#and they come out with the solution to a cold case that's been a mystery for three hundred years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghostieblr · 10 months ago

Text

<- Part 2 | Untitled

When he decides enough is enough, he also realizes he has no clue how to fix this. Research has always been Stiles' forte, and Derek is, admittedly, not the best with the internet.

But he does have a penchant for reading.

Determined, he makes his way towards the vault below the high school, with a quick detour to Wendy's to get something to eat. There, he goes through the drive-through, and valiantly ignores the fact that Stiles' blue jeep is sitting in the parking lot, and that he can hear him flirting with the waitress. Instead, he quickly vanishes under the cover of the night, and finds himself near the high school in minutes.

Demons aren't common. They don't appear out of nowhere, they're summoned — in this case by a bunch of kids, supposedly — that much he knows. But the summoning ritual itself, what it is and how it's done, and why, is a mystery to him. Someone in this town has been dabbling in things they shouldn't have, and now he — Stiles — is paying the price.

The books in the vault are old and dusty, as well as disorganized. It takes him a while to pick up three books on demons, and he decides he'll start with these and come back tomorrow for more.

Once back at the loft, he tries his best to not look anywhere that would remind him of Stiles as he eats in record seconds and starts on his research. Except, there's Stiles' red hoodie on the back of one of the dining chairs; his copy of Percy Jackson on Derek's bedside table; his favorite flavor of chips on top of the kitchen counters.

He reads. He reads and reads, and barely anything talks about the aftereffects of a deal with a demon. All three books warn of the consequences, but don't elaborate. It's half information to him, but it's still half more than he had before reading them, so he sighs and lays his head against the couch, trying to think what he should do next.

What Will Stiles Do Next?

The morning has dawned, sunlight splashing across his face as he sits sprawled on his couch, and he is no closer to a solution than he was last night. Perhaps he could start with investigating the summoners — He did get the scent of the kids there in that clearing, but finding them with just that isn't going to be easy. But it's a start, and hell if he isn't going to do everything in his power to fix Stiles.

Except does Stiles actually need fixing? Sure, he's turned vicious towards Derek, but he sounded like himself when Derek heard him flirting with that waitress. Carefree and genuine, with his dorky jokes and cascading laughter.

He'll investigate for the sake of his own heart, but if it turns out this is better for Stiles', then he'll leave it be. Rest this case. He's used to the cruelty of the universe, so what's one more time? What's another loved one lost to the hands of fate?

Sighing, he makes his way towards his bed — where Stiles was only hours ago — and manages to fall asleep after some of turning and tossing.

It's only been a meager few hours when there's a loud pounding against the door, and he slips out of bed, in his sleeped-in henley and jeans, to a harried looking Lydia Martin.

She smells of panic, and she looks so too, but in a sort of way that's still impeccable. If a stranger looked at her, they'd think she's alright; it's because he knows her that he knows that something is wrong.

"What's wrong?" He asks her as she brisks past into his home, and she doesn't move to say anything until her purse has been put on the coffee table. Except, her eyes catch on the books he'd brought from the vault, and her mouth snaps shut in shock for a moment.

"You read those?" She asks instead of answering him.

"Yes."

"They're in Archaic Latin," she says, like she didn't think he'll ever have a cause to know them. The surprise of it tilts into anger as she continues, "You know what's wrong! How long have you known? What did Stiles do this time, Derek?"

He feels his insides go cold. "This is about Stiles."

"Yes! And you know what's going on with him. We need to fix it."

She says it matter-of-fact. Of course Derek would help when it comes to Stiles, wouldn't he?

"Why didn't you go to Scott?" He can smell multiple people on her, like she'd been out in a mall or something, and yet the most prominent smell remains. Of course it's Stiles' scent; Now that he's woken up enough for his senses to work properly, he can conclude that she met him recently. It's what, around twelve at the moment? He glances at the clock to confirm — it's been three hours since he went to sleep. "He'll be better equipped to handle this."

Lydia's eye twitches at the statement, like it's fucking stupid. "You have to be kidding me right now," she hisses. "Scott might be an Alpha, but he is no way Stiles'. Never has been. He has no clue how to take care of his pack, and definitely none about solving problems like the one we currently have, without Stiles whispering solutions in his ear. Which would be difficult at the moment, considering Stiles is the problem we currently have."

"If he can't help, why do you think I can?" He can't help anyone.

Lydia takes a few menacing steps forward, her heels clicking like bullets. She's tiny, but her presence is huge, and it takes him a conscious effort to not move backwards. "You," her voice is crisp, clear, crystal fucking steel, "are the only one who can."

He looks at her, the determination and the concern. She's Stiles' friend, and she has a right to protect him. It takes him by surprise that she's come to him to protect Stiles, because who is he but the reason of Stiles' ruin? But she's also smart, and he'll follow her; the two of them have a common cause, after all, even if his stems from feelings he can't quite shake, and hers has grown from a mutual foundation of respect and genius that remains unmatched to anything Derek has ever seen before.

He asks, "What's the plan?" And, "What happened?"

Lydia's laugh is without any humor. "He was flirting," she says it with bewilderment, like it is unfathomable. "He was flirting with the cashier, the guy at the gas station, the damn librarian! And me."

The outburst breaks him as much as it perplexes him. "Lydia, he's a healthy 21 year old man."

Lydia doesn't seem to appreciate his honesty, and this time when she marches forward, he does take a step back. "Boys!" Her snarl is almost like a wolf's, a sound of frustration coming deep from her bones. "You are all so — Derek Hale, something is very, very wrong," she stops for a breath, and here, he intervenes.

"He is free from his shackles," he tells her. He's been thinking, in the little time he's been awake, and since he'd put the books down and not quite managed to sleep yet, that what had been missing in his interaction with Stiles since the deal was warmth. Affection.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, doesn't it? With the heat there, he'd always disregarded it as part of his illusions; demoted the looks of longing and care towards a box labeled "unworthy" in his brain. And now that warmth has been sucked out with the teeth of a literal demon, and all he's felt since then has been the cold reality. That perhaps Stiles had felt the same for him as he does for Stiles, but it's all gone now, taken.

He misses Stiles from before, but had he really deserved the devotion? Of having been worthy to be included in the most precious things that the demon took from Stiles?

Lydia's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Derek, what happened?" When he doesn't answer, head down, she repeats forcefully, "What the hell happened on that perimeter run?"

He looks up, and all he sees is a concerned friend. Perhaps the demon took more than just the warmth for Derek — maybe it burned away the roots of care itself.

"I'll tell you, after you tell me what happened exactly."

Lydia swears, says, "Talking with you is like going in fucking circles," and then, "He's vicious."

"I'm not for everybody," it's his turn to chuckle without humor, and then his to be startled into silence when he gets the reply:

"No, but you are for Stiles." She takes a moment to read his expression, hardly hidden behind a mask at the moment. "Christ, men are dumb. Derek Hale, Stiles has been in love with you for ages, and whatever happened to him yesterday has taken away a primal part of him. Whatever happened, it has changed him, to the point that the person who wouldn't even look towards another person, no matter how much his type, or how hot, has started to flirt with everything that moves and keeps commenting that he'll sleep with me even if it's stupid. That he's so over this town and its hold on him. And that there's nothing tying him to this town, nothing."

"He has his dad here."

"And he has us, his pack. You know, he told me last week he's planning on joining the BHPD while he earns another Bachelor's online after his current one?"

Derek's lips part in surprise. "He's planning to stay. Or he was."

"Exactly my point. So, how many times more do I have to ask —"

"He made a deal with a demon."

Lydia's breaths come out sharper at his admission. She moves back, gives them both space. Paces the floor of his loft, click-click-click.

He gives in, admits further, "During the perimeter run, we came across an abandoned clearing. From the smell of it some high school kids had been staying there, but something had happened there. There were all these things for a ritual, and when Stiles tried to investigate, a demon appeared. We tried asking it where are the kids, but it won't give a clear cut answer to us, and then it asked Stiles to give his most precious thing to him as a trade. I tried to protect him but I never do anything right, do I?"

"This is not the time for your self-loathing, schedule that later."

Always so cynically to-the-point. Derek scoffs, continues, "He did it, he agreed, and then came here. He couldn't stay upright and fell face-first on my bed, didn't wake up for a couple of hours, and when he did he was... vicious. Cruel. Cold."

Lydia picks up the book on the top, the last one he was reading. She motions for him to continue, and he takes a deep breath.

She's already told him Stiles loves him. Maybe that is true in the ways he wants it to be, or it isn't, but in Lydia's mind his delusions are true. And anyways, what is vulnerability in the name of saving Stiles?

"At first I figured it was just me. That whatever he had sacrificed only skewed his feelings for me, but now... I don't think so."

"So what are you thinking now?" She points to the book, now open to the middle, her face somewhere between plain and panicked. Closer to the Lydia he's used to. "This says the demons are like the Fae, they twist their words to benefit themselves. According to me, the most precious thing he has in this world are his feelings for you."

Derek makes a noise of disagreement. "Not me. His dad is the most — " Lydia looks at him sharply.

"Not the time for you to hate yourself," she repeats, "You are. Another possibility could be his affection."

He gets it. He's been thinking this, rather than her ludicrous idea of — of. "The demon took away his unending care for the people in his life."

Her eyes flick between the pages open in front of her and him. "Or both." She says at length. "We need to find those meddlesome kids."

"You sound like every villain in Scooby Doo," he says, and it strikes him as odd, that in the middle of all this, he's not thinking why did I say it? Instead he's stuck on Stiles would appreciate the joke.

"And you fucking wonder why you would be the person he cares for most," Lydia mutters under her breath, piling up all three books in her hand. "Come on, we need to get to work. I want to finish this today. What did the demon tell you?"

She's by the door before he takes a step towards the direction of it.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Didn't it make a fucking deal with Stiles?"

"It also promised none other of his kind would come to our town," he says, and smiles sardonically as they both descend the stairs. "Which means that thing is still here and will probably only tell things to Stiles."

"He's the one it made a deal with," she agrees, and pulls out her keys from her purse. Derek takes a seat on the passenger seat without any protests, but he dreads what Lydia says next. "So we need him."

He'd deduced that much.

"He's under its influence," she says, but it sounds more like a reminder than a statement. As if she's trying to reassure the both of them.

"Where would he be now?" Normally, Derek would be aware of it, because Stiles texts him these things. It's a question he hasn't had to ask in a long time in regards to Stiles.

"Hopefully, still at the mall where I left him without a ride." He gives her a look as she turns on the engine and pulls out of the parking lot of his building. "What? I couldn't stand him."

"And you both had some shopping plans."

"It was not a fun experience," she states. "Not how it usually is."

"Alright." He takes a pause, and decides if he really wants to say what he's going to next or not. He goes along with it, because really, what's the harm? And at least he'll get to tell it to Stiles later — hopefully. So he says, "Let's solve this mystery," and imagines Stiles' raucous laughter instead of Lydia's side-glare at it.

#sterek #derek hale #lydia martin #sh.writing #currently derek is all over the place but lydia is here to put him back into shape!!! dw guys #anti scott mccall #tagging it just in case cuz this fic is not gonna be him friendly #here's your warning #scott mccall is a bad alpha #also if there's any inconsistencies from the 2 prev parts i apologize — i'm ill and instead of sleeping this is what i'm doing lol #once all the parts are out and when i'll post these to ao3 i'll fix up every mistake

36 notes · View notes

hey-its-roseaurum · 1 year ago

Text

Guilty until Proven Innocent-Part I

A/N: Hey everyone. Thank you for taking the time to look at this story. This is for a collaboration with @lainiespicewrites. She is an excellent writer and I figured it was my turn to stretch my writing muscles and put something out into the world. This is my first Henry Cavill fic, so please don't be too harsh. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: After recent murders in town, You (Olivia) decide to train with Edith in the art of self-defense. In the middle of training, you got a mysterious knock on the door. Sherlock walks in, looking for assistance with his latest case. He offers you to partake in a partnership to help him in his latest case? Do you take it?

Warnings: mentions of death

“You’re progressing nicely Olivia.” Edith smiled from above me, her elbow pinning me to the floor mat. There wasn’t a hint of sweat along her forehead. She had taken me down in less than a minute. The worst part was I thought I was going to land a hit on her this time.

”I’m beginning to think that you’re just saying that to soothe my pride”. I rasped out. She had eased her hold on me and stood up, extending a hand.

”Nonsense. Look how far you’ve come since you first stepped in these doors. Pretty soon you’ll be able to hold your ground with me.” She exclaimed as I grabbed her hand and hoisted myself up. My back had long since started throbbing.

For the past few weeks, I have been meeting Edith at her office to train and learn self-defense. Ever since the first girl went missing and was later found dead in the street I hadn’t been able to sleep soundly. There were constant, nagging thoughts that made me question if I was going to be the next victim. It had only gotten worse when they found the next girl a week later in the middle of an alleyway that I frequently visited. Her throat had been cut.

