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makeste · 3 years

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“but I thought about how I needed to say this”

a.k.a. yet another meta dissection of The Apology. I actually wrote most of this up on Friday night based on the original Japanese (@pikahlua has an excellent translation up here, and I also used @hanashimas’ translations as a reference as well), but I wanted to wait until the official release, though that turned out to be a mixed bag to say the least lol.

I would also recommend reading @pikahlua and @class1akids’ breakdowns of this scene (here and here, respectively), because they are excellent, and because if any scene deserves to have as many meta breakdowns written about it as possible, it’s this one.

anyway so here goes.

Caleb did a more accurate job with this than the fanscan, even if he did try his best to take us out of the seriousness of the moment by throwing in that swiss cheese line lol. anyway so there are two things I want to talk about here. the first is the line about Izuku not remembering, which I thought was a nice touch. of course he doesn’t remember what Kacchan said back then. he wasn’t exactly in the soundest emotional state after seeing one of the people he cares about most taking a near-fatal blow that was meant for him. I’d be shocked if he remembers anything about the aftermath (including the way he flew into a mindless rage afterwards) right up until the point when he entered the OFA Interstellar Party Void with Tomura. anyway, so I thought that was a nice callback.

and speaking of emotional states, the other thing I wanted to talk about is the part that Caleb got right which the fan scanlation didn’t. “but I had more to say.” in other words, “stop trying to win on your own” wasn’t just a one-liner; it was meant to be the beginning of a much longer speech. “there were other things that I needed to say.”

like, can we just stop and talk about that for a second. because basically what this means is that in that instant, when Kacchan pushed Deku out of the way and got impaled, his one and only thought was that he needed to apologize to Deku. his life was presumably flashing before his eyes, he had no idea if he was going to survive or not, and the only thing on his mind was how urgently he needed to make things right with his former childhood friend.

moving on!

so I have a confession to make, which is that I am relieved to see Katsuki describing this as the reason why he bullied Deku, as opposed to Horikoshi trying to retcon it into some sort of “secretly he was just trying to protect him and keep him out of harm’s way because he was worried” thing, which ngl would not have gelled very well with me. the thing is that I’m really not a fan of the whole “Kacchan Did Nothing Wrong” mentality that some fans seem to have. like, I have seen all sorts of convoluted attempts to find excuses for Katsuki’s shitty behavior, but in my view those attempts undermine what I love about his character in the first place. Katsuki is such a great character specifically because he is not perfect. his redemption arc is so compelling because he was such a giant asshole at the start. he was completely at fault, and he acknowledges this, and takes full responsibility for it. and that is fucking fantastic.

his arc is so great because it doesn’t rely on garnering sympathy by giving him a Tragic Past, or by trying to foist the blame for his behavior over on someone else. it’s an arc that acknowledges that redemption isn’t something you achieve by making people feel sorry for you; it’s something you have to earn by actively working to change and do better. and by forgoing the “misunderstood/tragic past” route, Horikoshi is making a statement that anyone can go down the wrong path, but that more importantly, anyone can also choose at any time to turn away from said path. there is only one requirement for doing so, and that is realizing that you’ve done wrong, and deciding that you want to change.

anyway, so in chapter 284 Kacchan of course had that whole speech about Deku not taking himself into account, and mentioned how that made him want to keep his distance. and a good chunk of fandom took this to mean that Katsuki’s bullying was actually a misguided response to Deku’s reckless tendencies -- sort of an “if I show him how weak and powerless he really is, I can get him to accept the reality that he’s quirkless, and that being a hero will just get him hurt or killed” type of thing. and I won’t lie, for a good while I was wondering myself if Horikoshi was really going to go down that route. and like I said, I am honestly relieved that he didn’t. not only for the reasons stated in the previous paragraph, but also because the message that would have sent -- that there are certain circumstances in which bullying can almost be excused because the bully had Good Intentions and was just trying to save the other person from themselves, and so it Wasn’t That Bad, Actually -- is all kinds of fucked up to say the least. so yeah, I’m glad we ended up steering well clear of that.

(ETA: this post was long enough already so I edited out the 3 additional paragraphs I originally wrote analyzing the dialogue from 284. but just to be clear, I’m not trying to imply that Kacchan worrying about Deku’s recklessness is a retconned thing that Horikoshi only threw into the story recently, because there are multiple instances throughout the story where he clearly is worried and in total denial of it. but I firmly believe those feelings are not what led to the bullying. they’re two separate things. Kacchan worrying about Deku is what prompts him to yell at him in chapter 1 when Deku comes to save him. but it’s not what incited him to burn his notebook and taunt him earlier in that same chapter. that action had a much meaner and more selfish motivation behind it, and I’m glad Horikoshi didn’t try to change it up last minute, because it wouldn’t have felt right.)

thankfully as of this chapter I think we can safely cross that out as a possibility, as we’re given the true explanation straight from Katsuki himself. and the truth is that he bullied Deku out of insecurity and jealousy and fear and intolerance. there was nothing noble about it. there were no good intentions concealed in his actions. there are no justifications given, no excuses offered, and no mitigating circumstances to be considered, other than the fact (which neither he nor Horikoshi bring up) that he was and is still a child, and that children make mistakes.

it’s an explanation that challenges many of fandom’s ideas on who is and isn’t eligible to be redeemed. there is no Ozai in Katsuki’s backstory. there’s no great tragedy that he spent a lifetime trying to rise above. the only villain in Katsuki’s story is Katsuki himself. the only darkness that he has to overcome is his own. and it’s challenging, because I think many people believe the only way someone can be redeemed for doing bad things is if bad things happen to them in return. but what Horikoshi is saying here is that that’s not the case. bad doesn’t erase bad. and the one and only way to truly earn redemption is by doing good.

and that’s what makes this such a phenomenal scene for me. by not shying away from Katsuki’s flaws and failings, and having him take full responsibility for them, Horikoshi keeps the apology from being self-serving, and underscores the true depth of Katsuki’s character development. the level of self-awareness he has here is something most people can only dream of. which is very fitting, as that’s perhaps the most important takeaway from his character arc -- that it’s only by acknowledging your own weaknesses and flaws that you can learn to overcome them and reach your full potential.

one last thing to point out here, which is that in the panel where Katsuki finally acknowledges his terrible treatment of Deku, Deku is not even visible. instead, Horikoshi drew the panel from a perspective that makes it appear that Katsuki is addressing this particular line not just to Deku, but to all of his classmates.

again, he shows him taking full responsibility and admitting his wrongdoings in front of the people whose opinions and approval he cares about most. and just to clarify in case there’s any confusion from Caleb’s translation, Kacchan’s wording makes it very clear that he wasn’t just “mean” to Deku, but that he full-on bullied him (he uses the same verb -- “ijimeru” (苛める) -- that he did back in chapter 284). there’s no attempt to downplay his actions here.

moving on now, this chapter also reaffirmed another thing about Deku and Kacchan’s relationship which I was glad to see revisited -- Kacchan’s unwavering belief in Deku’s ability. this is one of those paradoxical things about their relationship which I’ve always been fascinated by, but which is also kind of hard to explain, because I don’t want it to come off like I’m trying to put a positive spin on something which was unequivocally awful. like, please don’t think I’m trying to say that Katsuki’s bullying of Deku was in any way a good thing. but that being said, there’s also a strange irony at play here, which is that Katsuki’s jealousy and insecurity also betray the fact that even at his very worst, he never once underestimated Deku. he has always believed in Deku’s strength, even when that strength pissed him off and made him afraid and uneasy.

no one else -- not All Might, or even Deku’s own mom -- believed from the get-go that Deku could become a hero. but Katsuki never once counted him out, even when he was calling him a pebble in his shoe. he confesses here that even though he “tried to act superior by rejecting [Deku]”, in truth he was never able to shake the feeling that Deku was above him. long before he ever understood the concept of “win to save”, he knew instinctively that there was a strength in Deku’s heart that couldn’t be measured, and which had the potential to surpass even his own strength. and I’ve always felt that this was so important, because it’s the one aspect of their early relationship that hinted that on some level, however subconscious, Katsuki held the same type of faith in Deku that Deku always held in him. it was one of the few things that hinted at there being a possible path towards reconciliation one day. and it paved the way for the most important shift in their relationship to date, when Katsuki finally realized who Deku got his quirk from, and responded not with resentment or spite, but with acceptance.

moving on, I also really love the way we see them portrayed at the different stages of their childhood throughout this speech, and how it perfectly lines up with the dialogue. from small children (when Katsuki talks about his insecurities first manifesting), to middle schoolers (when he talks about the bullying), to high schoolers (when he talks about the past year and everything he’s learned at U.A.). Horikoshi really didn’t have to go that hard, but he did, and that’s why we love him.

and then we finally get to That Part.

where do I even start with this there are so many things omg.

the bow. this is the one and only time Katsuki has ever bowed to anyone of his own volition as far as I recall. and this absolutely is a bow, just to be clear, even though his form is straight-up garbage (very Kacchan-esque, with his feet and arms spaced apart because he’s still a punk after all). this is Kacchan showing more humility and respect than he’s ever shown to anyone else in his entire life.

regarding “Izuku”, I actually have mixed feelings about this to tell the truth. I think it was a good call here because it was incredibly effective in setting the tone and showing just how serious Kacchan is. however if he continues to use “Izuku” rather than “Deku” from here on out, that would give the impression in hindsight that all his past usage of “Deku” really was meant as an insult, which would undermine some of my favorite scenes. I would really like to believe that since DvK2 or thereabouts, Kacchan has (mostly) been using “Deku (affectionate)” rather than “Deku (useless loser)”, lol. but if he switches to the “nicer” name on a permanent basis following his apology, it implies that the previous nickname was indeed being used cruelly. and so honestly I hope this was just a one-time thing, because I do think that in Katsuki’s mind, the name “Deku” hasn’t been meant as a slight to him for a long time now.

“my truth/this is what I truly feel” -- the word Katsuki uses in Japanese is honne (本音), and if you’re familiar with the concept of honne/tatemae, that’s the same “honne” he’s talking about here. it means that he’s casting aside all of his walls and facades and expressing what he truly feels. and of course, one of the fascinating things about Katsuki’s character is that he’s the exact opposite of most people in that he chooses to put his meanness on full display to the public, and ironically it’s the kindest parts of himself which he tends to keep the most carefully guarded and hidden away. this also means that while his rage and anger are very often insincere and put on just for show, those relatively few occasions where he lets his humanity truly shine through are pretty much 100% genuine, as is the case with this one here.

and Deku’s face says it all when it comes to how powerful those moments can be as a result.

and this, right here, is why it wasn’t enough for Katsuki to atone solely through his actions, and why he needed to actually say the words as well. it’s not that the words are more important; obviously the actions are far and away the most important part, and carry far more meaning. but the reason why Katsuki needed to say the words as well is simply because Izuku needed to hear them. needed to, and deserved to, because this is one of the most important people in the world to him.

and so he deserves to know that the relationship isn’t just one-sided, and that he is just as important to Kacchan as Kacchan is to him. he deserves to know that Kacchan understands how horribly he treated him, and that he’s sorry for it. and he deserves to know that Kacchan, without any expectation of it changing their relationship -- meaning that he will continue to feel this way regardless of what Izuku says or does from here on out -- cares about him. now more than ever, with AFO out there doing everything in his power to make Izuku feel as alone as possible, this is something that he really, really needed to hear.

so this part has some interesting wordplay which neither Caleb’s translation nor the fan scanlation was really able to get across. basically, in the Japanese version, when Katsuki talks about “those ideals”, Horikoshi uses the kanji for “ideal”, but pronounces it as “All Might.” obviously the meaning of this isn’t too hard to decipher, as we all know how much both boys admire All Might. to them, he absolutely is synonymous with the Ideal. so this is a way of showing that respect they both have towards him, even as Katsuki goes on to point out the one fatal flaw that All Might was never able to overcome.

and speaking of interesting wording, as others have noted, at this point in his speech Katsuki switches from “temee” (which he was using earlier during the “your strengths and my weaknesses” part) to “omae” (“omae” being a less insulting word for “you”, though still very manly and tough-sounding), which is definitely a big deal. though fwiw this is not the first time he’s used “omae” for Deku (he switches to it briefly right after DvK2, when he tells Deku “you had the strongest guy lay the groundwork for you -- don’t lose”, and then later when they’re walking back to the dorms and he says he’ll learn and get stronger by watching everyone around him just like Deku did). it’s definitely a good choice on Horikoshi’s part though, as it makes this last part of the speech sound more earnest and sincere.

just a quick note, he does indeed use a plural pronoun here, as in “the obstacles that you can’t overcome, we will overcome.” but as @pikahlua pointed out, the “we” here is ambiguous -- it could either mean “we” as in class 1-A -- “we will overcome them for you” -- OR it could mean “we” as in all of them -- class 1-A and Deku. “we will overcome them together.” idk about you, but I know which one gets my vote.

anyway, and so this is the line that finally wins Deku over and allows him to let go of his fears, however briefly. what I love about this is Kacchan’s utter conviction. one thing that Caleb’s translation doesn’t quite get across is Kacchan’s use of the word morenaku -- “without exception” -- when he talks about how they’re going to save everyone and win. it echoes that same sentiment he showed back during the Joint Training arc -- that it’s not a perfect victory unless they save everyone. every last person. and he explicitly lists Deku among their number, just so there can be no doubt.

and Deku’s response to this (or at least his thoughts, since he’s not really able to get many words out) pretty much brings everything full circle here.

he acknowledges that everyone else has gotten ahead of him. which is especially meaningful given who he’s standing directly across from. because for most of the series, as we all well know, it’s been Kacchan who was woefully lagging behind Deku in the character growth department. but now Deku himself is acknowledging that not only has Kacchan finally caught up at last, but that he and the others have surpassed him. which is only temporary, I should add, as I have zero doubt that Deku will catch up again soon. but the fact remains that just as Deku’s rapid increase in strength and skill left Kacchan scrambling to keep up earlier in the series, Kacchan’s extraordinary character development has now left Deku in that same position. as All Might once put it, “when he’s starting at level one, and you’re already at level 50, it’s only natural that you’ll be growing at different rates.”

and what’s so wonderful about this though is that the two of them are finally approaching that point where they’ve both caught up to each other and are finally starting to level out. Deku is a full-on badass, and Kacchan is out here talk-no-jutsuing with the best of them. the two of them have been chasing and chasing after each other this entire time, and now they’re finally just about ready to meet in the middle at long last, with each of them fully embodying both of those two crucial aspects -- win, and save.

just about. because Deku still needs some help catching up. but seeing as help has already been offered -- and accepted -- I can’t imagine it will be very long now, and I can’t wait to see him finally overcoming those fears and doubts with his friends by his side. it’s going to be such a powerful moment.

and last but not least,

or, as I prefer,

you had one job, Caleb. flkjsdlk.

but at least this provides a good opportunity to note that unlike the “we’ll help you handle it” line earlier in the speech, here the phrasing is left up to interpretation, as he doesn’t use a pronoun. so it could be “we know”, or, as the fan scanlation put it, “I know.” or it could be both. regardless, it’s good stuff.

anyway, and so Deku passes out, and in the process Horikoshi gives us one last parting metaphor, just in case anyone still thinks Kacchan is all talk because they haven’t been paying attention for the past 322 chapters (more likely than you think). once again, Katsuki’s actions speak louder than his words (even his nice words) ever could: he is literally there to catch Deku when he falls.

so that’s it! my sincere thanks to anyone who actually read through all of my endless ramblings about this scene which I have been waiting for since day one. props to Horikoshi for taking on an impossibly difficult task, and pulling it off with all of the emotion and care and nuance that I’ve come to expect from his writing. imo he delivered on every single level with the exception of the aftermath, which I don’t consider to have actually happened yet. Deku’s part of this is definitely a “to be continued.” but yeah, as far as Kacchan’s part goes, 10/10. so fucking proud of this kid.

#bnha 322 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Left Behind - Chapter 6 - Once a Promise, Always a Promise.

Gif was made by my official gif maker friend @abimess

Summary: The one where you lived in the apartment under the Maximoff family in Sokovia, or, your journey as a Sokovian civilian to Avenger.

Warnings: (+16) Violence, fighting, cursing, civil war environments, abuse of power, assault, torture, underage kissing, psychological torture, substance use, mention of assault/fighting of children, smut, kissing, teasing, insinuation of sexual and moral harassment, verbal offenses.

Words: 4.753k

A/N> It's been 84 years... I just hope someone still reads this haha Let me know what you think

All Works Masterlist || Read on AO3 || Series Masterlist

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Chapter 6 - Once a Promise, Always a Promise.

When you wake up, you get your ass beaten up by an unknown woman.

You awaken all at once, advancing against the woman who was watching you sleep. Her surprise only lasts a second, however, as the next she returns your blow and knocks you to the ground, a gun pointed straight at your face.

Wide-eyed, you realize where you are and raise your hands.

"Sorry, sorry." You can quickly. "I thought I was in the lab again. Who the hell are you by the way?"

The woman raises her eyebrow at you.

"Cap, get over here before I shoot her."

And the next second, a blond man is running into the area of the ship where you are, looking worried.

"Let's all calm down, okay?" He asks as he sees the gun extended, and waits for the woman to put it down. You sigh lightly, rising to stand up.

"I'm sorry I attacked you, Miss." You ask as soon as you are on your feet, and massage your shoulder, which hit the ground hard when she knocked you down.

"It's fine, you just got beat up anyway." She teases, making you give a short laugh.

You were about to ask if they could let you off the ship anywhere, but a low groan of pain beside you caught your attention.

Just then you noticed the man lying on the stretcher next to you a few feet away, a large wound in his rib. You are also able to notice the rest of the ship, there is a man piloting a few meters away, and two men sitting further ahead, talking to each other.

"Hey, I can help." You stated immediately, but as soon as you moved, the woman stood in front of you, looking at you with suspicion and defiance, and you swallowed dryly. "I-I can heal him." You clarified, but the woman only changed her posture when the man next to you touched her forearm.

"Can you do that?" He asks you, and you nod. You wait for the woman to take a step back to approach the man on the stretcher.

"Hey, are you guys sure of this?" The man lying down asked uncomfortably, and you raise your hands in the air.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, I won't hurt you, I promise. "You guarantee it." Can I heal your injuries?" You ask and wait for him to confirm.

The wound is deep, but you have dealt with much worse.

"How did you do that?"

"It was nothing." You say as you put your hands down. His skin was completely intact again.

"This sure is cooler than lightning, huh, Thor?" Commented the blond as he sat down on the stretcher, clearly feeling better. The long-haired man at the back of the ship looks at you curiously as he stands up, and when he notices his colleague completely healed, he looks impressed.

"This sure is an interesting skill for a mortal." He says to you, and you don't know exactly what to make of those words, but you don't have time to comment, because he is already approaching to introduce himself. "My name is Thor Odinson, god of thunder."

You frown.

"G-god of thunder?" You repeat confused. "Sorry, is that some kind of joke?"

The woman next to you giggles, moving to sit on the stretcher next to the man you healed. The blond man in front of you looks slightly offended, but his expression softens immediately.

"I understand that at first, mortals may be incredulous at such a..."

"No, I just thought the title was funny." You interrupt the blond man, surprising him. "You guys are the Avengers, aren't you? My master has already told me about you."

“Your master?”

It is the other blond guy in the blue uniform who asks. You mentally repress yourself.

"Damn, sorry." You say. "It's what I used to call the soldiers and doctors who gave me orders."

"Your files say that you disappeared in Sokovia when you were younger, and what we found at the base were the records of the experiments they did on you." He adds, and you twiddle your fingers nervously. "I just want to make sure you're not going to try to bring the plane down with everyone inside."

The attempted joke is enough to make you smile, but you are beginning to feel overwhelmed. You really were free. After all this time, the idea seemed almost absurd.

You try to control your emotion at once, and the man seems to notice, because his expression softens immediately.

"Hey, come have a seat." He asks, signaling to one of the empty chairs, and you obey. "My name is Steve Rogers, and I promise you're safe now. Hydra will never hurt you again."

You nod frantically, feeling the tears in your eyes. But you try to normalize your breathing, not wanting to cry in front of strangers.

"I'm sorry, I just... I've just been trying to get away for so long." You confess next, wiping your eyes quickly. "It's weird to think I succeeded."

"We are going back to the Avengers tower now. Is there anyone you would like to get in touch with?" He asks, and his words make your stomach sink.

"Yes." You say. "But I have no idea where they are."

"Who? Your family?"

You give a short laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so. They were..." You start trying to remember exactly. You didn't even know how long it had been since the time you saw the twins at the Hydra base. You had no idea if they were alive, but you wanted to believe they were. Taking a deep breath, you continue. "They were my friends. Wanda and Pietro, we grew up together. They... I saw them once. When I still had the serum in my head. I..."

Seeing your difficulty in organizing your thoughts, Steve interrupts you by touching your forearm.

"It's okay." He says. "We'll find the twins."

"So they really are alive?"

Steve smiles.

"Yes." He answers and you feel your body relax all at once. "They ran away, I imagine they were scared, but we'll find them."

You gasp, unable to control your tears. Neither Steve nor the rest of the Avengers seem to care.

When you calm down, Steve introduces you to the rest of the team.

You are not exactly happy to meet Tony Stark. The mention of his last name makes you frown, because you know it was a Stark bomb that blew up your home at Sokovia, but when you accuse Tony, he seems really upset.

"Well, I guess you can get on the list of people who hate me then." He grumbles and you cross your arms, the whole team sensing the tension in the air.

"You could at least apologize for blowing up half of Sokovia with your weapons." You retort angrily, and the man rolls his eyes, not getting up from the armchair you were in.

"Sure, no problem. I'm sorry, kiddo. Happy?"

You clench your jaw, but before you can say anything, Steve steps forward.

"Tony, try not to be a jerk, okay?" The captain speaks and the other man lets out a wry laugh. "Have at least some respect for the girl's story."

"I have respect, Captain." He assures as he stands up, looking impatient. "What I don't have is time to revisit the past while our enemies get more and more powerful." He says and you frown in confusion. "I've already banned weapons production in the industries, and we've already taken on Hydra in that place. Now we can move on, because I need to get back to the compound and understand exactly what that thing is."

He speaks and finishes by signaling to the opposite side, and it is only then that you notice the shining scepter on the far side of the room and let out a surprised exclamation, taking three steps backwards.

"How did you guys get this?" You ask horrified and the team looks at you curiously.

"Have you seen the scepter before?"

"Of course I have!" You reply. "That's what gave me the healing! The damn stone went through my chest."

Thor steps forward, looking at you in surprise.

"So Hydra were able to decipher the scepter?

You laugh humorlessly.

"If by decipher you mean press the scepter against my chest while preening me in an iron chair, then yes." You reply, but take a deep breath to calm yourself. "A yellow stone came off as soon as the scepter touched me. And well, it went right through my skin. When I woke up, I could heal. But whatever it is, it killed all the soldiers who were holding me."

Thor seems to consider your words as Steve tells you that he is sorry for what you went through in Hydra.

Suddenly you remember where you first saw him.

"The man on the bridge!" You exclaimed, surprising him, but you were getting your memories gradually, and your heart was racing. "You are Captain America.... My god, where is Bucky?"

"Great, another fan of the metal arm." Tony comments sarcastically, but no one seems to care.

Steve looks at you with a frown.

"Is he safe? Is he free? Can I see him?" You ask promptly next, and Natasha chuckles.

"Hey, calm down." Steve asks and you swallow dryly, trying not to feel so overwhelmed with so many memories coming back at once. "How do you know Bucky?"

You blink in surprise.

"He...he didn't talk about me?"

It takes a second, and then Steve's eyes widen.

“Oh my god, you’re the guardian!

"I am what now?"

Steve lets out an incredulous laugh.

"The guardian." He repeats as if you were going to understand what he meant.

Natasha clears her throat.

"Captain, perhaps you'd better explain." She asks and Steve gestures quickly.

"We've been looking for you for months." Steve then adds, causing you to widen your eyes in surprise. "Bucky he... he's been trying to find you since he escaped. But he didn't know your name. All he knew was the nickname you got from the soldiers. The golden guardian of death. It's been our only tip to find you."

"I thought it was just golden guardian." Clint adds next, Nat makes a noise of agreement.

"No, I'm sure it was just Guardian of Death." Thor comments, but you are barely listening to the teasing, feeling your thoughts racing.

Steve raises his hands to your shoulders.

"Thank you so much for saving Bucky." He says before hugging you. You feel your neck heat up at the sudden contact, but do your best to reciprocate.

Steve lets you go then, smiling.

"He's going to be so happy to see you."

"Where is he?"

"At the compound." Steve replies. "He cannot attend field missions, it's part of the pardon. It's too much bureaucracy to explain now.."

"I think he's just lazy." Tony adds wryly, making the Avengers giggle.

And Steve's smile dies briefly.

"What's with you today, anyway, Stark?"

