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cas-kingdom · 4 years

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Dad

A/N: Thank you to my anons for helping me come up with some perfectly Geralt-like explanations of parenthood. <3

Despite the summary, Geralt doesn't outright call Akela his daughter in a couple of these, but the point of the story is to show how he can call her that without actually saying it, if that makes sense. Still fluffy and (dangerously) sweet! Also a nice little Yennefer-Geralt scene here.

While writing number 4, I listened to 'Scared' by Jeremy Zucker.

Title: Dad

Summary: Three times Geralt called you his daughter, and the one time you called him ‘Dad’.

Words: 4607

“I knocked it off the cart.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why would I try to steal something I have money to pay for?”

The old man’s face turned sourer, if that was at all possible. “Oh, you have money?” He expectantly stretched his hand out, palm up as his fingers twitched. “Pay me, then!”

You rolled your eyes. “But I’m not buying them!”

“You tried to steal them!”

“I did not!”

“I saw you!”

“What you saw,” you spat out, leaning forward, face the picture of anger, “was me bumping against your cart and knocking a couple apples off—which I apologised for.”

A noise somewhere between frustration and rage spewed from the man’s mouth and he shot his arm forward like a snake striking to attack, grasping the front of your tunic and tugging you forward. “Listen here, girl—”

You clenched your fists and readied to bite back, but before you even had a chance, the man’s hands were ripped from you, and he was shoved away.

“Get your hands off her,” a stony voice ground out, voice brooking no argument. Geralt stood tall and menacing in front of the hunched old man, head tilted slightly to the side as he glared at him. He knew you were often capable of looking after yourself, proven clearly when you stepped beside him and a look of smugness appeared on your face, but he also knew that that would likely never change how much the anger flourished inside him when he saw someone lay their hands on his child in a way such as this.

The old man pointed a shaky finger at Geralt. “You stay out of this, Sir!”

You scoffed, and Geralt spared a glance down at you, briefly raising a brow. “What, exactly, am I supposed to be staying out of?”

“The little bitch tried to steal my produce!”

“I didn’t!”

“The little bitch,” Geralt said, holding out an arm to stop you from lunging, “is my daughter. And if you ever speak in that manner to her again, you won’t be able to speak another word.”

The man looked ready to respond with vigour, but at the last moment his eyes averted to the sword and the daggers at Geralt’s waist, and the cogs in his brain began to turn as his vision wandered up to the white hair and the amber eyes. He shut his mouth and stepped back, resigned.

“Forgive me,” he said. He appeared as though he was ready to run before he grabbed one of the apples you had knocked off his cart and pressed it into your hands, a forced and nervy smile showing on his lips. “Here, take this!”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled victoriously, taking a bite from it and turning to walk off as you called back a quick, “Thank you!”

Geralt sighed deeply and hummed, giving the man a final glare before following after you. “He was right. You are a little bitch,” he remarked.

You grinned and tossed the apple in the air, the sunlight glinting on the green fruit as though in triumph. You handed it to him and watched as he relented with a roll of his eyes and took a bite. “Waste not, want not!”

“What’s it like?”

Geralt lifted his head to look at Yennefer. She was lying on her side opposite the fire, her head resting in her hand, and she seemed contemplative. Curious, in a way, which was odd for her, though what could he really say about that? It wasn’t as though he’d known her long.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Yennefer jerked her head in the direction he’d been staring in for the majority of the past ten minutes, where you were fast asleep, curled under blankets, head beside Jaskier’s, who was wandering in the land of dreams himself.

He looked at you a moment longer before turning back to the mage. A hint of his own confusion danced in his eyes, but she spoke before he could open his mouth to question what it was that she meant.

“Parenthood,” she clarified, her voice softening. “What’s it like?”

Geralt rose an eyebrow, briefly floundering for words at the, quite frankly, surprising question. For a woman who was all invulnerability and strength, it was something he hadn’t expected to come from her. Not to mention he didn’t often think about what she’d asked.

He glanced away and shook his head. “More trouble than it’s worth,” he told her with a short breath of a laugh.

The corners of Yennefer’s lips drew upwards. She fidgeted with a stone on the forest floor. “I’m serious.”

His other eyebrow shot up. “So am I,” he assured her. “She may seem sweet, but underneath it all is the monster I’m most afraid to go up against.” He offered her a rare smile, which she returned, and for the first time in a while both mage and witcher felt peaceful. It was blissfully quiet—the only sound being Jaskier’s snores and incoherent mumbles—and it was dark, giving the two the serenity they needed after the trials of the previous days.

“It’s… hard,” he said seriously, despite the fact he was admitting that he, the infamous Geralt of Rivia, found something difficult. “You learn new things every day.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything. About yourself, about her, about the world in general… you make decisions you probably would never have thought about before. You have responsibilities you wouldn’t have believed would ever be associated with you.” He let his eyes wander over to your sleeping form. “You don’t know what the hell you’re doing most of the time. You can feel so… so lost at it, right until you start to realise the only thing that’s keeping you grounded is the same thing that gave you the title of father. It…” He paused, leaning forward to poke a stick into the dying fire. “It gives you something to live for, and at the time I found Y/N, that was what I needed most.”

Yennefer’s lips curled into a smile as she slowly sat up, tucking her legs underneath her. “It sounds tiring,” she said, glancing down for a moment, and Geralt nodded.

“It is. But the rewards outweigh the difficulties. It’s something you’d give up everything to keep.” He looked across at her, noticing her loosened shoulders, and realised for the first time that he took his title of father for granted. Yennefer’s mutations had made her sterile, and though he was the same, he’d still somehow found a way to get past that, even though he’d never once pondered on the possibilities of it before he’d found you. Yennefer hadn’t been so lucky, and as he looked at her, he found that that reflected perfectly in the eyes he now viewed as… sad.

“You’ll feel that someday,” he said without thinking, and when she glanced up, he nodded in your direction. “When you have your own.”

Yennefer gazed at him, violet eyes piercing the amber of his. They stared at each other for a moment, no words passing their lips but every meaningful word being said nonetheless, until Jaskier snorted in his sleep and the both of them ripped their eyes away, returning to their stone and their stick.

“Thank you, Witcher,” Yennefer spoke up a moment later, and Geralt nodded once.

“You’re welcome, Mage.”

Geralt turned his head down to look at you. You were standing beside him, absently tugging on the neckline of the dress you’d bought from a market that very morning. You were clearly irritated, sighing in annoyance and muttering under your breath every so often.

When you noticed him looking, you shook your head, face every bit unhappy. “I don’t want to be here,” you ground out.

He rose an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Why are we here again?”

“Lord Lyon invited us.”

“And how do you—” You scratched at the back of your neck, the foreign material rubbing it raw—“know Lord Lyon?”

Geralt glanced down again and frowned, slapping your hands away from your red neck. “I saved his sister from a werewolf,” he said, instinctively tucking a few strands of hair that hadn’t made it into your plait behind your ear, “and he insisted my attendance at his feast tonight.”

You rose an eyebrow at that, finally relenting in your fiddling and letting your arms hang loosely. “Your attendance,” you picked out. “I could have stayed at the inn.” He ignored that, as you expected, and you sighed, shoulders slacking. “You never usually care for extra repayment,” you said. And it was true. He didn’t. He preferred to do his duty as a witcher and not stick around to see the aftermath of his hunt, except to accept his money. He didn’t care for physical shows of thanks. It was better that way, for you and for him. But he’d, for once, genuinely been concerned for the lord’s sister, so he’d accepted the invitation with the intention of only staying long enough to gain information on her wellbeing before leaving.

Geralt lifted his chin as he noticed a familiar man enrobed in silk and jewels walking towards you. He took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation ahead of undoubtedly mindless babble about his life and anything else the lord wished to ask him.

“And you never usually say no to free food,” he remarked quietly to you before forcing a tight smile at the open-armed, freely grinning man when he stopped in front of him.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he greeted, and you turned your head to meet him, only just refraining from raising your brows at the sight that met your eyes. You weren’t used to seeing royalty or regality of any sort, so you were never one to shy from your overly dramatic opinions of how these people dressed and carried themselves. You were quite certain all the clothes on your body wouldn’t amount to the price of a single ring on his finger, even though you’d had to beg Geralt for weeks to buy you the new leather boots on your feet now, just about hidden by your long dress.

Geralt had made an attempt to dress nicely, too. He’d washed and brushed his hair—and made several mock lunges (and one actual one) for you when you’d continued to tease him about it—and was wearing clothes that, though giving him an extremely regal look of his own, seemed unfamiliar to you. You much preferred him in his loose tunics and trousers, hair muddy and tangled in knots that he wouldn’t give a shit about until he needed to (which was barely ever, unless you were counting surprise and sudden invites to feasts such as this).

“Lord Lyon,” Geralt said with a small nod. “How is your sister?”

The lord reached forward to clap him on the shoulder, and this time, you did raise a brow, knowing your witcher’s dislike for such actions. Sure enough, Geralt’s smile grew tighter, and you could see the lines on his forehead become more pronounced. Perhaps in different circumstances—definitely in different circumstances—you would have laughed at his predicament, despite his clear discomfort, nevertheless this time you had to do with quickly turning your head to the side and stifling a grin.

“My sister fares well!” Lyon told him, not removing his hand. “She’s been asleep since you returned her safely to me, but the healers assure me she will make a full recovery. Thank you again for your unforgettable help, my friend!”

“Thank you for inviting me here tonight.”

Lyon stepped back, finally letting his hand drop to his side, and the corners of your lips twitched when Geralt subconsciously rolled his shoulder. “Well, this is the only other way I could think of repaying you when coin did not seem enough. A good meal!” It was at this moment, when you were shuffling from foot to foot in boredom, almost reverting back to your scratching and tugging, that Lyon noticed you, and he rose both eyebrows, glancing between you and Geralt. “And who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Geralt introduced, stopping you with a firm hand to your shoulder. You looked up at the lord, offering a smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her.”

Lyon tilted his head slightly to the side in obvious interest, disregarding Geralt’s last sentence with a wave of his hand. “You mean she’s yours? Your daughter?”

You continued to stare at the man in front of you, unbothered. You were well used to being called his daughter—it was easier for him to agree when people asked if you were, and you sometimes wondered when exactly he’d given up on correcting people. If he’d ever corrected people in the first place.

“Your daughter?” Lyon repeated at Geralt’s lack of response.

“Yes.”

“I thought… well.” He looked a little sheepish, but Geralt was all too aware of what was coming. “I was always told that the trials witchers underwent made them—”

Geralt interrupted him before he could continue. “They did. I am.” He squeezed your shoulder. “She’s not mine by blood. But she is mine.”

Lyon stared a while, thinking to himself, before he abruptly smiled in acceptance. “Very good. Though I would never have taken you for the parent type.”

“My apologies,” Geralt said, inclining his head, “but you don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

A soft smile graced your lips and you glanced down to the ground, your heart swelling with love you could only ever feel for him.

“Quite right.” Lyon was clearly apologetic. He opened an arm out and motioned for the two of you to follow him. “Come, let us eat. You can tell us all exactly how you killed that werewolf!”

The hilariously dismayed look Geralt sent you after that made you snort.

How had it come to this?

“Geralt?” you whispered, daring to edge closer. He looked so pale, even in the short rays of moonlight radiating down. His skin was pallid, white hair muddied and hanging in knots around his face. His eyes were shut, his lips were set in a straight line, and even as you shook his shoulder, he did not move.

He did not move.

Geralt always moved. He had long since trained himself to wake at the first sound or touch that did or didn’t come from you. And yet now, even as you doubled your attempts and shook him so hard you were sure he’d be disorientated were he awake… he remained still. Still and silent. Completely dead to the world.

Dead.

Your heart soared, not for the first time, and you sat back on your haunches for a moment, staring with eyes as wide as the yellow moon looming over head. It was almost as though your unconscious mind was waiting for him to wake up. Willing him to wake up. Because you knew good and fucking well that without him, the point of remaining in the living was completely lost on you.

Reluctantly, your mind swiftly hurled you back. Back into damn memories of the swings of his sword and his shouts of exertion and pain as he fought with the monster that had suddenly stormed where you’d been resting. You should have stayed behind the rocks as he’d ordered… you shouldn’t have listened to the clash of metal hitting sturdy skin and bone… and you certainly shouldn’t have jumped up from behind the rock and screamed his name, leading him to whirl around in panic and giving the beast time to throw him against a large boulder. You could still remember the sickening crack of his head hitting the solid stone. That would have been the perfect time to scream his name, but you’d found that no words had been able to escape your clenched throat. You’d felt like you were being strangled, and your heart had stopped beating for the longest second as you’d watched with absolute terror…

He’d been telling you a story. You’d been lying beside him, exhausted eyes staring up at the starry sky as his voice lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t even remember what the story had been about, all you’d been focused on was the comfort his voice offered, and for that reason you had not registered at all when he’d abruptly stopped speaking. He’d waited a moment, eyes narrowed, before quietly standing to his feet, picking up his sword as he went. All his senses had been alert, and were he an animal, his ears would have been pricked up and forwards, listening for any noise that sounded at all abnormal.

He’d taken calculated steps forward, hands tight around his sword’s hilt, boots making no sound as he stepped over fallen leaves and twigs. And then he’d stopped, standing completely still, save for his eyes, which roved the area in front of him. He’d turned his head the slightest bit and harshly whispered your name, but it had not been enough to rouse you, and you’d stayed sleeping until less than three seconds later when what you now believed to have been a kikimora burst from the cover of the trees, screaming raucously and lunging towards Geralt. You’d bolted upright and he’d yelled at you to hide yourself as his sword came clashing down on the thing, not waiting to see if you’d done as was asked before moving to attempt to lead the monster away.

That had been only three minutes ago. One and a half minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the boulder. One minute ago, he’d managed to use the last of his strength to pierce the beast’s hide with a cloying crunch, mixing with both his and the kikimora’s shrieks of agony. You had looked on with trembling hands as it fell to the side, completely unmoving, and watched, waited, for Geralt to stand to his feet.

When he hadn’t, you’d taken one trembling step forward, hands cold and in fists at your sides, before running the rest of the way, not caring in the least that there was a possibility the monster might still be alive. All you’d cared about was the possibility that Geralt might not be.

You stared at him now, hopefully waiting for his eyelids to flicker, or a finger to twitch… but there was no movement.

You shook him again, harder now, but it didn’t work, and with a desperation you had never felt before, and your breathing quicker than ever, you hurried closer towards him, grabbing the sides of his face and shaking him, slapping him, hitting him… anything that had a chance of waking him.

“Geralt!” you shouted, voice cracking. You slapped him again, pausing only when you felt something wet and sticky coat your right hand. When you pulled it back, the sight of red met your eyes.

You stared at it for a moment, hands shuddering, before the red and the blackness of everything else melded into one as tears filled your eyes. A tightening of your throat and a short intake of breath was all that was heard before gut-wrenching sobs tore through your chest and you fell forward, clutching your bloody hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as your grief poured from you in an onslaught of irrepressible tears.

“Please, please, wake—wake up!” you choked out, your forehead resting against his chest, hands gripping his ragged tunic. “Please! I can’t—I can’t—Please! Geralt! You can’t die! You’re a witcher! Witchers don’t die! Wake up!”

But he didn’t.

You harshly breathed in with as much effort as you could muster, and the smell of blood overpowered your senses… yet, at the same time, there was still that hint of forest and greenery which made him Geralt. The scent that was often the only thing that could make you fall asleep. The scent that you only had to catch for a moment before you immediately calmed. The scent that, even now, amidst your hiccups and sobs, caused the briefest feeling of serenity to swirl through you before it vanished as the new, metallic aroma abruptly tickled at your nose.

Another sob racked your body when the scent disappeared and you shook your head. “Daddy…” It came out as a mewling whine, so broken and utterly devastating that it would have made even the heartless cry along with you, but there was no other sound… no other noise in the darkness of the forest around you except the guttural cries wrenching from your throat.

It was the feeling of being alone which scared you the most. The feeling of… being without the one person who’d ever made an ounce of sense to you. The one person you loved more than life itself and who probably loved you even more than that.

You would rather die alongside him than live in a world you knew he no longer walked in.

A moment passed, and you sat there, hunched over with your head on his chest and your tired hands slowly slacking in their hold on his tunic. Your eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and tracking the mud and blood which had inadvertently transferred from his clothing to your face, and you were shaking so much that when a slight tremor rippled beneath you, you took no notice of it whatsoever.

At an exhausted yet almost incoherent groan, you blinked, opening your eyes despite it doing nothing against the blackness of you face pressed to him. You tried to silence your cries as much as you could, holding your breath, not quite willing to believe it but hoping more than you’d ever hoped before all the same.

“Fuck…”

And you bolted upright, your eyes blinking against the blurriness. You wiped at them, your heart thumping, blood pulsing through your distraught and exhausted body, and looked on with shock as Geralt—yes, Geralt!—slowly raised his arm and brought his hand to the back of his head. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as his brows furrowed in obvious pain.

“My fucking head,” he rasped out, and you let loose a noise of relief, suddenly and without warning bursting into tears once again. You launched forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. He groaned and finally opened his eyes to peer down at the mop of hair in his line of vision.

He gulped down the sickly feeling in his gut as best he could, trying to make sense of his surroundings, and after a moment the memories returned to him, causing him to shut his eyes once more at the force of it. He returned his attention to you, lowering his hand to place it on the back of your head.

When your sobs grew, his frown deepened and he tried to lift his own head, swallowing back bile when the throbbing ache increased. He felt nauseatingly terrible and instead dropped his head back to the hard rock below him. “Hey…” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and he didn’t really trust the words coming from his mouth. “It’s alright.”

You shook your head. “N-no! It is-isn’t! I thought you were dead!”

He sighed unsteadily and moved his trembling fingers through your hair, trying his best to block out the discomfort (which was a nice word for agony). “I’m not dead,” he told you, and you finally lifted your head, showing him the extent of your hysteria. You looked as though you’d been bawling for years, and he shook his head softly, raising his other arm to wrap around you and pull you back towards him. His head was pounding, he knew he was bleeding in more places than one, but to be perfectly honest, he was simply happy to be alive, and to be holding his child in his arms, however much he would be covered in tears and snot by the time he finally gathered the strength to push himself up.

“I thought you were,” you croaked out, and he rubbed his thumb across your temple. You reached up, grasping his hand, and he narrowed his eyes, blinking at the sight of blood coating your own.

“Is th-that yours?” he asked, the words feeling funny on his tongue as he stumbled over them. You sniffed and glanced to where he had turned your hand over in his.

“No,” you said, “it’s yours.” At that open revelation and reminder, you lifted your eyes, haphazardly wiping your hair from your face and blinking against the tears that still didn’t seem to be stopping. “It’s from your head. Does it hurt?”

Geralt’s face contorted into one of pain yet again as he reached his hand to his head, bringing it back and intaking a sharp breath once he saw the blood. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Yes, it hurts. Like hell.”

You unconsciously bit at the inside of your cheeks and watched him as he lowered his arm and shut his eyes. Your heart continued to pound and every so often your ragged breaths were interrupted by a hiccup. “I’m sorry,” you muttered after a short while.

He blearily opened his eyes to look at you. “Why?”

“I called your name,” you told him, “and you turned around.”

He nodded faintly in remembrance. “Why?” he repeated.

“I don’t know.” You swallowed thickly, tears fogging your vision again. “I was stupid. I just… got so scared, and I didn’t—I didn’t want you to… to…”

At your rising distress, he pulled you down to his chest again, ensuring your ear was conveniently placed over the left side of his chest. His heart was slow—perhaps a little faster than normal yet still slow all the same—but in the silence of the forest he knew you would be able to hear it and let it soothe you.

It worked, and the two of you stayed there for a while. Geralt fixed his attention on his own breathing, trying to match yours as he felt your pulse through his hands. He wondered briefly how far the nearest village was and if he could risk asking for medical help. Perhaps he could reach Triss in Novigrad, and both he and you would have a safe place to recuperate.

His muddled mind was interrupted when he turned his head and noticed the kikimora for the first time, lying in a rotten clump on the ground a couple feet from him. He swallowed the knot in his throat and shut his eyes, remembering all too clearly what had happened and, more importantly, how close it had been to getting you. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around you, and he slowly breathed out, calming himself before he let his emotions reign over him. You didn’t need to see that.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, more to himself, but it assured your all the same.

“Next time, I want to fight with you. I don’t want to watch. I’ve been trained for these moments.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He shook his head. “No, no, never…”

He shut his eyes. He knew that the day he left you would be the day the stars burned out and the world became shrouded in darkness. To leave you would be to leave his heart, and that was the one thing that, no matter how battered and bruised, he would hold onto and keep safe with every fibre of his being.

It was his duty, after all.

As your father.

Witcher Masterpost

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speechlessxx · 4 years

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Call It What You Want (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: There’s an unspoken bond between the Reader and Ransom.

Warnings: poorly written SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), soft Ransom (because i love him idc), bad relationship with parents. This fic was honestly so self-indulgent because I love this song.

Word Count: 3.7k

Loosely inspired by Call It What You Want by (the Queen) Taylor Swift.

Sometimes life felt as if you were playing a Jenga game alone on a table with uneven legs.

For brief moments, everything was normal. Your movements were delicate as you built the tower. Higher and higher it would go, but then you’d stop to admire your work. You would rest your elbows against the surface and accidentally cause the table to shift. The tower would collapse, and you would have to rebuild it again.

However, you never had a stable foundation to begin with. The table was always wobbly. So, time and time again that tower fell. And you’ll have to start over alone.

That was your life.

Your parents were wealthy workaholics. You don’t remember being held or cuddled by your mother or father. You had a revolving door of nannies. None stayed too long so you could form any connection. Your mother would catch them in bed with her husband and terminate their employment. Even through your father’s infidelity, your mother refused to leave him. You remembered her drunkenly admit to you, her 7-year-old, that she stayed because she was afraid of what others would think.

When they weren’t working, they were fighting. You spent nights crying alone in your bedroom as you overheard endless arguments throughout the night. Your parents’ voices would echo through the large house and you’d hear every single insult, threat, and slur.

Your family was sitting upon a tense string that refused to break.

You had no stability – no constancy. You had no siblings either. Your school friends – whether they were from grade school or high school, it didn’t matter. They were all the same – were too self-involved to pay you any mind. You had no shoulder to cry on. No one to kiss the bruises and the scars away. No one to lean on when your life itself felt like it collapsed.

You only had your parents who both resented you because you were the result of a love that they no longer had.

Perhaps, that’s why you and Ransom Drysdale got along so well. Trust-fund brats who were neglected by their wealthy parents. Maybe it was a good thing that you at least had each other.

The closeness between you was surreal. You read one another like an open book whereas others had difficulty even pronouncing your titles. You were each other’s confidant, best friend, and rock. You found in comfort in each other’s mess.

It would be easy to mistake you two as a couple.

Both of you were once touch starved children, so you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was in the grazes of your fingertips and the tight embraces where you would snuggle your face in the crook of his neck, and he’d bury his into your hair. Ransom often kissed your wrists and fingers as he toyed with your hand in his. Every time you sat down next to each other, your knees were touching, or you’d be playing an unconscious game of footsies. It didn’t matter what your bodies were doing or where you were – you were always touching.

Strangers, and even those who knew you, often did think that you two were together. And when confronted, both of you would always scoff and say no. You were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

But behind closed doors, there was something. Something more that ignited your skin and set your body on fire. Something more that left Ransom – the talkative asshole – speechless and panting as he tried to catch his breath.

You both agreed only to have sex when it was absolutely necessary.

“It helps us blow off some steam,” Ransom had explained to you while you just nodded in agreement. You couldn’t find your words. Your wits had been fucked to silence and your brain felt like jelly.

You have your shared struggles and frustrations. Sometimes a simple lay was all you needed to let out your bottled-up emotions. It made sense when you established the agreement in your late college years.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you agreed breathlessly.

You didn’t do it often. It would ruin the friendship. You even established a “no kissing on the lips” rule. You said it made everything all too real.

But as the years went by, something else began to blossom. Something else established itself. But neither of you would ever dare speak of it.

It would ruin the friendship after all.

-=+=-

You hated coming back to your childhood home. Haunting memories were the only keepsakes you had there. You had moved out right after college and would only return for holidays – upon your mother’s demand. You always felt as if it were empty. The house was massive and for many years was only home to three people, excluding the help.

You sat at the table alone as you anxiously fumbled with the initial necklace Ransom had given you for your birthday. The dainty gold ‘R’ charm was between your thumb and index finger as your leg bounced while you stared at the untouched feast.

Your father had excused himself, saying he had an emergency video conference for work. You and your mother rolled your eyes as he rushed off. You both knew it wasn’t for work. Enraged, your mother stalked off, glass full of chardonnay in one hand, the bottle in the other.

You didn’t know what you expected. It was like this every holiday – your parents made no exception. You stared at the turkey before you. Your parents didn’t even last to meal itself.

Frustrated, you decided to wrap everything up and packed them into take-home bags. You knew your parents probably wouldn’t eat the leftovers, so you thought about donating the feast to the foodbank. You could drop it off on your way home.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You dug it out and smiled upon seeing Ransom’s name.

Surviving? Because I’m not.

You chuckled. Suck it up, Drysdale. It’s Thanksgiving.

If I have to spend one more minute with these assholes, I’m going to throw myself down the stairs.

No exaggeration.

Before you could respond, you heard your mother call for you. Her glass was empty, and she was staggering into the kitchen, clearly drunk. You wondered if she drank the whole bottle.

“What the hell are you doing? Where’s the food?” She slurred.

You gestured to the packed meals. “I was wrapping them up because no one was eating.” You decided not to tell her about donating them. Lord forbid that you tried to be a decent human and help those less fortunate than you.

Your phone buzzed again. You gave it a quick glance.

Heading home now. They’re gonna give me an aneurysm.

How’s dinner?

“Why would you do that?” Her brows furrowed, but with her Botox, it made no wrinkles appear on her aging face. She put her hands on her his, the glass nearly slipping from her loose fingers. She was an angry drunk. She always was.

