#Feeling useless and pathetic only ever adds to my sad- so i try to be helpful and do things. But sometimes it just isnt physically possible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

#geraskier #siren #monster march #spicy #nsft #rex writes

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hongism · 4 years

Text

the little things - j.yunho

↣ pairing: yunho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.3k ↣ summary: it’s been quite some time since these intrusive thoughts came around, but whenever they do, there’s always one person in particular who comes to brush them away. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, seasonal depression, and general Sad Feelings

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops drums against the window, filling it with strewn and random patterns of the water that falls from the sky, and you watch the movements with a blank mind. It’s a cold and resigned feeling that blossoms in your gut as you sit by the windowsill, elbow propped up on the wood and chin resting atop your clenched fist. You could sit here for hours just examining each little dragging drop on the glass, maybe even seeing which drop can reach the bottom of the window fastest, but instead, you pull back with a quiet sigh falling from your lips.

Winter.

You aren’t sure how to explain it but the season is simultaneously your favorite and least favorite wrapped into one lovely little bundle. The air outside isn’t quite cold enough to let snow fall and stick to the ground quite yet — hence the rain — but the season brings you as much joy as it does pain and emptiness. You enjoy the snow and seeing what kinds of animals hustle and bustle in their winter coats outside your cottage, and you love seeing the way the sun bounces off the icy lakes and rivers nearby or how the evergreen trees catch hold of little snowflakes. But those are just temporary things that don’t last in the long run because you cannot shake the dismal feeling that begins to enter your gut around autumn.

Living alone in your little cottage has its perks, of course, although they always seem few and far between when it comes time for this seasonal plague to grip your mind. Work is always most busy in the winter as well, which only adds to your despondent mood when you cannot spend more than an hour in the presence of your lovers. So really, it’s one bad thing after another, a myriad of bad to worse that leaves you in tears at the end of the day more often than not.

You should probably be working now, at least filling next week’s orders or double-checking the ones you finished bottling earlier today. There is hardly any energy in you right now though, so the best you can do is blink a few times and stare out the window again.

It’s in times like these when you truly consider Seonghwa’s never-ending offer. The season wouldn’t be nearly so difficult if you lived with the rest of them in the coven’s home. Yet it is near impossible for you to entertain the thought while in this state. Your mind prefers to be less than kind and give you endless scenarios that have you biting back tears and crying yourself to sleep.

Maybe they don’t really want you. They have each other. Why would they need you on top of that? Seonghwa just pities you because you act so pathetic. You would just be a burden if you lived with them. You aren’t a witch like they are, you don’t have any magical abilities in you, what could you provide? They can do all the things you do in half the time surely. You are, quite literally, useless in their eyes.

Sometimes the thoughts become more cruel and harsh than that, all following the same theme of not being needed or wanted. And as much as you want to rely on them for comfort and support, you lose the internal battles more often so you resign yourself to sitting in a bed of your own tears and heartbreak. Fall asleep eventually, wake up, work until you cannot stand anymore, then repeat the process.

This week alone has seemed to pack more of a punch than any of the previous years of this seasonal plague, but that could be because you haven’t been through a winter alone like this since before your relationship with the coven started. Last year, Wooyoung and Jongho took to living in your cottage throughout the whole season just to keep you company. Perhaps the reason they are not here this year is because you’ve become too much, too burdensome, too emotionally draining to be around. Logic tells you that is not the case. That melancholy black dog residing in your mind does not.

Someone will surely be by to visit soon given how quiet you’ve been these last few days. You’re shocked that no one has come by sooner, but the second you begin to think about it, the black dog returns to barking loudly where he sits in your thoughts. The noise in your head is so loud and overwhelming that you actually have to push away from the window, shaking your head fervently and jerking out of your chair in a desperate attempt to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

The voice intrudes on your ugly thoughts, and it fills you with panic before anything else. You whip around in your little window seat, eyes immediately looking towards the door to your bedroom which is now cracked open. You can’t see anyone behind the door or in the room, and merely hearing your name did not give you enough clues as to who could possibly be in your home at this time.

“Baby, are you in here?” The noise resounds again, and this time you recognize it better.

Yunho. Why is Yunho here? A shadowy figure pushes past the doorframe, and your lover slips through the opening with his shoulder. You try to hide your signs of panic, furiously blinking away the tears that begin to spring to your eyes. Why is he here? Did someone send him? Maybe they sent him to tell you that the relationship is over. He is best at handling emotionally charged conversations since he’s a fae and can influence thoughts and emotions. Maybe Hongjoong and Seonghwa decided that he would be best for delivering the news or—

“Hi, love, I didn’t know if you were home because you didn’t answer the door.” Yunho pushes a soft smile onto his lips, and as he fully steps into view, you catch sight of the two mugs in his hands. You can’t see the contents in them, but there are small wisps of steam curling up from both as Yunho comes closer to where you’re sitting. “I saw the kettle boiling away though so I figured you wouldn’t up and leave with it still running.”

Yunho doesn’t stop moving until he reaches the window seat, and he extends one of the mugs towards you. The inside of a mix of green of brown, no doubt some type of tea that he’s brewed for you. You take it with a slight nod and restrained smile.

“I know Hongjoong said you didn’t want to be bothered without notice but…” Yunho trails off, cheeks glowing a bit red. “I was worried about you since this time of year is always hard for you.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your tone is too clipped and noncommittal to be normal. Yunho surely knows that it is more than a simple white lie. “Did one of them send you?” He most likely knows who you’re talking about, but he shows more confusion than anything else.

“Why would one of them send me?” He asks as he eases down in front of you on the window seat. You blink back with a bit of dazed wonder to your stare, half-expecting Yunho to explain further, but he just sits and waits patiently for you to speak again.

“To – to make the conversation easier?”

“What conversation?” Yunho leans across the space between your bodies, and his free hand spreads forward to tangle with yours. You let him interlock your fingers. It’s a small comfort that sends shockwaves through your body. It hasn’t even been that long since you last saw one of the witches, but you’re still somehow so desperately touch-starved that just the slight touch has tears springing to your eyes. “Oh, my baby, sweet angel, what’s wrong?”

Yunho pushes forward until he’s all but in your lap at this point, hand tugging the mug free from your hands, and he sets it down beside his own on the windowsill before returning his full attention to you. He tugs you into his embrace, arms folding around your body until he can loop his hands about your waist.

“Why did you think I came, baby?” He asks once you’re fully secured in his lap.

“I just — when I saw you — I-I don’t know. M-My mind said that it had to be – that you were here to end things or something. I don’t know, I’m just rambling, I don’t know what I’m saying or what I was thinking. I’m s-sorry, I—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Y/n,” Yunho interjects, drawing a hand up from your waist to brush over your scalp. “Don’t ever apologize for something you can’t control. Those thoughts are not your fault. Did you want to have them?”

“N-No, of course not, why would I ever want that?” You mumble against Yunho’s shoulder. He hums into your hair, lips pressing a soft kiss to the same spot, then he lifts his chin a bit to rest it atop your head.

“Then it isn’t something you need to apologize for, baby. Not now, not ever.” You cling tighter to Yunho’s body out of sheer instinct, and he picks up on your grip in less than a second. “Our minds… regardless of how strong and resilient we are, they can be cruel. They can lie to us, tell us awful and heartbreaking things, lead us to believe the impossible with ease. Sometimes it is easier to cave in and listen to those demons rather than reason, but that doesn’t mean you are weak. The strongest person in the universe can be broken by his own mind because that is all part of human nature.”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff out as a few tears begin to soak through Yunho’s tunic. “You aren’t human.” Yunho laughs a bit at your quip, not at all offended by it. Perhaps it’s a bit childish for you to pull that card, but Wooyoung pulls it out every time the pair have a disagreement without fail, so what’s the harm in you using it just this once?

“Perhaps not, but I still understand emotions and thoughts better than any human could. And having lived for so long, I think—”

“You don’t need to pull the age card,” you whine.

“If you’re going to act like Wooyoung, then I’ll treat you just like him too.”

Admittedly, your mind is still elsewhere and you aren’t fully engaged in the conversation now, head propped on Yunho’s shoulder in such a way so that you can stare out the window and watch the rainfall again. He doesn’t comment on your silence and merely eases the both of you back until he’s leaning against the wall with you neatly draped over his larger form.

“Do you love me?” You ask after some time passes. It catches Yunho a bit off-guard, and his breath hitches sharply, hand pausing in its rhythmic drags over the small of your back.

“Always and forever, baby,” he says once he recovers a bit. He pauses, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he figures out what to say next. “We all love you. We would never lead you on or toy with your feelings. You are more than enough, but never too much. While it’s easy to lose yourself in these feelings of loneliness, we would never blame you for feeling them.”

“Isn’t it hard on you too though?” You ask, balling your fist around the material of his shirt.

“It’s hard for all of us, darling. Seeing you in pain and hurting is never easy. There are some things we cannot fix though. We can ease the pain for a time, but certain things never go away. Sure, we can make them easier to manage and handle, we can provide methods that will help support you and help you not feel so alone, we can do everything in our power to help you. We cannot pretend to be able to fix you. You have the strength to overcome it; we support you when times are tough and help you up when you fall. Because we love you, care about you, cherish you, and want the best for you. That… that doesn’t make it easy, but it is never easy to work through these sorts of things.”

“How can you be so patient with me?”

“Why would I ever want to rush something that takes time? I don’t need to put a time limit on you, and we certainly don’t have a time limit on our relationship. Thus we are willing to wait as long as it takes even if it just means making winters easier to handle and manage.” Yunho’s hands trace patterns over your skin, slipping under the hem of your shirt to have more contact with you. The sudden chill of his fingers sends goosebumps over you. He cracks a small smile as you shiver in his grasp and tucks you closer to his body without saying anything for several minutes.

It’s comfortable and needed right now, easing the dull and aching pain in your chest, but as Yunho said, it doesn’t completely take it away. Makes it manageable and easier to breathe. It’s enough, more than you could have asked for, and what you were wanting so desperately. It was just too hard to admit it and voice it to them.

“I did talk with Hongjoong before coming,” Yunho says after letting the silence drag into something warm and comfortable. You hum in acknowledgment, too content in his arms to move in the slightest. “Asked him if we could prepare the guest room.”

“Is someone coming into town?” You mumble through the sudden wave of drowsiness washing over your bones.

“No, I — we... we were hoping that you could come live with us, at least through the end of winter.”

That causes you to perk up, and you sit up, hands firmly planted on Yunho’s chest so you can better look him in the eye.

“What?”

“I know last year Wooyoung and Jongho came to live in with you, but we were thinking that perhaps it would be easier on you if you just came to live with us. It doesn’t have to be permanent if you don’t want it to be. Don’t – it isn’t meant to pressure you or anything like that. Merely an offer. Something we can do to help you. I figured having a room to yourself would give you an opportunity to have a space on your own for when you need it. The goal isn’t to eliminate all your alone time, as that is just as important as spending time with others, but a fresher perspective might help. Or even just having the option to sleep beside someone every night could help with the loneliness.”

Your heart swells with emotion, and the gentle smile pulling at Yunho’s lips only makes you want to sob from how touched you are. Yunho sees the sudden twist in your expression. His hands dart up to cradle your face, eyes falling into soft crescents as a more bashful smile overtakes his features.

“Are those happy tears or sad ones?”

“I d-don’t know how to respond,” you whisper through a small sob, and Yunho tugs you down to his chest again. He rocks your form back and forth as best he can with the awkward angle, but it provides the right amount of comfort for you to settle against him once more.

“Think about you, baby. You don’t need to answer right away. Seonghwa won’t mind extra time to clean, of course.”

“Or I could just sleep with you until it’s cleaned to his liking.” You smother the words in his clothes to keep him from hearing them, but that is to no avail because he huffs out a loud laugh at your comment nonetheless.

“Or I could stay with you here until you’re ready to make a decision.”

You twist in his grasp to look him in the eye again, searching his dark gaze for… something you aren’t wholly aware of. The light from outside — a dull and grey-toned white light — reflects off his eyes and shows off those pretty purple flecks in them. The allure of his features hits in that moment, the dastardly effect of staring too long at a fae, but Yunho blinks his eyes shut before you fall into a daze.

“Don’t let me influence your decision. It’s up to you as always. I am content to do whatever is more comfortable to you, so you—”

You cut him short with a swift peck pressed to the tip of his nose, and Yunho scrunches up his face at the suddenness of the action. His eyes flutter open once more but this time you don’t stare directly into them.

“You’re the devil,” he grumbles, but the smile on his lips betrays how flustered he really is.

“Don’t laugh too hard, I’m comfortable here.”

“Is that a smile I see?”

“I love you,” you murmur, ignoring the question for the time being. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind all too much. “Thank you. Both for being here and for helping me think clearer.”

“Always, darling. I may not be human like you, but I do love you and want the best for you. And I know the other would do the same whenever you need it.” You respond with another quick kiss to the tip of his nose, but this time Yunho catches you when you pull back and he plants a kiss on your lips before you can duck completely away. “As comfortable as this is, I am quickly losing feeling in my ass, so maybe we could resituate or go to the bed?”

“I don’t know, you make for a rather nice cushion.”

“I wonder if this is how Yeosang felt when I accidentally sat on him,” Yunho whines, slumping further back against the wall. You slap his chest with a bit of force as he complains.

“He was in his cat form and you put the full weight of your ass on him!‌ That’s completely different!”

“He survived, didn’t he?”

“Then you’ll survive having a numb ass for a little while.”

“I hate when you’re right. It’s too sexy and makes me think of inappropriate things.”

“So you’re still a man, after all, fae or not.” You land another quick jab to the side of Yunho’s head as he laughs. He doesn’t complain any longer though, even as you force him to lie completely flat on the window sill with your body still draped over his like a blanket.

“Wooyoung is downstairs, by the way.” Yunho distracts you from the sudden revelation by pressing a line of kisses down the side of your face.

“What?”

“He’s cooking dinner for us, I believe. And drawing a bath for you. We wanted to treat you.” He layers the words with more kisses, pausing over your lips to say one more thing. “Shit, wait, I think I was supposed to be in charge of the bath actually.”

“Yunho!”

“I’ll make Wooyoung do it after dinner so I can cuddle you some more.”

...

a/n: this one feels rather weak compared to the others but i was trying not to be too heavy handed with all the emotions and such in it so that’s why it might feel a little ~awkward~

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached: The One Word

The Three Times Steve Didn’t Get to Hear the One Word He Wanted and the One Time He Did

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7700 👀

Summary: In which Steve really, really wants to ask you the question, but the odds are always against him – absurdly so. Maybe it’s fate and he shouldn’t ask. Or maybe the universe just hates him and punishes him for tainting a girl like you and wanting you all for himself officially.

Warnings: lots of swearing, crack-ish, briefest smut so 18+ only please, sickness and fluff

A/N: I say this to you, my friends – I do not at all envy men in a heterosexual relationship for being expected to pop the question. I would chicken out every time, I’m sure of it. Enjoy!

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve liked to think important things through. He liked planning. He liked to have all the facts and view things from different angles before making a decision.

Therefore, wanting to marry you was something he was perfectly certain of and two months after he received your mother’s blessings – two months of slowly reducing costs, preparing to lower incomes, not that they had ever been glorious ever –, Steve had a feeling that the time was finally right and that he was ready to pop the question. He was.

The only problem was that the universe started plotting against him.

Big time.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Palmeri was a relatively new restaurant, but quickly gaining reputation. Steve had heard Carol talking about taking her girlfriend there for the fun of trying a new spot and getting a taste of fancy Italian. Clearly that had a good time; the moment he learned, he started considering it. Two days later, he had to make a reservation for a week later, because the word of the delicious food travelled fast.

That was fine with him, even if he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin before the date finally arrived. Still, he advertised the fact to you that he would like to celebrate your early wrapped up exams already foreshadowing that you would obviously slayed the one you were supposed to have a day prior Friday.

When you heard the name of the restaurant, your eyes twinkled like fairy lights, a squeal of delight escaping your lips before they swiftly found his to kiss him crazy. Steve’s heart thundered in his chest as you ran off back to your books with newly-found motivation, his nerves mingling with the satisfaction that you appreciated his idea – even if you couldn’t have no clue about what he was about to do.

He could only hope that you’d be as delighted at him sinking to one knee.

But he would have to get out of this fucking interfaculty meeting FIRST!

“Seeing as the satisfaction of the students apparently took a nose dive according to the university poll last month…” Fury continued rambling, his serious and mildly snarky voice carrying through the conference room, as if mocking Steve who anxiously eyed the clock, again.

The reservation was for seven thirty.

It was five to seven.

Half an hour ago, Steve hated the idea of not taking a shower and looking his absolute best while proposing to you.

Now? Every option looked better than this. He would arrive to the restaurant all sweaty and catching his breath if he took off right this moment. And even that seemed impossible; president Fury, that son of a bitch, was nowhere close to ending the meeting.

51 weeks. 51 Fridays Fury could have called the meeting.

Nope, that bastard picked this one, the one Friday Steve was planning on sweeping you off your feet and asking you to be his for the rest of your lives.

Fucking asshole.

“Got anything to add, Professor Rogers?” a gruff voice asked him and Steve jumped in his chair and nearly dropped the phone he was pulling out of his pocket to text you with his deepest regrets – but he had to, otherwise you’d already be on your way.

Best if he saved you the embarrassment; best if you stayed home at least, all dolled up and pretty and smiling for him to show off.

Goddammit fuck.

Steve’s eyes snapped to Fury, meeting a glare that seemed even sterner with only one functioning eye.

Steve gritted his teeth and determinedly gripping his phone.

“No,” he shot back, biting his cheek when Fury’s eyebrow rose at his snappy tone. “I mean… I need to make a phone call. If you’d excuse me, it will be just a minute.”

Likely story. He would have to be apologizing for at least three minutes straight and then crawl on his knees when he finally got back home; not because you’d be so unforgiving and angry, but because it would be the right thing to do after disappointing your precious heart.

He was about to make you sad. He fucking hated making you sad.

“Make it three tops,” the president grumbled, but luckily didn’t pry what was so important for him to leave the room.

“Stevie!” your bright voice greeted him from the speaker and Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his fist automatically clenching in anger. He was about to crush you because of a dumb-ass useless meeting. He brought the fist to his mouth to stop himself from greeting you equally delighted way and fleeting the university grounds. “I’m just about to take off! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Did Fury give you a hard time? … Steve?”

Steve, much to his horror, found his eyes prickling with tears of frustration as his name on your lips sounded suddenly unsure.

Fuck. This.

“Hey babygirl,” he said finally and the roughness of his voice must have been everything you needed to hear to understand.

“You can’t make it.”

Steve wanted to tear his hair out at the defeat in your voice. Talk about a nose dive of your mood. He was gonna fucking scream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered instead, the apology so pathetic in comparison to what he wanted to say.

But that was the irony – you couldn’t even begin to guess how much it sucked for the two of you to not being able to go to the damn Palmeri. You didn’t know the main tragedy, only a part of it. You didn’t know he had been about to propose.

Silence stretched between the two of you and Steve tilted his head back, blinking against the sting in his eyes, his stomach sinking to his feet.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed eventually, sounding as if you were trying to convince him as much as yourself.

Steve could imagine precisely the disappointment on your face, the fall of your expression, pretty features no doubt having been accented by make-up just the right amount twisting. He could see clearly how your lips made for smiles turned downward, lower lip maybe even trembling a bit.

Steve was gonna murder Fury.

“But it is. I’m so sorry, I know how excited you were and so was I and— I’m just really sorry.”

“I know, Steve,” you breathed out weakly and he could hear the attempt of a smile in your next words. “Come home soon, yeah? I’ll wait for you.”

Steve’s heart grew in size so rapidly it actually hurt.

“I love you, sweetheart. I know--- I know you might not wanna hear it now and that it doesn’t mean much, but I really do,” he creaked.

“It does. Bye, Steve.”

Steve’s fingers clutched at the phone, eyes falling shut in defeat.

You were nice about it, sure, but the fact that you didn’t say I love you back didn’t escape him as didn’t the switch from Stevie to Steve; the subtle hints sat heavily in his gut as he returned to the room.

He met Bucky’s compassionate gaze – of course Buck knew about why Steve was distracted during the assembly – and quickly looked away, once again excusing himself for the interruption even if there was nothing sincere about his words.

His chest ached for the rest of the meeting – and would for the rest of the night.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

He did not come home soon – in fact, it was nearing eleven when he finally opened the door, trying to make no sound when he found the apartment plunged into dark. He grimaced, jaw clenching; you were already asleep.

A fresh surge of anger shot into his veins; the university hated him, he was certain of it – and the other way around. He had missed his shot because of a meeting that was literally about nothing. Fuck his life.

He grumbled, the only sound he allowed himself to make when moving around the apartment, switching the dimmest light he could as not to wake you – because disappointing you was enough, the least he could do was not to disturb your sleep.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, he tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. He was starving and even though he was exhausted and craved nothing but to wrap his arms around you and sink into the cushions, he knew hunger would wake him up a few hours later if he went to bed with an empty stomach.

Upon opening the fridge, a surprise welcomed him; a ham & cheese sandwich ready on a plate, a small Tupperware box with pieces of tomatoes and cucumber on side, a sticky note simply reading ‘Stevie’.

His breath got stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his ribcage – that was how moved he was by your gesture. He knew that you must have been as upset as you had been excited to have the fancy dinner with him, but here you were, pushing your sorrows and anger aside and preparing him food, a possible olive branch.

The sandwich was nothing fancy by any means; but God, Steve loved you just a little bit more at that moment for he didn’t have to move a finger to eat so late and you even took care to set his vegetables aside, because you knew how much he hated when the bread got squishy with the juice.

Gratefully biting into his late-night meal, Steve swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life spoiling you rotten.

When he finally got to cautiously cuddle you from behind – eyeing the absolutely stunning dress you were supposed to wear hanging outside the closet as if there to mock him – you stirred at the dip of the mattress.

Lazily blinking your eyes open, you welcomed him with a raspy hey and he had a half mind to just take the ring from the safety of its velvet box and slip it on your finger right there.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, tentatively wrapping his arm around your midsection, unsure if he wasn’t in disgrace after all. You just hummed and rolled over to face him, burying your face in his chest, heavy limbs wrapping around him as if you were an octopus – the most adorable, precious, beautiful and perfect octopus in the world. His octopus. “I love you so much. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Uh-huh. Looking forward to it. Now sleep,” you mumbled to Steve’s sleepshirt, half-grumpy half-sounding as if not caring for what he was saying at all, causing him to feel warm all over.