Tony sighs impatiently, finally rising from his armchair.

"I'm sorry if I'm not reacting in the way you consider proper captain, but I'm concerned about getting to work soon." He says as he moves toward you two. “I need to find out what this thing really is.”

"No, Stark, you won't touch this." It is Thor who announces, and all the avengers look genuinely surprised.

"I beg your pardon?" Stark retorted, but Thor didn't hesitate before he looked at you next.

"Describe to me again how you got your healing, mortal."

You sigh lightly.

"They locked me in an iron chair and brought the scepter." You narrated. "But they lie me on the chair next, and I could only feel the metal against my skin, and then I saw a yellow light. Something went right through my chest, and then right through." You say. "I blacked out for a second, the room was completely empty like a vision. When I blinked, it was back, but all the soldiers holding me were dead. And then they knocked me out."

"Before you said you saw a yellow stone?"

You nodded in agreement.

"I dreamed of this memory for several days." You clarify. "I was back in the room, but this time I watched myself. I saw when they put the scepter to my chest, and when the golden stone came out and went through my skin. It was the stone that released the wave of energy that killed the soldiers .I don't know why I didn't die too."

"A single blow that killed a group of soldiers at once." Thor mutters more to himself than to the rest of the teams. "It's decided then, no mortal must touch this. It's clearly far more power than anyone should have."

"This is ridiculous." Thor accused the next moment, making the team look at him curiously. "You can't just deny knowledge about something like that and..."

"Why are you so insistent on this, Tony?" It's Steve who asks suspiciously. Tony sighs, and gives a short laugh.

"You guys are unbelievable, you know." He says. "I'm trying to find new alternatives to our problems."

"What problems?" Steve asks with a confused grimace, and Tony rolls his eyes, looking nervous.

"Our enemies, Captain!" He snarls. "In case you haven't noticed, it hasn't been too long since we faced an army of robots coming from a hole in the sky!" He accuses. "We don't have the power to face this kind of thing. The scepter is exactly what I need to prevent the worst from happening."

"Where did that come from, Tony?" Steve retorted confused.

Stark gave a short laugh, rolling his eyes.

"I don't have time for this." He grimaced and moved to grab the scepter, but Thor stood in the way, arms crossed. "Really?" Tony impatiently charges, but Thor doesn't move. Stark clenches his jaw before declaring angrily. "I had a vision, okay? I saw all of us, defeated. Defeated because we didn't have the power to win. And I... I could have prevented it."

The avengers look as confused as you are, and remain silent. Tony sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

"It was New York again, but this time the enemy won." He continues, visually upset. When he lifted his face in Steve's direction, his look was angry, but his eyes had tears in it. "And you told me that I could have stopped it."

“I wouldn't do that.” Steve says. “If we ever lose, I wouldn't blame you, Tony.”

Tony gives a short laugh.

“Wouldn’t you really?” He retorts. “I’m pretty sure you would, cap.”

Steve takes a step forward, his eyes soften as he looks at his friend.

“I promise you, Tony. If we lose, we lose together.” He declares. “That’s what being an Avengers means. I’m sorry if I was not clear before, and made you feel any different than this or…”

“Stop it!” Tony angrily interrupts. You flinch because you think you saw a familiar red light in his eyes. “Cut this sentimental crap, Steve. I’m just trying to do what’s necessary here.”

“Back off, Stark!” You order as you noted how he has moved his wand to the scepter, he seems surprised by the action too. You move in his direction as he takes two steps back, looking irritated. You gave him no time to answer however, as you raise your hands over his head and touch his forehead with your fingers before he can complain.

Immediately, you can feel the remnants of magic on Tony's head. You don't recognize it at first, but as your own magic removes the other energy, you sigh slightly. It feels familiar, but you don't know why. The energy is still harmful though, probably due to the intention of the one who cast it, but you manage to clean it all up.

You succeed because you coordinate your magic to wipe the other energy like you usually clear and heal wounds, and it seems to work, because Tony raises his hands to your wrist, his wide-eyed eyes soften and he looks almost startled.

"I'm sorry." He asks and swallows dryly. You remove your fingers from his forehead completely, watching with curiosity. He takes a deep breath, blinking several times as if waking up. "I'm sorry, everyone, I... Damn, it was like a horrible dream. I need to lie down for a minute."

And with that he leaves.

You don't ask questions anymore, because Steve is going after him, and you are trying to figure it out why you still feel the unknown magic tingling at your fingertips, as if it is trying to merge with yours.

//-//

You cry when you see Bucky again.

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, and then he's running up, hugging you tight.

Your conversation is long and intense, and is almost mostly made up of gratitude.

The other Avengers seem very happy to see the whole interaction, especially Steve.

Tony isolates himself in his room as soon as you arrive, and Thor looks upset. He and Bruce discuss something, and then they go to talk to Tony.

You don't pay attention because you are listening to Bucky tell you about getting all his memories back, and living with the Avengers since you helped him. He was now free from Hydra's control, and was pardoned by the state on condition that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

Nat also added in his narrative the information that he and Steve were "making fondue" and the joke made him laugh with red cheeks but you didn't understand what that meant.

You are very happy to see him, but you can't help but think that he was not the one you wanted to find when you were free.

When he introduces you to the rest of the compound, and to your room, you hug him in appreciation, and you both exchange a knowing look, finally acknowledging that you are safe.

//-//

Your first night in the compound is a strange one.

After meeting the whole team, who were polite despite having fought you a few hours ago, you received a full meal and then locked yourself in your room.

But you were not used to having such a soft bed, not even before Hydra, so sleeping seemed kind of impossible.

Figuring that the Avengers wouldn't mind you taking a late night stroll, you left your room.

"Are you lost, girl?" A female voice suddenly sounded making you jump in fright. It was Natasha Romanoff, or as she introduced herself earlier, Black Widow.

"S-sorry, ma'am." You retorted clumsily, and the woman raised her eyebrows at you. "I can't sleep."

"First, I'm not old, so don't call me ma'am." She commented wryly, and you tried to smile. "Second, I know the feeling. If you want, I can distract you."

Your last social conversation with a woman happened a long time ago, and then you find yourself asking:

"Are you inviting me to have sex?"

Nat lets out a surprised laugh, crossing her arms.

"Where did that come from?" she asks, and you scratch your neck lightly.

"Sorry, I learned how to talk to women from television shows that Hydra soldiers watched in the labs. Bad references. What did you mean by distracting me?"

Nat laughed, impressed by your words.

"I meant like have some tea and tell a story." She clarifies, not sounding the least bit upset. You put your hands in the pockets of the pajamas you've been given.

"R-right. That sounds more appropriate." You mumble with flushed cheeks, eliciting another laugh from the woman. As you begin walking side by side, she comments.

"You know, I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with you around here. You are just as awkward as Steve and Bucky."

You end up hearing a story about agents in Budapest, but it seems Nat doesn't tell the whole story. It's nice, though, you missed talking to someone.

"That thing you did earlier with Tony, that was really cool." Nat remarks after a pause in silence.

You take a sip of your tea after shrugging, but she seems inquisitive.

"How did you know it was Maximoff who messed with his head?"

You almost choke at the sudden mention of the name and Nat's watchful gaze makes it impossible to disguise. You sigh.

"I... They are my friends." You confess looking down at the cup, "Or they used to be."

Raising your gaze to Nat again, she only seems curious to know, and you shrug slightly, deciding to trust her.

"We grew up together in Sokovia." You count twirling your fingers on the handle of your cup, "They were the only family I had in the orphanage. And well, it was for them that I broke into a Hydra building."

Nat listens to your story intently, and you swallow dryly before continuing.

"When they captured me, the serum, it... well, it didn't exactly leave me conscientious." You try to explain. "It was like pushing all my memories away, my mind would become completely empty."

“"Is that what they did to Bucky?" Nat questions and you shake your head.

"No, they used electric shock on Bucky." You return with a grimace. "With me, they couldn't hurt me permanently, so they needed something that would make me obey without me being able to heal. It was like being drunk, I guess, only much worse."

“I’m sorry.”

"It 's fine.” You say with a sad smile. “I was dumb enough to go there, i knew the risks.”

“Don’t say that.” Nat asks with a serious voice. “It’s was not your fault they torture kids.”

"And whose fault is it, then?" You retorted, upset, with yourself more than with Nat or anyone else. "My friends for being stubborn idiots? Of Stark for throwing a bomb in my building? I'm tired of looking for reasons to justify what happened to me. Nothing is enough, and I just want to see my friends."

Nat sighs lightly, and raises a hand on the table to reach for yours. You want to hold back the tears, but they are already falling before you can do so.

"I promise we will find your family." She assures you tenderly, and you feel your heart soar at the possibility.

You nod in understanding, taking a deep breath to stop crying.

Nat squeezes your hand, and it takes a moment for you to speak again.

"Wanda." You begin, and almost sob. It has been a long time since you have spoken that name. "She... She must have gotten her powers the same way I did." You say trying to remember everything you witness in Hydra at that moment. "I remember the soldiers talking about the twins being the only ones to survive the stone besides me."

"From Shield records, we know she can manipulate energy and Pietro can run really fast." Nat informs as she releases your hand. She sits thoughtfully for a moment."Maybe because you all got the magic through the same source, you can heal what she can do to Tony's mind. But that's not really my area, maybe you should talk to Thor as well."

You sigh lightly, wiping away the remainder of the tears falling on your face.

"I will." You say. "But I want to find Wan-the twins first." You correct yourself quickly, hoping Nat doesn't notice your flushed cheeks. She does, but says nothing.

"Try to get some rest." She asks as she picks up the teacups. "We have a party coming up, and then Thor is supposed to return to Asgard. I imagine you will want to have a little chat with Bucky before you return to Sokovia."

"I would go back to Sokovia right now if you ask me." You mutter making Nat chuckle lightly. "But I don't want to disturb any of you. I've waited for a long time, I can wait a little longer."

When Nat turns around after putting the glasses in the sink, she has a soft expression.

"You are not a nuisance here, kid." She assures with a smile. "We've just been caught a little by surprise with a new person, but it will be a pleasure to help you find the twins." She says and then has a mischievous expression. "I shouldn't tell you yet, but Steve is pretty excited about the whole thing. He wants you and the twins to join the team eventually."

"Really?" You ask in surprise and Nat just mumbles in agreement, still smiling.

She turns around on the countertop and before she leaves, she turns to you.

"If you ask my opinion, you seem to care a lot about both of them." She says. "I think that no matter how much time has passed, or if they are fighting on opposite sides, she will be happy to see you."

You swallow dryly, looking away.

Nat smiles one last time before leaving and you twiddle your fingers nervously, sitting for a while at the table before returning to your room.

With much to think about, you are surprised that you fall asleep almost instantly as you lie down.

//-//

The Hydra serum is still in your system.

You realize it in a rather embarrassing way actually.

After waking up on the couch, you went to the kitchen.

Bucky tells you that all the team is having a meeting and they will join you two soon, so you just lay against the wall while he reads the newspaper out loud for you.

The Avengers stay in the meeting room for a long time, and don't seem very pleased when they leave, but Tony seems intrigued.

You are surprised that he comes to talk to you as soon as he sees you.

"I didn't thank you for yesterday, kid." He says with a smile. "Whatever you did took away that bad feeling. Now I can work without having to hide that I'm trying to help."

You didn't quite know what to respond, but it didn't matter because Tony was patting you on the shoulder before smiling contentedly at the rest of the team.

"While I figure out a way to decipher the stone, which won't be hard since I'm incredibly smart." He begins his speech, causing the group to let out debauched laughter. "You guys can get busy with whatever old people do for fun. Except you Thunderlord, I'm going to need your help in the lab."

"Wow, Tony Stark asking for help." Thor teases and you watch the interaction with a smile on your lips, moving to join the table. "What a little magic doesn't do to your head, heh?"

"Don't tease me, Thundercat. I'll throw you out of this building, and you won't get any breakfast." He says with false seriousness and you laugh lightly as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. "Hey, kid, give me some too?"

"Ja, Master." You respond mechanically, perhaps even a little sleepily. The Avengers look at you with curiosity and confusion as they see you mechanically pour the coffee, and hand it to Tony, who looks shocked.

"He is not your master, kid." It is Natasha who breaks the silence, and you blink in confusion looking around for a moment.

"R-right." You say. "Sorry about that, Tony. Old habits I guess."

Tony thanks you for the drink, and you think the subject is going to die, but then Natasha keeps looking at you.

"Hey, Y/N, come over here." She asks and you move immediately. Shit. Natasha raises her eyebrow. "Take two steps to the left." Your body obeys. “Now to the right.” She asks and you obey again. This is terrible. The widow looks at you impressed.

"That looks bad." Tony quickly mocks before waving for Thor to accompany him to the lab, justifying that they should get to work soon.

Nat continues to look at you incredulously, but then Steve gets up from the table as well and snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, making you jump in fright slightly. He assumes a worried expression afterwards.

"You are obeying our orders as if we were your masters." He says. "Let's go see Bruce in the lab, he'll want to run some tests."

When you reach the lab, and Steve explains to Bruce what happened at breakfast, you are not surprised that he puts needles in your arm. You hope the news will be good when he finishes assessing your blood.

//-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-//

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#wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #wanda x reader #Left Behind #wanda maximoff #avengers fanfic #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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ptergwen · 4 years

Note

Hi val! Got a request, it's okay if you don't wanna write it, but can you write about peter telling the reader he's going on a huge mission and he's excited about it but the reader is so worried they end up arguing? But when peter gets back from mission all bruised, the reader is still upset but dresses his wound anyway and it ends up with fluff??

abort mission

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, and angst

a/n: woah woah woah i ended up writing way more than i expected but i loved this request so much :,) i hope you do too

“we’re staying in this, like, super fancy castle while we’re there. it’s gonna be awesome,” peter rambles to you. he takes all the clean shirts in his drawer and throws them into a suitcase.

he’s packing for a mission in europe with the avengers, and you’re here to say goodbye. you’ve been pretty quiet while peter gives you as many details as he’s allowed to. it’s always an honor when the team invites him on. he gets so stoked about it. you’re happy he’s happy and gets to pursue his passion, but you’ve noticed a pattern.

every time peter leaves the country with earth’s mightiest heroes, he comes back in worse condition than the last. it seems like they protect everyone except peter. he’s oblivious to the fact that the end result is always his suffering. he’s just glad to be there. really, he gets nothing in return except scars that never heal, not even a permanent spot on the team.

so, you’re not thrilled he agreed to go.

“plus, i get to miss two weeks of school.” peter beams, getting onto his knees to zip the suitcase. “feels like a vacation almost.” “you like school, though,” you remind him. you’re sat at the edge of his bed while you watch, rather than help. he hops up again with a shrug. “i like vacations more.” “it’s not a vacation,” you mutter to yourself, then speak up.

“how are you gonna catch up? that’s a lot of missing assignments.” with that same innocent smile, peter walks over to you. he grabs both your hands and laces your fingers together. “i’m a fast learner. besides, ned said he’d help me.” you sigh, looking down at the floor so you don’t have to look at peter. “or, you could. make it into a little study date when i get back,” he suggests while playing with your fingers.

“i don’t even want you to go,” you finally admit and meet his sparkling eyes. nothing could ever dull them. “why not? you’re gonna miss me?” peter teases, pressing a couple of kisses to your palm. “you don’t have to. i’m pretty sure france has wifi.” he wiggles his eyebrows. “oui oui, mademoiselle, eh?” despite yourself, you giggle at his french accent and tug on his hands. he sits down next to you with a chuckle.

“nat has been giving me lessons,” peter explains, you quirking an eyebrow. “she speaks french?” “she speaks a lot of languages, actually. she’s so cool.” peter scoots closer to you and sets his hands on your waist, his voice dropping. “you’d love her.” your face twists up in confusion at the idea.

you don’t have anything against the avengers, obviously. they’re good people. you’re just not the biggest fan of them at the moment, considering the circumstances they’ve put peter under.

“peter, i don’t want you to go,” you repeat more seriously than before. your teeth sink into your lower lip. “and, it’s not because i’ll miss you.” “none taken,” peter jokes, implying there should’ve been a no offense. he then realizes how distressed you look, so he cuts it out. “sorry, sorry. i’m done now. how come?”

you take his hand again and hold it tight. “what if you get hurt?” you ask in the nicest way possible, out of care. “i don’t wanna see you hurting, pete. this mission sounds really... dangerous.” he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his grin faltering a bit. “it is, but i’m ready for it. i’ll be fine.”

you’re not convinced yet. that line he likes to overuse isn’t enough to do the trick.

his eyes searching for yours, peter brushes a piece of your hair back. “have a little faith in me, babe.” “no, i... i do. i have the most faith in you, peter.” you find yourself frowning as he twirls your locks around his finger. “that’s not the problem.” peter’s voice becomes a whisper. “what is it, then? talk to me.”

you do the opposite because you’re afraid you’ll upset him further, which is the last thing he needs right now. your silence prompts peter to fill it. “would it make you feel better if i say mr. stark is keeping an eye on me?” he’s smiling sheepishly, you scoffing. “oh, like he kept an eye on you in amsterdam?”

the only eye related activity that happened there was peter almost losing one of his. he’d come back with an eyepatch and couldn’t see out of it for over a month. to this day, there’s still a bit of blood in it when you look close enough.

“i already told you, that was my fault,” peter grumbles, turning so he faces forward. “i didn’t listen to him-“ “who gives a shit? he’s the one who put you in that situation!” you blurt out. you’ve been way too patient this whole time, and now you’re reaching your breaking point. “you say that like i didn’t wanna be there.” peter clenches his jaw, still mostly calm.

“either way, mr. stark,” you mock what peter always calls him, “was supposed to keep you safe, and he didn’t. i’m scared it’s gonna happen again.” letting out a noise close to a growl, peter stands up from the bed. “you’re not listening to me, y/n. everything was fine. i just-“ you’re not in the mood to hear him make excuses, so you interrupt.

“do you know any other sixteen year olds who fight literal terrorists on their free time?” you rhetorically ask and get to your own feet. peter tries to walk away from you, only you follow him. “you’re a kid, peter, in case you forgot.” he spins around to give you a nasty look. “do you know any other sixteen year olds who stick to fucking walls?”

your heart starts to race from his sudden outburst. he’s scary when he’s mad, and he almost never gets mad at you. all you can do is blink dumbly. “didn’t think so,” peter spits. “this is what i’m supposed to do, help people. is that so wrong?” his breathing becomes ragged as his anger grows.

“what about you? are you helping yourself?” you speak softly, expecting an answer this time. “you’re not my fucking therapist, y/n,” he deflects the question. “i am your girlfriend, though. i care about you so much, you know that.” eyebrows furrowed in concern, you reach out for peter. he takes a step back. it doesn’t take long for tears to cloud your vision.

“i was excited to share this with you, and i thought you’d be happy for me.” peter balls his hands into fists at his sides. his voice stays low. “instead, you made it all about yourself. you can never let me enjoy team stuff.” you’re speechless, peter nodding as he lets his words sit. “thanks for the support.”

“you’re an asshole,” you laugh out bitterly and wipe under your eyes.

he didn’t mean to make you cry. he was so caught up in himself, he didn’t realize you were.

peter’s whole demeanor changes. “y/n, baby...” he attempts to put a hand on your cheek, but you hit it away. “get off of me. what did i just say?” you sniffle, your tone harsh in contrast. “you’re an asshole, peter.” he changes his mind about feeling bad. you’ve berated him way more than he did you, anyway.

“you should go. i have to be up early,” peter decides, even though he’d said you could stay the night. whatever, you don’t want to anymore. “fine,” you agree shortly. “i’m leaving.” he stands there while you collect your things, shoving them into your bag. you’re going slow enough so he has a chance to stop you. he doesn’t.

you pass by him on your way to his door, sucking in a breath. here’s your official goodbye. “see you later, peter. don’t die.” “mhm, i won’t,” he replies, his tongue poking at his cheek. with one more shared look between you two, you make your grand exit, no doubt informing may of her nephew’s behavior before you’re gone.

peter immediately regrets the way he talked to you, and that you’re leaving things like this. you were only trying to protect him. you’ll never be able to save the city like he does, so this is how you do it. he truly is an asshole for not seeing that.

frustration consuming him, peter kicks over his fully stuffed suitcase, its contents spilling out. he grits his teeth.

“fan-fucking-tastic.”

you don’t talk to peter the whole two weeks he’s gone except for some are you alive and yes texts. he’d called you quite a few times, and was sent to voicemail for all of them. he gave you the benefit of the doubt because of timezones.

it was actually because you declined, which peter knew deep down was the real reason.

he’s coming home from his mission today. you’re not sure when or if he plans on dropping by. you’re not sure you’d like him to, either. you don’t really get a choice in the end.

there’s a series of knocks at your window, at some ungodly time in the night. you’re all too familiar with this routine. it’s peter.

you slip out from under your covers, a scowl already painting your face as you go to the window. surely enough, peter is perched in front of it, clad in red and black. the suit must be new because you’ve never seen it. you push up the window and step aside so he can get through.

“thanks,” peter mumbles, climbing into your room less gracefully than usual. he’s sort of wobbly when he lands. “yeah,” you dully acknowledge. “how was france?” “uh, good. you know, lots of cheese and all that.” his voice is muffled from his mask, since he hasn’t taken it off yet. that’s odd. “i was talking about the mission, but cool,” you almost laugh back.

“the mission was... fine,” peter clarifies and scratches the back of his neck. he never describes something as simply being ‘fine.’ when the boy talks, he lectures. you’re starting to get worried. “that’s good. at least you didn’t die, right?” you say to lighten the mood. peter awkwardly chuckles. “haha, yeah. thank god for that.”

you hum and walk over to sit on your bed, peter staying where he is. “what time did you get back?” you wonder, a completely harmless question. “um, this morning,” he says in response, raising your suspicions. “why’re you still in the suit, then?” you squint at him. “i like it, by the way.” “thanks, y/n/n. i, uh,” peter trails off, no good explanations coming to mind.

you’re quickly developing a hunch for what what down. you wordlessly get up again, meeting peter by your window. he’s nervous to see what happens next. peter’s shoulders slump when your fingers land on his mask. you carefully lift it, revealing his face to you. his banged up, bloody face.

“surprise.” peter musters up a grin, you tossing the mask at his chest. you’re beyond angry now. it’s not at him, athough it is at his injuries. “please don’t be mad,” he nearly begs, you shaking your head. you go to leave your room for some space. peter’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back. “i should’ve listened to you, okay? i’m sorry,” he genuinely apologizes.

you still don’t say anything while you look over his beaten body. there’s a gash with stitches in it on his chin, a deep slice across the bridge of his nose, cuts littering his cheeks. he’s even got a busted lip for good measure. this might be the worst condition he’s let you see him in.

“you were right, y/n. i think... i think i’m gonna sit the next one out. it’s too much for me, clearly,” peter continues, fingers sliding down to lock with yours. “you should say you told me so.” “how... how did this happen?” you manage to get out instead. “the bad guy fought me,” he says with the hint of a smirk. “i won, though.”

it’s a relief that he’s handling this so well, even earning a laugh from you. that puts you more at ease.

“this is probably a dumb question, but are you okay?” you brush your thumb over peter’s cheekbone gently, avoiding his scratches. “not really. my face hurts a lot, and flash is gonna tease the hell out of me on monday.” his lips form a line, arms looping around your waist. it’s very much welcomed by you.

“you just spent two weeks trying not to die, and you’re worried about flash?” you snicker and draw a heart on his skin. peter shrugs a shoulder. “he’s so mean to me.” he brings you in closer to him. “besides, this is the normal kid stuff i should be focusing on.” you’re glad he finally came to terms with that. you’ve been saying it for the longest time.

you smile wickedly at him. “exactly. so is all that homework you have to make up.” peter lets out a breathy laugh, you laying your head on his chest. “i missed you,” he tells you quietly. “really wish i could kiss you right now.” “i missed you too, pete. so much,” you murmur into him. your hands settle on his biceps. “and, i forgive you.” “thanks, baby,” peter exhales.

“of course. once your lips are healed,” you pull back from his chest, making a kissing noise. “pucker up, lover- oh my god.” you’re looking up at him with wild eyes. peter gets reasonably startled from it. “what? what’s wrong?” “you... you’re bleeding!” you point at his stitches. he winces, touching the spot. there’s blood, alright.

“crap. do you have a bandaid or something?” peter gives you an apologetic smile. “mr. stark said i should cover them when this happens.” maybe, tony isn’t so bad after all. you nod and take him by his hand. “yeah, in the bathroom. come with me.”

peter sits on the edge of your bathtub while you patch up his chin. he tells you more about the fun parts of his mission, you placing the cinderella bandaid over his gash. you have those from a while ago and also regular ones. however, he preferred the princess design.