You wanted to say that she and your father ruined Thanksgiving. If they’d only just sit down and eat and pretend they were normal for thirty god damn minutes. But every year, that was never the case. You were always disappointed. “I can unpack it if you want.”

“Your father is an asshole.”

“You could’ve left him years ago,” you muttered.

She didn’t hear you. “How’s the job?”

“Good.” You said as you began to unpack some stuffing. Get some food in her since she was already full of alcohol.

“I don’t know why you decided business was for you,” she let out a long sigh. “Just like your father.”

“I don’t like setting up events. PR’s not my thing,” you tried to joke, topping it off with a forced laugh.

She set down her empty glass and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Could always work for me, sweetheart. I need a new assistant.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, ma.”

“No, for real, sweetie,” she insisted. “I’d love for you to work for me. That’s every girl’s dream. Work for their mother.” You frowned. I don’t think that’s it, you thought.

“I’d rather not be tied to this family any more than I am,” you muttered. This time she heard you.

An exaggerated offended noise came from her lips as she stared at you with her jaw dropped. “Don’t be an ungrateful little bitch.” She spat. “That’s why you never do anything right and that’s why you’re unmarried, unloved, and unhappy.”

“I’m unhappy?” You laughed mockingly. “I’m not the one trapped in a marriage to man that constantly cheats on me. In fact, I’m ecstatic that I’m nothing like you or dad. I’m buzzing with jubilation.” You couldn’t stop yourself. You knew you were worsening the situation.

“You’re a vile bitch that’s gonna end up alone.” They were drunken words. You knew that. But it didn’t stop it from hurting.

You didn’t bother to respond. You chewed on the flesh inside your cheek before turning away and rushing out to your car. You cursed yourself for leaving the food. It would be trash tomorrow. Wasted. Stray tears rolled down your face and you wiped them away aggressively as you drove.

Being alone was something you should’ve been accustomed to already. In fact, you were. You were an only child, had friends that never bothered to ask if you were okay, nannies that cared more about your dad than taking care of you, parents who didn’t even remember your birthday unless they were reminded by their assistants. You knew how to be alone. You were so good at it.

And that frightened you.

You didn’t want to be alone. You craved affection, companionship, love. You wanted that for yourself. But despite all the luxuries you were granted throughout your life, that was one luxury that you desperately wanted but seemingly would never receive.

You felt your anger bubbling inside of you. A pressure started building in your head – steam that needed to be released.

Luckily, you knew where to go.

-=+=-

The holidays were a particularly hard time for both of you and Ransom. Your families demanded your attendances at events, so you both were always forced to come see the very people you loathe the most. Throughout the years of your friendship, it became a tradition to check up on each other as you spent time with your … “loved” ones.

It was a sanity check – something to keep you both grounded. He had a big family, so he could talk shit about them for hours. You loved to read the messages he’d send you.

But this time, he had sent you several messages that you hadn’t responded to. He began to worry until he heard a car door slam in his driveway. You let yourself in. You had a spare key.

“Ransom!” You called out.

“Bedroom!” He responded. He paused the movie he was watching just as you walked through his already open door.

There was something wrong. It was written all over your face. He didn’t need to ask you if you were alright. He knew you weren’t. So, instead he patted the empty side of his bed, inviting you to come lay down with him. But you had a different type of lay in mind.

“How hard is your dick right now?” You asked, bluntly, as you shrugged off your jacket and tossed it to the floor.

A smirk crept its way to Ransom’s face. “Come here and find out.”

You kicked off your shoes and shimmied out of your skinny jeans, leaving your legs exposed in only your plain, black panties. You climbed onto his bed and straddled his lap. You began to grind yourself to his growing erection. The friction stimulating both of you.

Ransom groaned as he watched you. His hands searched his sheets until he found the remote. With clumsy fingers, he managed to turn the TV off and toss the remote to the edge of the bed. He heard it fall, but he was too preoccupied with the gorgeous woman grinding her pussy on his slacks to even care.

“Let’s take this off, hm?” Ransom asked, fiddling with the hem of your blouse.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you teased, stopping your movements.

“You’re childish,” Ransom chuckled, his tongue grazed the back of his teeth. He gave your ass a sharp slap. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, Drysdale.”

He quirked up an amused eyebrow as if to say we’ll see before he pulled your top off your body. You were now sitting on top of him almost nude in your matching bra and underwear. You returned the favor, pulling off the hole-ridden baby blue sweater and exposing his body to you.

Your hands explored his chiseled chest and stomach. Hard as marble, but not nearly as hard as his cock beneath you, begging to be released from its confinements. You shifted down a bit so that you could undo his belt, but his hands stopped you. He grabbed your wrists and you frowned at him.

“What?” You snapped with furrowed brows.

“We’re on the same page?” Ransom asked you. He was concerned. Sure, this almost friends-with-benefits arrangement was years old at this point, but he still wanted to make sure you wanted this. He always asked before anything got too far.

“Please, Ranson…” your voice nearly cracked. He stared into your eyes and despite the lust being evident in your blown-out pupils – he was sure his mirrored the look – he saw the light red lines, an indicator that you were crying. “I need it.”

“Okay,” he nodded and let go of your wrists. Without hesitation, you began to expertly undo the belt and unbutton his pants. With his help, you were able to successfully pull down his slacks and left him in his boxer briefs. The tent inviting. Before you could reach into his underwear and pull out his friend, he flipped you over. You squealed in surprise as your back was pressed into his bed. “You need it, baby?” You nodded. “Okay… I’ll think about being nice.”

“Ransom,” you whined.

His fingers lightly traced the sides of your body. You shivered at his touch. You took it upon yourself to arch your back so that you could unclasp your bra. You threw it away, exposing your chest to your best friend who groaned.

“God, I love these.” He muttered.

His hands cupped your breasts, toying with them. His fingertips tweaking at the nipples as he ground his desire to yours. Ransom leaned down and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples. His tongue swirling around the skin as he sucked it until it pebbled. He then switched to the other. He’d also take a break from your nipples just to leave stray hickeys all over your chest, collarbones, and neck. He loved marking you up. Whilst his mouth continued its assault on your chest, one of his hands slipped into your panties and began to explore your wet folds.

And slowly, Ransom started to make his way down your body, leaving wet kisses on your skin. He kissed right on top of your underwear before slowing pulling the black fabric down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist. Once they were off, you instinctively bent your knees as Ransom pulled them apart and leaned down to give your pussy a broad tongued lick.

You used to be insecure of the stretchmarks on your thighs. When you and Ransom first started having sex, you were afraid he would find them unappealing – that it would turn him off. But your best friend assured you that every part of your body – including the flaws – were beautiful. “Nothing about you could ever turn me off, (Y/N),” a younger Ransom scoffed. The present Ransom, the one who was about to eat you out like a Thanksgiving meal, couldn’t agree more. (He’d often joke and say you ruined other women for him).

You were a moaning mess as Ransom’s fingers pulled your lips open to expose your clit to his tongue. He looked up at you from his position and the sight of you with your eyes closed in a blissful trance alone could’ve made him cum on the spot. His tongue swirled around your button in tiny, circular motions before slipping his tongue into your slickening channel.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “Ransom, Ransom!” It was music to his ears.

He ate you out slowly, relishing in your taste. Ransom took pride in your reactions. You had one hand clasping the ‘R’ charm around your neck and the other lost in his hair. He smirked into you as he watched you wither in pleasure as he used his fingers to tease your opening. When you began to buck into his face, he used his other hand to hold down your waist, keeping your hips still for his assault.

You clenched around his fingers. “Ransom… I’m close… oh, my god,” you warned. Ransom grunted, taking great pleasure from eating you out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. He pressed two fingers deep inside of you, curling them and stroking your walls. He buried his face deeper into your dripping cunt and stared up as you came. He wished he could have your reactions of video. The sounds you made were porn worthy and he would’ve loved to have his own private collection.

He stroked you as you rode out your high. You were breathless as your eyes slowly fluttered open, staring up onto the ceiling. “You with me?” Ransom smirked as he stripped his underwear and stroked his hard cock. You nodded. You reached out for him and he gladly leaned down to let you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“I want you to fuck me until I’m stupid,” you whispered. “Only thing I wanna remember is your name.”

Ransom almost frowned. Your parents must’ve really done a number on you this time. In the years that this arrangement had been established, Ransom would – 9 times out of 10 – be the one to initiate the stress relieving sex. But he was more than happy to oblige.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he muttered, nipping at the skin of your neck before pushing into you.

In one hard thrust, he pushed his entire length into you. You winced when you felt him brush against your cervix. His thrusts were sharp and hard. You’ve had enough sex with each other to know the various spots that made one another tick. Ransom was eager to give you another orgasm – he got off on it.

The shifts of his hips were deliberate, bringing your legs up to drape over his shoulders. He hit spots deep inside of you that you never knew existed before you had sex with him. Your hands were searching for something to hold, something to occupy themselves with. Ransom leaned over, folding you in half, as he took your hands in his, interlacing your fingers while he pounded into you.

You gushed around his thick cock, another orgasm being pulled from you unexpectedly. You moaned his name over and over. “Yeah, baby? Only I make you feel like this, huh?” he grunted. “You take my dick so well. Only you do that, baby.”

You moaned in response, no tangible sentences could even form. His name was the only thing you could say. Your brain effectively melting as you requested.

“I’m gonna make you cum over and over for me.”

He made good on that promise. You lost count of how many times Ransom had made you cum. You had no idea where he got the stamina. But he fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. You fell apart so many times only for him to put you back together.

The obscene sounds that came from your heated core were accompanied by a symphony of moans and the slapping of skin.

“Ugh,” you moaned after what felt like your 6th orgasm of the night. “I love you, Ransom,” you moaned out, and it was the truth. In your fucked-out state, you confessed the three words that you both were too afraid to tell each other. But Ransom smiled, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. He was about to cum.

He leaned down and captured your lips, groaning into you as he found his release inside of you. The warm feeling spreading throughout your body as you kissed back. Your lips melting into each other, eager and hungry. It was years in the making.

Ransom pulled away first and pulled out of you. You winced and whimpered upon feeling the emptiness. Your mixed fluids slowly trickled out of you and onto the bed, but neither of you minded. You were both too tired.

Ransom slumped beside and you naturally snuggled into his side. By this time Ransom would’ve offered to help clean you, knowing your legs would be like jelly, he’d walk you to the bathroom. But he wanted to enjoy your shared afterglow as he pulled you over his body so that you were resting on his chest. Both of you were panting, lungs trying to pace themselves.

You slowly began to feel the fear settle in.

Ransom was your best friend. The one constant thing in your life. The only stability you had. Your place of comfort. And you’ve ruined it. You said it. The three words. The feeling that’s been building up for years. You scolded yourself for saying it so recklessly.

You’ve done it. You’ve toppled your tower again. Your fingers played with the ‘R’ charm on your necklace again. A nervous habit it seemed.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered in the darkness. He kissed the top of your head as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

And then a feeling of ease settled upon you. A smile on your face as you realized the tower didn’t fall… not yet. But even if it did, Ransom would be there to help you rebuild. You weren’t alone.

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #smut #ransom drysdale smut #chris evans smut

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comebackseasonisamess · 4 years

Text

Drunken Secrets

Mark Lee x Reader | f2l!au | fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: It’s after grad, and as Mark gets more and more drunk, the truth he’s been hiding from you starts to slip out

Warnings: Underage drinking, swearing, mentions of a fight almost happening, slight manhandling of mark, never actually dtr-ed, suggested pregnancy mention, sex mention, terrible sentence structure, it’s funny how i can’t seem to spell acquaintance, use of italics for emphasis, cliche? Cliche, just two idiots, just two stupids, what a terrible title, i can’t write kiss or confession scenes. Also I can’t make banners for shit. Thanks for reading.

“Heads!”

You duck out of the way as a volleyball narrowly misses you.

Lucas jumps out of the water and goes and gets the ball, throwing it back in the pool before settling down next to you. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah.” You shake your beer can at him. “Are you hoping no one pukes in the pool? Or falls in while drunk?”

Lucas laughs. “You think Mark’s gonna fall in? He’s already halfway drunk.”

Both of you look at Mark, who’s sitting in the hot tub, nursing the spiked punch and laughing loudly.

“Yeah… I’m trying not to drink too much to stop him from doing anything stupid.” You think back to the last time Mark got drunk and broke down and told you how much he appreciated your friendship in between his sobs.

“You’re a good friend,” Lucas says. Then waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or maybe more, if you know what I mean. If I was with Mark, I’d leave him and let him get drunk off his ass, then film all his shenanigans.” He smiles at you.

You brush off the insinuation. “Oh believe me, I wish I could. But Mark would probably break off our friendship if I did,” you laugh.

“Hey Lucas!” Hendery calls from the pool. “Come join the game!”

Lucas turns to you. “Talk to you later?”

You smile at him, and watch as he swims to rejoin the game. Reaching the bottom of the can, you stand up and head towards the booze table.

As you approach, Mark notices you and his face lights up. He stands up in the hot tub. “Heyyyyyyyyy,” he slurs, already very tipsy. He throws a wet arm around you and presses his face into your neck, forcing you to bend down with him. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Markles. What number drink is this?”

He looks down confusedly at his fingers, counting them off. “First I had a couple shots, then a can of Palm Bay, and this is my second cup of the punch.”

Yeri looks at you. “He’s missing some of them too, he finished off Hendery’s can of beer and my cup of punch.”

Mark looks back up at you excitedly. “But I’m not drunk! Chan drank more than me!”

“Yeah, and he’s reached conspiracy theory levels of drunkenness.” You all look at Chan, who’s sitting across from you yelling at Changbin, who’s holding out a cup (of water, you assume), about how “water is poisonous” and “forcing him to drink it is killing him.”

Mark blinks. “He’s kinda making sense….”

You and Yeri exchange a look. “He’s definitely wasted,” she says, and you laugh.

“Hey! You bitch!” Someone erupts from the side, barreling towards Xiao Jun. “You backing away from a fight?” The person keeps advancing on Xiao Jun, who turns his back on the aggressor.

“Whoa whoa whoa guys!” Lucas says, coming between the two of them and facing the instigator. You hurriedly stand in front of Xiao Jun, pushing him away.

“No fighting or else I’m kicking you out.” Lucas is serious for once. He may be an easygoing guy most of the time, but he hates fights and has kicked out others before for smaller offenses.

The guy gets more and more worked up before stalking away and throwing a “fuck you” over his shoulder for good measure.

Xiao Jun watches him go. “I didn’t even do anything to him…..”

“He’s drunk. And angry. And looking to pick on someone,” you explain. You rub a hand against his shoulders comfortingly as he wallows.

If you had glanced over at the hot tub, you would’ve seen Mark looking intensely at the two of you.

You get up out of the hot tub. Mark’s eyes follow you.

“Where ya goin’?” he asks, holding your hand.

“To go get some water for everyone,” you say.

“Ok hurry back, I already miss you,” he drawls.

You dip into the kitchen for water, filling up multiple red solo cups with water before passing them around to the people gathered there.

When you get back to the hot tub and slip in, and hand off the last cups to the occupants, Mark throws an arm behind you and pulls you towards him. He takes a loud sip from his cup, then says: “Wow, I love you.”

You feel yourself heat up in embarassment. Mark gets especially affectionate when he’s drunk, getting more and more touchy and verbally loving as the liquor hits his bloodstream.

Since you first met Mark in freshman year, you’ve always been fascinated by him. Your lockermate and Bio seatmate had been so shy and awkward back then, but as the years progressed he grew into his body and his personality. Suddenly, you couldn’t walk down the hallways without people turning and looking at him. Whispers were always going around about how goodlooking he was, how he must be good in bed.

Needless to say, sometime during sophmore year you realized that what you felt for Mark wasn’t just platonic affection, but the beginning of love, of the “fuck i’m in love with my best friend” kind. And Mark’s drunken habit of being affectionate really wasn’t helping you get rid of your feelings and move on.

As the party winds down, people start heading to the tents in the backyard, and others get rides back with designated drivers or parents.

Mark hangs off of you as he stumbles into Lucas’ bedroom. He had been kind enough to let some of the drunker friends stay there instead of the couches in the living room, where it would be too close to the party and too far from the bathroom.

Mark falls face first into the bed once you reach it, crawling up to the pillow and squishing his face into it. He looks at you from it, motioning towards the empty spot next to him. “Come sleep with me!” he exclaims.

You smile, feeling your heart warm at this version of Mark. He’s always so cute when he gets drunk, all giggly and childish. “I can’t Markles, I gotta help Lucas with the rest of the drunks.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” Mark whines, reaching out with a hand to grab onto you. “I want you to stay here with me!” His eyes light up when he says the last words, and your heart skips a beat. Mark will be the death of you, this you know for a fact.

“Mark Lee,” you chide him, releasing your wrist from his hold. “You need to go to bed alone.”

He pouts, turns over, and mumbles something.

“What, you big baby?”

“Wanna kiss you,” he says louder. Rolling over, he looks at you with his big eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

You freeze. Mark Lee, your best friend since freshman year, your soulmate, the object of your affections for two years now, wants to kiss you? But he’s drunk. And probably not aware of what he’s saying. “Mark, baby, ask me again when you’re sober.”

“Okay!” Mark shuts his eyes and makes shooing motions for you to leave. “I’ll wake up sober in the morning and I can ask you again.”

You smooth down his hair and switch off the light as you walk out.

When Mark wakes up the next morning, it’s to a glass of water and an aspirin. He knows automatically that you left it for him, and then suddenly he remembers what he said to you last night. “Fuck, why am I so dumb…” he says to himself, before rubbing a hand over his face.

Admitting your long harboured desire to kiss your best friend in a drunken haze was really not Mark’s plan. In fact, he had been hoping to squash his feelings for you, and maybe when you were in university together you would find a nice person who really complimented you and made you laugh and you would marry that person, and your friendship would be one that was thought of with nostalgia as you told new friends or children or even grandchildren.

But Mark knows that you hadn’t drank enough to not have remembered what he told you. And he has a strange feeling your friendship wasn’t going to last. He just hopes you are still willing to be acquaintance until he could get rid of his pesky feelings.

Mark finally comes downstairs, looking disheveled with his hair sticking up, and you don’t notice at first as you’re busy flipping pancakes while Lucas is serving coffee and tea. Lucas was one of those people who just didn’t get hungover, and bounced back from an evening’s worth of drinking with a smile and his loud voice.

As you finish the pancake you’re currently making, you pass the spatula off to Xiao Jun. “Junnie can you finish for me? I need to talk to Mark,” you say lowly.

He nods, having been filled in on the potential confession from your best friend just this morning, as he had been the only other person up when you were.

You head over to Mark, tugging gently on his t-shirt to pull him into the entrance hallway, a couple closed doors away from everyone else.

Mark straightens his t-shirt and runs a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but at you. He’s probably having difficulties seeing straight, you had taken out his contacts before putting him to bed and his vision is reduced to blurry blobs without his glasses.

“So…” you drawl out. “I think we need to talk.”

Mark looks embarassed. “I’m sorry,” he says.

You lean back, expectantly. Is he going to tell you that it was a mistake? That he meant it for someone else?

“I shouldn’t’ve done that to you,” he continues. “Put you in that position, I mean. It’s not fair for me to confess to you when I know you don’t feel the same way about me, when I know you’re just good friends with me and that you don’t see me the way I see you.”

“Mark-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“And before you start saying ‘Mark why didn’t you tell me before,’ or suggest that we could try out a relationship, know that I don’t want pity from you. If you don’t want to see me for a while until I’m over you, that’s ok. I respect that.”

You purse your lips, feeling elated, but also very annoyed. “Mark Lee-”

“And I know you don’t tell me everything, and if you already have a significant other and I’m making this awkward I’m so sorry, I just want you to know that I’ve liked you for a while now, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I’m just gonna rejoin the others, drive you home and then I won’t speak to you unless you want me to, ok?”

He turns around, hand on the doorknob, and you whirl him around and place your hands on his stupid face firmly, stopping him from saying anything more or leaving. “Mark fucking Lee, how dare you explain my emotions to me? Have you ever even paused to think that maybe I like you too? Maybe I’d also like to kiss you? Did you even remember what I said last night? That you could ask me again this morning?”

Mark’s eyes widen, clearly just remembering that. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“And for the record, Mark Lee, I don’t want you to pretend like nothing happened. Or try and kill your crush on me or something in the same, stupid, vein. I want you to ask me if you can kiss me again, and then I’ll say yes, and then we’ll kiss, and then we’ll walk out of here hand in hand and in a fucking relationship. Because your feelings are fucking mutual Mark Lee. And I’ve been in love with you since sophm-” Your words stop as Mark, having regained some of his mobility as your hands had lessened their pressure against his cheeks, leans in for a kiss. He places his hands around your waist, and gently presses his mouth against yours. He’s surprisingly smooth for such an awkward guy.

You lose track of time as you and Mark exchange kisses that have been in the making for a while. With each one, you can feel his love seep through, thousands of unsaid thoughts being communicated for once.

As you pull away from each other, Mark looks at you. “So you’re in love with me?” he teases.

“And what about it?” you glare at him. “Is it a crime to be in love with you? Are you embarassed?”

“No,” he whispers as he starts leaning in again. “I just can’t believe you said ‘I love you’ first.”

You push away from him. “Wait.... Does this mean you love me too?”

Mark shyly nods. “I love you too.” He leans in once more, but you solidly push him back.

“Wait a second! While I’d love to keep kissing you Markles, the others are probably wondering what we’re doing.... And knowing Lucas he probably thinks we’re fucking in his closet somewhere.”

Mark instantly reddens, suddenly remembering all the times Lucas said the two of you had major sexual tension. He turns around and quickly flings open the door, latching onto your fingers with his own. “Well at least we know he’s pretty close to being right,” he says as he pulls you through the doorway.

You stare at him, incredulous. “Mark! Were you expecting to fuck me in the entrance way? Of Lucas’ house? Where everyone’s gonna walk out of?”

Mark gets even more red than he already is. “No!” he says, but his voice cracks and he enters the kitchen, you right behind him.

Lucas turns away from his conversation with Xiao Jun, then yells: “Please tell me that you’re together! And that you didn’t fuck in my closet!”

“No!” Mark screeches, his voice breaking again. “Dude, who do you think I am?”

You giggle. “Yes Lucas, me and Mark are together now,” you say.

“Finally!” Lucas shouts, then pours some coffee into two mugs and takes out leftover booze. “This calls for a celebration!”

You and Mark glance at each other, then look at Xiao Jun, who understands what you want him to do and wrestles the booze away from Lucas.

A disgruntled noise comes from a blob on the couch. Yangyang looks through the slit in his hoodie. “Eyyyyyy guyssssss… Shut up a bit please? My head hurts and I wanna puke,” he groans.

“That’s what you get for getting drunk for the first time!” Lucas roars, then proceeds to make fun of Yangyang, who’s pleas for help go unnoticed.

You reach for your cup of coffee, then squeeze Mark’s fingers. “Wanna sit down outside? It’s nice and sunny.”

He blinks a couple of times at you, confused, then grabs his cup and follows you out the door.

If Lucas had stopped teasing Yangyang for a moment and looked out the window, he would’ve seen you and Mark, sitting side by side with your legs in the pool, holding tightly onto one another as you laugh. And while Lucas isn’t looking (which is honestly a blessing, he probably would’ve cannonballed right in between the two of you and ruined the mood), Xiao Jun is, and he’s quite relieved that the two idiots finally got their shit together and confessed.

Bonus: Three years in the future, in their shared apartment together

“Are you ok?” Mark says as you wriggle around on your shared bed.

“Just… Babies are so cute and I want one,” you say, looking up from your phone.

Mark looks you dead in the eye. “I- I could give one to you.”

You perk up. “Really?”

Mark blushes hard and looks away. “I’m joking…”

“Mark, sweetheart I know that. Your game’s not that good.”

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amarabliss · 5 years

Text

Galahdian Dreams - 7 (Nyx Ulric/Reader)

Synopsis: Your father was the king of Insomnia. He was good and just. You never thought you’d meet anyone like him after he was taken from the world. Your Uncle Regis, has taken the throne and followed through on your father’s plans. It was good to see the city in capable hands.

Enter Nyx Ulric, refugee, Glaive, fighter…how is it he can see all your secrets? He knows how to set you off and he’s promised to not let you go…(AU for sure, Regis wasn’t supposed to take the throne, and our lovely Nyx has more of a past then we thought…)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

**WARNING** please be aware there are depictions of violence that may be triggering. Please remember to spread tolerance in the world and not hate.

Be the first step to a better future.

Nyx groaned as he rolled over his bed reaching for his phone that had just went off. Everything was hazy from the night before, but as he read the text from you it slowly started come back into focus.

Y/N – Captain Drautos got me back…please rest well… (1am)

Y/N – Don’t think because you have the day off gets you off the hook. (9am)

Y/N – Please take care of youself…(Now)

You misspelled a word he smiled a little. That wasn’t like you at all, you must’ve been very worried for him. He set his phone down as he threw his feet off his bed, the cold floor brought him back to the night before.

The both of you had only stayed for an hour more. Everyone begged you to come back. Even Crowe pulled you to the side and spoke to you for a while, which worried him…

“So…” He walked backwards as they headed back to the Citadel, “what’cha think?”

You smiled at him shoving your hands into his jacket to keep warm, “You have very nice friends.”

“And…” He smirked leaning forward looking at your face when you looked away.

“It was nice to not have the weight of expectations on my shoulders.” You looked back at him eyes bright with happiness, “It was nice to just talk about what I like to do without someone telling me to focus on something else. I hope I can go back.”

“You’re always welcome.” He stopped in front of you smiling, “Just let me know when you want to go…”

“Are all the wards like that one? With a market at the front?” You asked as he started walking next to you again.

“Other wards? This is the only one…” You stopped looking at him face dropping, “What is it?”

“That can’t be right…you can’t all live in that small area?” You shook your head when he confirmed that they did. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and already you were falling back into your royal role, “That wasn’t part of the plan…”

“Plan?” He titled his head looking at you confused.

“After the initial attack on Galahd my father drew up a plan for aid and refugees…” You put you hand to your face as worry and anger flashed in your eyes, “I helped him with it…there were specific things in place to allow for more people…to keep everyone safe.”