Oh he was so going to show you just how he could make it up to you. He would marry the shit out of you.

Just you wait.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Because of a water incident, Palmeri closed three days after Steve’s first failed attempt – and assumptions were that it would remain so for a month, because they needed to redecorate.

That meant a new plan for Steve, because he could not wait that long. Out of question. He needed to hear you say yes as soon as possible. Yesterday had been too late.

So, he asked Sam for a recommendation – casually, he believed – and somehow ended up with the man looking at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on his face.

“Oooooh, I see how it is! Need something real nice, huh?” Sam whistled, a teasing grin on his face as he patted Steve’s shoulder for support. “Relax, I gotcha, man. All you need; cosy atmosphere, but classy, white table cloths and everything. The right place to take her to in order to butter her up and make her all putty.”

Steve didn’t manage to quite hide his embarrassment at being so obvious, but he knew that Sam was a friend and all his shit-talking was good-natured, always knowing where the boundaries were; he wasn’t a counsellor for nothing.

And Steve had to give it to him – the place he recommended was just what he promised it would be and exactly what Steve needed.

You were all smiles and some giggles, little tipsy on the second glass of the wine, eyes shining in the dim lights, somehow lighting up more whenever you caught him staring at you. It was the perfect display of all the good things you were, ones he adored about you, the light of his life and gazing at him as if he was yours too.

Downing some of the liquid courage himself and with you so gorgeously giddy, Steve felt his confidence building up during the night and was just about ready to get on one knee once you finished your shared dessert.

“This is good!” you gushed, digging the fork if into the cake to get another bite and Steve grinned, unable to help himself as he agreed.

“Uh-huh, sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

You stopped mid-chew, eyes meeting his and he felt his face burn hot with embarrassment at such cheesy comment.

You swallowed, gaze still fixed on him as he busied himself with the sweet treat, and then you chuckled, causing his face to turn entirely red.

“You, Steve Rogers, are so corny sometimes,” you mocked him lightly, but when he looked up, sheepish and with his confidence bruised, he found you all starry-eyed still, watching him adoringly as if he hung the moon – and he would, for you – and Steve felt himself settle again. “But I still love you. Maybe even more for that.”

It was a wonderful opening, things really going his way – but he hesitated a second too long, like an idiot, and the next thing he knew, a string quartet, a damn string quartet, walked straight to the elderly couple two tables over, one of the group congratulating them to their thirtieth anniversary and at that moment…

Well. At that moment, Steve really fucking hated them.

Who fucking cared they were a sweet elderly couple?! Steve could only dream about you two becoming them one day as of now, because they ruined just another of his fucking shots!

He couldn’t believe that he missed his window again.

And what more, you cooed under your breath, a silent aww falling from your lips and Steve knew that anything less than a string quartet accompanying a marriage proposal when delivered in a restaurant was a no-go.

So scratch that one off the list.

All guests clapped their hands, more of awws coming from different directions and you proceeded to take his hand, gentle fingers stroking over his knuckles and Steve knew one thing with absolute certainty; he needed to propose tonight otherwise he might burst.

At home then, he would ask you at home. Who even wanted something as cliché and public as he had planned? Lame. You were a private pair, some people still judged you upon seeing you together; a little intimate proposal in your home after a fancy sweet dinner would be just the thing.

Steve just had to figure how exactly and at what moment to ask. He’d be fine. You’d say yes. Right?

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and plans that he barely noticed you growing skittish during the taxi ride, but he certainly noticed when you started practically jumping by his side as he was unlocking the door to your apartment, confused by your antics.

The second Steve opened it and stepped inside, he found himself being shoved back-first towards a wall, your hands on his chest, sliding up and down his coat and blindly undoing the buttons as your mouth assaulted his, a soft mewl vibrating against his lips, wandering hands appreciative when they slipped under the lapels of his coat and jacket.

Steve’s head spun at the display of desire, a sudden pleasant dizziness overtaking his body, all rational thoughts vaporizing as you rocked against his crotch, his cock twitching in excitement at the friction and at the way his tongue had to fight against yours. His brain grew foggy at the faint taste of wine and the cake you had shared, his hands automatically grabbing your waist to keep you close, fingers squeezing your hips and ass to urge you closer when he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting needy moans from your lips-

You withdrew for just a second to catch your breath, lips skimming over his jaw, revelling at the feel of his beard on your skin he knew you loved, hasty words whispered into his flesh.

“Dammit, Steve, you look so fucking hot in this suit--- oh Stevie,” you whimpered when his hands slipped under your backside to tease your clothed weeping core, the sensation setting his blood on fire, the delicious friction and your dirty mouth everything that mattered in the world. “Let me suck you off-“

Steve nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing that, almost losing his balance with his legs turning into jelly and all his blood rushing into his dick.

Yeah, Steve might be a professor but he was a simple guy.

When his girl, in those stunning hot as hell dress begged him to let her get on her knees to blow his dick and his mind, he really couldn’t find himself refusing, the coil in his belly searing hot by the time you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, so pretty, doe-eyed, lips kiss-swollen and willing and so fucking devilish as you freed his cock and licked the drop of precum already forming there.

“Fuck, babygirl, what’s gotten into you-“ was all he managed to ask before all he could think off was the velvety heat of your mouth, taking him all in and making him see stars, the jewellery box in the pocket of his coat long forgotten.

And fuck was also his first coherent thought in the morning, when he realized that once again, the proposal attempt ended up being an utter failure.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve had established after his two and half failed proposals that he wouldn’t make any reservations in some dumb restaurant. Just no. Privacy it would be; something personal, accompanied with a simple and yet big enough gesture, him doing something just for you, following with words of you being his world or something.

Yeah.

And for once, it seemed that the universe that had seemed to hate him, finally started playing in his favour.

The weather was going crazy, sun and spring in a middle of February and Steve had a revelation – he was going to take you out for a picnic. It was going to be perfect; he’d take you outside the city, find a quiet corner, just you and him, nothing in your way and more importantly, in his way to pop the question.

Steve was certain that you’d prefer this to anything else anyway, loving when he made an effort to create something for you. He still remembered when you first discovered he enjoyed drawing and you practically melted into a puddle when you found drawings of yourself too, allegedly displaying you prettier than you were – as if.

So, picnic it was.

Except on Friday, the day before THE DAY, Steve woke up with a splitting headache, his whole body hurting, nose full and lungs as if stuffed with cotton wool. He blamed the crazy weather, but it didn’t really matter where this sickness came from – he felt like shit.

He groaned and downright punched the alarm on his phone, startling you awake.

With bleary gaze, he registered you rolling over in his arms, squirming at him sleepily as he let his eyelids slip shut again.

“Steve, hun, are you okay?” you asked him softly, voice husky as he loved to hear it when you woke up, too adorable for him to keep his hands off you.

He sure as fuck wasn’t thinking about sweet and filthy morning loving now; he would have coughed out his lungs if he tried to move too much and some parts of him might fall off judging by how much everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he rasped, throat scratchy at the single word and as if from a distance, he heard a noise of sympathy, your palm instantly finding his forehead, gentle touch soothing against his burning skin.

“You’re absolutely not okay. Stevie, you’re burning up,” you whispered compassionately and Steve blinked his eyes open, the little light in the room causing him to snap them close again immediately. Ouch.

“Fuck my liiiiife,” he groaned, prolonging the last syllable, which proved to be a wrong thing to do, sending him into a couching fit due to his scratchy throat.

Your hands roamed his shoulders and back as he rolled over to his side from you, hoping to suck in some air to continue coughing.

“Oh Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some medicine when I’m back from school, yeah? And I’ll make some soup,” you assured him kindly, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before your pleasant warmth disappeared, leaving him too cold and hot at the same time.

Seriously. FUCK HIS LIFE.

Grunting, he fell to his back, exhausted by one stupid coughing fit, whole body heavy; and he must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing he knew, soft lips were touching his forehead, tender fingers brushing messy strands of hair away. He stirred, forcing his eyes open to be greeted by a sight of that angelic face of yours, complete with a halo of light around you.

“I already called Bucky. He’ll sort out your classes today, alright? There’s a tea on your nightstand along with some last Tylenol we have.”

Steve squinted in the direction of the piece of furniture you mentioned and sure enough, there it was, everything you said it would.

What a pretty dutiful nurse you were. God, he loved you.

As he eyed you then, deep sense of longing settled in his swimming stomach, more so as he didn’t miss the gorgeous thermo leggings and long sweater hugging your figure, reaching your mid-thighs.

All Steve wanted was to pull you back to him so he had a human furnace in bed with him, the soothing smell of your shampoo to comfort him – even though he probably wouldn’t be able to smell it. But his hands would still be able to explore your delicious body, grope and hold it close to his and you could maybe ramble about everything and anything, lulling him to sleep.

But no, you were leaving to school, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Just him, himself and his fucking flu.

He eyed you wistfully, lips pursed at your concerned expression.

“When you’ll be back?”

The wrinkle between your brows smoothened, a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

“I have class until eleven. I see what I can do. I’m gonna have to hit the pharmacy and make some shopping,” you explained patiently, casing Steve to groan. Too long. So so long… Your smile widened, another kiss landing on his temple this time. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest, Professor Rogers.”

Your teasing tone made him growl, the action effectively sending him into another coughing fit and through glassy eyes, he saw you disappear from the room with one last glance over your shoulder.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in deeply – oh, the delicious air – and then buried himself in the covers, praying that a decent sleep would make him feel better.

It didn’t, not quite. What did make him feel much better was the Tylenol and the sirup you brought along.

The absolute best was when you were there for him to cuddle you to sleep in the evening; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was being a giant baby and was being utterly ridiculous, but God help him, this was all he needed the whole day.

He sighed blissfully as he hugged your midsection while you were sitting propped on the back-rest, soft light from the nightlamp illuminating the pages of the book you were reading. You were warmth, the gentle kind and Steve felt you seeping into him, fingers of one hand raking through his hair; he felt himself getting high on your loving care and cough sirup.

“I love having you here,” he muttered into the fabric of your pyjama, feeling you shift in your position a little, probably as you looked at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, sounding as if you were smiling, maybe even laughing at him; but he couldn’t care less, already drifting off to sleep, just content to have you.

“You’re warm and nice… and the prettiest nurse. And I love you. You’re my everything.”

“Oh Stevie,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the crown of his head and he preened at the sensation, smiling lazily. “I love you too.”

His heart skipped a beat as he nuzzled into your flesh and heard you gently toss the book away, your other hand now caressing his cheek.

“Yeah? Will you always be here? I want you to always be with me,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing a soft giggle and earning a kiss on his forehead.

“God, you’re adorable like this…”

Steve grunted, discontent with your reaction. “Not an answer.”

“I’ll always be here if you want me to, Stevie,” you answered dutifully, causing warmth fill his chest even if your body was shaking with hushed laughter; he felt it, but didn’t care. For your words however, he did; phew, as if he ever wanted something else, as if you had the right to question that!

He really needed to propose soon… just not tomorrow. You’d probably say no if he asked you, blaming his request on the fever. Naively.

“I wanna,” he mumbled, trying to squeeze you tighter. “Mine. My pretty girl. My babygirl. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” you noted, smile once again lacing your voice, along with an emotion, oh so soft one, he didn’t have the capacity to identify anymore. “But that’s what it’ll be if that’s what you want.”

Finally satisfied and with determination in the back of his mind, Steve let your love bridge him over to the dreamland, distantly aware of your fingers still playing with his hair.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve’s mother used to say his that flu lasted a week under a doctor’s care; and seven days without it. Of course, when he was younger with many health issues, it was more complicated than that, but he got the message.

Under your care, he felt considerably better after five days, only a mild case of a runny nose remaining. On a Thursday morning, he even found himself awake before you did, before your alarm went off.

Contemplating whether he should stay in bed with you or get shit done, he lazily scooped away a bit and propped himself on his elbow to feast his eyes on his pretty nurse.

Your hair was a messy halo around your head, your brows were lightly crooked as if you were having an unpleasant dream, your lips parted just a fraction, the softest snort escaping you.

Steve felt himself grin, a love-sick lift of the corners of his lips.

You were so freaking cute.

And seeing you, relaxed, but clearly catching up with sleep to beat your exhaustion to which he abundantly contributed, he knew he couldn’t stay in bed; in fact, he had to make you breakfast to bed, for all the troubles he put you through and for the attentive care you lavished him with.

Sure, when he was getting overly needy and whiny or cranky, you weren’t shy to call him out on his shit – which only made him love you more – but otherwise you were admirably patient.

As if he hadn’t already known that you were a keeper before that; this only solidified his conviction. If everything about you didn’t scream put a ring on it, then he wasn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

Hell, he had a half-mind to propose you just at that moment, all domestic atmosphere and sweet gesture like breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t look like the past few days were what pushed him over the edge. That would only be a half-truth--- quarter-truth?

Shaking his head at his own dumb thoughts, he gathered the pancakes, yogurt, various pieces of fruit and obviously, a coffee, laying it on a tray he had nearly forgotten he owned and tiptoed to the bedroom, honestly surprised that you hadn’t woken up yet with him fumbling around.

He stopped dead in his tracks when you sighed and stirred, rolling over and stretching out a hand as if in a search for him, only to find the space empty. Something between a hum and a damn meowl fell from your lips and Steve had to remind himself what it was he wanted to do besides trying his best to find out how exactly he could make you repeat that sound.

So precious. Absolutely adorable. Beautiful. Tempting.

You clutched the empty sheets, but didn’t wake and Steve crossed the distance to the bed, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand as he went to sit on the bed next to your waist, a dopy smile on his face.

Laying a hand on your thigh, he squeezed a little, attempting to wake you gently; he knew you got jumpy when something tickled your face, so this was the safer option.

You stirred once again, but didn’t wake, your eyes only fluttering open when he called your name a few times, alternating with your favourite term of endearment.

You squinted at him, appearing confused and groaning. Steve grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” he hummed, finally allowing himself to run the pads of his fingers from your forehead to your cheek and jaw, leaning into drop a kiss to your lips.

He froze, his brain on alert as he registered how hot your face felt.

The faint snoring. Squinting against light. Not waking up sooner than him. Your face pretty much burning to touch.

Oh no.

“Babygirl… are you feeling sick?” Steve whispered hesitantly, met with a bleary gaze and a pout.

“Wasn’t feeling great even yesterday evening…” you said, voice hoarse – whether from sleep or the flu Steve had managed to infect you with, he couldn’t tell.

But he certainly felt guilty, even if it was inevitable, really; with all you sweet care and constant proximity, it was only a matter of time. Not that it made him feel any better.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“

“Not your fault-“

“Kinda is-“

“Steve dammit!” you hissed, your eyes flying open fully and Steve knew what was coming; still, he grimaced as you coughed. “Shit. I hate flu.”

“Tell me about it. You think you can eat something?” he fussed, snapping into his nurse mode right away, ready for your roles to reverse.

You hummed and tried to sit, your gaze falling on the nightstand for the first time. Your expression, having been twisted in a grimace, softened instantly. As you turned to him, he suddenly felt sheepish. Was he acting like a love-sick fool?

“You made me breakfast to bed?” you cooed, snuggling into the covers before gesturing for him to help you sit up. “You’re the best.”

“I’ll be better if I make you some tea to go with it… and bring cough sirup… and stuff, yeah?”

You smiled like a loon – well, you tried, the result kinda faint, a testimony to your exhaustion – and Steve quickly rose to his feet.

“You’re the best.”

“Nope, that’s you. Eat your breakfast, babygirl.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve could tell you still didn’t feel exactly alright and the idea of eating wasn’t thrilling to you, but the pleaser you were, you tried your best for him to see that you appreciated his effort to make breakfast. When he brought you the tea, the medicine and water to down it, you were hallway through the pancakes, even though you seemed to force yourself into every bite.

“You don’t have to make yourself sicker just because you feel like you have to eat this, you know,” he hummed nonchalantly, causing you to grimace and take another two bites before sighing and pushing the tray away.

“It’s really yummy though… I think,” you stated, a wry smile playing in one corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

And you sounded so honestly grateful, clearly attempting for the smile to look real even with your eyes blazed and your features undeniably displaying tiredness, that Steve had to chuckle as he handed you the pills.

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart.”

You went to drop a careful kiss to his cheek when a coughing fit took you by surprise, starling him and resulting in you clutching both your chest and head, wide hurt eyes looking up at him as he smiled, tight-lipped and compassionate; he knew exactly how you felt.

And you were still kinda adorable, pouting a bit, looking at Steve as if he could save you from the evil flu monster.

“I hate flu… but I really like you. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said sincerely, emphasizing your point with an obviously unplanned sneeze.

Steve lips twitched, but so did his heart. His hands went to caress your hair, earning a pleased hum.

“Just returning the favour.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think I was that nice.”

“You were,” he assured you, feeling need to add a little piece of important information, just to show how much he meant it. “Just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Sweet-talker. I bet that’s all gone now, seeing me about to go through a box of tissues a day,” you chuckled weakly, nearly sinking into the cushions.

Steve wasn’t sure what was it he was suddenly overcome with; how or in which exact moment it sneaked into his conscience, a crazy insane thought and the untameable feeling in his gut that nudged him to do it.

To do it right now. To tell you, truly and from the depth of his heart, how much you meant to him. How much he was sure you always would.

“No, it’s not. I want to take care of you,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a hold of your slightly clammy hands and gently squeezing. You reciprocated the action, even if weakly.

“I want to take care of you and I want you to take care of me. I want to have you by my side every day, in our home, in our bed,” he continued, for once not talking only about different ways of making you moan his name when mentioning a bed. “I want to kiss you stupid whenever I get the chance, I want to laugh with you when you’re happy and hold you when you feel like crap. I want us to fight the whole world if they tell us that our love is wrong, because I know there’s nothing more right than me loving you and you loving me.”

The words spilled from his lips without much thinking, just one following other, somehow making sense, he hoped.

The strange buzz of nerves in his ears was so loud that he barely registered you breathed out his name.

“Steve-“

His eyes never left your face, watching it crumble under the weight of his declaration, already glassy eyes turning wetter, breathing ragged almost as much as his was from the rapid fire of words. Your lips parted in beautiful awe, that beautiful awe he had seen before, whenever you seemed to be shocked by how deep his need for you ran.

There was no questioning what should come next. Only half-aware of doing so, Steve had already prepared the ground.

“Stay right here,” he blurted out, giving your hands another quick squeeze before straightening rapidly and nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed towards his desk, opening the third drawer. Your voice, laced with both confusion and overwhelming emotion, followed him.

“I- I’m not going anywhere. What’s-“

“Sh-shh,” Steve hissed distractedly and took a deep breath as his fingers finally met with the box, gripping it tightly and his palm covering it as he stalked back to the bed, heart hammering in his ribcage.

This was the right moment, right? It seemed ridiculous, but god, so so right.

“You’re lucid, right?” he asked just to make sure, wavering only for a bit; you might be sick, even have a headache maybe, but you certainly appeared lucid enough a moment ago. But maybe that would be the reason you’d say no?

Shit, he felt like teenager about to ask his first crush to sit with him at lunch.

“I—I think? I’m just hella confused…“ you stuttered, causing his already wild heart to skip a beat upon hearing the nerves in your voice.

Your eyes, wide with confusion and yet slightly narrow because light hurt, watched Steve carefully as he dropped to his knees by your bedside and he didn’t think he ever saw you looking more endearing.

Steve had never been more certain of the fact that he wanted you to be his wife; and yet, and maybe precisely because of that, a lump formed in his throat. He took a deep calming breath, bracing himself.

“I love you. I love your mind, your body, your soul and everything that’s you and I—I think you’re the most wonderful woman I have ever met and had the luck to fall for. So I…”

With another heartskip, loud pounding in his head and maybe a tiny bit of a shake to his hands, he rose to only one knee, not missing your expression turning into a picture perfect of shock when he held out the box he had been thinking about for too long.

“Oh my god, Steve-“

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly because while you seemed absolutely stunned, you didn’t look angry or horrified, so he sensed a chance.

“I’m running a fever, my nose is running too and I’m--- ew all over-“ you protested weakly, a tear actually running down your cheek, but then you chuckled, a hand flying up to cover your mouth and Steve felt his confidence rise.

“You’re not, and even if you were I wouldn’t care. You’re my everything and wish nothing more than to make you mine officially.” Unable to wait any longer under you attentive and entirely adoring gaze, he opened the box and said your full name, nearly choking on it under the overwhelming joy of the moment – because he already knew. He knew what you were gonna say; you had it written all over you face. “Will you marry me?”

Steve knew. He was so sure that he knew--- and yet. Yet. As the silence prolonged, lasting seconds, minutes even – hours, it must have been – Steve felt the nervous coil in his gut twist painfully.

He watched you with torturous anticipation as you were; semi-sat up on a bed, hurting, probably beginning to sweat through your pyjama and drinking chamomile tea to get rid of the bug you had caught from him, and here he was, proposing.

In sickness and health indeed; and in some absurd way, this all made perfect sense to him… well, it had, a minute ago.

You looked like a million thoughts were racing through your head, and Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. What if you truly were thinking he was crazy-

“Yes,” you said at last and Steve released the breath he was holding, endlessly relieved, the heaviness weighting a ton finally falling from his shoulders. Oh Chirst, thank fuck—he really had been getting worried- “Yes, I-“

Relief blended into delight as he heard you speak the beautiful word again.

Yes. Yes, you wanted to be his wife.

Yes, you wanted to marry him!!

An incredulous chuckle spilled from his lips and he tossed the box on the bed, swiftly moving up and grabbing your face to kiss you stupid as he wanted and had said that he always would.

You made a startled noise, but you giggled too, grasping onto his shoulders and his nape and kissing back with all you got—and then you were pulling away, fighting for breath, because flu, duh, he needed to be careful with you, but-

You agreed to marry him!

Keeping you as close as possible while allowing you to breathe, his eyes happily roamed your face, so pretty and adorable and the knowledge of him being able waking up next to that face for the rest of his life sent his heart into frenzy, sparkles of pure joy filling his chest.