In London, it was ill-advised for a woman, especially of noble birth, to consider something as trivial as self-defense. Women are supposed to be soft, elegant, and passive. All of the trouble and responsibility in making decisions was for the men.

Being passive and soft didn’t save those girls from their cruel end.

And I wasn’t going to let myself become like them. I refuse to be the next girl that falls victim to this. So I went to my dear friend Enola at her detective agency and inquired about a solution to my predicament. She sent me over to Edith and had me start training the next day. I’ve been training every day since then.

I’m still not really good at it.

”Did you say the same thing when you were teaching Enola?” I inquired as I dusted myself off. Edith only shook her head.

”Not exactly. Her response was more witty, thanks to her mother.” Eudoria Holmes, the mother, the fire starter as people liked to call her. I’ve seen her wanted poster splayed all across London. But I didn’t see her as a criminal. I saw her as the woman who saved my life six months ago.

That morning had been cold and bitter. I remember feeling my fingers grow numb while I huddled against a mailbox. Its red paint had chipped away at its base, leaving rust behind.

Which was ironic and poetic now that I think back on it. And let me explain why.

It all started when my father had recently passed from a sickness that left my mother and me penniless. With no man in the house and no money to our name, we were cast out of society. My mother and I were thrown out and the estate that I called my home. It was sold to another noble family in the south.

We lived off the street after that. My mother, using what knowledge she had of needlework, had acquired a job as an assisted seamstress. I was left to salvage whatever pity people gave me and half-rotten food from dumpsters.

Eventually, we were able to afford a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It was small, run-down, and often had a damp smell to it. Mother didn’t like to be there for a long period. She claimed it was because she was so busy with her duties to the seamstress that she didn’t have time to spend there. I think it was because she missed her life at the estate and living in this small broken cottage was too much for her to bear.

That morning six months ago I decided to go into town to fill my water bucket and get bread before it got too crowded. When I got there, I sat down by the mailbox to wait for the bakery to open. I was particularly annoyed when I saw a lot of people around this early in the morning.

I was watching a man get onto a carriage when something shifted from the corner of my eye. It had been a man, or what I thought was a man walking towards me with a package in their hand. When we made eye contact I didn’t think anything of it. I just watched them and noted how stiff they walked. They placed the package in the slot of the mailbox. Before I knew it, I was grabbed by the elbow, hoisted upright, and pulled away from the mailbox.

That mailbox exploded, releasing a whirlwind of fliers into the air.

The two of us had run from the police. I was forced to since they refused to let go of my hand. We ran until this stranger knew that they weren't being followed.

When things settled down, the man revealed that they were a woman in disguise. She introduced herself as Eudoria Holmes and then proceeded to lecture me about being near explosives as if she were my own mother. All I had wanted to do was bite back, to lecture her on how she shouldn’t be putting explosives where there were people.

Instead, I broke down, not from her lecturing but because of something I couldn’t quite place. All I knew was that I was waiting for a soggy piece of bread and nearly got blown up.

In the end, I told her everything. I told her my past, my current situation, and why I was even in town in the first place. One thing kind of led to another. The next thing I knew I was sitting in Eudoria’s house with a cup of tea in my hand.

I stayed in that damp cottage less and less as time passed and more at Eudoria’s warm, often chaotic home. That’s where I became friends with Enola, had briefly met her two brothers Sherlock and Mycroft, and felt somewhat happy.

I don’t know why she pulled me away from that mailbox. The one time I asked her she said she saw something in me, some sort of fire in my eye. She didn’t want it to go out along with the mailbox.

I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t tell that to her.

“So what you’re trying to say is that I still have a long way to go,” I asked as my brain jumped back to the present. I stepped away from the mat and made my way into her office.

”What I’m saying is you’re doing better than you think you are. You just began learning. Give yourself a little credit.” Following me, she made her way to the table by the window. A stack of teacups were messily stacked up to one side. She grabbed two, placed them on saucers, and poured liquid into both.

“I know. I’m just…worried. It’s been a week since the last victim was found and the police still haven’t found the suspect.” I let out a sigh and sipped some of my tea. I needed a moment to choose my words carefully. “I just want to be…prepared.”

A heavy pause filled the air before either of us spoke.

”Olivia…there’s more to that, isn’t there?” Edith’s words were soft and gentle.

“I mean I-“. My response was sharply cut short.

A knock pulled our attention away from our conversation and to the door. A tall man entered from the training room and to Edith’s office. I couldn’t place if he looked tall because of his size, or because of the giant top hat sitting snugly on top of his head. Dark wavy strands of hair peaked through from under his hat.

”Have you any sense what time it is?” Edith interrogated, crossing her arms. The man took off his hat, revealing thick brown locks. His sculpted jawline and nose complimented the hair. Blue, mesmerizing eyes glanced around, investigating.

But the feature that I recognized right away from him was his shoulders. I knew those shoulders.

”Hello, Edith” His attention briefly shot to me “Olivia” I curtly nodded, averting my eyes.

”Good evening Mr. Holmes.” I responded softly. “With what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. One of Enola’s older brothers. One of the greatest detectives I’ve ever seen.

”There’s no need for formalities Olivia.” I felt something warm begin to grow on my cheeks at his response. He’s only being polite Olivia. We are only acquaintances because of Enola and Eudoria. He doesn’t like you like that.

Or does he?

I’m not sure.

Sherlock Holmes is a difficult man to understand.

“What are you here for Sherlock?” Edith asked again, harsher this time. Her tone quickly pulled me back to the present and away from my thoughts.

Sherlock cleared his throat, his blue eyes revealing some sort of inner turmoil within himself. It was an unusual amount of emotion that I was not used to seeing. I expected it with Mycroft, he practically wore his emotions on his face at all times. Sherlock never did. He’s always been composed, and proper. Before me now he still was, but a layer of some sort had been chipped away.

”I….need your help.” He struggled to say the words like it was almost painful to him. A moment of silence clung in the air.

”Is it about Enola? Did she get herself into trouble?” There was a hint of concern in Edith’s voice when she begged the questions. The only response he gave was a small shake of his head. I watched as realization flashed on her face.

”There’s something about this case-“.

”That deduction cannot solve?” Edith finished his thought. He slightly nodded, setting his hat down on her desk. That was my cue. I softly placed my teacup down and made my way to the table by the window. I began making some tea for Sherlock while listening to the conversation.

”I may need your…skills to get information from a place I cannot enter.”

“What kind of place?” He listed off a name that I didn’t recognize. Edith’s face slightly reddened.

”A showgirl theatre?! You cannot ask me such a thing Sherlock, no matter how close we are.” My eyebrows raised as I grabbed a cup and saucer and poured some tea into the cup.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have another option. A woman’s life is at stake.” His tone was calm, but there was something else there.

”But going into this with the possibility of getting murdered is not something I’m comfortable with. Woman’s freedom and rights is one thing, going after a serial killer is a whole other matter entirely”

”Edith, I-“. I cut them off.

”I’ll do it. I’ll go instead of you.” In their arguing, I had made my way back to the two of them, Sherlock's tea in hand. I had left mine behind.

”Olivia, do you know what kind of place that is, what situations you can get into. You’re nowhere near ready to hold your ground”. What she said was like a punch to the gut.

I knew I wasn’t ready, we had that same conversation not thirty minutes ago. But I knew that if Edith went and something bad had happened to her Enola and Eudoria would be devastated. I was different. If I went and something happened to me, Edith would still be here training more girls like me.

”Who else is going to do it? Enola? She’s not expendable. I am. And Edith, what about the other girls you train?” I took a breath, the stubbornness in me growing. “Besides, I know these streets better than anyone. I’ve lived in them. I know where to go in case I’m being followed. And because of the way I look,”. I paused briefly looking down at myself, at my curvy, plump figure. “No one would suspect me. They would just see me as a showgirl trying to make ends meet. I can blend in, go undercover, and get the information that he needs in order to catch this murderer.”

A heavy pause hung between the three of us.

I let what I said sink into the two of them. I know that Edith is fighting with herself on whether she can let me go. She believes that I am her responsibility, and I kind of was while Eudoria was undercover. But since starting to learn to defend myself I told myself that I couldn’t sit and wait. Sitting and worrying about who the next victim is going to drive me crazy. If I can help and make a difference, then maybe the suspect will be caught before there’s more tragedy.

”I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to her.” Sherlock’s voice broke the silence and my inner thoughts. “You have my word.” His eyes met mine at his. I felt something else there besides the promise. Edith sighed, rubbing her temples with both her index fingers.

“Okay, Sherlock. Just…make sure she comes back in one piece.” Edith finally concurred. “You’re going to have to speak to your mother if you don’t.”

A smile tugged at my lips at the agreement. I finally raised the cup of tea, offering it to him.

”When do we start?”

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

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. If you want to read @lainiespicewrites story about Paul Atreides from the Dune Sage, here is her link: https://www.tumblr.com/lainiespicewrites/747032352877903872/the-atreides-era?source=share

82 notes · View notes

wriheart · 11 months ago

Text

Cerise Hood (And the True Ending of the Big Bad Wolf)

This post might be one of my favorites because I love the mysterious vibes that Cerise has always given off and I wanted to do my own spin on her backstory.

To add some additional depth and details to the original story of Red Riding Hood, I have decided that Red and her mother come from a long line of herbalists. They provide the village with much-needed medicine for small ailments such as the common cold, to larger issues like painkillers or treatments for poisons. So when Little Red is traveling to help her sick grandma, she’s taking more than just food. I just thought this would be an interesting addition to give Red something more than just a girl going through the woods. While this is still the case, this new role gives her extra responsibilities and raises the stakes.

Now, in order to tell Cerise’s story, I need to take a step back in time to when her mother, Red Hood, was attending Ever After High.

Red Hood is the kind of person who was raised to prioritize others' health and happiness over her own. It was never intentional, but as the village's herbalists, creating and distributing medicine to the village, it's inevitable that Red and her mother wouldn't have time for themselves. Red was always helping her mother around the home and tending to the herb garden, and it wasn't until she got to EAH that she finally had a moment to breathe.

Well, sort of. Old habits die hard, and Red often found herself helping out in the nurse's office or as the person students went to when conflict arose. When she did have time to herself, she would feel anxious, as not having anything to do made her feel useless.

This anxiety only began to grow as she learned more about her destiny. She had known since a kid that the wolf would die. After all, her entire village had always told her how worried they were that she would be in his stomach, even if it was only for a few moments. But now, the thought of the wolf dying, even if it was determined by fate many, many years ago, sent her stomach into a fit. What had started as small stomach aches were now a daily pain that she struggled to ignore.

She hardly knew the boy. Sure, he was easy enough to pick out in a crowd, and they had met once or twice when attending destiny counseling, but that shouldn't have been enough to explain her growing sickness.

It was this feeling that brought her to the Evil Queen that fateful day.

(If you remember from my post about Raven and magic, the Evil Queen is an anti-hero/gray character. She has her moments of good and bad, but even when acting with good intent, the consequences of her actions tend to hurt those around her.)

Being The Evil Queen's roommate meant that Red saw this good and bad, and figured there was a chance she could have the solution for Red's plight. She asked the Queen if there was a way to cheat death: she thought that if there was a way for the wolf to survive, then the immense feeling of guilt tearing her apart might disappear.

Luckily enough, the queen had an easy solution: a potion that, when taken right before one’s death, would allow them to survive anything. She warned Red that the potion would come with a steep price, but when Red pressed her for details, the queen admitted that you won’t know the cost until you’ve already paid.

For many days, Red held onto this potion, unsure if the price would be worth it. However, she realized that it wasn’t up to her: Wolf had the right to decide whether or not he would pay the price or accept his destiny.

When she asked Wolf if he would meet her in the gardens that night, he had no idea what to expect. The girl who he was to attempt to kill was asking him to meet her alone at night. He had no idea what she was trying to do, but against his better judgment, he met her that night.

When she offered him the potion, he felt insulted. She was only giving him the potion because she thought it would ease her own guilt. Besides, she must have thought he was desperate, stupid, or both, as there was no way he was going to mess around with dark magic, and he told her as much. However, when it looked like she might cry, he relented and took the potion. He told her he would think about it.

From there, the two of them saw much more of each other. Whereas before, they had simply made eye contact in the hallway, they now made sure to say hello. Their eyes always seemed to pick out each other in a crowd. Their meetings in the garden became frequent and their friendship grew.

They both knew it was a bad idea to get so close. He was destined to die in less than a year. But the kiss they shared the night of their legacy day sealed their misfortune.

When their destiny began, he took the potion. The huntsman cut him open, leaving him for dead. But when Red came back to her grandma’s home a few hours later, she found her friend safe and sound.

From there, they kept wolf’s survival a secret. While during the day Red continued to help her mother with her shop, she would spend her nights in her new home with her secret husband. They lived a blissful life for many years, forgetting entirely about the cost of the potion.

About a year before the tree was set to bloom, Red realized she was pregnant. The two panicked for a bit before deciding they would simply raise their daughters together, teaching them to love and care for each other as well as keep their sisterhood a secret. They named their daughter Cerise, and their daughter from the tree Crimson.