“Okay…well…” He stepped closer to you as he put his hand on your arm to try and comfort you, “we can worry about everything tomorrow…”

As you began to nod someone began to approach them shouting, “Hey! Get your hands off her!”

Nyx turned to look and was met with a haymaker. A bright light flashed behind his eyes as fell to the ground landing hard on his arm. He heard you cry out alarmed as he tried to get up receiving a swift kick into the stomach forcing what air he had out, “Stop! Stop it!”

Nyx groaned and grunted as a group of men gathered around him beating him. You kept screaming at them to stop as he managed to cover his head, “Stop!”

“Keep her quiet! She’s no better than them if she’s hanging around with them…” Nyx felt his fist ball up hearing that. You let out a muffled scream…it sounded like you were struggling.

By order of the king, Glaives were not to use their abilities on citizens of Insomnia. In this case, he needed to protect his charge…a grey area leaning favorably in his direction…he hoped.

He reached out drawing the electricity from the lamps around him as a source. He waited until he gathered enough before he grabbed one of his assailant’s legs sending them flying away with the electric force.

The surprise attack paused the abuse he was receiving enough for him to roll out of the way to his knees. He stood up looking at the other two who had been attacking him and the third holding you back. When he finally spoke, his voice was deep like a low growl, “Let her go.”

“Shit…shit he’s a Glaive…” The one was wise enough to see that at least. The mention of that gave the other two hesitant looks.

“Get your friend…” Nyx continued his low tone as he balled up his fist letting electricity crackle around it again, “and get out of here…”

The two moved around him slowly to collect their buddy. The other one held onto you for a moment longer before he shoved you toward him taking off. Nyx caught you watching them run down the street. Once he was sure they were away his body shook before his knees gave out.

“Nyx!” You tried so hard to hold him up, but he was too heavy. You crumpled under him, half guiding him down, cradling his head so he didn’t hit the ground, “Nyx…no no no…open your eyes…Nyx!”

He cracked them slightly grimacing a little, “Ar-are you okay?”

“Me…no…don’t worry about me…” You shook your head putting your hand against the side of his face. He must’ve looked bad because your face was red with tears, “Oh Six…What do I do?”

He groaned reaching into his pants with difficulty pulling out his phone unlocking it, “Call…Titus…”

“Titus…who…” Was the last thing he heard from you before he passed out.

He washed his hands in the sink after using the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His nose was swollen and broken, lip cut, large gash on the side of his head ending somewhere in his hair…and bruises…he couldn’t blame you for being terrified. Head wounds bleed like a bitch.

He stood up straight clenching his jaw as the bandage around his ribs began giving him resistance. Astrals this was gonna be a rough couple of days…

He limped back to bed laying down, gently letting his head plop down into his pillow. He shut his eyes just about finding rest when his phone buzzed. He let out a frustrated sigh reaching for it. He shook his head as he answered, “Titus…”

“Ah…he lives.” Titus didn’t sound completely furious yet, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was jumped and had the shit kicked out of me…” Nyx smirked a little shutting his eyes, “Oh wait…”

“Yeah you’re laughing now…it could’ve been a lot worse.” He could hear him rustling through papers, “Seriously, how are you doing?”

“Sore…super headache…” Nyx listed off as he rolled to his side groaning, “hurts to breath…”

“All normal things to feel. Crowe is afraid you might have a concussion; I think you’re fine. Regardless, everyone is going to be calling you today.” Titus told him and before he could protest, “And if you don’t answer Libertus is going to come over and sit with you.”

Nyx let out a frustrated growl opening his eyes, “Fine…”

“You know why…” Titus started as Nyx interrupted.

“Yeah…yeah…I know.” He rolled back to his back staring at the ceiling, “…is Y/N alright?”

“Physically…yes…not a scratch on her.” Titus told him as more shuffling occurred.

“And mentally?” Nyx felt his chest tighten thinking back to when he first met you.

“Scared…upset…” Titus sighed clearly stopping whatever work he was working, “I got her back here with no one noticing…though I’m not as stealthy as you.”

“I’m sure you did great.” Nyx frowned letting silence fill the line for a moment, “Who’s with her?”

“Pelna…I figured his sunny attitude might help put her at ease.” He told him with a sigh, “If that isn’t…”

“It’s fine.” Nyx shook his head, “I’m not worried about anything…I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“No, that’s not what…” Titus began again as Nyx interrupted once more, “Dammit Nyx! For once in your life just listen to me!”

Nyx fell silent waiting for him to go on, “You have to take care of yourself. You are more important then you think. Last night…last night could have been the end of us…so please…I will take care of everything here. You just heal.”

Nyx shut his eyes nodding before he spoke quietly, “Alright…I understand.”

“…thank you.” Titus sighed, “I know that it’s hard for you to just sit by.”

“Yeah…” Nyx frowned a little as he opened his eyes again, “I think Y/N’s figured me out…”

“What do you mean?” The sound of a stapler rang out on the other side.

“I think she knows who I am…” There was a definite pause on the other side, “I didn’t tell her…”

“Are you going to?” Titus waited for an answer but received none, “Nyx?”

“I think I have too…” Nyx sighed frowning putting his free hand to his face, “So much for anonymity…”

“Will you leave your position?” Titus asked sounding eager.

“Not if I don’t have to.” Hearing a heavy sigh made him smile, “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

“You realize that opens a very big can of worms…” Titus told him as another stapler sounded.

“Doesn’t have to…what are you doing?” He winced as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Dossiers… it’s a new policy the higher ups want. We need to have information on everyone who’s a Glaive.” Titus told him begrudgingly.

“Is something happening?” Nyx sat up letting out a curse putting a hand to his chest.

“You alright?” Nyx couldn’t help but smile hearing the Captain’s concern.

“Yep…just me being me. Can’t sit still.” He told him picking fuzz of his sheets.

“Just don’t be stupid…please…my heart can’t take the stress.” Nyx laughed before he groaned. Titus chuckled sounding pleased in his pain, “As for if something going on…do you really think they’d tell me?”

Nyx sighed draping his arm over his knee, “I can do some digging…”

“Nyx…” It was the same exhausted tone he used to give him back home.

“I can do it right from here…won’t even leave the house.” Nyx told him with a smile, “I just happen to know a Crownsguard who has a parent that protects the king…”

“I wouldn’t be able to stop you even if I was there babysitting you myself…” Titus sighed. Nyx could practically see him rubbing his face in frustration, “Just please…”

“I will. I won’t leave…I’ll just sit in my chair or lay in bed.” Nyx reassured him, “I’ll even answer the phone when everyone calls.”

“Appreciate that…take it easy.” Titus told him hanging up.

Nyx sighed looking around his apartment. He needed to clean this place…luckily he had the perfect excuse not to do that today. He chuckled to himself falling back gently. He looked at his phone in his hand pulling up your messages.

He stared at them for a long time before he worked up the courage to text you back.

Nyx – Glad you got back in one piece…really sorry I wasn’t on my game.

… … …

His eyes widened when he saw the little dots almost immediately alerting him that you were responding.

Y/N – It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry that my people are so full of hate.

Y/N – How are you feeling?

He smiled involuntarily at the question before his fingers went to work.

Nyx – I have had better days, but I’ve definitely had worse…

… … …

Why did his heart skip simply by seeing dots? Yeah…sure he thought you were attractive, but he didn’t know what you liked to do besides gardening. You were book smart, eloquent with your words, and you used to be linked with your people...something since falling away from the light you lost.

But was a month of hanging around one another enough time to really know anyone? Was taking you out to meet his friends more then just trying to get you to trust him?

Y/N – Captain Drautos was sure your ribs were broken…if you need anything, please ask.

Nyx – Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll be back in a couple of days.

Y/N – Take more time if you need it. Pelna is doing a great job in your absence.

Nyx – I bet he’s not as quiet as I am though. Studying in the library must be hard…

Y/N – You’re not wrong, he likes to chat, but it’s okay. I don’t feel like studying today.

He chuckled and continued carrying on a conversation with you for a while before his eyes began to get heavy, lowering with each blink until they finally shut.

When his eyes opened again, he was laying under a large palm tree in hammock. The breeze smelled sweet as it blew across him. He smiled feeling content under the Galahdian sky.

“Nyx!” He looked over seeing Lena running toward him big smile on his face already dressed for their special guests, “They’re here!”

He groaned waving his hand at her before rolling over, “Psh…”

“You don’t want to meet your future?” She leaned on the hammock looking at him, “I heard she’s really pretty…”

“She’s probably pale and pasty…” Nyx covered his head with his arm as she leaned closer to him.

Lena scowled poking him in the ribs making him jump, “Mom worked really hard on this…and you agreed to it! So, don’t disappoint her!”

He peeked his eye open looking through past his arm at her letting out a big sigh, “I can’t get out of this one, can I?”

“’Fraid not, kinda a requirement to meet your betrothed before the wedding.” Lena crossed her arms cocking her hip to one side. She was going to make someone very happy in the future, and also be very frustrating to handle.

He rolled his eyes hopping out of the hammock smirking at her, “When did you get so smart?”

“It’s a natural talent I have. It must’ve skipped you!” She let out a laugh as he started attacking her sides with tickles, “Nyx stop! Stop it!”

He laughed a little letting her run off as he reached for his achkan jacket. He knew his responsibility he just wanted to avoid it as long as he could. He never felt like he’d be able to do his father justice. Though his mother told him to rule with his own heart, and not his father’s…it was hard not to want to live up to a man who instilled strength in his nation.

He closed each button walking slowly toward the entrance of their home. He’d heard about the Lucian capitol and he wondered if it’s princess would be underwhelmed by them just living in a large estate instead of castle reaching for the sky. He also wondered if you’d even wanted to do this or if King Malcolm was forcing you into it for the resources…

“Nyx…late as always.” He smiled leaning down kissing his mother’s cheeks before she looked him over, “At least you’re dressed for the occasion...”

“I know how important this is to you mom.” He took his place next to her as Lena took her spot on the other side, “I know how important this is for our country.”

Selena looked at him letting out a sigh, “Good…I know this arrangement may not be ideal…but I do hope one day you both find a way to love one another.”

He looked at her and smiled, “I’m sure it will all work out.”

She smiled at him giving his arm a supportive squeeze before she stepped out. Lena looked at him and he gave her a wink before following them both out to meet their arriving guests. He stood on the steps behind his mother and sister as sleek black car pulled up.

Two men stepped out looking around the area before they both went to the back doors opening them. The first to step out was King Malcolm. He smiled greeting his mother with a low bow. He turned waving his arm out to an older woman introducing her as his wife.

His eyes shifted to the third person stepping out on the other side of the car. No doubt the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. Sunlight bounced off your hair as you looked out over the forest.

When you turned, he felt a million butterflies flutter in his stomach. You had kind eyes and a beautiful smile. You moved with grace around the car as you told the young man with dark hair following you around to back off, “Gladio it’s fine. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t…”

“Well just lemme know…” He crossed his arms looking up towards Nyx with a glare as he whispered toward you, “Can’t be too careful!”

You shushed him making Nyx chuckle. It reminded him of himself and how he interacted with his own guards. Luckily when he was at home he wasn’t required to tote them around. One thing was for sure you were at least playful.

“And this is my daughter, Y/N.” Your father introduced you to his mother.

You smiled at her bowing low like your father, “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. My father has said nothing but wonderful things about Galahd and its people.”

“Oh my…she is bright, isn’t she?” Selena smiled glancing toward Nyx, “Perhaps this is a blessing and you can teach my son some etiquette of the court?”

Nyx rolled his eyes a little stepping down as his mother introduced him and his sister, “This is my younger daughter, Selena.”

“You can call me Lena, little less confusing.” She curtsied excitedly with curious eyes.

“And this my son and heir to my position, Nyx.” Selena waved toward him.

He stepped next to his mother bowing to your parents, then bowing to you offering his hand out, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your father did not do you justice.”

When you took his hand, he kissed the top of it making you blush, “The pleasure is mine.”

“Wonderful.” Selena smiled at them all throwing her hands out gently, “We’ll let you all get settled before we have lunch. I’m sure the boat ride over was long.”

“We had fair weather and calm seas…” Malcolm began to speak as he and your mother walked with the queen.

Nyx let go of your hand looking at Lena nodding his head for her to skedaddle. She smirked at him before stepping up to you, “I just wanted to say welcome to Galahd. If you have any questions, it’s probably better to ask me or mom…”

“Lena…” He coughed a little as she laughed walking away, “She didn’t mean that.”

“Oh, it seems she did or else she wouldn’t have said it.” You smirked at him eyes twinkling.

He laughed a little as you both began going up the stairs, “She’s an instigator is more like it.”

“Troublemaker you mean…” You stopped turning around seeing your guard slowly creeping up behind you, “You do have better things to do. I’m in good hands from what my father tells me. The prince is well versed in fighting.”

Nyx felt warmth spread throughout his shoulders when you looked at him smiling as your guard moved past you both, “You trust your father’s opinion of me?”

“He’s a good judge of character. We wouldn’t be here otherwise, and I’m certain he wouldn’t have asked me to marry you if you were not a good man.” You looked back making a face, “What is that whistling noise?”

“Whistling?” He looked up as fear rose in his chest. He saw bombs drifting downward from Niflheim ships.

He reached for you as walked inside…

“No!” He shot up letting out cry of pain rolling to the side putting a hand on his side. He took in several sharp breaths trying to get the pain under control.

“Hey hey hey…take it easy.” He looked up as Crowe came into view helping him to sit up, “That must’ve been some dream.”

“Just…” He took in a few more deep breaths, “…never mind…what are you doing here?”

“I figured you were hungry…and I also thought I’d check you over again.” She told him reaching for his phone waving it in his face, “And you slept through three check-ins.”

“Ah…so Titus sent you.” He groaned again as he leaned back on his elbows “I appreciate the concern, but really I’m fine.”

“Clearly…” She rolled her eyes tossing his phone next to home before she began to undo the bandages, “You really got wrecked last night. Had us all worried…If Y/N hadn’t called Titus…”

“I’d still be okay because she would have figured it out.” Nyx interrupted her.

“I suppose…but Nyx if you’re going to be bringing her around…you should really consider teaching her a thing or two.” Crowe told him with a sigh as she started feeling his side.

“She knows how to fight…it’s just…” He shook his head wincing away from her touch, “They stopped her training pretty much as soon as she started…no power, no fighting I guess.”

“Well you should give her a refresher if her own people are gonna be bigots.” She shook her head started to wrap him up again.

He didn’t respond as he chewed his bottom lip. Crowe wasn’t wrong, it would benefit you to know some self-defense. He couldn’t be there every time, though he wouldn’t admit that.

He glanced at his phone as it went off. His eyes widened as the preview held the whole message.

Pelna – call y/n…

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helaintoloki · 5 years

Text

Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon

chapter nine: The Seven Wonders

masterlist

pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader

warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff

notes: updated this sooner than I expected oops. This chapter is also much lengthier than usual

“Darling, what ever are you doing?” Myrtle asks as she barges into y/n’s room announced. The startled witch fumbles the tiny glass vile in her hands before quickly shutting it away in her jewelry box.

“Nothing!” She splutters, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly like a culprit caught on the scene. Myrtle simply sighs and ignores y/n’s erratic behavior.

“Cordelia requests that you stop by her quarters immediately to discuss important matters.”

“Yes Miss Myrtle,” y/n nods, then hesitates. “Miss Myrtle... have you ever been in love with someone that you could never have?”

“Oh, darling, of course not. I can have any man I want,” Myrtle smiles humbly, though she is anything but.

“Yes but... well, have you ever had to choose between the Coven and-“

“A man? No,” Myrtle scoffs. “The Coven comes first. Always. Every witch knows this, and I’d hope you know it.”

“I do-“

“Because you’re a very promising witch, one of the most talented girls I’ve ever seen. And I’d hate for you to throw that all away for a pair of green eyes.”

“His eyes are blue-“ y/n corrects, not yet realizing her slip up until it’s much too late.

“So my suspicions were correct,” Myrtle sighs, sitting down on the edge of y/n’s bed and patting the spot beside her. The young witch wordlessly moves beside Myrtle, but chooses to instead curl up into a ball and rest her head against the woman’s lap, much like she would do as a child. “I’ve felt the conflict in you, my dear. Felt your hesitation, felt the way your heart seems to skip a beat when that boy is near. You’re in love.”

“I concocted a potion,” y/n murmurs, eyes closing shut as Myrtle soothingly strokes her hair. “A Constriction spell. His powers will weaken, he’ll feel sick, any magic will be too much for him. He won’t pass the test.”

“My poor child,” she coos, watching y/n’s tears silently slide down her cheeks and onto the smooth fabric of Myrtle’s dress. “I’m sorry your first love has brought you so much heartache.”

“I can find someone else,” y/n says, looking up at Myrtle, “but I can’t find another coven.”

Myrtle smiles, cards her fingers through the young witch’s hair, and hums a gentle tune to soothe her heart.

“Are you going to tell my mother?” Y/N asks.

“Y/N/N, I wouldn’t tell her even if it meant I could never wear another Dolce and Gabbana dress ever again.”

~~~

“You asked to see me?”

“Yes, come in,” Cordelia smiles, watching her daughter enter and gently shut the bedroom door behind her. “Sit down.”

Y/N does as she’s told, sitting in front of her weakened mother. She looks tired, frail, and serves as a reminder of why giving Michael the potion is so important.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N asks gently, grabbing hold of Cordelia’s hand in search of comfort in knowing her mother is still here, still alive. Michael’s voice rings in her head, and she shivers.

Cordelia Goode will be nothing but a pile of ash.

“About the same,” Cordelia smiles gently, moving a piece of hair away from y/n’s face. “But it won’t be that way for much longer. Michael’s test is approaching, and when he rises, I will fall.”

“Mom, don’t say that-“ she begins to protest, but Cordelia simply shakes her head.

“I know it isn’t what you wish to hear but it’s the truth. If not Michael then someone else. I am fading, and I need you to be ready for when I’m gone.”

“How can you be so calm?!” Y/N cries, tears welling up quickly. “You’re dying! And instead of trying to fight back, instead of trying to live you’re giving up!”

“Y/N,” Cordelia says sternly, and she settles. “We can’t defy the laws of the coven. My mother faded so I could rise, and now I must do the same. It’s law. But you won’t be alone, my love. You’ll have your sisters, you’ll have Myrtle. You’ll have Michael.”

“But I want you,” y/n sniffles, and falls into Cordelia’s arms as she begins to sob. “You’re the reason I have this coven in the first place.”

“And you’ll be the reason this coven continues to grow and thrive. I’ll be gone, but you, y/n, will still be here to help guide your sisters.”

“I’ll miss you,” she whispers shakily, clinging tightly to her mother.

“I’ll be with you,” Cordelia whispers into her hair, “always.”

~~~

“Michael?” Her voice calls from outside of his bedroom door, and he smirks.

“Come in,” he calls innocently, perfectly playing the part of the good little warlock she thinks he is. He doesn’t bother turning around as the door opens and she enters, too busy pretending to adjust the collar of his uniform.

“Hi,” y/n calls shyly, shutting the door gently behind her. “I left Binx outside. I know you don’t exactly enjoy his presence, and I wouldn’t want to throw you off in any way on such an important day.”

“You’re too kind,” Michael smiles, finally turning to face the witch. In her trembling hands rests a small slice of cake, wrapped neatly in cellophane. “What’s this?”

“An apology,” y/n smiles sheepishly, “and a good luck gift for your test. I baked it myself.”

The cake is chocolate devil’s food cake coated in purple frosting and dusted with glittered black sprinkles. He can smell the sweetness of it, can taste the chocolate on his tongue, taste the potion mixed into the once white frosting.

He’d found the remnants of her little concoction left behind in her haste and easily uncovered its purpose. The little bitch was trying to poison him, and it excited Michael, knowing there was a darkness to her, a motive, a selfishness buried underneath the innocent persona she showed off to the world. He saw her slip up as an amateur move, but viewed the attempt as something to play with. Once Michael claimed his title as the alpha he’d easily be able to cage her in his grasp. And he’d suffocate her, remold and reshape her, redesign her into his perfect match: a woman both evil and sinister. And when that was done? Well, there’d be no stopping him then. A powerful man with an almost equally powerful woman by his side? They’d reign hellfire together, and that was the plan, wasn’t it?

“Oh, y/n, you shouldn’t have,” Michael coos, taking the offering with one hand and grabbing hold of her own with the other. “You didn’t need to make a cake for me to forgive you, silly.”

“I know,” she smiles nervously, hands clammy in his own as she delivers the undeserved apology. “But I’d like to be in good company with our new supreme.”

The two are playing a game of cat and mouse, tip toeing around one another as they test the waters, test their limits. Miss Mouse thinks she’s in charge, that she’s the cat waiting to pounce on her prey. If only Miss Mouse could see she’s dangerously close to the cat’s snapping jaws.

“I have to pass the test first,” Michael sighs, a hint of false insecurity laced in his voice. Miss Mouse takes the bait.

“You will,” she affirms. “Eat the cake. I added an incantation to it as it baked. For good luck.”

“If you insist,” Michael says, carefully removing the cellophane before picking up the slice with his bare hand and taking a generous bite. Y/N licks her lips in anticipation, watching him devour her craft. Crumbs fall with each bite and frosting stains the corners of his mouth, but Michael slowly runs his tongue along his lips and savors every bite.

“You’re very talented,” he says, and she smiles absently.