“I love you! Thank you, babygirl,” he exclaimed, kissing you once more, a short but intense encounter of lips that caused you to giggle again—but he didn’t give a shit if he was being ridiculous. Your eyes, even if tired, seemed to glow now, happy twinkles dancing in your irises, telling him you were just as excited and delighted as he was. “Thank you-“

“You’re so crazy-“ you mumbled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as you still shook with laughter and Steve simply climbed on the bed fully, wrapping you in his arms tightly.

He could sing at how you fit into his arms.

“I am. For you.”

“I can’t believe you proposed to me while I’m lying sick on a bed,” you mumbled over his shoulder, sounding as if you were complaining a little.

“In sickness and health?” he offered nervously, holding you tighter just in case you were going to back out now. Which was not an option.

He had to physically put the ring on your finger. Right now. Then you wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

In the back of his brain, an annoying voice told him that this was not how it worked, that there was no guarantee. But Steve shushed that voice and withdrew only enough to reach for the box and with a grin so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt from the strain, he took a hold of your left hand, slipping the ring on.

He didn’t miss the way your breath caught and he didn’t think the flu was to blame for that; the ring looked lovely on your hand. And Steve was a smidge proud of how he managed to make it fit perfectly.

“Steve… the ring-”

“You don’t like it?” he worried in an instant as he detected a new emotion in your voice.

You went to lightly slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes – an action you apparently regretted by the silent groan that followed; just another reminded of your sickness.

“Shush, you dummy. It’s--- breath-taking, but-“ you bit down on your lower lip, clearly hesitant to speak your mind and Steve didn’t find it at all comforting that you said you did like then ring. Not with the but. You sounded almost guilty, which was… strange. “But must have been so expensive and we still haven’t really-“

Oh. Oh.

Steve felt his lips spread back into a smile.

His sweet, sweet girl, responsible and perfect. He hated the reminder of your father’s behaviour, of the fact that you were ashamed on his behalf and felt guilty.

Steve didn’t want that.

“If I tell you it wasn’t, will you be mad?” he offered, watching carefully for your reaction, and your thoughtful expression turned into a confused one.

“Wasn’t?“

“I just had it cleaned and re-sized.”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, and tilted your head in bewilderment—melting into a brief panic and Steve realized what must have crossed your mind.

His stomach clenched in horror at you even considering it. You might have thought it was meant for another woman from his life.

Which it was, but not the way you thought!

“It was my ma’s!” he blurted out in panic, causing you to flinch a bit in fright of his suddenly louder voice. Steve shook his head – he was so messing this whole proposal thing up – clearing his throat, he observed your face, now full of emotion he couldn’t read. “…is that okay?”

There were tears prickling in your eyes, no words leaving your mouth as he had managed to render you speechless and he could punch himself for making you feel whatever you were feeling.

He had to fix this, fast.

“We can absolutely pick up something else if you don’t like the idea!” he was quick to offer, his heart speeding up when you still didn’t say a word. But you didn’t seem… that mad. What was happening in your head though, that was a mystery to him. “It’s just… she always told me that it was the second most precious thing she had left after dad, right after me, and that she wants me to give it to-- please don’t cry.”

Yes, he made the tears spill. There were a few rolling down your cheeks and Steve… he was starting to recognize the emotions playing in your expression, but he couldn’t entirely put his finger on it.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether you were so touched by the whole inherited ring gesture or if you were hating him with your very being for ruining some picture-perfect proposal you had been dreaming about since you were five; angry and disappointed that he didn’t even have the decency to buy you your own ring.

Probably a bit of both.

“Steve, you romantic idiot, come here,” you choked out, by a miracle not coughing for once and before he could even react and let the relief sink in, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled hard.

You had a surprisingly a lot of strength for someone coming down with a flu – actually, being down with a flu.

He landed on you, barely catching himself before he could crush you, a surprised laugh spilling from his lips, delight once again lighting up his world.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pecking his lips, fingers sinking to his hair and that moment, Steve was in heaven. “So much.”

He grinned wide, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as tight as he could, feeling both his own heartbeat and yours, tumbling happily and together.

“And I love you… future Mrs. Rogers.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tied to you (next in timeline)

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

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Not gonna lie. Thought of posting this in four parts of maybe at least two (3 and +1), but then I thought, screw it, let’s post 7,7k words at once. I hope you made it through all of them.

What’s coming next? I have no idea... maybe it’s who’s ‘coming’ next 👀

Thank you for reading!

220 notes · View notes

that-tall-queer-bassist · 3 years

Text

My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class.

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening.

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling.

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took.

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally.

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there.

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with feeling their pain.

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it.

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )

#adhd #adhd life #executive dysfunction #positive affimation #but it's only the begining ig #i might delete positive affirmations #idk #pros and cons #pros and cons of my adhd #nuerodivergent #nuerodivergent friends are the best #i will elaborate at some point #I've been on tumblr too long

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evilbeanghost · 4 years

Text

Snapetober

Here is my participation #4: Day 8 Secret Injury.

You can also find it on AO3.

So, this is a little interlude in the universe of my current WIP "That Awful Snape Boy" (you can of course find it on AO3 too). I'm not sure it actually fits anywhere in the timeline of the main fic but it's like a mini-AU in the same world.

For those who are not reading it: basically, McGonagall ends up adopting Severus at the beginning of his 3rd years at Hogwarts. It's a long road for them, a difficult one but also full of love and care. This little moment would fit during their first summer holiday together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Severus was trying to keep up with his guardian, fighting against the heavy limp he was now sporting. Damn leg! Minerva was pretty far away, zigzagging between the shop's aisles at what seemed to Severus like lightening speed. How could this woman move that fast?

She had taken him on an impromptu outing that morning, seemingly out of nowhere. While he admitted now that he enjoyed spending time with Minerva, he had been in pain all night, and anyway: shopping was definitely taking it a little too far… He had tried to stay at the cottage, but she was adamant that she wouldn't leave him alone for a whole day like that. Severus had replied that he was left alone at his parent's for days on end since he was three: it didn't seem to placate her… the suggestion only putting that little spark of anger in her eyes, as it often was the case when his biological parents were discussed.

Apparently, even fourteen years old were not to be left alone for that long? Severus thought she was being a little extreme with this: Lily and Petunia sometimes spent the whole day alone in the summer when both their parents had to work!

He tried not to look too much into his feeling that this was linked to the little sad moods he had been experiencing lately. She was worried about him and he felt like trash because of it. Why couldn't he just be happy? What more did he need seriously? He was a pathetic, ungrateful piece of garbage. A useless worm.

The pain flared up suddenly and, giving up, he stopped behind a jackets' display to let his leg rest a little. This was going to be a long day…

He only had himself to blame for this one, as usual. The day before, he had been running on the Scottish beach near the cottage – just enjoying the fresh hair, the calming music of the sea and the freedom of it all – when he had stepped on a treacherous rolling stone and twisted his knee quite badly. It had hurt like Hell at the time. Severus remembered having literally seen a white flashing light for a moment at the intensity of the pain. However, after having taken some tentative steps in the sand, it was still hurting of course but not as much and not to the point where he could not walk at all (he admitted now that it had been quite worse after having rested his knee all night unfortunately).

He had felt really bad about it, somewhat guilty too. It was like the universe was trying to remind him than freaks like him didn't deserve the mindless fun of a run on a beautiful, deserted, white-sanded Scottish beach. Those things weren't for disgusting kids like him, what had he been thinking?

To be honest, it was only mid-July and this first summer holiday with Minerva was already surreal. He had a room here too, to his stupefaction since he wasn't aware at all that she had made any preparation before they came together to spend the summer here, and hot chocolate was offered even more frequently than during the school year.

Severus, however, felt somewhat unsettled by it all. Everything was… weird? He didn't feel like he should have those things, like Minerva's kindness was deserved on his part. He also had moments when he just felt… empty? Sad? Like nothing really mattered and everything was just grey and not worth it. It was scary and it had been sapping his energy in waves since the start of the holidays. Without school to distract him from it, it was suddenly worse than it had been all year.

All of that made it even more critical that he didn't end up bothering Minerva with again another thing that would add to her already worried state. He just felt like she would be so much better without the like of him really… He was the worse thing that had ever happened to her.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The boy had been quiet all day, moody even. Minerva had tried to ask him what shop he had wanted to do next – it was after all his first outing in an all-wizards town in the Outer Hebrides – but she didn't seem to be able to have him engaged with their little trip.

It was a shame since it had been an excuse for just that in the first place. She was so worried about him… He had been moody, withdrawn and quite frankly sad since the beginning of the holidays and even his obvious joy at discovering the cottage and the magnificent scenery of her Harris' cottage didn't last very long.

Minerva sighed. The day had been a failure in the end… they were making their way back to the isolated little cottage, walking in the fine sand on the beach, with a magnificent sunset in the background; and yet their hearts were as heavy as the silence between them.

She turned her head to make sure Severus was still following her – he had been lagging behind all day – when she suddenly caught him grimacing in pain, his left leg giving way beneath him before he caught himself and tried to speed up with a set expression on his little face.

"Severus Snape, you stop where you are young man!", she said to him at once, alarmed.

Startled, Severus stopped in his tracks and looked at her with that worried expression of his, making her heart hurt for him once again. She felt like her anger at his parents was never going to fade away. Her anger at herself too, for not having seen, for not having stopped this three years before, when she first saw the scrawny first year entering the Great Hall for the first time. Too small, too thin, too intense and crafty for a child his age. How could they have missed it? That question was never going to stop haunting her.

The boy was looking at her, directly into her eyes with that defiant expression that used to infuriate her but that she knew now was just his way of being scared, and said nothing, waiting for whatever was going to fall on his head this time – there always was way too much resignation in his expression.

"Is your leg hurting, Severus?", she asked softly, using her newfound "motherly voice" in an attempt to reassure him that he wasn't in trouble at all. This script between them was certainly getting old.

"It's nothing, I can deal with it."

"It doesn't seem like it's nothing when it's making you limp and stumble like that. It looks painful too. What did you do?", Minerva asked, worried.

"It's nothing, really… just… I twisted my knee a little yesterday, I won't do it again I promise, please, don't be mad at me?"

"Oh, Severus. How many times do I have to tell you that I won't be mad at you for things that are outside of your power. Come here child, let me see."

She wanted to hug him tight, that smart, broken child; but she knew that he still wasn't always comfortable with physical manifestations of affection so she refrained herself.

Looking sheepish, he limped towards her, looking at his feet, like a criminal having been caught red-handed.

"Sit on the sand Severus, and pull your trouser leg above your knee please, I want to see what we're dealing with here."

And as often, he did just that. Minerva was still quite taken by surprise by this… and they all thought that he was a model of insolence just a year ago… The child was in reality quite mild on a teenager's antics scale. Or maybe she knew how to handle him now?

She crouched before him, her back protesting at once, and looked at his injury closely. His poor knee was blue and swollen, very painful looking. How on earth had he been able to walk on that all day was beyond her.

"Severus, child, why didn't you tell me? This is a pretty bad sprain I think… I won't be able to treat it right away… but really, you're not walking another foot on this, that's for sure."

"But…"

"No buts. I will cast a feather-light charm on you and carry you to the cottage. I should have some Every-Day-Destrainer-Cream there. Would that be alright?"

"Yes… but you don't have to, I can walk, we're nearly there anyway."

"This isn't a negotiation! What's the first rule for living with me, Severus?"

He looked suddenly annoyed, making her smile fondly, that for once so common manifestation of teenage rebellion at the prospect of any discussion about house rules was comforting. Her whole guardian experience was so backwards… Worried when her child was quiet, happy when he was being a reluctant teenager.

"I'm not allowed to do anything dangerous or that can hurt me in any way."

"Exactly! Now, don't move", Minerva did the wand gesture, casting the spell non-verbally on her young charge, "and it's done!"

They looked a little silly, the middle-aged witch carrying the gangly adolescent on her back towards their little cottage. Minerva certainly didn't mind.

That silly, moody child was not going to be in pain anymore, she sweared it. She was going to heal him, and not just the knee, damn it.

#severus snape #minerva mcgonagall #snapetober #TASB #my fic #I really enjoyed writing this one #I hope you will enjoy it too #especially those among you who have been waiting for the next chapter for some time #:)#snapetober 2020 #snapedom

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katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Disinterested 2

A/N sorry this turned into a three parter I think. Please let me know if this is too slow of development 😅😭

"Are you going to the hero conference next week? Its somewhere tropical in America where All Might is from." Eji turns to ask the ash blonde who has been some how moodier these past few years.

"I'd rather Deku kiss me." He growls earning a big laugh from Kirishima whose breath huffs visibly in the air.

The smell of possible snow hanging heavy over the pathway to the crowded restuarant that Katsuki was being dragged to by his supposed best friend.

Scarlet eyes linger on your form as you clutch to Todoroki squealing about the biting cold, heterochromatic eyes stare down at you without a single fucking clue.

Katsuki's lips snarl, explosions threatening to detonate. Icy hot should know by now that you hate the cold and all that dumbass walking heater has to do is either shed his jacket and drape it across your delicate yet powerful shoulders or move you to his left side and let some of his quirk go.

But he doesn't, even after years of off again on again dating he just stares and your whining stops quickly, blush spreading across your cheeks almost embarrassed, feelings probably hurt, as Katsuki grits his teeth.

Fucking idot.

"No but seriously." Kirishima wipes tears from his eyes, "Mina has been asking if you're going. She misses the Bakusqaud. Plus isn't the tied number one hero SUPPOSED to go?"

Blood eyes flash to his ruby haired friend.

"We disbanded. They just wanna see me and hear Deku speak." All bite as Kiri guesses where his explosive friend was staring, his eyes widen.

She was the last member thanks to Aizawa partnering the five of you together. Bakugou, Kirishima, Denki, and Y/N.

"Yea but you hated her guts." Kiri states.

More like rearranged her guts.

"She wasn't part of the famed four."Eiji says nonchalantly and acts like he doesn't notice Katsuki bristle as the red head begins to put the pieces together.

Maybe there *was* a reason Bakugou had been so busy for those past few years.

Maybe it was training of another kind. Eiji smiles to himself before adding.

"Come on man!" He whines, "It'll be fun and loads of people will be there. Which means plenty of hot ass and plenty of FREE drinks at the after party."

He wiggles his eyebrows at the last part earning a horrifying glare for Bakugou.

"Plus I don't think Todoroki will be going which most likely means his dime piece, Y/N will not be attending either. Despite her high ranking." Kirishima's eyes grow big and pathetic looking as he adds, "So pleeeeeaaasssseee."

"Fine. But only so you will shut the fuck up about it!" Scarlet eyes find your familar frame before a final tsk is scoffed.

"I probably went easier on your than your PR agent." Kiri slaps the back of Katsuki playfully earning another glare.

"Let's get this stupid reunion over with." Katsu hisses as he pulls the golden doorknob, almost ripping the door from the hinges. As he makes his way to the table holding all of class 1A, realization washes over Katuski. One thing rings in his head as he glares at the table before him.

Kamisama does not favor Bakugou Katsuki and has not for quite sometime.

Kamisama has taken away his right as number one hero and has him tied to Deku of all fucking people.

Kamisama has thrust upon him the burden of All Might's end to forever carry on his shoulders.

What feels like worst of all, Kamisama brought you into his life to live at the fringes, never allowing him to be the center of your world.

Not even when you were the center of his.

He growls now as fate has set the two of you next to one another. The only seat open was at the end, next to you who sits in your much too tight dress that shows way too much of your sunkissed chest.

He catches you blush when he eases himself into his seat with a small growl. Knowing he cannot make it obvious by asking Kirishima to switch as he is sitting across from Katsuki but beside his fiance, Mina.

"Shoto!" You exclaim in your cutest voice, "What are you going to get?"

A deep sigh comes from your left that has your cheeks heated. A sigh that reminds Katsuki too much of a man who is disinterested in his woman.

"What I normally get, Y/L/N." His voice dancing along edges of disdain.

Katsuki can hear your heart fracture but before he can ask you what you're having Mina pipes up.

"I'm having the spicy katsu what about you, Y/N?"

You smile brightly, trying so hard to hide your hurt as you answer. All the while Katsuki holds back his temper, destroying several pairs of chop sticks through out the night.

"So how long is the pro hero trip? I know the beginning date." You ask Kiri, cheeks flushed with several shots.

"Oh it ends on 26th." He adds pouring you another. Katsuki gives Kiri a look that goes unnoticed by Eijis inebriated state.

"Oh that's good! Where the event is being held is on the beach I think and you'll get front row seats to a commit!!" There is so much joy in your face that it makes Katsuki's heart swell on it's own, even Mina and Kirishima swoon but Todoroki sighs causing you to back track. Something Katsuki only ever sees you do with *him*.

"Ah but it's stupid. We might be able to see it in Japan in another fifty years." You stare into your shot wondering when you started to feel this way.

When you started to feel so sad and so unsure when the old you would have told Todoroki to shut the fuck up that the commit was cool.

A once in a life time fucking chance.

But you didn't so you swallow your shot and silently beg Kiri for more with a shake of you 3 oz glass.

"Fucking shame." Katsuki growls, eyes falling to you, furthering your embarrassment instead of easing you.

He elbows you, holding your eyes but only for a second before Todoroki grips onto the crook of your arm as he whispers so low that Bakugou barely hears it over his own grinding teeth.

"That's enough kitten let's go." He growls before his volume goes to normal to add "Good night all. We're heading out."

This time Katsuki breaks the glass in his hand to keep himself from standing up and punching Todoroki in his stupid ass face.

Blood eyes latch onto yours as he watches you go, your sad face looking over your shoulder one final time.

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

Katsuki adjusts the straps to his backpack as he waits on the tarmac of the small commercial plane intended for all of the hero's of Japan that plan to go.

He stares down at his ticket and sighs.

"Wow so even the number one hero has to share a plane huh?" Mina says by way of greeting.

"Yea don't fucking remind me." He growls. Kiri has nothing to offer but a sharp toothed smile.

"Kiri, Mina, wait up please." Your voice rings out causing Bakugou to grit his teeth as his pushes his way onto the plane.

Considering Kamisama has not been kind to him.

"Y/N!" Kiri smiles, "I didn't know you were coming."

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the plane, wondering how in the fuck this thing is going to cut through the sky.

It is not a bird, it does not have a flying quirk, why in the fuck would anyone want to board this thing.

You gulp. This was the exact reason you did not want to come. If you were falling thousands of feet in the air your quirk would be utterly useless.

"Yea." You swallow again, feeling your power shroud your shouldersout of habit when adrenaline ran through your body.

"Just yea?" Mina laughs, "You were dead set against going, you've never flown before."

"Well as number one female hero I have to go." You hiss, "Or so my agent says."

"Makes sense why mine booked me a double queen last minute." Mina states, "Guess we are gonna be roomies then!"

"It'll be so much like highschool. Except closer. Instead of my room being next to Bakugou's I get to share it."

You make a face, blushing from a flash back.

*"Katsu...they'll...they'll hear your headboard." You whine out as he mercilessly pounds into you.*

*"Good. Now let them hear how much pleasure I give you. Let them hear you scream kitten."*

"Your room was next door?" You almost squeak.

"Yea but he was hardly in it. He stayed with me a lot." Mina laughs, "Kiri go ahead and find your seat so I can help Y/N cope with finding seat C21."

"Okay!" Kiri calls out walking up the steps practically running into Katsuki.

"Oi." He is staring down at Eji darkly, "What's your seat number?"

Katsuki is hoping to sit with him, the thought of sitting with anyone else drives him fucking mad. Especially the thought of sharing it with Deku.

"Ah, G21. Oh I guess I sit next to Y/N She's scared to fly I think." He answers scratching the back of his head and Katsuki looks at his friend incredulously.

"Scared?" His expression changes, had you ever mentioned that in your year fling with him? Had he never noticed? Before he can stop himself he barks out

"We're switching seats."

"Oh ah are you sure?" Kirishima gives the ash blonde an odd look, "I thought..."

"Anyone is better than the chance of it being Deku." A half truth as he turns on his heel to find the fateful window seat.

Your face becomes crest fallen when you spot Katsuki in the seat next to yours. Looking out the window, brooding over God knows what.

Why? Why was he being shoved into your life over and over again.

It was hard enough to get him out of your head, especially these last few months with Todoroki who's hot flame for you has turned to ice.

An icy flame you snuffed out forever this morning. Ending things between you and Todoroki forever.

You kept quiet about the whole thing. What between his lingering gazes to Momo and your changed personality it was for the best that you two separated.

You sigh, how could you be so unlucky to get a seat next to the most callous person on the plane?

But this is what you get right?

What you deserve after shutting, practically slamming, the door on something that made your heart soar ten times more that what Todoroki could ever provide.

And now there he sat, ash blonde embodying all of your mistakes as his feigned hate, the old sexual tension between you two turning to real, true loathing.

Your throat closes and you feel tears burning in your eyes. You blink furiously, determined to get this flight over with.

You shove your bag into the overhead and sit quietly. Hands already fidgeting as other heroes load onto the plane. You try not to call upon your quirk for comfort but the lights dim anyway. The darkness, even in the day, calls to you but you must ignore the shadows and their whispers.

Yours could blind the pilot, you close your eyes and try to meditate. That is until the low hum of the engines roar with gusto, speeding up as the plane does.

You swallow gripping onto you own hand so tightly half blood moons appear. As the plane ascends the Earth fights to keep you on the ground frightening you. Suddenly a hand is held out to you and when you do not take it a soft tsk fills the space between you.

"Take my hand baka." He bites and you listen. Lacing your fingers with his own, relishing his ass backwards comfort. You squeeze your eyes shut as you grip onto such a familiar hand despite not having held it in eons.

"Oi." His voice is feather soft in your ear, the same as all the times he whispered in the middle of the night to see if you were awake so long ago. You respond the same way you always had, peaking open one eye in his direction.

"Who's sitting in front of us?" He whispers and you try to focus on his voice instead of the constant sound of the plane tearing through the air.

"Ah umm." You peak through the seats to see your petite friend still sporting her chestnut hair short, "Urakaka-chan."

"Right. So what's her quirk?" His lips are still by your ear.

"Anti gravity."

"Good ki..." He pulls back and almost rips his hand from yours before glancing at your face. Tears still threatening to be shed although anyone else wouldn't have noticed. Katsuki clears his throat and tries again.