As Red and Wolf raised the girls, they started to notice the effects of the dark magic. As a price for cheating death, Wolf was slowly losing all feelings. Happiness, sadness, anger: all emotions slowly became more and more unknown to him as he grew into a emotionless shell of his former self. As Cerise and Crimson grew up they slowly lost their father. It got to a point where he would simply sit by the fire, alive, but not living.

Before she lost her father, Cerise was a very happy and outgoing child. She loved spending time with her family and sister, and would constantly be talking or singing or playing in the woods. It saddened Red that she had to hide her daughter from the world, as she knew Cerise would thrive around people.

Since their home was well into the woods, Red allowed Cerise to occasionally go off and play by herself. She wasn’t worried much about Cerise’s safety as much as Crimson, after all, Cerise had inherited some of her father’s wolf traits. All that she asked of her daughter was that she keep her hood up while out in the woods. If she were to run into someone, they couldn’t know what she was.

It’s when she’s in the woods as a child that she meets Ramona. As the next big bad wolf, she’s being raised by a nobel family and is allowed limited time alone in the woods to work off excess energy. The two become fast friends as they don’t know who the other girl is. The girls are friends for years before Ramona’s family decide to move estates.

When Cerise eventually reveals to her mother that she met a girl named Ramona in the woods, Red is honest and tells Cerise that Ramona is the next big bad wolf.

Cerise has a strong sense of loyalty and protection towards her sister and Ramona. She wants to keep both of her sisters safe without having to turn to dark magic like her parents did. So, in order to find a way to save her sisters, she applies for Ever After High and is able to attend the school as the next hunter in Little Red Riding Hood’s tale.

When enrolled in Ever After High, she is less outgoing and bubbly than she was as a kid. She keeps to herself and is very cautious. After all, she and her sister are trying to break their destinies. Along with her hood, Cerise wears a magical headband with illusion magic to hide her ears.

When she finds out Raven Queen is trying to break her own destiny, she reluctantly becomes friends with her, eventually revealing the crucial information that the wolf is still alive, yet nobody disappeared.

————

All EAH AU Posts

#wri's post #my post #ever after high #ever after high au #ever after high rewrite #eah #eah au #eah rewrite #cerise hood #eah cerise #cerise hood eah #the evil queen eah #little red riding hood eah

26 notes · View notes

nandysparadox · 10 months ago

Text

A Wish Your Heart Makes - Ch.7 ♡

The dream that you wish will come true

Prev - Chapter Seven - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated T - CW: emotional abuse and manipulation, physical abuse (magic used to inflict pain), magical compulsion, secret reveal, fantasy discrimination, threats of violence, hurt/comfort, magic, happy ending - WC: 7288

“Roman, I understand this is important to you, but for the past three days we’ve gathered all our resources to search for this mystery faerie, and there’s yet to be any sign of him anywhere in the kingdom.” His father’s voice was both sympathetic and stern. Roman tore into a piece of bread with his teeth. It tasted like ash on his tongue. “We don’t have much time before your coronation. You have to choose a consort. The Court is impatient to know your decision.”

Roman scoffed under his breath. The Court wouldn’t be pleased with any decision he made, any consort he chose, in any case, much less the one that had so thoroughly taken over his thoughts.

He glanced up from his plate. The dining table stretched far across the room, empty chairs led the way towards the other end, where his parents sat. They’d called him for breakfast, to discuss private matters. Even Remus had been dismissed. It could only mean one thing, and it made the iron weight in his chest feel even heavier.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pursed. “What about that dryad who accompanied you in the first dance? Wasn’t she nice?”

“She was—” Confident, polite, but as they were dancing, all Roman could manage was to send stray glances to the ballroom entrance, waiting for him, thinking of his ringing laughter and sweet smile. “—pleasant.”

“Oh, see, there you are! Why don’t you consider if she’s a good fit?”

Roman sighed and pushed a loaf of sweet bread into his plate. A grape rolled away from it. Truth be told, he couldn’t really justify what had gotten him so hung up on this. He’d tried, and Cinder had fled, a sparkling vision fading away into the night. Did Roman have any right to chase after him? Did… did he even want to be found?

But, stars above, he simply couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this. The look that flashed on Cinder’s face as his necklace chimed… wide-eyed and fearful, no, terrified — and then he was off like a wisp in the wind, just like that. What did that mean? What was he running from? Roman’s heart ached when he thought of it. It haunted his mind as he tried to fulfill his duties and come up with suitors, as he made preparations for the ceremony. A thread of a feeling tugged at his gut, telling him something was wrong, and that he needed to find out why. Roman bit the inside of his cheek.

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper part of him lingered on the memories of dancing through the sky, on the hope that shined on Cinder’s eyes when he’d explained that he wasn’t getting married, on the way he had lit up upon receiving a gift. His voice had been as sweet as honey, with Roman’s name on his lips. Was it a foolish attempt to protect his own heart, if he wanted to believe that hadn’t been a cold rejection? That it all meant something?

Cinder had smiled, as he threaded the ribbon across his fingers — like it’d be something he’d cherish.

Roman paused just as he took a bite out of a biscuit; it crumbled on his lips.

Something… something that he’d keep safe and guarded, that he wouldn’t let go of.

The broad brushstrokes of an idea began to form inside his head, blocking in a plan, and all of a sudden the solution to the issue was as clear as ever. Roman straightened up.

He could search for Cinder, the dramatics of it all would most certainly appease the Court, and… if he was lucky…

“Father,” he said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “What would you say of a contest?”

—♡—

The days after the Grand Ball had been perfectly unremarkable, a smooth slide back into the routine he’d been used to for years, and it all left Patton feeling achingly, hopelessly lost. What was there to do when everything fell apart around you? When you were whisked away to the most wonderful, beautiful dream and then you woke up? He didn’t know either, and whenever he thought too much of it, his throat threatened to seize with emotion and he wanted nothing more than to huddle under his blankets and never leave.

So instead, he cleaned. He attended to every chore and left the manor spotless, in such a way that not even The Faerie could find fault in it. And she seemed more than happy to pretend nothing had happened. She’d coo at him if she wished for something, and she’d smile and thread her long fingers into his hair, but not once would she mention any of his mishaps, not even in the way of hinted threats. He knew she had to be scheming, she’d never let something of the sort go without consequence, but he took it as a relief all the same. What could he do, other than wait?

So he waited, washed the floors, dusted the furniture, swept the hearth, and when there were no eyes on him, he lived it all in his head. The buzz of faeries in the ballroom, dancing and giggling with Roman. Memories he replayed over and over so that for just one moment he could pretend he was there, and smile. That was what he’d been doing, right then, sweeping the dust off the attic, spinning around the broom with a half-formed tune on his lips — chatting with Jaq, who was perched on his shoulder. Until, at least, the door slid open with a grating creak. Patton straightened up, and just as The Faerie strutted into the attic, he neared the door to allow Jaq to escape unnoticed.

After a moment, The Faerie turned to him, silent. She tilted her head, and Patton stifled a sigh.

“Good afternoon, miss,” he said, “May I help you?”

A smile spread across her lips, and she shook her head. “No, no, dear, it’s nothing really,” she said airily, as she strode towards his bed, a cot pressed up against the wall. “It’s just… I desperately need to rest my legs. Do you mind?”

His eye nearly twitched. “Of course not.”

She picked up a blanket and tossed it aside, sitting on Patton’s bed as if it belonged to her. “Thank you, dear, you can carry on,” The Faerie waved her hand, “I’m simply exhausted. I’ve just returned from the market, can you believe it?”

She spoke it with disdain, like she didn’t want to be caught dead in such a place. It was pointed enough that Patton focused a little harder on sweeping.

“They’ve been in a frenzy — the folks there. Running around like wild geese. Well, wouldn’t you know, they have a guest coming this afternoon,” The Faerie said. “The Rose Prince.”

Patton’s grip tightened around the broom, and he hoped with all his might she hadn’t seen him stiffen. “Really?” he asked, trying to sound casual, “Why is that?”

“Oh, a contest of sorts. They say the princelet was positively enraptured by someone at the ball, and now he’s searching high and low for the poor boy. Whoever presents to him the item he gave away at the Grand Ball will become his consort. He must’ve gotten desperate if you ask me.”

A warm feeling blossomed inside his chest. He stared at the floorboards.

Roman… Roman was looking for him?

“It was all so very strange. A mysterious faerie in a sparkling blue suit, who’d shown up midway through the ball, managed to catch the Prince’s attention so effortlessly—”

He startled as The Faerie slinked up behind him, nearly dropping the broom. Her hands settled on his shoulders, as she draped herself across his back. He hadn’t even heard her move from the bed. A chill passed through his spine.

“—that afterward, the Prince didn’t pay any mind to anyone else there. But what was stranger, really, was that I never quite got a good look at him. The suit, yes, even if it glittered too much to parse any detail. But not the face.”

The Faerie paused.

“Not until the poor thing tumbled right into me,” she whispered, “And then I saw it. A pair of round silver frames.”

A hand sneaked around him to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, maddeningly slow. Patton trembled.

“Did you enjoy your night, dear?” The Faerie clicked her tongue. “Did you have fun?”

“I—”

She shushed him.

“Whatever the Prince gave you must’ve been worth it, hm?” She twisted a strand of Patton’s hair around her finger. “What did he give you?”

Patton turned to face her, shoulders bowed.

“A ribbon,” he mumbled.

“A ribbon?” Surprise lit her eyes for a moment before she began to laugh. “Oh, you poor, poor thing,” she said, shaking her head. “And you don’t have a clue, do you?”

Patton didn’t have a chance to reply, as she lifted his chin with her hand, nails digging into his cheeks. “Well, then, what will you do now that your foolish Prince has fallen for your little parlor trick, hm?” Her voice dropped low, and she squeezed tighter. “Do you think he’ll be kind to you when the truth comes out? That a gentry prince will run happily to the arms of a little whelp of a human?”

The Faerie leaned closer still, keeping Patton there for a long moment, a storm in her eyes. His pulse roared in his throat, and his legs quaked with the need to run, flee, anything. At once, The Faerie let go, chuckling when he stumbled back. “Now, no need to look so scared, dear,” she crooned, “Why, I’m not even mad at all!”

She smiled at him, expectantly. Patton swallowed dry.

“Y-you aren’t?”

“No, my little apprentice,” she said, cloyingly sweet. With a tug at his apron, she pulled him closer, into her arms. Her hands clutched the back of his shirt, and her breath ghosted over his ear as she whispered: “Because now I know exactly where that ribbon is.”

Patton jolted, his entire body running cold, and her arms only locked tighter around him as he tried to squirm away. “You can’t do that,” he pleaded. “Please, the Prince– he’ll know!”

“Oh, darling, of course he will. But you should know by now that we fae follow the letter, not always the spirit,” She dragged a nail across the nape of his neck. “If I have the ribbon, I win — and I’ll have it, because you will give it to me.”

Maybe her words had tugged on the last thread of defiance left in him. Maybe it was his last stupid attempt at getting her to hear him. Patton couldn’t tell, but it’d tumbled out his mouth before he could help it.

“No.”

Her finger twitched near his throat.

“What did you say?”

With all the strength in him, Patton hiked his hands up to her shoulders and shoved, breaking out of her hold with a shout. “I said no!”

He’d managed to stumble back to the other side of the attic, surprisingly easily. When he glanced up at The Faerie, it became clear why. Patton froze. On her face, there was no trace of anger or fury, but a large, twisted grin, that creased at the eyes with unrestrained joy. It snuffed out the fire in his chest in a single blow and he backed against the wall.

He’d played right into her hands, hadn't he?

“I’ve always thought it so sweet just how obedient you could be,” The Faerie took large strides toward him. The sunlight that streamed through the window hit her back and cast a shadow that slowly inched closer and closer to his feet. “But, my dear, I’ll be quite honest, I always liked it best when you made it a challenge.”

Fisting her hand into the front of his shirt, she yanked Patton forward. Somehow, her smile sharpened as she dragged a finger across his cheek to his jaw. Her eyes glinted with a silver sheen.

“Patton Holloway,” she murmured, and the air crackled like static around them, lighting every one of his nerves. A clutching, squeezing pain rocked through his chest and he whimpered. “Give. me. the. ribbon.”

The Faerie released his shirt, and he sank down. His knees thumped against the hard, wooden floor. Patton couldn’t feel it. He couldn't feel anything. It was as if he’d been dragged by the hair under a lake, and even as he clamored and flailed he could never break over the surface and take control of his body — his struggle only served to fill his lungs with water. Panic clawed inside his veins and he wanted to scream, cry as his heart twisted into knots, but he couldn’t get it past his throat. His muscles moved without his input, arms puppeteered effortlessly by her command, as he did what she asked of him. The sound of rustling and fabric became muffled and he could only watch on in numbed horror, until his vision blurred with tears.