“Oh, it was nothing,” she murmurs, wringing her hands together as he finishes the last of it.

~~~

“Guided by ancient tradition witches survive only if united under a strong, singular authority. Every generation needs its leader, The Supreme. No simple test could ever determine the sovereign among us. We rely on seven.”

“The ‘Seven Wonders.’ Seven Acts of magic so advanced each pushes the boundaries of craft into art.”

Telekinesis

Y/N does not feel an ounce of worry in her bones as Michael summons the horse whip. Telekinesis is an easy feat, achieved by any low leveled witch or warlock. She’d mastered the ability at only three months, reaching for dropped toys and bottles. Constriction spell or not, such a power was achievable. So when Michael sent an innocent smile her way y/n had no trouble returning it, although she didn’t miss the way Myrtle glanced disapprovingly at the two.

Concilium

Her stomach churns slightly, but y/n does not yet sink into her worry as she watches Zoe and Madison waltz. He smiles, whip keeping time as he guides their fluid movements. It’s almost beautiful, their dance, but it makes y/n nervous. The potion should be in effect by now, yet he does not show any signs of struggle or difficulty. The smugness on his face shows the exact opposite in fact, and as she watches her sisters waltz her bottom lip begins to bleed, tired from being worried between her teeth.

Transmutation

Y/N spots him hiding behind the stalks of wheat easily, and silently approaches from the rear. The hay doesn’t crunch underneath her feet, nor do her bracelets clink or jingle as she reaches out to tap his shoulder. But with a puff of smoke he’s gone, and she jumps at the light pat on her shoulder. He stands behind her now, beaming like a child would to their mother for a deed well done. Y/N can only muster a weak smile in return, swallowing nervously as the taste of defeat begins to coat her tastebuds. Why isn’t it working?!

Divination

Y/N watches from the sidelines, leaning against one of the wooden beams holding the barn together. Michael approaches her slowly, lifts her off the ground with the flick of his wrist, retrieves the pocket watch from underneath her, then gently sets her back down with a wink. God damn show off.

Pyrokinesis

Michael only grows stronger with each test, and as he slits his open palm y/n turns away in disgust. She is not repulsed by the blood nor at the boy himself, but at her failure. She did everything she was supposed to do, everything the spell book said to. Yet Michael continued to pass each test with flying colors, and y/n only seemed to grow sicker while her mother grew weaker. She was failing.

Vitalum Vitalis

Y/N had found the same rat she’d created during her first in depth encounter with Michael. The poor thing had died out in the cold, pathetically covered by the hay. Her caring hands delicately rest the creature in Michael’s open palms, and she ignores his piercing gaze as he observes her.

She watches as his plush lips mold into an o shape, gently blowing life into the lifeless creature. It only takes seconds before the animal is alive and scrambling out of his grasp. Y/N watches horrified as Binx chases after the rodent, and hits the ground just before her feline sinks his teeth into the rat’s neck.

Descensum

Y/N sits in a wooden chair and watches Michael’s preparation for his descent into hell. She’d been out for five minutes, and it would’ve been longer if not for Michael using his magic to wake her.

She’s scared now. The potion was meant to stop him early on in the game, and if it decides to work now he’ll be gone forever. And it will be her fault.

He approaches her carefully, a warm hand pressing gently against her cool cheek. The single tear that drops from her eye tickles his fingers. Y/N isn’t sure who the tear is for: Cordelia, Michael, herself, or maybe all three.

“Wish me luck,” he smiles smugly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Oh, get on with it already,” Myrtle scoffs, and Michael only smirks before taking his spot on the ground.

“Good luck,” y/n whispers, watching as his blue eyes shut close and his soul descends into hell, descends back home.

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

tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @gx-nji @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman @hecohansen31 @frenchzodiacgirl @michaelsapostle @spider-stud

#american horror story #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x witch!reader #michael langdon fic #ahs fic #ahs apocalypse #ahs coven #cordelia goode #season of the witch

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lovelyirony · 5 years

Note

154. “I’m a fallen angel.” for NatSharon... I smell angst

Sharon Carter was the Golden Girl of SHIELD. She could do no wrong, she had near-perfect solo missions, and was one of Fury’s self-professed favorites because “she follows my damn orders, Romanoff.”

Natasha doesn’t mind Sharon because Sharon is a coworker that you deal with and kind of resent for their better-than-yours track record. But Sharon’s good and follows orders like a good little agent when Natasha can’t because she’s never been like that and Fury knows this. Which is why Natasha is also a favorite because she’s not one to bullshit around him and she does whatever is personally necessary.

This does not explain why she gets to work on a Tuesday at 7:30 to find the entire office absolutely bursting at the seams with gossip and busy work and everything’s all going on at once.

“Did you hear?!” Agent Kennewick whisper-yells. “Agent Thirteen’s a traitor! She helped Captain America escape from SHIELD!”

Natasha thinks something is up. She’s never trusted Pierce and never had a reason to. Fury has gone on a deep cover mission somewhere in Brazil and has asked not to be bothered especially because he was buddy-buddy with Pierce in the 1970s and trusts him moreso than most people at the agency.

But Natasha knows better.

“I want an explanation,” Natasha says. “Why would she?”

“Because she was secretly working for Hydra,” Pierce says grimly. “They’re back.”

He’s Hydra.

Natasha knows that no one else could convince Fury to just disappear on his own free will. Or maybe even not, judging by the text reading

Hi Melinda :) this is Nick, can you pick up the kids for me at 2:30? They’re at the park! Thanks :D

Natasha decides she hates that Fury knows about emojis.

But she meets him at 2:30 at the park and finds out that he doesn’t trust anyone ever, and he knows that Sharon’s not an enemy of SHIELD.

“She’s a good person, she couldn’t betray the real SHIELD.”

“And when was SHIELD the real one?” Natasha says. “If Pierce is in a top position...”

“They ran into some recruitment difficulties regarding de-hydra-fication. Doesn’t work near as well as you’d think.”

Natasha laughs. Of fucking course they thought that would work.

“So. Who do I get to ask to suit up with me?”

Sharon is in Trouble. With a capital T.

It’s mainly because she and Steve like breaking into files and finding old bases to poke around see what they can dredge up. Steve’s not-good idea was going to Camp Lehigh, where he was under training and Sharon can practically see the thousand-yard stare and she drags him away until he stops again.

“Steve, you okay?”

“That’s not...that’s not supposed to be there.”

“Well you know, times and all.”

“No, that still wouldn’t be allowed to be there. Goes against building regulations.”

“How in the fuck do you know that?”

“Studied. Learned to listen to bitching. That shouldn’t be there.”

They find Zola on a computer screen and Sharon wishes Natasha Romanoff was here because she’d probably reference some stupid horror movie and do a better job of assessing the situation.

(Sharon needs to stop thinking about Romanoff. Something bad will come of that.)

But then the base is blown up because they are out of time and Sharon’s mouth runs dry as she remembers that “Accidents...happen” and she sees the legend of Winter Soldier is involved and fuck everything’s dead.

Her organization is dead. It’s not even hers it’s Aunt Peggy’s but the important thing is that it was never what Sharon thought it was and she’s been following orders and maybe killing people that didn’t deserve it.

And now all of SHIELD/Hydra/maybe the US government is after her and her family has been leaving her voicemails about it and she just wants a burger and to curl up in bed and cry.

She hasn’t done that since she was nineteen and her boyfriend of three years broke up with her. Tough shit.

And now they’re going to send Natasha Romanoff after her because that’s what any rational head of a secret organization would do when you have some difficult people.

Except that Natasha is there to help when things go south pretty damn quickly, and she even brought Sam.

“Heard we got a fallen angel,” Sam says, grinning.

“No time to mess around, we’ve fucked up,” Natasha growls. “Sharon, wanna explain to me why the fuck you broke protocol?”

“Found out we had a lot of moles,” Sharon says. “Rat infestation. You know the drill.”

“You could’ve told Fury.”

“You think I knew if I could trust him or not?” Sharon asks. “I didn’t. I did what I thought was best.”

“Would be a first.”

“You always this prickly upon a first conversation or am I just the lucky target?” Sharon bites.

(Natasha knows she’s screwed up. But she’s nervous when talking around pretty girls.)

“You can settle differences later, right now we need a plan to help,” Steve says. “And maybe getting Bucky back to his old self again.”

“You think that’s possible?” Sam asks. “Just like that?”

“Obviously not, but at least he won’t be a murder machine that keeps trying to kill Sharon,” Steve says.

So they work together and Sharon ignores that Natasha stares at her because it’s obvious that she’s trying to figure her out but for what exactly? She’s not sure.

It’s not until it’s a late night and they’re having a late-night beer that may be one of the last beers they have in this lifetime but hey who knows what’ll happen, and Natasha apologizes.

“I’m...sorry. I tend to get prickly around people I don’t really know.”

“Fine. It’s what happens.”

“No, it’s not fine. You were pissed and I questioned you.”

“Why, though?” Sharon asks. “Why question me, why be so...that way?”

“You’re the Good Girl,” Natasha smirks. “Fitting title given your physical description. All blue eyes and pretty smiles. I’m not, and it’s...it’s what it is.”

“And yet here we are,” Sharon says bitterly. “Drinking beers outside while we’re not sure if we’ll die tomorrow or not.”

“Only one way to find out.”

#natsharon #winter soldier au kind of #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #sharon carter #lovelyirony writes #sam wilson

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littlefaerose · 6 years

Text

and into the forest i go, to lose my mind and find my soul

WHO: Marley Rose (ft. Shadow!Marley)

WHEN: Wednesday, October 24th, 2018

WHERE: the forest of Marley’s mind

WHAT: This isn’t the trip she asked for...

WARNING(S): mentions/allusions to death and drug use

EXTRA(S): Title is a quote from John Muir. Lyrics in italics are from ‘Forest’ by Twenty One Pilots and ‘Army Of One’ by Coldplay.

I scream, you scream. We all scream cause we're terrified of what's around the corner. We stay in place ‘cause we don't wanna lose our lives.

Homework is done. Her dorm room tidied up. The day’s clothing discarded and new ones set out for tomorrow. There is comfort found in ritual and these days, Marley seeks comfort and distraction from whatever place she can.

Within reason.

There’s a leaf in a small tin in a box, tucked away in the bottom drawer of her desk. Out of sight, but not so easily out of mind. Underneath it, a book overdue from the school library. It hadn’t been her intention to ‘lose’ it. But there were some things that should stay secret. Delmira’s story would have to be one of them.

She’s been giving away too many secrets lately.

The conversation between herself and The Guild has spun out of her control faster than she expected. The truth about the prophecy and its contents is out there. Now she lives in fear of what everyone else is thinking. Of whether the truth is truly safe with them. Of eyes and ears and branches and roots, keeping an account of her every move. Of the mounting number of accidents she’s been involved in over the last few months and the dwindling belief that it has all been just a coincidence.

Maybe I’ll break out the leaf tonight, she thinks, brushing her teeth at the bathroom sink. She could use some of Millie’s advice.

Or at least some decent sleep.

Brush, rinse, repeat.

She wipes her mouth dry with the back of her hand as she turns off the tap and sets her toothbrush aside. Reaches for the canister of salve to twist off its cap. Dips her fingers into a cool green gel and applies them to the remaining patches of discolored skin on the backs and palms of her hands.

Pauses in the middle of the methodical circles she rubs into her skin as a giggle reaches her ears.

She leaves the open canister on the sink and moves to the doorway into her bedroom, brow furrowing as her eyes sweep the room.

She’s alone. At least it appears that way.

“... hello?” she calls softly but hears nothing in return.

Must be getting tired, she thinks with a sigh, scrubbing a hand over her face. Maybe I don’t need...

Her eyes flicker to her desk, lingering on the handle to the bottom-most drawer. Aether, she’s tired, but not enough to fall asleep without difficulty. She should just go to Dani’s room, see if she doesn’t mind sharing a bed tonight. But she has enough on her mind, surely. All of this mess about the collars. The aftermath of the Pagan Pride parade. Midterms.

She doesn’t register leaving the doorway to pull open the desk drawer, only that time seems to jump and a moment later she’s laid back on the bed, an empty tin in one hand and a leaf in the other. She twirls it between her fingers, eyelids growing heavier by the second as she considers it. She knows the risks. Knows the horrors experienced when things go wrong.

Oh, but how easy it is to forget prior experience when desperation overshadows common sense.

Stare into darkness, admit defeat. Coming home and I’m finding no peace.

Darkness.

Then light, spilling through spaces between a canopy of leaves.

She opens her eyes to a colorful greeting of reds, oranges, and yellows. A large frond floats down from above, dancing lazily on the breeze. It seems to spin right along with Marley, nestled in a pile of autumn’s abandoned foliage on the forest floor. She reaches a hand out for the leaf, which lightly brushes her fingertips before wafting away once more. Her head turns to watch as it somersaults in mid-air, delicate and playful.

She breathes deep...

Crisp air. Wet dirt. Notes of pine and that mysterious scent the earth creates after being showered with rain.

Her heart is simultaneously heavy and beating with excitation.

Cold Spring.

She sits up, rustling the leaves around her as she takes in her surroundings. She was just here... hadn’t she just been here? Disorientation is no match for the vivid memory of Breakneck Ridge and the silent forest she met at the foot of the mountains.

They hadn’t come to this place though. No, this place... this place is sacred. It’s her place. The only place left that truly belongs to her and only her.

She rises to her feet. And the leaves rise with her.

She watches them swirl around her and float away, creating a trail. The wind rustles the trees and they sway, urging Marley to follow.

She starts at a walk. As the wind picks up, so does her pace, until she’s running through the woods, following the leaves. She can hear the rush of water from the brook, the distant murmur of conversation and light laughter. The trees whisper and hum pleasantly as she passes by. Birds sing cheerfully.

She remembers this. Remembers what it used to be. Remembers how it ends.

But she still runs forward, doesn’t stop. Not until she reaches the clearing.

The mighty red oak stands tall and proud. Thick vines wrap their way around its trunk and mingle with its many branches. As she moves to stand at the foot of the tree, tiny pink and white petals bloom, spiraling from base to the tips of every branch.

‘About time you showed up. I’ve been waiting!’

Marley’s brow furrows. It’s not Millie’s voice greeting her. Had the leaf not worked?

‘Yoo-hoo, up here, Miss Ambivalence!’

Her heart lurches and stop. Lurches and stops. She rubs a hand over her chest and looks up at the mass of red leaves and white flowers.

‘Climb on up! We both know you want to!’

That voice... she huffs out a breath, shakes out her hands, then grasps the lowest, sturdiest branch and starts to climb. And climb. And climb.

The air is thinner up here. Purer. Her chest feels heavier the further she climbs. She almost slips halfway up, losing her footing and digging her thorns into the branch above her. Her heart lurches again. She swallows back the flash of fear and hoists herself up.

‘Keep going, you’re almost there!’

The voice is closer now. Marley knows she’s nearing the top of her tree, her secret hiding place. Just a little further now...

She reaches the last weight-bearing branch before they start thinning out, short of breath and warm despite the cool autumn air. Her heart races and stops. Races again. She breathes deep, blows it back out.

‘I remember the last time we came here,’ the voice murmurs, and see turns to see the wild-haired, green-eyed girl sitting beside her. ‘That Patrice was a real bitch. Guess it makes sense she’s a petunia, huh? Petty little flowers.’

Marley watches her other self run a hand through dark hair streaked with blond, making it more tangled than it was before. Other Marley doesn’t seem to care much.

“You’re not the one I came here to talk to,” she answers bluntly, surprising herself. “I thought I got rid of you.”

‘I am you, dummy,’ Other Marley chuckles. ‘I’m always with you. You’re stuck with me until the Aether says otherwise.’

Marley rolls her eyes.

“Well, you need to go. I’m expecting someone.”

‘You sure about that?’

“Positive.”

Other Marley shrugs as though to say whatever, crossing one leg over the knee and leaning back against the trunk. She seems to indulge Marley for all of a minute before speaking up again.

‘Pest! That’s what she called us,’ Other Marley exclaims, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘Thorny little pest. Weedy beast. We were only trying to help harvest the pollen from the fields but Aether forbid a middle-tier Fae have to deal with low-level shrubs like us-’

“Please... stop,” Marley replies tersely, tone rising, then settling once more.

‘I see we’re still sensitive about that, huh?’ Other Marley raises a brow, bemused. ‘I thought we were moving beyond the Fae. Picking a side.’

“Yeah, well you’re me. You know how not easy that is.”

‘Oh, bullshit. You can’t lie to me.’

Marley crosses her arms over her chest. Other Marley nudges her with her elbow.

‘Come on, Rosie. Let’s talk. What’s new? Tell me where that perfectly glamoured head is.’

Marley pulls her own arm away and scoots down the branch a few inches.

‘Marrrrrrrley-’

“STOP.”

‘If you won’t talk to me then I’m just gonna have to kick your ass again,’ Other Marley muses. Marley glares.

“You know what it is - there’s a prophecy about me and it involves the world coming to an end, and the Fae just want to... they just want it to end,” she blurts out, clearly frustrated. Heart lurches and stops. “I don’t understand why!”

‘You want to help,’ Other Marley prompts.

“But I don’t know how,” Marley finishes. “Not when the Ambassador is saying we have to just accept what’s coming.”

Other Marley gives her a wry smile.

‘Cutting ties isn’t easy, is it?’ she tsks. ‘And so the saga of fence-sitting continues.’

“I’m not fence-sitting!” Marley argues. “I’ve been telling my friends. I told them about the vision and the prophecy. I formed a guild. I said I wanted to fight what was coming, not sit around waiting for the end to come.”

‘Yes, you’ve said it,’ Other Marley nods. ‘To your friends... but not to your ‘sisters’.’

Ouch. The words make Marley’s brain hurt. They make her whole body hurt as it tenses, then twitches.

‘You haven’t given them your answer. For shame, Marley Rose!’

“I’m not exactly everyone’s favorite Fae-”

‘That’s a poor excuse. Call it what it is - you’re stalling.’

Lurch and stop.

‘You’re scared shitless to cut that cord because what if the other half of your life disappears? What if everyone from your life at NYADA walks away or disappears like you’re so convinced will happen? Then what? Where do you go? To who do you go?’

Marley covers her ears. Lurch and stop. Lurch and stop.

‘The Fae are your contingency plan. Because green blood is thicker than water, right?’

“Seriously, shut up,” Marley says in exasperation. “They’re not a contingency. I have my friends. I have a girlfriend-”

‘-who you passed over for belladonna,’ Other Marley reminds her. ‘A leaf, Marley! A leaf and an imaginary substitute for a sister you know is long dead. I thought we were done being reckless?’

“Me, reckless?”

‘Yes, you. Did you not hear the comment about playing with deadly nightshade?’ Other Marley shakes her head. ‘You say you want to stop the world from ending and yet you’re wilfully poisoning yourself. As though you don’t care that your silly attempt to see Millie again could be your last.’

“Well, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go!”

Everything around them falls to a hush. The trees stop whispering. The wind stills. Even Other Marley pauses, lips forming an ‘oh’ as both her eyebrows rise once more.

‘Woah,’ she whistles low. ‘You know, I was gonna wait and let us deal with that closer to the end of the world, but since you brought it up-’

“Shut up.”

Marley reaches for the branch overhead then and moves to start making her way back down the tree. Other Marley stands up as well and follows suit, much to Marley’s annoyance.

‘Is that why you stole that book?’ she asks curiously. ‘The one with Delmira’s legend in it?’

Marley pauses mid-descent, chest squeezing, body jerking. She almost loses grip on the branch. Other Marley presses further.

‘You really think that’s what’s gonna happen to you. That you’re gonna have to die in order to stop all of this.’

“I thought prophecies were hokey bullshit and that Delmira’s story... I didn’t think that had to be my story,” Marley admits, grimacing as she hangs on. “But then I saw the vision for myself and I... I’m just an ordinary Fae. I’m a weed! An invasive species. I’m nothing special and yet somehow I’m part of this horrific thing and I’m terrified. And it doesn’t help that everything is just shit right now. The government is shit, Bloodline witches are shit, NYADA staff is shit-”

‘Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever heard us say ‘shit’ so many times in one sitting!’ Other Marley marvels with a laugh.

“Aether, you’re so annoy-” She jerks again, squeaking as she loses her footing and falls. Other Marley catches her by the wrist, lifting her up like it’s nothing.

‘Even in the forest of your mind, you’re trying to get yourself killed,’ Other Marley rolls her eyes, setting Marley down on the branch. She takes a seat next to her. ‘Look, I get it. The world is a scary place right now. Nothing is certain. But the world was like that before you knew about a prophecy before you ever came to NYADA. You might think there are better ways to go than trying to save everyone from a giant, earth-shaking tree, but... inviting death before the Aether’s timing isn’t the answer. It’s a crime against nature.’

Marley knows this. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear though. Nor does the admission of such a dark, deeply suppressed piece of herself sit well with her. Is this really what it’s come to once again - risky behavior? She purses her lips together, avoiding Other Marley’s gaze.

“I don’t want them to know about her story,” she admits. “I’ve already told them so much. Too much... that would be too much, especially if it turns out to be true. If it turns out I have to.”

Other Marley places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

‘You have so much to stick around for,’ she reminds her. ‘Including helping your friends save the world, and I mean to say that in the least hokey, sentimental way possible. So let’s ease up on the intentional recklessness, okay?’

“I’ll try,” Marley nods, rubbing the back of her neck. Her stomach feels funny, as does her heart. “I think I should go. I don’t feel so good.”

‘I’ve got you covered.’

Other Marley holds up her hand and gives it a flourish, tender green vines sprouting from her fingertips. They wrap themselves around Marley’s waist and, with a gentle push off the branch, lower her down to the ground. She’s shaky on her feet but braces a hand against the trunk as the vines snake back up into the canopy above.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes still cast upward. Other Marley doesn’t answer. All at once though, the forest comes back to life - birds chirping, wind rustling the trees, leaves crunching beneath her feet. She pushes off the tree and starts a slow path back the way she came.

But the way back feels different than the way in. Every few steps, her body tenses and jerks, causing her to stumble. Her heart races but instead of stopping, it only moves faster. Faster. Straining uncomfortably in her chest. It becomes harder to breathe the faster her heart beats... she just has to make it back to the clearing. Back to the start.

She jerks again, tripping on a root and sending her crashing into a pile of leaves.

I’ll be standing there beside you, right when the storm comes through.

‘Marley? Marley, can you hear me?’

Her whole body aches. Her head is throbbing and she feels sick to her stomach. A hand brushes her hair back out of her face. It’s then she realizes she’s on the floor of her room, broken out in a sweat. She tries to sit up, but her body doesn’t cooperate. Her heavy-lidded eyes try to make out who is there in the room with her but her vision is hazy.

She opens her mouth to speak, but only a croak of a sound comes out rather than words. I don’t want to die, she thinks (no, screams) desperately. Not yet. I can’t die yet.

‘It’s okay, Marley,’ Poppy chirps in reassurance, her voice overlapping with one that shakes with worry.

‘It’s gonna be okay, Marley,’ Olivia promises, smoothing Marley’s hair. ‘We’re gonna help you.’

#paras #nimshadows #and into the forest i go #tw: death #tw: suicide #tw: drugs #tw: blood

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scriptmin · 7 years

Text

Three Inches of Heaven [Pt.2]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | TBA

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader, Jimin x Reader Genre: Time travel, romance, Royalty AU (Mature themes ahead) | Length: 5k

Summary: A bizarre time-warp sends an unsuspecting woman hurtling towards an era of cunning plots, political strife, and strict societal hierarchy—it appeared the world between a few centuries hadn’t been too different after all.

It was difficult to recall if you had fallen asleep before or after the man had left, but when you woke again, he was gone. Hovering over your face now was Jungkook’s, whose eyes widened upon seeing you come to consciousness, as if he had been waiting for this moment for a while.

“Good morning, m’lady,” he greeted, automatically reaching out to assist you into a sitting position. “You slept through the night, kept the physician waiting.”

With the initial adrenaline gone, you realized your muscles had been aching quite a bit from the fall. You rolled your head, twisted your shoulders, cracked your back with a series of satisfying pops. “Ugh- sorry?” You grunted, stifling a yawn. The boy hurried over to the little round table by the bed, lifting up the woven bamboo cover to reveal a rather plain looking bowl. It wasn't appetizing in the slightest, but you knew your body needed it.

“I've brought breakfast, m’lady.”

“How long are you going to keep calling me that?” You remarked, sniffling. “Draw the curtains, it's cold.”

Jungkook had no reaction to your comment, had only set down the bamboo cover and scuttled over to draw the curtains like you'd asked. “The maids are fetching the heavy coats today, you'll be dressed warm now.”

“Can't say you acting like this doesn't feed my ego after all the shitty things you did to me.” The boy was silent, which irritated you quite a bit. The way you remembered him, that snarky mouth of his always had one retort or another hidden under his tongue. His lack of words now was disconcerting, to say the least.

“M’lady,” he said at last, holding the steaming bowl of oats and a wooden spoon out to you. His gaze bore sincerity, something you hadn’t often seen. “Eat.”

You eyed him carefully, almost giving him a dirty look, as you took the food from him. Being stuck in the past wasn't so bad if Jungkook the big bad jerk was bowing left and right and calling you his lady. You wondered if he would kneel if you commanded him to.

“Why are you so quiet?” You stirred the contents of your bowl, unimpressed. Boiled oats were for the sick, and though you hadn't felt ill apart from the usual sores and aches, you didn't want to risk heavy food after what your body had gone through. Your real body. “Usually you're shit-talking a mile a minute. You like the sound of your own voice so much you could rub one off just listening to yourself talk.”

“Rub… what?”

You took a spoonful, swallowing without letting it linger on your tongue. “Never mind.”

“I'm quiet because I don't know how I should respond, m’lady. You've been acting strange since you woke, the physician said you might have memory loss, but… it’s strange. You remember me, but you don't seem to recognize your brother.”

There was a soft rap from the other side of the wooden door. Almost at once, you felt Jungkook’s sight land on you. You blinked at the expectant look on his face, puzzled, until you realised he was probably waiting for you to permit the visitor entry. Or at least, that was how it worked, wasn't it?

“Come in,” you called out, sounding prim, girlish even. The new voice, though still recognizable, was certainly different.

The door was pushed open and parted to reveal a petite handmaiden, dressed in a pale purple tunic in a similar fashion to Jungkook’s, and standing behind her was an elderly man, clad in long, drapey grey robes. He had a few wisps of white hair on his head, what he lacked up there, he made up for with his beard, which was thick, groomed and lightly dusted his collarbone.

“M’lady, the physician is here to take your pulse.”

It was Jungkook who responded first, striding to escort the man to a seat by the round table in front of you. “Thank you for coming, physician.” He then turned to the girl, “leave us.”

The girl dipped her head, then disappeared behind the closed door.

“I am uncertain if my lord has told you about my lady’s condition,” Jungkook began solemnly. You frowned hearing that. The boy you saw now looked exactly like Jungkook during your first years at college. About eighteen, no more than twenty, for sure. The boy from that time was wild, even his own brother, who was the only person he held any sort of regard for, could not make him listen. But this boy, this version of Jungkook—god, he was the man you wished you had lived to see.

