. It took him a long moment that you had disappeared from in front of him. He blinked in realisation once, bringing his traumatised gaze down to see you beneath him, not sure whether if you were dead or alive.

He gasped. His heart hurt. His chest felt like there were knives in it. He didn't know if he was sad. He was confused. He was alone. He wanted you to guide him. He didn't know the man before him. His mind was fuzzy. He was trembling uncontrollably. He felt great fire inside of him. He felt rage.

It was only after Yumeno used a sharp object to injure himself by the "help" of the stranger, that his terrifying ability was activated.

❣ Hours later ❣

You felt an itch on your arm, twitching in the darkness of your eyelids. You moved your head to the side, frowning in discomfort. Were there bandages wrapped around your arm? And your torso? Judging by the tight and rough feeling. You could feel that your breathing was weird, the feeling of tubes in your nose? Something strapped to your mouth?

You cracked open an eye, a bright white light flooding your vision. It took a moment before you could see what was around you. A few machines and tubes, some people you knew who were working in the medic area of the Mafia, and Chūya standing next to Yumeno. You sat up from your laying position, feeling the intense pain in your torso; a few of the nurses came to your aid, but you waved them off. You pulled off the mask and looked directly into Chūya's eyes, seeing him shake he head as he closed them.

Suddenly, you felt someone pull at your arm. You snapped your head towards the source, your (Eye Colour) irises meeting with Yumeno's unique pupils. You could tell that he's been crying, the redness underneath his eyes gave it away. You let out a sigh of relief, relieved that he was okay, that wasn't injured. Though, you watched as tears rolled down his cheeks, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from crying in front of everyone.

"Hey there...don't cry."

"I-I thought tha-that you were-" you hushed him softly, stroking his hair. Yumeno kept shaking his head as he clung to your arm. The anxiety that built up inside him when he knew that an operation was going on, on you. The fear he felt when he was told that you might not make it, the fear of losing you. You were the one person that ever treated him nicely, through the smallest things that he only realised when you were close to disappearing forever.

Yumeno realised after all this that you were important to him, special to him. He had never felt so enraged when watching someone he knew get hurt. That's when he knew that he never would want to use his ability on you, or anything that had to do with hurting you.

"But, I'm not, see?" You smiled, opening your arms for him. Instantly, he got the message, jumping into your arms. You giggled, resting your chin on the top of his head. You held him in a tight embrace, feeling him hold you as well. He was familiarised with the warmth and smell, his crying then dying down. "I would never intentionally hurt you, I would never leave you all alone, I will never stop loving you, Kyūsaku." you committed, leaving a long, endearing kiss on his forehead.

"I...love you, (Last Name)-san..."

End

#yumeno kyusaku #bsd #bungou stray dogs #one-shot #wattpad #unedited

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