Patton didn’t know just how long he stayed there, on his knees, staring listlessly at the floorboards — only that, when his mind settled back into his body and he found the will to glance up, The Faerie was no longer there. The door had been closed on the way out. In front of him, beneath his hands, was the little teal box, the one he’d kept close after the last disaster, splayed out on the floor. Patton choked on a sob and reached inside for the ribbon he hadn’t lost, his mother's. He wrapped the satin smooth fabric around his fingers and cradled it to his chest, curling up into a ball.

Except that, when the flow of his tears slowed, and his vision cleared a little, red flashed between his palms.

His breath hitched.

Red and gold. Roses. No sign of silver or blue.

He’d– He’d given her–

She’d never said which ribbon.

Patton rose on shaky legs and rushed to the door. He slammed his weight against it with a sharp cry, once, twice. It shook but it didn’t budge. Locked. With a cut-off curse, he slid down to the floor and peered through the slit in the side. The door was dingy and old, and, as the attic hadn't been built to actually house anyone, it locked with only two wooden tabs nailed to the panel and a metal latch.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He had to focus. Patton felt around for something he could use, and as he rummaged inside his pouch, his nails clicked against a strip of cardboard, one that felt thin but tough enough between his fingertips. It slipped easily in the gap, and after steadying his trembling hands and some careful finagling, he’d managed to turn over the tabs. All that was left was the latch, and he wouldn't be able to knock that open with a card. Lugging his bag into his lap, he began to search again, until the sound of scuffling behind the door caught his ears. Patton tensed for a moment, but then he saw a glimpse of paws under the gap.

“...Jaq, is that you?”

A squeak.

“Jaq!” Patton leaned down and slipped his hand under the door. Jaq sniffed before bumping their head against his fingers. He sighed in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay, buddy.”

His eyes drifted to the floor, the bag had slid right off his legs, and from inside had fallen a long piece of string. An idea clicked inside his head.

“You can understand me, right, Jaq?” he asked, and gained a chirp in response. “Listen, I'll be in huge trouble if I can't get out of here. Do you think you could help me? Please?”

Jaq wiggled their head against his palm, almost like a nod.

Patton picked up the string and one of his sewing pins, bending it into a sturdy hook and tying it with a knot. As he passed it under the door, he said:

“Alright, if you could just climb up the banister like you usually do, and then throw this over that little metal latch, I’ll help you pull. Is that okay?”

Jaq scampered off with the other side of the string, so Patton had to assume it was. He held tightly to his end. Faintly, he could hear the tip tap of their paws against the handrail, a muffled thump, and suddenly, the string stretched taut. Jaq squeaked, and so Patton began to pull.

From the resistance, he could feel it had hooked onto something — hopefully the latch. Patton kept on tugging.

“Please, please, please,” he chanted under his breath.

It gave with a click, and Patton stumbled as the door slid open in front of him. He gaped.

“It worked,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to wipe his tears with a breathy, relieved laugh. He knocked once against the door jamb. “It worked! Thank you, thank you so much!”

A burst of hope set him in motion and Patton rushed back into the attic to collect his things, and then carefully tucked the little teal box back into his pocket, not before taking the ribbon and his necklace. Jaq chased after him and sniffed at his pouch.

“Oh!” Patton said, “Do you want to come with me? You’ll have to be very quiet.”

The little mouse simply darted inside his bag. Patton chuckled as he fixed the glamour necklace around his neck. It felt more… fragile to the touch, although he supposed it was because the full moon was near and so the enchantment faltered. It just needed to last a little longer. He fetched his cloak and slipped it on as he dashed down the stairs. The glamour worked its magic as he sprinted through the manor. Patton didn’t bother with the main door, going straight for the window instead. He slinked a little way down into soft grass and ran, past the garden and under the fence, until he broke through the treeline.

Acorn shells and sticks crunched beneath his feet, and the late afternoon sun cast warmth onto his skin, dappled by leaves and growing sparser as the trees stretched taller. Patton hadn’t seen the forest at this hour of the day in a long time. The light certainly made navigating it easier, but muscle memory carried Patton the rest of the way. Grass brushed his ankles and the wind blew across his cloak in a way so familiar it poked a scared, aching part of his mind, the one fearful of the leash around his heart, but he pushed through.

He had to find Roman.

—♡—

A crowd had gathered around the clearing, lively with hushed conversations and gossip. Patton had to admit, the market seemed much smaller at this hour, when the sun had just begun to set. Booths stood empty, and faeries clustered together near the center, where he had no doubt the royal entourage would be. Threading his way through the crowd, he tugged at the hood of his cloak, hoping to not draw any attention to himself. When he neared the edge, he peered over someone’s shoulder.

Patton saw The Faerie first. Her face was drawn in anger, fist clutching around the blue ribbon as a guard tried to reason with her. Her affront shifted to fury and Patton nearly recoiled, cowering behind the tall gentry in front of him. He was glad to not be in her line of sight, she’d definitely direct it at him. Roman had his back to them as he talked to another gentry, hands moving in wide gestures. His wings were practically pinned straight to his back, and as the other faerie replied, his shoulders tensed even further. Patton had a sinking feeling that might very well be his last chance. Swallowing down his nerves, he stepped into the circle.

“I have it!” he shouted, a bolt of lightning through all the racket as he raised the true ribbon into the air.

The entire clearing froze. Roman turned on his heels to face him, and his lips parted in surprise, wings flicking up in a burst of sparkles.

His eyes flitted from the ribbon to Patton, and then he broke into a bright grin.

“You.”

Patton nodded, but just as he took a step forward, he staggered.

Someone struck at full force against his side, fingers grasping at his cloak as they dragged him down. Patton gasped and his arms flew up to cover his head; his back hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of him. The crowd erupted into shouts. Golden hair fell around him, caging him, as a hand wrapped around his collar and yanked. The Faerie grinned down at him, and it remained just as sharp as guards grabbed onto her arms and hauled her away.

She held up her hand. A citrine jewel sparkled in the sunlight.

His necklace.

Trembling, Patton pushed himself onto his knees. His hood had fallen over his shoulders, and as his glamour faded, the fae around him burst into whispers. He kept his eyes trained firmly on the ground. A human? Why is he here? Where did he come from? they murmured, voices hushed in mistrust and disdain. It echoed all around him. Their gazes traced over every one of his features, and he dug his nails into the dirt. He had half a mind to just up and flee, but he didn’t. A glimpse of glossy black boots crept into the corner of his vision.

Patton was afraid, of course he was. He was terrified. But fear was familiar to him, and so was loss. He’d lost everything far too many times to count — and he was still there, he’d gotten that far. Didn’t… didn’t that count for something?

So, with a shaky breath, Patton raised his head, his jaw set as he stared up at Roman.

Because, no matter how foolish it might’ve been, he trusted him. Patton trusted him so much he’d break his own heart ten times over to prove it.

Roman’s mouth fell open, as if seeing it straight on made it real. “You're… you’re a human,” he said, surprise coloring his voice, maybe a hint of curiosity, too, but no anger. A knot unraveled inside Patton’s chest.

He’d gotten so used to seeing the other under the moonlight, under shadows cast by trees, in the dark of the night, he’d never once considered how Roman would look bathed in sunshine. Radiant was the answer. Radiant and glowing in bright, vibrant reds, a sight you could not glance away from. And when he looked at Patton in that way, like a blooming rose, it became impossible to hold the truth under his tongue for even a second longer.

“Yes, I am,” Patton admitted, “Your Highness, I know you’ve been searching for me, and I can’t imagine this what you expected but… I am here, if you’ll have me,” His fingers traced the length of the ribbon, following vines made out of thread, and a small smile pulled at his lips. He glanced back up at Roman, tilting his head. “If you’ll take me as I am — a simple, unremarkable human who loves you.”

He could pinpoint the exact moment Roman fully processed his words. His cheeks flushed a dusty rose pink, but his shock melded into the most resolute look Patton had ever seen on him.

“My heart,” Roman said, unwavering, as he offered Patton his hand. “There isn’t a single thing about you that is unremarkable.”

Patton’s breath stuttered, and he had no doubt he was sporting a blush that could rival Roman’s sash, but he allowed the other to pull him to his feet. Just as Roman steadied him with a hand around his waist, a string of magic slithered inside his ribcage and tugged at his heart, familiar in all the worst ways.

It felt as if he’d been dunked under icy water.

A sharp, piercing ache struck Patton at once, a lance that speared through his chest, and he crumpled. Roman caught him as he lurched forward, and with a ragged, choked sound, he clutched onto his shoulders. Pain flared in waves across his body, and his limbs felt as if they were weighed down by lead. Clenching his teeth, Patton lifted his head.

The Faerie was lax in the guards’ hold, as if she was bored, uninclined to put up any further fight against their grip. Her hair, tousled in the struggle, fell over her face, and she stared at Patton through golden strands. He’d never seen her so… disheveled. She’d loathed to appear improper even in the slightest. And yet, she didn’t seem upset at all. Her lips twitched up as if she was satisfied, satisfied to take another thing from him, to tear out his heart and stomp it right in front of him. She gained nothing from this, she’d lost — and she still just couldn’t let Patton be happy, not even for a second, could she? His heart clenched, so tight it felt fit to pop, and his ears buzzed.

“Oh,” he picked up, faint amidst all the sounds that roared in his mind, “Oh, she has your name, doesn’t she?”

All Patton could manage was a nod against his chest. The world swirled around him, sparkles burst in his vision, and then, just as his eyes began to flutter closed…

The pain… it hadn’t stopped, not exactly, but it blurred at the edges. It dimmed to background noise, like the chatter of all the other fae and his bright surroundings, and he could focus again. Roman’s arms wrapped around him, comforting warmth bleeding through his sleeves, and it was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. Patton’s skin tingled.

“Look at me, my heart,” Roman pleaded, lifting Patton’s chin. His eyes were full of concern, and he smoothed his thumb across the line of Patton’s jaw. “I can help. I will help, if you let me. Will you let me?”

His lip wobbled and he leaned fully against Roman’s palm. “Please.”

Roman hesitated, and an apologetic look flashed across his face. “I’ll need to know your name,” he said. “You don’t have to give it to me, just tell me, like I did with mine.” He pressed his forehead gently against Patton’s. “I will never do you any harm with it, I promise.”

The vow tied a ribbon around them. Patton huffed. Roman had a habit of making promises he’d never truly needed. It'd been at the tip of his tongue the moment he'd asked.

“You may call me Patton,” he said. “Patton Holloway.”

Roman’s hand brushed against his cheek as it rose to card through his hair, a feather-soft touch across his scalp. Roman hummed, low and melodic, and the bubble of air around them chilled with it. His magic ghosted over his skin as fresh as pine needles and a morning breeze. Freeing, lenient, like a wind that gently whisked you away, that you followed willingly.

“As the seventh heir of Fairyland, Prince of the Spring Court,” Roman began, eyes sparkling gold. His voice echoed around them, drumming inside Patton’s bones, and he nearly shivered. “I grant you pardon from the unfair debt a member of my court has placed upon you. Be free of what binds you, Patton — your name is yours and yours only,” Roman pressed a small kiss on his forehead, a lingering chill trailed behind his lips. Patton hadn’t heard his own name in such a tender, soft tone in so long. “Dí ladhsien, Patton Holloway.”

The words struck him in a way difficult to describe; the sort of thing you never would’ve noticed if it hadn’t vanished. It was the relief that flooded his veins as the ropes that tied his wrists down snapped. The tingling in his muscles as the pain faded away. The air that filled his lungs with no deep, crushing pressure to weigh him down. Snipped thread that dangled as his heart beat freely. A piece of himself, that he’d gotten so used to chasing, clicked back into place. For the first time in so long, Patton was free — free of the strings that held him down, free of her. Laughter fell from his lips, and he spilled a few tears to go with it. Anything, he could do anything.

Roman still cradled Patton in his arms. His eyes twinkled as he grinned down at him, sharing in his delight. The sky behind him blurred with a golden, sparkly edge, but all the sunset hues still shone through. Pink, orange, and blue, colors that glowed and shimmered across the planes of Roman’s wings just as sunshine would stream through stained glass windows. His hair gleamed like honey, backlit by sunlight. He’d given Patton a chance, hope — stars above, Roman had been the best thing to have happened to him in years. Patton wouldn’t be able to resist it, even if he’d wanted to; he threw his arms over Roman’s shoulders and pressed their mouths together.

Their lips fit together like a button in a coat, and when he cupped Roman’s face in his hands, it was as if he held the sun in his palms. It was a little clumsy, he’d never done anything like that before, but Roman didn’t seem to mind. He chuckled under his breath when Patton bumped his nose against his cheek, and then he kissed him back just as fervently. Patton just about melted. His fingers threaded across Roman’s hair, and he let the other pull him even closer. The scent of rose tea was dizzying, and his lips were so soft against his own. Patton pulled away with a gasp, and Roman stared at him, pupils blown wide. Patton giggled.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “I just… I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I think.”

“Do not apologize,” Roman said, breathless, as he leaned closer.

His mouth parted, and just as he was about to meet Roman in another kiss, a shrill, infuriated shriek shattered the moment like a glass vase. Patton jerked away.