“Yes, Lord Namjoon has informed me of his concerns for his sister’s recollections. M’lady, if I may?” You offered your bare wrist to the elder hesitantly. You didn't know how pulse reading worked, but if this man could somehow figure out that you didn't lose your memory, that you just didn't have it to begin with, what would Lord Namjoon and his servant Jungkook do to you? Would they kick you out? You’d never be able to find your way back to your own time if you were too busy trying to survive on the streets. The old days were never kind to lost little girls like you—then again, the future wasn't either.

You observed the physician anxiously, and Jungkook, worriedly. The former’s expression was unreadable, made just that much harder to decipher under all this wrinkles and that thick white beard of his. But after a moment with your wrist, the physician had gone on to press down your jugular, feeling and probing. You fought not to gulp.

“Jungkook,” you began, eager to distract yourself from useless thoughts. “Who's the king now?”

“You slept ten days, not ten years, m’lady,” he replied, chuckling.

“Kings have been known to change overmoon,” said the physician quietly, to himself.

Jungkook glanced at the elder, pursing his lips, before he turned towards you again. “King Han of House Cresthold. He continues to rule, safe and healthy, from Silvercrest Palace up in the capital, with the same wife and same sons and the same esteemed members of court.”

The corners of his lips quivered with suppressed laughter. You glared at him, muttering under your breath, “Don't get snarky with me.”

“Indeed it would be possible for my lady to experience difficulty recalling past events,” the physician declared, dousing the sparks of irritation. “Your pulse indicates stress, both to your body and your mind. I would advise my lady to have as much time to rest. The memories shall return with time.”

The boy beside appeared more glad to hear the news than you. “Sincere thanks, physician,” he said, beaming. The elder rose, nodding kindly at Jungkook, who was quick to assist the senior to his feet. The physician inclined his head to you, making you squirm, before he was ushered to the door. Never in your life had you been accorded such respect from an elder. Age didn't matter as much as title in this era.

“I'll leave my prescription with the handmaids. No need to see me off, child. Watch over your lady.”

“Thank you, physician.”

“So what are you, exactly?” You questioned once the room was left private to you both once more. “Are you my squire or something?”

The boy allowed himself a small grin, his eyes twinkling with youth. “No, m’lady. Last I checked you weren't a knight. I've been serving you since we were children. My father has served yours since they were boys. Don't tell me you've forgotten that too?”

“You were ugly as a kid.” This was a risk, the assumption. But it was one you had to take. The boundaries needed to be tested, and whilst you figured out your way around this time, it was best to keep the two boys believing that you were who they think you were. “Why would I want to remember that.”

There was a limit to temporary amnesia. Time was the obvious factor, the other was that some people you just can't forget. Your own identity was one, and your family, your close friends. You had to play things smart. If they caught on that something bigger was wrong with you, there was no telling what might happen.

Jungkook laughed, a delightful sound that would never have fit in with the distraught internal monologue going on in your head. This was how it was going to be from now on. Though Namjoon says this was your home, you would always be an outsider.

“You wound me, m’lady.” His soft laughter faded into the background as you took another spoonful of your oats, now gone cold. Silently, he had reached a hand to your face, pulled the loose strands of hair behind your ear. Your body went still at once despite yourself, despite everything. In the two years since your separation, you had gotten so close to finally forgetting what a gesture like that could make you feel.

Everything was for nought.

“You almost sound like yourself again,” he mumbled, his hand retreating back to their folded position.

“Really? Are you saying I was a bitch?”

Jungkook seemed to smirk, tenderness suddenly overtaken by mischief. “I wouldn't dare, m’lady.”

Rolling your eyes, you handed him the empty bowl, which he had promptly tucked away in the straw basket. The sight would have you dead with laughter. Jeon Jungkook waiting on your every need! You'd never thought this day would come.

“So where’s my brother?” You asked. Diverting the topic to something else, you felt the bubbling guffaws in your belly subside.

“In the Great Hall meeting with the other southern lordships. They'll be glad to hear of your recovery.” You almost waved him off. No one was ever glad to hear anything about you.

“Right, right. Hey, remind me how long King Han has been in rule?”

“It is his twentieth year. Why m’lady?”

The gears in your brain got to work, spinning through the years to your history lessons in high school. You skipped almost all of them, had nearly failed the class if it weren't for Jungkook helping you with extra credit. It was hard to believe that at the time, he was the one with his head screwed on the right way. The dates and years never came to you, no surprise there, but some facts did.

King Han. Wed the House Waterford shortly after his eighteenth birthday and succeeded his father’s throne. Had two sons, the first by a concubine, so the boy wasn't legally in line for the throne. It was a scandal, your history teacher joked. The crown prince was born some three or four years later, and would, in his own time, come to rule as King… King…

“What's wrong?”

“What?” The prickle on the back of your neck reminded you of being caught dozing off in class. “Nothing,” you said quickly; a reflex response. Your train of thought had disintegrated instantly, but you weren't too bothered. “What time is lunch?”

“Luncheon is at the twelfth hour as usual, but if you're hungry before—”

“No, no it's fine. Will I see Namjoon then?”

Jungkook nodded. “If nothing immediate demands his attention.”

“Good.” You expelled a renewed breath. There was work to be done. You had to find your “memories” before they found you. “Take me to the library.”

Of course every rich family would have a library built into their house. What else would they use the space for? Seven extra bathrooms? Modern customs had old traditions. Even if you had been wrong, it was better than asking if there was one. Jungkook could just take you to whichever was nearest. If he had truly been serving you for as long as he claimed, surely there must be some sort of routine established previously. You just had to figure it out, step by step.

The castle was enormous, expectedly. If this family were as rich as Namjoon said, something of this size was only warranted. When Jungkook left the room with your finished breakfast, two young handmaidens had entered right after to draw a bath and dress you. Like he said, your new garments were warmer, but still light enough for autumn. The maids put you in a dark purple dress, similar to the one you saw on Namjoon. It was a V-neck cut with floral patterned embroidery on the collars and hem of the sleeves, which were long and full, enough to hide your hands when they got cold. Signed at the waist, the overall shape of the dress was flattering. If this was the way they were going to dress you every day, life here wouldn't be half as bad.

You spent the rest of the morning poring over records of the family’s history from as far back as you could go. Jungkook was dismissed on your account in fear he might question your sudden decision to revisit the things you should already know, even with the memory loss taken into consideration.

This was every historian’s wet dream, you snickered to yourself, having just closed a book on Major and Minor Houses of the Southern Reach. Most names were unfamiliar, probably not covered in the syllabus from schooltime. It would've helped if there were little portraits to put a face to the name, but you couldn't be greedy. It wasn't Wikipedia.

You found your House quickly, it was one of the larger chapters, what with the many years of history. The founding of it you breezed through; what you really wanted to know was now—your parents, grandparents, any other secret siblings you should know about.

House Lightforth, the page began, headed by Lord Rion of Light Hill. This part was crossed out, with fresh ink, it was a darker black than the original words. It continued down: headed by Lord Namjoon of Light Hill, inherited by birth right upon his lord father’s passing. The Lady Dana, wife of Lord Rion, remains matriarch of the house.

This had halted you in your tracks. A dead father, that was disappointing, but not unexpected. But the mother had been alive, yet she was nowhere to be seen nor heard, not even through the mouth of others, of Namjoon. She was almost a ghost, but you knew that couldn't be true. Her name would be crossed off otherwise, just another figure in history, a corpse in the ground. Where was she? Why hadn't she been tending to you by your bedside?

“M’lady?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, but nonetheless unexpected. Your shoulders jumped unwittingly as you turned to regard the boy with a mild glare. He pursed his lips in a half-apology. “Luncheon is ready. And you have a visitor.”

The alarm bells went off instantly. Rationally, you doubted you had anything to fear with Namjoon around to deflect the questions. But it had felt as though you were blindsided by a pop quiz, your brain rattled to organise and present the answers at the forefront of your mind.

House Mantle. House Rayd. House Riton. House Brightblade… The chanting would go on and on, as you trailed behind Jungkook through long hallways, down some stairs and up again. The magnificence of the castle was otherwise wasted on you. You would make a mental promise to yourself to tour the place sometime. At long last, you arrived at what must logically be the Great Hall.

It was rather sparse, not what you were expecting considering it was literally named a great hall. Purple and gold banners hung from the little carved windows at the upper end of the high walls, alternating between textile and long, creeper vines as it went from one window to the next. Those banners you recognized to be the house sigil—a dashing bolt of lightning striking the crown of a bald willow tree. The backdrop was purple velvet, framed by gold fringes and leaf embroidery. The banner was everywhere around the castle, not necessarily the image, but the colours at least. It was on the servants, on Jungkook and Namjoon, on you.

There were only two long wooden benches in the hall. One was arranged parallel to the room’s width, on a raised pedestal such that whoever sat upon it peered down at the audience. There were three wooden seats on one side of the table, though it could probably accommodate two more. The one in the middle was the tallest, towering over the rest with fierce, pointed spires. Several servants were working to clear that benchtop, holding scrolls, ink blocks and quills, oil lamps, half-burnt candles; while several others were setting up the other. The second table was positioned lengthwise. This one was much longer, with individual upholstered chairs placed around it. It could seat about twelve.

As the patriarch, Namjoon was seated at the head of the table. Your guest, face obscured by the angle at which you were now approaching, was seated to the left. The chair across was pulled out and waiting. You arrived to the table, curtsying (or trying to) to your companions.

“Sister,” acknowledged Namjoon as he rose gracefully from his seat. He was smiling, some trace of a humorous conversation lingering on his lips. The man beside him stood as well, but his features were quick to neutralize. He almost looked terse, displeased. Like Namjoon, he bore tanned skin, was tall and broad, even under all the layers he wore.

Sky blue and white. Your thoughts paused briefly, brows furrowing in concentration. Of House Brightblade.

“Cousin Taehyung is here to see you.”

You knew you had already been looking at each other, but it was only upon Namjoon’s official introduction that you really saw him. Stern eyes, stern jawline, naturally frowning lips. And dark hair, same as Namjoon’s. He looked like a nightmare, but he looked good.

Cousin, you grumbled to yourself, what a waste.

Growing impatient at your silence, the man perked a thick brow in question. His chin seemed to tilt upwards at you.

“Hello cousin,” you offered, trying to mask the uncertainty quivering beneath your voice. It was his turn to be silent now, stewing over your response like he was trying to spit out eggshells from a mouthful of omelette.

“‘Hello cousin?’” He repeated, more so to the man between your figures than to you directly. “This is worse than you described. Do you want to consult my physician?”

Namjoon laughed, loud and hearty, almost goofily even. “I think she's better this way.”

“Better?” The man, Taehyung, deepened his frown. Whatever beef he had with you, past you, it had better not be serious. He sank down into his seat after Namjoon, all the while scrutinizing your every move with his sharp, feline gaze. You had forgotten about Jungkook until you felt him help you settle into your own seat. For that moment, you dared admit that you much rather preferred him over the enigma sitting before you now.

“More like boring,” he continued, like a child commenting on a zoo animal. I want to see the lions! You could almost hear him say. “So easy to bully. No fun at all.”

“Oh don't worry about that,” Namjoon replied. He angled his head to regard you with a pointed look, almost having you shrink in your seat. He must still remember your telling him to clearly shut the fuck up. “She still does put up a fight. Just... try not to have at each other's throat during this time. The physician advised to be careful.”

Taehyung scoffed. It was throaty, almost hacking, completely unlike the refinement of his features. Based on looks alone you'd think he was the prince! “Be careful? You speak as if she's a porcelain vase, Namjoon.” His eyes returned to bore on you, half-lidded, implying unimpression. “Not a very good vase either. All angles.”

“And you both speak as if I'm not here,” you quipped rather irritatedly. The men shut up at once, their gaze snapping to you in an instant. It were as if they had truly forgotten about your presence. “Where's the food?” You sniffed, shifting under their watch. “I'm hungry.”

With a single look from Namjoon, Jungkook had bowed and promptly left to the kitchens. In the meantime, a serving girl had stepped up to fill your glasses with a fragrant purple liquid. Wine, you were hoping.

“At least her appetite hasn't changed,” commented Taehyung over his cup.

“I was hoping it would.”

“Why?” You snapped, defensive. Namjoon looked taken aback, but the other man only sipped his drink. “Are we too poor to put food on the table? Again?”

The word had slipped out before you could even graze a finger at the tail of it. Again. You surely had not wanted to be subjected to the harshities of your first life again. If God wanted you to live a second time, it ought to be better than the first.

Fortunately neither men at the table had taken to address the questionable phrase, either that or they had simply allowed it to fall to the wayside, having known your condition.

“Hardly.” His chuckle was patronizing. “I’d starve myself and everyone else to the bone to feed you.”

“That's precisely the problem,” Taehyung interrupted, setting his cup back onto the table and gesturing for the servant to refill it before he continued, solemn, “you spoil her, Namjoon.”

“I'm not worried. There's always you to put her back in place. In turn, she puts you back in yours.”

“Yeah,” you grinned, reaching for your own cup, which had been untouched until now. “Stay in your lane, Taehyung.”

Something intangible fell onto the table then. It was shapeless, nameless, but as prominent as a golden roasted pig head, apple in the mouth and all. It sat in the middle of the three of you—the pregnant silence.

“Is that meant to be an insult?” Taehyung asked.

You glanced back and forth between the two men, considering it for a moment. “No,” you eventually said over your cup, poised by your lips. It was wine. You could smell it. “No it wasn't.”

The pig head disintegrated then, all the muscles lost tension, and the air resumed its usual current.

“Not too much,” Namjoon reminded quietly by your side. You took one last big gulp into your mouth and put the cup down.

“Let the child drink. She should get accustomed to it, build her tolerance, else she falls prey to those with ill intentions.” Taehyung was leaning back into his chair now, sparing a brief glance to the door where Jungkook had exited from. He was getting impatient. Proof of having lifelong servitude. House Brightblade was indeed a rather old one, though not as old as yours.

Namjoon shook his head, amused, sipping his own wine. “I’d hardly consider her your child when your name days are only some months apart.”

“She's a babe when it comes to drinking.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Still suckling from her mother’s teats.”

“I take severe offense to that,” you promptly replied. From the corner of your eye, Namjoon had raised his brows, pursed his lips, impressed. “I challenge you to a match. Let's see who's the real babe after it.”

Taehyung didn't answer, but his lips moved. Only one corner at first, up and up into a lopsided smirk, until at last he was grinning, devilishly, handsomely. Devilishly handsome. The moment before he spoke again, the servants had come back with food.

“Challenge accepted.”

You wondered if it were possible for a person to die twice. Because that had surely been the feeling plaguing you the moment you regained consciousness. In all honesty, this one felt more like the real deal.

It had been a few hours since your waking. You were washed and dressed and fed, with warm soup and porridge which you hardly touched. Jungkook had snuck some mocking sniggers here and there throughout the morning, but even that had fallen beyond your capacity to give a fuck. Whoever won that challenge never truly won. Not with a hangover like this.

“Should we take a walk, m’lady?” Jungkook offered, his laughter was thinly concealed, but he had held it down somehow.

“A walk?” You repeated loudly, unnecessarily appalled. “I'm ready to keel over and die and you want me to take a walk?”

“That's what Lord Taehyung did this morning, right out of bed. He seemed fine the last I saw him.”

And so you had gathered your skirts, your swinging sleeves, tightened the sash around your waist, and stalked out of your room. Staggered, mostly, but the punch was there in your head. You didn't make it very far until your pace had naturally slowed, and you fell behind Jungkook in step so he could lead you.

You had walked the corridor along your room a few times, but despite the number of closed doors, you had never sensed the presence of another. Now, though, there was a commotion. The shouting echoed ghost-like off the walls, as if coming from the other end of a long, unexplored tunnel. Your feet slowed as you listened intently—there was only one voice. A woman’s. She sounded distraught, but not angry.

Words didn't find you as quickly as you found Jungkook, who had his head lowered and looked as if he had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. His pace seemed to quicken too; he wanted to leave the scene behind. You considered questioning him, but it seemed his own conscience found a need to answer your unspoken sentiments, which he had assumed incorrectly.

“You mustn't, m’lady,” he seemed to whisper, afraid of being overheard as you approached the door. “It's the lord’s orders.”

You frowned at this. There must be something greater going on behind that door. “Why not?”

Jungkook looked like he could combust on the spot if you pressed anymore. Who was the woman, and what were Namjoon’s orders—why was Jungkook a wound up toy soldier, unable to take his first march, hiding on this side of the door?

“Try to stop me.”

You bolted, fear of falling only a tiny fraction of your thoughts. Jungkook reacted in a blink, but not fast enough, your sleeves slipping from the gaps between his fingers. You had closed the remaining distance just as he called out your name. He couldn't stop you from opening it—from knowing. Or should you say “remembering”?

The scene was frozen before you, a buffering movie screen seen through the doorframe at which you stood, similarly rigid, stunned. The room was a complete wreck. Broken bowls, bronze mirrors, shards, torn sheets, spilled food. There was this smell too, of urine and something else, something intangible. You looked at the woman on the ground, and she looked back at you, her arms paused mid-flail in the air, hair disheveled, face marred by isolation, desolation. A young girl knelt beside her, her dress stained, perhaps with the rejected meal. She must've been trying to stop her from doing something with the shards. Her own arm was cut, the ruby red blood dripping onto the stone floor, echoing in the bed of your ears like a leaky tap.

What was happening? Was this a blooper in this make-believe life you were now living? A behind-the-scene reel that you shouldn't have seen?

There was a whisper from somewhere in the room. Thin like a wisp of smoke, and equally as short lived—it evaporated almost as quickly as it came.

“Child…”

“M’lady!” Jungkook breathed, grabbing you forcefully. Your entire frame rocked from the inertia of his sprint, but beneath that, you were trembling, completely cold. “Please- we must go.”

Your body was shoved away, a sled dragged by the string after it had not made the full way down the slope. Your feet trudged along, an automatic reaction, you were no longer in any capacity to control them.

Jungkook had loosened his grip, but his touch left tight manacles around your wrist even after. You knew who that woman was.

“How could she be treated like that?” You spoke at last, incredulous. Your two figures had made it a safe distance away, now paused atop a tall flight of stairs, down which led to a foyer. “My own mother?”

“You must understand—”

“I don't have to understand anything!” The distilled silence of the castle was overtaken by your shrill shrieks. Halfway, you wondered if Namjoon would hear you, would come rushing to diffuse the situation like he had the first time. But you knew that was not possible, not when the woman had screamed and screamed and yet the only person by her side was the servant girl. “My brother’s orders?” You scoffed. “I don't believe it. Take me to him. I want him to explain.”

“You consented to this.” The glint in his eyes was firm, unbudging. You saw this often in his other self, but never here. In the back of your mind, you realized he had stopped addressing you as ‘m’lady’. “You agreed that this was better for everyone, for the House. If word got out—”

“Stop talking.” You were no longer shaking. Composure was ebbing back into you, but at the same time, you felt something escape, radiating off your skin, never to return. “Better never means better for everyone.”

“M’lady…” He was back to his tender self now. Soft and pliable.

It had become clear that you didn't belong here—that you never could. It was not the era that made you the misfit puzzle piece, in all honesty society now and then had not been too different at all. There were secrets, danger, dead fathers, absent mothers, the rich and poor, superior and inferior. Rather, it was simply something you had not wanted at all. Escaping one life only to land in another—did this happen to everyone who died, or was it just because it was you? Because life seemed bent on making a fool out of you even until the end. Even in the end.

You had no desire to belong anywhere. Not to that time, not to this time either.

“You said I fell into a pond, didn't you?”

Jungkook flinched, startled by the breaking of silence like a shattered glass window. He nodded slowly, carefully, unwilling to hear you say more. But you had said it anyway. “Take me there. I want to see it for myself.”

Perhaps third time's the charm.

#bangtan bookclub #btswriters #bangtanwriters-net #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #jimin scenario #bts fanfic #bts angst

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belladonnaandulriched · 4 years

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artworks by badmotorartist on instagram; do not repost without her permission

the mirror never lies | chapter nineteen: the mirror never lies

Joey opens his eyes to gray morning light. He had made it through the night and by some black magic, by some miracle, Lars had dragged him into the bed. He had hoisted him over his shoulders, the little wounded man he is, and lay him down right there with his head on the soft pillow. Lars had tugged the blankets over his thin hungry body and bode him good night once he had him there; Lars himself meanwhile had fallen asleep at the foot of Joey's bed. His long beautiful mousy brown hair spans across the top of the blankets: as Joey lifts his head, he can make out the sight of the top blanket covering his little body.

Joey bought him breakfast and brought him here to upstate New York, and then Lars returned the favor by opening him up and then laying him down to sleep.

“Lars?” he says to him, his voice breaking with deep sleep and hunger pangs. He stirs down by his feet but he never wakes up. Joey lifts himself onto his elbows for a better look at him and his arms out before him. He can make out the sight of the bandage on his one wrist pointed up towards the ceiling. Right there glaring back at him like Medusa's stare.

His body aches all over: even with three blankets covering him, he still shivers with the cold.

Death makes no sound. She is so cold as well. Cold and silent.

And Joey reaches down to shake Lars awake: his left arm quivers from holding up his weight. Lars finally stirs awake and rolls over to look into Joey's soft brown eyes.

“Oh—” he breathes out. “Oh, good morning.”

Breathing hard, Joey leans back onto the bed and lays his arms out from his body. Lars rubs his eyes and rolls over to better face him. The blankets had fallen down his body so as to reveal most of his bare skin to the cold of the bedroom. Lars raises his eyebrows at him, at that silky soft dark skin on his chest and his waist.

“Joey—” he chokes out at the sight before him; that slim smooth waist. He had never seen anything more elegant and delicate looking. “I'm looking at your belly—it's so beautiful. So, so beautiful and slender. Is it alright if I touch you?”

“I guess it won't hurt,” Joey confesses with a clearing of his throat. He closes his eyes and lets Lars runs the tips of his fingers over the skin on his waist. The tips of his fingers feel like the tips of feathers on his skin. Feathers giving him loving soft touches in spite of the painful wounds beneath them.

He then thinks of his parents, how much they've done for him in his life. They've done so much for him, from encouraging his passions for hockey and music to even the mere concept of raising him. Meanwhile, Lars gazes at the wounds on his wrists and he knows he's going to have to explain it to his parents. It was already kind of a bitch to justify and explain the scar on his eye to them; now they're going to have to know what happened to his wrists. Lars rests his hand flat on Joey's lower belly, right over his navel.

Another thing that crosses their minds, almost at the same time, is what are their fans going to think. What will the Metallica family think that one of the band's founders has a cutting problem when they had just shaken off the title of “Alcoholica”? What will the Anthrax family think that their front man is starving himself because he thinks he's ugly and shouldn't be there in the first place? Lars moved mountains for his band as well as the people who love them. Joey's out front because he loves it. They came here for a reason.

They need to be here to see their intent. Lars gazes into Joey's brown eyes, and Joey gazes into Lars' wintry green ones.

It's silent there in the room as Lars examines the shape of Joey's body under the blankets.

“You are a hockey player,” Lars points out, “I am sure you have felt some pretty intense pain like I have on my wrists.”

“I have,” Joey admits as he folds his hands over his chest, “on my legs especially. It's brutal, too. I've gotten ice burns and I've fallen down more times than I can count. There are times I'm surprised I never got like my throat slit or broke my nose—” He sighs through his nose and gazes up at the ceiling.

“You ever get splinters drumming?” Lars asks him. “Like from the sticks?”

“Oh, all the time. You ever pull a muscle in your legs from it?”

“Constantly!”

Joey sighs through his nose again.

“I miss feeling full,” he confesses to him. He runs his fingers down his lower belly. “Like really, really full—you ever eat a fuck ton of food? Like three big ass helpings of sump'n like lasagna or penne?”

“Yes, I have,” Lars replies with a slight smirk on his face. “It's such a sensual feeling, isn't it?”

“All soft and sweet and you're feelin' all snug and warm… my mom makes some of the best pasta ever. Actually makes it, too, from scratch—her, my aunt, and my grandma, all of them.”

“I just think of the toast I had yesterday down in the City. I still feel like you should've had some—even though there is no denying as to how you feel. But… I have faith in you, Joey. Seeing as we are here right now and coming closer to one another tells me that I can trust you.”

“An' I feel the same to you, too—” He lifts himself up onto his elbows, albeit with more shaking and quivering, but he manages to sit upright. He lays his hands in his lap and slouches right there before him. The curls on the sides of his head sprawl down his shoulders and his collar bones. The ends are as dry as bone.

“I don't want to die,” Joey confesses to him, “I want to feel good and healthy.”

“I don't want to be in pain,” Lars says back to him. “I don't want to be left behind.”

“Well, you're right here with me, aren't you?”

“I never left. And you never left, either.”

“I should tell you,” Lars begins again as he extends his legs out before him and over the edge of the bed, “Mrs. Foxworth is going to die.”

Joey gapes at him.

“What!”

“Yes. She has metastatic cancer—I don't even know if she made it through the night like we did.”

“Well—what the fuck, why didn't she tell me that?”

“She told me it is because she feels she is undeserving of your love. An elderly woman potentially on her death bed wanted me to tell you that she sees you as a beautiful boy.”

Joey brings a hand to his face. All this time he had believed that she couldn't stand him. It took her to experience true agony to face the truth, like how it took them to experience agony themselves to face the truth about themselves.

“I have to take a piss,” Lars tells him in a low voice. He climbs off of the bed and clutches at his wrists in pain. They're sore but not as sore as they could be: it was the witch hazel and the application of the gauze that helped him.

I don't want to be in pain, he tells himself as he pads across the hall to the bathroom.

His body shaking from hunger and self inflicted cold, Joey slides out from the bed and follows him across the hall.

I want to feel good again, he tells himself as he pads across the hall to the bathroom. Lars is standing before the mirror over the sink, just standing there, gazing at his reflection. Joey stands next to him and they gaze at themselves for a good long minute before one of them speaks again.