"So then if by the nearly impossible chance this plane goes down. Who are you grabbing first?" His voice is rough again. Angry at himself and never agitated with you, or your fear.

"I'm going to grab you and U-san." You squeeze his hand and the lights dim for a moment before you take a large calming breath. Katsuki furrows his brow. Why in the world would you ever grab him? He goes to ask but sees that you are still a little shaky. He slips his hand from yours despite you fighting it to lift up the arm rest between you two and pull you to him.

"This is going to be your only opportunity to be this close to the Number One hero. So you better not get used to it." He snarls lowly but you snuggle deeper, ignoring the bite in his voice.

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

The conference drags and passes within the blink of an eye as all boring obligations do. Time is slow behind the conference room walls and one is always astonished as to how it can be so late in the day.

You grit your teeth pulling at your black cocktail dress, sure that your cleavage would not spill any further. Normally heroes' costumes are acceptable for meetings but this one was more upscale. More of a formal international discussion on hero regulations and how to better unite the world's countries. During the eight hours you couldnt help your quick glances to a scowling Katuski who sat next to a bright and happy Deku.

Bakugou cleaned up well in his black on black suit, in fact he had changed his whole hero outfit to black on black just before graduating. The only spark of color his blood red eyes. You blush, you always loved how sexy he looked in black, especially now that he was dressed to the nines.

And well you never did thank him for his kindness. The second that plane landed you sprung up, even forgetting your bag as you exited the plane in blind fear.

"After party?!" Mina and Kirishima ask in unison though feet apart to their best friends.

You eye Katsuki who eyes you a moment before snearing away from you.

"I don't know. It's late."

"Its barely 8! And the sun hasn't even gone down! Plus it's not every day you get to party at America's nicest beach!" Mina begs as she pulls you along. All the while all you can hear is his sharp voice.

"I'm not fucking going Kirishima and that's fucking final."

Drinking comes easy when the shots are free. Especially with the tight black dress Mina lent you, the one where the front and the back dip low, lower than you're used to and you have to worry about your bust slipping out.

You hadn't realized how popular you had become in America, shocked to see your face and your name in Kanji on t-shirts of men and women.

"Aaayyyeee Dark Star let's get a selfie and take a shot together!" A fan calls, he places his hand on your waist as he pulls you to the bar. It always feels odd to be guided by a man, you never did get used to it with Todoroki even after almost two years of dating.

Only one male comes into mind where it felt normal, safe.

But he isn't here tonight. So you let him buy you a shot and you take the selfie with his lips to your flushed from booze cheeks.

Little do you know how quickly the photo goes viral in just a few hours. You dance, take more shots and dance some more.

All into the late night. You dance with the throngs of sweating bodies. Music booming as the dark of the night whispers in the wind from the open garage doors to the big dance floor. You let it flow, weave through bodies and dim the lights even lower. No one falters in their dancing, if anything the extra dark is invited.

Mina slips her hand onto your arm, pulling you from your dancing trance

"Hey we are going to head up to the hotel for the night. Are you gonna be okay to make it back next door?" Mina's lips are pressed to your ear as she shouts, competing with the rhythm of your favorite song.

You dance now even in her grip as your eyes spot a drunk Kirishima at the fringes of the sweating intoxicated bodies.

"Yea I'll be fine!" You shout back. She gives you a look. One that says she doesn't really want to leave, they flicker over your shoulder to the man pushing his way through to you to present more shots.

"You sure? That guy..."

"Oh Damon?" You follow her gaze before holding her moon eyes once more, "He's friendly. Plus I could plunge him into eternal darkness if I really wanted too."

Mina gives your arm a final squeeze before she goes. You turn, not being able to stomach the jealousy that seeps into your bones.

Jealousy of her ability to live the life with the person she chooses.

You down Damon's offered shot and then greedily gulp his.

Wondering how much alcohol its going to take to drown out a particular set of candy apple red eyes.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugo #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo x fem reader #bakugou x fem reader #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years

Text

The Art Of Remembrance (Part 29)

Edit made because I decided to make Azula’s discussion with Katara longer.

Azula is rather surprised to find that he is still holding her and more shocked to realize that she had managed to sleep at all. Albeit, a restless sleep. Several times she had woken with a feeling of dread and paranoia. Several times she found herself gripping a deeply slumbering and snoring Sokka tighter. It is a wonder that she hadn’t woken him with how firm her grip had grown.

She finds herself silently embarrassed that she was being so clingy and, dare she say, childish. In the back of her mind, she supposes that her fear is justified. Even still, she feels foolish for it. As the sunrises outside, she loosens her hold on him.

She waits until he stirs to pull herself from his grasp, but he doesn’t even begin to wake before something else startles her out of his arms. Her jerks awake when she bolts upright. Looking comically more horrified and mortified than the both of them combined, the third figure stands in the doorway.

“Zuzu…” She greets with an inward cringe.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He sputters through his embarrassment. “I was worried after…”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She shrugs, she finds herself hoping that, that isn’t a lie. In light of things, it sure feels like one.

“I do need to worry about you.” He insists. “You should have seen how you reacted last night when we…” he trails off at the look she fixes him with. It lies somewhere between hurt, anger, and shame. And she sees it on his face that it makes him uneasy. “I didn’t mean that.” He tries.

“Then what did you mean?” Really, she thinks that he can only mean one thing. That he thinks that she lacks control. That she can snap within a moment’s notice. “I’m not crazy. I…” Now she trails off as her eyes wander back to Sokka’s singed parka. “I just need to get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Zuko rubs the back of his head. “That’s all I meant.” He tries. “That this place isn’t good for you and that’s why I’m worried.”

“I have control.” She persists. “That was a...lapse in judgement.”

Zuko’s face softens and she feels bad all over again for inadvertently guilt tripping him while trying to justify herself. “I know.” He tries to smile. “That wasn’t you.”

Her heart seizes and her stomach drops; deep down it feels as though it was exactly her. That, that sort of lashing out is in her nature. That, that sort of thing had been routine in her life prior to this compound. “It was me.” She says quietly.

Sokka leans in almost annoyingly close. And just as childishly, though well meaning, he whispers in her ear--almost as if to imitate her own soft tone, “it isn’t anymore.”

Having been well and caught, he makes no attempts at subtlety when he wraps his arms around her waist. Like that she recalls having kissed him and her cheeks very nearly color. She isn’t sure what had possessed her to do it, but she doesn’t entirely regret it either.

She doesn’t regret it at all.

In the doorway, Zuko seems to grow more uncomfortable. “We’re going to be heading back to the village soon.”

“I’m sure that they’ll be eager to hear that we’ve all wasted our time.” She grumbles.

Zuko sighs but only briefly before a flicker of mischief lights his eyes. “Something tells me that it wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

This time, her face does color some and Sokka’s grows so red that one could assume that he’d been wandering the tundra for hours. She clears her throat, “we’ll see.”

.oOo.

He is reluctant to let Azula wander off on her own again but, all the same, Sokka knows that she won’t take well to him trying to stop her. Or worse, treating her like she is fragile and helpless. He just hopes that she doesn’t return to the lobby shaking and shouting again.

Sokka is fussing with his pack, trying to stuff his sleeping bag back into it. This is already eating up way too much time and he still has to figure out what to do about the gaping hole in his parka. He doesn’t even begin to consider his options when Zuko drops down next to him.

“You two didn’t…” he trails off. “Did you?”

Sokka’s face remains blank until his mind connects the dots. “What!? No! We just slept together!” His face turns a brighter red than it ever has before then. “I mean, not like that!” He falters. “I mean we slept next to each other but not with each other! And we had clothes on the whole time. It’s too cold to take them off anyways! I don’t think that your sister would have…”

“Sokka.” Zuko cuts his rambling off.

It is his turn to nervously rub the back of his head. “Look it was just a bit of cuddling.” And a kiss. He adds in his head. And a massage. He gnaws the inside of his cheek. “Okay and I gave her a little massage. Back at the Lake Fire institute, she got a massage from one of the doctors and it helped her relax. So I thought that…”

Zuko chuckles. “I get it, you were trying to help.” He pauses and his face goes frighteningly serious again. Almost like the look that their father had given Aang when Katara introduced him as the boyfriend. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Sometime today, but you walked in before I could.” He pauses. “It sort of just happened.”

“You mean that this is the first time you, uh...cuddled with my sister?”

“Well…” he starts. “Sort of. No. She’s been having trouble sleeping and she said that it helps her sleep better when she has company. But, this was the first time she kissed me.” He continues quickly, hoping to gloss over the kissing bit. “It started out with me just staying in the same room as her but then she asked me to lay down next to her and we had a pillow between us…” he is rambling again but it is just as well, if he adds in enough fluff, Zuko might miss the worst of the details.

“When did this start?” Sokka doesn’t know what to make of his friend’s tone. Is it angry? Surprised? Amused? Perhaps all three?

“Back at the palace, after our fight.” But no, he thinks that it began before that. Even if he hadn’t realized it he thinks that the spark had been there since he’d taken her to see the tundra lights. Though she hadn’t been able to enjoy the display, he thinks that the moment had been a tender one. “It helps her sleep…” he adds again, weakly. “I don’t think that she likes being alone.” He finishes rather lamely.

Of course she doesn’t like being alone.

No one likes being alone.

“Look, Sokka, I’m just happy that she’s got something to help her deal with everything.”

Sokka thinks of the screaming, impulsive woman who had come along with them to track Ursa down and thinks that Zuko pictures the same. “She didn’t really have anyone before, did she?”

Zuko gives a sad little head shake. “That’s why I’m not going to kick your ass.” Sokka can’t tell if this is a wisecrack or a serious statement. “But I question your taste in women.”

Sokka gives a sigh of relief. “Your girlfriend likes to stab things with pointy things.”

“And yours likes to conquer powerful nations.” Zuko points out.

But Sokka is still stuck on the implication, “she’s not my girlfriend.” He says right away. “I don’t think that she is...she never said…”

“But she kissed you?” Zuko asks. So he had caught that.

“Well, yeah but…” Sokka trails off. “I don’t know if it really meant anything.” He is scared to admit that it had to him. “Sometimes I think that it only happened because I just so happened to be the first person to warm up to her.”

Zuko seems to think it over. “I guess that you’ll have to ask her.”

But Sokka is almost certain that Azula isn’t even sure of exactly what she is doing this time around.

.oOo.

Azula purses her lips in frustration. “This is useless, completely useless.” She hisses more to herself than the imperial firebenders that have taken the initiative to accompany her. They trail behind her as she wanders down the hall. “There has to be something here…” she muses allowed. Anything.

She comes to the closet that she had stolen her parka from during her grand flight. At the very least, there better be a spare parka hanging around for Sokka’s use. Even if it is as bulky and big as her steal had been on her, he can always throw it over his own parka and be warmer still.

She tugs the door open and finds only one lonely parka, she snatches it up and makes her way back down the hall. In the back of her mind is a nagging desire to take off into a sprint as it conjures up images of shadowed figures peering from around the corner.

Azula grips the parka tighter; how pathetic will it be to let this place get to her for a third time. She draws in a breath and exhales it. The only people behind her are those that seek to accompany her out of this place. By the looks on their faces, she’d wager that the place discomforts them to a degree.

“I found something for you.” She shoves the parka into Sokka’s arms. She waits for a rather solid minute before muttering, “you’re welcome.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles back. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Clearly.” Azula agrees. “You’d be relieved and gracious if you had been. I didn’t have to find this for you.”

Sokka chuckles as he tugs the parka on. It is not the response that she had been hoping for. She hadn’t exactly anticipated him falling at her feet and thanking her for her generosity, but a small thank you wouldn’t have been too much to ask for. Her expression falls somewhere between a pout and an annoyed scowl.

He slings an arm around her. “It’s a little big.” Her frown deepens. “But it’ll work.”

“I hope that it does.” She replies.

“Thanks.” He says at last.

She supposes that she had no right to push him for a thank you considering that he wouldn’t have needed a new park at all if she hadn’t ruined his first one.

“I think that everyone is packed up.” Zuko announces. “We just need to find you a new…”

“Taken care of, Zuzu.” Azula pats the gaping hole that is now covered by a new parka.

“I guess that we’re set to go then.” She can hear the disappointment in his voice and is certain that it stems from no longer being able to delay their inevitable venture into the merciless pole weather.

When they finally do manage to get a distance from the vacant facility, conversation has died out to give way to concentration. The snow is significantly deeper now that a night’s worth of it has fallen. Azula tries to take her mind elsewhere, someone out of the cold. Somewhere warmer.

Warmer like within Sokka’s embrace.

Perhaps she should ask him if he will take her to see the lights again. Now that she isn’t wholly off put by the very notion of looking out into the tundra. He had mentioned that they relieve his stress, she thinks that it would be a good way to make up for burning him.

Azula’s mind wanders again, not particularly far though. She still thinks of Sokka. More specifically she dwells on the kiss. She wonders if and hopes that she hasn’t taken something perfectly good and made it awkward. She thinks that she is rather good at that. Yet she can’t say that she regrets it. It had felt rather right to do but he hadn’t returned the gesture.

She spares him a look and briefly wonders what he is thinking about.

.oOo.

It takes all of his will power to not laugh at either of the two fire siblings as they awkwardly shamble over the snowbanks. Azula is especially entertaining with her being so small. He can tell that she is growing tired, even if she is doing everything in her power to pretend like she isn’t. Part of him wants to offer her a piggyback ride to the village. He isn’t sure how she would take the offer so he holds his tongue. He opts to pretend like he hasn’t noticed any of her more clumsy strides. Likely, she will get used to trekking through deep snow. Zuko only fares better by experience.

An invasive thought passes through his train of thought and he shudders. With nothing else to picture, he visualizes Azula, younger and colder, seething at the notion that Zuko is doing something with more expertise than she.

The reassuring reality is much different. Zuko missteps bring him to an abrupt halt. Azula, either invested in a daydream or captured by a sheet of ice, collides with him. They both topple and Sokka can’t tell who makes which noise of distress. Azula is the first to rise, she shakes herself off and yanks Zuko to his feet with a harsh, “don’t stop so suddenly dum-dum.” The edge is taken by the chattering of her teeth.

“Watch where you’re walking.” He shoots back with shivers just as intense. “I think I’ve got snow in my underpants.”

“I think I’ve gotten some unwanted information in my ears.” Azula mutters.

Sokka bursts out laughing. “You guys are great.”

He’d never noticed how similar they look until they fix him with twin glares.

“I should have you carry me.” She grumbles.

It is all the permission that he needs. He bends slightly in front of her.

“What are you doing?” She crinkles her nose.

“Offering you a ride on my back.”

Azula ponders his offer. She takes a glimpse at the impression she and Zuko had left in the snow and wraps her legs around his trunk and drapes her arms over his shoulders. She feels her press her face against the hood of his parka as he resumes his stride.

She is so generously warm.

“Why don’t we just melt a path through all of this?” Zuko throws his hands up.

“Because, dum-dum, you’ll burn through your mittens.”

.oOo.

By the time they reach the village Azula is once again sniffling and her cheeks are a bright rosy hue. She slides down from Sokka’s back and hustles her way into his home. She finds herself the furs that they had wrapped her in on her first night and flops onto the sofa. She isn’t in any particular hurry to share how useless the endeavour proved to be. Regardless, there is no sense in attending any sort of meeting with a running nose and tingling hands. She has even less desire to stand in front of the imperial firebenders in such a tousled state.

She pulls her hood down and sets her mittens to the side so that she can light a fire in the small fireplace.

“Cozy?” Sokka asks.

“Not yet.” She replies.

“Zuko went to go let the others know that we’re back.”

Azula makes her way back to the sofa and has a seat next to him. “Alright.” She finds herself leaning into his arm. He doesn’t push her away. “Would you mind sharing that blanket?”

Azula stands, wraps the blanket around him, and takes a seat in his lap. She leans back and closes her eyes. She wants to offer him another kiss or perhaps curl her hand around his. But this time she doesn’t. This time, she wants him to make a move.

Some time passes and her stomach sinks. For the first time, she considers that she could be making him uncomfortable. She has an awareness that they’d been rivals before, she can’t blame him for being weary of getting too close to her. It dawns upon her that, even free of the memories that come with it, she can’t shake the past away. She bites the inside of her cheek. How can she when she keeps doing things that remind everyone of it?

“What are you thinking about?” He asks.

“You won’t tell them, will you?”

His brows furrow in confusion. She hovers her hand over his chest.

“I can’t exactly hide it.”

Azula swallows.

“It was an accident.” Sokka tries to be reassuring. But she gets no consolation at all.

“What was an accident?” Katara asks.

Azula is almost certain that her face has gone pale.

“Maybe you should tell her.” Sokka mumbles in her ear.

Wordlessly, she opens his parka to display the burn marks. “He was...we were going to ask you to heal it.”

“What happened?”

“He…” She trails off. “Took my by surprise when we were in that room. I thought that he was someone else.” She doesn’t know how to explain it. She doesn’t think that there is a way to do so that would make the waterbender stop looking at her like that. “I thought that they were going to take me again.”

“There’s a big difference between Sokka and whoever they are.” Katara replies.

“It didn’t feel like it.” Azula replies. “It…”

“Remember those soldiers we saw in the Earth Kingdom?” Sokka asks.

“What do they have to do with anything?”

“Some of them would get aggressive if they saw or heard something that reminded them of something that happened during the war.” He reminds. “They seemed like they were in two place at once…”

Yes, that is exactly it, Azula realizes. “Physically, they’re in the infirmary.” She adds quietly. “But their minds are somewhere else entirely. In a different time even.” She pauses. “It was like that.” She feels Sokka’s hold on her tighten.

Katara’s expression softens. “That happens to our dad’s friend Bato sometimes.”

“I guess that I finally have something to discuss with Dr. Yu-Kang.”

“That’s a start.” Katara replies. “Do you guys want some soup and jerky? Hakoda is heating it up.”

“Food sounds nice.” Sokka replies. "Let her heal you first." Azula scolds.

"Right." He laughs. He pulls his hands out of his borrowed parka and with them falls a few pieces of folded parchment.

Azula swipes them up while he peels layers of clothing off. Katara brings the healing water to his chest. "You're angry with me."

"You just burned my brother." Katara snaps.

"I didn't mean to...I just..."

"You like controlling people, maybe you can try to control yourself."

Azula opens her mouth, a quip at the ready.

"Please don't argue with her." Sokka groans.

"She is the one..." Azula starts.

"You are the one who throws fire at everything that bothers you."

"I haven't thrown any at you." She hisses.

"You guys..."

"What's stopping you?" Katara asks. "You've never hesitated before."

"Kat, I have a chest that needs healing."

"You wouldn't if someone could keep herself in check."

Azula flinches. This is going to end just as it had on their boat ride to the Fire Nation. Her face falls, perhaps she is simply meant to remain an outcast. It might be that they were all just waiting for her to hurt someone so that they'd have an excuse to begin hating and punishing her for the things that she can't remember. She stands abruptly, this time it is Katara who flinches. Azula can see her poising the water for a strike. It is hardly necessary, she bunches up the pieces of parchment and begins to make her way out of the shelter.

"Azula, don't go." Sokka tries. "Tell her that she can stay, Kat. I'm not angry with her, we've already talked about this. I told her that you'd understand."

"Clearly she's still dangerous."

"She's not." Sokka insists on her behalf. Azula stands rigidly, fighting an impulse to shift awkwardly. "She worried about you guys finding out about this. She feels bad about it."

Azula swallows, not entirely comfortable with him sharing her privet thoughts. In light of the situation she decides to give him a pass.

"It was a stressful situation. I shouldn't have caught her off guard."

Azula shakes her head. "It's my fault Sokka."

Again, Katara's expression grows sympathetic. "You're acknowledging that."

"I'll keep doing so if you acknowledge that I'm not some sort of twisted sadist." Decidedly she is at least a twisted, sure. Twisted and damaged and hard to reassure. But she has trouble seeing herself as a sadist.

"I guess that a sadist would look that upset about hurting someone." Katara admits.

Azula allows herself to relax if a little.

"See, was that so hard?" Sokka asks.

"Do you have to be so patronizing?" Katara rolls her eyes.

As she brings her focus back on healing him, Azula unfolds the papers. Katara is still muttering about Sokka's quip but Azula finds that her discovery takes precedence. They can resume their banter later. "Sokka…" she trails off. "This is a map." She skims the next one. "These are details on the whereabouts of their main facility."

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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captainsolare · 4 years

Text

Unspoken Words Chapter 7: Coffee

fic masterlist

warnings: angst angst angst, like a lot, I’m so sorry, cursing,

It was late afternoon when Bakugo arrived at the coffee shop they were meeting at. He went to the counter and ordered, picking a table in the corner by the window to sit at while he waited for his order and for Deku. “Hey. I’m here, table in the corner by the window.” he texted. “Okie dokie! Be there soon.” Deku replied, but Bakugo didn’t know that he had no intention of showing up at all.

Fifteen minutes passed, then an hour, then two, clouds were moving in. Bakugo kept sending messages, each one making him feel more impatient and desperate as the time passed. It was 6:30 when he finally gave up, suddenly feeling like his hours in Kirishima’s room last night writing and writing and throwing the papers of what he was going to say at the trash can because they just didn’t seem good enough, felt useless. He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Deku wouldn’t show up, but still, he had gotten his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, he could have gotten them on the path to fixing things. Katsuki knew that he’d screwed up in the past with his childhood friend, the bitter words he had spoken to him rattled in his brain, and the physical harm made him sore, even though it was the past him who had inflicted that pain.

He exited the coffee shop, and looking up at the darkening sky, made a call to Deku on his cell phone. Straight to voicemail. “Dammit.” he said aloud, causing the woman entering the shop to give him a judging sideways glance. He was too upset to care about her though, the machine beeped, and he cleared his throat, “Hey. Deku.” his voice cracked painfully, pathetically. “I guess I really messed up didn’t I? I-I’m sorry, for everything. I was going to tell you this in person but you obviously don’t want that… so I’ll stay away if that’s what you want. Just hear me out okay? I just want to have a serious conversation with you.” With each word he spoke, a raindrop fell on his cheek from above, and when he was finished pouring out his heart to a boy that would never listen to him, he couldn’t tell if it was the rain that was salty, or his tears.