The Faerie broke away from the guards, baring her teeth like a ravenous fox. Her eyes sharpened on him, blazing with fury.

“You–!”

Just as she took a step forward, vines wrenched their way out of the ground in a single motion, crumbling dirt as they sprouted up into a high rose bush, thrashing with thorns, enough for her to stumble back. Roman’s grip on Patton’s arm tightened.

“You cruel wretch–!” Roman spat out, jaw clenched. Patton’s eyes widened. He didn’t know Roman could carry this much venom in his voice. “How dare you– you have caused him enough grief for a lifetime. Leave. Right this instant, and do not ever deem to bother him again, or else you'll have my sword at your throat — and I won't care to make yours a swift death.”

When she faltered, Roman snarled and the rose bush crackled. The Faerie’s mouth pressed into a firm line, her face ashen, and she stormed away in a huff. Patton watched as she left, unbelieving.

“She’s– she’s– gone.”

To say it out loud made it real. She left. He wouldn’t have to follow her to the manor and answer to her mind games or tend to her chores. He wouldn’t have to wrangle himself in knots to please her. He could feel it still, phantom hands trailing across the back of his neck, playing with his hair, posing him this way or that like a doll, but that’s all they were — lingering memories. Patton stared down at his own trembling hands, at the ribbon bunched up in his palms.

The Faerie couldn’t hurt him, not anymore.

Faintly, he heard Roman shout orders at the guards, but their meaning was lost to his ears, muffled by his own shallow breaths. A beat later, Roman pulled him into a tight embrace, arms wrapped around his waist. Patton rested his forehead in the crease of his neck, melting into the hug. All he could think was safe, safe, safe — like nothing could get to him there. They stayed like that; Roman kneaded his back in soothing, repetitive motions until he’d settled. Patton sighed, burrowing against the other’s shoulder.

“Do you feel better, love?” Roman whispered, bringing his hand up to scritch at Patton’s scalp. Patton nodded, smiling against his skin. He didn't think he’d ever get enough of hearing that pet name. “I’m glad. Listen… about the contest, I understand if it’s too much. It’s a lot of responsibility I do not wish to force upon you. I intended to start a courtship with you before I broached the subject, even if it'd last only for a week.”

Roman backed away and took one of Patton’s hands in his, prying it open to reveal the ribbon. He chuckled, averting his eyes. “I recognize now why that went sideways… If you don’t want to go through with the ceremony, it’ll be alright. Truly. If you’d rather return to the human world, I’ll take you there myself, if you’ll at least indulge me in a short tour, first,” he joked. “...It’s up to you.”

Patton bit his lip. “Would you really trust me with that? Being your consort?”

Roman’s gaze softened. “More than anyone.”

“I worry that I’m not fit for the task,” Patton said. “But… I want to help you. I want to be there with you, Ro. And I’ll trust you when you say I can do it. I’m not writing off the human world, and I know you wouldn’t do that to me either — it’s just… Now, I don’t think I’d want to go anywhere if you were not there by my side.”

Roman grinned and nuzzled their noses together in a bunny kiss. Patton giggled. When they pulled apart, he noted that the crowd that had swarmed the clearing before had mostly scattered. Some fae hung around the edges, still, but the market had been left nearly empty.

“What happened?”

“Oh! I asked the guards to disperse the crowd, if possible. After all the contest has already been won,” Roman teased, tugging at Patton’s cloak. Then, under his breath, he added: “I also asked them to fetch my parents from their carriage.”

“Your parents?” Patton exclaimed. In this little forest, of all places? “As in the King and Queen?”

“Well, yes,” Roman replied, sheepish. “We’d have to fill them in on the situation, either sooner or later.”

Just as he said that a pair of fae entered the clearing, accompanied by a swarm of guards. They wore extravagant, intricate clothes, and they held themselves with an air of graceful wisdom. Ancient and grand, but not cold — worry was etched on their faces as they made a bee-line towards Roman. Patton bowed when they approached; they didn’t seem to notice, instead fussing over their son.

“You’ve called for us — is everything alright?” the King asked Roman, his brows furrowed. Patton remembered seeing the same rugged lines painted in a portrait, mounted in the palace walls. Only when his gaze finally fell on Patton, the King narrowed his eyes. “Is that—?”

Roman stepped in front of Patton, blocking him with his arm.

“Father, I know this is unusual,” Roman spoke before the King could say anything else. He raised his chin. “But this is the person I danced with that night, and I’ve chosen him to be my consort, to be crowned with me. I know him, and there is no one else I would trust with it. I– I love him. And, well—” He caught Patton’s wrist and held his hand up, the one that clutched the ribbon. “He found it.”

The King pursed his lips. “And he is human, yes?”

Patton tugged his hand away but Roman pressed on, a determined gleam in his eyes. “Yes, he is,” he said, “He is also clever, relentlessly kind, and the bravest person I’ve ever met. There’s no doubt in my mind that he is capable, he might even be more apt to rule than me,” Patton’s heart did a little flip at just how earnest that sounded. “He’s lived amongst the fae, and he knows parts of the kingdom I’d never even been to. Human or not, he belongs to this realm just as any other faerie and—”

Roman’s mouth clicked shut as the King raised his hand. He turned his scrutinizing eyes to Patton again.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” the King said, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you willing to accept the duty of being a fair and just ruler to our people, to respect our magic, even though you are human? Would you stand by the Rose Prince and support him as a consort should?”

Patton straightened his back, nervousness pooling in his throat; he pushed past it.

“Your Majesty, I did not come to Fairyland by choice, but I’ve lived here for the past seven years. It’s every bit a part of my story as the human world is.”

From the corner of his vision, Patton glanced at the clearing — the silver trees that circled it, the empty stalls where he’d spent most of his nights. He did have fond memories of Fairyland, he'd made them here, under the stars, in deals and bargains. Not at the attic, not at the manor. No one could take that from him.

“...I’ve made it my home, despite everything. Of course I’ll care for it and its people. I won’t pretend that there won’t be any struggle — I am human, how many fae will be alright with that? But I have faith in the Prince. I’ll be there for him. That’s what I want the most.”

The King didn’t respond, instead turning to face the Queen. Their eyes locked in a silent conversation. Roman took Patton’s hand and squeezed it.

Eventually, the King sighed. “Very well,” he said, folding his arms behind his back. “Then we accept your decision.”

Patton blinked. Roman seemed just as shocked.

“Really?”

The King nodded. “If you are to be crowned, you should make your own choices. Even if I may not be thrilled with them,” he said. “I’ve been King for a long, long time, such is the nature of our lifespan. If I find myself stuck in the past, we may need spring to bring us to new sights. We mustn't hide from change. Although, I expect you to understand that you’ll be the one to explain this to your siblings.”

“The spirits of the earth spoke to us seers, about the merging of rivers,” the Queen piped up, smiling at the King. “Our realms haven’t always remained separate. Perhaps that time has come again.”

Then, she glanced over to them, cooing.

“Besides, if this boy has gotten you to be so outspoken, my wildflower, that can’t be a bad thing, can it?”

“Mother!”

Patton couldn’t help but giggle at the embarrassed flush that bloomed across Roman’s face.

“Alright, alright.” The Queen laughed. She tugged at the King’s arm. “If that’s all, we’ll be off. Help your darling get his things ready so you can head to the palace, won’t you?”

And so they left, followed by the rest of the royal entourage. The two of them were left alone in the clearing. Patton twirled their hands, his fingers intertwined with Roman's, warm and comforting. It felt right — like they belonged there, together. The gentle touch lit up his skin like the flame of a candle. It was all so much. It was wonderful.

How is this not a daydream? Patton thought, a little hysterically, and then Roman's thumb brushed over his knuckles, firm and real. A surge of affection rose inside his chest and Patton laughed, loud and carefree and so giddy that tears pricked at his eyes all over again.

Roman tilted his head at him, scrunching up his nose in the cutest way.

“Sorry,” Patton said, stumbling over his own laughter. “It's just– this doesn't feel real at all.”

After a pause, Roman took a strand of Patton's hair and tucked it behind his ear. “Well, it is.” His fingers lingered over Patton’s cheek and he smiled, a little shy.

“…It's getting late, you know. My mother was right, we should pick up your things. It’s alright if there’s no room for everything, we can always come back another time.”

Patton shook his head.

“Oh, no, one carriage is more than enough!” he said, sliding his free hand down to pat his pouch, still slung over his hip. “I have all I need right here—” Patton tugged at the drawstring and cooed. “—isn't that right, buddy?”

Jaq grabbed on his sleeve with their little paws and zipped up his arm at record speed. Oh, the poor thing must've gotten so tired of staying there, in the dark! They nuzzled at his shoulder, chirping, and he brought his hand up to pet them.

“Are you ready, Jaq?” Patton whispered as he scritched at their head. “Are you going to come to the palace with us?”

Roman let out a surprised laugh.

“I didn’t know you had a mouse!” he exclaimed, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Patton pouted as he drew his fingers away and let Jaq perch on his shoulder. “I don’t ‘have’ them. Jaq’s my friend.”

“Oh, by the moon and all her stars, you are adorable.”

With a roll of his eyes and a single tug of his arm, Patton pulled the other closer to him. He placed a hand over his chest, and then tilted his head, looking at Roman through his lashes.

"Look who's talking,” Patton teased, trailing a finger up to his collarbone, following the lines of his red waistcoat.

Roman huffed out a soft chuckle and cupped the back of Patton’s head, combing through the blunt cut of his hair. “Charmer.”

“You know it.”

Their lips met again — sweet, gentle, and without any rush. Patton sank into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed as he relaxed into the other’s embrace. Although a part of him wished he could stay like that forever, drifting in the soft cusp of a dream, he knew there was much more ahead for the both of them. When it came time to pull away, Roman would lock their arms together and lead him to a carriage, to a whole new world of wonderful, beautiful things. Patton could see it in his mind’s eye. A future filled to the brim with possibilities, with all the chances he’d never let himself fantasize about, right within his reach. Late-night walks in the gardens, bubbly conversation that lasted until sunrise, warm hugs and delicate touches. The two of them, together, taking on the world. Would there be hardship? Of course, but they’d be able to face it, so long as they had each other. Patton had never been so sure of anything in his life.

But for now, they kissed as the moon rose into the sky, bright and full. Pink dipped under the horizon line and painted wispy clouds in the mellow hues of spring, the season that had dragged his life into a dizzying whirlwind of change. The soft light that lingered in the clearing reminded him of all the dawns he’d spent on the porch, watching the motions of spring in the meadow, wishing desperately that it’d send good things his way.

Patton smiled against Roman’s lips, heart so full of joy that everything around him sparkled with it.

He couldn’t have wished for anything better than this.

Song of the chapter: Fearless by Taylor Swift

AN: and so we've reached the end of this story! what a journey, huh? thank you so, so much for reading this fic, i hope you enjoyed it! this AU is very important to me, I love it to bits, and this is definitely not the last time we're going to see it! I have a lot of ideas already :) if you have any comments, questions or you just want to gush, it'd make me very happy to hear your thoughts! my inbox is always open ^^

#sanders sides #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides fic #a wish your heart makes

6 notes · View notes

ladyhindsight · 1 year ago

Text

Team Good summons Azazel. As far as Clare’s foresight goes, the story also introduces the mystery of Magnus’ father, since it will be also revealed in the next and final book. considering Magnus originally wasn't a son of a Greater Demon

We can always trust Simon to narrate Alec and Magnus’ relationship issues. We can also trust Alec to have such cartoonish reactions since more is more and less is not enough for you to get it.

What is up with these ancient and/or centuries old beings harassing Alec about his relationship with Magnus. Well, in Azazel's case, probably millions or billions of years or something.

Azazel wants one happy memory from each of the participants in exchange of his plan proposition. Not the solution but an idea for one. Eventually Magnus banishes him, because they will need time to think about what Azazel said. Jordan and Maia then arrive at Magnus’ place.

Like it’s worth enough to start? Like it means necessarily anything?

→ Their cheeks were red from the cold, and Maia was wearing Jordan’s leather jacket. (I'm just bored of even the smallest things being dramatized to the max)

We cut to Jace and Clary’s grand escape from the Italian police for stealing the boat.

Related to a message I received a bit ago. Implying Jace held Clary while they escaped, because why would Clary know how to do any of that herself? It’s not like she has been trained by Jace to do anything.

They eventually return to the moving house of Sebastian who is entertained by two scantily dressed girls, one of which is a vampire. They talk shit, then Jace and Clary go up the get ready for bed. Clary goes to get a nightgown.

The idea of dressing yourself with something you father bought for your mother in hopes of her wearing something sexy. The writing doesn’t really acknowledge that so let’s not either.

I’m getting Not Like Other Girls vibes, but also far less than say, in City of Bones. This seems more good-natured musing rather than putting other girls down because you aren’t that feminine yourself.