“The mirror never lies, Joey,” Lars points out. “The cuts and the scratches—” He stares down at his wounded arms before he folds them across his chest to nurse them.

“And everything else,” Joey follows along as he gazes at his body. “The scars, the starvation—the mirror never lies. The flesh never forgets.”

“It is best if we heal now,” Lars suggests. Joey puts his arm around him and holds him close to his side; the crown of Lars' head reaches Joey's dimpled little chin. Two beautiful boys, beautiful no matter what the cost, and seeing it in each other right there before the mirror and next to each other. They stand there gazing at themselves and all defenses crumble around them. It's all so clear to them now even as they feel each other.

It took them to feel deep pain to find those last little nuggets of strength inside of them.

“Lars?”

“Yes?” He turns his head to look up at Joey.

“Let me take ya home.”

“Only if I get to buy you breakfast.”

“Well, of course!”

* * * *

It had been a week since their encounter there in upstate New York and yet Lars couldn't help but find himself thinking about Joey on this particular afternoon. He hadn't heard a peep from him since then, and he wondered how he was feeling then. His birthday is coming up on the thirteenth after all.

The wounds on his wrists had healed somewhat: the single deep one, the one he inflicted with the kitchen knife, is having a little difficulty healing all the way. It is quite the deep one after all. But at least the pain and the itching stopped: a little application of witch hazel every day seems to be doing the trick. He had to go to great pains to not show the wounds to James and Kirk lest they wonder what happened; perhaps he'll bring it up to them some day, but neither of them seem interested. The two of them would rather grieve over the loss of Cliff.

But the sight of the scar left behind from the one left from the scalpel is obvious. Scars will fade but the flesh will never forget, and neither will the mirror. Hunger will fade but the flesh and the bones will never forget, and neither will the mirror. At least if the two of them slip away from him, he can always return to Joey for kindness.

He picks up the phone and, after a bit of hesitation as he had only gotten Joey's number earlier that summer, dials his number. It rings once. Twice.

“Hello?” His upstate accent is so distinct it's almost cartoonish.

“Hi, Joey.” That Danish accent is unmistakable.

“Oh, hey, Lars! I was just—” He pauses and clears his throat. “—oh, pardon me. Sorry, I just had dinner.”

“You just ate?”

“Yeah, I had dinner at my parents. Been eatin' dinner with them for the past week—this is first night I've been able to drive home afterwards.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah—my mom's lasagna,” he tells him. “I feel so much better, too—I actually had to unbutton my pants just now!”

“Don't eat too much,” Lars advises him with a wag of his finger.

“I didn't, surprisingly. An' I won't, either. My mom saw I was hungry an' she told me 'I want you to eat to your heart's desire, baby. But leave enough for your father and me.' An' I was like 'okay, Ma', but she made a big one tonight so—I couldn't help myself.” Joey clears his throat again and Lars can hear a rustling in the background.

“How're your arms doin', by the way?”

“Still a little sore. But they are in fact healing. I just have to keep dressing the wounds, though.”

Joey clears his throat yet again and lowers his voice to a soft whisper.

“You know, I still have moments where I feel like going hungry again.”

“I bet you do. I still feel like inflicting some kind of pain on myself. You know, I feel like I deserve it. Because—you know, I don't really feel like I can discuss anything delicate with James and Kirk. I hope some day we can, though.”

“I bet you do… but remember why we stood in my bathroom for, though. I also should tell you that Mrs. Foxworth is still alive.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I saw her this morning an' I asked her if she was feelin' alright. She said she is, she's startin' chemo soon… and she also flatout told me I'm a beautiful boy.”

“Aw, that was nice of her.”

“Yeah, I know…” Joey fetches up a sigh and they slip into momentary silence before Lars speaks up again.

“Joey?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“And thank you, Lars.”

“Rub your belly when it's full.”

“I am as we speak. And you nurse any kind of wound you get on yer body.”

“Of course.” And without another word, they hang up at the same time like a mirror image.

#the mirror never lies #the mirror never lies fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #at land's end #lars ulrich #joey belladonna #lars ulrich fanfic #joey belladonna fanfic #metallica #metallica fanfic #anthrax #anthrax fanfic #also on ao3 #chapter 19 #chaptered fic #text

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fearofaherobrine · 7 years

Text

Roleplay Server Log #242

“Dn vs Everyone”

[Dn] Comes up the path and idly kicks a spider out of the way - You came out here to play with a cat?

[Doc] It's no business of yours!

[Lie] Feels like she should don CP's armor again-

[CN] Comes out onto his balcony- DN! LOOK! I HAVE MY OWN ROOM!

[Herabrine] Fuck off or I'll drown you

[Dn] Gives the treehouse a calculating look and nods a little bit-

[Doc] Curls up a little-

[TLOT] Snarls at him- Get lost.

[Lie] - Wish we had that sword CP's NOTCH had right now...

[Dn] You really think a sword would get rid of me?

[Notch] Growls at Dn.

[Dn] Flicks his eyes over Markus and then stares at him. - You're either a bold or a foolish player to be wearing a NOTCH skin.

[Notch] It's my skin. You're the copy. I'm the original.

[Dn] Hisses. - Liar.

[Stevie] Removes his hand from CP to start moving between Notch and DN-

[Lie] - It isn't a lie

[TLOT] It's true. He is the Supreme NOTCH.

[Dn] Pfft. Then you should show me your strength. If you claim such a lofty title.

[Notch] Swallows thickly-

[Lie] - Gifted to him by those far more peaceful and welcome than you

[Doc] He doesn't have to prove anything to you, and neither do I. - thumps hir tail angrily-

[Dn] Whatever. He's just another weak player putting on airs.

[Stevie] - No he's not!

[Herabrine] No one cares what you think, you ice-coated prick.

[Dn] Did you say something to me? Little Steve?

[Stevie] Growls, his body subtly shifting into a fighting mode he's used before-

[Dn] Sweeps his hand down and makes an icy blade from his palm. - Don't bother people above your station. Common spawn.

[Stevie] - That really all you got?

[Dn] It's all I need. - raises his blade-

[Stevie] Quickly spawns his sword and darts forwards, sweeping at DN's chest-

[Dn] Parrys him artfully and toys with him a bit-

[Stevie] Deadpans at the extra and unnecessary movements-

[Dn] Circles around him, jabbing playfully at him and making the ground slippery-

[Stevie] Watches the distance between him and DN carefully, knowing the length of his reach-

[Dn] Pokes and parries, just trying to give Stevie a bunch of little cuts and piss him off.

[Stevie] Spots the opening he's looking for and spins, not leaving his spot, shattering DN's blade within the first part of the spin and the end dragging his blade through the NOTCH's chest-

[Dn] Spins away with a gutteral groan, clutching at the ripping wound. He falls to the ground with just a tiny bit of heart and bleeds out-

- /DarkNOTCH was killed by player Stevie/ -

[Stevie] Huffs a bit-

[Notch] at Stevie- You killed a bad NOTCH, I hate to say it, but Cp would be really proud of you.

[Doc] Grumbles- I wish he'd stay dead.

[Stevie] - Only reason I could is from all the fighting I've done with my brother

[Steve] Practice is practice. And you know what you learned from it has served you well.

[Notch] Probably saved your life a few times over...

[Stevie] - Oh absolutely

[Notch] Rubs the tiny kitten and whispers- I love you, and your brother does too.

[CP] Mews a little in his sleep-

[Lie] - Here, I'll take him back, should probably get a bit of sleep myself

[Notch] reluctantly passes Cp over, and gives a little yawn of his own. - I wonder where Flux is? She should know about this too.

[Stevie] Dots of blood are showing up on him from where DN poked at him-

[Lie] - You okay there Stevie?

[Stevie] - This is nothing, I'll be fine

[Lie] - If you're sure... Then I'm going to bed with this little one

[CP] Tiny purrs-

[Doc] Pulls out a potion and holds it out to Stevie between two claws-

[Stevie] - Really I'm fine, it's just a few little pokes, no need to waste one on me

[Doc] There's no waste. I like making them.

[TLOT] Come on Stevie, we'll walk you home.

[Notch] I think I'm going to bed too. Good night guys.

[Stevie] - Thanks, to both of you- He takes the potion and chugs it quickly out of habit

[Steve] Anything for a brother. - Pats Stevie on the shoulder.

[Flux] Is pacing around in Notch's house, her body not stable and her edges being very translucent and misty-

[Notch] Comes inside to find her- Flux? You look a bit unstable.

[TLOT] Walks beside Stevie- What's on your mind?

[Flux] - This is the second time...

[Stevie] - Not much really, recently won a bet with Alexis, but only barely

[Steve] What did you win?

[Doc] Gets between them and a spider and growls at it so it skitters away-

[Notch] It's not your fault Flux, please don't blame yourself.

[Stevie] - Not having to clean my side of the house, and got her to allow me to restrain her a little

[Flux] - This is the second time that bastard has deleted CP and I have been able to do nothing!

[TLOT] Kinky. Glad to see you guys are spicing up the relationship a bit. Just make sure you're doing it for want and not for guilt.

[Stevie] Blushes a little- Yeah...

[Notch] He didn't tell you he was going. Would you really have been able to help? It sounds like what was done to him this time was totally unlike anything this NOTCH has tried before.

[Doc] Visit Lie okay? Stay nearby. She needs support, and likely Cp will too. He may respawn in a weakened state.

[Flux] - Still, both of them were so very important to their original father! And to watch one of them be deleted, and now having to go through this! I have failed at protecting those most important to him...

[Notch] Looks down, unsure what to say.

[Doc] If Alexis ia still up, you should telll her what happened too.

[[Stevie] - Yeah, I will. And we currently have an excess of meat from the bet so I'll probably take some of it to Lie

[Flux] - I just don't know why I even exist anymore if I cannot perform that one simple duty...

[Notch] Flux... you don't have to exist for a duty. It's okay to just be.

[TLOT] Thank you Stevie.

[Doc] Waves good night-

[Flux] - But server's exist for a reason...

[Notch] Servers exist to make a place for life to flourish. Sometimes the players will stumble and fall no matter how closely you watch them.

[Stevie] Waves good night as well before entering his house-

[Flux] Has gone quiet, but her body is beginning to solidify again-

[Notch] Opens his arms wordlessly-

[Flux] Steps into them, where her body makes contact with him she becomes completely solid-

[Notch] Everything will work out Flux. And I'll be here for you every step of the way.

[Flux] - Thank you

[Lie] It's afternoon when Lie pushes open the door to the bar with an insistently mewing kitten in her arms- Hey Sam? Got any meat on hand?

[Sam] Um... sure. Did I miss something? - Starts taking out steaks and chops- How do you want them prepared?

[Lie] - CP... Was deleted by his NOTCH... He's rebuilding his body... And any way that's easy to get off the bone for him

[Sam] Makes a grave face, even for a skull- Then I am glad he survived in any fashion at all. I'll chop up some ham for him-

[Lie] - Thank you- She sits at the bar and sets CP on the counter-

[CP] Mews a little and sniffs the surface, smelling that food had been there before-

[Sam] Is already filling a bowl and cutting more, he scoots it over to her- How long do you think he'll be like this?

[Lie] - Well he was a spawn egg for about a day and a half or so... So hopefully not too long...

[CP] Tries to crawl into the bowl as he's eating-

[Sam] Raises his eyeridges at Cp. - Should I go make more?

[Lie] - Probably, he's eating like there's no tomorrow

[Sam] Goes to get more and lays serveral full bowls of pork chops on the counter before furiously chopping. - Perhaps you should see the Doctor about this?

[Lie] - They already know, I'll go see them about food once CP falls asleep

[Sam] I take it he's just gorging himself and passing out?

[Lie] - Yeah, but he's adorable while doing it

[Sam] Smiles softly. - Just like a cat.

[Gk] Walks in with a solem expression and starts at the sight of Lie. - Lie? Did you get another kitten from Alexsezia?

[Lie] - No that's CP, his spawn egg hatched

[CP] Is having a bit of difficulty climbing out of the bowl to get to the next one-

[GK] He's a KITTEN?!

[Lie] - Yup, a very hungry one

[Gk] Holy fuck. So... please tell me this isn't permenant.

[Lie] - No, Doc says he'll get bigger soon as he gains more pixels

[Gk] Thank goodness...

[CP] Falls out of the bowl-

[Lie] - Careful!

[Sam] Moves to scoop him up and place him before the next bowl. - It's okay, it's not like he can scratch me.

[CP] Eagerly bats towards the meat-

[Lie] - So anything new over by your place GK?

[Gk] Endrea's just all tied up in knots with everything that's going on. She can't hide from the kids how stressed out she is.

[Lie] - She was of great help though when I had to go over to CP's server to talk with his generals

[gem] -come through the door with eddy and Edward on her shoulders-

[Gk] Hey Gem...

[Sam] Waves merrily-

[gem] what happened gk you seem sad? -waves at sam-

[Gk] Cp lost a fight with his NOTCH - Gestures at the kitten- This is all we have left.

[Lie] - It's better than it was

[gem] that notch should die

[Lie] - Agreed, but we're not even sure how he managed to delete CP

[gem] well if you do I am willing to help stop them because I don't like the sound of them.

[Gk] Same, but we don't even know where to start. Cp has thrown whole armies at him and nothing-

[CP] Little mew as he bites into a chunk

[Lie] Gives CP a little pet-

[gem] if that notch has a weapon that can delete people could we steal it and use it on him?

[Gk] Who knows?

[Lie] - I doubt he'd let that weapon out of his sight. We do know it's a sword though

[Gk] I wonder how he got it in the first place?

[gem] so if we could long range chop the arm out that is holding that sword we could take it.

[Lie] - Maybe this one specializes in coding? It's been trying to delete CP for a very long time... And somewhat succeeded the first time

[gem] -tries to pet cp-

[Gk] Could we trick him onto a locked server and then delete the seed?

[Lie] - That didn't work for TLOT's NOTCH... So who knows

[CP] Ignores Gem's pets as he's eating-

[Gk] Do you think that bitch Insanity has anything to do with this?

[Lie] - I doubt it, she protected CP from the NOTCH and she wants CP back, so why would she encourage his deletion?

[Gk] If she can't have him nobody can? We know she interfered when Flux tried to save him-

[Lie] - True

[CP] Mews as he digs his nose into the chunks-

[Gk] Pulls out a couple of cookies and offers them to Eddy and Edward. He was obviously drowning his sorrows in chocolate and sugar at Sweet Alex's house-

[Sam] Don't forget to come up for air!

[eddy and Edward] -are saying thank you in ender while now noming on the cookies-

[CP] Pulls out a piece that Sam missed, it's still pretty big-

[Lie] - CP...

[Sam] That's a bit much. Have a small piece, I'll cut that up -Tries to gently take the chunk from the kitten-

[CP] Growls and tugs on the piece-

[Lie] - He did that with Notch last night

[Sam] It's adorable- Gets it away from him and cuts it smaller before passing it back.

[CP] Pounces on it-

[Liz] *noses way in, crunching a shard on the way

[Gk] Hey Liz. Are you.. eating a rock?

[Sam] puts hir hands on the bar to push up and see Liz over it- Ummmmm

[Lie] Sneaks one of the pieces of CP's meat for herself-

[eddy and Edward] -climb down and sits together on the bar table-

[Sam] Speaks and gestures- Does anyone want food or drink?

[Lie] - Yeah, might as well eat while I'm here

[gem] sure

[Liz] mhmm, eating mommas shiny gems

[Liz] Want try? *pops a shard out and offers

[Gk] Is she... okay with that Liz? Um, I think I'll pass. My teeth aren't that strong - He grins, showing his triangular choppers-

[Liz] i think so? We have so many.... *crunches shard

-Liz looks around and tries to climb into counter. Shi too big though-

[eddy and Edward] -keep out of liz's way-

[Sam] Already has the meat out and starts slicing it and making a very large ring sandwich with a bit of everything.

CP] Takes interest in the ring of meat-

[Lie] - Oh no, stick to your bowls

[Sam] Makes a show of putting veggies on it too-

[CP] Still wants the meat-

[Lie] Pulls him over to his bowls- Stay over here

[Gk] At least he's small enough that it's easy to move him away from stuff.

[Lie] - Yeah... Can't wait to see what he gets into when he gets bigger...

[gem] he is going to be a trouble maker

[Sam] Flicks hir gaze at the rows of bottles and thinks about Cp weaving in and out of them-

[Gk] At Liz- You should probably get down....

[Liz] - blep-

[Lie] Watches as CP crawls into another bowl to eat-

[Gk] Where's he putting it all? He must have eaten four-five times his own weight easily already.

[Lie] - He did this last night too

[Sam] Finishes with the sandwich and sets out plates before slicing it up and making a tub of mustard with touchie syrup-

[Lie] - Thanks Sam, it looks good!

[gem] thank you sam i just can't wait to dig in

[Sam] Makes a welcoming gesture- It was fun cooking for the coronation, but it's nice to just rattle around my little kitchen where it's quiet.

[Lie] - Yes, but I wouldn't have asked anybody else to make food for the coronation

[Sam] You are too kind.

[CP] Suddenly gives a little yawn-

[Herabrine] Runs by outside the window and cannonballs into the bay. - Hey Aqua!?

[Aqua] Is surprised and makes a trilling noise at her-

[Herabrine] Shapeshifts and hops over the dragon before falling back down into the water with a heavy 'plunk'

[Sky] -pokes head in, he shirtless, look at them scars - is Liz in here? I saw hir go this way.

[Gk] Points at hir-

[Sam] Points to Skys chest with a questioning face.

[Gk] Did it get hot out there again?

[Aqua] Follows Hera and blows a few bubbles at her-

[gem] i am glad aqua is have a good time in the ocean

[Sky] Shi stole my shirt and ran.

[Liz] *smile and crunch

[Gk] Did you eat Sky's shirt Liz?

[Liz] No! Shirt tastes funny. Liked the feel though!

[Sky]-soft embarrassed huff as he enters fully-

[Herabrine] Happy splashing and frolicking with Aqua-

[eddy and Edward] -wave at sky-

[Lie] - Well, looks like somebodies in for another few hours of sleep

[CP] Is curling up in his food-

[Sam] Little huff of air like a chuckle-

[Lie] Picks him up and cuddles him near her chest-

- /Player DarkNotch was killed by MasterHerobrine/ -

[Gk] Pfft, someone's getting an early start.

[Lie] - Stevie got him last night

[gem] i keep seeing him die why are so many killing him?

[Gk] He's really trying to piss off as many people as he can. He's a prick and he's making Doc even crazier then they nomally are-

[Lie] - He's an ass

[gem] -is clearly mad about dn- they then need to stop being an ass

[Sky] How much of a dick? Should i give mix a heads up? She doesn't handle pricks too well.

[Lie] - I think I'm going to run over to Doc's place and see if I can't get another meat cube or two- Grabs a couple of sandwiches and quickly scarfs them down

[Gk] Go ahead Sky. He's just mean and unreasonable. He acts like we're all just messing up the game.

[Sky] Will do when i get home..

-Liz cronch-

[Lie] Finishes her food- Thanks for the food Sam! I'll stop by later with some veggies to restock for you!

[TLOT] Over the chat- Hey Mix? Just letting you know I'm ready to go talk to the raptors again whenever you're availible for translating.

[Steve] Also Dn and Mb are having a fist-fist in our yard if anyone wants to watch.

[Lie] - I'm sure if CP were normal he'd join in

[Gk] Unhappy sigh-

[gem] i kind of want to see that

- /Player DarkNotch drowned/ -

[TLOT] I think they're not stopping anytime soon despite that.

- /Player MasterHerobrine fell from a high place/ -

[Mix] - over chat- Im ready when you are too. Been rounding up light feet.

[TLOT] Are we taking them over to stay Mix? Or just visit?

- /Player DarkNOTCH suffocated/ -

[gem] -takes eddy and Edward and goes over to the fight they are now flying over it-

[Dn] Is choking Mb while Mb stabs his stomach repeatedly-

[Celine] Is flapping around being generally squeaky and upset.

[Lie] Is walking towards the castle and going around the fight-

[Mix] Why are they dying so much? Also i plan to have a few visit, itd be good for them

[gem] -lands on a tree next to the fight-

[TLOT] Because one is an unforgivable jackass and the other likes to fight.

[Mix] Ah.

[Crim] - nudges open a door, slinking outside -

[TLOT] At your leisure then

[gem] -throws a planet at dn's head-

[Steve] Notices - Hey Crim.

[Liz] - blep-

[Dn] Is impacted by the deceptively small and infintely dense object and slams into the ground

[Mb] Uses the opportunity to punch his head repeatedly-

[Crim] - scuttles over to stand beside Steve - They play no good.

[Dn] Kicks Mb in the crotch and the two roll in the dirt-

[gem] -giggles at dn failing-

[Steve] Well they hate one another. And pretty much everyone hates DN, he's a jerk.

- /DarkNOTCH was killed by player MasterHerobrine/ -

[Mb] Gets up and braces himself for Dn to come running out again- Fight me some more you fucking coward!

[gem] mb should i throw more planets?

[Dn] Comes roaring out a side door with a pair of ice blades-

[Crim] - snorts - Should bites him?

[Lie] Comes up next to TLOT and Steve- Enjoying the fireworks?

[Steve] You'll have to catch him first.

[TLOT] Well enough. I know Doc is hiding because of this dipshit. I'm rather glad that Mb wants to kick his ass over and over again.

[Crim] - hunkers down and watches, slowly creeping cat-like toward them -

-liz bleps hir way over to watch the fight -

[Dn] Is weaving and stabbing as Mb slashes at him with an axe-

[Lie] Notices Crim- Crim no! Stay oer here

[gem] -talking to no one in general- why ice swords is ice things the best he has because i can guaranty my room is colder then he can put out.

[Crim] - is totally concentrated on the two others. He opens his mouth, little drops of purple drip off his two fangs -

[Dn] Punches Mb and freezes his arm where the impact landed.

[Mb] Staggers back with his right arm frozen in front of him-

[Dn] Weakling glitch.

[gem] that seem like a good temperature for me

[Crim] - sneaks as close as he dares, his head is following DN like a snake -

[Dn] Looks down- Get away from me you little freak.

[TLOT] I wouldn't talk to him like that....

[Crim] - hisses and lundges out, sinking his fangs into DN's boot. Almost as fast, he lets go and scurries away.

[Mb] Stumbled into the water and is using the warm bay to thaw.

[Dn] You little worm! Arrrgh! - He shivers uncontrollably and then collapses-

- /DarkNOTCH was killed by playerCrim/-

[Celine] Bounces around the shore squeaking unhappily-

[Mb] I'll be fine. Stop that.

[TLOT] That was impressive.

[Crim] - scuttles back over to Steve and hides behind him - Me bites good.

[Steve] Yeah! Holy shit. - Pats Crim cautiously-

[Crim] - rumble purs -

[Lie] Smiles at Crim- Good job Crim, just be careful, okay?

[Crim] - nods - Me go hunt many legs or no bites again.

-There's the sound of slamming doors inside the castle-

[TLOT] Ah. I see someone has decided to take the hint, for now.

[Steve] Many legs?

[Crim] - sticks out all his legs funny and makes clicking sounds like a spider -

[Steve] OH! Spiders! Be careful, okay?

[Crim] - nods - Many leg's eyes make bite hurt. They no hurt Crim.

[TLOT] Oh you like to eat the spider eyes? That makes sense. Don't stay out too late okay? They'll be spiders in the woods over there at the bottom of the yard near Mudsdales rolling spot and the koi pond. Stay in sight of the castle and call out if you need help.

[Crim] - nods and scurries off.

[Lie] - Say TLOT, do you have any more meat cubes on you? CP finished last nights and he ate a few bowl-fulls over at the bar

[TLOT] Oh? Yeah, we made plenty of copies. - Gives her a small stack.

[Lie] - Thanks, I get the feeling I'll be needing these

[CP] Little snore in his sleep-

[TLOT] It looks like me, Steve and Mix will be heading out for a bit, if anyone wants in, they're welcome to join. It won't take long.

[Steve] Cute little snores. - goes for the ear scratch on Cp.

[gem] -jumps down from the tree- gem eddy and Edward reporting for duty

[CP] Ears flick a little but he snuggles into Lie's hands-

[Steve] Oh, Lie. Do you need me to do Cp's paperwork since he's.. indisposed?

[Lie] - I didn't even think about that when I was over there, and I bet he does have some piled up since I haven't seen it in awhile. I'll talk to Endrea about opening a way over there and see what's going on with that

3 notes · View notes

erule · 8 years

Photo

Can you see it?

Title: Can you see it?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 4.200+

Warnings: romantic, fluff, angst, teen!reader, time travel

Summary: The reader dies and Dean asks Rowena help to bring her back, but it’s not that easy. He’ll have to come back in time and make her remember him.

Notes: This is the story I wrote for the Fandom Writing Challenge, my prompt was pudding. This contest is such a great idea! Hope you like the fic :)

<< Can you see it? >>

<< Yeah, I can see it. >>

Dean smirks, his eyes still closed, while he’s laying on the grass, the left arm under his head and the right one on his stomach. She’s laying next to him, breathing slowly, an eye opened now.

<< You’re cheating. >> Dean says.

<< Nope. >>

<>

<< Just one! >>

<< Unbelievable. >> Dean comments, opening his eyes, propping on his elbows, turning to look at her, raising his right eyebrow.

She looks at him, a lock of her hair that descends on her shoulder, a roguish smile just mentioned. Dean lives for moments like this, when they’re playing like two teenagers. He feels younger (and a bit dumb) whenever he’s with her, but maybe it’s a good thing after all, since they had to grow up so much faster than the other kids. Since he has to play the parent all the time, with Sam (it’s not as bad as it may seem, that’s just his job, to look after his pain-in-the-ass little brother). Since he has to kill the monsters to clean up the whole world, a mess that he didn’t start, but that he has got to finish. His heart feels heavy, sometimes, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve a corner of peace in this world, especially with her, but Y/N taught him to be a little selfish when it comes to them, to spend two minutes alone, because he has to stop to pay for Atlantis’ punishment: the world doesn’t need him to take it on his back. She is the one who needs him.

<< What are you thinking about? >> she asks, bringing him back to the Earth.

<> he replies and she rolls her eyes, sitting down. Everytime he tells her these words, she gets angry. Everytime, except for this one.

<< Dean, you know you do. >>

<>

<< That’s not your call. >>

Dean snorts. He always loses against her.

<< Fine. >>

She smiles, this time for real and Dean’s heart skips a beat, when she does it.

<< You know I love you, right? >>

And that’s here, in this moment, that he understands it: this is a dream. She doesn’t say it. It’s not in her DNA to tell these three words, like him and like his dad. That’s why she didn’t get angry. But Dean nods, holding back his tears, because there’s only one explanation of this dream.

<>

Out there, she’s dead.

He still has nightmares, about what happened three weeks ago. He just can’t get through it, he can’t forget. There’s her blood on his hands, red, too red like strawberry’s juice and sticky. The world is crumbling down from his back, an avalanche, hitting his spine, crushing his bones and flattening his lungs. It just feels wrong. Wrong that she got to die so young, wrong that he had to watch her leaving for the last time, wrong that she was still holding the gun and not his hand.

There’s not a way back from the darkness. That’s what Sam told him, before he got out from the warehouse and slaughtered the witches who hurt her. Even the newspapers talked about it. His moment of unglory. His first memory without her. Even though she was with him, somehow, in his mind.

<< Can you see it? >>

<< Yeah, I can see it. >>

Dean opened an eye, then the other one, while she was still listening to the wind, eyes closed and legs crossed. He put himself closer to her, his hand a few centimeters away from hers. His dad would have said that he was a coward, but the truth is that he didn’t want to rush the situation. He let it evolve.

He gulped.

<< What do you see? >>

She remained silent, moistening her lips before she could talk, while he was completely kidnapped by the movement of those.

<> she exclaimed, opening her eyes and then Dean tickled her. She tried to run away, but he succeded to hold her back, listening to the beautiful sound of her laughters.

<< Y/N, you’re such a liar! >>

<< Alright, alright, I’ll tell you what I saw, if you let me go. >> she said and Dean did what she asked. << Thank you. >> she stated, adjusting her t-shirt, that had risen. <>

<< Am I the new President of the United States? Awesome! >>

<< Jerk. >>

<< Bitch. >> he answered.

Y/N snorted.

<< Can I keep going? >> << Yes. >> << Good. This house was ours and Sam lived with us, but like in the basement. Don’t laugh, Dean. Then… Oh! You were a mechanic and I was a waitress. >>

<< Wow, humble. >>

<< Yeah, very humble. We were happy and… nothing more. >> she finished, shrugging her shoulders.

Dean nodded.

<< Something else? No? I like it. >>

<< Do you? >>

<< Yes, I do. It’s… simple, real. I like it. >>

She looked at the grass, without even seeing it. Dean raised her chin with a thumb, forcing her to lock her eyes into his. Stars, stars that suddenly were becoming constellations.

<< We won’t have it, right? >>

Dean promised her that the lies were not considered in their relationship, but it turned out he lied anyway.

<< Yeah, someday. >>

Then, her hand reached for his.

He was outside Rowena’s door, with a bottle of beer in his right hand, banded because he punched the bartender. Not that he was concerned or something, but Sam would have thought the worse, so he had to keep it for himself as a secret. He didn’t have secrets with her.

He knocked. He heard her footsteps behind the door, hoping he didn’t have to force her to do things she didn’t want to do. He wasn’t that kind of man. Or, at least, he wasn’t once.

<< Dean. >> she said, with her accent, smirking. << What are you doing here? >>

<< Sam doesn’t have to know about all of this. >>

She rolled her eyes.

<< No, I won’t enter in your stupid family feuds! Not anymore! >> she shouted, trying to close the door, but Dean stopped it putting a shoe between the door and the jamb. She gave him a bad look. << You better be convincing, Dean Winchester. >>

<< Trust me, I will. >>

She looked at him one last time, then she let him enter. Her hotel’s room seemed so expensive, he asked himself how she managed to pay for it, but it was none of his business. He just shaked his head.

<< Tell me. >> she crossed her arms, annoyed.