“you saw the real mona lisa? like, in person? that’s insane.” you grin, smoothing down peter’s bandaid one last time. “yeah, she’s even prettier up close.” peter returns the smile. “thanks for taking care of me, y/n. i swear i don’t deserve you sometimes.” now pouting at him, you crouch down so you’re at his level. “it’s the other way around, peter.”

“let’s just agree to disagree,” he concludes and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “i love you, okay?” “i love you, too.” you press a light kiss to his bandaid, getting a giggle from peter.

yeah, it’s going to be hell finding replacements for his lips.

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker smut #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut

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the7thcrow · 3 years

Text

indulgence | part two

pairing: felix x (fem) vampire!reader

summary: an indulgence grows to become dangerous, as the society of hampden college takes note of y/n’s new blood bag.

series masterlist.

word count: 5.8 k

genre: forbidden love. angst, extreme fluff, suggestive.

warnings: blood, suggestive content (sex is discussed but not described), strong language, alcohol and vampires ofc.

rating: 16+

a/n: hi everyone! thank you to anyone who read part one, and liked it enough to continue with part two hehe. the plot really picks up here, and i’m quite excited about it. once again, i love hearing feedback, so don’t be shy in leaving me an ask or message :)

previous chapter.

...

You were careful. In the beginning, at least. For the first few weeks of carrying your secret, you only met Felix after hours, and only at your home. You’d leave at different times, and you both never spoke a word of what you were doing to anyone.

It was a safe play. A smart one. But as time went on you became sloppy. It started on the day Felix’s roommates would be gone for the entire weekend.

You were both lying in your bed, the rainy Sunday morning having trickled by in a lazy, melancholic fashion. These were your favourite days, the ones in which he’d arrive just before dawn and leave near dusk.

You’d gotten used to his presence around your apartment, his absence painfully noticeable during the days you found yourself cooped up there alone. You liked when he was there, even when you weren’t talking, lounging on the couch in silence with your feet intertwined as you caught up on your required reading. Or when sometimes he’d cook for you, baking you sweets as you were stressed out over a paper that’s due date was much closer than you’d realized. Him simply being around granted you comfort, a sense of companionship, something you hadn’t felt for a long time.

You couldn’t deny that Felix Lee had nestled himself into your life, and you’d be a liar to say you weren’t enjoying it. Being with him made you love the creature you were, seeing the way your feeding affected him, the way it set the two of you on fire. Forgetting for a moment how restrictive your life truly was, how exhausting and lonely it often happened to be.

Looking back, perhaps that was the entire problem itself. That wasn’t something you should so easily forget, no matter how tempting it may be.

“Come on,” Felix whined, tracing shapes along the bare of your back with his finger. “They won’t be there all weekend, it won’t be any different then when we’re here.”

He was trying to convince you to come spend the following weekend at his apartment, as his roommates were leaving on a ski trip and wouldn’t be back until Monday morning.

“Well, if it won’t be any different then why should we bother risking it?” You returned. In truth, you really did want to go spend time at his place. It felt like the next step in your relationship, however strange and complicated it may be. You weren’t sure if “relationship” was even the right term for whatever you two were, but you didn’t want to overthink things too much. For now, all you wanted was to enjoy this while it lasted, as deep down you knew it couldn’t be forever.

“Because,” he mumbled, rolling you over to face him. This wasn’t going to help your willpower, you’d come to find you just couldn’t say no to those dark, curious eyes. “I feel like I’ve really gotten to know you these last few weeks. I mean, I’ve seen your life. Your room, your book and record collections, what you keep stocked in your refrigerator. I guess I just want to share my space with you too.”

You groaned, shifting downwards to bury your face in his chest. “Well that’s not fair. How am I supposed to say no to that?”

“Exactly, you can’t,” he laughed.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know. Sorry.”

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll head over Friday night then.”

“See, I knew you’d come around,” he smiled, his voice light with enthusiasm. However, you couldn’t ignore the weight of anxiousness bubbling in your chest. You looked up at Felix, and you knew that he could see it written on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, methodically running his fingers through your hair, something he’d learned would help calm you down whenever you were stressed. “I’ll make it worth your time.”

~~~~

Felix did, in fact, make it worth your time. When you arrived at his doorstep the following weekend, you were surprised to find the door unlocked. Carefully, you twisted the knob, peeking inside.

It was safe to say you were surprised.

The apartment was entirely candlelit, the smell of rose scented candles mixing with that of whatever Felix was presently cooking in the kitchen. The table was done up in a way that reminded you of a cheesy Italian restaurant, with a checkered red tablecloth, two glasses for wine, and a rose stationed in the middle.

Felix emerged from the kitchen, a wide, toothy grin on his face. He was wearing an apron, patterned with an alarming amount of cartoon kittens, over what appeared to be a rather expensive suit.

“I feel like I’m underdressed,” you stated, unable to mask the pure awe in your voice. Nobody, not even Chan, had done anything like this for you. Not to mention the fact that you and Felix weren’t even dating…

Were you? This seemed like an awful lot of effort to put in for someone you were only hooking up with.

“Nah, you look great. Don’t worry about it,” Felix said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take your jacket Mademoiselle.”

You laughed, taking off your overcoat and handing it to him. “That’s French. I thought you were going for Italian,” you joked, attempting to hide the warmth flooding to your cheeks.

“Shhh,” he said, setting your jacket down on the couch before putting his hands on your shoulders. “Just let me have this one. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said quietly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. You felt oddly shy, surrounded by such a scene.

“Well if you’ll take a seat, I can show you what I’ve been making in the kitchen,” he said, moving towards the table and pulling out the chair. You complied, sitting down and shifting your focus to the wonderful smell wafting in from the kitchen.

Felix disappeared before appearing with two plates, setting one down in front of you. “Shrimp Scampi,” he clarified. You glanced up at him and you could tell he was slightly nervous. Knowing Felix, he was probably worried you wouldn’t like it.

How someone could possibly not appreciate all of this, was entirely beyond you.

You decided to reassure him. “It looks amazing, Felix. All of this,” you said, gesturing to the room around you. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you did this, it's so… unbelievably sweet.”

“Well,” he said shyly, removing the apron and setting it down on the kitchen counter. “I knew you were worried about coming over here. So, I guess I just wanted to make it the best I could. Less terrifying and more something you’d really enjoy. You know?”

If your cheeks weren’t red before, they certainly were now. It took everything in you not to lean over the table and kiss him right then and there.

He grabbed a bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet behind him, pouring the liquid into your glass. “White wine?” You questioned with a smirk. “I thought you would have gone with red.”

He chuckled, beginning to fill his own. “I thought about it, but it felt a little too cliche. Besides,” he said, corking the bottle and setting it back down on the table. “White goes better with seafood.”

You picked up your glass, taking a small sip. “Pinot grigio?”

He raised his eyebrows, smirking. “A bit of a wine connoisseur, are we?”

You laughed. “Something like that.”

Truth be told, you weren’t. Frankly, you’d always much preferred scotch. However, Chan was big on wine. From the two years you’d spent together, you’d managed to pick up a thing or two.

The rest of the dinner passed smoothly. The food was delicious, the wine smooth, the conversation breezy. You’d calmed down from the initial shock of it all, and had settled back into the comfortable atmosphere you and Felix had developed over the past few weeks.

After you’d both finished your meals, he rose to his feet, setting your plates down on the kitchen counter before disappearing around the corner, into the living room. You were wondering if you should follow him, when suddenly classical music started to fill your ears.

You rose to your feet, peering around the corner to see Felix stationed beside a record player. He smiled, before extending a hand out towards you. “Come on, dance with me.”

“You sure are cheesy today, huh?” You laughed, taking his hand anyway. You laid your head against his chest, the two of you swaying gently, a sorry attempt at a Waltz.

The music from the record filled the room, the notes dancing along with the two of you, a symphony of affection. You quickly recognized the piece as The Four Seasons.

“Vivaldi is my favourite composer,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I know, you told me a while ago,” he spoke quietly.

“Ah,” you said, smiling to yourself over the fact he remembered. “I’m surprised you have a record of him, I know you aren’t the classical type.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he laughed. “It’s actually one of my roommates.”

“I see. What are they like?” Even with all the time you’d spent together, you and Felix had never talked about the people in your personal lives.

“Hmm,” Felix hummed. Although he didn’t say anything, you could tell he was happy that you asked. That you were slowly breaking the barrier you’d put around yourself.

“Well, Han- that’s whose record this is- he’s... well he’s loud, but I think you’d really like him. He’s studying music theory, wants to be something of a composer himself. He’s a bit messy, but if you harp on him enough he’ll keep his shit clean.”

“He sounds nice,” you offered kindly. “What about your other one?”

“Ah, yeah. Changbin. His name is Changbin,” Felix said, but you could tell there was something off about his tone.

“What about him?”

“He’s… he’s going through a lot right now. But normally he’s the coolest. He’s also in music theory, so he and Han help eachother out a lot. He’s the type to bring you food when you’ve been working on a paper all day, because he knows you’ve forgotten to eat. Always there for you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” you said. Talking about Changbin seemed to make Felix nervous, based on the way he wouldn’t meet your eye and the apprehension in his voice. You could bet it had to do with whatever Changbin was going through at the moment, but despite your curiousness you decided to drop it. It wasn’t any of your business.

The two of you swayed in silence for a few moments. There was nothing left to say on the matter.

“You know,” you said suddenly. “You said you wanted to show me your space, but I still haven’t seen your bedroom.”

Felix smirked. “Ah, I guess you haven’t. Why, you impatient for something?”

You laughed, looking up at him. “Get your head out of the gutter, Lix. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm. Yeah, sure you don’t,” he returned, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway to your left. He stopped, turning to open a door that was currently covered in a rather elaborate arrangement of animal stickers. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh right, the stickers,” Felix said, smacking his forehead with his palm. “Han thought it would be funny, but now I can’t get them off.”

You smiled. Felix was right, you and Han would probably get along.

The inside of Felix's room was oddly exactly how you had imagined it. Books were stacked neatly on the desk in the corner, ranging from academic texts to various manga. Posters hung on the walls, representing different music artists, some you recognized and others you did not. He had a nintendo switch tossed on his night stand, and plants hanging in the window. The room, while packed, was clean and well in order. An organized sort of chaos.

You laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. You felt the mattress sink slightly as he laid beside you.

“Do you like it?” He whispered.

“I do. It’s very you.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, rolling onto his side to face you. His fingers wandered in the air for a moment, before finding themselves placed against your cheek. Gently he stroked his thumb back and forth along your jawbone.

You smiled, leaning into his touch, placing your own hand in his hair. “I feel like dessert,” you stated.

Felix’s cheeks warmed. “I made brownies,” he mumbled, his gaze deepening. “But something tells me that’s not what you have in mind.”

~~~

It was not what you had in mind, and you’d gone far beyond merely explaining that to Felix. The two of you were tangled together beneath his sheets, his head resting on your chest. The room was dark, preventing you from seeing the details of his face, only the shadows and the curve of his jaw visible in the moonlight.

“Felix?” You whispered, wondering if he was awake.

“Mmm?” He mumbled, clearly only half-conscious.

“You know I can’t give you more than this, right? We’ll always have to sneak around, keep us a secret. It’ll never be easy.”

“I know.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

He reached for your hand, allowing your fingers to intertwine. “If it means I have you, I’ll manage.”

A moment of silence passed by, as you were unsure of what to say, but something inside of you stirred. Something deep and warm, coming back to life.

“Y/N?” He asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Do I have you?”

“Of course, Lix,” you smiled, finally allowing your eyes to close, putting your mind to rest. “I’m all yours.”

~~~~

The following morning you awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the window, Felix still sleeping soundly against your chest. Carefully, you moved his head to the pillow, sliding out from under him and emerging into the hallway.

The apartment felt eerily quiet. You never found yourself in an unfamiliar place in the mornings, and the urge to evacuate and run back to your apartment was more tempting than you would’ve liked to admit. You wouldn’t, of course. Felix had put in the effort to make you feel comfortable, to feel at home. You would honour that, no matter how slightly terrifying it might be.

You wandered into the kitchen, noticing a container full of brownies set on the counter. You smiled, those were supposed to be eaten yesterday, before, well…

You opened the package taking a bite of the sweet, before spitting it out in shock.

The apartment door swung open wildly, a boy with brown hair and chubby cheeks storming inside, a thick cast around his wrist. He threw his backpack onto the couch, letting the ski’s he was carrying clatter against the wall.

“Felix, you will not believe how bad the hill was. There was hardly even any snow, and the amount of rocks? It was like they wanted me to break my arm! Believe me, you made the right call opting out, it was not worth the drive-”

The boy stopped, his eyes bulging as he finally realized you were in the room. His silence made you quickly realize that you were only sporting one of Felix’s shirts, and while it covered you fine, it told an obvious tale.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Hi!” He said, his mind finally catching up on the situation.

Alright, this was it. Clearly you and Felix weren’t a secret anymore, at least not with his roommates. Now you had to decide how you were going to play this out. Your mind was buzzing. You knew this was a bad idea. You knew this was dangerous. You fucked up. It was over for you. You were screwed.

Attempting to settle your racing mind, you decided to make an effort at being friendly for now.

“Hi,” you smiled, moving behind the kitchen table to cover your legs. “I’m assuming you’re Han?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He laughed.

“Felix mentioned you were a tad… charismatic.”

Han chuckled. “Did he now? I’ll have to pay him back for that. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name-”

Felix burst out of the hallway, his hair a disheveled mess and shirt only half buttoned. “Han! You’re back early!”

He looked at you, and while you wanted to be furious at him, planned to make him regret getting you to come here, the look of guilt in his eyes stopped you before you could even begin. It were as if the words “I’m Sorry” were branded to his forehead, his features solemn with remorse.

“We have to get out of here,” you thought. “We have to talk about this, figure out what the hell to do.”

“Wait, what did you do to your arm?” Felix asked, just noticing the thick cast.

“Ah,” Han said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his good arm. “I wiped out. Like I said, the hill was bad. Not enough snow and too much ice. I slid into a rock and, well… Doctor said I have to keep this on for the next 5 weeks, which blows, obviously,” he motioned to the cast, shrugging his shoulder helplessly.

Before you could get a word in, he continued. “Oh, have you guys eaten yet? Changbin’s just grabbing-”

Felix quickly cut him off. “We were actually just about to go get something to eat.”

Han raised an eyebrow, glancing from Felix, who looked like he just stumbled out of a 2 year coma, to yourself, who was certainly in no position to walk out the door. “You were?”

“Yeah!” You exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly. “I’m just going to, uh, get changed, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” you said, rushing past them and into Felix’s bedroom.

You shut the door behind you, leaning up against the frame before taking a deep breath. Okay, you could do this. You’d make a quick exit, then you and Felix could sort out what to do next. Maybe he could tell them you were just a hookup. But would that look too suspicious? Did they notice he’d been sneaking out almost every night? If they did that would only cause more problems.

God, this was a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have come, you shouldn't have come-

“Y/N?” Felix called, knocking on the door. “Are you almost ready?”

“Y-yeah!” You called back, cringing at the waver in your voice. You had to get yourself together. You threw on your jeans from the following day, tucking in Felix’s button up and bounded towards the door.

“Alright, I’m ready,” you said, bouncing back into the living room. However, you were surprised to be greeted by someone new. The boy was standing beside Felix and Han, whispering in a rushed, as well as undeniably angry tone.

More surprising yet, and perhaps unsettling as well, he was glaring at you. No, glaring wasn’t the right word. His eyes screamed bloody murder, his jaw locked, entire body was rigid with a stiffness only produced by vile distaste. It was that look of hatred, that familiar spiteful glaze, which immediately made you recognize him.

“I’ve seen you at the library before,” you stated, taking note of how his eyes widened slightly at the sound of your voice.

The boy cleared his throat. “I don’t think so,” he stated, which was an obvious lie. He’d visited the library several times during the dead of the night, always with that same angry, loathsome stare. You’d always found it unsettling, and always left soon after he arrived, even if you still had work to do.

“Yes, you-” you began, but Felix quickly cut you off.

“Sorry, Changbin. We were just leaving, I’ll catch you guys later.” He said, taking your arm and quickly ushering you out the entry. You saw Han attempt to call out in protest, but Felix quickly shut the door behind him, blocking whatever it was he had to say.

You turned to Felix. “What the hell was that?”

“What, I figured you’d want to get out of there?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye as he walked ahead of you, making his way down the complex stairs.

You scowled, chasing after him. “Not that, why was Changbin - or whatever his name is - staring at me like that?”

“That’s just the way Changbin has been lately,” Felix said, although you couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to it. Pulling your arm away, you pushed passed him. If Felix was going to be so frustrating, there was no way you were going to be the one trailing him like a puppy.

“Well, I know for a fact he’s seen me at the library, so why would he lie about that?” You continued, opening the main doors and storming onto the street.

Felix jogged after you. “I don’t know?” He shot back, his voice sharp. “Maybe he just forgot?”

You scoffed, turning a corner onto the main walking path, heading off campus and towards your own apartment. You needed to sort this out, and the last thing you needed was to cause a scene in the middle of a busy street.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, still keeping yourself a few steps ahead. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to my place.”

“It’s the middle of the day, I thought that was against your precious rules,” he sniped. You knew he was just angry, blowing off steam, but the jab hurt. He was fully aware that you hated the way things were, the way things had to be. It was a low blow, and it only made your annoyance spike.

“Fine, Lix. You don’t have to come, go back home so you don’t have to be a burden to my ‘precious rules.’”

“Shit, no. Wait, Y/N!” He babbled, running to put himself in front of you. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for, I didn’t mean that. Please, let’s figure this out. I want to, seriously.”

You stared at him for a moment, before walking past him, a sigh trailing from your lips. “Fine, come on.”

He let out a relieved breath before catching up, placing himself at your side.

“We need to determine what the hell we’re going to tell your roommates,” you start. “Because as of now, we’ve gotten ourselves into a load of shit-”

You didn’t see the man in front of you as you collided into his chest, falling to the ground, rubbing your nose from the immediate shock of pain.

“Woah, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there,” the voice said, and your entire body froze. You knew that voice. You knew that voice well. It was a voice you hadn’t heard in months, the voice of the worst possible person you could stumble into at the moment.

“Hold on, Y/N?” Chan asked. You looked up to meet his gaze, petrified by the familiar look of pain in his eyes. The same hurt from the last time you saw him, or in better terms, left him.

“Hey, Chan,” you replied, your voice coming out more shaky than you wanted it to. Chan extended a hand, lifting you to your feet. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “It sure has.”

Then, to your complete and utter despair, his gaze shifted to Felix. It was alarming, how quickly his gaze hardened, the way any sense of past affection drifted from his eyes. “Who’s this?” He asked, his voice cold.

“That’s Felix. He’s uh, from class, we got assigned for a partner project. We have to explain how without divine intervention, the events in The Iliad may have transpired differently,” you said. If you were going to lie, you had to at least try to make it sound believable.

“Ah, I see,” Chan said, an edge to his voice. “Where are you guys heading?”

“Just a cafe,” you replied, keeping your voice level.

“Off campus?” He asked, his eyes narrowing, you felt your heart leap into your throat.

“Yeah,” Felix answered without missing a beat. “Figured it would be less busy, you know?”

“Hm,” Chan said, before giving the boy a smile. To Felix, it probably seemed nice, but you knew Chan. Which meant you also knew there wasn’t an ounce of genuine kindness in that expression.

“Alright, well I’ll let you guys get to it then,” he shook Felix’s hand, his grip slightly too firm. “It was nice meeting you.”

He took a step to make his exit, and for a moment you thought you’d gotten away with it. You thought that somehow, you’d manage to evade this inevitable disaster. Foolish.

Chan stopped beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Turning to Felix, he smiled, his eyes glinting. “And hey, you might want to fix your collar.”

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on his face as he adjusted the collar of his button-up. That’s when you noticed it. The bite marks just peeked out, visibly fresh from the following night.

Chan leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your ear. Your body froze, heart stopping at his words.

“You’ve got his scent all over you.”

~~~~

You and Felix spent the next few hours deciding your best course of action. In a matter of a day, your entire arrangement had been flipped on its head.

The first issue revolved around Felix’s roommates, the biggest worry being what exactly he was going to tell them. After much thought, as well as a bit of arguing, you decided to have Felix say that the two of you were casually seeing each other. This way, they shouldn’t get suspicious that there was more going on, but they also wouldn’t expect to necessarily see you around their apartment either.

There was still risk in it - of course, there always was - as there was the remaining fear that one of them might mention the two of you to the wrong person, and you’d be doomed. As much as having this as a risk pained you, there wasn’t much you could do about it, at least for the moment. For now, you had to trust that if Felix told them to keep it a secret, they would.

This was difficult, as you truthfully didn’t have faith in either of them. Han seemed nice, of course. But it was clear he liked to talk, and it wouldn’t be shocking if something managed to slip from his lips.

Changbin... Well, he seemed to hate you, for whatever reason that might be. You tried to talk to Felix about this, but he simply brushed it off, blaming it on whatever Changbin happened to be going through at the moment. Begrudgingly, you decided to drop it, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t store the worry in the back of your mind. Keep a watchful eye out.

The bigger problem was Chan. He knew. He knew everything. The feeding, the fucking. That Felix was something more than just an acquaintance. He could single-handedly unravel your relationship, all it would take was a quick chat with The Council, and you would be ruined. There would be nothing you could do to stop them. You didn’t know what The Council would do to you, but you knew at the very least they would force you to end your arrangement with Felix.

You wanted to believe that Chan wouldn’t do that. You really did, but you knew that might not be the case. If he saw telling The Council as a way of protecting you, to keep you away from humans that could be out to hurt you, or use you, there was no doubt in your mind that that’s exactly what he would do.

For now, all you could do was wait, and keep as low of a profile as you possibly could at the moment. It was for this purpose that you said the following words:

“I think we need to distance ourselves from each other, for at least a little while,” you said to Felix. He currently was sitting on your couch, elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands.

Slowly, he glanced up at you. He looked tired. “Do we have to?” He asked, his voice flooded with defeat. The last few hours hadn't been easy. There were sacrifices to make, ones that neither of you wanted to adhere to. But this was not as simple as what you did and didn’t want.

“Yeah,” you sighed, dropping down on the couch beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “We have to. I think we could have dealt with your roommates, but Chan is a far bigger issue.”

Felix frowned, and you knew exactly how he felt.

This sucked.

Over the past month, you’d really come to like Felix. You genuinely enjoyed his company, his cooking, his sense of humour. The way he brightened up a room. Most of all, he made you feel less alone. Together you were a part of something. A relationship of sorts. You mattered. And while you would do what you could to make sure this farewell wasn’t forever, in the end it was still a goodbye.

And goodbye’s were always hard, no matter what lay behind them.

“Alright,” he murmured, taking your hand in his, gently brushing his thumb against your knuckles. “When should I expect to hear from you again?”

“I’ll give you a call by the end of the week. I might try talking to Chan, just to see where he’s at with all this. Try to make him understand before he decides to throw me under the bus.”

Felix hums in response, before twisting his neck so that his chin rests on top of your head. “I’m going to miss you,” he states simply.

You smile sadly, planting a soft kiss at the nape of his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” you say, “but this will only be temporary. I’ll make sure of it.”

~~~~

You didn’t get the chance to talk to Chan, as not even a full day after Felix left your apartment, a letter slid under your door. Carefully, you arose from your spot on your couch, setting your laptop down on the coffee table. You approached the envelope slowly, as if you were to move too fast, it might combust.

You picked up the letter, turning it over to reveal the seal. Your heart sunk in your chest.

There it was. The red wax seal. The letter was from The Society.

Fuck.

You frantically ripped off the seal, releasing the note inside with shaky hands.

Dear Ms. L/N,

We have recently been informed that you have been participating in actions that violate the terms of our Society agreement. This information has been provided to us by a source of whom wishes to remain anonymous for the time being.

However, these claims remain a serious issue. We would like to give you the chance to explain yourself, as well as clear up what may be a possible misunderstanding or simply a false accusation. If these actions happen to be true, then we will deal with matters accordingly.

You are called to attend this meeting at 1:00pm tomorrow, at the councilroom of our head district.

We appreciate your compliance.

Our regards,

The Council.

~~~~

It’s almost funny, looking back on how hopeful you’d been. That despite everything working against you, you’d somehow thought you could best them. Somehow thought that you were more powerful than the unbeatable. More powerful than The Council.

That’s where you found yourself now, seated before the three all-powerful vampires, surrounded by endless more. You thought you’d be more terrified, more horrified of what they might choose to do to you.

But you aren’t. You’re tired of this. Tired of it all. So let them do whatever they wanted, you would take it. You didn’t regret any of what you did.

Not a damn thing.

“Ms. L/N,” the head councilmen repeats, voice dead of emotion. “Do you know why you’re here today?”

Of course you do. He knows damn well that you know exactly why you’re here, you can see it in the smirk playing at the corner of his lips.The question is mockery.

So you say nothing.