Clary goes back to Jace, and things get hot and heavy like with every other scene with them in this book. The honestly do nothing but heavily make out whenever they are together. Which is ironic considering that Clare herself has said that Clary didn’t have a relationship with Jace in this book because Jace here was not himself but controlled by Sebastian. Which makes me question why there is so much physicality written between them then.

Plenty of reasons to stop. Mainly the one mentioned above: Jace not being Jace but one controlled by Sebastian. A reason of which Clary constantly reminds herself of, to the absolute point of being tiringly repetitive. How many times and ways you can write about Jace not being Jace because this book sure does utilize it all and then some.

Vulnerable as in for an attack with a weapon? A sharp one perhaps? :)

Glad we agree, not that it changes Clary’s behavior. It’s insane that Clare thinks that as long as she keeps writing and reminding everyone how Jace is not Jace and Clary is conflicted, it changes absolutely nothing of worth in Clary’s behavior because they keep canoodling to the end. So we enter the repetitive narrative every single time and scene they get physically close.

We cut to Simon sitting on the bed in one of the spare rooms at Magnus’. Isabelle comes to him to gossip about Maia and Jordan, because everything needs and audience and gossiping over for it to be worth something.

Why is Simon happy for Jordan? Fuck Jordan.

→ “Oh. No. No, not at all. I’m glad for Maia. This will make her really happy.” Because fuck Jordan and Jordan’s happiness. Simon was Maia’s friend first.

Then we cut to Alec visiting Camille again. In this scene, the idea that Alec visits Camille to learn more about Magnus (because Magnus is unwilling to disclose any of that information himself) becomes apparent.

This also feeds into the mystery of Magnus’ parentage and how cool and great of a demon his dad is. Compare this insistency on Magnus’ father now to the original version City of Ashes where Magnus wasn’t part Greater Demon at all.

While actively screwing up everything.

Magnus told Alec not to trust Camille but blindly trust Magnus. And then people were somehow surprised that these sucky adults both played into Alec’s insecurities and the end result was what it was? And then accountability was on no one else than Alec. I hate this storyline more so for the fact that no one acknowledges their shortcoming towards Alec but it is for Alec to carry the heavy load of his own culpability.

→ I don’t think Clare ever realized how bad it is to constantly underline Alec’s youth and age.

→ Also why are we taking relationship advice from Camille? Also consider how screwed up a situation is when the only person you can go to ask advice is someone like Camille. Do we acknowledge at least that much in the story? Nope.

→ Also sad.

I don’t believe Clare agrees with this because it is the narrative she distances herself from the further the series go, and effectively abandons it in City of Heavenly Fire. And she writes Camille, an antagonist, spouting this. But let’s not pretend that this isn’t exactly how she has written and keeps writing Clary and Jace’s relationship. They would survive every death except each other’s.

The rest is just nonsense as usual but that part stuck out. Cut to Clary dreaming her dreams.

I can’t with the scars. This book out of all the other books so far is absolutely obsessed (relative to each other) with the “ugliness” of scars that heavenly warriors as the Nephilim have and whether other HEAVENLY WARRIORS as the NEPHILIM may find them ugly. It’s such a weird mentality to have when their source of power and skill and ability is rooted in the very thing that gives them scars and makes them different from the mundanes.

This should be a nonissue, but it’s beginning to feel like obsession over how hot these specific scars actually are—the ones created by faded runes. Since unless you’re Sophie and have an actual ugly one right on your face, then the writing will go above and beyond to tell the readers how it isn’t really that ugly and she is so pretty you barely notice this big-ass thing on her face.

Her spine. Neck would suffice, especially since “her spine” is used so many times instead just ‘back’ or ‘neck’.

→ “Jace’s arms were around her, his fingers tracing a slow line up and down her spine.” → “The two of them fit together, as always, her head under his chin, her spine against the hard muscles of his chest and stomach…”

And then just two paragraphs over:

→ “She slept like that, her head tucked under Jace’s chin, her spine fitted to his body, their legs intertwined.”

Then there’s plenty more to come such as: “from the base of her spine”, “pressing against her spine”, another “heart beating against her spine”, “shudder go down her spine” and another “base of her spine”.

Which in some cases it’s fine and descriptive but mostly “her back” would suffice.

Clary wakes up and leaves Jace to sleep. She goes downstairs and sits with Sebastian.

Really, I thought he poured both for himself.

Obviously he is lying and all, but Clary was there to hear him in City of Glass and knows how it couldn’t have been accident in any way.

They talk some more, have once again the whole argument who is more like who and who is really not anything like each other (meaning either of them) which they manage to regurgitate plenty more times during the story with the exact same way and result.

#Clary Fray #Jace Herondale #Sebastian Morgenstern #Alec Lightwood #Isabelle Lightwood #Simon Lewis #Camille Belcourt #CoLS Chapter 11 #City of Lost Souls

11 notes · View notes

oldguy56-world · 6 months ago

Text

Frozen

Well here we go again. Has anyone else noticed that it is a wee bit nippy these days? I know the folks in Saskatchewan and Manitoba might be feeling it but we are getting our share here as well. (If any Americans are reading this and thinking that we Canadians live in a frigid area all I have to say is check your thermometers or take a look outside. Our numbers may see worse than yours but if you take some time to look at the Fehrenheit to Celcius ratio you will see that is not the case.) For some reason it seems to get cold every year around this time. You would think that there would, should or could be something that we can do about it.

I have some thoughts on this situation and how it effects our lives. I have expressed them before (January 2022 in a blog called Cold as Ice) but this one will be the same only different. Reality, like the cold, really bites. Keep in mind that I am merely stating facts in this tale, not complaining. Old men never complain, we just point out the truth that others fail to see. With that in mind, here are truths to share:

We, like many people, head south to an island for temperature reprieve. (it has nothing to do with the all you can eat and drink at an all-inclusive). One thing that I notice though is that when we come back it always seems colder than before we left. This is punishment for having fun and avoiding the cold.

The cold makes people walk slower, especially older people. This means you are in the cold longer than you want. Does this have something to do with culling the herd because of overpopulation? if so nature has it all wrong. The heavily populated areas are all very warm. You want them to come here. Mother Earth needs to think a little harder about solutions.

Police work is harder. When we go out in this weather we wear 47 layers of clothing. our bodies get hot, our faces do not. Police need to establish time of death by taking face temperatures not body temperatures. Also the mystery of why so many corpses are smiling is not a mystery. They have welcomed relief from the cold.

Have you noticed that many people continue to walk through the parks in frigid temperatures but forest creatures are nowhere to be found? Who is the more evolved species? The only furry animals spotted are people's pet dogs and they have no choice in the matter. Ever wonder why they bite you or pee on your floor? Revenge.

There is a police officer that usually stands on the corner flagging down cars for illegal left turns. He has been no where to be seen since the minus temps arrived. (I mean temperatures not people who come in to work part time. That is another story.)

The number of people that go to emergency rooms with broken toes escalates during this time. Doesn't matter what you are trying to playfully kick on the sidewalk. It is probably frozen solid onto the pavement. (Side note: Never kick a dog turd. The people at the hospital need to be focused on your problem not laughing when you try to explain what you broke your toe on.)

The cold weather confuses the geese. Those that were too arrogant to fly south when they had the chance seem to go back and forth across sky in formations that don't even vaguely look like a V.

We all watch the weather stations and take great pleasure when we find a city that is currently having colder weather than we are. "Sure are glad that we don't live in Tuktuyaktuk!''

Weather forecasters like to tell you the record low for your city. They want you to know that in 1922 the coldest day ever was recorded and try to make it light by adding 'If you remember that day you will appreciate this is not as bad.' I would be surprised that anyone that experienced that day and is still alive would remember to put their pants on before going outside in the cold weather.

As I finish this I look out the window and see people walking and trying not to slide on the icy sidewalk. I smile but I am careful not to Laugh because I could slide on the floors in the condo while wearing my socks. Karma is always waiting.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: There are much worse things happening to people around the world than getting some cold weather. Be thankful for what we have.

3 notes · View notes

fragments-of-despair · 2 years ago

Text

Finished chapter 4. I'll keep my thoughts brief. Don't worry. They're mostly positives this time.

Of course, trying to keep it vague enough, but spoilers ahead.

First, the positives.

This was by far the most interesting mystery out of the entire game. The intricacies, the careful planning, the mastermind reveal. All of it worked perfectly. Even when I figured out where it was going, I was still surprised and impressed with the overall solution.

Also, Vivia Twilight?

BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY BEST BOY

I adored his development this chapter and loved how his Forte and personal convictions and worldview influenced the investigation. I can't really describe anything about it without spoiling too much, but like, damn, he's worth the $60 price tag. I can see why the one side NPC fell in love. Vivia is just AMAZING.

Also, this was probably Shinigami's best outing. She was still her usual self, but she also met her match in Vivia, and the overall story really started getting to her in a way the other cases didn't. So when the culprit reveal happened and she reaped the soul, it made sense why it went the way it did. And I found myself getting a bit emotional over this culprit along with all the detectives.

That being said, I'm still rather disappointed in the lack of true comradery between Yuma and the other detectives, as well as the lack of character conflict between the Nocturnal Detective Agency and the Peacekeepers. Most of the characters still feel like they're just kind of there, especially the villains. And that leaves everything feeling rather bare bones without even scraps to nibble on.

It might sound weird, but I think what hinders this game is the fact that you don't really interact with anyone outside of the main mystery and the Gab mechanic, and that mechanic is easy to pass over if you don't find all the statues and don't actively go out of your way to find them all. If they had made Kanai World more of an open box to explore like, say, a Legend of Zelda or Assassin's Creed game, where you unlock certain cases and interact with certain characters based on certain conditions and are encouraged to explore the world, I think I would have found the emotional core of this chapter more hard hitting.

Give me side quests where you go undercover with Desuhiko more and master a relationship meter or something similar.

Give me side quests where you and Halara take on cold cases and you work on paying off your debt to them you incur in chapter 2.

Go on more adventures with Fubuki to unlock certain districts in Kanai Ward and learn more about the outside world.

Give me lore based adventures with Yakou and Vivia, who are supposed to have this strong bond based on the emotional core of this chapter.

And make it so that your choices can affect how you go through the Mystery Labyrinth in the main story chapter. Have the Master Detectives come with you and actually have them help more with the investigations in there because as it stands, the only ones who really justified being there were Vivia and Halara, but that had to do more with the story rather than the gameplay.

I really, really want to love this game, but overall it feels empty. It easily could have been an 80-120 hour game if given the time and resources, and I feel like it would be all the better for it.

Hopefully chapter 5 sticks the landing because from my understanding, it's the final chapter, and I'm really hoping that it keeps improving where chapter 4 left us.

Overall, if I had to rank all of the chapters so far from best to worst, it'd look something like this:

Chapter 4: The Imperfect Insider

Chapter 2: A Silent Curtain Call

Chapter 0 and Prologue: Massacre on the Amaterasu Express/the WDO vs Amaterasu Corperation

Chapter 1: The Nail Man Killings

Chapter 3: No Longer a Detective (Chapter 3 curse lives on)

To be honest, I think I would have gladly waited another two or three years for Rain Code if it were filled with more than what we got.

As of right now, the only reasons I would say to get this game as is would be because of Yuma, Halara, Vivia, and the music. Otherwise, it might be better to wait until it's on sale.

Here's hoping chapter 5 stays on the upward trajectory and sticks the landing.

#mod kakera posts #rain code spoilers #master detective archives spoilers #MDC: RC Spoilers

5 notes · View notes

usagirotten · 8 months ago

Text

Review: Watchmen Chapter One as an animated adaptation leaves us with the media

Comics have been around for many decades. Some take them seriously as literary material, and for others, they are just simple entertainment. The truth is that behind this, there is a lot of work to do. Hollywood from the beginning saw in this ninth art an opportunity to bring adaptations of these characters to the big and small screen, to make them more real with completely new and different stories to represent their adventures. In this medium it has stood out for having great writers and cartoonists, over the years this has been evolving and changing, they have adapted to each era reflecting in some cases the social and global problems that we have had, it is undeniable that one of the artists who has stood out in the medium is Alan Moore, outside of any controversy that may cause his contribution to the medium has been invaluable. One of the most representative contributions during 1986 and 1987 was giving a radical turn to the superhero genre. Watchmen marked a before and after. Moore used this story as a means to reflect contemporary anxieties, deconstructing and satirizing the concept by making political comments that bothered more than one. Watchmen as a comic explores the multiverse and its variants early on. This is an alternative story in which superheroes emerged between the 1940s and 1960s and their activity in society changed history so that the United States as a country and world power won the Vietnam War and the Watergate scandal was never exposed. Such power of these beings was abused and reached a very critical point in which the consequences could be devastating. There have been several reissues in the form of trade paperbacks, single issues, an animated film based on these characters, a movie, and a live-action series along with their respective sequels that have not been as good or recognized as their original. In 2024, the story is presented again in animated form by Warner Animation in 2 parts that explore in detail what has happened in each of its dialogues and vignettes. It is now the turn of director Brandon Vietti and writer J. Michael Straczynski to take us to this dystopian world where unexpectedly anything can happen.