<< It has to be a way to bring Y/N back to life. >>

<< No, there’s not. >>

<< Listen to me: your coven did this to her, so you’re gonna fix it! >> he screamed, angry.

<>

<< Yeah, but we were trying to help you and it’s your fault if she died! You owe me, Rowena. You’re gonna clean up this damn mess. >> he said and Rowena swore she saw actual flames in his pupils.

She snorted, but he got a point. He was half right. There was a sperimental way to help that girl, but it was stupid to give this information to a desperate man.

<< There’s something. >>

<< Okay. >>

<>

<< It doesn’t sound hard. Where’s the catch? >> << She has to remember who you are. >>

Dean shaked his head, counfused.

<< We didn’t know each other. It’s an oxymoron. How can she remember me, if we’ve never met? >>

Rowena gloated.

<< This is the difficulty. There has to be something inside her soul that only you can reach. It will be like she met you in another life, like she did, because I’ll send you in the past of a parallel world, in which you will never meet. >> she explained. << In or out, Dean. >>

He thought about it for a minute, then he nodded. Perhaps, he was just being selfish, because in that world she would have never become a hunter, qithout knowing him and she would be stilla live right now, but he needed her.

<< In. >>

She didn’t have feelings, but she knew that if she could have ones, she would have felt sorry for him. The last time she saw those sad eyes, was when Fergus killed Alonzo. That’s why she felt the need to warn him.

<< You could remain stuck in the middle, Dean. >>

Dean shrugged.

<< As long as I’m with her, I don’t care. >> he responded.

Rowena nodded, then she prepared the elements for the spell. An hour after that, Dean was laying on the bed, his eyes closed and Rowena was moving her hands, casting a sort of sleeping spell.

<< You’re gonna sleep for two days, Dean. You don’t have very much time. >>

<< It will be enough. >>

When he opened his eyes, we found himself in a graveyard. He saw some people around a tombstone, grieving and crying. Between them, he recognised her. She was younger, her eyes were circled in her, but she was not sheding a tear. She had her hair tied up in a ponytail, whitened knuckles and she was looking at the ground. Then, he looked at the picture on the easel. She had his father’s eyes. That’s what happened in her life that made her kinder, stronger, nicer. She buried her father, when she was eighteen. She never told him. He knew her age, because he saw some old photographs. It was the most important moment of her life, probably. The moment she became the Y/N he learned to love.

He came closer to them, thinking about what he should have said. Sam was the good one at this, not him. He was always too rude or too embarassed. So he took a deep breath and walked.

<< Hey. >> he said to her, after the priest was gone.

She raised her eyebrows.

<< Does we know each other? >>

<< Yeah. I meant, no… I knew your father? We worked together? >>

<< Were those answers or questions? >>

Damn, he was already making a bad impression on her. So he did it again, he lied to her. This time, he would have been convincing.

<< We did. >>

<< Oh. What’s your name? >>

<< Dean. I’m Dean. >>

Something, like a switch was pressed in her head, but Dean wasn’t sure.

<< Hi. >> << Hi. I’m sorry for your loss. >>

<< Yeah, thanks. >> she answered. << It was… >> she bite her bottom lip. << It sucks, to be honest. >>

<>

It was hard when I lost you, he would have liked to say, but he couldn’t and so he didn’t.

She nodded.

<< Despite everything he did, he was a good father. >>

<< What did he do? >>

<< I thought you knew. He stole all the money from his society. That’s why you have been fired. The company has failed. He did this for us. I hated him for a very long time, but I can’t be angry at him now, right? He payed his debts. >> she said, looking at the tomb. << He payed for all of it. >>

<< Y/N, he did a good thing in the wrong way. The company was already sinking like the Titanic… >>

<< I’m sorry, I have to go. Thanks for your presence, Dean. >> she said, wanting to go away from him.

She didn’t want to hear the truth. She didn’t forgive her father. Never. Not that he couldn’t sympathy for her, but it was the reason why she couldn’t move on and it was the reason why she didn’t say those famous three words to him in so many years. Because she loved him, she let herself be fragile by trusting him and he died. He betrayed her.

He followed her. Firstly, she went to her house with her mom and the guests. After half an hour though, he catched her escaping from the window. There was the Y/N he knew. She went outside a school, maybe her old one and she stayed there, looking at the guys that went out from it. Her gaze was full of melancholy.

<< Do you remember something good? >> he asked, coming closer to her.

<< Are you stalking me, old man? >>

<< I’m barely thirty years old! I’m not old. >>

She smiled a bit.

<< Don’t worry. I don’t like boys of my age. >> she answered, her hands in the pockets and an off brightness in her eyes.

<< Sweetheart, I’m not here to fill your ego. Tell me what you’re doing here. >>

<< My mom sent you, right? >> she questioned. Dean nodded. Is it a lie, if you don’t say it? << Tell her I will be fine. >>

<< You won’t. >>

<< It’s not your call. >>

She was stubborn, like always. He loved it. The problem was that he had half a day to make her “remember” him, so he couldn’t enjoy her company for too long, sadly. He just realised how much he missed her.

<< Listen, Y/N: I don’t wanna seem an old man that gives you a crappy advice for your life, but I know the feeling. >> he started and he had suddenly her attention. << Look, I… recently lost a person that I really loved and I blamed myself for a long time, before I realized it wasn’t my fault. That was, perhaps, the worst part, because I didn’t have anyone to blame. So I reached agreements with the truth: I loved her and she died, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t in my heart anyway. >>

She looked at him, his eyes were glossy.

<< Was she your girlfriend? >>

He shaked his head.

<< Sort of, but not really. We just enjoyed each other company. >>

<< Did you forgive her? >>

<< For what? >> he asked, confused.

<< For leaving you alone in this world. For missing her so much, it hurts in your chest all the time. >>

<< You’ll fill the void, someday, Y/N. Or you won’t, but it will be okay anyway. Someone will take the pain with you. >>

She nodded, holding back the tears.

<< Thanks. >>

<< You’re welcome. >>

She dried out her tears, gulping.

<< Can I see you tomorrow, again? >>

Dean smiled.

<< Of course. >>

<< Okay. See you tomorrow, then. >>

And now he had just 24 hours to make her fall in love with him.

The day after the tragedy, Dean was waiting for her outside the door like it was a date. He prayed that her mom didn’t see him. Y/N looked so young, he almost felt like a maniac going out with her, but in their reality she was twenty-nine, so he felt relieved.

<< What’s your profession now, Dean? >>

<< Oh, well… I’m a hunter. >>

<< Cool. My granpa was a hunter too. >>

<< Yeah, I know. >> << Did we bump into each other some years ago? Probably no, I would remember you. >>

<> Dean murmured.

<< What? >>

<>

<< Yeah, I would remember your pretty face. Hell, if you’d be just three or four years older than me, I would really have dirty thoughts about you. >>

Dean really thought for a minute that Rowena was messing with his head, making fool of him with that prank, because he didn’t even get to kiss her once when she was still alive. He didn’t have the chance. He didn’t even know what he was to her.

<< Can we talk about something else, please? Do you want to go eat something? I’ll take a pie and you’ll take pudding. >>

<< How do you know about my favourite food? >>

Dean gulped. Damn.

<< Your father told me, I think. >>

<< Oh, right. He used to bring me one when he was late for dinner. >>

<< Maybe your father and I were very similar, after all. >>

Then, they entered in the bar. It was nice and good-looking, but Dean kept looking at her instead, because if something would have gone wrong, he could have returned in a world in which she wasn’t alive and the idea killed him on the inside.

For about two hours, he totally forgot it. He just sat down and watched her eat her pudding, laughing at his jokes, talking about their favourite things, learning some new elements about her younger version and listening to the old ones he already knew, but without getting tired of her. He just couldn’t get tired of her. He missed her so much, a hole in his heart just opened and threatened to swallow him alive.

<> she exclaimed, suddenly. << Dean, I’m sorry, but today I have to babysit my little nephew, so I have to go home. Can we see each other tomorrow? >>

Dean’s heart fell in his stomach. He had got two days. Just two days and they were slipping away from his fingers. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

<< We can’t. >> << What? Why? >>

<< Look, I’m tired of lying to you, because I know that lies are the worst thing to you. I’m gonna be honest with you and I hope that honesty doesn’t make me lose you. Again. >> he answered. She seemed confused and a bit scared.

<< Again? >> she repeated, her voice was shaky.

<< Y/N, this is a parallel world in which we weren’t supposed to meet. Probably, it’s a world in which you survive. Yeah, I’m sorry to tell you that, but in the other world you die and I couldn’t live without you in it, so I asked a witch what I had to do to bring you back, but I only have some hours. I know that it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. >>

She gulped, processing all the information he just gave to her.

<< What are you supposed to do, to help me? >>

<< I’m supposed to make you remember me, even if we’ve never met. >>

She rolled up her sleeves around her fingers, nervously.

<< How did we first meet? >>

He smiled, remembering that day.

<< It doesn’t sound like you, but I swear that you were dressed with this pink ribbon, tied up to your hair, looking like a vintage girl, outside this cafeteria in California, giving tickets for the new opening. I took one and then I made a very dumb joke to impress you, but you laughed at it. You laughed and I fell for your laugh. >>

She had tears in her eyes and it hurt him to see her like that.

<< So, the dead girl that you loved… was me. >> she whispered.

Dean clenched his jaw.

<< Yes. >>

She brought a hand on her mouth, just a moment before she went away from there. He tried to follow her, but she had always been faster than him, so he let her go away.

It was night, when he was laying on the grass of her courtyard. He was looking at the dark sky. There was just a star and it was about to explode, because it was too bright and too far away. Like her. How can you dig so deep into someone’s soul in order to make them to fall in love with you? He didn’t do it in six years, he couldn’t do it now in six hours. He was about to be brought back in a world he didn’t belong to, without her. Or he would have been stuck in the middle with her, that probably hated him right now. But, at least, she was alive. She would have been in love with someone that would have deserved her more than him.

<< Pudding? >>

He sat down immediately. She was standing next to him, offering him some pudding to eat. He nodded.

<< Thanks. >>

They remained silent for a while, just eating.

<< I’m sorry. >>

<< Shh. >> << Y/N… >>

<< Okay, just tell me. Just tell me how you got it. How did you fall in love with me? How did you understand it? When? Why? >>

He clenched his jaw.

<>

<< You suck. Just like my father. >> she said angrily, standing up and walking away.

<< Please, don’t go! >> he yelled, following her.

<< You are a liar! I could tell, if I loved you! >> she shouted, turning to face him. << I could tell you from the way that you look at me, that makes me blush, because that’s too sweet, no one looked at me like that. I could tell you, because you make me shiver, when you talk like you know me, but I don’t recollect a first meeting with you. I could tell you, I could tell you, because I feel a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone, anyone. I want to spend hours with you talking about stupid things and eat pudding, because hell, that’s all I want. And I’ve met you just yesterday! I don’t believe in soulmates, Dean, but I do believe that I’ve felt something for you in the other world. >>

Dean gulped, holding back the tears, trying not to look like a complete fool in front of her.

<< How would you feel, if I told you I loved you? >>

She bursted into tears, without being able to answer, but it was an answer to him.

He felt the wind the was trying to bring him back. It was all around him, calling him with Rowena’s voice. He was returning to his world, the world that didn’t belong to him, because she wasn’t in it anymore. Maybe he would have preferred to stay there, stuck in the middle with her. Alive, but not alive, at the same time. But existing, existing in her heart.

<> he heard her shouting. << I’m not leaving you! >>

She reached out a hand and her fingertips touched his for a second, right before he disappeared.

When he woke up, Rowena was biting her nails.

<< You’re back! I was already thinking what to say to your brother, you know, just in case… >> << She remembered. >> he said.

<< What? >> she asked, astonished.

<< Yeah, but I guess it didn’t work very weel after all, uh? >>

<< Dean, if she remembered, it worked. >>

Dean’s eyes staring to wander.

<< Where’s she now? >>

<< In the same place you left her. >> Rowena answered, pushing him outside the door. << Where she broke your heart. >>

When the door closed behind him, he found himself in that warehouse again. It was a mess: blood on the walls, witches on the ground, Sam in a corner, trying to fight against one of them. He was back in the past, that was the night she died!

<< Dean, go help Y/N! >> Cas shouted and he woke up. He had a knife in his hand.

He ran away, looking for her in the room she left the world forever. He screamed her name, but she didn’t hear it. The witch was casting the spell that killed her, but this time he was there, he was ready. He threw the knife along the room and it cut his throat. She fell on the ground, the blood on her face, but she wasn’t dead. He took a breath of relieve and went to hug her.

<< Hey, hey, hey, I’m okay. I’m okay. >>

<> he said.

She remained quiet, her hands on his back.

<>

***

Laying on the grass, Dean was holding her hand, looking at the sky. It wasn’t a dream, this time. He was smiling, even if he was trying not to or she would have made fun of him.

<< I’m gonna repeat the question: do you see a future with me? >>

<< True answer or sarcastic answer? >> she replied.

<< True one. >>

She chuckled.

<< You’re such a dumb guy, Dean Winchester. >>

<< Yeah, but you love it. Alright, now do it. >>

<< A future with you? >> << A future with me. >> he repeated.

<< Okay. >>

She looked at him, while he was still fixed on the stars. She smiled softly.

<< Can you see it? >>

<< Yeah, I can see it. >>

#fandomwritingchallenge #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #jensen ackles #spn ff #spn fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #castiel #sam winchester #misha collins #jared padalecki

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intheuthanhbinh · 4 years

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Korean language Girls Have Many Qualities

The Woods of Life and The Tree of Knowledge and Malignant mentioned in the Book of Genesis are actually referring to knowing what is awful from precisely what is wrong. I was confused, disappointed, and disappointed. They absolutely adore alcohol and party.

Green Peril, Stereotypes, Ads, And Hope For The near future

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Part two Biblical Origin Of Far east People

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Courting Korean Females

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There are a few of my brother’s friends which are single, never been wedded before, which were born in the uk, grew up in the uk but yet these men ended up exploring back home to watch out for wives and yes certainly, they hitched these Nigerian women being a first option and these types of Nigerian females are well lifted. And right now there husbands helped bring them back to England, not like most Nigeria men which will marry a Nigerian females and keep them back home like a second option just in case the bright white wives disappoints them. Thank you JESUS that any of us still have black men that wont have at this time there own girls as a second option.

Tham khảo bài viết gốc tại: Korean language Girls Have Many Qualities

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azulawriting · 4 years

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In The Name of The Princess - 1

A/N: This is a reupload from ff.net, where this fic vanished from some reason. I will upload sporadically. Hope you enjoy anyway. And before you ask, yes, I am the original author.

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

Chapter 1: Where the Roses Last Bloomed - Part 1

The Alterian nights were cold and only naturally so. In all the continent, only Altera had been built and prospered in a floating island, miles above the canyons of Bethma. Getting to Altera was not made for just about anyone. The airships, like his, who took people in and out of the island, sold tickets only the nobles and the richest bourgeois could afford. As such, Raven Cronwell, the only heir to Velder's biggest fortune, had made his ship be the dream cruise of any Lurensian noble. It was, to some, his way to cope with the annulation of his marriage to Seris Lafayette.

Truthfully, ever since he had set foot in Altera, he had not even spared one thought to Seris the way fiancés are supposed to think about one another. No. He had not made The Black Crow a flying palace because he wished to share it with Seris one day. Every golden chandelier, silver cutlery, top-tier chef he hired, every luxurious silk cover, the interior gardens and even the pools and spas had been built for a woman, yes, but definitely not his former fiancée. The Black Crow, in Raven's mind, was the only other place besides the Alteran Royal Palace where Eve could truly be pampered like she deserved.

His multiple residences in Velder were almost at the same level of luxury as his ship, but it lacked the most important thing that made Eve's golden eyes shine with wonder: a clear star-filled sky above the clouds. Raven was nearing his mid-twenties now and his heart had been won over by the most precious, yet difficult maiden in the continent. He knew this very well, but he would not unveil his intentions to his beloved until he was certain he had a plan. As he thought all this, Raven served himself a cup of wine, looking at the night sky above the clouds in the private and luxurious lounge reserved for his friends and some distinguished members of the crew. Tonight, while a smooth jazz played through speakers in the background, the spacious and comfortable sofas in the finest leathers and smoothest velvets were mostly empty, just like the wooden dance floor fifteen steps to his right.

The automatic steel doors that led to the lounge opened with a muffled hiss, letting a small white-haired man through. He was dressed with less finer clothes than Raven, but his black tuxedo gave more elegance to his lilac eyes. His hair was unconventionally long, but the angular, confident traits of his face made the braid that held his hair back look as manly as any traditional short haircut.

The man sat on the sofa next to Raven and sighed, "I know I've said this countless times already, Raven, but why don't you just give up and find a real chance with any other woman?"

Raven glanced at his friend and took another sip of wine, "I love Eve, Owen. I love her more than I've even thought possible. The trials to get her hand are hard, but they're not impossible to beat, are they?"

The white-haired man rolled his eyes, "There's a reason why she's our age and still unmarried and without a fiancé. Those trials are no joke and no suitor has ever beaten them. None. Many have died in the attempt. Which is why I must insist you stop your folly and accept that - this one time - you can't get things your way."

Raven took a deep breath, "What makes the trials so tough? What is it that they have that no other suitor has? How can they be stronger than any man who has sought to marry the goddess of beauty incarnate?"

Owen groaned, "Are you drunk already, or are you always this cheesy when you're in love?"

Raven looked at him, glancing at his friend's wedding ring for a second, "Maybe it's both. What still astounds me is that Seris kissed and confessed to a cold bastard like you."

"I'm not here to talk about my wife nor my alleged coldness, Raven," Owen continued, getting up to fetch himself a clean cup from the empty bar behind them, "I'm here to stop you from dying a stupid death."

Owen sat back down and took the bottle over the table in front of them to serve himself the last cup.

"Well, you've always been the brains, Owen," Raven said, lifting his cup towards him, "Tell me, how I can be happy with Eve instead of dying a stupid death?"

Owen made a toast with him, though Raven could tell that the spark of his military genius was not there, "Easy. You turn around and never come back. Then, you write a book of your imaginary life with Eve. Once you're done and you get tired of bitching to me about how I supposedly ruined your life, you marry someone else. Problem solved."

Raven stared at his friend, looking exactly for the sign that he was hiding something or that, at the very least, he was actually thinking the mystery through. And sure enough, there it was: Owen passed his index over the crystal cup and slowly took a sip of it.

"Ok. That's one way to go about things, but you just thought of another one. I know it."

The man clicked his tongue, "By the El, you've known me for far too many years if you can figure me out like that."

And with those words, Owen fell silent again. His gaze was again cold and distant, more focused on following the rhythm of the jazz than saying what he was hiding. Normally, Raven would not push Owen, given his extremely short temper for any kind of teasing, but he really had to know. Mentally apologizing to his dignity and his friend for what he was about to say, Raven cleared his throat.

"But I want to hear your idea, Owen~"

The man glared at him, "Only Seris gets to say my name like that. And my other idea is stupid, so stick with the first."

"That won't do, Owen~ I'm gonna keep calling you like that until you tell me your supposedly stupid idea, Lil' Owen~"

"Fine!", Owen exploded, hitting the armrest with his fist, "You have much more money than anyone in Lurensia can dream of, so use it well."

"What do you mean?"

"If no weapon works against them, then, naturally, you'd only have to use their unbeatable weapons. I don't know if the rumours are true, but there's apparently a room where they store those weapons. In the basement."

Raven nodded, "Alright. So, they got them from somewhere. Where do I buy their weapons?"

Owen scoffed, "If it was that simple, don't you think Eve Nasod would have already been married by now?"

"Then, what does my money have to do with the plan?"

"You buy lackeys so you don't die in the attempt."

The black-haired noble gave a strong pat to his friend, "Ah, that's the best idea you've come up with."

"It's stupid, don't even try it."

"Why? It's genius."

"Who's gonna accept testing battlesuit weapons just because you put a bounty on it? No one."

Raven squinted at his friend, "Battlesuit weapons?"

His friend shook his head and finished his drink in one gulp, "Look, again, these are just rumours, but I'm fairly certain they're true. No man in his right mind would accept to be your guinea pig."

Elsword Sieghardt had taken up the invitation of Raven Cronwell.

The suburbs of Altera were closer to slums the further one ventured within them, machinery and steam diffused the glow of the dozens of neon signs. The richest man in the continent had sent a letter to his villa in Elder. The young heir of the Sieghardts knew better than to blindly trust a deal that seemed too good to be true. So, he had had that letter analyzed by the most renowned Feitan graphologists and the seal the letter had come with was confirmed to be legitimate, according to the experts he paid. As for the claims the letter had, he had seen first-hand the difficulty of the trials. The plan Raven Cronwell offered was a sound one, and the money was something his family would undoubtedly need. While they were nobles, they were at the bottom of the staircase of power, below some merchants.

Four months after he received the letter, Elsword had finally decided to make the trip to Altera once more, following his last chance at getting Eve Nasod's hand. Though the warnings in the letter still left some fears within him, the boon far outshined the risks. Elsword looked up to the neon signs in the alleyway he was walking and saw the civic number 21-6 engraved on a metal door. The building it belonged to was exactly what anyone would have expected of Raven's Cronwell's "boudoir": a ten-story luxury apartment building with wall-to-wall windows that reflected the light of the neons away as well as impeding anyone from the outside to see what was inside. Elsword could only imagine what kind of trade kept Raven's seemingly endless spending afloat. The noble title explained part of it, but certainly not all of it.

As instructed by the robotic voice who greeted him as he stepped closer to the building, Elsword recited the penthouse number he was supposed to meet Raven in as well as his full name. The green laser which scanned his retina was uncomfortable and left its glow burned in spots around his vision for the following seconds. The red-haired boy made his way into the building, following the lonely corridor lit warmly and with string music playing softly around him. At the end of the corridor, the open doors of an elevator were waiting for him. Once he got in, he noticed there were no buttons but a scanner for a card chip of some sort, perhaps the key the rich people who lived there used to get to their own penthouses. What was most strange was that there were only two levels on the elevator's screen: the ground floor and R10.

Elsword had completely underestimated just how wealthy Raven really was. No one but him lived in that building, the other floors were different recreation areas he used during his trips in Altera, mostly to entertain guests who were not Eve. The elevator hummed as it climbed until the last floor: R10.

The doors opened with a ding and Elsword stepped out in a corridor taken out of some Senacian palace, made of pure marble and lit by artificial torches and crystals. The coat of arms of the Cronwells was printed over flags on the walls as well as on the banners the authentic and restored full plate armours carried. As quietly as he could, Elsword walked through the most ostentatious display of wealth he had ever seen. Finding his way was not hard once he took five wrong turns in the biggest ballroom he had been in, but he finally found the wooden door decorated by the Cronwell's coat of arms; it was made in pure gold, of course.

The boy knocked on the door with three even knocks and, after some seconds, a white-haired man opened the door, his lilac eyes widened as he saw him. It was not very hard to recognize the best military tactician Velder had ever had. Owen Felford sighed heavily, glaring at something inside the room for a second before looking back at Elsword.

"The son of the Sieghardts, right?"

"Yes sir, my name is Elsword Sieghardt," the boy saluted him, "It's an honour to meet with the hero of Velder and my highest commander."

"At ease. Listen, Sieghardt. I've heard from Vanessa that you're a good soldier, you're sane, and have a future beyond this. So, could you-"

"Oh, so he's here!" a voice thundered from inside, naked steps powering through a wooden hall, getting increasingly closer. Owen Felford was about to close the door on his face when a robotic arm put itself in the way.

"Phew, that was a close one,"

"Raven, I wasn't serious back then. Please don't-"

The door slammed open and there Elsword saw the billionaire himself: muscular build, tall like the buildings he owned, naturally tan skin, short ink-black hair and golden eyes that brimmed with confidence.

He had visibly just gotten out of a shower and was only wearing a pair of shorts, his hair still so wet it stuck to his neck.

"So, you're Elsword Sieghardt? I knew you'd accept to come. Come on in."

"Ok..."

The boy did as he was told, stepping into an apartment inspired in Elderian architecture that would have made Wally himself jealous. The wooden floor was shining under the light of modern El Shard lamps which gently shone over the walls, their light filtered by coloured glass, repeating a chain of the Centurion Guard's coat of arms. The view of the city from here was breathtaking as the lit-up suburbs dispersed into the perfectly clear night of Altera's downtown, Nasod transportation shining on the streets below and some flying rapidly on the window's level in the distance.

"You drink wine?" Raven asked, walking back to an automatic mini-bar, getting out a bottle of Chardonnay and three cups.

"I'm only sixteen, sir."

"That's not what I asked. We're here to talk business from man to man, what do I serve you?"

Elsword pondered the question, wondering if Raven's excentricities would include snarky remarks as well as "talking business" wearing only...two pieces of clothing if those were indeed regular shorts. Owen Felford was more appropriately dressed, with his long-sleeved shirt and trousers and so the young Sieghardt begged the only other sane man in the room for help with a glance.

Owen glanced back at him and gave him a nod, acknowledging his silent plea, before turning towards his friend.

"Raven, are you really going to talk business in swimming shorts?"

The billionaire looked at himself and pointed at his friend, nodding, "Good point. Sieghardt, I'll be right back. Owen, please be a good host."

And so, Raven walked back into a hidden door that, before that moment, Elsword would have sworn to have been part of a wall. Velder's tactician took a deep breath and Elsword could almost swear that he saw all life leave his lilac eyes. Owen opened the minibar, urged him to sit on the leather sofa to the right of the ivory fireplace and asked him if he liked cranberry juice.

"I don't. I prefer appl-"

"You're gonna drink cranberry juice, young man."

'Then what's the point in asking?', Elsword mentally complained.

Owen opened the wine bottle, filled two of the three cups with wine and drank one in two big sips before he took out a small flask of cranberry juice he filled the remaining cup with. With a swift gesture, he put the cup with juice in the coffee table next to Elsword and put the wine bottle as well as his emptied cup on another glass table in front of the other sofa in front of Elsword. He brought the other cup and sat down with a heavy sigh as he filled his empty cup.

"Now that neither you nor I can officially escape from this mess, let me tell you exactly what you're gonna say when Raven comes back to ask you how the Chardonnay was."

"Yes, Sir."