“Cooperation will make this much easier, Ms. L/N,” another member of The Council speaks from beside him. She looks far younger than he is, although they are probably around the same age. Which is to say, hundreds of years old.

As your silence continues, the head councilman sighs, rubbing the space between his eyes in frustration. “Fine. Let me explain, shall I? We have reason to suspect you’ve been… coercing with a human boy. Felix Lee.”

Your heart jumps slightly. They know his name? You weren’t expecting that, but then again this was The Council. Digging up identities was the least they were capable of.

“Is this true, Ms. L/N?”

You stare at the councilman. There’s no point in lying. He knows. This meeting was not to defend your innocence, but to determine your punishment. You can see it in his eyes. Those hollow, sunken eyes, that seem farther from humanity than you could’ve dreamed possible.

“Yes,” you state. Your eyes drift to the corner of the room, landing on Chan, who’s gaze remains firm. You want to slap him. Or yell at him. Maybe both.

“Hm, well at least you’re honest,” the councilman murmurs, a light buzz of laughter vibrating throughout the room. This is funny to them, a joke. Irritation itches under your skin, you don’t quite see the humour here.

“Well,” the councilmen starts, a glint in his eye. “In order to reward your honesty, I suppose we won’t punish you.”

You blink. “What?” You say, your voice coming out a croak. You glance at Chan again, who looks equally confused. His eyes are wide, chest heaving as his breathing rate increases. No, he’s not confused, he’s alarmed.

Something is wrong. You glance back at the councilman, and there it is again, that glint of something awful in his eyes. Something evil.

“You heard me correctly, Ms. L/N. We will not punish you,” the last word drips from his tongue, and you come to understand the weight of his words.

“Fuck. No. No, no, no,” you can hardly hear yourself think over the ringing in your ears, your thoughts a jumbled mess of panic and pure terror.

The councilmen clears his throat, a grin spreading across his lips, fangs almost shining in the dim light of the councilroom.

“No, Felix Lee will be the one to pay this price. Kill him, and the damage you’ve caused will be forgiven.”

next chapter.

#skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #felix x reader #skz felix #stray kids felix #stray kids felix x reader #skz felix x reader #vampire skz #vampire stray kids #vampire felix #skz x vampire reader #stray kids x vampire reader #stray kids #skz #felix fan fic #felix fan fiction

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drowningbydegrees · 3 years

Text

Something Ordinary - Part 1

This is my Novigrad Exchange gift for @aalizazareth who asked for fluff, road trip, or hurt/comfort, and I figured how about all of them? I hope this delivers!

A huge thank you to @goodheavensgwen for betaing, but also for all the brainstorming and cheerleading along the way. This fic is so much better for having your input. <3

It’s in the same verse as Noonwraiths and Other Woodland Forest Creatures, but it’s not necessary to read that to understand this one. Not, this is largely fluffy and ridiculous, but there’s some canon typical mention of blood and injury.

Read on AO3

Ordinary people don’t… date witchers. Granted, Geralt has been coming to the diner where Jaskier works for the last year and a half, just about. Twenty-one months, but who’s counting? It isn’t a precisely educational experience, but between the pancakes and mediocre coffee he’s come to realize that Jaskier is anything but ordinary.

Geralt had never meant to do anything with that information. If he sometimes goes out of his way to stop in between contracts, it’s no one’s business but his own. It’s just nice to have one place he can go where someone is genuinely happy to see him. And alright, Jaskier is more alluring than he has any right to be. And perhaps Geralt spends his visits wordlessly nursing a cup of coffee just to have an excuse to listen to Jaskier chatter on about nothing in particular a while longer.

Well, he did, anyway. Things are different in the months since they exchanged numbers after Geralt stumbled in half dead after a contract. Jaskier’s conversation demands more participation, his smiles are more intentional. And though Geralt would like to think he put up at least a token resistance over these last few months (in which he has received what he’s sure are more text messages than his entire life before), somehow Jaskier has pulled Geralt right along with him.

The point is, Geralt doesn’t do this. He doesn’t let himself get attached to people. He doesn’t give himself a reason to maybe stay in one place a little more. He definitely doesn’t go for coffee shop dates. The fact that their current circumstances started with an attempt to do exactly that is completely coincidental.

Wednesday

2:15 p.m.

Like many things in Geralt’s life, things go sideways before they even start. They don’t even make it inside the coffee shop before his phone rings, and given the only person who calls him for frivolous reasons is right next to him, it’s probably important. All of which is why Geralt had to cancel and is pulling into the gas station before a six hour trip to Oreton.

He’s still not sure how Jaskier got here, though. It’s a bewildering leap from a coffee date to committing to hours in an enclosed space together, but by the time Geralt wraps his head around that Jaskier is already in the passenger seat.

“I’ll get snacks,” Jaskier offers, already opening the car door. “Do you want anything?”

Geralt motions to a box in the back seat. “I’m good.”

“Are those granola bars?” Jaskier makes a comically disapproving noise, sliding out of his seat. He leans over enough to poke his head back in. “Do you know who thinks granola bars count as road trip snacks? My grandma.”

“What’s wrong with…” Geralt starts, but Jaskier is already gone.

To Jaskier’s credit, he’s emerging from the gas station once more by the time the gas tank is full. Well, Jaskier along with a bag of what looks like more candy than someone could eat in a week and the two cups he’s juggling.

“I promised you coffee! I can’t guarantee it’s good coffee, mind you, but it is coffee,” Jaskier explains before Geralt can ask, circling the car to press a cup into the witcher’s hands.

He doesn’t do this, and supposes he could be mistaken, but Geralt is pretty certain the coffee isn’t actually the operant word in ‘coffee date.’ Still, it’s… it’s something he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Jaskier has always been friendly, but he’s taken up doing all sorts of things as of late that can’t be chalked up to it being his job, and they never seem to leave Geralt any less unmoored than he feels right now, staring at the paper cup aggressively warming the palms of his hands.

“It’s for drinking,” Jaskier prompts, and as silly as it is, the whole thing only gets more absurd. Because the glare Geralt responds with is normally enough to make people shy away, but Jaskier doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to be alarmed. He laughs, soft and lilting in a way Geralt never wants to let go of, like there’s nothing strange about any of this. Like the two of them are made for these ordinary things Geralt has never given himself the space to want.

But Jaskier has never been ordinary.

3:07 p.m.

He’s made a terrible miscalculation in this plan, Jaskier privately acknowledges about thirty miles from home. This plan. The one that was definitely an actual plan and not just an impulsive desire to go on an adventure and see Geralt in action. Does it count as a plan if he invents a purpose? Maybe he’ll write a song about it. The subject matter is a little niche, but that’s half the appeal.

The other half of the appeal is the man sitting in the driver’s seat, silently watching the nearly empty highway stretch out in front of them. He’s always pretty, but working third shift Jaskier has never really gotten to see Geralt like this, drenched in sunlight that softens his features and mutes the slight frown that seems to own permanent real estate on his face. It’s haunting, the way it lights up Geralt’s silvery white hair, like some particularly attractive ghost.

Therein lies the miscalculation, because the thing is, Geralt is no different than any other time Jaskier has been around him, which is about as talkative as the pet rock he had when he was six. Normally, that’s fine. Geralt tolerates Jaskier’s chatter at the diner. And since it’s Jaskier’s job, he usually only wanders to Geralt’s table for minutes at a time. But there are no places to wander off to in the passenger seat of Geralt’s car, and he’s barely gotten three words out of the witcher since the gas station.

“So, what are we hunting?” he tries, because it’s the one topic he’s seen loosen Geralt’s tongue. A lot, actually. He doesn’t remember even half of what Geralt tells him, but it’s terribly endearing all the same. Even if it leaves him longing to know more about what else Geralt cares about.

“I am hunting a leshen. You are staying in the car,” Geralt replies without so much as a glance his way. If he notices Jaskier’s exasperated sigh, he gives no indication.

“I… remember you mentioning those, I think,” Jaskier focuses on the leshen because it was very definitely on the list of things Geralt told him about the first night he successfully got the witcher to have anything resembling a conversation. He resolutely ignores all the words Geralt just said around that. If he doesn’t lie and say he’ll stay put, then he won’t be lying when he inevitably does not do that. Sheepishly, he ducks his head. “In my defense, there was kind of a lot going on that night. Maybe tell me again?”

That earns Jaskier a smile, however small and brief it is. It’s a win as far as Jaskier is concerned. Now if he could just wrangle a conversation.

“Tall. Sort of humanoid. Covered in branches.” Geralt says nothing else until Jaskier clears his throat, trying to prompt the witcher to give him something at least. “They have antlers.”

“Very informative,” Jaskier chides, shaking his head. He supposes he should have known better than to assume this would work. “Anything else?”

“They live in the forest.” Jaskier is so surprised to actually get an answer, he almost misses the way the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitches upward. “You know, like noonwraiths.”

Jaskier gasps, holding a hand up to his chest as if in shock. “Was that… I’m sorry. Was that a joke I just heard?”

It’s been a ridiculous joke between them for a while now, but it hits differently this time. It’s always silly, but for the first time it sinks in that it’s theirs. They have A Thing, and it leaves Jaskier all but vibrating to realize because that’s… well, that’s significant. It feels significant at any rate.

“You were serious about the woods though, right?” Jaskier asks once he remembers they were in the middle of a conversation.

“I was serious about the woods.”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, trying to make sense of that. “Then, how is it an emergency?”

“This one was in someone’s yard,” Geralt clarifies. As much as Jaskier would like to be annoyed by the brevity, he has to admit that that actually more or less clears it up.

Jaskier tries to imagine this tree branch antler person… thing creeping over the fence of some poor, unsuspecting homeowner like a nosy neighbor. It’s a mistake, because Jaskier doesn’t know the shape in which those descriptors fit together, so it’s much more comical than frightening. He tries and fails to stifle an amused huff of laughter, but of course that would be the thing that finally gets Geralt to look at him for a second.

“Sorry, I…” Jaskier pauses, not sure he can actually explain why that’s funny since Geralt has the benefit of knowing how all his sparse descriptors fit together. “So, what are you going to do? Bribe it to go home?”

“Not this time. They’re intelligent, but you can’t reason with them. Most creatures kill because they feel threatened or to survive. Leshens are hostile. Always.” The explanation makes sense. It doesn’t sound like there’s any way around killing the creature, but Jaskier knows he isn’t imagining the sadness clouding Geralt’s features.

He has no idea how someone could possibly meet Geralt, who never takes a life if he can save it, who spends his existence keeping people safe, who has so much compassion for even the most unlovable of things, and think witchers are anything but good. Underneath the caustic disposition he shields himself with, Geralt is kinder than most humans. It makes Jaskier yearn to coax the world into seeing what he does.

Maybe he can. There’s the beginning of an idea, but before Jaskier can follow that thread, he’s distracted by Geralt. More specifically, he’s distracted by Geralt being distracted, something finally luring the witcher’s eyes briefly from the road. So, of course Jaskier turns his head to see what could possibly be so interesting.

“Horses?” Jaskier winces when he realizes he’s asked the question out loud. It’s not really even a question. They were definitely horses, one chestnut and one gray, happily grazing along the fence containing them.

“Witchers used to travel that way,” Geralt murmurs, before Jaskier even asks a question. It’s a good tactic, giving one piece of information to steer away from Jaskier’s pursuit of another. Or it would be if Jaskier wasn’t onto him.

“Yeah. Witchers and everyone else. It’d be pretty inconvenient now though, what with all the… highways and stuff. So, I’m not sure I’m following the significance.” Jaskier watches carefully, but Geralt’s expression betrays nothing. “Unless this is the part where you’re gonna tell me you’re three hundred years old or something.”

Geralt is conspicuously silent. Jaskier has never met someone who can express so much with the various ways he chooses to express nothing. It’s an exasperating quality, but impressive.

“Wait. You’re not actually, are you? I mean, not that that’s a problem, per se. Just that—” Jaskier pauses in the midst of his babbling when he catches Geralt turning his head away just the tiniest bit. It’s not fast enough to hide that Geralt seems to be biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

3:34 p.m.

There’s a lot of farmland out this way, miles of cornfields, sure, but animals too. Jaskier briefly entertains the notion that maybe Geralt grew up on a farm and is homesick or something. He’s a storyteller by nature, after all, and Geralt is such an enigma, surely he can’t be blamed for trying to fill in the gaps. Jaskier curiously watches Geralt when they lapse back into silence. They’re surrounded on both sides by… actually, Jaskier has no idea what those fields are. The only crop he actually recognizes is corn. But whatever it is, if Geralt has any attachment to it, his expression betrays nothing.

Jaskier is about to write his previous observation off as him reading too much into something ultimately unimportant when crops give way to a green, open meadow. It’s the kind of place Jaskier thinks looks about perfect for a picnic or laying out to watch the clouds drift by, or something. It’s also the kind of place where someone keeps a rather striking-looking horse, its coat a shade of gold just a touch warmer than Geralt’s eyes. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

“It’s a palomino,” Geralt replies, though Jaskier doesn’t think he’s actually looked that way. Either Geralt is even more subtle than Jaskier gives him credit for, or something about that merits remembering.

“The breed?” Jaskier presses. This is even more fascinating than coaxing Geralt into talking about monsters. It’s not a subject Jaskier knows a damned thing about either, but it’s an unexpected thing Geralt seems to be interested in, and that all by itself makes it worth pursuing.

“It’s not a breed.” Maybe ‘talking about’ is a little too charitable a description for the handful of words Jaskier gets Geralt to part with at any one time. That’s a puzzle too. Jaskier hasn’t quite sussed out whether Geralt actually doesn’t like talking or if it’s a side effect of the way humans tend to respond to witchers. It’s a shame either way. Jaskier quite likes listening to him.

“Okay…?” Jaskier prods. It’s only afterwards that it occurs to him that if Geralt truly isn’t interested in talking, maybe when the witcher is stuck a foot away from Jaskier and can’t extricate himself from the situation is not the right time to push the matter.

“It’s a color.” After a slight pause, Geralt adds, “Gold coat. White mane and tail.”

There’s more after, not that Jaskier can keep up with most of it. Often, even when Jaskier is actively trying to engage, all he gets from Geralt is a wordless hum or a raised eyebrow. So, the fact that there are a number of words in a row is noteworthy already. That Geralt is continuing to speak without being prompted is nothing short of a miracle. Maybe pushing wasn’t the problem so much as finding the right subject matter.

And thus, a new game is born. Whether out of some sense of dignity or something else, Geralt doesn’t actually mention when they pass by horses. It’s the very slight shift in Geralt’s body language, something Jaskier would probably say was him perking up if it were more explicit, that clues Jaskier in if he doesn’t see them himself. But the minute Jaskier mentions them, Geralt appears all too happy to talk about the precise measurement that differentiates horses and ponies (14.2 hands or less, which then becomes an extended conversation about why horses are measured in hands), the Lippizaner stallion troupe (which Jaskier will admit he would really like to see if they’re even half as impressive as Geralt suggests), and that one breed of wild horses that are maybe possibly completely divergent from domestic horses (Jaskier immediately forgets how to pronounce their name, but he does remember they sort of look like especially stocky donkeys).

“How do you know all this, anyway? I’m starting to think you should have gone to work in a stable or something instead of being a witcher,” Jaskier teases after a particularly emphatic explanation about what an utter failure Redania’s wild horse adoption program is. “I mean, it would definitely be my loss, but…”

He trails off, teasing smile immediately fading as he happens to look over at Geralt. Even when he’s happy, Geralt’s expressions tend to be a bit muted, but there’s no trace of anything like happiness now. His head is subtly bowed, like he’s ashamed of something, and that just won’t do at all. There’s nothing shameful about the details that make up a person. Before Jaskier can ask what exactly dampened the mood, Geralt softly replies, “I was going to.”

“You were?” It might be a mistake. This was meant to be fun. It’s just that Geralt so rarely gives Jaskier anything about himself, and Jaskier so desperately wants to know him. He rationalizes that if he drops the matter, Geralt will think he doesn’t care and won’t ever try again. “What happened?”

“Not important.” The words are clipped, but Jaskier has at least known Geralt long enough to differentiate between the witcher being actually irritated and any of the multitude of other emotions that make him sound irritated. This is definitely one of the latter.

“Of course it’s important if it makes you look like that.” Impulsively, Jaskier reaches out to lay a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. The way Geralt nearly jumps out of his skin is a stark reminder that he’s not quite so instinctively tactile as Jaskier is. Geralt doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t answer either, so Jaskier only lingers briefly before pulling his hand back into his lap.

“I thought everyone was exaggerating about how things would change when they made me into this,” Geralt explains, so quiet that Jaskier has to listen carefully over the engine. It’s an aching, vulnerable thing, as human a confession as Jaskier has ever heard before Geralt’s expression abruptly shutters.

“I’m so sorry… Wait, made you?” Jaskier realizes, not for the first time, that he knows nothing about witchers. Nothing true at any rate.

But whatever strange magic had coaxed Geralt into speaking has passed, and the witcher doesn’t even acknowledge Jaskier has said anything. He longs to know more, to soothe whatever it is that hurts so much, but Jaskier has at least enough sense to realize that if he presses now, Geralt will think twice about telling him anything later. The minutes stretch out between them like taffy, the silence deafening until Jaskier absolutely cannot take it. He impulsively reaches for the radio, turning the dial until the static of a station that’s long since out of range is coming through the speakers. “So… music!”

Geralt’s lips purse in… actually Jaskier isn’t all that familiar with this particular expression yet. His default state is so grumpy, it’s hard to tell this time if he’s annoyed or uncomfortable. Neither one is what he’s going for, so he pointedly does not ask what that station is, immediately setting about adjusting until a melody cuts clearly through the hissing noise. Fic Masterpost

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher #my fic #Featuring a lot of road trip shenanigans

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pollyrepents · 4 years

Text

where his tenderness resides | thomas shelby

Summary: To others it would seem Tommy’s love comes in the lavish gifts he gives, but the jewelry and clothing and horses mean nothing when you know he takes the care to feel his love.

Warnings: Nothing major. Reference to John’s fate, so a little bit of hurt. Or a lot a bit of hurt, that’s all dependent on you, really.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I’m absolutely obsessed with the idea of Tommy’s romantic love language being touch and that he only really indulges in it when he knows they won’t been seen. It haunts me, truly. I have a whole tag dedicated to it on my blog. This got kind of sad without meaning to, but that’s just how I write. Enjoy!

He was always careful when he paid attention to you in front of others.

A polite hand on your lower back, guiding you away from unpleasant conversation or steering you into a needed one with potential donors or the wives of lucrative business partners, wanting small talk to take the place of touchy conversations and new business ventures you could strangle him for ruining your evening with.

His attention was gentle and calloused at the same time, with his hands rubbing up and down your arm in a weak attempt at soothing as soon as you dragged him to a dark corridor for questioning.

“What happened to minimal business tonight?” You rose the glass in your gloved hand to sip your champagne, raising an eyebrow as he opened his mouth to speak, “You’ve snuck off twice and now I’m hearing from Polly there’s powerful people here?”

“Yes, there’s powerful people here for the charity-” His attempt to clarify made you click your tongue.

“There’s blinder business, Thomas.” You pursed your lips and he nodded once, unable to deny anything under your scrutinizing gaze. He focused himself on something outside, trying to pull enough words together to excuse himself from your discussion. “Why is there blinder business here, Tommy? At our charity event for ailing orphans?” You straightened up, eyes unwavering as you tried to meet his.

Tommy turned back to you and his icy blue eyes met yours. “They’re making sure you’re safe, is all.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a reserved gentleness despite the roughness of his skin. The tone was nothing other than truthful, steady as ever while he spoke. “I can’t have anything happen to you. Extra security for my peace of mind.”

“Or the dress.” You quipped, proving your point by turning your hips slightly to make the fabric swish. “I spent a long time picking this out as I wanted it to pair perfectly with the apology earrings you left me on the dresser.”

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling briefly at the mention of the new pearls, and you didn’t doubt he was pushing his tongue against his teeth as he gathered his words. “Alright. Not a mark on either of you. You or the fucking dress you picked out just for me, Y/N. ”

“I didn’t pick out anything for you.” You pecked his lips briefly, smiling softly as he moved in for another, whispering between the two of you, “The dress is mine.”

“And what’s under the dress is mine, ay.” He had that tone to him, treading the line of authoritative only you got to hear behind closed doors, the kind that came with pushing his buttons. You felt a smile pass your lips before schooling your features, an imitation of the man who undoubtedly knew you best. You pushed a stray curl behind your ear as you looked him over.

“As long as you keep your minimal business to a minimum,” You tutted and straightened his bowtie, the careful knot your own doing while Tommy had made his initial promise in the sanctuary of your bedroom during the early evening hours. “what’s under the dress if yours.”

His hand was on your lower back again and you relaxed into the touch, a warm smile coming to your face as you examined his. The cold, determined Tommy melted away for a split second, the changes you had learned to savor coming forth easy to spot in the dark of the cold hall. The corner of his eyes pinched slightly, the corner of his lips turning upward for a brief moment. He tilted his chin down, pressing his lips to yours softly.

“Now,” You cleared your throat, gently pushing his hand off of your lower back in exchange for his arm. “Back to minimal business, Tommy.”

There were mornings when his lips never left your skin for more than a few moments, the both of you needing tangible assurance of someone’s love. Yours usually came in the middle of the night when you would tuck yourself against his twitching body, his limbs settling as he felt the pressure of you against his side, the smell of your soap and hair oils pushing through the clay and muck of the reimagined tunnels. Where the mumbling and quiet gasping would ease as you rubbed his chest and whispered to him that he was home, that he was safe, that he was with you in your bed.

His came in the mornings, seeing through the teasing to assure you that although he was off to a dealing business meeting or political business in London or factory business in the shit and smog of Small Heath in a moment, he would not stray for too long. His mornings were always early, always that sweet spot in time when you were too drowsy to put up a believable act in front of Tommy and would grumble an answer to any question he had without thinking twice as long as he stopped talking soon enough.

“Is there anything else, Mister Shelby?” The voice recognized as Frances’ was distant, the old woman’s voice more delicate than usual.

“That’ll be it, Frances, thank you.” His low voice came next and made you stir slightly, taking a deep breath and turning over to bury your face in his warmth that lingered on the blankets, begging for sleep to whisk you away again.

The door shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind you, the smell of burning tobacco and aftershave enveloped your nearly sleeping form. Soft lips pressed against the back of your neck and you tried to remain still, breathing evenly as his lips trailed across your shoulder.

“You’re awake.” The words rumbled against your skin, soft lips moving against your neck as he kissed where he had marked in the earliest morning hours.

“Mm-mm.” You hummed, pressing your face into the pillow. “Not yet.”

“Frances has brought you breakfast.”

“You made that woman get up before the sun rose?” You mumbled into the pillow, furrowing your eyebrows despite your act.

“That is what I pay her for.” Tommy reminded. “The sun is up, dearest. Open your eyes, see it for yourself.”

“Come back to bed, Thomas.” You verged on a whine, reaching a hand back to try and run your fingers through his hair. Your nose wrinkled at the lack of contact on your part as he slipped away. “It’s Sunday. Let Linda and Arthur go to church then handle the business. Just take a day, we can even take Charlie out for a picnic.”

Skillfully and typically he ignored your request for his leisure time. “I’m Thomas now?” His fingers trailed down the curve of your back and you all but arched into his touch like a spoiled cat.

“You were Thomas last night.” You reminded as you rolled over to face him and stretched out on the mattress. His fingers trailed up and down your side lightly and you flinched away from the ticklish touch, grabbing his wrist in your hand. “Watch it, Thomas.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward and something resembling mischief sparked in his eye and you narrowed your own at him, challenging, “Do you think they’d miss you?”

“I think you would.” He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss between your eyebrows. “How would you explain yourself then, ay?”

“Thomas Shelby was taken care of,” He snorted at your wording as he crossed the room but you persisted anyway. “Thomas Shelby was handled after pushing his lover to the limit so early in the morning after waking her up so rudely.”

He moved to where he had Frances place the tray of food and lifted it, nodding for you to shift yourself among the sheets. You propped yourself up, holding a hand out to stop him as he reached your bedside. Tommy quirked an eyebrow.

“Only if you’re planning on staying.” You raised your eyebrows to mirror him. “If not, I’ll eat at the window. On my own.”

Tommy looked at you momentarily, the smoke from his cigarette swirling upward and around him as he examined you for any sign of relenting. He sighed and nodded, placing the tray over your legs and trying not to show any amusement at your triumphant smile as he came to the empty side of the bed.

“Your meetings can wait for a bit, Tommy-don’t get into bed with the suit.” You cautioned. “It’ll wrinkle.”