What is Watchmen Chapter One about?

Watchmen Chapter One faithfully tells the story of the first 6 issues of the original 12-issue miniseries published by DC Comics between 1986 and 1987. A complex alternate world history set in 1985, the government-sponsored murder of the Comedian (Rick D. Wasserman) draws his outlawed colleagues out of retirement and into a mystery that threatens to upend their personal lives and the world they inhabit. If the right solution is not found, all of humanity is in danger. This fundamental story returns now in a 2-part animated film in animated form, 1986 Dave Gibbons and Alan Moore created one of the most innovative and shocking stories of that time, Watchmen in its 12 issues radically changed the panorama in comic book narration for generations to come and served as a starting point to develop this medium as something more serious and profound, with elements that addressed political issues, the superheroic irony of whether these beings deserved to have that place before everything and everyone, set in an alternative 1985 with the world on the brink of World War III, a more complex and mysterious conspiracy than we could all believe is slowly developing, reflecting the Cold War and the nuclear conflict that can put the entire planet at risk. Following this in 2008, a motion comic was presented with an impeccable production directed by Jake Strider Hughes, in 2009 a live-action film directed by Zack Snyder, and a sequel in 2019 as a television series, its story has been adapted again into an animated format and the question we ask ourselves now is: was this film necessary? The answer may be controversial and polarizing for some it will be a yes, for others it will be a no and for others, it will be an I don't care. Retelling this story is extremely risky, we are in a time where the lack of creativity of the studios in presenting new things is evident and this may or may not be a comfort zone in which once again they go for the easy way of telling us something that already had and still has its success, one of the aspects to highlight about the original material has always been the relevance of its story, what Watchmen Chapter One intends is to divide this story into 2 parts, first the 6 issues and in the next part the other 6 that concludes with everything. Retelling the same story from another perspective can be shocking and boring, but what enriches this work is its perspective and its animation, the cast of voices and the music, the fact that the important subplots are explored in more depth and detail, that of the boy reading a comic and Rorschach's diary, which are fundamental to complement the main story, what Warner Animation has done is not risk anything and is based on something that already exists but now with a more mature detail. The film itself does not risk much, neither in politics nor in its graphic violence, nor its sexual situations, it seems that it is for adults who are not very mature and who understand the important issues less, they are guilty of being purists in an era in which a whole generation dedicated more to the fast and the simple can result in a nostalgic work only for fans and connoisseurs, some of comics and others of animation.

We can question several things about this last point. Although the animation is good and impeccable, at times it doesn't seem to be as spectacular as we expected for a material of this quality. From a visual perspective, its animated work is very lacking in this first part, which leads us to an inevitable comparison with Marvel Animation in its series What If…? Although they have similarities in their strokes and backgrounds, what they present here is a pseudo-mature work for adults and it doesn't turn out to be a good decision. The fact that both look alike is undeniable, the use and abuse of its CGI have obvious flaws in the symmetry of its characters, its color palette, and the backgrounds, and even with this against it, it manages to capture the emotions and development of each character more effectively. Its CGI at times helps to understand this world by giving it a more elegant dark appearance that approaches the realistic in its environment and surroundings, the vehicles in the background are timeless and remain between something classic and modern justifying it with the fact that it is a different world than ours, the symmetry of its characters as human figures look rigid in some action sequences, its highest point is that they tried to emulate the colors that appear in its original material pretending that this is a comic that complies with the rule of animation. On this point, the studio has not understood that its creator Alan Moore, and its writer Dave Gibbons have insisted together and separately that their story in a 12-issue comic series has been impossible to take to another medium due to the complexity of its atmosphere that was created and designed to be presented in a format of Nite Owl, Nite Owl II, Silk Spectre, Silk Spectre II, Rorschach, Ozymandias, Comedian, and Dr. Manhattan as well-established and concrete characters achieve their narrative objective, their adaptations have failed when not respecting this rule and making freer versions that break the scheme and the essence of what it is. For example, the film directed by Snyder was not perfect. It does not faithfully adapt its story and much less respect the established rules by imposing its own rules of cinema. If the production design does a great job in its framing, costumes, and cast, in terms of story it falls far short of what was expected. Possibly one of the most difficult parts of adapting Watchmen to other media is the way of telling its story, as is the case of Tales of the Black Freighter, which acts as a moderator of the main plot and simply does not exist in this film.

This subplot is presented here in a not-so-successful way and refers to a few moments in which a few panels are shown leaving its narrative unfinished, the action is summarized in something too fast for the length of the film and its screen time that tries to cover a lot by telling everything and assuming that the viewers who have not read the original material understand what is happening and this hinders its main story and leaves us hanging, this is the reflection of poor planning and execution of what they have. This first part, in general, is a very dry and simple adaptation of the comic with an animation that could have given more, its opening scene has a different approach to the comic but captures its essence, two detectives investigating the death of a Comedian and try too hard to try and only try to recreate what its vignettes have been, another of its flaws is the duration, it's 84 minutes of duration are not enough to properly develop what it has, it goes very quickly from one sequence to another which makes the story too rushed which as viewers does not allow us to appreciate the greatness of what this could have been. Although the dialogue is a very important and essential point when telling this story, it is the voice talent that fails to live up to expectations and does what it can with what they have. Here, no one stands out with a bad performance that could have been much better if director Brandon Vietti knew and understood his source material and managed to convey the emotion of its essence and its message. Nothing justifies a bad job in a work that is complete and rounded in itself, that also does not need sequels or to be told anything more about what happens in this world. Some things should stay as they are, but we are facing a very uncreative and unoriginal industry. The voice cast includes Kelly Hu, Katee Sackhoff, Adrienne Barbeau, Gray Griffin, Titus Welliver, Matthew Rhys, Troy Baker, Jeffrey Combs, Yuri Lowenthal, Kari Wahlgren, Phil LaMarr, Dwight Schultz, Geoff Pierson, Michael Cerveris, Corey Burton, Jason Spisak, John Marshall Jones, Rick D. Wasserman and Max Koch. The music composed by Tim Kelly is an element that manages to frame this work very well, which does not emulate or try to imitate what Lennie Moore has done in the Motion Comic, Tyler Bates in the film, and what Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross did for the television series, composers with completely different styles who have a common harmony and who have given their personality to their works. This still does not have a conclusion and remains pending like the second part, this story will continue... Watchmen Chapter One is now available in a home format and on the Prime Video streaming platform. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-s-cxTnH2Q Read the full article

#PrimeVideo

0 notes

lustlovehart · 8 months ago

Note

I haven’t had the time to read 4 or 5, BUT WHAT???? EXCUSE ME????? HE’S BEEN DEAD THIS WHOLE TIME????? I’m heartbroken, I’m crying. I’m already attempting to recover from Till in alnst, BUT SKULLY TOO???? At this point send me to the grave with him and It’ll become a Nightmare before Christmas x Corpse Bride crossover.

Imagine being Skully’s lover from when he was alive, and in an attempt to see your beloved Halloween king again, you’ve dedicated your entire life to finding a way to see him again. Coming across numerous solutions, even going so far as immortalizing yourself just to have a chance to see him again, disguising as an NRC student forevermore to remain in the only place of any memories you have with him.

At this point you’ve lost all hope, condemned to lose any semblance of self and remembrance of Skully, rotting alone in Ramshackle and mindlessly going on as a student.

Until you find a book with the group, getting sucked in with all of them, waking up in the lap of a man that seems… much too familiar. Yet, you can no longer place who he is.

“A kiss, to you lovely person.” This gesture is also, much too familiar. Going on with preparing Halloween with him feeling a sense of comfort every time you speak. Even when he goes rampant and knocks out Jack, he turns to you with a smile. Even with Grim fighting in his newfound pumpkin form within the sack, he acts as if he doesn’t exist, looking at you like you respect such decisions.

You know it’s wrong, you know it’s cruel, yet you can’t help but take his hand in yours and stride away.

When preparations are done, and your way home is nigh, Skully grabs you, excluding anyone from seeing as he hugs you with the intimacy of a lover. You’re unsure why that’s the case, but without realizing it you take your arms and wrap them lovingly around his neck. Tears are coming from your eyes but you don’t wipe them, salty rain drenching his alive skin. Alive…

Alive…?

“Skully… Please tell me you’ve come back…”

“I wish.” He leaves you with one last oath, to always love you beyond the grave.

When you come out of the book, there’s a sense of warmth you haven’t felt in a long time. But, it’s gone as quickly as it came, being replaced with the cold feeling of grief. What remains from your ventures in the book are only vestiges of a happiness, the events that truly transpired a forever mystery.

Except, it’s only when Crowley introduces the grave of the dearly departed king of halloween do you remember your dearly beloved. Cursed to forget your meeting, and forever trapped in a perpetual cycle of finding your true halloween.

Or alternatively You die and meet Skully in the afterlife and he’s like “wtf you’re not meant to be here yet.”

It’s really giving me corpse bride ideas. Skully practice proposing to your skeletal hand and it turns out you’re the creepy zombie that lurks around him every halloween!! It’s okay, you were the one he was gonna propose to anyway so all is fine <3

MERA THE SKULLY LORE

MERAAAAAAA THE SKULLY LORE

MY HEART IS IN SHAMBLES. EVERYONE IS DYING IN OCTOBER. THIS IS SO SICK AND TWISTED AND AAAAAAAAAA. T^T even if I suspected it from the beginning, I couldn’t believe it and yet………. somehow this makes his entire character even sadder. :(

(spoilers below the cut!!!!)

FORMER NRC GRADUATE!!!!! CENTURIES OLD. A STUDENT FROM RAMSHACKLE DORM, WHO POPULARIZED HALLOWEEN AND BECAME KNOWN AS THE KING OF HALLOWEEN. OMG HE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I hope he was buried somewhere in the Ramshackle cemetery. I need to be out there cleaning up around his grave and leaving fresh flowers and making sure everything is legible on his gravestone so that he’s never forgotten and always honored. <3

Thinking about you getting into trouble with Trein (caught sleeping in class one too many times), so as punishment he assigns you to write an essay about why it’s important to stay awake during class. It’s a very boring subject, and you think you’ll be smart with it (something something at least you’re not dead in his class), but then you trip over an old, overgrown grave at Ramshackle and you brush aside all of the leaves and vines and find a name inscribed. And suddenly you think you’ll do your essay on this person with their unique name. And somehow that’ll tie back into an essay about why sleeping in class is bad. 🤓☝️

In short, honoring Mr. Graves through an essay investigating his life and death hehe. In which you end up learning some sort of lesson. I JUST WANT TO WRITE ABOUT HIM MORE AAAAAAAAAA. OTL

#vesperramble!#twst<3 #vesconcepts #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #skully j graves x reader #skully x reader

194 notes · View notes

no-side-us · 2 years ago

Text

Letters From Watson Liveblog - Nov. 9

The Three Garridebs, Part 2 of 2

"'Our little problem draws to a close,' said he. 'No doubt you have outlined the solution in your own mind.'"

I enjoy Holmes' confidence in Watson when it comes to the answer. In his mind, Watson is just as capable and intelligent, so why shouldn't he also have the truth figured out as well?

"will only be an additional reason to you for running your head into danger. I should know my Watson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it."

Knowing that moment is coming up soon certainly makes certain other moments seem like foreshadowing. Oh Watson, we all know how much you love to run into danger. Would be a real shame if something were to happen, you know?

"Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it may not be the last. What is the particular danger this time?"

Oh yeah, that's some dramatic irony right there. In a sadder world, this would be the last Sherlock Holmes story as Watson takes a devastating blow and Holmes retires in grief.

"smiling up at me from the rogues' portrait gallery. ‘James Winter, alias Morecroft, alias Killer Evans,’ was the…"

"Morecroft" sounds like a ship name for Mycroft and Moriarty.

"and had fired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had been pressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistol came down on the man's head."

I love that Holmes didn't shoot him. Evans had just fired at Watson, and we all know how Holmes will react to that, so in the moment it would be completely okay for him to shoot in return, and he doesn't.

"It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking."

I don't know what I could say about this moment that isn't obvious just from reading it. They love each other. And the type of love varies depending on personal opinion, but love is present. How terrific.

"our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive."

Ah, the classic "Who hurt you? I'll make them pay," etc. and so on. I guess I spoke too soon about Holmes not shooting Evans. How many period readers were gushing at this moment, I wonder?

"hearted guy that can't begin shooting unless the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr. Holmes, what have I done wrong, anyhow? I've not used this plant. I've not hurt this…"

For a guy named "Killer Evans," he sure has some stipulations about shooting people.

"his dissipated dreams. When his castle in the air fell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard of at a nursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard…"

What an unexpectedly sad ending for Nathan Garrideb. He deserved better than a nursing home, away from all his interesting minutiae. Would they have allowed him to take it with him?

"D. men to sleep the sounder, for the counterfeiter stands in a class by himself as a public danger. They would willingly have subscribed to that soup-plate medal of which the…"

Killer Evans didn't do anything wrong! He was just trying to help the economy by preventing too much money from being printed! When these ruffians barged in on him and pointed a gun at his head with no cause!