"You'll say its aroma was nostalgic, reminded you of your native Ruben and you better make damn sure you drink it as slowly as possible so his business gets done before he can even think about refilling your cup."

"I was born in Hamel, Sir."

Owen took a sharp breath in, "Yes, I know that. But Raven does not and Hamel's specialty is whisky and Raven does not keep any non-alcoholic beverage that looks like whisky. So, we're gonna pretend he's right so you don't get drunk, got it?"

'I think I can understand why you're rumoured to have such a short temper, Sir Felford.' Elsword sympathized.

It took fifteen minutes of awkward waiting, almost in complete silence only interrupted by Owen taking out a silver suitcase and putting it on the glass table in between them. And then, finally, the real host of the meeting walked out, a grey blazer, matching trousers and tie completed by a white shirt and shiny black shoes. He smirked at the sight of his cup.

"I knew you drank wine, Sieghardt. Have you tasted it?"

Elsword did not even have to glance to Owen to feel a menacing aura creep out from where he was sitting.

"Yes," he said as he took a gulp, focusing as much as he could to let his disgust for cranberry juice go unnoticed, "It reminds me of my native….Ruben. Nice Chardonnay."

It was then that the menacing aura seemed to cover Raven as he took his cup with his Nasod hand. The way his amber gaze fixed on his as he drank made his thoughts run wild. The menacing aura...it began to have a sound. Something unique to it: a low, almost imperceptible gogogogogo sound to it. His mind painted everything with intense red shades, Raven's black hair suddenly a bright green and Owen's a light pink. This sort of vision only happened when his mind was cornered into a monologue of questions. Had Raven heard them? Had he realized Owen had tried to trick him?

Now that he thought about it, why would a genius like Owen Felford be friends with anyone but other fellow geniuses? Telling the truth was probably for the best. It was certainly for the best. Or was it? Truthfully, Elsword had never been good at reading the minds behind the battle strategies. That was why he had refused all promotions to any ranks above lieutenant. It did not involve questioning even the littlest of details. But his military rank had nothing to do with the dilemma at hand! There was no choice, no time! He was going to say it; he had to say the truth, consequences be damned!

"Uhm...Sir Cronwell-"

"Raven, let's get this done. Unlike you, I got other things to attend to."

The black-haired man looked at his friend, and the silent, menacing go's disappeared in the blink of an eye. His vision returned to normal and, although he could not show it, he smirked mentally at Owen's excellent save.

But just when he thought the go's were gone, Raven's gaze lowered down to the metal suitcase Owen had brought and the go's came back. From the suitcase.

"You've read the letter carefully, have you not, Elsword Sieghardt?"

"Yes, you get your hands on one of the butler's weapons and want to make sure...we can use them too, right?"

The man nodded, looking back at him with all the seriousness of a hardened military veteran, "Exactly. These are very powerful magical artifacts that enhance their wielder to go beyond their human capacities...Owen, please open it."

The man mumbled something Elsword could not quite understand, but he supposed it was far from a kind agreement to the order. With the same grave look in his eyes, Owen's lavender gaze alone turned everything around him in various shades of blue as he gave him a final warning.

"Sieghardt, to go beyond human capacities...one must reject their humanity. It is a heavy toll to pay. Are you determined to pay the price, Sieghardt?"

Elsword gulped another sip of the horrendous juice, a drop of sweat rolling down his temples. He was here, far from his town, with two of the most powerful men in Lurensia, drinking a juice he hated above anything else. All so he could have a chance to have sweet money, a chance to take revenge on that purple-haired butler and...see Eve Nasod again. If those were not reasons enough to guide him to this exact place, he did not know what was. Elsword clenched his fists and with a confident smile, he made his will known to the world:

"I reject my humanity! Owen Felford!"

As if it had responded to his infinite motivation, the case opened, and fog -filled with mana- oozed out of it as the lid creaked slowly open. As the magical object came into view, a blinding light connected its will to his. It was the power calling for him!

"Sieghardt!", Raven yelled, "The weapon is responding to you, but you need the right incantation!"

"What is it?!"

The light was bending his body to its will, making him strike a strange pose, or rather dance. He clicked his fingers together - a feat he had never been able to do - and began to walk rhythmically in place.

"Raven, he's begun to resonate with the weapon already...Sieghardt! Say the words I'm going to tell you: vocal percussion on a whole other level, coming from my mind!"

What? That was the most ridiculous incantation he had ever heard. Not even the most powerful mages ever said such a nonsensical spell before unleashing their power.

"What?"

"The power is getting unstable!" Raven groaned and Elsword could almost swear he was about to grab him by the collar with his Nasod arm, "Elsword Sieghardt! Hurry and say the words before the power breaks the artifact: vocal percussion on a whole other level, coming from my mind!"

"Fine! Vocal percussion on a whole other level, coming from my mind!"

The light engulfed him completely, mana beyond his wildest dreams swung around him like a breeze, fusing itself with his body. It was so strong, Elsword could almost swear it had a conscience. It silently spoke to him, moving his body in a dance which sped up the way it fused with his body. Elsword had never been a good dancer, but he felt the flow of a natural dancer. No, it was a rhythm only celestial crusaders could ever hope to accomplish. His rhythmic steps stopped, he put himself on the tip of his toes before putting his feet back down, spreading his legs to his shoulder level, arched like the gates of temples in Sander. He clicked his fingers again and bent his knees back together, then back to the position he was before.

He began to realize the energy was wrapping itself around him...as if it were clothes. Still, he was too drunk in the power and the dance to pay more attention to it than that. He bent his arms to his shoulder level, arched his back a little backwards, looking at the sky as he extended his arms in front of him like a zombie. A fuchsia light covered his hands as he reached back with his arms and crossed them over his chest, his fingers tauntingly curved. He bent forwards and crossing his feet one in front of the other, his toes facing the sides. All in one single and swift motion.

He used his left foot as a pivot to spin and, as he stopped, he felt a cap cover his hair, which he grabbed to better lower it over his head. He reached to the side, feeling one final surge of power wanting to respond to his will. And, this time, he knew exactly how to summon it.

"Stardust Crusaders!"

The handle of a weapon naturally flew towards his open palm and he caught it, swinging it as its weight was made to be held by two hands. He thought the light was about to fade any moment by now, but he heard Owen's battle cry:

"Battle Tendency!"

Elsword looked down at his weapon and saw he was holding a chainsaw...but not any kind of chainsaw. No, this chainsaw was glittering like women's jewelry in shades of purple and pink. Its blades did not look to be the most efficient. All the blades were pointy, yes, but their shape…

'Who in their right mind makes chainsaw blades shaped like dolphins painted gold of all possible colours?'

The light faded for a moment before it grew stronger again. This time, because of Raven's voice.

"Jojolion!"

The light faded away as soon as it had come, but nothing could have prepared Elsword for the spectacle he was about to witness as his vision returned. Everything but the two men in front of him was as it had been. Owen was the first one to look down at himself with a very complicated look on his face. It could have been disgust, utter despair, shock, anger or all of those emotions combined.

The proud tactician of Velder was shamefully dressed with a pink dress that covered him to his knees. The rest of his legs were covered by white stockings and matching heels. The dress was not only pink, Elsword noticed. It had multiple gold patterns around the neck and the sleeves which barely covered his shoulder. It even had paddings over his chest to simulate a big pair of breasts. The skirt of his dress had a lighter pink frilly apron tied to it. His long hair was tied in two pigtails, curled up like a true princess' maid. The weapons in his hands could have barely been called ones: they were two empty bottles of Tequila.

Elsword's eyes widened like gold ED coins and he fearfully turned around to stare at Raven's transformation. As if to reference the luxurious ship he owned, Raven's dress imitated those of female sailors...in pulp fiction. The straight navy-blue skirt had a white border made in lace and ended an inch above his knees. Elsword first thought he did not have stockings, but he noticed a beige garter as Raven took a hesitant step with his black heels forward. He ended up tripping, his womanly shirt fluttered and his white captain hat, which was decorated with a big pink rose, fell with him. He had no weapon with him.

And Raven fell right in Owen's arms.

Elsword took a step forward to stop a catastrophe from happening, but it was then he noticed there were other steps.

Owen caught his friend in his embrace, still holding his empty bottles firmly in his hands, though he soon pushed him away "Hey, dumbass, you're too heavy with that arm!"

"Owen…I can't. I can't stand with these heels."

Raven fell backwards, laying on the sofa, his black hair suddenly long enough to reach his back, tied in silky pigtails with star-shaped laces. Unintentionally, his legs spread to both sides of the sofa's end,revealing his underwear to Owen, though he did not notice this. Raven's fake chest was perhaps bigger than Owen's but what was more interesting were Raven's hands. They seemed to shine like a woman's, not only because of the silver bracelets decorated by stars around his wrists. Elsword took a step closer and knelt beside Raven to make sure his eyes were not tricking him.

He took Raven's human hand and flipped it to see his nails. There was no doubt about it. They had nail polish...purple nail polish. It reeked of magic, but it seemed too weak compared to the power he could feel within him.

"Sieghardt?", Raven asked, "What are you doing?"

Elsword had forgotten about the other steps he had heard and that fact came back to him as a grim reminder. Behind them, a woman's voice coldly echoed.

"Owen, dear?"

The three men in the room turned fearfully around, two of them recognizing immediately who the woman was: Seris Felford.

Elsword's mind froze, suddenly aware of what this very moment would look like to an onlooker. All of them were crossdressing, probably. Owen was looking down at Raven, who was laying in a very compromising position on a sofa. He was holding Raven's hand. Any woman, no, any adult would have understandably come to perverted conclusions about the current situation. Especially when there was a pink dolphin-blade chainsaw laying on the corner of the room and two empty Tequila bottles in Owen's hands.

Owen was the first one to break from the thick, uncomfortable and eternal silence. He looked pale, horribly sick, but his voice was as confident as ever.

"How many seconds do I have to explain?"

"Five," the blonde woman said.

Five seconds? That was far too little for anyone to get them out of this mess. Owen had helped him before, so this was his chance. Elsword got up, dropping Raven's hand and walked next to Seris, determined to help Owen.

"Ma'am. I...I-I can assure you that t-this-"

The woman's piercing green gaze turned towards him like an arrow shot from a crossbow.

"Silence, kid."

Her voice was silent thunder, and Elsword got away from Raven, bowing to the goddess of war he had angered.

"Y-yes, ma'am."

Raven, by now, had sat down properly on the sofa and straightened up his skirt, accidentally ripping away some of it with the claws of his robotic hand. Though he was the one who started it all, he wanted to save his closest friend from getting smited by his wife.

"Hi, Seris," he began, apologetically, "I...didn’t know you were going-"

"Raven Cronwell, you don't have the right to know where I'm going to be. Not anymore."

Raven shamefully lowered his head, morally defeated in one strike. There was no one left to save Owen.

"Owen, my dear, you got four seconds."

Her voice was just a bit sweeter, but there was no mistaking the supernatural menace that it held in every syllable. This was a death sentence, no matter what Owen said. And, maybe because he realized how hopeless the situation was, Velder's tactician spoke with the solemnity of a colonel after a lost battle.

"Raven's plan. He was sober enough to think that this was anything but a ridiculous plan."

The woman nodded, closing her eyes with a smile; the guillotine's blade had been set free. It was free-falling right towards Owen's neck.

"I see."

Seris turned around and walked right towards the door, and as she distanced herself from them, they recovered the ability to think and move consciously, not just out of fear. Owen followed his wife, very slowly so he did not lose his balance.

"Seris, honey-"

But before he could say anything more, the door closed with a bang in front of him. The white-haired man came back to them and sat in the most uncomfortable wooden chair that nobody would ever sit down on. Elsword had thought that Owen's life had slipped away from his eyes when Raven ordered to open the artifact, but he now realized he had been mistaken.

Owen Felford's eyes were as dark as a dead man's, his face was pale and the few words he mouthed only gave Elsword chills; they were a curse from an undead. The kind of curse that would condemn Raven and his descendants to the lowest circle of hell.

Raven cleared his throat, "That...could've gone a lot worse, not gonna lie."

Elsword looked at him in disbelief, 'Really? I think she's gonna file the divorce papers right now...'

The air around him got suddenly colder, spreading the fear of a demonic threat as everything around them turned in different shades of purple and bright reds. This was a menace beyond the silent gogogo's. This was a wrath so absolute that it invaded everyone's minds. All of that coming from the fiery glare Owen was giving Raven.

'He's dead!'

The man dressed in pink got up, throwing the chair to the wall with only the flick of his finger. Dark energy gathered around him like the plague, the room cooling down as he made a step forward.

"Raven..." his voice was haunting like a demon's, "Are you trying to ruin my marriage?!"

His growl echoed through the room as the dark energy around him transformed into a flash of light, blinding them for an instant. When it faded away, Owen's attire...had upgraded. Well, Elsword thought, it was an upgrade from the perspective of feminine fashion. But it was definitely not what he had expected after such a display of killing intent. The world around him returned to its normal shades and, by looking on the surface of the glass table, Owen realized what had happened. Golden earrings made of three consecutive circles now hung by his earlobes. His lips were covered with bright red lipstick, his white eyelashes curled under the weight of mascara and his cheeks were femininely coloured by two circles of pink blush.

Raven's fear soon vanished, but while Elsword would have found the situation hilarious under any other circumstances, he told himself that if he laughed at Owen Felford, he would be immediately expelled from the military. Elsword could not go job-hunting again, even if his sister Elesis gained a good salary. If he stopped for any reason, his family would inevitably sink into ruin.

"Pfft."

The billionaire could barely keep his laughter and that, as Elsword feared, only fueled Owen's rage. He grabbed his empty bottles of Tequila by the neck of the bottle, spinning them in his hands like bats.

"I sincerely hope you haven't forgotten that I can break your skull with these bottles. I don't know why, but I strongly believe that they're as sturdy as a metal bat."

And sure enough, lightning rays of mana circled over the bottles, erasing Raven's smile for an instant as the mana ran through his friend's arms and up to his head, making his eyes shine maliciously.

Yep, there was something horribly wrong about this whole ordeal. Elsword could feel it in his veins. Something terrible was about to happen the moment the lightning was fully absorbed by Owen's body.

'No! Owen Felford! You're going to-'

And sure enough, Elsword's fears became a reality: a frilly pink maid headpiece appeared on Owen's head, shining with gold circles on the sides held by pink ribbons tied in such perfect bows that they would have made Santa’s elves jealous. That was not all, now the bottles were glittering with pink stars and also had perfect pink bows tied around their necks, above Owen's grasp.

Raven could not contain his laughter any longer, and Elsword had to clench his fists and jaws to not join him. He had to admit the man's laughter was exactly like Elesis's: loud and contagious. Owen looked again at himself, and the calm and collected anger that had made him so scary unleashed in a single cry:

"Oh, for fuck's sake! How in the El's name am I supposed to turn back to normal?!"

"Wait...you didn't know how to do that?", the red-haired teen asked.

Raven was too busy laughing and so Owen gave him the explanation. It wasn't that they didn't know how to turn back. That incantation came naturally to the wielder of the chainsaw, but now that its power had grown out of control, they had no idea if their transformation was permanent. Owen stared in silence at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong, Sir Felford?"

"Everything in my life is wrong, Sieghardt. But you, your...transformation looks more apt for battle."

'Huh?'

Raven's laughter was finally fading away, until he looked at his friend, with his bottles at hand. He could not stop himself, Elsword figured, and it was no surprise given the kind of man Owen Felford was. Pink lightning flowed across the bottles, but Raven was no longer afraid. In fact, it seemed like he was looking forward as to how Owen was going to transform next.

And that was a grave mistake.

Owen made the bottle spin in the air and grabbed it by its body, the cork pointing at Raven. In a flash, it flew away like a bullet and left a hole in the fireplace as the marble around it crackled in a small crater. Immediately, Raven straightened up and put defensively his hands in front of him, thinking on pleading with Owen.

"Next, " Owen seethed, "you'll say: I'm sorry, Owen. I'll try to come up with something so Seris can forgive you. "

"I'm sorry, Owen. I'll try to come up with something so Seris can…wait, how did you know-"

The cork flew back on the bottle. Owen smirked with his dead eyes, looking closer to a cruel killer than to the man he had once been.

"Hell if I know, Raven. I just want to ask you some things. Is this payback for that one time I told you I'll use you like chess pieces? That doesn't quite get paid off by ruining my life. It's an overkill...don't you think so, Raven?!"

If Elsword had been afraid of speaking out because of the power Owen held within the military, he was now fearing the beast of pure evil that was charging the corks of the bottles again. He had heard that some people snap when they're cornered, but he never thought it would be such a terrifying thing to witness. Raven leapt with the grace of a gymnast above Owen, flipping in the air before landing perfectly on his two feet. And as soon as he was there, he ran away, rightfully fearing for his dear life.

Owen chuckled, "Is that the courage of the Blademaster? Raven, you're gonna run away?!"

A flash of light blinded Elsword again, and right when he thought he was going to witness a murder in cold blood, the light vanished. Owen was no longer holding any Tequila bottles. In fact, his attire changed more than that. He was not even wearing makeup nor a headpiece.

Owen Felford was back to normal. Though, Elsword did not want to know if his mind was also back to what it had been. The white-haired tactician looked at his hands, blinking. He touched his face and then passed his hands over his hair, his lilac gaze widening as he felt that his low braid was back. He chuckled as some life returned to his eyes. Owen had conquered shame hotter than the sun! He was one step closer to becoming the ultimate combat maid!

The man fell to his knees and reached out to the sky, "I've never even believed in you, Ishmael! But if this is your doing, you have my deepest thanks!"

He laughed for a short while, tears of relief streaming down his face. He swept them away and got up once again. It was as if he had never even smiled in the first place. The tactician looked at him.

"Elsword Sieghardt. Pick up your chainsaw and follow me. We need a proper arena to test the extent of the artifact's power on you."

"Sir...what about Raven?"

Owen offered him a bright smile, "He can't run forever, Sieghardt."

A chill ran down Elsword's spine. 'This is the face of a man planning murder.'

#elsword #raven cronwell #owen felford #parody #jojo because why not #magical boy #chapter 3 never #more characters coming soon

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the-dyslexic-blogger · 4 years

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who I copd wif dislexiya.

So I know the title is spelt wrong some of my awful humour hehe. But here you go my experience with having learning difficulties and how it affected me, My mental health and my work.

So as you know I am dyslexic, it took me a lot of courage to make some blogs due to anxiety over spelling. I have an official diagnosis of dyslexia dyspraxia and Dyscalculia. Isn't it funny how all of those are spelt strangely hard for a dyslexic to wright and spell right? Haha yes, it sucks. In fact, I am probably only getting this right because of autocorrect love it. But fun fact I was never officially diagnosed in January of 2020 so all 20 years if my life no one has really supported me in this I knew I struggled with it a lot. No one at my school helped me with it whatsoever. I remember always being told to 'try harder' or 'you're not trying'. I always thought I was lazy or stupid back in primary school my handwriting was awful that was a big problem in my home life my parents and grandparents always told me off for this I a a lot of shit for it I couldn't help it my dyspraxia meant it took me longer to write less like a doctor I still do wright as bad as a doctor probably worse I don't know if a doctor could even read it, I can't half the time. One of the earliest memory's with writing, and handwritten stuff is in year 2 I had homework and my mum and dad kept making me re wright stuff over and over and over again until I got it right it really had a massive effect on my self-esteem and confidence I cried a lot I got it right in the end, But my family I didn't understand I am very surprised that my primary School never picked up on my dyslexic and other issues they didn't help me the only thing they ever did was move me down to year 4 when I was in year 6 for maths cuz I was shit Secondary wasn't much better they only gave me a year or two of English support which did help but not much I was told by them I might be dyslexic but wasn't diagnosed with it which is another very stupid thing. They should have how they didn't pick up on my dyspraxia and Dyscalculia I don't know probably cuz my school was shit and didn't actually care about the students within it well the learning support I got for a few years was amazing she was the most lovely tutor I had it was sad when she left, and I had no further assistance this had a massive effect on me being in the bottom set for every lesson I hated it I was with all the kids who bullied me all the kids who rather sit there take the piss out of anyone who was different and bully them rather than learning. Being dyslexic I needed to concentrate on things, and I only ever wanted to do well in school of course because I wanted to learn this was wrong and that's why I got bullied so much the whole bottom set used to make me feel like shit my mate at the time was in the top set and would go on and on about the grades (because I'm a dinosaur I used a,b and c grading, in fact, one of the last years to use the normal system) and id be getting shit grades, I wasn't getting help for my learning problems. Also I asked her for help with the bullying, and she said she didn't want to get involved not even to talk to her about it, that was an excellent friend so glad we don't talk anymore(Bitch.)

I had little confidence in myself at this point in the year I wasn't smart like my friends, it took me longer to do stuff, so I'm stupid that's what I I always assumed my parents were constantly having a go at me for not doing well in anything I wasn't doing well in sports or academically due to my difficulties, it was tough for me to fit in no one understood.

You know what I used to and still kinda annoys me I feel shit for admitting it when people moan about getting like A's and Cs because I could never get up to that standard and people would complain if they got a c, it would hurt me because I couldn't do it. Once I was sat with my friends, they as on about maths saying how there annoyed they got a high c grade. There was I sat there still with no math GCSE with in fact a shitty f thinking oh wow lucky you got a c.

But that sucked anyways got off-topic so back on topic now sorry about that I don't even remember what I was talking about. #dyslexic moment or it could be my dementia is kicking in. (This part was written by a drunk dino, but I'm keeping it in because why the fuck not.)

The first year of college wasn't too bad it was games design on the computer so didn't actually I have to do much with words. The college didn't know about my disability probably thought I was stupid like I did I still do believe this. Yet, afte the proper diagnosis of my disability, it was better I accept it a lot more than before. Nevertheless, the college was rough until the end where they were like" oh yeah by the way you will never get far without your maths there is no point you being on this course, So we decided to be shitheads and waste a year, oh. Here you go have more trauma and depression byeeeee" so long story short (you've heard this many many times sorry.)

I moved and did software engineering in another college(For 2 years) they also didn't realise I was dyslexic. This was still having a massive effect on my mental state, I was 18 and id be told all my life I was lazy and wasn't trying hard enough, so it would make me feel bad. I realised I mentioned my Dyslexia a lot and mot my other ones but oh well.

Towards the end of my college this tutor, I had come up to me. I said he'd read my assignment it was good. Still, he asked in the most delightful way possible if I was dyslexic as his daughter has it. My written work was much like hers. He got me some help. Sadly this was around the time my mental state got unbearable to attend anymore, so I do still thank that

guy.

Coming to university is something I never thought id do I I always thought my maths work was too shit. I wasn't very confident in getting into uni, but oh well that was me being all negative and having a fuck ton of shit wrong with me. Once I got into this university, I was happy first thing I did in the week was getting a full-on diagnostic of my learning difficulties. As I was fed up of living under the shadows of your not good enough or stuff like this and you're not trying. Also fun fact I have a mental health mentor for my depression and she used to claim that I was lazy and wasn't dyslexic so that was a lot of fun yay... So September I got a appoint for January the wait then I had that and was fully diagnosed with Dyslexia dyspraxia and Dyscalculia. Also doing musical theatre really helped me with my dyspraxia. I never told anyone I was there, but it helped me a lot with my coordination.

For those who don't know what these are you probably know dyslexia but the other two maybe I'm assuming okay (digs hole deeper) imma shut and explain before I dig more of a hole.

Anyways for Dyslexia the definition is "Dyslexia is a learning disorder that involves difficulty reading due to problems identifying speech sounds and learning how they relate to letters and words (decoding). Also called reading disability, Dyslexia affects areas of the brain that process language."

Dyscuaulia on google is explained as "Dyscalculia is a math learning disability that impairs an individual's ability to represent and process numerical magnitude in a typical way. Dyscalculia is sometimes called "number dyslexia" or "math dyslexia." Dyspraxoca is on google is explained as" Developmental coordination disorder (DCD), also known as dyspraxia, is a condition affecting physical coordination. It causes a child to perform less well than expected in daily activities for their age, and appear to move clumsily.

Of course, this is only what google says each person is different and with different symptoms and mild or bad. For example, the guy who interviewed (is it an interview probably not but oh well ) said he was very surprised that no one had picked up on it as my Dyslexia was very bad so was the rest he was very annoyed at all of my schools and colleges so am I if they would have picked upon it I wouldn't have struggled so much and wouldn't be so hard on myself with the fact that I can't write or read. It was a rough upbringing with my parents are always putting pressure on me to achieve when I simply can't do it.

I can't read well or write well it was a very very rough system I still haven't fully accept myself I still don't ask anyone to read my blogs proofread because I don't feel comfortable to do so, I would like to, but they have more important things to do rather than read through

my shitty ass writing.

So there you go another blog that's way longer than it should be. Still, these blogs take a lot of effort it goes from word to grammer.ly to word so it can read it to me then back into Grammarly its a long process but here is the blog about me. There are a lot of famous people with these difficulties a lot more than you realise google it it's interesting and made me feel less alone it's more common than you think my therapist is dyslexic its awesome meeting fellow dyslexics or Dyscalculia or dyspraxias.

I also added some links below for helpful resources for dyslexia dyscalculia and dyspraxia.

Dyslexia

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/dyslexia/living-with/

https://www.nessy.com/uk/teachers/essential-teaching-tips-dyslexia/

dyspraxia

https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/developmental-coordination-disorder-dyspraxia-in-adults/

https://dyspraxiafoundation.org.uk/dyspraxia-adults/

dyscalculia

https://www.readandspell.com/dyscalculia-in-adults

https://safespot.org.uk/safespotopedia/dyslexia-dyscalculia/

Love Dino the Dyslexic

Blogger xx

#blogs #mental health #dyscalculia #dyslexa #dyspraxic

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