He sighed, patience steady as he listened to you. “Am I expected to feed you the toast as well?” He unbuckled his belt and slipped his gray suit pants off, folding them and placing them on the end of the bed. “Is that what you need me here for?” He slid out of his waist coat, placing it atop his matching pants. His fingers made quick work of the tiny white buttons on his shirt, lying it over his other clothes.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no.” You laughed lightly, bringing your legs up under you as he laid out next to you, leaning back against the headboard. You took a bite of buttered toast, holding the slice to Tommy’s lips as you chewed. His unamused look made you giggle and you pulled the cigarette from between his lips and moved the toast slightly closer still, prompting him to take a small bite.

“Good boy.” You patted his face lightly and ignored the scoff, leaning in to kiss him around the crumbs. “Can I expect you back before midnight?”

He nodded once, pulling another drag from the cigarette and blowing it upwards toward your painted ceiling. “I’ll try for a reasonable hour.” He muttered to himself, lifting his fingers to try to tuck away the fabric where your scarf had slipped from its knot during the night. “No idea how you keep this fucking thing on all the time.”

“Enough magic to give me a headache.” You batted at his fingers, unraveling the knot and letting your curls loose. You massaged your scalp, shaking out the tightened coils. “I’m sure I’m a real vision right now. Looking like I’ve been shocked by a wool touch or something.”

Tommy puffed smoke out through his nose, a hand reaching up to tug at the curls on the nape of your neck. Your shoulders relaxed at his touch “Not a bad sight so early in the morning.”

“If you’re softening me up with the affection and compliments so you can leave, it’s not going to work.”

His hand fell to the spot where your shoulder met your neck and he pulled you down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, mumbling something along the lines of you being insatiable and a menace, but his nonetheless.

It was rare he let you hold him first.

He was mourning.

Different than Arthur, who was weeping aloud and different than Polly who rolled the rosary beads between her fingers more often those days. It was a different mourning, when his persistent mind stopped for a moment and his thoughts droned into white noise and the realization that John was gone-permanently gone, at the fault of his own greed and impulse washed over him the way the panic in the tunnels would. You found him hunched over on his bed in their Watery Lane home, shaking breaths making the hunch of his back rise and fall unsteadily. In the candlelight beside him you could make out his hands-your favorite hands- hands trembling as they gripped at his hair.

“Tommy,” You spoke up carefully, staring at him from the doorway. You reached behind you, closing the door in an attempt to shield him from a passerby’s view. “Tommy, you’ll hurt yourself.” You took slow and measured steps toward him, fearful of creaky floorboards that would alert the other nearby Shelbys, or knocking anything to the ground that would set him off. His trembling form made a knot in your throat tighten and you reached out your hand, startling when Tommy sprung up. Automatically, his hand reached under his pillow and his wet eyes found yours, his normally calm eyes flashing with something wild before he reconnected himself to the present moment.

“It’s just me, Tommy.” Your hand that had flown up to stop him arming himself dropped, cupping his stubbly chin. Your thumb caressed his jaw, trying to push away the tension for a moment. “Couldn’t find you after dinner, I got scared.”

He nodded, pulling away from your touch. He cleared his throat. “So many places to check in the house.”

“I thought you’d be out smoking or at the Garrison.” Your fingers sought out his hair where he had been pulling at it, rubbing your fingertips in soothing circles on his scalp. “Taking your mind off of things.”

“I can’t be drunk if we’re being hunted, Y/N.” His tone was dismissive and reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table.

“Everyone in the house is armed.” Your hands reached out to touch him again, blocked as he rolled his cigarette between his slightly swollen and raw lips. You assumed he had been biting them, one of his tells that things had bubbled up while he was alone. “We’ve all got guns under our pillows and in our pockets. Even Linda’s got one on her.”

“Fear convinces people better than simple words can.” He rested his elbow on his knee, hunching over. He smoked for a moment, long drags and lingering clouds of smoke swirled around the two of you. You stepped in front of him and reached down to take the cigarette, watching him closely as his fingers went limp. You placed it between your own lips, both hands coming up to cup the back of his head. You listened to his breathing, waiting until the stuttering breaths became fewer and farther between.

“He was your brother.” You traced your finger upward over the shell of his ear, lightly tracing the outline of his forehead. “He was a Shelby.”

“Yeah.” Tommy spoke into your nightdress, his eyes shutting as your finger came to brush against his lashes. “Yeah, I know he was.”

“So you know you can mourn him.”

The next breath was shaky and Tommy’s hands began to tremble again. You took your final drag and snubbed out the cigarette, letting it smoulder in his aged ashtray.

He pressed his face into your stomach, hands pressing into your lower back as he sought refuge in your being. You tilted your head to the side, taking in his closed eyes and clenched jaw before he turned his head away from the flickering candle light.

“Mourn him, Thomas.” You whispered downwards at his hair, a hand coming up to rub his cheek. Your fingers met wetness just under his eyes and you ignored it, stroking his cheek with your thumb as Tommy held onto you for dear life. “It’s alright.”

His hand began to move against the material of your nightclothes, palms pressing more firmly than before. You settled yourself across his lap, one knee on either side of him on the edge of the bed. You gripped at his shirt, still smelling of the day’s whiskey he had taken and cigarettes he had found a way to take more of recently. His face tucked into your neck and you wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting his forearms squeeze you close around your lower back. He took breath after shaking breath against you, his fingers holding the fabric of your clothes in an iron grip.

You held him, pressing your face into his hair as he held you as close as possible, hiding above the blankets in the flickering candle light.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #angst #fluff #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #whatever fcuk it I have nothing left rn lmfao #written by me

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emiefaunwrites · 3 years

Note

Not sure if this would cause angst or just some funny shenanigans, but I’m curious…

Has Taka and Leon ever been on a date that just… went horribly wrong?

Heyyy!!

So yes. Yes there is one particular date that I can think of that went horribly wrong. And I think it's about time that a certain member of Leon's family turns up at this point...

So just before I continue, I want to clarify my opinion on Kanon. I don't know all that much about her, but the things that are BEYOND obvious is that she is young and that she is obsessed with her older cousin Leon. Obsessed to the point of stalking, manipulative behaviour and attempted assault.

Now as someone who has, unforunately, had an obsession with an ex of mine, I know how difficult it is to shake those feelings. They make you act in ridiculous ways and turn you into a person that you honestly are not. Thankfully I never hurt anyone physically nor did I stalk, but I was manipulative and controlling and became a person I am ashamed to remember today. And once that obsession fades (which it thankfully did for me), the guilt and the embarrassment is crippling and I live with it daily.

Now I'm not at all saying she is right in what she's doing - it's absolutely wrong. It is NOT an excuse to stalk, or harrass, or assault the 'object of your affection' in the slightest and I do not condone Kanon's behaviour or actions at all. But I would like to try and portray Kanon as a girl who cannot control her emotions and all the ways that it manifests - the two sides of obsession. I think it's important to show what obsession looks like as well as the affect it has on everyone around them - including the person they are obsessed with so if you aren't comfortable with obsessive behaviour or just with Kanon's character in general, please don't read this.

Okay. So enough on that. Here is the disaster date! Thank you for your ask and I hope you enjoy!!

**********************

• Leon hasn't told Taka about his cousin, Kanon.

• It isn't really an easy topic to bring up - how your cousin is obsessed with you.

• It'a always made Leon uncomfortable and he's tried to rebuff the attention in many different ways.

• He tried telling her that cousins shouldn't date - but she ignored it.

• He tried to steer her towards boys her own age, suggesting he help hook her up with someone - but she was adamant the HE was the only one for her.

• He tried grossing her out, not washing for a few days before she visited - but she took no notice.

• Eventually, in his 'asshole' phase, he took drastic measures.

• After years of torment and feeling uncomfortable, he announced to her, in front of his 'friends', that she was ugly and he only liked 'sexy' girls.

• He would NEVER consider dating her, not unless she threw a pitch at 100km - something he knew would be impossible.

• And until that day, she wasn't to talk to him anymore.

• A part of him felt guilty - she's his cousin after all, and the last thing he wants is to hurt her.

• But he's tired of it all, and he's already under so much social pressure, and he pretty much hates himself anyway - so he stood his ground and shut her down.

• Since then, he's barely thought about her.

• But about eight months into his relationship with Taka, he encounters her again.

• Because what Leon doesn't know is Kanon's obsession has only grown stronger.

• And because she's been blocked from his social media, she's resorted to a fake profile to follow him.

• And she happens to know that Leon will be on a date with someone in the city.

• And not just anyone. A date with A BOY.

• And she can't deal with that so she oh so conveniently happened to have caught two trains and a bus just to be in there too.

• So Leon and Taka are sat in their favourite cafe, enjoying each other's company.

• When Leon sees a familiar face on the other side of the street. Heading this way.

• 'Oh fuck.'

• Taka's super confused as his boyfriend ducks down, covering his face with his jacket, looking intensely uncomfortable.

• 'Are you okay?'

• 'My cousin's here.'

• 'Your cousin?'

• Glancing out the window, Leon sees that Kanon is heading straight for the cafe and tries to shrink further down under the table.

• Why is she here?! What is he supposed to do?! And what about Taka?! What will she do to him?!

• The cafe door jingles open and he KNOWS it's her so he grabs the menu and tries to cover his face...

• Not knowing that Kanon knows JUST who to look for and bounds right over with a big smile.

• 'Hi Lee!!'

• He pries his face away from the menu, barely able to look her in the eye as he smiles uncomfortably.

• 'H-hey, Kanon...'

• 'I'm just meeting a friend and she's a BIG fan of yours and wanted to see if I could introduce you...'

• 'S-sure...'

• 'And she told me you'd be here today so I thought we'd meet here! She said you'd be on a date! So...where is she?'

• The mood has DEFINITELY changed now. The glint in her eye at the mention of date was one of jealousy.

• 'C'mon, Lee! I wanna meet the girl that stole your heart! I bet she's SUUUUUPER sexy, right?'

• Her words are like knives, sickly sweet and dangerous...

• But Taka reads the situation and chimes in.

• 'He's meeting her later. He wanted a pep talk first so asked me here before he meets her.'

• LIES! Kanon KNOWS that filthy boy is LYING and the glare she sends his way is completely opposite to the personality she's shown so far.

• But in a flash, she smiles back at Leon and slides into the seat next to him.

• 'Great! Let's hang out then, Lee! It's been wayyyy too long!'

• Taka REALLY isn't comfortable with what's happening.

• This girl, who must still be about 15, is pressed up far too much to her cousin - touching his arm VERY inappropriately and with her face FAR too close to be innocent.

• And Leon looks terrified - pressed right up against the window to try and be as far as possible but is quite obviously trapped.

• 'I think Leon needs a bit of space...'

• 'No this is how we ALWAYS are! We're SUPER close, aren't we Lee?'

• 'Leon doesn't look comfortable.'

• 'I said we're close. I don't need to listen to you.'

• 'I really think you should back off a bit.'

• 'And I think you should go to HELL!'

• Aha. Here we go. The act has dropped and there's a possessive, dangerous look in her eye as she snarls towards Taka.

• 'What do YOU know about my Lee?'

• 'He's not 'your Lee'...'

• 'YES HE IS! HE'S MINE! And YOU can't have him!'

• Leon looks absolutely powerless as Kanon crushes herself against him - begging Taka to help him with tearful eyes as he shrinks into himself in shame.

• Yeah. Enough is enough.

• Taka stands up and grabs Leon by the hand - using his entire strength to pull him (and therefore Kanon) out of the stall and towards the door.

• 'GET OFF MY LEE!'

• The girl goes crazy, punching and kicking Taka in an attempt to stop him until she's held back by other concerned patrons of the cafe.

• 'I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU FOR STEALING HIM! I HATE YOU!'

• Taka makes sure to push Leon out of the cafe before heading back abd he glares down at the girl in front of him.

• 'If you truly give a damn about Leon, then you will realise just what damage you've done today. You've humilated him in public, you have degraded him and you have shown a side to yourself that I'm sure you'll be ashamed of. Your feelings are obsessive and you need to get some help.'

• All the rage and emotion floods out of Kanon as she sees Leon sobbing outside, guilt and embarrassment taking over as she truly sees what she has become.

• Oh but Taka isn't done.

• With an ice cold looks, he offers one final warning.

• 'If you EVER pull this kind of shit again, I will not hesitate to involve the police. I don't care who you are or how young you are. I will NOT tolerate MY boyfriend being abused by anyone - especially his own family. So stay the fuck away from him.'

• Of course, the date is over so the rest of the day is spent comforting Leon in the solitude of Taka's dorm.

• Leon tells Taka everything right from the beginning and Taka vows to himself that he will keep Leon safe.

• And who knows? Maybe one day Kanon will realise what she's done and bridges can be built once again.

• But that's not for now.

• For now, Taka needs to remind this beautiful boy in his arms just how much he means to him in every single way he can.

#kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #ishileon #kanon nakajima #tw: obsession #tw: obsessive behaviour #ask request #conicalcrowd

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some-days-we-get-sundays · 3 years

Text

prompt request: Sophie is jealous

There is a knock on the door to Mary and Ryan’s place.

Mary goes to open the door and Sophie is standing on the other side looking amazing in a red blouse and black jeans. She also looks kind of sad but not in an unhappy way, more somber if anything with a lot going on in her eyes and an expression that Mary can’t quite read. Sometimes she wishes she had Alice’s skill of deciphering people.

“Hey, Sophie. I thought you’d be with Kate. Did you go and see her?” Mary opened the door wider and allowed Sophie to walk in. The two women made their way to the couch.

Sophie sighed as she slipped her shoes off and sat down. “Kate’s gone.” Mary made a face because she knew Kate was leaving again, off to the next great adventure. She had made peace with it. She was just happy that she got Kate back - the real Kate, and that she wasn’t dead. Mary still wakes up crying and drenched in sweat when she has dreams of Kate and her funeral. She would love for Kate to stay and for them to catch up, but it’s enough right now knowing that she’s alive and safe. And that she remembers who Mary is again.

“Kate came and met me at The Hold Up. She had her stupid motorcycle helmet in her hands and said she was leaving. Going to go find Bruce and your dad.” Sophie rolls her eyes and her voice sounds even more raspy than usual.

“Yeah, Kate told us she was going.” Mary thought Kate would at least stick around a bit longer for Sophie. “I’m sorry Soph. I know she loved you so much. She’s been through a lot and, I know the feeling. She needs time to figure things out. She’ll be back.” Mary tried to be comforting and give Sophie what she needed in this moment, even though she wasn’t too sure exactly what it was Sophie needed. But she rubbed her back anyway and went to put on some water for tea. She felt like this was more of a tea moment than a let’s get hammered and solve clues under the direction of a mad man moment.

Mary came back a few moments later with tea in hand.

“You know, you should really start leaving some clothes over here to hang out in. If you weren’t so tall I’d say you could borrow something of mine. I feel a girls night coming on.” Mary said and laughed softly. Sophie brought her tea to her lips, blew on it, and then set it back down. “I might have shorts that would fit you, and Ryan has some oversized sleep shirts. You could borrow something.” Mary thought out loud.

“I don’t know if Ryan would want me over here getting that comfortable.” Sophie didn’t actually mean this, she knew her and Ryan were in a much better place. Sophie offered Ryan her couch to crash on. They were no longer Crowie and the Ex-Con with no future. They were really starting to just become Sophie and Ryan. Wildmoore.

“Oh come on, you and Ryan are tight now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two being a lot nicer to each other.” Mary lightly bumped her shoulder into Sophie’s.

“Where is Ryan anyway?” Sophie asked attempting to be nonchalant. She picked up her tea and blew on it some more as a distraction and to help with her façade of appearing uninterested.

“Um, I think she went to go meet with Imani.” Sophie sputtered and almost spilled her tea.

“Woah girl, you alright?”

“Yeah, just, this was way hotter than I was expecting.” Sophie laughed awkwardly and tried to recover. “She’s with Imani?” Sophie pressed out her bottom lip in consideration before her next comment. “I thought they were over?” Sophie didn’t know for sure if Ryan and Imani were over but ever since Luke got shot, she and Ryan were spending a lot more time together and Imani was nowhere to be found. Ryan hadn’t even mentioned her. Unless Ryan and Imani just sexted and spent late nights together. Sophie found herself annoyed with the thought of Ryan and Imani spending late nights together and sexting.

“Um I don’t know actually now that you mention it. I mean you were there when I told Ryan I don’t want to be included in her little sexcapades so maybe that’s why we haven’t heard from the two of them as of late.” Mary offered. Sophie was quiet. So Mary kept talking to fill the silence. “But Imani is cool, you’d like her.”

“I know Imani is cool Mary, she saved us from jail with her fancy lawyer knowledge. Besides, Ryan wouldn’t date somebody uncool. I mean except for Angelique.” Sophie said as an after thought.

“Ohhh you didn’t like her either!?” Mary exclaimed and put her hand on Sophie’s shoulder.” Mary laughed joyously. “Whew I thought I was the only one! Girl maybe we do need to get out the hard stuff from the cupboard!” She gave Sophie a look letting her know that she was down to turn up whenever she said the word.

“It’s not that I didn’t like her. She just wasn’t good enough for Ryan.” Sophie said matter-of-factly. Mary sat there in stunned silence at Sophie’s admission. But before she could say anything, Sophie tried to clarify.

“I-I just meant like she’s Ryan Wilder, bad ass extraordinaire, Batwoman by night and day, bartending babe on the side. Angelique was just bringing Ryan down. I never saw it until I got to know Ryan and realized she was always covering for Angelique, and Angelique was taking advantage of Ryan’s kindness and the emotional attachment that was there from when they were kids. Ryan felt like she owed Angelique, when really it was the other way around. Ryan’s a good person. She deserves someone who knows that but doesn’t use it against her, someone like-”

“Someone like you?” Mary offered up slowly, testing the waters.

“Are we singing Adele now?” Sophie went for a joke hoping that she was coming off as aloof. Mary just kept staring back at Sophie with a grin on her face.

“Stop smiling Mary. Ok what? If you’re thinking I want to date Ryan, I don’t.” Sophie inwardly cringed as this sounded like such a lie even to her own ears.

“Well it doesn’t sound like you want anyone else to have her.” Mary was feeling emboldened. Sophie didn’t seem mad, she just seemed either unaware or in denial. Mary continued, “you didn’t like Angelique, which I am with you on that one. And you sound jealous of Ryan spending time with Imani. So if all these girls that Ryan gets with upset you, then why don’t you just ask Ryan out? You just said she deserves better. You could be better.”

Sophie took a long pause and stirred her tea. Seemingly gathering up courage to say what she was going to say. “Ryan and I are finally friends. It took so long for us to get to this place of genuine understanding and respect. I don’t want to throw dating her into the mix. And yes, ok, she’s gorgeous, like drop dead gorgeous- she is. But what if things go horribly wrong and then we’re back to square one. Or even worse, we don’t even talk anymore because we hate each other so much. I don’t want to take that risk. I care about her too much.” Mary sat there with her eyes wide and a shit eating grin on her face. She had no idea Sophie had all these feelings. She thought at the very most Sophie was just crushing.

“Oh my gosh, you totally love her!” Mary squealed.

“Shut up Mary. I don’t.” Sophie got up to bring their empty tea cups to the kitchen and to try and calm her nerves and distance herself for a second from Mary’s prying and absurd accusations.

“You love her! You love her! You love her!” Mary repeated trying to get Sophie to admit it.

At that moment the door suddenly opened and in walked Ryan.

Mary froze and Sophie came out of the kitchen to see who it was. She had a fleeting thought that it would be Kate and that maybe she had changed her mind and decided to stick around. Sophie then had another fleeting thought that Ryan and Mary should possibly change the locks. Just incase Kate isn’t Kate again or something.

“Um who loves who?” Ryan grinned as she came inside and closed the door. She kicked off her shoes and ran a hand through her loose curls. Sophie came back and sat on the couch. Her and Ryan gave each other quick smiles. The energy between them was so different than it had been only a few short months ago. Before, Ryan would have been demanding to know why there was a crow in her loft.

“Kate loves Sophie.” Mary quickly covered.

“Oh.” Ryan simply said and walked off to her room. Mary and Sophie looked at each other with nervous expressions. Not soon after Ryan left she was back in an oversized shirt and some sleep shorts. Sophie had to try hard not to slowly run her eyes up and down Ryan’s entire body. That girl was banging.

“So how is Imani?” Sophie awkwardly and quickly tried to take the attention off of herself and change the subject. She was still curious where Imani came from and how long she was going to be staying. Ryan shot Mary a look, and Mary put her hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I barely said anything. Sophie asked where you were and I said you were with Imani.” Now it was Sophie’s turn to shoot Mary another glare. Ryan was smiling wildly and looking between the two. She hadn’t realized that she was the topic of conversation while she was gone.

“So, you been asking about me huh Soph?” Ryan teased.

“Girl please. It was just so peaceful and quiet over here so I was just making sure you weren’t getting yourself into trouble somewhere.” Sophie quipped.

“Oh I was definitely getting into trouble.” Ryan shot back with a smug look on her face. “I was getting into a very sexy kind of trouble, I got into trouble maybe 3 of 4 times actuall-”

“Ok we get it Ryan.” Sophie snapped. “I mean, we get it.” Sophie said a little softer this time. Then without warning Sophie got up, hurriedly walked to the door, opened it, and rushed out, slamming it shut as she left.

Inside the loft, Ryan and Mary gave each other puzzled looks and Ryan pointed to the door as if to say, what was all that about. “You should go after her.” Mary said simply and then retreated to her room. Ryan shook her head in confusion and then went to find Sophie.

Ryan didn’t have to go far as Sophie was sitting just outside the door against the wall. Ryan stood in front of her. Sophie didn’t look up so Ryan slid down next to Sophie against the wall. Ryan put her hand on Sophie’s knee and now the ball was in Sophie’s court. Ryan patiently waited and hoped that Sophie would share what was bothering her. Sophie had been there for Ryan this whole year, and Ryan wanted to return the favor. Sophie looked up with pools of water in her autumn colored eyes threatening to spill and Ryan’s heart broke just a bit. Sophie was always so strong but Ryan didn’t want or need her to be. Sophie was allowed to break and fall apart, and in that moment, Ryan vowed to always be there to catch her and help pick up the pieces when she did.

“I’m sorry for running out like that.” Sophie said quietly and sniffled.

“Soph, you do not need to apologize.” Ryan reassured her. They were quiet again for a few beats.

“So, you really like Imani.” It wasn’t a question, more like an observation.

Is that what this is about, Ryan thought. Is Sophie- is she jealous? That can’t be right. If she was jealous that would mean... Ryan looked over again slowly at Sophie.

“Imani is great.” Ryan started. She watched as Sophie sunk into herself more at that statement. Ryan continued, “but it’s not serious. It’s just sex and comfort and the closeness of somebody. I know I talk a big game and don’t get me wrong, being Batwoman is amazing, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed, but it’s lonely. And whoever I’m with I can’t even share myself fully with them. I think I’m going to break it off with her anyway.” Ryan was thinking out loud at this point. Up until now she didn’t mind having a fling with Imani, it kept her company. But like her and Luke had discussed, it was hard dating and being a Superhero. And if Sophie was into her...

“Kate left.” Sophie said suddenly. Ryan sighed. She looked at Sophie, put a finger up to her cheek and caught a stray tear that was sliding down the side of her face. “I know.” Ryan said. She wiped her damp finger on her sleep shirt.

“I think I’m... relieved.” Sophie finally said. This surprised Ryan. She thought Kate was the love of Sophie’s life.

"She was the love of my life, but I think the key word is, was.” Sophie said as if reading Ryan’s mind. “I think I loved who she used to be. When she came back I was different and so was she. And when she took off again, I realized I wasn’t all that upset or hurt. It took losing her to realize that while I loved and cared deeply for her, she’s not my soul mate. She represents a time in my life that is special but it’s not where I am anymore. And then I met someone named Ryan Wilder.” Sophie smirked and looked into Ryan’s wide shocked eyes.

“Me?” Ryan said with the cutest look on her face that Sophie had ever witnessed.

“Yes you. Ryan, you annoyed the hell out of me, you pissed me off, you irritated and enraged me-”

“Ok girl, damn. We get it.” Ryan rolled her eyes. Sophie let out a raspy chuckle and continued.

“You challenged me, you made me see things that I didn’t want to see within myself and within the Crows. You inspired me, you amazed me, and you thrilled me. I wanted to be a better me because of you Ryan. And then when I found out that you were Batwoman...I knew I had it in me to fight the system in the way that you do. And I could no longer keep working with the same people who you were trying to take down. I had to pick a side. And I’m team Ryan.” Sophie smiled.

Ryan laughed and lightly shoved her. “You’re team corny. But thank you. Thank you for choosing me.” Ryan said turning serious for a moment, but she couldn’t stop another grin from overtaking her features.

“I’ll always choose you, Ryan.”

Ryan visibly swallowed and then she looked at Sophie. “So, you really do have a thing for women in suits, huh.” Ryan teased.

“I have a thing for you.” Sophie retorted.