Bakugo pulled up the hood from his hoodie to try to protect him some from the rain as he walked back to campus, but it didn’t do much to stop the rain from getting through, chilling him to the bone. As he walked, he felt a painful sense of loss, as if something had ended before it had even begun.

Uraraka was lying in bed listening to music when Midoriya entered her room. “Deku? What are you doing here? Don’t you have to meet up with Bakugo soon?” Midoriya met her question with a grimace, “Yeah, I just don’t want to go.” Uraraka gave him a pointed look, “So you’re just going to ditch him after all the work Kirishima and I did to help you guys? Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?” Midoriya rolled his eyes, “Honestly, no I don’t.” “So you don’t want to fix things? I thought that was the whole point of meeting up with him. That’s why Kirishima and I tried to help. Didn’t you say in the message that you sent him that you wanted to be his friend?”

“I never asked for your help Uraraka! I didn’t ask for anyone else to get involved either. I was perfectly content ignoring him and then you decided to butt into my personal problems. I don’t have to do anything, there’s nothing for me to fix because I did nothing wrong. I’m not going and that’s that.” “Oh. So you think this is my fault? I was trying to help you feel better.”

Midoriya’s phone chimed. “Is that him?” Uraraka asked. “So what if it is? Why do you care about him so much?” “Because he’s my classmate, and supposedly your childhood friend, and I’d like him to be my friend too.” At that, Midoriya scoffed. “Friends? With him? You must be joking. Do you even know anything about him? Does he even know who you are?” “So what if I don’t! That doesn’t mean I can’t want to get to know him better. You should at least give him the courtesy of hearing him out.” “No. I said I’m not going, I don’t have to be courteous to anyone, especially people who butt into my problems unasked.”

Uraraka was shocked that he was acting this way, tears started to prick in her eyes. “What’s gotten into you Deku? Why are you acting like this?” “I don’t know Uraraka, maybe I’m just done with the whole nice guy act.” “Get out of my room.” “What?” “I said get out. You don’t get to act this way towards me and stay.” “Fine.” “Fine.” Midoriya left, leaving Uraraka alone with her tears.

Kirishima was at his desk when he heard a pounding knock on his door; he opened it to find a rain-soaked Bakugo at his door. “Dude, are you okay?” he asked, letting his friend come inside. As soon as the door was shut, Katsuki collapsed into a sobbing mess against it, all the pain and regret he had been beating himself up over ever since he got that text message only coming out as shaking shoulders and gasping breaths. His head was pounding, his heart was pounding, and everything hurt on the inside. He tried to speak but all the words were caught in his throat, and he couldn’t force them to claw their way out.

“Hey! Hey! Katsuki you’re scaring me, are you okay?” Kirishima asked, trying to help his defeated friend off the floor; when it proved unsuccessful, he decided his best course of action was to sink to the floor next to him and just hold him. He tried to stroke his shoulder soothingly. “It’ll be okay, just breathe. In and out. In and out.” Bakugo tried to follow his directives, but he was still gasping. “He-he never showed up.” Bakugo managed to choke out, not even caring that Kirishima had used his first name. “Oh.”

Once Bakugo had calmed down, Kirishima gave him some dry clothes to wear and a towel to dry his hair. Kirishima had convinced him to move to the rug instead of sitting in the doorway. “I’ll be right back. Feel free to use the bathroom to change, and you can take a hot shower if you want. I’ll have tea ready for you when you get out.” Bakugo only nodded, fearing he’d cry again if he tried to speak again.

Kirishima returned, tea in hand, to find a freshly showered Bakugo asleep on his rug. “Guess he must have tired himself out.” he thought, setting the tea cups on his desk. Stooping, he grabbed a blanket from under his bed and draped it over his sleeping friend. Kirishima sat on his bed and watched him sleep for a while, sincerely hoping Bakugo was going to be okay. He had never seen Bakugo so emotionally vulnerable before, and it made him concerned to say the least. “Well, at least he came to me and didn’t try to go fight someone.” he thought, “Maybe I can convince him to go to the festival with the group tomorrow to take his mind off things.”

Kirishima soon drifted off as well, but Bakugo woke up soon after. Bakugo felt disoriented when he awoke, finding himself on a floor not quite remembering the events that had led to him passing out on said floor. Suddenly he noticed Kirishima asleep on the bed and it all came flooding back. “Oh no. I really showed him how weak I am, didn’t I?” he thought. Bakugo gathered his wet clothes from the bathroom, and tried to leave quietly, but stole a glance at probably his best friend in the world as he was asleep. “Thank you.” He whispered, closing the door softly behind him.

Kirishima awoke to a ding on his phone, Mr. Nitroglycerin had uploaded a new cover, Coffee by Havelin. Excitedly he listened, but as he processed the lyrics he soon came to a realization, the mysterious Mr. Nitroglycerin was not so mysterious after all. “Oh.” He whispered, he pulled up all the previous covers and their lyrics on his computer. One by one he listened to and read them. Always, I’ll care then Navy Blue then Tell Me How and finally, Coffee. “Oh shit. It’s been him all along. And these are all about Midoriya.” He wrestled with this new information, and tried to figure out what he should do. He decided that the best course of action was to not tell him that he knew, Bakugo was probably already embarrassed enough about the night’s events, no need to add something else to the pile.

Uraraka walked straight to the door and knocked before she lost her resolve, “Alright Uraraka, you’ve got this. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.”

Bakugo jumped at the knock on his door, he quickly checked in the mirror to make sure it wasn’t obvious he’d been crying again and when he was satisfied he opened the door. Upon seeing that it was Uraraka outside his door, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or sad to see that it wasn’t Kirishima standing there. “What do you want Pink Cheeks?” He asked, but there was no bite behind it. She looked at him, cheeks stained from what looked like tears. She thought she saw a flash of concern in his eyes, and it spurred her on.

“What I want is for you to be my date for the festival tomorrow.” She answered simply, no trace of nervousness in her voice. “Wh-what?” Bakugo sputtered, this was the last thing he was expecting. “Why me? Don’t you have anyone else who can take you? I wasn’t even planning on going.” “Because, I was going to go with Deku. I know what he did to you today and I’m mad at him for being immature about it. Plus, going with Iida or Todoroki or any of the other boys wouldn’t have the same effect on him as going with you.” Bakugo narrowed his eyes, “What’s that supposed to mean?” “This is letting him know that I’m siding with you in this situation. Besides, I trust you to treat me to a good time.” She answered evenly, not backing down.

Too tired to discuss it any longer, and realizing this benefitted him as well since he could avoid Kirishima and Deku, he relented. “Okay, it’s a date then. I’ll pick you up at your room at 7. Good night.” he grumbled, closing the door in her face.

As soon as the door shut, Uraraka let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding. Little did she know, Bakugo was doing the same thing. “My first date,” he muttered, “And I didn’t even get to be the one to ask.” He wondered if Deku was the one that made her cry too.

#bnha fic #musician bakugo #bnha angst #katsuki bakugo #bnha fanfiction

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captainjanegay · 5 years

Note

from that prompt thing: “I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.” please!!

OK so. I just want you to know that it’s the first thing I’ve written in... a while. A looong while. Also since you haven’t include a ship, I let myself write NiallTom for the first time ever. I’ve been lowkey obsessed about them for a while and tried to write a fic but got stuck and I wanted to at least do a prompt for them. Also somehow it turned out to have almost 3k. So you see how many things could go wrong with this thingy (and they probably did). Sorry not sorry.

My Heart Dances (Niall/Tom Holland, 2.6k, fluff, mostly)

Since Harrison escorted him to his home and planted him on the couch, Tom hasn't moved an inch. In his defence, he was ordered not to walk if he didn't have to. For the last two hours or so he's been dozing off and stirring himself awake every few minutes. The pain isn’t so bad, but it still makes him wince if he moves the wrong way. Tom is glad that Haz listened to him earlier, when Tom asked his friend to leave as soon as he was safely placed on the sofa. Maybe there was more snapping at his poor friend who just wanted to help, than there was polite asking, but Tom had the right to be bitchy. What he needs now is to be miserable and alone. Or well, not exactly alone, since Tessa is curled up next to him on the tiny couch. With her snout on his stomach, she hasn't moved since Tom stumbled home.

His eyes start to drop again and he feels like this time the tiredness will finally win. But then there is a quiet knock at the door. Tom blinks, letting out a small sigh and Tessa raises her head, looking across the room. After giving it a moment of thought, Tom decides to ignore whoever’s on the other side. It’s probably Harrison. If ignored for too long, his friend will probably let himself in with the spare key Tom gave him at some point.

A minute passes and there’s more knocking and then a voice that makes Tom’s heart skip a beat. “Tom? Come on, I know you’re there.”

Tessa lets out a happy bark and runs towards the door, her nails scraping on the floor.

“Hello, Tess,” Niall says through the door. “Can you please go and drag him out of bed for me? I know he listens to you, pretty girl.”

Tessa barks in response, jumping at the door and then runs back to Tom. Her big eyes are trained on him as she lets out a single bark that sounds a bit demanding. It actually makes Tom chuckle under his breath.

Another soft knock is followed by Niall’s, “Please, Tom. I know what happened, Harrison told me.”

Tom only sighs and rubs at his forehead. He knew that Niall would worry and he also knew that Haz will be rubbish at keeping his mouth shut. It’s not really like Tom didn’t want Niall to know what happened. But the more Tom thought about it, he realised that he may have overreacted a bit. After all, it is only a mildly sprained ankle and Tom will be back on the dancefloor soon enough. But it also is the worst possible time for any injury. So he had all the rights be overly emotional and full on crying when he stumbled into the pub next to his dance studio. Tom just hoped he’d quickly find Harrison and ask his friend to drive him to the hospital. But of course it was Niall who has spotted him first. He basically run around the counter, ignoring the customer and within a second he was putting his arm around Tom, leading him toward the nearest chair. Tom was in too much pain - both physical and emotional - to answer any of Niall’s questions and he just asked if he could get Harrison. Then they left and Tom didn’t even say goodbye, which was kind of a dick move since Niall was obviously worried.

It was shit to learn that you’ll probably lose your first role in the bloody English National Ballet production due to an injury. It was also shit to be seen by the man you fancy while your are covered in your own tears and probably some snot as well.

So Tom may be a bit embarrassed and he isn’t sure if he is ready to face Niall yet. Or anyone.

Tessa barks at him once more, apparently disappointed in his behaviour. She toddles around back to the door where Niall is still tapping in some rhythm. Persistent, that one, Tom thinks and can’t stop a small smile that appears on his face.

“Come on, babe. I didn’t get soaked wet through walking to your house for you to say no to pizza. I have beer too. I know you’re sad, so let me in.”

Niall’s voice is soft and sweet and Tom knows he’ll give up in a second or two. He’s not heartless, after all. And all his dignity has already been lost, so he probably can’t embarass himself any further.

There is a slightly bigger, more muffled thud, which - Tom guesses - can be Niall resting his head against the door and then he says, “You know that I won’t go away, so you could just let me in.”

Biting at his lower lip, Tom carefully slides off the couch. Trying not to hurt his ankle any more, he reaches for the crutch abandoned beside the couch.

He guesses he might’ve made some noise, because on the other side of the door there’s an excited gasp as Niall says, “Can it be, Tessa? Did we make it?! I knew you’re my only hope to get that silly git moving!”

Tom shakes his head at that, but he’s smiling. “Don’t insult me, Niall. It will take awhile for me to get there, so I still have plenty of time to change my mind.”

“I’m glad you’re better, love,” Niall laughs and Tom ignores the somersault his insides do at the pet name. He got used to the fact that Niall’s affectionate like this with everyone.

When he finally manages to stumble close enough to unlock the door, he’s a bit winded. Which is embarrassing considering that his studio is basically one open room with a living room/bedroom and a kitchenette/hall combo. Even these dozen steps he had to make can be a challenge when one of your legs are useless.

It was worth it, Tom decides when he is rewarder by Niall’s bright smile. He really is soaking wet, his eyes are soft and filled with worry when he looks at Tom and his smile is warm and genuine. Tom is too preoccupied by staring at Niall’s face to notice that he is holding a huge box of pizza in one hand and a bunch of beers in the other. Tessa, on the other hand, seems much more interested in the smell of salami that came with the guest than in the guest himself. Niall grins down at her when she rests his paws on his belly, trying to reach the box.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, girl. If you’d let me in, I promise to share the treats,” Niall says, raising the box out of her reach.

“Shit, sorry. Lemme just...” Tom says, reaching out to take the things from Niall.

Quite quickly it turns out that it wasn’t the wisest idea. When Tom loosens his grip on the crutch, it slips out of his hand and falls onto the floor with a loud clatter. Trying to catch it, Tom wavers slightly and accidentally puts too much pressure on his ankle. He lets out a yelp of pain and grabs at Niall’s arm, already ready to steady him.

Somehow Niall has managed to free his hands in those few seconds and one of his arms is already placed gently around Tom’s waist. “I’ve got ya,” Niall says with a small smile.

Tom feels lightheaded but he blames it on the burst of pain in his leg and not on the little dimple on Niall’s cheek. Niall completely ignores Tom’s objections and leads him back to the couch. A few moments later the small table in front of him is stacked with plates, pizza, beer and two steaming mugs of tea. Tom himself is pushed against the back of the couch, his leg put gently on a chair with a cushion to make sure he’s comfortable and with something frozen wrapped in a kitchen towel pressed to his swollen ankle. A small sigh of relief escapes his mouth as he closes his eyes for a moment and relaxes into the couch.

“Thank you,” Tom says sincerely, looking up at Niall.

Niall only shrugs, the soft smile still on his lips. It’s only then that Tom realises Niall’s hair and shirt are still damp from rain and he wants to smack himself across the head.

“Damn, I’m sorry, you must be so uncomfortable in those. Let me just—,” he makes a move to stand up, hoping he can do it with some grace.

“Na-ah,” Niall stops him. “Don’t move, you have to rest your leg. Just tell me what can I change into and I’ll manage.”

A moment later Niall comes out of the bathroom, drying his hair with the towel Tom told him to take. The shirt he picked is stretching slightly across his broad chest and Tom tries not to stare. He takes a deep breath and looks at the opposite wall when Niall drops onto the couch next to him, Tessa already nudging him to get some snuggles.

“Thank you,” Tom says after a moment. He glances at Niall and sees that he is ready to shrug it off again so he continues, “No, really. You didn’t have to come all this way in the downpour just to make sure my pathetic ass is okay.”

“You’re not pathetic, don’t even say that,” Niall says, with more seriousness that Tom expected.

“Well I did sprain my ankle just before my biggest life chance and I did weep because of it,” Tom tries to joke and he hates that his eyes prickle just at the mention of it.

Niall moves on the couch so he can face Tom. “That’s not pathetic, Tom,” he says, squeezing Tom’s arm. “I’m so sorry it happened to you and if I were in your place I would bawl my eyes out.” When Tom only snorts and shakes his head slightly, Niall adds. “Totally would! Remember when I told you about that first time I was asked to play in a pub downtown but lost my voice literally a day before? It wasn’t even a proper gig and I cried like a baby when it didn’t work out.”

Tom nods a bit absent-mindedly. “Glad there were plenty of more opportunities for you.”

He doesn’t mean to sound bitter or crabby but he’s afraid he does, a bit. Not daring to look at Niall, he focuses his eyes on his hands resting on his hips.

“Tom.”

The way Niall says his name is gentle yet firm enough to make Tom look up. Niall’s arm slides up Tom’s arm and rests on his shoulder, Niall’s thumb resting against his collarbone.

“You’re gonna have tons of chances, too. I know how huge it is for you and I’m so proud and happy you’ve got a part. It fucking sucks that you might not be able to take it. But there’s still time before rehearsals start. And the whole world is waiting for you after you recover, because you’re an incredible dancer and nothing will change that.”

Tom feels his face going warm and he wants to turn his gaze away, to hide it, but he can’t. There’s something in the way Niall’s eyes are looking at him that makes him pinned to the spot.

“You just have to take care of yourself and rest, and let your ankle heal properly. And you can bloody bet I’ll keep an eye on you to make sure you’re taking it easy.” Niall points a cautionary finger at him, making Tom laugh. “Then you will be able to go conquer the world, be the famous ballet master that you deserve to be and forget all about your wanna-be musician friend.”

Niall is still grinning at him, but Tom shakes his head, amazed.

“Not happening,” he says with a smile.

“Totally happening! Metropolitan Opera, American Ballet Theatre, Paris Opera Ballet - they’re all gonna fight for you!”

“That is…,” Tom furrows his brows and chuckles. “An interesting, yet quite improbable image. But I didn’t mean that. I meant the part about forgetting you.”

Niall’s smile flatters. “Oh?” he lets out.

“How could I? You’re… so much more than a wanna-be musician friend to me.”

With pride, Tom notices that this is Niall’s time to be flustered and blushing. He feels as if a wave of warmth is spreading through his body from where Niall’s thumb gently caresses his collarbone and it takes all his willpower to suppress a shudder. Tom watches as Niall takes a deep breath and swallows, before he glances back at Tom, just for a moment, and then turns his head.

“You know…,” Niall starts, as if he’s considering something. “It really sucks that you’ve just sprained your ankle.”

Tom furrows his eyebrows, a bit confused at this statement. He chuckles to release some tension that has built up in him and asks, “You think?”

“Yeah, cause— For quite a while I’ve been trying to work up the courage and maybe, you know… ask you out on a date or something,” Niall says trying to keep his tone casual like they’re discussing the weather. Tom’s heart is beating too loud for him to pick up the shaky note in the apparent coolness. “You not being able to walk kinda complicates things.”

Staring wide-eyed at Niall, Tom opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to come up with anything sensible to say. After a moment he forgets about the sensible, trying to say anything at all. It feels like his brain froze. When Niall sends him a glance, Tom finally stutters, “I… What you just— You mean—?”

“What I mean,” Niall lets out a shaky chuckle and turns back to face Tom. “Is that I’ve been fancying you for quite a while and I have no idea why I am telling you this now but if you don’t believe I am the crying type, I’m probably gonna prove you wrong if you say no. That’s not emotional blackmail though, in case you were wondering, so no pressure.”

Tom shakes his head in astonishment and a surprised laugh escapes his mouth. “Shut up,” he says fondly.

“I’m trying, it’s the anxiety talking.”

Instead of answering, Tom cups Niall’s face in his hands and pulls him closer. His smile makes it hard to place a kiss on Niall’s lips but he eventually manages to do that. Niall leans away, just a bit and blinks, his face still so close that Tom could count his freckles if his eyes weren’t skipping from his eyes to his lips and back. A slow, bright smile blooms on Niall’s face and he moves his hand so his thumb traces the line of Tom’s jaw when they kiss again. And again. Tom tries to shift on the couch to get a better angle, but he hisses in pain when he accidentally moves his ankle.

“See?” Niall pulls away after one more kiss. “This is what I meant when I said you’re complicating things.”

His dimpled smile and fondness in his eyes make it obvious that he is far from being serious. Trying to safely move his leg into the previous position, Tom laughs and shakes his head.

“I think you’re starting off on the wrong foot blaming me like this already, Horan.”

“Well, I can make it up to you by making sure you’ll soon be able to go for that date with me, Holland. And by providing more smooches along the way.” Niall says.

“Smooches?” Tom raises an eyebrow at the word choice.

“Loads of them,” Niall grins, leaning towards Tom again.

#nialltom #niall #tom holland #fic #my writings #it's been so long i've actually forgotten my writing tag #ah well #i don't know what it is #tried to check for typos #but it's 2.40am #an if i won't post it now #i'm gonna chicken out and pretend i've never written anything in my life #so... yeah #enjoy #dinoflangellate

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janiedean · 5 years

Note

god, youre so delusional, its pathetic.

youtube

johnny 99 is a song by Our Only Savior Bruce Springsteen, to be found in his masterpiece 1982 record Nebraska, which was wholly composed of acoustic songs concerning themes way darker than his usual and which his record company probably considered a commercial suicide back in the day - and it’s regarded by many people as his actual finest record (and objectively I agree, ngl). the song, other than being in the same stark style as the rest of the record, as in, acoustic guitar and harmonica only, in less than four minutes manages in an admirable example of synthesis, not only to tell an entire story, but to touch heavy themes such as economical crisis, the death penalty, the fact that the american government didn’t give a shit about blue collar workers way back in the seventies and arguably also that it might be a tad too easy to buy guns in the US. sounds interesting? great, then let me welcome to this evening’s episode of tumblr user janiedean explains bruce springsteen! ;)

so, shall we start? brace up because this is a wild ride.

Well they closed down the auto plant in Mahwah late that month Ralph went out lookin' for a job but he couldn't find none He came home too drunk from mixin' Tanqueray and wine He got a gun shot a night clerk now they call 'm Johnny 99

first of all: bruce again shows that he knows how to hook you in, because in four lines he has pretty much told you the bones of the story. first - and most important thing: a factory in a town in new jersey closes. it was a true fact, and in real life it was because they failed to follow environmental rules, but as back in the day there was indeed an economical crisis in the US for which a lot of factories shut down, we could fictionally assume it was for that reason as well. anyway, what matters is that the factory closes. our protagonist, ralph, who presumably works there, is fired, searches for a new job, isn’t re-hired (which was common to a lot of people who were laid off at that time, please feel free to read dale maharidge’s journey to nowhere and somewhere like america to get educated on that), proceeds to get drunk and when he’s not thinking straight he buys a gun (just like that), shoots a guy and gets a new nickname: johnny 99. why? we don’t know yet. but we know that a guy who was just doing his job and failed to be rehired lost it and shot someone... because he lost his job. hmm. but let’s go on.

Down in the part of town where when you hit a red light you don't stop Johnny's wavin' his gun around and threatenin' to blow his top When an off duty cop snuck up on him from behind Out in front of the Club Tip Top they slapped the cuffs on Johnny 99

so: after having shot the night clerk, our guy is in the part of town where you don’t stop at a red light so we can assume not the best part of it, he’s threatening to hurt himself with the gun, he gets arrested by an off duty cop, that’s it. sorry, not that much of a criminal career. but snuck up on him from behind... maybe like the closing of his factory and the fact that his life was fucked in the span of a few days? that might have been a deliberate lyrical choice, which makes you, if not sympathize with the guy, at least get how he’s feeing right now.