“Wow, just getting right to it huh?” Ryan flirted back. Sophie shrugged, “I want you Ryan. And I don’t want to step on Imani’s toes or anything but-”

Sophie felt warm, soft, wet lips press against her own. She instinctively flinched and then closed her eyes and sunk into the feeling of Ryan’s lips pressed against her own. Sophie immediately sucked and pecked at Ryan’s bottom lip and then she dipped her tongue into Ryan’s mouth, she let Ryan dip her own tongue out and she lightly sucked on it while Ryan sucked and kissed Sophie’s top lip. She felt Ryan’s hands in her hair and so she moved her hands to Ryan’s waist, and slipped them slightly under the oversized shirt Ryan was wearing. She had wanted to feel Ryan’s abs for quite some time now. Ryan smelled like shea butter, lavender, and eucalyptus. Sophie’s senses were shooting into overdrive. A cough interrupted them as someone walked by. They both realized they were still sitting out in the hall.

“We should go inside.” Sophie said and then laughed. Her face was flushed and her blouse that was tucked into her jeans was now hanging loosely untucked. They got up and opened the loft door and saw Mary race to the couch.

“Um hey guys.” Mary tried sounding as casual as possible. “You guys wanna stay up and chat?” Mary offered. She wanted all the tea and it was worth a shot. Ryan and Sophie knew they had been caught.

“Goodnight Mary. Oh, and Sophie’s staying over.” Ryan said as she walked Sophie to her room. Mary noticed Ryan held Sophie’s fingers gently in her hand. Mary squealed.

“Details! I want details in the morning! And pancakes.” Mary shouted as an after thought.

“Deal.” Ryan said as her and Sophie giggled and Ryan closed her bedroom door behind them.

#this is way longer than i intended it to be #sophie moore #ryan wilder #wildmoore

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

Madness, pt.2

Madness, pt.1

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Blaeja (mentioned, alluded?)

Summary: So, I wrote a sequel to Madness, I really don’t know what to put in this summary. This takes place in the expanse of a few months/year, but hopefully the pace of the time passing is clearish in the story ;)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions or allusions of death, mentions or allusions of abduction/kidnapping, mentions of (hypothetical) rape, and I don’t really know what else. Does blood kink count? Cause, subtle blood kink.

A/N: First of all I want to thank all of you for the amazing reception to Madness. I am so thankful, and so humbled you guys like my writing and this story. Really, thank you so much for your feedback, your kind words, and your support. Means the world.

Second of all, I’m sorry it took so long to get the sequel out. I wasn’t exactly planning one but ngl, I have fun writing these two, and I hope this doesn’t dissapoint. Love ya! <3

Putting up the act of being dragged a hysterical, frantic mess of a woman all the way from the docks to the King’s dungeons was not that difficult. You had kept the nervous energy within you ever since you accepted getting on that boat, and finding a release to it was…cathartic, in a way.

The King’s bodyguards that kept firm hands on your upper arms as they took you to the prison that will be your home for who-knows how long don’t push or shove you into the cell, making you wonder how many people are truly aware of this ruse.

The moment the door is closed, the moment you are safe behind the iron bars and away from the crown and its reach, you cannot help the laugh -hysterical, hoarse, crazy laugh- that leaves your lips, that breaks its way out of your lungs.

You are free.

You lay on that cell for so long you forget to keep track of the time, but small little laughs leave your lips every once in a while, as you lean on the tips of your feet to look out the small window, into the foreign sky.

Free.

You laugh again, shaking fingers enclosed around the iron bars, and you hear a shuffling sound behind you.

“These people say I’m crazy. I wonder what they’ll have to say for the Princess that laughs at her own imprisonment.” King Ivar states, squaring his shoulders and standing tall on the other side of that cage door.

You smile, “You did it. You promised, and you did it. You got me out of there.”

“I keep my promises,” He states, resolute, before continuing, “Any other woman would be terrified, not delighted, at being on a Viking’s cell.”

You shrug, “Maybe they are right, maybe I am crazy.”

The King considers you in silence, clear eyes piercing as they take you in, and after a few heartbeats, shakes his head minutely.

“No, not crazy.”

____

You have learned more and more of these Norsemen’s language, and in turn you’ve taught King Ivar more of your own -it didn’t surprise you when he ordered you to teach him, saying when he negotiated with Alfred he didn’t want some meddling translator-; and you’ve learned of their traditions, and their Gods, and their honor.

Heartless, Godless, nothing but barbarians; they used to say. But you’ve seen the mothers loving their children like any Christian would, the faithful honoring their strange Gods in their own way.

They know nothing but bloodthirst, they care for nothing, love nothing; that’s what the soldiers used to whisper to terrify the maidens. But these are a people alive like any other, and yes, they are cold and harsh and brutish, but if their King is anything to go by, they are as capable as humanity as any other.

If you believed their tales, which you never truly did, thanks to King Ecbert’s lessons; it would have all still crumbled to dust and lies before your eyes as you grew closer and closer to the man that ‘abducted’ you.

All their tales of cruelty and ruthlessness and bloodthirst, they are more than true, of course; but they forget to tell of the awkward gentleness with which he holds your hand and presses absent kisses to it; they forget to tell of the cautious vulnerability that shines in those pale eyes when the sun sets and it’s just the two of you and your secrets and your promises; they forget to tell of the shuddered breaths over your lips, the eyes that fluttered closed when you lean close enough, that fill you with warmth to your very core.

They forget many things. Hopefully, they forget to tell about you, too.

Let you be forgotten by those people that killed your mother; let you be forgotten by the God that never looked upon your family with none of his mercy; let you be forgotten by the boy you may have cared for but never loved, not like this.

You spent a fortnight -maybe?- in that cell. It didn’t surprise you, a believable claim that you willingly came with King Ivar to Scandinavia would mean the leverage to return you to Wessex would be null. What did surprise you, though, was that you were very often visited, almost every day, by the King.

He is a fascinating man, he was to you since that first moment. He never ceased to be, even now, after months of secrets and pried truths and reluctant vulnerability and him.

Shortly after, you were allowed more performative freedoms, and it didn’t cost you much to put up an act that slowly waned and disappeared that you feared, hated even, the heathens that took you captive.

You’ve seen the ashen faces of those who returned from battle against the Vikings, you’ve heard the tales of the women that trembled at the memory of the raiders, you’ve known of their fame ever since your mother was gifted her uncle’s head by one of these Norsemen.

It is not hard for you to imagine why a woman -a sane woman, maybe- would fear them. And so, the act is not hard, the ruse is not difficult.

And let them think the King broke you, let them think a poor maiden was stolen from her home, let them think you long to return to your home, let them think you feel nothing but cold. In the meantime, you will be free, and safe, and growing to love a King that gives you nothing but warmth.

____

“I want to learn how to fight.” You tell him one evening, as you watch the sun set over the distant waves, and hear the training warriors somewhere near the longhouse.

He hums at your words, lifting your hand and absently pressing a kiss to the back of it before he asks, “Why?”

You offer a shrug and a small smile as you retort dryly, “A Princess, alone and surrounded by savages, she should have some means of defending herself?”

The King offers a side smile at your jest, and it feels like a tiny victory. Always does. It always has, ever since the first time you saw him, you don’t even remember how long ago.

“I could let someone teach you.” He finally drawls out, slowly, meticulously.

You cannot mask your enthusiasm, you realize too late, “Really?”

“For a price.” He clarifies.

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. What is your price, my King?”

But he shakes his head, “That secret is mine to keep for now,” Lifting his eyes to yours and knowing he won, King Ivar insists, “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes!” You say quickly, surprising even yourself.

“Are you su-…” The King starts, even as some strange softness teases at his expression. You realize that you have startled him, and somehow that makes the excitement bubbling in your chest greater.

“Yes!” You interrupt, biting your lip and offering a sheepish shrug in apology when he glares at you, “I’m sorry, but yes.”

“Sit down, no one is going to train you now.” He chastises, but you know his tells by now. And the gentle tug of his hand on yours to bring you closer again is not even needed for you to understand he wasn’t ready or willing for you to part form his embrace. You concede with a breathed laugh and a smile that you press against his own lips, and rest against his side with a sigh.

“Thank you.” You whisper, so quietly you barely hear yourself.

“Hm. You know, I never convinced myself you aren’t at least a bit crazy.” He muses, with what you know -but he’d deny to his grave- is a soft kiss pressed to the crown of your head.

____

“Fuck!” You gasp out, Ubbe’s sword a hair’s width away from your neck, “Shouldn’t there be…wooden swords, or something?”

“Don’t you trust me?” The Prince asks around a smile. You answer with widened eyes and pushing his sword away from your neck with your own.

“Not when you hold a blade to my neck, my Prince!”

The Viking laughs, genuine and young, and you find yourself smiling back. You both assume your positions again, even if you are certain you are one sneeze away from being gutted.

“Why did you want to learn anyways? Aren’t you West Saxons supposed to sue for peace instead?” Ubbe starts as he guides your arm through a motion to break out of a block.

“I am Mercian, but yes, we do prefer talking.” You answer, focused on following his indications.

“Then why learn to fight?” The Prince insists.

“I want to be able to defend myself.”

King Ivar calls your name from behind you, a greeting and a demand of your attention as he approaches you and his brother. You turn around, and he inserts himself into the conversation you were having with Ubbe,

“Defending yourself also includes not starting fights you cannot win.”

“Ladies don’t start fights.” You shoot back quickly, side smile on your lips.

You hear him snort a laugh and your smile widens.

“But you do,” Ivar says, just as you deviate with your sword Ubbe’s attempt to strike your leg. “For someone so…”

Pushing back against the other son of Ragnar, you interrupt him.

“Don’t say small.” You grit out as you turn around, fight on pause.

“Small,” He supplies anyways, emphatically. He looks maddeningly delighted when you furrow your nose in annoyance, “You surely seem to love starting fights.”

“If by ‘starting’ you mean not letting you get away with-…”

“Get away? You get the last word every time I e-…”

“Brother, Princess,” Ubbe calls out, eyeing you strangely before motioning with his head, “Training.”

You nod, getting your focus back into place, and try getting used to the unfamiliar weight of the shield in your hands as you face the bearded man again.

Ivar’s voice cuts into your thoughts again, and your concentration evaporates along with your patience.

“Why are you standing like he does? You are half his size, you can’t mimic him and expect good results.”

You face him with gritted teeth, “Well, if my teacher did something other than berating me I could-…”

“You asked for my help.”

“I…shut up,” You sentence, turning back to Ubbe and correcting your stance to something you feel grounded and able to move on. The older Prince looks at his brother, considering, and then takes the shield from you. You let go of it with ease, but still question, “My Prince?”

“He’s right. You are small.”

“Thank you.” You sentence dryly, and the other man chuckles in response.

“I mean we can’t have you fight like you would in the front lines. Instead, fight like you would in an ambush.”

You shrug, because you have no idea what he means, and let him guide you through the movements.

____

You know what he’s going to say before you even hear him.

“Again.”

“Everything hurts.” You groan as you sit up from the cold dirt.

“I don’t care,” Ivar is quick to retort, and you have a feeling he can sense you rolling your eyes, because a taunt is quick to follow, “You Saxons may stop when you are in pain, but Vikings don’t. Again.”

Gritting your teeth and letting one or two curses in your native language leave your lips, you stand up and lift the sword. Prince Hvitserk smiles, hands toying with his axe as she studies you for a moment.

For once, you attack first, slashing towards his side, but the wooden hilt of his axe stops the movement. Not hesitating, you pull back and try again, making the Viking take a couple of steps back.

He breaks the block with a twist of his weapon’s hilt, making your sword slide off and your balance weaken. The victory is his as he raises the great axe over his head with a yell, but you lift the sword, stopping him even as you are forced to grab the blade with your free hand to give more strength to the block.

Blood pours from between your fingers and sharp pain follows, but you keep your attention on Hvitserk and wait for the moment you see him decide to push instead of retreat and attacking again. When his strength focuses on his upper body, like he did to you many times before, you place your boot on his inner thigh and kick outwards.

The force of your kick sends you stumbling back, but you catch yourself. The Viking falls down in his back though, and with enthusiasm you hold the tip of your sword over him. Victory.

You allow yourself a small smile, and Hvitserk shoulders his great axe as he stands up, fight over.

“You are getting better, Princess.” He praises gruffly, and you thank him with a nod.

Whatever dignity you tried gaining with the composed gesture is blown by the way you cannot seem to stop the excited pitter-patter of your feet as you walk back to Ivar.

“Did you see?” You ask. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so wide, and you could swear a little bit of your enthusiasm gets to the King, who smiles at you somewhat softly.

“He went easy on you.”

“I know that.” You answer with a roll of your eyes.

“And you are bleeding everywhere.” Ivar points out, signaling with his head to your hand. Reminded of your wound, you bring up your fist but Ivar is quick to catch it in his own hand.

You open your palm to see a cut running down your palm and similar ones -although not as deep- in your fingers. Your eyes follow the trail of a thick drop of blood that slithers down the side of your hand to your wrist.

Apparently, Ivar’s eyes followed the same droplet, for he moves your hand to his mouth and quickly licks off the offending drop.

“Ivar!” You chastise, tugging softly at the braid at the back of his neck, stopping his tongue from continuing trailing maddeningly the skin at your bloodied hand. He laughs, his eyes darkened when he looks up at you, and you cannot deny the rush of heat that look sends through you.

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, side smile still bearing the mark of your blood. You have the errant, traitorous thought to kiss the stain of blood off his lips, and because you can, because there’s no shame in lust or love, you lean down and do exactly that.

The metallic taste of your own blood on his lips makes you wonder if you could convince him to forget there’s a kingdom past your bed if only for a few hours; steal him away so he can think, taste, or feel nothing but you, so you can think, taste, or feel nothing but him.

Instead, trying to gather your wits and keep your voice even, you answer, “It is your name.”

“But you also call me ‘my King’,” He says, hand still holding yours and moving it so that he can see the wound more clearly. You keep your eyes on his profile, and find yourself startled when he suddenly looks up at you, head cocked to the side. Thankfully he doesn’t notice your eyes tracing the shape of his lips, and instead asks, “And you don’t really mean that, do you?”

You huff a laugh, “You are King of Kattegat.”

“But am I your King?” Ivar insists, eyes narrowed.

“I…” You start, stopping yourself when you realize you have no quick answer to give. You are not Viking; but you also have sworn no fealty to no king or kingdom, not since the ruse of your ‘capture’ was started. Still, you give him his answer in a soft voice, “No.”

He seems almost pleased, his smile turning more sincere when he states, “Call me by my name from now on then.”

You agree with a nod, the only answer your lips give is a smile, before you lean to speak by his ear. You will never cease to be delighted at the wonder mixed with desire that darken his eyes whenever you remind him of how much you want him.

Turns out stealing a King is way easier than you thought. You needed only a whisper in his ear and a sway of your hips.

____

“You are getting better,” The King starts that night, and you turn your attention to him with a smile. The people have months ago stopped staring at the crazy Mercian Princess, and the whispers about how happy she looks even as a captive have quietened; and for the first time since your mother died you have felt safe and comfortable. King Ivar continues, “For a Saxon.”

“You could just compliment me, you know.” You offer with a side smile.

The King uses the hand he holds in his -he always does, he always finds a way to be touching you and your hands seems to be a preference of his- to tug you closer where you sit on the bench next to him, and it is with a breathy chuckle that you find yourself pressed against his side.

He considers you for a few moments, before leaning close to your ear and whispering, so low only you can hear,

“You are a maddening woman, you know that?” His fingers intertwine with yours before he continues, “A maddening, infuriating, crazy woman. The most beautiful and fascinating woman I’ve ever met. The woman I…”

His words die, because they always do. Even if they always do, even if he has never admitted anything, even if he has never said he cares for you, or loves you; your heart still skips a beat every time you dare hope he just might.

But because you’ve grown to know him, to understand, you do not feel pain anymore. You let yourself believe he loves you when you feel his hand reaching for you in the dead of night, as if to make sure you are still there; you let yourself believe he loves you when you are the last one to open your eyes after you make love and find his eyes on you, his expression that of wonder and peace, you let yourself believe many things.

And so, you give the answer to the words he hasn’t -can’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t- say,

“I love you.”

As always, as every time you tell him of your love since that first time, Ivar’s expression softens, his shoulders drop, as if you bring relief to a part of him you don’t notice is always on edge.

Because he has his tells, and he knows by now you know of them.

And when you tell him you love him and you are alone in the safety of his -your? You don’t remember sleeping anywhere else- room, his eyes close and his lips pull into the smallest of smiles, soft and content.

And when you tell him you love him in the great hall, like now, he drops the tension in his shoulders and claims your mouth, sealing the words against his own lips as if to prove they are real, they are true.

He has his tells, and they betray that even if he does not dare say the words, he does feel the same.

____

You wake up at an absence in your bed, and missing Ivar’s warmth you sit up. You find him sitting by one of the chairs near a window, his hand by his mouth and a furrow in his brow. His eyes are intent on a map of England he keeps on a nearby table, and you realize what kept him awake without needing to hear a word.

“Word from Winchester?” You ask, getting out from under the furs but only moving to the foot of the bed, where you sit with your legs underneath you.

“Mhm. Alfred demanded proof you are safe, and the letter you sent was enough. But, since you are safe, he asks now that you are returned to him. In exchange for Lindsey.”

“Lindsey? Ivar, that’s-…”

“It’ll allow me to take over half of Mercia, I know” He doesn’t seem thrilled at the idea, even if he showed you, you don’t know how many moons ago, that having free access to that region would give him a great advantage. “And Alfred knows too. He knows what you are worth.”

And so the reminder of what this deal entails -your return- falls on your stomach like a dead weight. Of course, of course show could you forget? A Princess stolen in exchange for a ransom to be paid by those who want her back, a while of freedom bought until the offer is made, and if the offer is enough, you’ll sail back to Alfred and need another way to get away from there. One King walks away with new lands, the other with a bride.

But you remember those days spent in Winchester, before he was King, before Blaeja was Sigurd’s wife, before you were his ‘prisoner’; and you remember him asking what if he didn’t wish to return you to Alfred.

You remember that, and you remember every day since; and so you hope, and taking a deep breath and steeling yourself for the response, you ask,

“What will you do?”

He considers you in silence, with cold, calculating eyes. But with a grunt, he throws something he was holding in his hand and takes his eyes away from yours. You startle, but say nothing. You don’t think there’s much -if anything- you can say.

Tension is written all over his form, and after a few calculated breaths, he meets your eyes again.

“Marry me.”

“What!?” You squeak. He calls you a mad woman then comes up with these ideas.

But Ivar settles with calm, with certainty, in his madness. Like when you’ve seen him plan an attack, you realize he has thought of the alternatives, the outcomes. And, like in strategy, like in chess, he has certainty in what the next move must be.

He stands, using the crutch to move closer to you and sits next to you on the bed. His hand runs through your hair and settles comfortably at the back of your neck.

“I took a Princess from him, but he won’t take a Queen from me.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“They won’t make Queen of Wessex and Mercia a woman that was made wife to a Viking, much less Queen of Kattegat.”

Your heart beats madly in your ears, you feel like one of those trapped rabbits you saw the hunters bring back. You only look back at him with a knot in your stomach and wide eyes.

“And Lindsey?”

“We’ll threaten to send you in pieces if he does not send those papers, if he doesn’t concede. When he does, we’ll announce we’re married. They’ll think I stole you away and forced you, but they won’t be able to take you away, since we’ll be husband and wife.”

“In the eyes of your Gods. It will be nothing but pagan nonsense to the church. They’ll annul it, claim I was raped and so I am still fit to marry Alfred.”

And in the blink of an eye you are back in that hidden room in Winchester’s palace, sneaking thanks to Blaeja and her Prince to meet with the man that promised to steal you away; exchanging ideas and hopes on how to make this work.

“We’ll marry before their God too.”

He says it certainly, with no hesitation. He truly thinks of it all, doesn’t he?

And you wish you could say yes, you wish you could accept and finally seal your future away from England’s hands. You truly do, but…

“No,” You whisper, feeling the tears threaten at your eyes. The moment the simple word leaves your lips, you have another man standing before you. Closed off, with an edge of cruel madness shining in his gaze. “I’ll find another way. I won’t marry you for a business deal.

With a snarl of anger making his nose furrow, his jaw tighten, the King lets you go. You stand on shaky legs and walk a few steps to where he used to sit, eyeing the map of the land that saw you be born.

The land that might see you die, if they give you no choice but to return.

But Ivar calls your name, and interrupts your dark thoughts. It is the uncertainty where before there was strategy, the vulnerability where before there was confidence, the softness where before there was steel; what makes you turn to him with a new kind of tension taking over your body.

“T-Then marry me because I love you.” He whispers, a twitch in his expression speaking of how unmoored he is, how uncomfortable with the confession, with the possibilities it opens before you. With the power it gives you.

It should thrill you, to know you hold power over him. He has held power over you for so long, he has had your love for so long, it is only fair you have his heart in exchange. But the fear you see shining in his pale eyes startles you, softens you, breaks you.

So you step closer, so close he can reach up with one rough hand and set his touch at your waist -he always finds a way to be touching you, he always does- and he does, his eyes following his hand before meeting your own again.

“This is madness.” You whisper, and his lips curve into a smile, because he understands, he knows.

And the answer leaves your lips as easily as your feet jumped into that ship, and you whisper your yes against hungry lips, forgetting there’s a world past the two of you.

____

So, that is it! Hope you liked it, and hope you didn’t mind the lil Persephone’s abduction imagery sprinkled about, I am way too invested in Greek mythology atm for it not to show in most of what I write lol.

Btw, Lindsey is a region in the Kingdom of Mercia, here’s a map in case you were curious :)

Would love to know what you think, and thank you so much for reading!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #masterlist

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halsteadshailey · 4 years

Text

So you are seeing someone?

upstead fluff/angst one shot

Hailey meets someone while working with the FBI in New York but when she comes home to her partner, her best friend, how long will that relationship last?

can also be read on wattpad or ao3

——

set at the beginning of s8 after hailey gets back from ny (i’m going with hailey being in new york for 4 weeks bcos i’m not sure if they ever told us how long she was supposed to be there but i know tracy she was supposed to be in more fbi eps but cldnt bcos of corona , sorry if this is wrong)

*slight language*

——

For the first couple of weeks that Hailey had been out in New York to work with the FBI, her and Jay had FaceTimed religiously. In the morning on the way to work, whenever they could both catch a break at the same time, and on their drives home, most importantly though, once they were both home and settled. It was as close to ‘their thing’ they could get after a long day of work while separated by hundreds of miles.

After about 14 days, Jay was starting to notice something different about Hailey, they were calling less, even her texting game was off. She was starting to be busy more frequently in the evenings and her texts had become rare, short and sweet.

On the Wednesday evening of her third week away, Jay decided to bring it up while they were on FaceTime.

“Hey what’s been going on over there?” he questioned “I feel like we haven’t talked in ages”

Hailey’s brows furrowed a little as she struggled to think of what to say, anything to say to avoid Jay finding out about Liam, she wasn’t ready to tell him and definitely not over the phone when she wasn’t even sure how serious things were.

“Yeah, sorry about that, we’ve had lots of tough cases, I’ve been working late” she said.

Her partner knew she wasn’t telling the truth, he could always tell. However, he didn’t want to push, it wasn’t worth it after the long day that he’d had and he knew that Hailey would tell him whatever it was when she wanted to so he settled on saying:

“Don’t work yourself too hard” with a chuckle.

The two spoke for a little bit longer after that, Jay telling Hailey about all the weird things Kev and Adam have been up to and Hailey realising how much she misses her Intelligence family, not that she would ever tell Jay that.

A few days passed and all the interaction that the detectives had had with one another was through text, but when Saturday came around Jay needed to change that.

It was around 10:30pm when he shot her a text:

‘Hey, I know it’s late but I just got home from a tough case and was wondering if you’re free to call?’

Luckily for him, Hailey replied to Jay’s text only a few minutes later by calling him.

“Hey how are you?” she said when she saw that her partner had connected to the call.

“I’m ok, just needed to do our thing i guess” the emphasis Jay put on the ‘our thing’ was slight, but it was there. “How are y-“ he paused.

“What?”

“You’re wearing make-up, you never wear make-up, am I interrupting something? A date?” Jay teased.

Without thinking, Hailey replied with “As a matter of fact, you texted me just before dessert so it was actually perfect timing”

Jay froze, trying to process that words that he just heard. It’s not like he thought that Hailey wasn’t allowed to go on dates, he didn’t own her. But he was jealous, a lot more jealous that he would care to admit. Deep down he knew that it was his fault, he’d had feelings for Hailey for a long time and didn’t do anything about it because ‘nothing good comes out of a workplace romance’ or whatever bullshit he had told himself.

“Was it not going well? If you wanted to get out of there before dessert I mean” he clarified.

“No, no, it was going great. I just meant it made an ok place to stop so I could check on you” she responded.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have left, if I had known I wouldn’t have texted” Jay said, in an attempt to clear the air. Their conversation had become quite stale and neither of them were willing to accept that it was just awkward.

“Jay, stop” Hailey said, causing her partner to crack a small smile. “If you need to talk to me after a bad case, that’s the only place I want to be. I’m always here for you, even when we’re this far away” the last part was delivered with a bit of scorn.

“Thanks Hailey, and you too” he said, lifting a little bit of weight off both of their shoulders as they began to flow back into normal conversation.

Another week had passed and Hailey had told Jay a little more about Liam, but only if it came up in conversation so currently all he knew was his name and his job and what his coffee order is (he’d heard Hailey getting it for him while they were on FaceTime). She quickly realised that Jay didn’t enjoy listening to her talk about him so she tried to keep it lowkey.

During her last few days in New York, Hailey and Liam came to the mutual decision that they wouldn’t take the relationship any further. They had a lot of fun while it lasted but they both knew that long distance relationships were a lot of effort and with the jobs they had, it would just but impractical.

While she was waiting in the airport for her flight back to Chicago, Hailey found herself saddened by the fact that her and Jay hadn’t texted or called for a couple of days so she opened her phone, pulled up Jay’s contact and called it.

No answer, so she texted.

‘About to board my plane, just wanted to check in’

Jay sent a response quickly.

‘Sorry, deep in a case. Have a safe flight, text me when you land’

She decided to shrug it off but Hailey knew something wasn’t right.

The journey felt like years but after her flight and a taxi ride home, Hailey was finally back in her own apartment in Chicago. It was 2am when she arrived so when she reached her bedroom she quickly changed and got straight into bed, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The next morning she got up, easily slipping back into her normal routine and went to work. Voight had had offered for her to take a few days to get settled back into Chicago and sleep off the jet lag but she politely declined as she just wanted her normal back.

The day went pretty slowly, no major cases, but Jay was acting different and Hailey knew it. When she first showed up at work she got warm welcomes from Trudy and the whole unit but nothing from Jay, they barely said two words to each other all day that weren’t work-related and it was making Hailey a little upset.

Since they had spent most of the day doing paperwork, the team got sent home at a reasonable time. Adam and Kim left together closely followed by Kevin as Voight silently worked in his office.

Hailey entered the locker room where she knew she would find Jay, and she was right.

As she hesitantly walked through the doorway, Hailey spoke. “Can we talk?”

Jay wasn’t facing the door when his partner walked in but, upon hearing her voice, he quickly adjusted his positioning on the bench he had planted himself on to grab his stuff from his locker so he was looking at her.

“Sure” he replied softly, pretty confident he knew what she wanted to talk about.

“Come over to mine in about half an hour?” Hailey asked.

Jay nodded in response and they both grabbed their things and walked to the parking lot together.

They walked in silence but it wasn’t their usual, comfortable, silence. The air around the two was stiff. Either way, it wasn’t long before they reached their cars and headed their separate ways.

Almost exactly half an hour later, Hailey heard a knock at her door. She got up from her position on her couch and went to answer the door, knowing it would be her partner on the other side.

“Hey” Jay said with a weak smile as Hailey opened the door and he walked inside.

He set his jacket on one of the hooks by the door as he always did when he was at her apartment and made his way to her couch.

Sitting in silence on opposite ends of the furniture both detectives waited for the other to talk first and after a few uncomfortable seconds, Hailey decided that it was probably fair for her to talk first seeing as she was the one who wanted to talk to him and she invited him over.

“What is going on with you?” she asked, not wanting to beat around the bush, just getting straight to the point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on Jay, don’t give me that crap. You haven’t spoken to me at all since I got back from New York so I’m sorry for assuming my best friend would have more to say after I left for 4 weeks” Hailey rebuked at Jay’s easy response.

“I guess I figured you’d wanna catch up with the team rather than talk to me seeing as we spoke to each other so much while you were over there” he said but Hailey knew that wasn’t the truth.

She started to get angrier but did her best not to show it and kept her cool.

“Well that’s a load of bull” she snapped. “We both know that over the second half of my trip we barely spoke, compared to the first two weeks anyway”

“Oh and thats my fault?” Jay jabbed back, beginning to feel anger rise in himself. Still, they both sat in the same spots on the couch and neither raised their voice.

“Well is it mine?” Hailey replied.

“More like your boyfriend’s” Jay murmered without thinking.

Hailey couldn’t believe what he had just said.

“Is that why you’ve been weird for these past weeks?” She asked “You’re jealous of Liam?”

That word ‘jealous’ played with his head but Jay didn’t reply, still regretting even bringing it up.

“Not that its any of your business, but he wasn’t my boyfriend” Hailey hissed and moved her body to a much more upright position, but keeping their eye contact. “It was a two-week fling, it didn’t mean anything” she continued with a quizzical look on her face.

“Wait so you guys aren’t together anymore?” Jay asked, a little taken aback by what his partner had just said.

“No, we ended things the day before I left because we agreed it was just a bit of fun and neither of us had the want to try a long distance relationship.” she said while relaxing back into the couch again.

Silence fell in the room for a moment as Hailey waited for Jay to say something but instead he just stayed where he was and his brows furrowed.

“Is that really why you’ve been acting weird?” she finally asked when she realised Jay had no intention of speaking.

Still not saying a word, Jay shrugged his shoulders a little embarrassed that he had even made this into a thing, it’s not like he could control who Hailey was dating.

“Oh my god will you please say something or I’m abut to get really mad” she exclaimed with a little more volume.

Jay had no idea what he could say without confessing his feelings right there in the middle of her living room so he kept his mouth shut which really pushed Hailey over the edge.

“Jay” she scoffed “for fuck’s sake what are you doing? You’re in no place to act like this because of a guy I dated for like a minute, last time I checked this partnership wasn’t an exclusive relationship and I can date whoever the hell I want” she began to stand up and continued “Just because you’re not looking for someone doesn’t mean I can’t be”

In reality, both of them knew exactly who they really wanted to date and it was none other than the person right in front of them at that very moment but neither were ready to admit that. Or so they thought, Jay’s mind had other plans.

“Who says a haven’t already found them?” Jay whispered, loud enough for Hailey to hear.

That was the second time this evening that Jay had said something that was meant to be kept in his head. ’God I really need to think more before I speak’ he thought.

“What?” Hailey asked, sitting back down.

“I didn’t mean-“ Jay began.

“So you are seeing someone” Hailey cut in.

“What?” his forehead creased “no, I’m not seeing anyone” he said truthfully.

“But you just said you found-“

“You, Hailey” and he did it again, Jay spoke before he could stop himself. However, this time, it proved to work in his favour, as a large smile appeared on his partner’s face.

For Chicago’s best detectives, both Jay and Hailey looked pretty stupid right now. But not stupid in a bad way, stupid in a huge-smile-on-your-face-don’t-know-what-to-say way.

For a second, they both remained still, not entirely sure what had just happened and where to go from there. Then Hailey made a spur of the moment decision and launched herself at Jay.

First she put a hand on his cheek and that was quickly followed by her placing her lips to his and pulling her leg over his knees so she was sitting in his lap and they were face to face.

Without ever breaking the kiss, Jay’s hands momentarily explored Hailey’s body, mainly moving up and down her torso, whereas Hailey kept both hands on his cheeks or gently around his neck, softly touching the hair on the back of his head.

Both were very content as it felt like the whole world was slipping away and they were all that existed. Hailey could feel a huge smile on Jay’s face as they kissed and it only made hers grow wider as their tongues intertwined and they bit at each other’s lips.

Though they had exchanged no words further than Jay implying that Hailey was all he was looking for, neither of them felt it was necessary.

Since they day they had met, the two had gone from strangers, to partners, to best friends, to admitting they trust each other more than anyone else and would follow each other blind. But they had always been Hailey and Jay, and thats exactly what they were that night, nothing had changed between them apart from the enormous weight that was their unspoken love for each other was lifted off their shoulders and they were just Hailey and Jay.

#chicago pd #one chicago #jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #one shot #fan fiction

59 notes · View notes

wonda-cat · 3 years

Note

You mentioned rewriting that one analysis post on Tommy’s revival stream and I’d really look forward to it! I never got to read the full og post and that’s the only place I saw these takes. Especially the one about the afterlife being too depressing. It’s not even just about Tommy, the implication that even if every character is safe and happy by the end, this is their inevitable fate is messed up. It’s not “a neat subversion” it’s just depressing and doesn’t add anything.

Hey, anon!

I sorta decided to not rewrite it? I feel a bit differently about the essay in the end, although I still believe in most of my points. I’m also just not nearly as passionate about it as I was when I wrote it (I finished it in a single sitting, which was... interesting.) However, yes, the afterlife stuff still bothers me just the same, as well as the odd changes to Wilbur’s characterization... post mortem.

But—just for you, anon—here’s the entire meta-analysis essay anyway, with some minor edits to the stuff I don’t agree with anymore!

My Many Narrative Issues with Tommyinnit’s Revival Stream

I want to preface this by saying that I dearly love the Dream SMP and understand it isn’t exactly comparable to other mediums like TV and film. With this being the case, most criticism against it is generally in bad faith or strange in foundation. Complaining about streamers for bad acting is the best example that comes to mind.

These aren’t professional actors. Most have never acted in this sort of setting, or even at all. Quite a few have admitted to never roleplaying before. Which is why it’s warranted to praise Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Ranboo, and others when they deliver stellar performances. The same applies to criticism of music choice, dialogue delivery, focus, tone, etc.

However, one such category I cannot overlook is in regards to its writing. The writing of a story is its entire foundation. It encompasses many things—conflict choice, character development, themes, and morals. The author creates the blueprints for the architect, who then expresses the story with light, sound, color, pacing, and music. It is in its execution that we see if this connection is made or broken.

The reason I find poor writing mostly inexcusable is because it is one of the most available skills to practice and perfect. I don’t mean to say that it’s easy, I mean to say it is something anyone can attempt to cultivate. Whether they do it well or not depends on their methods and experience. If anyone can self-publish a novel and be criticized online for its quality—and even compared to the works of Mark Twain—then I find critiquing the writing of the Dream SMP to be perfectly reasonable.

However, since the Dream SMP script is a set of loose bullet points, tearing apart dialogue and scene continuity—which is nearly all improv—is rather useless. It doesn’t exactly have a clear focus as the plot plays out. The characters talk in circles until they hit the story beat required, and then they move onto the next. Thus, when criticizing it, one should generally critique grand events and narrative-specific shifts, more so than small-scale character interactions.

Which brings me to my main point: The broad narrative choices taken in Tommyinnit’s most recent livestream, ‘Am I dead?’ may lead to disastrous writing pitfalls in the future.

I’ll be outlining each of my issues below, in hopes of creating a better understanding as to why I feel this way.

This might become quite lengthy, so please bear with me for a bit.

Tommy’s relationship to Wilbur has flipped. This change is jarring and seems out of character.

Tommy and Wilbur’s friendship is rather complicated. While Wilbur does care for Tommy immensely, especially during the L’Manburg Revolution and the Election Arc, his mental spiral during exile put a massive strain on their relationship as a whole. Wilbur brushed off Tommy’s feelings and wants, while clinging to him and pushing everyone else away. He was simultaneously distant and suffocating.

Tommy, on the other hand, has an unclear view of his mentor. Since the beginning, and even long after Wilbur’s death, Tommy held him in especially high regard. He saw him as a brother-figure and a wise leader. He followed what he said and did everything he could to impress him. Yet, Wilbur still hurt him while the two were together in exile.

When speaking of him, Tommy tends to flip infrequently between remembering Wilbur the way he was before his mental decline and thinking of him as a monster. Both of these images conflict with each other, but they weren’t nearly as extreme as what Tommy described Wilbur as when he was revived from death. The fear Tommy displays to Wilbur is beyond intense—it feels as if the audience may have missed a month’s worth of character development.

This can make sense, especially since it was stated that he’d spent what felt like two months in the void. However, this shift is still deeply at odds with Tommy’s previous impressions of Wilbur, which is both disheartening and confusing. The fact that Tommy would agree to stay with Dream—his abuser and murderer—over his past mentor is simply head-reeling. It paints a very different picture of Wilbur’s character, somewhat conforming to the fandom’s ableist impression of him—the idea that Wilbur is insane and irredeemable, and always will be.

It also ignores Dream being the driving factor in Wilbur’s downfall, as well as the double-bind deal with Dream which required him to push the button, no matter the outcome. Others have pointed out that Tommy may be lying to get Dream to bring Wilbur back, and there’s compelling evidence for that. For one, Tommy and Wilbur’s conversation seemed uncomfortable, but it was certainly nothing like Tommy implied. (Unless this fear comes from something Wilbur said off-screen.)

Tommy also begged Dream to not bring him back multiple times over, which he should know would make Dream even more tempted to, simply because he likes seeing Tommy in pain. Tommy is also a known unreliable narrator. He may be making Wilbur out to be worse than he is by accident (even still, I’d argue this is a bit of a stretch.)

However, there are some issues with this theory. Tommy offered himself as payment to Dream if he chose to let Wilbur rest. This is a deal Tommy knows Dream is extremely unlikely to refuse. Tommy is what Dream has coveted all this time. If Tommy genuinely wanted Wilbur back, he would not offer this. This sort of compromise is Tommy’s greatest nightmare—something he would only do in response to his friends being threatened or his home being destroyed.

To add, Tommy is not great at lying. Unless he was taught by Wilbur for those two months* in the afterlife, there’s no chance Tommy would be this good at it. Thirdly, Tommy is terrible under pressure. He uses humor to cope. When he can’t, he cries and shouts and spills his heart out. While cornered, Tommy will tell the truth about anything, especially if Dream casually debates killing him again, just for fun.

For now, it’s too early to tell how the relationship shift will play out. In the grand scheme of things, this issue is rather minor.

Season three’s writing is needlessly bleak. The portrayal of the afterlife is a nightmare. There is no rest, not even in death.

I adore the Dream SMP storyline in its entirety. I believe the first season is fantastic, and while the second season has some narrative clarity issues, I enjoyed it just as much. Although, I would argue season one had a more concrete understanding of its Hope-Conflict balance.

To briefly explain, the Hope in stories are its ‘highs’ and good moments. These appear when a character the audience is rooting for is narratively rewarded. They happen during character building in the text—it’s the downtime and peace that allows for connection and relatability. It’s a moment for the viewer to breathe easy.

The other half is Conflict, an obstacle in the story that gets in the way of the main characters’ goals, beliefs, and motives. These are the ‘lows.’ They give the narrative focus and weight. They make the highs feel even higher. They establish consequences and force the characters in the story to change in order to adapt and overcome them.

I bring up the Hope-Conflict balance because a traditional hero’s journey would have an appropriate amount of both. Their highs and lows are generally equalized, as the name suggests. However, this balance has been awkwardly skewed in the latter half of season two and in the current plot of season three. To clarify, it is perfectly reasonable, and even common, for some stories to tip the scale more to one side.

But a common mistake for amateur writers is to create their stories as either hopelessly dark to cause the audience continuous distress for the sake of distress, or to keep everything entirely conflict-free for most of the plot. What do these both have in common? They each make the story boring and predictable.

Season three has taken this concept and thrown a monstrously heavy weight onto the Conflict side and flipped the scale so hard it has crashed through the ceiling. The viewers are hardly given time to find any joy in Tommy’s character, as he’s thrown into yet another abusive situation, just barely after his first narrative reward. The world is painted as relentlessly violent and traumatic.

Every person Tommy meets is morally grey, unhinged, or out to hurt him. Everything most of the characters love is taken from them by those in positions of power. Ranboo cannot even grieve properly because it scars his face. Puffy, Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo all blame themselves for what happened to Tommy.

The audience watches lore stream after lore stream with the same depressing tone (with the exception of Tubbo’s, but I assume that’s unintentional.) Tommy is revived after being brutally beaten to death by his abuser, surrounded by all of his greatest fears. The afterlife is revealed to be akin to inescapable torture. It’s a colorless void that wraps the individual like fabric.

Time moves thirty times slower within. There’s nothing—nothing but the voices of others who’ve passed on before him. Dying in a world already devoid of happiness takes the characters to a place worse than hell. When a narrative delivers unfair suffering to the entire cast without a moment of joy to speak of, the story will feel simultaneously overwhelming and pointless.

Why watch characters suffer when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel? What happiness could they strive for when we know they’ll never get to keep it? How can I be satisfied with a good ending, if I know that an afterlife too terrible to name is what awaits them, truly, at the end of their story? Death isn’t even a white void that offers rest—it is eternal torment.

Obviously, it isn’t a good message to send by making the afterlife seem like a quiet, perfect place or an escape from pain. But making it an unspeakable anguish which awaits, assumedly, every character who will die in the future? I deeply hope Tommy was only being an extremely unreliable narrator.

More likely, I hope the place Tommy was taken to was a Limbo of sorts, not an end-all-be-all destination for everyone.

The degree of Tommy’s narrative punishment continues to escalate, to an almost absurd degree.

Tommy is one of the most tragic characters to exist in the storyline. He was sent into war at a young age and experienced two traumatic events during it. He was exiled by the newly elected leader and witnessed his mentor Wilbur spiral and break down with paranoia. Tubbo is executed publicly in front of him. When expressing rightful anger at the person who murdered him, he’s beaten nearly to death and never receives an apology.

Schlatt dies right in front of Tommy, after his initial refusal to hurt the ex-president. His brother-figure and mentor is killed in assisted suicide on the same day his nation is blown up. His best friend exiles him from his home for the second time. He routinely self-sacrifices to protect his country and those who live there. His most treasured possessions were taken from him and he was called selfish for trying to retrieve them (although his methods were self-destructive and volatile.)

He was pushed to the brink of suicide after being relentlessly abused and isolated in his exile. He was horrified when he thought he was responsible for drowning Fundy. After making an objectively good decision to stand by his old friends and change for the better, his country was obliterated by the man he once idolized, his father-figure, and his abuser.

He was left scattered and without purpose for many days. Then he fights against Dream and loses, while also reliving his trauma. He watches Tubbo almost die at the hands of someone he once thought was his friend. He doesn’t tell a single person about what happened to him in exile. The day he tries to sever his connection to Dream and heal, he’s trapped with him for a week, surrounded by everything that terrifies him.

He threatens to kill himself, speaking about his own life as if it were an object—something to hold over Dream’s head. He blames himself for everything bad that’s ever happened to L’Manburg and his friends—internalizing a mentality as a scapegoat for everyone around him. He is forced into the role of ‘hero’ despite the title being unfair and distressing to him.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s then beaten to death by his abuser and spends what feels like two months in an afterlife that is worse than hell. When he returns, his senses are excessively heightened. Dream can cause him excruciating pain, just by pinching him. He can send Tommy into an instant panic attack, just by raising his voice.

The punishment Tommy’s character receives is a thousand times worse than everyone he has ever met, or ever will meet. And it shows no signs of stopping, as Dream now has control over Tommy’s very mortality. Tommy now fears the slightest damage and feels as if he’s losing his best friend all over again. He is also forced into a position where he has to kill Dream out of necessity, to protect everyone he cares about.

Characters need fitting punishments in relation to their actions. Not always, but in order to be satisfying? Yes, they do. It is preferred that a main character deal with unfair situations and difficult conflicts, but this is borderline torture p*rn. Putting Tommy in these distressing and abusive situations on repeat and punishing him for doing objectively moral or healthy things is exhausting to watch.

To quickly add, I find the general insinuation of Tommy going to hell distasteful, especially considering the contents of his storyline. I know this may be hard to believe, but Tommy is one of the most moral characters in the plot, besides Puffy and Ghostbur. He’s also the only character, followed by Ranboo, to recognize that they can be wrong and make mistakes. He changed himself in order to heal and be a better person. He was in the process of paying people back for the things he’d stolen.

He’s learned to be hard-working and less violent through the guidance of Sam. He has apologized to everyone he’s ever hurt (with the exception of Jack Manifold, because that man is allergic to communication.) He puts himself in harm's way to protect others. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt anyone. He goes out of his way to make connections with people and maintain them, even if others don’t reciprocate.

He’s hopelessly optimistic, despite his outwardly bitter façade. He loved so much and put meaning into the smallest things. The thought that a person like him—a suicide and abuse survivor—would go to hell after being beaten to death by the man who took everything from him; it makes me sick to my stomach.

The only thing more morbid than Tommy’s afterlife being different than everyone else’s, is the concept that everyone will end up in this same eternal torture, no matter what they do. Take your pick: Tommy is sentenced to anguish until the end of time for no reason, or everyone will receive the same disturbing ending, regardless of their actions.

The narrative weight of Ranboo’s character is potentially out the window.

For the past few months, I’ve watched all of Ranboo’s lore streams faithfully, curious to see what role he would play in the future. His ‘hallucinations’ of Dream seemed to be sowing the seeds for a plot that has Ranboo taking the fall for every single insidious thing Dream has done. It would also be a tragic parallel to Tommy’s trial.

Ranboo being convinced he was the one who blew up the community house, when Dream himself admitted to doing it, was one of the bigger indicators for me. This is just one of many other unexplained occurrences. Dream seemed to be making an effort to trigger and control Ranboo, especially after Sapnap’s prison visit. It appeared, from the way he went about this, that Dream had some grand use for Ranboo as part of his plan to be freed from Pandora’s Vault.

However, after Tommy’s stream, the way Dream explains himself makes it seem like there was no plan besides seeing if the book worked on people. And if he didn’t after all, then what was Ranboo for? Was Ranboo unimportant? Was Ranboo just some weirdo who happened to phase out when seeing smiley faces and imagined conversations that may or may not have happened?

I bring this up more as a worry, and much less so as an active problem in the narrative. They haven’t actually thrown Ranboo to the way-side or written themselves into a corner yet. In future streams, this could very easily be explained away or developed as more information is revealed.

Only time will tell.

The potential for Wilbur’s future development and importance to the plot is unfeasible.

I feel as if I am the only person on earth who doesn’t want Wilbur Soot or Schlatt revived. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is not a dislike for these characters. I especially adore Wilbur, as he’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t want either of them resurrected because their stories have already been told. They each had a fitting conclusion that ended their involvement perfectly.

Bringing Wilbur back would especially cheapen the impact of the War of the 16th. It’s the end of a man who was brought to the absolute edge and out of desperation, shame, and self-hatred, he destroyed himself alongside his creation. Bringing him back would leave the climax of the previous story hollow. My biggest issue, however, is that a lack of story importance would likely follow his return.

The only real impact I’d like to see is through a healing arc with Tommy, an apology to Fundy, or a confrontation with Phil/Niki. But that’s really all the potential I can realistically see. While I don’t doubt Wilbur as an agent of chaos, able to create plot out of thin air; what is he going to do now? His country is gone, his friends and family are scattered about, and his mission from the 16th is already accomplished.

What is a well-educated, charismatic politician supposed to do in a world already broken and without nations? Read poetry to himself and cry evilly? However, this is working off the assumption that Wilbur would be returning as his old self.

If Wilbur is resurrected as a ‘villain’ of sorts, then what? He’s not good at fighting in the slightest. He would have no materials. There are no real allies he can make, other than the arctic group. On top of that, there are already more than enough villains to last a lifetime.

We don’t need any more, I promise. Quackity seems to already be shaping up as another antagonist, alongside Sam’s slip into darker and darker shades of moral ambiguity. We also have Philza and Techno, which are already overkill. But then we have Dream who, despite being in a prison, has the ability of selective revival. This is mercilessly overpowered, especially if he makes many allies. The dude could just bring his dead friends back so they can keep fighting forever.

Then there’s Jack Manifold and the Crimson followers; Antfrost, Bad, and Punz. That’s not even including characters who are refusing to get involved. How are Tommy, Tubbo, and Puffy expected to do literally anything to fight back?

Dream’s experiment on Tommy implies he had no backup plan to begin with. This makes his character seem both short-sighted and foolish.

When Tommy woke up after being brought back to life, Dream sounded surprised that the revival worked at all. This instantly shatters the perception that Dream was highly intelligent and thought ahead. With just a few lines of dialogue, it’s implied that Dream killed Tommy, unsure of if the resurrection would even be possible on humans.

Which, to risk something that important, seems unbelievably stupid. Dream needs Tommy, from his perspective. Tommy is his ‘toy,’ the one who makes everything fun. If he lost him and couldn’t get him back, what then? Oh well, everything Dream was doing was all for nothing, I guess.

Why not attempt this experiment on literally anyone else first? Like Sapnap or Bad or, hell, even Ranboo. I suppose it could be that, as soon as Dream got the book, he experimented with it after the 16th. This appears to be insinuated with Friend and Hendry’s revival, although this is uncertain. But even then, he was still unsure of the book’s effect on a human being.

Also, this means, hypothetically, Dream’s entire plan of escape hinged on the experiment working, to begin with, and also on bringing back Wilbur if it somehow did. I find this even more ridiculous. Why Wilbur? That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone get through the traps in Pandora’s Vault. Even if he is intelligent after years* in the afterlife, that’s also a strange assumption.