Well the city supplied a public defender but the judge was Mean John Brown He came into the courtroom and stared poor Johnny down Well the evidence is clear gonna let the sentence son fit the crime Prison for 98 and a year and we'll call it even Johnny 99

at this point, of course johnny goes to trial. he gets a public defender (which from what I gather tends to be shitty) and a judge whose nickname is mean, from which we can surmise that the stacks against him are bad regardless. the judge comes into the courtroom and stares poor johnny down, and at this point it’s obvious that we’re meant to sympathize with him, not with the judge, who is *mean* and stares down at the guy before even sitting down at this point. so, the judge says that the evidence is there, and his sentence is 99 years of prison.

which is why he’s re-baptized johnny 99 as we had seen in the beginning. now, 99 years is pretty much life, since this guy must have been at least older than twenty to work in a car factory. rough.

A fistfight broke out in the courtroom they had to drag Johnny's girl away His mama stood up and shouted "judge don't take my boy this way" Well son you got a statement you'd like to make Before the bailiff comes to forever take you away

this verdict does not indeed please johnny’s family/loved ones, as a *fistfight* breaks out and they have to forcibly remove his girlfriend, while his mother pleads the judge to not take her boy this way, presumably crying, which means that again, we are supposed to see that he has relatives who love him and would cry for him and so maybe he’s not a bad guy deep down. sure, we haven’t heard his side yet, but we know his girlfriend loves him enough to try to beat up the guards and his mother pleads for another solution... which is denied, and the judge actually replies with the last two lines, which sound fairly rude and insensitive especially given that the bailiff is coming to forever take him away. but it’s as if the judge has decided that since the guy isn’t rich or matters much in the great scale of things, it’s an already done thing and fuck that. ouch.

Now judge I got debts no honest man could pay The bank was holdin' my mortgage and they was takin' my house away Now I ain't sayin' that makes me an innocent man But it was more 'n all this that put that gun in my hand

aand wait, here finally our dude finally speaks for himself. first: he had debts no honest man could pay, which means that losing his job fucked his finances for good and he was deep in the red. the bank was taking his house away, which was another thing that was extremely common back in the day (same as in the twenties haha) (read those maharidge books for more info) and so he was going to become homeless because he couldn’t find another job and had no other safety net to fall back on. he doesn’t try to argue for his innocence because he did kill a man so he’s not really downplaying it, but then he adds that ‘it was more than all of that which put a gun in his hand’, which means that it was losing his job, losing his money, possibly losing his house, being unable to provide for his family and feeling most likely useless and like he couldn’t do anything anymore with his life. and that puts the gun in his hand. he didn’t do it because he enjoyed it, he did it because he saw no other way, and none of that was considered in the *evidence*, which means he got a trial where his circumstances weren’t even taken into account. but that’s not the heaviest blow this song deals. that one’s the ending:

Well your honor I do believe I'd be better off dead And if you can take a man's life for the thoughts that's in his head Then won't you sit back in that chair and think it over judge one more time And let 'em shave off my hair and put me on that execution line

HAAAAA BUT JUST YOU WAIT. so: he thinks he’s be better off dead, which admittedly is fair of him, idk if I’d take 99 years (so: entire life and death) in a US prison over just being done with it already, and after all if he has no job, no house, no money and no prospects, what does he have to lose? and fine enough, but here’s the gist: if the judge can take a man’s life for the thoughts in his head, ie if the judge thinks he can condemn him to 99 years in prison ie rotting in there until he dies for what he thought and not giving a fuck about why he thought that or why he did what he did... then he welcomes the judge to ‘sit back in that chair’ (which is already pretty damn wording because it sarcastically implies the judge is in a higher position and nothing can hurt him in the chair while everything can hurt johnny 99 and everything has done so already) and have the balls to give him the death penalty instead of condemning him to die but pretending to have been merciful and only giving him time in prison that he can’t possibly serve before he dies. so he’s basically raising the judge (representing the system that betrayed him) the middle finger because if the judge/the system have ruined his life then they should at least have the courage to end it instead of condemning him to be a prisoner for the entirety of it.

now: that’s it. there’s nothing else. there’s no lesson, there’s no moral, that’s how it ends, it’s bleak and sad and it doesn’t really give you any silver lining... because there’s no silver lining and it’s unjust to live in a society where losing your job means losing your life *and* you will be automatically judged for the thoughts in your head without a chance to prove that you can be better or meant better or could make up for it.

no, it’s one mistake out of reasons beyond your control that you would actually pay for, and hey, thrown in jail with the keys thrown away. what an enlightened, beautiful, just system, the system that judges a man for the thoughts that are in his head, huh?

and actually, bonus story: this story is tied to bruce’s biggest BDE display ever, as when reagan became president and was running for re-election in 1984, he thought to quote bruce’s (sadly misunderstood) song born in the usa in a speech in nj. at that point bruce said nothing for a bit, but then:

guys, what a man, what an idol, what a class. no, sure af reagan did not listen to nebraska nor johnny 99.

and, given how you, my dear anon, also judge people by the thoughts that are in their heads and proceed to be their jury, judge and executioner, both fictional people and real ones, if you’re who I think you are (and I actually know you are)... I’ve got a feeling that neither have you. and I really think you should, same as everyone because bruce is the best ;)

#bruce springsteen for ts #bruce meta #i need to go and tag back all the other ones #oooooh my hand slipped #SORRY!!!!#va bene va bene va bene in verità #here please listen to nebraska #it's totally a good use of your time!!!!#murder cw #death penalty cw #Anonymous #ask post

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karaliswrites · 5 years

Text

Hero

This is terrible and has spoilers

~~~~~

When emerald eyes meet ocean blue, Eren knows he wants to talk. There’s a solemn, perhaps even stern, look on his face and he gulps nervously. So much has happened to them in the span of so little minutes that Eren is surprised at how much his stomach churns. He supposes it’s the fact that he can sense Armin’s anger, the spark of fire in his eyes that he’s only seen on a few occasions. But he still doesn’t think it’s something to be as afraid of as he pathetically and selfishly is.

It’s after Heichou’s plan to make Historia the queen that they have a second to themselves. And almost as soon as the conversation is over, Armin’s gripping him by the sleeve and pulling him around the corner and out of sight from the others. Once they’re alone in the dark, secluded alleyway, he’s being thrown forwards a bit more roughly than he’d like. Though given the fact that any form of malignancy from Armin is enough to make his heart ache, he supposes it doesn’t really matter. He stumbles as he tries to catch himself and once he does, he turns to see his eyes downcast. “What the hell, Eren?” he says with a cool shakiness that makes him swallow despite himself. “Armin.”

He rushes forward, giving him a curt shove. “What the hell?!”

“Armin, I —” he tries, but soon his tongue is tripping over itself and no words are able to form on his lips. “What were you thinking?!” he yells, his fists taking half-hearted swings at Eren’s shoulders. “What was that about sacrificing yourself?! That saving humanity shit?! I can’t believe you!”

“Armin, calm down!” he says, trying to cease the attack on his chest. He manages to take hold of Armin’s wrists and hold him steady despite his struggles against his grip. He eventually stops and catches his breath, his fists no longer trembling in resistance. “Why . . . ?” he mutters, and his voice sounds broken. “Why did you . . . ?”

“Armin . . . look at me . . . .”

He raises his head, however hesitantly, and when emerald meet ocean, he feels his heart shatter. Tears flood from sapphire pools and roll hotly down his cheeks. The sheer agony in his eyes only adds to the exponential hatred he has for himself. Everything is his fault. It always was. “I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am. They think with my powers, I can save humanity, but they’re wrong. If . . . if I let Rod Reiss eat me . . . if I restored the power to its rightful place, maybe humanity would actually stand a chance.”

“Eren, those were just things Reiss said to get through to Historia. He needed her completely on his side and if she saw him as a victim in all this, she would be. You can still save humanity without their bloodline.”

“How can you be so sure?!” he snaps without thinking. He sees him flinch, but only slightly. It still makes his stomach drop. “For all we know, he could’ve been right about all that! And even if he’s not, what chance do I have of saving us?! If anyone should be the hero, it should be Levi or Mikasa — anyone who’s strong enough to be there when they’re needed most! All I ever do is fuck things up even more than they already have been!”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?!” he shouts, taking fistfuls of the front of his shirt and Eren’s listening now. “Do you know how much you’ve done for us?! How much faith humanity has in you?!”

He hangs his head and mumbles, “How much faith I have in you . . . ?”

Eren feels his lungs constrict in his chest, rendering him completely helpless as he struggles to get enough oxygen. “You’re not a mistake, Eren,” he says and he’s left speechless at the fact that he’s seemingly telepathic. The exact thoughts flashing through his mind had somehow become clear to Armin and Eren wonders why it’s always been that way. But deep inside him, he thinks he knows. He just doesn’t want to. “I know how hard it is to think you’re useless. To think that everyone around you is so much more capable and to wonder why you even deserve to be here. I’ve felt it all before and I completely understand.”

Armin’s fingers loosen their grip on the fabric of his shirt slightly. “My entire life, I’ve felt like a burden. To Mikasa, to the corps, to everyone. But especially to you.”

He looks up with a sad smile, tears still steady as they run past his lashes and down his cheeks. “I always thought you were the key humanity needed to survive. To eradicate the titans. You had bravery and strength while I had nothing. I thought . . . you hated me.”

Eren wants to tell him that isn’t true — that it never was and never would be. But his mouth isn’t moving and besides, he thinks Armin already knows. “But I realized something.”

He blinks, letting another tear fall across his skin. “It didn’t matter what I thought of myself as long as you still had faith in me.”

His stomach flips, but this time it isn’t out of fear. “No matter what happened, you were always willing to entrust your life to me and that was all I needed. Even if I felt like I didn’t matter to anyone, I always remembered the times you showed me that I did to you.”

He takes a step closer into Eren’s personal space and his breath hitches. “So even if it doesn’t mean anything to you, I . . . . You’ve always been a hero in my eyes. You always have been and probably always will be. And no matter what comes our way, no matter what obstacles we might face, just know that you’re a hero. You’re my hero.”

He can’t restrain his tears as they slip from his eyes and he’s suddenly pulling Armin into an embrace he thinks he needed. The blond’s arms wrap instinctively around him and he buries his nose in golden hair, taking in his scent and feeling himself relax a little. “Armin . . . ,” he mutters, holding the embrace a bit longer before pulling away. He brings his hand to press against his cheek, wiping away his stray tears. “Thank you,” he says sincerely. Armin smiles and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning forwards and pressing their lips together. He kisses him back tenderly, wrapping his arms around Eren’s neck like a lifeline. Their lips slide together like they were meant for each other, prefect and everlasting. There’s a hint of serendipity Eren thinks, but it isn’t necessarily that. Nothing about the way their hands pull each other closer, all their passion and grief melting away in one glorious kiss, is anywhere near serendipity. It’s more like destiny — like a rope that’s tied them together from the start that they’ve now discovered had them connected. A revelation, an epiphany, a realization that things had always been this way and they were either too young or too dumb to notice. Perhaps a little of both.

But despite how long they’ve waited for this moment, it has to come to an unfortunate end and they both take a moment to catch their breath. But then Armin pokes a finger to Eren’s chest and says, “So next time you think about sacrificing yourself, you should consider other people’s feelings.”

“Oh? And how do other people feel?” he finds himself asking with a grin and he’s amazed at how the conversation went from serious to playful because of a kiss. “Other people think you’d be stupid to do something like that and if for some reason it went wrong, they’d be drowning in misery.”

“That seems a bit intense, doesn’t it?”

“You know there are people who love you right?”

“Are there?” he asks with mock innocence and the blond rolls his eyes fondly, his fingers toying with the hair at his nape. “Yes, in fact, there are.”

“Does one of them happen to think of me as their hero?”

“Shut up,” he laughs, giving Eren’s lips another peck. “You aren’t allowed to use that against me.”

“So you love me, eh?” he avoids the question and giggles at the pout Armin gives him. He kisses his frown before pulling away to bring him into another hug. “Of course I do,” he mutters eventually and Eren can’t help smiling into his hair. “I love you too,” he says and it’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. And now that years of unspoken words have finally been said, everything seems a little less impossible.

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datoneidiot · 5 years

Text

Of Paintings and Actors

This was supposed to be a quick 3k fic for @coconut-cluster‘s Sander Sides Hogwarts Au but it turned into a 9k mess. I ended up putting a lot of focus on the Roman Vents To Paintings into it but it’s based off of an anon’s submission: What if Roman asked Virgil to the Yule Ball but thinking that Roman wouldn’t ask him anyways and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he know going aloNe, Virgil gets asked by someone else and we get to witness Roman’s heartbreak.

Very Roman centric, lots of one specific painting, Prinxiety and background Logicality, very long. Im not terribly happy with it but I hope you enjoy!

“I was the only one who didn’t pass the Arithmancy test. It’s like, everytime i go into a room they all turn away and-- I can hear them laughing! They’re not even trying to pretend they’re not-- they won’t help me! I study as much as them, i study more than them but i'm still not smart enough, I’ll never be--”

The painting above the distraught Ravenclaw wished she could do more than just listen but there isn’t anything else to do when you’re stuck behind portraits.

“Now don’t say that. The Sorting Hat decided what house it believed was best for you.”

“What does creativity have anything to have to do with intelligence, Circe?”, Roman wiped at his wet face with the red blanket Virgil had so generously made for his birthday in their second year. No one in his house had even gifted him with a quick Happy Birthday, choosing to ignore the birthday sash he wore all day-- the one he spent a week on making. Roman didn’t know if he cried that night because of how warm his friend’s smiles were or because of how lonely he felt the second the tower door shut behind him.

He looked down at his ice cream tub, desperate for some food comfort, only to realize that his eyes were too watery to even see the spoon. How pathetic.

Roman scoffed, scooping yet another spoonful into his mouth and watching yet another tear fall onto the Magical, Wonderful School of Wizardry’s cold and simple wooden floor.

“I would make a great, uh what are they? They sing and dance and uh shake-- um spear? Spear...the guy who wrote those plays in theater? The muggles doing them? They...pretend to be someone they aren’t?”

Circe felt her painted heart break with each of the cracks and sobs Roman just managed to keep leveled. The only reason she would’ve even caught them was how often he visited her at midnight in her hidden room.

“I believe you mean an actor, dear?”

And the sad truth was he really would be a great actor.

In his first year Roman was actually excited for the new adventure that awaited him in Hogwarts School of Magic. He used to be so eager to learn magic and make friends and to actually be apart of something. Instead he learned how to walk in a full room and act like he can’t hear the snickers and whispers, how to use water resistant makeup to hide the embarrassing bags under his eyes from studying all night, how to blink away the stinging pain behind his eyes when he got a grade unworthy of his house name, how to break down without making a sound in bathroom stalls and at three in the morning but he still couldn’t get used to the horrible aching feeling of just wanting to be accepted. Of just wanting a hug.

“Yes! I can't even remember what I basically am! I don't..know..who i am..”

Circe had meet his friends before. Logan was leaving from what was probably the kitchen guessing by the bag of treats he was carrying. The Slytherin was quick and precise in his walk, a comfortable pink resting over the smile on his face. He gave a polite nod and apologized for disrupting her by roaming around so late. She wished him a safe trip back to his house. Patton was sweeter than a bag of sugar. He and Roman had passed by before and it only took five minutes for her to understand why Roman had called him Padre so often. She hadn’t met the one Roman had talked about the most. The Gryffindor seemed to be the most interesting of the bunch, especially when Roman said one his thousands of nicknames so fondly. But even Patton didn’t know how desperate Roman was to be away from his house.

Circe looks to her right, tracing over the detailed spaghetti bowl in it’s own, smaller portrait. Each noodle was defined, every mark on the bowl was carefully planned, there were even smaller containers of side options for the pasta and the longer she looked the more life she found.

The color scheme even match hers.

“You're the few who value other people’s feelings and thoughts at the same level as your work.” Though you value their thoughts on your work too much. “I've seen their ways, desperate enough to stab each other in the back just to get top grades on essays. You are intelligent, in your own way. You belong there.”

Another set of tears trailed down his face and Roman rubbed them away quickly, soft laughs barely making a sound in the secret room hidden by the Great Hall at ungodly hours.

He clutched the red blanket to his chest. “Thanks Circe. You’re always there to save my day.”

“If i could i’d turn the whole lot of them into pigs. Imagine how surprised all their dates would be when they found out they were going to dance with a boar during the Yule Ball.”

Roman’s boisterous laugh echoed in the hall, nearly knocking over his forgotten ice cream tub. And it’s bittersweet because only in the dead of night in an abandoned hallway he can laugh like this but in the common rooms during the day he’s too annoying. He’s alone either way. He wasn’t entirely alone though, he could be himself with his friends. If he ignores the growing voice in his head telling him he’s too annoying for them too.

“I was actually thinking of um, asking Virgil if he’d like to...go with me--” Roman looked down at the blanket he was hugging, tracing over the castle emblem Virgil added in a corner. It was red and gold, Roman’s two favorite colors. He marveled at how different they were from blue and white. It felt like it was made from warmth and love, like Virgil was actually there hugging him and telling him that he’s important and ok. Like he wasn’t talking to a dead witch painted by magic, taught to behave like the person they actually aren’t. He just wanted to be someone worth being proud of.

The sinking realization made him nauseous.

Circe wasn’t even a real person. Or at least, wasn’t anymore. Everything she would ever say to comfort him was the personality she was taught. She’s a painting. All of them were.

There wasn’t anyone joking about turning dates into pigs.

There wasn’t anyone supporting him.

There wasn’t anyone believing he’s good enough.

There wasn’t anyone saving him from himself.

There wasn’t anyone who loved him.

There wasn’t anyone listening when he cries about his stupid problems at three am in an abandoned hall.

No one was actually proud of him.

He’s alone.

It’s just him, projecting his stupid feelings into a blanket, abandoned in a hall. The love wasn’t coming from anyone but himself. He didn’t even feel love for himself.

“--but as friends! It was Emile’s idea of course, i would’ve never thought of it. I just...i don’t want to scare him. He’s...he needs to be protected and i don’t want to be the one hurting him. He needs a friend.” He sighed and put the blanket down.

Circe let her hands rest on the side of the frame. Fingers carefully tracing the wooden carving from the sides inching to the top, reaching for the side facing Roman. Ten precise dancers were unable to grace the top, an invisible barrier kept her trapped in the painting. Her fingers fell back to their spot, hands useless and arms empty. Circe growled. Neither of them could move past the truth the wooden rectangle held.

“You need a friend.”

A barely noticeable flinch shakes Roman’s world like an earthquake. The crack of thunder emits from an ice cream tub falling over, echoing through the school.

“You need to tell them everything.”

And this sounds worse than knowing he has nothing. Because he has something and he’s been so ungrateful of them. Logan, Patton and Virgil…

Passionate debates over which forms of magic are the best and lazy over-lunch conversations over which poetic elements are the worst, baked sweets during study sessions and random hugs after classes, snarky comments over Disney and emo bands and playful teasing during quidditch games, hidden smiles memorized and the imprint of purple and gray clouds and safety.

He has them, he has enough, he should have enough and he’d risky it all by saying they weren’t? That Patton’s broken heart over being called a filthy mudblood, Logan’s inability to move past his human imperfections and Virgil’s anxiety waiting to drag him down were so much worse yet he couldn’t even survive this alone?

That he lied to them for years everytime he said he was fine?

And he couldn’t forget Emile, Sabrina and Damien...

“No. I can’t bother them with stupid things, they have bigger problems than me to deal with and i can’t add on to it, they shouldn't have to suffer because me--”

“You help them with their problems...don’t you think they’d like to help you?”

Roman’s face screwed into uncertainty, “I don’t know…”

“They deserve to know Roman. They’re your friends, not the Ravenclaws.” Circe watched him fiddle with a faded corner on his robe. It was long faded from earlier in the year. Each year the one specific corner gets faded quicker than the last.

“You belong with them. You can talk to them, they accept you. Virgil wouldn’t hate you if you asked him, i'm sure you two will have a great time at the Ball.”

Roman’s eyes shined with unshed tears and a mix of doubt and hope, “You really think so?”

And for a second he silenced that stupid voice in his head telling him they won’t, he can’t--

“I will. Well, i mean, i’ll ask Virgil but i’d, i’d like to wait a little before telling them my uh, problems...”

Despite the fear of the future he was excited. Circe said he could, he could, he’s going to ask Virgil to the Yule Ball. They’re friends with him for a reason. They accepted him and everything that came along with him. They loved him. He can do this. It’s only a question, what’s the worst that could happen?

“Thank you Circe. I-I can’t ever thank you enough.” Roman jumped up from the floor, arms opening up on instinct, a buzzing feeling of emptiness in them. He let them fall back to his sides and smiled widely at her instead.

Circe watched Roman start to leave, gathering the ice cream tub and carefully wrapping the red blanket around him.

“Roman.”

The troubled Ravenclaw wrapped in red faced her, curiosity and confusion evident. He’s very expressive, she noted, though she wondered why he was able to bring the room to life and why it was more than just the feeling of it.

“You can do this.”

Roman smiled and smiled so wide he burst into a happy shriek of laughter and quickly turned down the hall.

He could practically feel air beneath his feet as he ran. His spirits were high and he felt high, literally and figuratively. Roman looked down at his feet as he turned down the left of a hall full of empty classes and he couldn’t tell if he imagined it or not but there was a little sparkle of gold from beneath each step he took. He didn’t know why or whatever it was-- maybe he was tired from studying and staying up all night or maybe he wasn’t actually seeing things and he was doing magic without even realizing it or whatever but he focused on this feeling, this wonderful amazing feeling. The feeling of being free and empty, of being full and warmth. Of air and water and fire and stars-- everything clashing together and falling into one and being able to see something beautiful. Of being ok and excited, of colorful futures and possible endings he’s loved in, of laughing with Patton and joking around with Logan and Ravenclaws welcoming him with open arms and smiles, of dancing with Virgil and the hunger for more of it. The feeling of flying and eagerness-- the feeling of previously unknown happiness.

He can do it, he can do it, he can do it

He will be ok

And it ran through his head from his heels hitting the floor to his heart beating in his chest as he ran through blurred halls. It was too much and not enough but he had to let it out before he burst. It started with little giggles and squeals to happy laughs to happy tears.

By the time he made it to the Ravenclaw tower his face was wet and his stomach hurt. He was sure he had woken up someone with how loud he was laughing.

“Are you alright Roman?” The knocker nearly scared the pants off of Roman and he dissolved back into howls and wheezes.

“No, no I’m fine I just-- oh gosh, I'm sorry for being so loud.” He barely managed to say the sentence without bursting into giggles.

“I see” chirped the eagle knocker, “Are you going into the tower?”

Roman was still smiling when he reached for the golden handle, “Yes.” He knocked once and it sounded like a cannon blast. He must’ve woken everyone up, they’re going to be upset--

“You’re in a dark room but how do you get out?” The little voice recited the riddle melodically.

Who cares if they’re upset at him? He’s ok. He’s welcomed. He can do it.

“You have to stop imagining it being dark.”

Roman thanked the knob before it closed behind him.

The pain of grades, the fear of laughs, the ache of loneliness, the numbness of routine. It was gone. Even if for only this night he could live without the stinging discomfort of being red and gold instead of blue and white, he could be happy. And tomorrow would be even better! And he’ll dance his worries away and spin Virgil until he can’t stand anymore then sweep him off his feet. And every day will be happy.

Roman skipped to the stairs and pretended to offer a hand to the Gryffindor up the stairs. He twirled and spun onto his single room-- none of the Ravenclaws wanted to share a room with him-- and whirled right back on to his bed, laughing all over again.

Tomorrow was going to be perfect, he’ll make sure of it. Virgil deserves to be treated like a prince and he had to make sure he wouldn’t trigger his anxieties, so not grand but personal, something that's special to him.

A million ideas spin in his head as he did before. It’s loud and quiet, mixed with the colors of the brightest roses and the coolest lavenders, softly drizzling like rain hitting a window. Sometimes it’s too much for Roman, alone in his room with his thoughts. It’s too big and it’s too small and he just doesn’t fit but now-- thoughts of gray and little smiles flood in, similar to warm blankets and faded robe corners and old an old stitched sweater left at home ground him.

With a gasp, Roman shot up out of his bed. He knows exactly how to ask him.

He would have to use a lot of magic to make it work and a lot of time. His eyes scanned across the room and landed on a stack of books. Studying would have to wait, this was more important. He was more important.

Roman focused on what he wanted to make-- creative conjuring and transfiguration was a higher form of magic he hadn’t learned or tried yet. Despite having no experience, time or sleep, he wove his fingers delicately in the lonely room for hours. He absolutely could not wait for tomorrow. All he had to do was wait till their shared dinner. He could wait eight classes right?

Oh gosh he couldn’t but he’ll have to make do if he wanted to woo the edgy tempest.

He can be happy. He held onto the soft fabric beneath his fingers and laid the sweet flower on top of it before going to bed at yet another ungodly hour. They accept him.

He can do this.

…

Virgil pulled his robes tight around him. Roman usually meet them in the mornings and walked with them, why wasn’t he here? Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“Hey i'm sure he just overslept or something. You know how he is.”

Patton knew him too well. Of course, all he was known to worry about stupid little things like this. Yeah it wasn’t the first time Roman overslept, and it wouldn’t be the last time he would lose track of time but he couldn’t stop the worry bubble in his stomach. Without Roman, without consistency, it felt like everything was watching him. Watching him walk down the hall, alone, without an annoying, loud-mouthed--

“Hi Virgil, Patton, I gotta go, see you later!”

Roman ran past the duo before Virgil even had a chance to speak. Today was going to be horrible.

“Come on let’s meet up with Logan.” Patton urged Virgil, grabbing his arm and bringing him from the opposite way Roman had just abandoned them-- it was a distraction for him, Virgil knew, but he looked back to see where Roman had ran off anyways.

Roman was-- Roman...how does he even start? He’s obnoxious, loud, annoying, prideful and petty...but he was thoughtful and considerate, he was sweet, if not corny, and he distracted Virgil, focused him, on anything but the other wizards and witches in the hall, let him ruin the corner of his robe, and was always first to make sure he was ok even during stupid fights. He grounded him, and Virgil was forever grateful for it because he couldn’t even imagine going a day without Roman looking out for him and protecting himself from himself. It was a big change from keeping defenses up to letting someone else worry for him and look at him like that with those big stupid smiles, and now the Gryffindor couldn't see himself without Patton, Logan or Roman.

And it was so stupid, so so stupid. Everything was stupid-- besides Patton.

“Hey V, four, seven, eight, you can do it. In and out. Like that, good-- where’s Roman?”

And Logan.

Patton eyed Virgil and gave a weary smile to the other speckled fourth year, speaking in a softer voice, “He wasn’t able to walk us today, Virgil got a bit anxious.”

“I didn’t-- i dont want, i didn’t mean to--”

Logan placed his hands on his shoulders. “We know, it’s not something you can control, just breathe. Uh, how does Roman typically-- the Ravenclaw besides the Charms class...adores flying...with, um.. her turtle companion? Named…”, Virgil noticed how Logan’s eyes caughts Patton’s and the smile he gave him, “--Pat! Rick, uh Patrick. Patrick the...Turtle.”

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh when Logan turned an embarrassing pink. Patton giggled, “Just like Roman! I’ll see you second Lo!” and headed off for his first class.

Logan watched Patton leave, sluggishly waving a hand bye. Virgil snickered as they started walking again, “Oh my god L, that was so bad.”

“You will not tell Roman about this.” Logan said half pleading, half threatening. Virgil rolled his eyes but their smiles were still there, “Mm-hmm”

They walked in silence to their shared Potions class for a bit. Virgil pulled at the corner of his robe. “Thanks L”

Logan glanced at the shorter Gryffindor, “Of course, i'm glad to be of assistance. I’m positive you’ll see Roman in your third period.”

Virgil smiled. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

....

It was horrible. Virgil had nearly forgotten about the Yule Ball because of his panic this morning. How could he forget it? Everyone’s been raving about it for the past two weeks.

Potions with Logan was replaced by ballroom dancing with McGonagall. Logan and Virgil were separated by their houses and taken into different rooms. He felt bad for Logan, having to be with Damien alone for a whole period but he had bigger problems now.

The Gryffindors were a mess. None of them knew how to dance and Virgil couldn’t tell if he felt better because everyone was doing terribly or if he felt even worse because to him it seemed like he was the worst of the bunch. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how Logan and Patton were doing. Logan’s had experience already and Patton could pick up anything easily. They were going to have fun at dancing with each other. Virgil didn’t even have to think about how Roman was doing. He was great at any of the arts, singing, painting, dancing. Roman wouldn’t want to go to the ball with a Gryffindor with two left feet.

The thought alone of Roman dancing with him made him trip over his feet. What was he thinking? Roman wouldn’t-- he was dreaming if he thought Roman, of all people, would ask him to go to the ball with him. Virgil figured they both knew he couldn’t ask him, and Roman was the more bolder of the two, maybe he imagined Roman smiling at him like that, maybe he was just really touchy and gentle with everyone, Roman would never think of him like that but Virgil still placed it somewhere in the back of his mind that if he was going to the ball with anyone, it’d be him.

It didn’t help when he went to his third class, expecting to see his current fixation of the day waiting at the door, his eyes lighting up and the typical big grin the Ravenclaw gave him when greeted him. Roman wasn’t even at the door. Virgil walked in the class cautiously, arms tight around his books like something was going to jump out at him. He felt too open, too exposed. Roman didn’t say hi to him or explain why he was in a rush this morning. He scribbled stuff in his book and to Virgil it felt like he was intentionally avoiding looking at him.

Roman’s voice ran through his head when he answered the teacher’s question. It was taunting him. His brain short circuited right back to the basics. Roman’s avoiding him. What did he do wrong? He’s just overthinking this, Roman doesn’t hate him. He already has to worry about going to the ball and what he’s going to do and how he could possibly ask a certain Gryffindor to with him, at least as a friend. He has to stop jumping to conclusions.

The whole period was a blur of words, a clash of Roman’s voice, the lack of it, and the voice inside his head. It was a monstrous cacophony that made the whole room spin.

“Wait, Roman--”

He didn’t even turn around when Virgil called for him. He had practically scrambled to get out before everyone. Before him. When he got out of the room, kids had flooded the hall and Virgil was left to walk by himself to his next class without having a panic attack.

It didn’t get any better after that.

Virgil spent his classes distracted, worried that Roman was mad at him for something, that everyone was watching him and judging him. Why was he a Gryffindor again?

He only survived to sixth period with Roman and Damien because of Patton and Logan, but now he was alone with those two and Virgil already had enough trouble with them together.

He never really talked with Damien, he just...rubbed him wrong. He looked very similar to Patton, too similar to Patton to have such a polar personality to the literal ball of sunshine. And he wasn’t afraid to cheat or lie and he flirted with Roman every chance he got. And Roman flirted back! It drove Virgil insane, how could Roman just-- like it wasn’t anything-- and wasn’t wasting time or distracting other people.

But what was worse was the lack of stupid annoying flirting. Virgil dragged his feet, prepared to be unprepared only to see Roman and Damien talking quietly. Roman was loud and dramatic and Damien shared that trait with him-- though it was much less tolerable than Roman’s version. They weren’t being obnoxious and laughing at each other pick up lines or excessively touching each others hair and arms or complimenting each other--

Virgil popped out of his stupor, not having realize he was staring-- more like glaring-- at them. He caught Roman’s eyes. They were their normal brown but they looked different, big and worried didn’t suit him well. To Virgil, it just wasn’t Roman. And as fast as he caught them they were gone, Roman had turned away fast and Damien glanced at him. He felt his eyes burn into his brain and Virgil quickly opened his book.

Suddenly Virgil understood exactly how Logan feels about Damien.

Fuming, he tried to focus on his notes, he tried to focus so hard but all he could hear was their hushed whispers. Virgil can’t help but take another glimpse at them. He can see Damien nodding and very clearly trying to block his view of Roman. If he listens hard enough he can hear his sarcastic remarks and half-flirts and it enrages Virgil. Why would Roman-- and then he sees Roman.

He’s jittery, very jittery. He looks like a mess, he’s making sad attempts at extravagant gestures, there’s clearly bags under his eyes, he’s running his hand through his hair and jumping his leg up and down. He looks stressed, and when he sees Roman’s eyes he recognizes something. Roman’s anxious. He’s anxious about something? Damien puts a hand on his arm and speaks leveled, much more calmer than Roman. Why would Roman go to Damien of all people? But here and there after Damien says something and he can see Roman’s eyes he looks...excited. Nervous and excited and anxious. It loops in his head and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. He has to speak to Roman.

It’s agonizingly long but finally, the professor is done with his lesson and allows everyone to pack up before they have to go to their next class. Virgil closes his long forgotten, half scribbled notes and scrambles out of his seat.

He makes his way over to Roman and stops dead in his tracks when Damien glances at him again. It’s a look Virgil can’t stand, it’s one that makes him want to demand to speak and one that makes him want to run. Regardless, it’s a look of warning. A glare that screams back off. Like he was a villain. And it makes Virgil stumble back, his lower back hitting the table behind him. The chair underneath hits his lower leg and makes a loud ugly screech. He backs up. Then he runs.

Somewhere, lost in his thoughts he can faintly hear the bell ring.

Why did he ever think he could go to the Yule Ball with Roman? He’s probably going with Damien, everyone loves Roman, he’s charming, he’s funny, he’s sweet, he has this stupid, stupid smile. He’s probably gotten asked by half of the HufflePuffs and the other Gryffindors or Ravenclaws and Slytherins--

Kids flood the halls.

He’s going to be the only person he knows who’s going alone. Should he even bother going? There’s going to be so many people and dancing and-- he only imagined having fun with Roman, he was comfortable with Roman, Roman was-- he’d hate to see Roman dancing with someone else, smiling and laughing and making them feel special and important and--

Oh my god, he can’t handle this right now, there’s too many people, there’s too many people--

“Hi, Virgil?”

His head snapped up.

“I’m Ethan, we share potions and had ballroom dancing with McGonagall?”

Virgil’s anxiety skyrocketed and his stomach dropped. It wasn’t Roman, he wasn’t coming for him. Roman wasn’t going to help him.

“Well i was wondering if you’d go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Virgil didn’t even know he responded. All he heard was that same voice. Roman would never ask him, who was he kidding? He was so stupid, so stupid, what was he thinking? Why would Roman want to go with Virgil, he’s so stupid--

“The guy i wanted to go with broke his foot and i don’t want to be one of those losers who stay in their room the whole night, y’know?”

Virgil could barely see what was happening. “I--”, he nearly choked on his own breath. He couldn’t think straight enough to give an answer, “I don’t--”

“Are you already going with someone or not?”

“No--”

“Figured, you don’t seem to hang around with a lot of people. Well?”

Roman wasn’t going to ask him out anyway and he really doesn’t want to be the only person he knows going alone.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then, i got to meet up with my friends” and without a blink Ethan’s gone, leaving Virgil alone in the now empty hall.

Virgil doesn’t even know how he managed to say yes. He felt his chest tighten and he stumbled to the wall. Logan and Patton weren’t nearby and Roman--

He heaves trying to stop himself from crying. Four seven eight, four seven eight, four seven eight

At least he wasn’t going to the Ball alone.

...

Roman was convinced Lady Luck was on his side.

His mothers sent in his robes this morning and they looked absolutely wonderful. He was buzzing with energy when he woke up and the smile on his face felt real.