How do people learn things in the void? Where do they even get this knowledge? I’d honestly argue Techno is a far more competent choice than Wilbur. And even if Dream did bring him back and tell him he owed him his life, what’s to stop Wilbur from just killing him permanently? Or killing himself, continuously?

No way would Wilbur want to be controlled by anyone, ever. The dude would sooner fuck off into the mountains and become a nomad than help a neon green bodysuit cosplay as Light Yagami.

Dream’s discussion about Sam implies that he wasn't playing any part in Dream’s plan, making Sam appear entirely incompetent and neglectful of Tommy.

Dream talked about Sam in a way that seems detached and unaffiliated. He also mentioned him being broken up about Tommy’s fate and not being aware he’s still alive. Dream not being partnered with, or not using Sam in his plan leaves many plot holes. I’ll go through each one. The initial incident was an explosion, coming from the roof of Pandora’s Vault. This did not affect the Redstone mechanism for the doors or dispensers.

Meaning, Sam could’ve had Tommy leave the way that was expected for visitors after he investigated and found no issues. This likely couldn’t have been done in less than a day, but it would be better than an entire week. If Tommy was required to stay for longer, due to protocol, he could’ve gotten Tommy out and then placed him in one of the minor cells for the remainder of the time.

Also, no one else lost a canon life for leaving via the splash potion of harming and returning outside the maximum-security cell; why would Tommy? To add, Sam being uninvolved means that the explosion could have only been caused by Ranboo or Foolish. That, or it was placed long before and timed for the moment Tommy entered the main cell. (I’m going to ignore how ludicrous it is that someone would know the exact time Tommy would’ve entered the room with Dream.)

If Ranboo was the person behind the detonation, this implies he was necessary for Dream to kill Tommy to test the book. But that makes it even stranger. If this was Dream’s goal all along, why not kill Tommy the instant he was trapped with him? It makes no sense for him to wait so long.

Sam is also directly at fault for not letting Tommy out, even after the week was up. There was no reason not to. He already knew there were no issues with the prison at that point. Although, to be fair to Sam, his character may have been paranoid and checking everything more than necessary, just in case. But this still isn’t a good excuse for him ignoring protocol in this one instance, and yet, not in any of the others.

All of these plot holes or inconsistencies would be removed if it was revealed that Dream was blackmailing Sam in some way, or Sam had been working with him since the get-go. That Sam was the person who set off the explosion in the first place to trap Tommy inside. It would also explain Sam’s refusal to let Tommy out and by keeping him in there for longer than necessary.

This can also coexist with Sam’s attachment and care for Tommy. He probably wasn’t told about Dream’s plan to test the book and genuinely believed Dream wouldn’t hurt him. On top of that, Dream is known to be a pathological liar, so his statements about Ranboo and Sam could be entire fabrications.

Who knows?

The Book of Revival invalidates death entirely. The narrative now lacks both tension and consequence.

Another way the Dream SMP differs from other storytelling media is in the way it goes about its character deaths. In a TV show, for example, there will be characters who die just because, or when it’s important to the plot. However, it seems as if the Dream SMP is hesitant to commit to killing its characters. And there are many reasons for that.

The most important one being, killing someone’s character excludes them from the story and some of their livelihoods depend on them regularly streaming on the server. There is also the issue of the cast becoming extremely sparse if characters keep dying. Typically, in stories, when you kill a character, you should introduce another.

This keeps the cast from dwindling as the storyline goes on. This means the writers would have to find new streamers to join, who will develop their own characters and relationships with the plot’s continued momentum. This can be stressful and daunting to those who may be newly added in the future.

Keeping this in mind, the Book of Revival is annoying from a writer’s perspective. When death is no longer an issue for a story hinged on its characters’ mortality, then what do you have as a consequence anymore? We’ve explored every kind under the sun; from abuse, to betrayal, to loss, to destruction.

In stories, traditionally, death is a finality. It’s a conclusion. Whether it’s good or not depends on the character’s actions, its build-up, and the event’s execution. Without this lingering sense of danger, tension evaporates from the story.

Why should I care if Tommy loses in a fight to someone, if he’ll just come back a day later? Why should I care about what happened to Wilbur, if he just returns as if nothing happened? The answer is simple: I won’t. I will no longer care if Tubbo or Ranboo or Sam die in the story, because the idea of revival even being a possible outcome leaves me unenthused and uncaring.

The Dream SMP likes to flirt with death. It teases the demise of its main characters many, many times. More so Tommy’s than anyone else’s. Wilbur’s failed resurrection, which had unforeseen and unfortunate outcomes, is now strange in comparison to Tommy’s, which happened without a hitch.

To be fair, we actually don’t see how many attempts it took. But here’s the problem; Dream could do it without the book being physically present. He’s trapped in a prison with nothing on him, meaning he doesn’t need any materials either. It’s also implied he could do this as many times as he feels, for anyone he wants. This would be exceedingly overpowered, if not for one thing—Dream himself is mortal (at least, I fucking hope he’s mortal.)

If someone kills him one last time, that knowledge is gone forever. And I’m glad they’ve established at least some way for Tommy to win. Because at this point, I was losing faith.

There is also the bare minimum establishment that Dream can refuse to bring back those he doesn’t care for. He can also use it as a shield, holding this power over other people. If Dream is gone, death is permanent. But isn’t that how death is supposed to be, anyway?

What a bleak premise—the afterlife is pure eternal torture while life is cheapened by a lack of consequences.

Conclusion

All this to say, I am cautiously optimistic for the future. I hope dearly that every single one of these can be disproven or developed in the coming livestreams. Obviously, there’s not enough information to really determine what the end result will be, or how everything will fall into place.

Every time I have theorized about the story, it has done something completely different and pleasantly surprised me. I want this trend to continue.

Surprise me again—I’ll be here to see where it goes.

#answered asks #long post #tommyinnit #dream smp meta #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #this is slightly outdated still but whatever #hope this was helpful anon #tw abuse #tw suicide

33 notes · View notes

adenei · 4 years

Note

40 Prompt list #1 “ Why are you scared of loving?” I love love love seeing every time you post something new ❤️

Hi anon! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this HBP Summer Moment. Thanks for the ask

*****************

Why, are you scared of loving?

“Good morning, dears!” Mrs. Weasley said as Ginny and Hermione sat down for breakfast. They tucked in after responding as Mrs. Weasley continued bustling around the kitchen.

“Molly, dear, come and eat, your food is getting cold,” Arthur called to her.

Hermione found herself watching as Mr. Weasley was busy preparing Mrs. Weasley’s porridge just the way she liked it, while Mrs. Weasley was tending to his tea. She only passed him the salt for his eggs, but not the pepper because she knew what he preferred, and then proceeded to warn him about using too much salt.

She knew she was distracted by them, and didn’t want to seem like she was staring, so Hermione put her focus back on her own dish as she heard their easy banter turn into quiet conversation.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” Ginny said quietly to her.

“What?” Hermione asked.

Ginny nodded at her parents. “The way they interact.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione agreed.

“Reminds me of two other people I know,” Ginny said with a smirk.

Hermione responded with a questioning look just as Ron had come down the stairs. “Morning,” he mumbled as Mrs. Weasley got up to prepare his dish for him.

Ginny gave a slight nod towards him before eyeing Hermione with raised eyebrows. Hermione almost spit out her pumpkin juice at what Ginny was insinuating. It was completely ridiculous what she was implying. Ron caught the interaction and Hermione’s shake of her head. Ginny couldn’t possibly be right, could she?

Hermione thought back to Hogwarts and their meals. She supposed she did tend to pass Ron the foods that he preferred, and he’d do the same for her. They’d even prepare each other’s dishes for the other if they were early to the Great Hall. But that was just friendship, wasn’t it?

She watched as Mrs. Weasley saw her husband off to work, witnessing the tender moment they shared at the door before Mr. Weasley slipped out and Mrs. Weasley went back to the kitchen to take care of the dishes. Hermione finished her own breakfast, taking care of the remains before heading upstairs to get cleaned up. As she was passing the table, Ron asked her if she wanted to go for a walk later. She nodded, and told him she’d be in Ginny’s room when he was ready.

~o~

A short time later, Ron and Hermione found themselves walking along the grass toward the cluster of trees ahead of them. Hermione was still quiet, thinking about the loving encounters she’d witnessed between Ron’s parents that morning, and how much she wanted a love like that. Not that her parents didn’t love each other, but they’d never been so forward in front of her with their relationship.

Ron eventually drew her out of her own thoughts. “What was that look about that Ginny gave you at breakfast this morning?”

“What look?” Hermione responded innocently.

Ron laughed, seeing right through her faint attempt at forgetfulness. “You know, the one that made you almost spit out your pumpkin juice.”

Well, so much for attempting a flirty banter, Hermione thought. Not that she had any idea how to do that successfully anyways. “Nothing. She’d just pointed out something about your parents.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t necessarily the full truth either.

Ron looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. “Have you not seen them act like that before?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “That’s normal for them, I hardly ever notice it as being out of the ordinary.”

“Isn’t that a good thing, though? That they’re affectionate and still love each other deeply after so many years together?”

“Well, yeah, sure. I wasn’t saying it’s not. It’s how it’s always been. Thankfully, they keep the other stuff to themselves,” Ron remarked as his ears turned slightly pink at the thought.

Hermione laughed lightly. “Do you want that someday?” It was probably a loaded question, but she couldn’t prevent it’s escape from her lips.

“Want what?” Ron asked.

“What your parents have,” Hermione clarified.

“Er, I dunno. Maybe…” Ron said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe? Why’s that, are you scared of loving someone?” she teased.

“Are you?” Ron shot back at her.

Hermione probably should have expected him to do that, but it still took her by surprise. “I guess it depends on the person,” she said.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Ron gave her a questioning look.

Hermione thought about it before answering. “Well, it’d be rather unfortunate to fall in love with someone who didn’t share the same feelings. I suppose I’m scared of that scenario.”

“Makes sense…” Ron said slowly.

“So are you, then?” Hermione hadn’t forgotten that Ron hadn’t answered the question.

“Am I what?”

“Scared of loving someone? You pushed the question back on me and still haven’t answered.”

“I don’t think so. It’s not something I’ve really thought about.”

Hermione tried not to let his words bother her, but she felt her stomach twisting into knots. “Oh,” was all she said.

“What?” he asked, no doubt surprised that she didn’t have a lengthy response prepared for him.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was silly, anyways. We’re only sixteen, what do we really know about love anyways,” Hermione said as she laughed nervously.

“Yeah, you’re right…” Ron said. There was something off about his voice.

She tried to avoid looking at him because she was afraid he’d see through her lie and realize how hopelessly head over heels she was for him, even though she still refused to admit it out loud. Just when she thought she was safe, however, she noticed Ron glancing at her with a look she couldn’t quite place. There was a softness in his gaze, and a look of...longing, was it? No, that couldn’t be it. She was too afraid of the disappointment to let her hopes up. She was barmy to think he could ever fall for someone like her.

#ROMIONE #hp hbp #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #ron x hermione

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unforgetablemelancholy · 5 years

Text

In which Demon BTS will do anything to make you loved and safe.

Hearing the explosions outside, you don't know whether to cry in relief or fear. The blindfold that has been tied around your eyes for days now has been stained permanently with your tears. You can't see the people that stole you from your shared home, but you can sense their fear; the nervous pacing around the musky basement making it unbelievably obvious. "Who are your boyfriends?" One of the men asked you. His voice sounded terrified, not knowing how much mayhem would start if anyone were to mess with you until he actually did. An underling burst through the door, his short, scared breaths echoing throughout the cold room. "Boss, the whole town has been wiped from the map! It's a wasteland out there! Everyone, everything is dead! They want her back, and will do anything to achieve that." You chuckle quietly, surprised at the fact that your boyfriends went through that much extra work to collect you. Another explosion rang throughout the basement, this one sounding extremely close. You still flinch, even though you know you won't be getting injured by their hands. "It seems they are done playing around," You murmur, attempting to swing your feet back in forth, a nervous habit you have when you're rather impatient. But the ropes tied securely around your ankles, binding you to the chair make it impossible to carry out that habit. "Playing around?" The supposed 'boss' faltered, a nervous pitch present in his tone. "I don't know if you want to hear this, but my boyfriends, your mafia rivals, are demons. They could've teleported and collected me at any point in time. Well, after finding my location, and they seem to know exactly where I am. They are doing this to scare you, and to keep me feeling protected." "Demons don't exist pretty thing," The boss taunts, playing with a strand of your hair. "It must be the fluids injected into your bloodstream." "Suit yourself." A hand is placed on your shoulder, the familiar heat of one of your boyfriends allowed you to sigh in relief; knowing now it would be over soon. "I would recommend letting my girlfriend go, right now," Taehyung's dark chilling voice made you shudder. The hand that was toying with your hair immediately retracted as he let out a squeak of fear. "You- She was right." Taehyung hummed a sound of recognition and he lightly squeezed your shoulder, his thumb pressing light circles into your back. "Indeed. Now, this is what's going to happen, I'm going to take my beautiful girlfriend home to heal, and the rest of my group is going to, well, annihilate this whole place. Understand?" Before he could respond, Taehyung placed his other hand on your other shoulder and teleported both of you guys home, far away from the mayhem that was about to begin. You're not sure how they can teleport you along with them, you only know that they have to have both of their hands on you for it to work. And it requires a great deal of focus on their part; at least you've heard. As soon as you feel the soft plush of your living room carpet, you attempt to stretch your limbs but failed miserably. Your legs weren't tied to the chair, the loose rope fell at the ends of your ankles, no longer holding you to the wooden seat. But your hands were bound to themselves, making you still held hostage. Taehyung quickly noticed this and took a switchblade that he always keeps in his back pocket, and carefully slices clean through the rope; allowing you to complete your intense stretch. "Are you okay?" you quickly ask. "We were quite a far distance from home, teleporting both of us must've been tiring." Taehyung doesn't say anything for a moment, only gently removes your blindfold. You slowly blink your eyes open, first noticing the red luminance; his eyes glowing a brilliant red. Demons' strength and power are represented in the brightness of their eyes. The brighter the red hue in their eyes is, the more power and stamina they hold. You've learned over time that Jungkook, your sweet boyfriend, who often goes to volunteer at the animal shelter with you, is the most powerful out of your seven boyfriends; overhearing Yoongi's and Namjoon's conversation once that he destroyed a whole race of demons alone. That thought at one point terrified you, thinking the horrendous things he could (or any of them) do to you if you caught them at the wrong time, but those thoughts were quickly shoved away, for they have proved their love and protection for you on countless occasions. "Love, for you, I will go any distance. I'm not tired at all don't worry." A pair of arms wrap around your neck and the mystery person gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "V is right, Y/N, we love you too much to let a little fatigue stop us," Hoseok clarifies, kissing your head once more. You giggle, cuddling into Hoseok, "My mafia demons." "How bad are you injured?" Yoongi questions, lifting your arm to examine your body. You move your hair to the side, exposing a deep cut across your neck that drags along to your upper shoulder blade. The wound has attempted to scab over to start its slow process of healing, but in that process, it has trapped bacteria underneath; an infection almost promised. Seven pairs of eyes glow a radiant red, lighting up the dark living room in a red veil. "I got hit a few times along my back when I acted up, but none broke skin." "Anything else?" Jungkook snarled, trying desperately to keep it together. "I mean, I got slapped for especially snappy comments, but I think the wound in my neck should be the main concern." You glance up at them from the floor you've been staring so intensely at. Your boyfriends are just as furious as they seemed, their eyes a brilliant red. "Hey, it's fine now right? Everyone's gone anyways." Hoseok shook his head, blinking harshly as he forced the crimson to decrease. He took your hand, leading you away from the other six. "I am going to fix up your shoulder, while the rest of them... calm themselves." Sitting on the bathroom counter, swinging your feet back and forth as Hoseok examines your shoulder, extremely careful to not hurt you. "Love, I'm really sorry but I have to do the bite." "Hobi no!" You cry out, tears filling your eyes. Demons have a healing element in their saliva, that works to kill bacteria and heal things almost like they were never there. "Hobi, it's already closing up. That means you have to reopen it to heal!" Hoseok presses his forehead to yours, giving you a soft kiss. "I'll make it as painless as I can for my baby." You close your eyes, a few frightened tears sliding down your skin. Hoseok quickly kisses them away, before kissing you lightly on the nose. "I will never hurt on purpose, understand?" Not opening your eyes, you nod. Hoseok links his hands in yours before leaning over to your shoulder. You tense up, ready for the pain of his bite. "I love you," He mutters on your skin before giving the scab a quick, sharp bite, reopening the wound just enough that he can inject his saliva. You let out a sharp heartbreaking scream that makes everyone in the house flinch; them all hating your sounds of pain. "It's done. We're done," Hoseok sighs, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. "I'm sorry I had to do that." "I know why you did it. Thank you for saving me Hobi." "We will do anything for our baby."

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druddigoon · 4 years

Note

bede and gloria; late night confessions

[it’s been a while since i worked on this, i tried to finish this to something ao3-worthy but the muse is just not comin ;_; didn’t quite get to the meat of your prompt tho it’s still at 1.5k words and full of drunk shenanigans!]

Bede doesn’t know how he got here.

There’s something digging into his side, uncomfortable and wet (a log, some part of him helpfully supplies, before his thoughts sink into oblivion) as he half-squats, half-slumps onto the peat. Bioluminescent mushrooms pulse like strings of faerie lights at the edges of his periphery; he closes his eyes and feels the pleasant hum of television static against his bones, loose-limbed and sluggish.

“Bede. Hey.” Someone’s standing him, shaking him. Glor-Gloria? What’s the champion doing here? She’d had more pressing obligations to take care of than visiting him, right? Unless she was…

He sits bolt upright. “Training.”

“Hey. Bede no, you’re in no state to train.” She’s grabbing his shoulders, so irritably he shrugs her hands off. “Okay, fine. Haterenne, help me please?”

“Hissssss.”

“I know, it’s my fault, you can hate me for this later. Could you teleport him to Opal before he pukes on me?”

“I won’t puke on you.” He attempts to stand up, wobbles, and relocates onto the log, looking up at her like he only intended to shift his seat all along. “Just...don’t say a word of this to Opal, she doesn’t know I’m rende...rendezvu...meeting you for training at night.”

Gloria makes a face like a goldeen, open-mouthed and slack-faced, before reeling herself in, blowing her bangs out of the way in exasperation. “What’re we going to do then?”

“Train.” The log is awfully comfortable.

She throws her hands up, stalking a ways away into the undergrowth. “Fine, you win. Hatterene, he’s yours now.”

“Rene.”

“This’ll wear off,” he insists after her. “Besides, we still have an entire night. It’s only--”

--Three in the morning.

He knows this because it’s a routine ingrained into his internal body clock, reinforced by Sylveon sitting at his bedside and repeatedly probing him in the cheek. She dodges the togekiss sleep mask he flings at her, mewling incessantly from her safe space behind his rarely-used study desk as he fumbles the blanket off himself.

Check surroundings. Judging by the iron klefki wards she hung in front of her door every night, Opal’s asleep across the hall; woman can sure sleep like the dead when she wants to. It’s quiet, empty. The portobellos growing on the kitchen walls ebb with the faint chartreuse of early morning. He pulls on his gear as quickly and quietly as possible, recalling Sylveon into her ball before climbing out his bedroom window.

Despite most of the Ballonlea population being asleep, the Glimwood Tangle is teeming with activity: impidimps chittering from the trees, the echoing croons of hatterene in the distance, a male indeedee wandering around collecting swathes of amanita--most likely for some courtship ritual. He’s been gym leader for nearing six months now, and they no longer saw him as an intruder on their turf. The oranguru that always meditates underneath a wisteria-choked tree barely gives him the side eye as he passes.

At the edge of the faerie ring, in their designated meeting location, he finds the Champion resting between the boughs of a tree.

She’s already noticed him, of course--squirrelly, quick-eyed and observant, Challenger Bede had scribbled in his league-issue notepad, where he kept track of rivals and how to counter them--and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made her way down, landing like it’s all she’s known, to fall and pick herself up.

“The usual?” He prompts.

“Nope.” Something clinks in her tired leather bag as she straightens herself. “I was thinking of having a battle today. Haven’t had one outside a boring league stadium in weeks.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat reserved for when the region’s champion calls million-dollar, painstakingly designed entertainment buildings “boring”. Then again, Gloria never cared much for the stark geometry of commercial buildings.

“But first. I brought something.” After rifling through her bag, she produces a jar of clear fluid with more flourish than she ever showed in her league battles, handing it to him.

He unscrews the lid for a whiff and immediately regrets it. “Don’t tell me you smuggled alcohol all the way from Wyndon.”

“Aren't you legal?”

“Yes, I am. You aren’t.” Hatterene take him if Opal caught him in a hangover the next morning. At least Gloria had her own condo.

“It’s only illegal if they catch you.” She replies, and Bede would agree wholeheartedly on any other day, if not for his desperate need to retain the vestiges of self-control slipping through his fingertips. Before he could protest, she takes the jar, tips it back to take a sip, then returns it to him.

He supposes he’s not a stranger to alcohol. While Rose never greeted him in-person, Bede had attended fancy meet-ups with potential patrons on behalf of the man (Galar loves a good rags-to-riches story, Oleana always told him) and let himself enjoy a flute or two of champagne on corporate dime.

One sip. Surely nothing would come of one sip.

“Alright,” he relents, “I suppose it’ll take more than a--

--Couple swallows in and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, the tips of his fingers strangely numb like that one time he accidentally stuck them into Gardevoir’s moonblast. Damn Opal and her “fairy boot camp”, he could bet on his favorite soap opera that no other trainer got their leg tied to their pokemon and forced to three-leg a batt--

“Drink.” Gloria orders, pushing the empty mason jar she refilled with water up to his lips. It tasted slightly viscous when he drank and...how did she get this anyways? Was it from her golisopod? Was he drinking bug spit?

“Bede. About your. Uh.”

“We’ve disgus...discussed this to death already. I didn’t mean. Anything with the finalist speech. It was the heat of the moment, I was focused, and you were all that was on my mind--”

“--So you were thinking about me then?”

“What?”

“Anyways,” she continues uneasily, “Could you recall Hatterene? She looks like she wants to tear me to shreds with her mind.”

“Oh.” He glances back and, sure enough, Hatterene is right behind him, every strand of hair bristling with psychic energy. “Hattie, behave. You’re better than this.”

Hatterene trains the brunt of her attention to him, and there’s the low before a tidal wave, thrumming in his skull like a shotgun blast before she presses her pokeball and enters it with a huff.

He hears an audible exhale from Gloria in the ensuing silence. “I haven’t heard you call her ‘Hattie’ in a long time.”

“Old habit.” She’s long outgrown it now, but he still remembers her as a hatenna small enough to fit within the cradle of his arms, the outlier of the batch Macro Cosmos had donated to his orphanage. Most likely a breeding reject--too smart for her own good, too ill-behaved and unruly to be championship material--because nobody liked a pawn that didn’t follow orders. He knew how it went. “My younger self’s nicknaming skills left much to be desired.”

They’ve come a long way since then.

“That’s sweet,” she says, and normally Bede would bristle at a challenge to his dignity, but today his limbs are sluggish and the bottomless pit of hatred he’d often found himself visiting seemed strangely empty.

"You were friends since you were young," Gloria clarifies, "And she obviously cares for you a lot--I've heard most hatterenes are as misanthropic as psychics come. It's nice that you've managed to keep it strong through your gym challenge."

"Gloria..."

"What's done is done though. I'm Champion, he's a researcher, and you're drunk out of your mind." When Bede sputters in response, she tips the jar of water in his general direction. He's forced to catch it so she doesn't spill the entirety of the contents on his clothes.

Definitely bug spit. But if this is the fix to the pressure building behind his eyes then he may as well take it. Even if that damn taste--

--is not at all what he expected: medicine-grade and overpowering, a hyper beam to his sinuses so powerful it forces him to tears. If this thing is safe to drink, the only reason would be because no bacteria would bear to live in it. He manages to swallow purely by willpower, refusing to spit it out in front of Gloria; whatever face he saves is instantly destroyed when she bursts out laughing at his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. Bede stares intensely at a cluster of mushrooms metres away and prays it’s too dark to catch the blood rushing to his face. “I thought-I thought you’d take it better. Maybe I overestimated you.”

“And should I be under the assumption you’re a heavyweight drinker?”

Gloria shrugs in lieu of an answer. “Leon always brought some kind of new wine or liquor when he visited home, and shared some of it with Hop. Hop shared some of it with me.”

Unbelievable. And to think Leon was lauded as a children’s role model. Bede resists the urge to rub away a phantom headache.

#drudwrites #prompt fill #bederia #bede pokemon #gloria pokemon

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