Roman even made sure to stash his gifts for Virgil with Circe so he can get them later. He felt bad for running past Virgil and leaving their classes fast but if he didn’t he would’ve explode and asked him right on the spot and Virgil would be pressured into saying yes and he’d be uncomfortable with everyone around and that was the last thing Roman wanted. He wanted to go so badly with Virgil but he wanted him to be happy and if waiting meant his happiness than he’d wait forever!

It was around Potions when a sudden thought struck him. Virgil could say no. Well, he knew Virgil could say whatever he wanted and he was hoping for a yes but he never considered if Virgil said no. What would he do then?

“Damien i don’t know what to do, what if he says no?”

“Then he says no. I thought not thinking about our problems with each other was our deal?”

“Damiennnn” Roman dramatically flopped on the desk.

Damien rolled his eyes, “You know i’m not good at comforting. Should’ve gone to Patton if you wanted a hug.” Roman half ran his hand through his hair and half pulled.

“Look, anyone would want to go with you. I sure wouldn’t mind.” He nudged Roman.

“Not now please.” Roman put his head down on the desk.

“Fine. You know i just like bothering racoon over there.”

“And not everyone wants to go with me, the Ravenclaws certainly don’t and Virgil might not want to either.”

“Not to vouch for him, but Patton would get mad at me if i didn’t, Virgil will say yes.”

Roman peeked up, “Really?”

Damien gave him a small smile and placed a comforting hand on his arm, “I’m sure, he gets so upset when we mess around. Besides he’d be lying to himself if think he doesn’t.”

Roman sat up again, “Thanks Damien.”

“Sure. Let’s stick to our usual way though, being nice ruins my mean face and i don’t want to be buddy buddy with racoon. I can respect your dramatic but i will not respect him, even if he’s your possible future boyfriend.”

“There’s the Damien i know. I just...i can’t help but worry over it still. What if i do something wrong?”

The class flew by and before Roman knew it he missed all the notes he was supposed to take, the screech of a moved chair brought him back to reality and he headed for his next class. He could do this.

…

Round found himself terrified when he walks with Virgil towards the Great Hall before dinner. He had so foolishly shoved his transfigured purple aster up his robe’s sleeves and he hoped he was hiding his gift well.

Logan and Patton had gotten enthralled in a discussion about some Magical Creature of the Week and he recognises this as the perfect proposal time. It was now or never.

“So”, Roman started not so smoothly, hyper aware of every crack in his voice. What was he doing?

Virgil expected something horrible. Why was Roman avoiding him? Did he do something wrong? Why was he so nervous? “Have you gotten your dress robes yet?” Roman wasn’t even going to mention why he hadn’t seen him all day? Was he supposed to bring it up? “Yeah i got some, it wasn’t the fun-est experience.” Even though Roman wants to ask what they look like, he holds it in. He’d rather see it at the ball and it feels too much like bad luck to see them beforehand-- it was a muggle superstition his mom mentioned before about weddings. Instead he clutches the flower tightly, watching as a petal falls from the corner of his eye “I'm sure they’re magnificent, Virge.” Virgil falters a step but it’s smooth enough where Roman misses it. Virgil was sure something was going to happen. Everything would fall apart in an instant. Roman quickly rushes to continue the conversation. “Was McGonagall the one teaching the Gryffindors dancing?” And then an even worse thought struck him. Roman didn’t want to be his friend anymore. He was avoiding him because was stressed about telling him-- of course he would be, he’s Roman, why would he want to be his friend anymore? Four seven eight, four seven eight. “Yeah, it was a mess.” Virgil blinked and kept his voice as steady as he could, “We were all really bad, it was kind of funny, in a way?” And when Virgil offers him the best smile he can Roman’s heart stutters to a stop for a few seconds. He can’t do this, he can’t ask Virgil, he can’t-- Roman looks ahead and he can see Patton and Logan walking nearly twenty feet ahead of them and he thinks of Circe. They’re his friends. It was just a question. He can do it. He lets the happy, nervous feeling course through his veins, from his heels to his heart and his head.

“I was wondering, Virgil.”

Virgil froze when Roman suddenly came to a halt. This was it, he was being cast off for good. Roman was sick of him and it only took a day.

“If um, if there was any, would you like, um Virgil...would you consider doing the honor of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”

Roman seemed to magically spring a purple flower in his hand and shly offered it out. Virgil was speechless.

What kind of cruel joke was this? No, Roman wouldn’t, Roman wouldn’t hurt him like this. “Oh”, Virgil wrapped his arms around himself like a shield, he had to protect himself from whatever was happening, “I was asked earlier by one of the Gryffindors and i said yes...”

Roman felt the ground beneath his feet fall. He was too late.

Virgil’s face had turned to stone and Roman couldn’t help but feel to be the receiving end of it. He didn’t even look anxious or uncomfortable he looked...angry. He was getting defensive again. The aster tilted to its side in his hand, unaccepted.

He hated Roman.

“Oh”, Roman cleared his throat trying to level how shakey his voice came out, “I see, i meant, we could go as, together as friends, not--”

The Grand Hall feels too tight, too big, too small. Just like his room. He feels so alone. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was hyper aware of the gift just barely slipping out his fingers.

“Yeah it was just, it was stupid, it was a stupid idea, I’m sorry I-- I’m so stupid--”

“Wait, Roman--”

He can’t read the face Virgil's giving him but it’s enough to push on his spiral. Everything starts to get fuzzy.

Of course another Gryffindor would ask him. Roman wasn’t a Gryffindor, he was a Ravenclaw and he didn’t even belong in that house. Roman never had a chance, how could he have ever thought--

He built up his hopes up and it only took one day for them to break down.

“I’m sure you, you and you’re date you’ll, it’ll be a great time, you’ll have fun i’m sure--”

“What, what is that?”

Roman’s eyes snapped down at his hand. He saw it--

Roman stumbled backwards and he bumped into someone. It was a Ravenclaw. The disgusted face made him sick and their snicker echoed like thunder in the hallway.

“Ro--”

“I have to go, I’ve gotta, i need to, sorry i’ll, see you--”

Roman took another few steps backwards before turning and rushing forward. He didn’t know where he was going.

“Roman?”

He turned towards Patton and Logan, Virgil trying to push pass the crowd to them. Patton and Logan’s usual smiles were gone, replaced with furrowed eyebrows of confusion and worry.

They were upset and annoyed-- he interrupted their conversation. There’s too many people here. Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Gryffindors and Ravenclaw alike. They were all looking at him like that like-- Roman doesn’t belong in this hallway. He needs to get out now.

Roman turned and ran as fast as he could.

His footsteps felt slow and heavy, like he was fighting against chains holding him down. The feeling of closing walls, locked jail cells and an empty bedroom. Of being squeezed and squeezed until the life was drained out from him, of gray and black and white, dull and painful, of stinging eyes and muffled sobs. Of losing friends and everyone and the feeling of freeing happiness.

How foolish of him to think he could enjoy hope and kept it without losing it as fast as he got it.

And yet as fast and loud as his thoughts clash and his feet run, he thinks he heard someone calling his name and a different set of feet trying to follow his. And it doesn’t help the aching loneliness when he can't hear it behind him anymore.

...

Circe remembers when she first met the ostracized Ravenclaw. A frustrated first year wandered the halls holding tightly onto himself. She asked where he was going. He gave her a smile that was too big.

“Oh, um the Ravenclaws didn’t tell me the password to the tower. But it’s alright! I'm sure it was an accident. They probably just didn’t hear me...when i was right behind them..” his arms tightened their hold.

“It’s usually a riddle. I believe this time it’s ‘Which came first, the phoenix or the flame?’.”

The boy’s big smile fell. “That sounds awfully complicated…there’s too many answers that could be right and even more that could be wrong”, he looked at the floor before looking up at her. There was a smaller but more real smile. “Smart stuff like that makes my head spin, but thanks. Uh what, may i ask, is my heroine's fair name?”

She smiled. “Circe witch-nymph, daughter of Helios, feared by man and boar alike. And what would my fair Ravenclaw’s name be?”

He laughed. “Roman. Roman Walsh. But that's not nearly as interesting as your name. How’d you earn such an extravagant title?”

“I was a nymph alone on a lost island in Greece. Aeaea was said to be a cursed land. There was no life but a single Acacia tree, a handful of boars and a single plant of wheat. I spent centuries growing and flourishing my island but the Acacia tree, boars and wheat crop remained scared to my island, a gift from the Gods. I had everything i needed, but there was something missing. When the first humans landed on my island i wanted to share the beautiful land i made. I let them stay at my home and told them of all i done, how important the single Acacia tree and boars were. I gave them food and shelter and i was happy. I used to hear stories of how humans cared but no one but themselves, how they hurt others to save themselves but i let them stay. We laughed and talked, they offered to bring me back to their land, full of people and friends waiting. They promised the safety of the island. I woke up the next morning to the sound of the Acacia tree hitting the ground. They slaughtered every boar and loaded them on their ship, staining the sands with red. They lied to me. I took a branch from my fallen tree and shouted the first thing that came to mind. They turned into swines. Squealing and running little swines...I destroyed their boat and kept the wand. I spent a year trying to regrow my tree but i couldn’t save it. Wheat had covered nearly every open space. When the next set of humans came and i pulled out my wand...”

Circe laughed, “Ah i'm talking your ear off.”

“What happened after you pulled out your wand?”

“Huh?” Roman had stars in his eyes, nearly falling over from how far he was leaning forward. He was looking up to her, crissed-crossed on the floor with such wonder.

He leaned as far as his elbows on his legs would let him and repeated himself, “What’d you do when the new humans came?”

Roman gasped, “Oh my stars was the first set of humans Odysseus and his crew? Were you that Circe? Was the Odyssey wrong?”

Circe blinked, “I--”

“Did they...oh they’re always doing this aren’t they? They made another powerful women evil? History is always written by the winner isn’t it.”

Circe wasn’t expecting to see Roman so interested and passionate about her story. Especially since it was typically retold wrong in a longer epic. It was...nice.

“You...yes, Odysseus was the one who offered to take me back to the mainland. It was so lonely on that island...i turned half of them back in to humans and banished them off of my island and they wrote me as the evil witch. I thought every human would be out to kill me so when the next set came i pulled out my wand again but...they spoke soft and treated my island the same as i did and they listened to me with the same wonder…” I see in you, “I hadn’t seen in a while. They set up a small camp by my home and asked to use some wheat to make food and i let them. I could see smoke coming from their tent and i went to make sure they weren’t burning but they were fine. Cooking food they said, and offered me some yellow noodles they called spaghetti. It was amazing. They told me stories and praised the land, my land. They said it was beautiful. And they thanked me for letting them stay before they left. I told them they could come back whenever they wanted and they smiled. It’s been so long since i saw them…It’s silly for a witch to miss spaghetti but...I’d love to have another bowl of spaghetti with them. A painting can’t really do that can they though?”

Roman yawned, having moved to lean against the wall sometime in the story. “You’ll get your spaghetti, one day...”

Circe smiled down at the sleepy Ravenclaw. She was happy to see the smile, the big smile on his face as his eyes struggled to stay open.

It was silent for a few moments, the whole castle sleeping in their beds except for a painting and a Ravenclaw. She wondered if breaking the peace was worth it. He wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she spoke too loud so she waited a little longer until she couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

“What do you think the answer to the riddle is? What came first the Phoenix or the flame?”

Roman lolled his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing for a split second.

“I think that...a circle has no beginning.”

Circe barely heard his answer. Light snores already starting to fill the new silence and she hummed to herself thoughtfully. She hadn’t heard that one before.

“What a creative answer.”

….

“Gracious morning, Circe!”

Circe blinked. Roman had practically twirled in the hidden room, moving quick enough that she nearly missed the weary miss footings. It had been two weeks since she had meet Roman in the middle of the night...which it was now.

“Oh, i mean, Gracious night!” Roman smiled sheepishly, if not tired, “I haven’t been paying terrible attention to the sky’s faces recently.” He carefully put something against a back wall and turned back to Circe quickly, his robes blocking what looked like a picture frame.

“The sky’s faces?”

“Yeah!” One particular side of his robe had been worn out from anxious fiddling. She wondered if it was from Roman or someone else.

“Oh, sorry; that was loud for this drowsy night.” He ran his hand through his messy bedhead and bounced on his his toes. More like anticipatingly excited than anxious it seemed.

“I like to think of the sky-- like when--” Roman struggled to find the words. He looked up at the ceiling on instinct and Circe guessed he had been doing this often with the blue and gold eagle clad tower’s full window view.

“You know when the sun rises? And it’s just waking up? The stars fade into a light pink, the cold black comforter reveals a wooly blanket dipped in a nearly forgotten blue. And on the light blues and pinks, a soft orange dances on careful toes until the sun shines through to watch, to see the animals wake up and the early morning grace leave from the sky into homes, laying on wooden floors and colorful carpets for cats to nap on, making everything new and different. Or the middlemost face. Rich blues and pastel blues light up the sky in a sundress. Clouds of different shapes, whites and personalities sprinkling the dress, each with its own story of adventures all over the globe. And the sun’s looking over them like a loving mother, shining down on the dirt and exploring every inch of our earth, through water and fire, soon to be covered by clouds as she listens to everything, every bird and story. Or--”

An abrupt silence brought a pink dusting over Roman’s cheeks. “Sorry, i didn’t mean to ramble about stupid whims like that.”

“That was...anything but stupid. How’d you…” she laughed a little to herself, “Sounds just like Aeaea.”

Roman grinned. He messed with his hair again before taking another, slower spin. “I think Logan would like the face of stars…”

“Logan?”

“Oh! Logan’s one of my friends! Well, i think? Hope...We argue quite a bit, and Pat and V don’t like when he fight, but he’s very skilled in poetry. I’d love to write with him sometime, he’s very good. Actually...he’s very good at everything, i think. And he loves to learn, he’s so determined and he’s more curious about the Earth’s water’s than the stars above. He said we barely know six percent of our ocean? That's like-- That’s insane! Outrageous! He can go on and on for ages about how the other planets are great and the stars are amazing but we don’t even bother exploring our own ocean! I agree with him, i think it’s just so interesting and how does he even know that much about everything--” Roman paused again, “..he’d love the Ravenclaw tower. He’s so smart...he should’ve been a Ravenclaw.”

“Who’s Pat and V?”

Roman’s face had lightened up significantly from where it was two seconds ago. The room seemed to come to life again.

“Patton and Virgil! Patton’s very sweet. He’s the best little puffball we’ve got-- he’s a HufflePuff obviously, Padre’s brother is in Slytherin with Logan and my dark and stormy knight cloud is in Gryffindor. Virge hasn’t said much about it but i hope it’s going well. Oh i would’ve loved to be in Gryffindor with him! We’d have so much fun and the emo nightmare wouldn’t have to worry so much. That’d be even better actually. He gets so...anxious all the time. All panic! at the everywhere. I didn’t even know one person could be so edgy and sensitive at the same time, he loves those muggle bands and eyeshadows a lot. I'd stay in Ravenclaw for the rest of my life if my chemically imbalanced romance wasn’t so stressed. He was kind of defensive last week, and it was a bit of a rocky start for us especially compared to when we first came here but he’s J. D-leightful! I think he’d make a good writer too, his work is very inspiring. I still feel awful from when i called him a bad raisin oatmeal cookie and Jerky McJerkface so cruelly the last time we fought. We kind of made up and he said it was fine but i don’t know. I think i pushed it after Incredible Sulk and Robert Downer Jr--”

“Are you two dating?”

Roman stopped abruptly in a dance meant for two, seeing as he was dancing as though there was someone holding his hands instead of empty air, and promptly hit the ground. He hadn’t even realized he was dancing since he started talking about Pocket Protector and Padre, he must’ve started his weird tango-ballroom dancing mesh when he started on Virgil. Impossibly`` messier hair popped back in Circe’s view. His face turned red from embarrassment, Circe guessed it was more the reaction to her suggestion than the suggestion itself.

He blinked, wide eyed. “What?” he said rather dumbly.

“You said my chemically imbalanced romance earlier? And you have uh, what are they called, pet names? For him?”

A beat passed before Roman started cackling. “Me and-- and Stormcloud?”

“Oh my, Circe--”, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he had to clutch his stomach, “Oh it’s been a while since i laughed that hard, my stomach hurts. You got quite a humor, that was great but no, Virge and I aren’t together like that. Just friends. Oh gosh, i hope i didn’t wake anyone up.”

He smiled up at her. “I should start visiting you more often. I’d love to hear more about Aeaea.”

“I wouldn’t mind telling you more, if you don’t mind telling me more about your friends. It gets pretty quiet in this room.” She eyed the frame by his feet.

Roman’s legs blocked it again. He thought for a moment, now turning to eye it himself. “Actually, don’t get me wrong, i really do enjoy Virgil’s company. I didn’t mean it like i was laughing at him, i would never, or at least not intentionally. His wit is impeccable and his humors just a tad darker but i haven’t thought of him like...that. I mean--”

“That’s alright Roman. You’re still young, your adventures just beginning.” Roman’s hopeful smile was short lasting before he fixed his hair again, picking up the frame behind him. It was half his height.

“Um, i can’t stay much longer, im supposed to be studying right now but,” he fiddled with the worn out corner of his robe before the smallest little smile broke out. Circe could’ve sworn she heard something along the lines ‘Picking up sunshine’s habit huh’ before releasing the corner.

He picked up the frame and in a much louder voice compared to how he said sunshine he said “For made you-- I made, for-- I made--” Roman exhaled, “I made this...for you.”

He held up the frame, it was a portrait. A painting, rather, of--

“Spaghetti?”

“I know it’s silly but i thought-- i figured that maybe you’d feel better, well you didn’t look like distraught or anything but i don’t know-- i just...i wanted to make spaghetti for you but your a painting so--”

“You painted...Spaghetti? For me?”

“You don't, you don’t have to like it or anything but i tried to make it magic and it kind of worked? I mean, I don’t know what i did, i don't-- but it got this haze and it like, it-- Virgil yelled at me when i woke up, apparently making or attenoting? Yeah, trying to make magical paintings is a more advanced magic and-- i woke up ten hours later, you know the Ravenclaws didn’t even look for me, Virgil he was so-- well i wouldn’t say terrified but he looked like he was really worried, i felt so bad for stressing him out but i really hope you like it-- I mean, you don’t have to really, it’s not, i'm not trying to, but i just--”

“Roman…” The Ravenclaw stopped mid-ramble. His hair was all over the place when he paused and he noticed the suddenly lack of noise coming from his feet. He had a habit of tapping his feet and pacing-- or dancing.

“I'm sorry--”

“I love it.”

“You…” For the second time, Circe was dumbfounded at the disbelief and awe Roman expressed, “You really like it? Like it...really?”

Circe smiled when Roman completely lit up, bringing life into the deserted room and continued rambling. It turned almost melodic in a way and she wondered if he sang when he was excited, blending words together and lightly sweeping them into each other.

“Could i put it up? Maybe you’ll be able to actually eat it!”

Roman was bouncing on his toes with the biggest smile, one he was failing to contain. How could anyone say no?

“Of course.”

It took a bit of struggling seeing how short Roman was but he remembered he had magic and carefully lifted the painting besides Circe.

“I hope it’s ok, i have to go study, i’ll see you later!”

“Goodnight Roman.” She watched him spin out of the room with more energy than when he came in with. Before she could even look at the bowl he came back in.

“Circe?”

Circe tried to turn so she could see Roman from the hidden exit but she couldn’t, instead she just responded hoping he thought she was looking at him.

“Thank you.” The sound of feet running off back to the Ravenclaw tower was the only way she knew he left. She looked back at the bowl. Carefully she slide an arm to the side of the frame. She hit the invisible barrier rather than feeling a wooden bowl.

He was a young wizard and bringing paintings to life was a very advanced magic, still she was beyond grateful for the gift. She waved the tips of her fingers on the barrier. He painted spaghetti for her and used so much magic to try to make it real. Roman truly was something else but it takes years to learn how to--

She gasped, feeling the curve of wooden and the smell of warmth fill her portrait. The front of her arm was gone. She grabbed on the object and carefully pulled back. How did he--

If Roman could do something this advanced...what other kinds of magic can he do? She held the bowl of spaghetti in her hands.

He really is something else huh. Something special…

….

Each step Roman took was an earthquake shaking the ground below him. Thunder and floods drowned and deafened every sense he had and the world’s spinning on a tilt. He doesn’t stop running when he starts heaving or when he starts sobbing, loud and pained, a cry a painting has never heard before, especially before eleven pm.

Circe searches from her portrait, scanning the hidden room for the source. A Ravenclaw runs straight into her room and when he stops, frantic and scared and he meets her eyes Circe immediately reaches out.

He throws something straight to the ground and before it even slides to the wall, he’s gone, running before Circe had a chance to speak.

A single crushed aster and a stitched sweater are left abandoned on the floor. And all Circe can do is stare at it.

Paintings can’t hug behind portraits. And actors want to sing about the faces of the sky, and know that at least one person sees them too.

#sander sides #hogwarts au #ahskj not happy with how I wrote the ending or the middle scenes #and I didn't play for it to be super long #but here it is #hope its illegible #I love your au coconut!#couldn't do it justice :v

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fgodestinyawakenings · 5 years

Text

EOR SE.RA.PH Singularity: Act 4

Leaving the final Act and epilogue... Hopefully this can be done before going back to JP, especially given Reines Case files is ending way earlier than Seraph. I’m heading out for Doujima in the weekend, and grinding for Eater X is going to be hell

Act 4 (1/4)

After beating Caesar... It’s still not surprising that there’s more Servants left on the rear side, Cat. Then again... At least no one fell for his smooth-talking this time round. If anything, yes, Cat is one of our iron chef in Chaldea Kitchen!

Gaining Lip immediately as Tamamo Cat’s next disciple... Thankfully she avoided going to actual Beni-Enma’s Hell’s Kitchen to learn. Seeing Melt happy for Lip being able to speak up without worrying on other’s opinions, she eventually appreciate Gudas for not killing her back then. And that’s no way to shoo Emiya Alter away, Cat!

Cat’s case is still surprising for me so far. None of them are Alter Egos class yet potentially to be one... Or given in Lostbelt there’s already one debatable to be either Assassin or Alter Ego. Something that surprise Melt never realized it until now, except Lip

Melt then explained to Cat what part of BB they were based on as she and Lip are completely different from each other. In basic term, Melt is a sadist and Lip is a masochist which hence they are a good pair to each other.

Emiya Alter returns once Melt finished revealing more about herself, asking if Suzuka is the only Sentinel left. With Melt’s guess on where Suzuka is, our next destination is to head for the spine

Before Emiya Alter suggest we take back BB’s advice to defeat Suzuka again the same way we defeat Lip. But, aside from the issue Suzuka has with the original Tamamo... Hope Tama Cat has a way to beat her down then

Act 4 (2/4)

A dead end instead of a path to the Spine... A good question to learn.... It turns out Sakurament is basically QP where BB make us do the dirty work to collect all even if it’s not necessary. Yeah, I didn’t church allowed sending asshole Arnold to talk to us too, Cat

No shit, we don’t even know about Seraphix in the first place. Anyway, looks like Arnold got the map of the Planetarium we’re looking for. I think he’s more than just cog in the machine, Emiya Alter.... But, we’ll need to settle that later. I think there could be worse people to be in charge, Melt...

Though, we got 25 hours+ left aka 15 minutes before Seraphix sink to the bottom. Thank you for your concern, Lip. But we need to focus on the bigger issue to find Suzuka and get to the planetarium. Guys, Gudas really appreciate your concern for them, BUT LET’S NOT DO SOMETHING CRAZY AS DECIDING TO THROW THEM OUT FOR SERVANTS TO EAT AS MUCH I’D LIKE TO!

And despite their bickering or so, both Lip and Melt are really close to each other. Or, at least once they develop more sense of self and others, they really care for each other a lot. Also again, you’re hiding something, aren’t you, Melt? Nevertheless, we’re still trusting you, no matter what

After Melt giving another talk to the Gudas about herself, we move on to find Suzuka!

Act 4 (3/4)

Reaching to the temple soon... We’re definitely close with Tama Cat confirming her presence. Emiya Alter briefly mentions about who Suzuka is and her historical deeds in the past. To be honest, I don’t know who’s real or not but Tamamo originally IS a nine-tail fox.

Lip’s turn to mention about her tragic love story that she was known for. Yeah for someone supposed to be intellect, I’m guessing all of it went to her high school chunnibyou. Though have to admit, her strength is something with her bloodlust craving for fights.

At the mention of Masters.... WE DEFINITELY HAVE NOT SEEN A SINGLE ONE ASIDE FROM GUDAS! What the hell?! This is still one of the biggest mystery that has been yet to solve...

Anyway, reached her temple at last. Suzuka is right there all ready to kick our ass again. Before that, where’s your Master, Suzuka? .... Okay, looks like she don’t even know who her Master is.... Regardless, we’re not letting you touch Tristan to settle your score for the Holy Grail.

5~6 turns later... That’s some fucking gimmick to keep herself alive until the finals of the Holy Grail War. Wait Melt... Before we throw that key away, there should be a way to use it from that defective AI. And shut up, Arnold! Spectators should just keep quiet and watch!

And you, Suzuka! Are you okay being that stupid, useless and inferior AI’s Servant?! YEAH, I’M CALLING YOU A FLUNKY, CHUNNIBYOU! Tama’s right, you’re nothing but a puppet to that stupid AI right now! If you’re really planning to follow your Master’s wish, then let’s end this properly!!

Thanks to Tama Cat’s trap... Time to unlock her heart! I’m feeling sorry for Hakunos at this point.... Relax we don’t event want to do this. Blame the fucking writer who needs everything to be a sex scene.

One showdown of Suzuka and her boyfriend Hijikata later.... Not so fast on the dramatic suicide, Suzuka! Yeah, you’re definitely way too dramatic, Suzuka! There’s such thing of people dying of a broken heart... But, you’re perfectly fine! For a previously married divine goddess, there’s nothing about you like a high school girl...

Argh enough drama! Cat, do your job and smack-talk some sense into her! And we’re the winner, so we decided you get to live or not. And, we take the former of you living to join us! I’ll pass on your friend request... Social media been avoiding weird people to add later on Facebook in particular

Before we go back, another earthquake? Wait... This is..... The Demon God Pillar Zepar!! Why the---What the fuck?! It turned the whole area upside down!! We’re saved, but Melt took the hit for Gudas!!!

I don’t think they can understand us, Lip! And if we’re at the lowest... Oh fuck that’s where Zepar is supposed to be reborn!!!

Eight hours before we bottom! And we’re already long before you start yapping, Arnold! We’re going to save Melt, so no, we’re not going back without Melt! Lastly, you’re not even the boss of us so peace out!

Suzuka’s direction is helpful now we can get back to business. Enough of arguing who’s coming, and don’t you implied Lip’s weight, Suzuka! It’s just you and Gudas, so do your job properly.

Meanwhile, Melt woken up to remember she fallen while saving the Gudas. The Rejection Calf aka the Disposal area... Her legs broke from the fell back there. Her body has really hit her limit ever since the arrival of Gudas. Closing her eyes, she reminiscence her memories with the Gudas and more about her true thoughts.

Thankfully, the Gudas picked her out of there before she got destroyed once and for all. Gripping tight of her hand and ignoring the harem yapping, we got to get out of there before 3 Shapeshifter, 3 Eaters and 1 fucking giant Rider boar coming at us!!!

.... And there’s more! Yup, I agree with you there, Suzuka. THIS IS COMPLETELY FUCKING BULLSHIT!!! Hey, don’t forget the rope to get us out of there!! And... The rope was cut?! What the hell?!!

But... Tristan is here and he managed to save us! Oh right, you flew with that harp of yours in Halloween event.... That’s another way to get us out of there, or not. Let’s create a camp session until someone picked up up. Tempting to beat Arnold, but that’s a goner. Wait, Cruel Thenar... Melt’s former workplace? .... I guess a pathetic AI decided to use her brains for once to save us

Ah typical loser who decided to squish the final two contestant just to get her reward. Well, where’s our supposed next battle with you? Now? Yeah yeah, you may have a certain thing like Tiamat, Goetia and so on. You’re in the end just an AI who felt the need to better herself than everyone at how fucking weak you really are. A sad case, truly.

Hold on, mistake? Weren’t you the one started this whole stupid mess?! How the hell did things fucked up!! And knew it, obviously she’s going to send us down than up

Meanwhile... Good thing Arnold’s not a Master, otherwise, I’d like to see him the first Master get betrayed and screwed by his Servant. Considering he heartlessly get both his Director and Deputy Director killed... And now trying to get Gudas to obey him by force

And since Emiya Alter is here? Or the one who betrayed us too.... Yeah, thank you for doing everyone a favor to kill him. It’s about time someone needs to kill off that irritating character. And Mable? Oh why her?! Wait... You killed them to prevent Animusphere experiment...?

But the voice that attacked Emiya Alter... OKAY WHAT THE FUCK? That’s like an interior of a demon pillar! I thought we killed that!! This person talking to Emiya Alter is someone he knew well, given how they now spoke about themselves...

And the bloodied past, of Emiya Alter... Taunting him as the whole screen now turned bloody too. So, they are the ones who killed Gawain too! Whatever Emiya Alter have his reason, he needed to kill them in our world since he already know what they will be like in a certain distant future.

Act 4 (4/4)

Definitely right at the bottom of where Melt’s workplace originally is... At the most painful landing ever. Melt then explained Cruel Thenar was once a place to excavated oil... Aka finding leylines in truth. Oh, you want us to enter your heart?

That makes things easier in a sense. Nah, it’s fine, it’s more annoying to beat around the bush, Lip. Yeah we got the key after we ripped off from that AI before falling down. Well... At least, we got a job to do. Oh please, not all of Gudas are interested in woman. There’s this called of “I’m gay and my life is hell in a harem manga”, so there. With Lip’s advice, time to enter her heart to unlock this area!

And WE’RE FUCKING DONE WITH HER! DW just give us a fucking Anti-Alter Ego class already!!! But with that down, Melt then showed us a way to the Planetarium via her territory. And.... We’re back at the front! That’s enough rest, you’re coming with us back to the church. So keep quiet or we’ll drop and break your legs here!

No one is here to greet us... Where did Mable and Arnold go? What the... Emiya Alter is not even here! Before that... Some AI dropped a nice invitation to go beat her up. Hey, it’s not like we didn’t beat her over and over again like she deserved it under Martha’s punch.

That’s right, Tristan. It’s gone far too long for this Holy Grail War. With Melt back at the chapel resting, we head off to the core to get Ruler Martha, Amakusa and Jeanne to gang up on her.

After we left, Melt then begans her own monologue. Thinking there should be a way out for Gudas, she hope Suzuka, Tristan and Cat eventually found a way to do so.

And really done for the day... Literally.... Because all my energy was wasted in walking with an eventually broken shoe, running back to my house to wear a new one before heading for my interview is gone. Plus, today’s also happened to be one of the many worst days.... I’m going to need sleep before grinding some quest for KP

#fgo #fate grand order #the shit I shit myself into #SERAPH singularity #SERAPH NA #at this rate one is going to be sacrificed for another...#and that's very tempting to skip JP at this point #but I'm already nearing to the end....#i'm really worn out... OTL

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