Is what I would say if I had to defend Killer Evans. But with a name like Killer Evans that'd probably be a difficult defense.

"In my next letter, I think I will tell you the tale of the mysterious disappearance of Lady Francis Carfax, a case which Holmes initially tasked me to investigate alone as he was busy with other matters."

I can't believe Holmes would have Watson investigate alone after his injury. How uncaring of him!

Is what I would say if I for any second believed in this strict chronology.

Part 1 - Part 2

#my text #arthur conan doyle #the three garridebs #sherlock holmes #john h watson #nathan garrideb #killer evans #john garrideb #inspector lestrade #james winter #mrs saunders #liveblogging sherlock holmes #letters from watson

19 notes · View notes

otterlyjinyeon · 2 years ago

Text

Lost and Found (Released July 2023)

An uncanny feeling surrounds him and his mind as a particular out-of-this-world pendant catches his eye. Lying on the ground in the middle of a cavern filled with cyan-hued crystals, seemingly waiting and wanting to be found, it shares a spot-on mineral as the ones he is familiar with. Might an individual versed in the art of blacksmithing lost one of his prized possessions while traversing through this tunnel? "No, that is not the case", resounds inside him, even though there hasn't been a singe moment in his vast memories seeing such a piece of jewelery. Where does this confident reassurance come from, then? As he ponders about the reason why his mind is racing in the same way like his life is depending on it, he picks this lost item from the ground up in order to take a closer look at its fine features. The gleam and shine of the pendant, guarded by a pair of delicately detailed wings, is a familiar one to him, being a frequent visitor to this passageway that is rich with seemingly similar raw minerals. What exceeds those familiar impressions however is the rush of unexpected emotions and sensations welling up in him - travelling to faraway places, being there and caring for the people close to him, as well as facing one's fears with courage.

Unknown feelings of nostalgia rushes in him, making the process of thinking unbearably harder by the second. A number of pictures of what could have been are trying to form in his head, but a vast fog of unknowingness clouds those potential solutions to his ever-growing questions. Falling deep in wonder and mystery, only a wet and cold sensation is bouncing him back to reality - a stream of tears has formed from his eyes going all the way down his face. Surprised by this reacion, he is asking to himself: "Wait, why am I crying like this? I don't feel sad, but the sense of missing something important doesn't want to let go of me. It's as if there is a hidden part of me that dearly longs for something or someone..."

Swiping off the tears and clutching the necklace by its bands, he decides to take this unique memento with him. With a newfound resolve to find the solutions the lingering questions around this pendant, he leaves the cavern from where he came from - swinging just as happily as the pendant hanging from his paw does. Finally, my first attack this year! I am really proud of how the (rather long) working process went, even though it had left me pretty tired and beaten up from time to time :D Also, Yuya gang rise uppp!! Always happy and excited to rep one of my favorite characters 😊

Holli belongs to AppleFox (Art Fight, Tumblr), I hope you'll enjoy it! ❤️

#art #artwork #digital art #fanart #original character #furry #furry art #furry fandom #artfight #artfight 2023 #team vampire #artists on tumblr #my art #he's making me feel so sad q.q #i hope that his pompadoured teddy bear comes to save him soon <3 #also hooray for back-to-back arc-v themed artwork!

1 note · View note

stuckonstarker · 2 years ago

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬? 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤.

read on AO3

Peter examined his robotics homework helplessly. He stared at the fluorescent screen of his busted up laptop until his eyes felt like they were going to explode.

He liked to think he was intelligent. He prided himself on it. While he was good at robotics, biology and chemistry were his true strengths.

He kept desperately turning the problem around in his head in a valiant, though fruitless, effort to come to any solution. He huffed.

Pulling out his cracked phone, Peter took a hasty picture of the problem and sent it to Ned. He typed in Ned’s number from memory, his old phone having been obliterated in a fight gone awry with a man cosplaying as a rhino - for whatever reason.

Peter, tired out of his wits and ready to just go to bed already, didn’t bother checking if the number he sent it to was actually Ned’s. He sent the photo. It was accompanied by several text messages.

peter: do u have any idea how to solve this? peter: sry for bothering u peter: im at a total loss lmao help me pls

Tony’s phone dinged. He didn’t even look up from the project he was working on.

Then the phone dinged rapidly two more times. Tony groaned. He glared at the phone like it had any say in the matter.

The messages Tony had received were from an unknown number. He was gearing up to block the rando before looking at what the messages actually said.

There was a photo of what was clearly homework. It wasn’t particularly complex, but Tony could see how it could trip someone up. Especially when it was the dead of night. And if the area code of the number was anything to go by, whoever this mystery number was, it was also going on three in the morning for them as well.

Tony responded by solving the problem. He sent a photo.

Tony: You’re welcome. No need to thank me. Actually, do thank me.

Peter perked up at the response. It wasn’t like Ned to be up so late. In fact, Ned had gotten on his case several times about his “deranged” sleeping habits.

Peter looked at his phone and cheered. He responded.

peter: thank you thank you thank you !!!! peter: ned u r a life saver u r back in my will

He finished up his homework when he got another message. He read it and his face went hot while his body went cold.

Unknown Number: Not Ned. No need to put me in your will, unless you have something really cool besides highschool homework.

Peter typed.

peter: if u arent ned then who r u mystery man????

Unknown Number: Not important.

peter: its very important!!!!!! peter: how did u know the answer hm?????

Unknown Number: No offense, kid, but that problem was rudimentary.

peter: oooo rudimentary peter: ill rudimentary ur face bro peter: cut me some slack its like 3 am

Unknown Number: Then go to bed.

peter: ur not my dad smhhhhh

Unknown Number: I don’t need to be your dad to know it’s past your bedtime. Go to bed.

peter: lmao no

Unknown Number: Is this how you always treat people who do your homework for you?

peter: u solved one ( 1) problem peter: dont get cocky

Unknown Number: Arrogance is the one thing I’m good at.

peter: that and robotics apparently peter: u must be old peter: no one msgs like that lmao peter: ur texting not writing a novel

Unknown Number: I am old.

peter: how old

Unknown Number: Old.

peter: ha ha peter: im not actually laughing that was sarcastic

Unknown Number: I gathered that.

peter: tell me ur name at least peter: pls peter: so i can thank u

Peter stared at his phone hard. The light of it illuminating him and the pitch blackness that surrounded him.

He watched as the text bubbles appeared and disappeared over and over again. They stopped before a message popped up.

Unknown Number: Tell me yours first.

This guy, Peter thought. For some reason, probably his inane curiosity, Peter wanted to know more about this stranger. So, he complied. Nothing bad could come from sharing just his first name, right? There are like a million Peters in the world.

peter: peter peter: now u

Unknown Number: You can call me Tony.

peter: thank u tony

tony: You’re welcome.

The conversation seemed to have come to a close. Peter set his phone down, resolute on getting at least three hours of sleep. Then, another message popped up.

tony: Feel free to contact me with any more robotics problems you come across.

“Ned,” Peter said, successfully capturing his friend’s attention despite the onslaught of dodgeballs being pummeled at them.

“What?” Ned gave his friend a bright look, “Is this about spider activities?”

Peter said, “No. And I thought we made a rule about not talking about the spider here.”

“I was being discreet,” Ned said.

Peter shook his head, “Whatever. That is so not the point. Anyways, last night I was having some serious problems with Mr. Volpenhein’s homework and I texted you because I needed help, but I didn’t text you. I accidentally texted some random guy and he solved the problem. Then he tried to tell me to go to bed.”

“Did he get the answer right?” Ned asked.

Peter said, “I think so.”

“No offense, Peter, but that isn’t that exciting.”

Peter shrugged his shoulders.

Ned laughed, “Even some strange guy was trying to put you to bed.”

“Whatever,” Peter said with a smile.

Peter, adrenaline spiking in a matter of seconds, jumped in front of Ned. In the process, he caught the ball that had been hurled at his friend. He gave a harsh glare to the perpetrator in question who was, as always, Flash.

Flash’s eyes were wide, but he dug his heels into the ground. “You just got lucky, Penis! Next time I won’t miss,” He called out.

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, man,” Ned said.

Peter sighed, “No worries. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”

Ned nodded.

They had lunch right after gym. In Peter’s opinion, besides in the morning, this was the worst time to have gym. But that was just the typical Parker Luck, as him and May have dubbed it.

“Tell me more about your robotic savior,” Ned said as they sat in their usual spots by the window.

Peter gave him a look, “I thought you said it wasn’t exciting.”

“It’s not.”

Peter pushed Ned lightly, Ned barely even moved. They both shared a small laugh.

“But,” Ned said, “but… I want to know who this guy is. I don’t want you replacing me as your Guy-In-The-Chair.”

Peter laughed, “No one could replace you. Except for maybe MJ. But she’d never want to replace you, so that’s sorted.”

Ned said, “Do you think this mystery guy is a villain?”

“No,” Peter said, “usually bad guys kick me around a bunch. So far, none of them have offered to help me with my homework.”

Ned made a contemplative noise, “You never know.”

“I think I have a pretty good guess, though,” Peter said.

“But you still never know.”

“Since when did you have trust issues?” Peter asked with a smile. He said, “Being weirdly detached and mistrusting is MJ’s thing.”

Ned said, “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want what happened with Dr. O-”

“Ned.”

Ned gave Peter a soft look, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Peter said, attempting to, and failing at, sounding like it was fine. It was very much not fine. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it.

He said, “This guy’s name is Tony, by the way.”

“Whoa.” Ned asked, “Like Stark?”

Peter shook his head, “Out of the millions of people I could’ve accidentally texted, the odds of me texting Tony Stark is extremely low. Even if I did text him, he probably wouldn’t have answered.”

“But…” Ned said with a wry smile, “You never know.”

“Ned.”

Ned smiled, “Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Peter said as they both busted out into laughter.

Tony walked through a long sanitized hallway. Pepper was in front of him, luring him to his despise. Or, otherwise known as, a meeting with a bunch of stuffy halfwits.

The boardroom was just as sickeningly perfect as the hallway had been. Several men, who looked like clones of each other, sat around a table. Their eyes shot toward Tony the moment he entered the room.

Truly the only way Tony had been able to tell the difference between these men was at what stage of balding they were at. Michael Krasinski had a full head of hair while Byron Moss had none. Everyone else fell at different spots in the middle to Tony.

He sighed, “If I’m honest, which I’m rarely not nowadays, I don’t understand the purpose of this meeting.”

“What Tony means to say is,” Pepper started, swooping in to save his ass as she often did, “Stark Industries has been very successful lately. This meeting is unexpected.”

One of the members, whose hair was barely hanging on, piped up, “There have been a few investments that concerned us.”

“Pep,” Tony whispered, “if they bring up the student internships again I will freak out.”

The student internship situation had been controversial when Tony first did it. Apparently, no one cares about nurturing bright young minds. It had been a “waste of money” to encourage students to enter the STEM workfield.

Tony had assured them he would take care of it. Then he didn’t change shit. So they were probably pissed about that.

“We are eager to hear your concerns and make improvements where necessary,” Pepper said to the group of scrutinizing eyes.

Tony immediately zoned out. He discreetly pulled out his phone and sent a message to Rhodey.

Tony: When are you going to get back, Platypus? I miss you.

A response came immediately.

Peter: i didnt know we were using nicknames now Peter: what do i call u

Tony restrained saying an expletive. He had texted the highschooler from last night.

Tony: I didn’t mean to text you. That should be obvious. And you do not get to call me a nickname. We’re not there yet.

Peter: oooo how the turn tables turn Peter: who is this platypus Peter: are they like perry?

Tony: Who’s Perry?

Peter: ur joking Peter: theres no way you actually dont know who perry the platypus is

Tony: I don’t.

A picture came through of a blue animal that could be perceived as a platypus if looked at through squinted eyes.

I have never seen that creature before in my life, Tony sent with a smile.

Peter: omg u have to watch phineas and ferb

Tony: I don’t have to do anything, actually.

Peter: wow ur sooooo cool tony Peter: only losers havent seen phineas and ferb

Tony: It’s a cartoon.

Peter: so???

Tony: So, you’re calling me a loser for not watching a children’s show?

Peter: ye

Tony: You know what, kid. I respect that.

Then, Tony considered for a moment.

Tony: Wait. Tony: Shouldn’t you be in school?

Peter: i am

Tony: Why are you texting me?

Peter: cos im bored lol Peter: i already know all the material so it doesnt matter

Tony: You didn’t seem to know all the material last night. If I recall, you were having problems with a pretty basic circuit.

Peter: it was THREE IN THE MORNING

Tony: Don’t yell at me.

Peter: wat r u going to do?? Peter: ground me?? Peter: love to see u try mister

Tony: Keep it up and I will.

Peter: ooo im sooo scared

Tony: Pay attention to your teacher.

Peter: i just told u i already know this stuff Peter: its chem and im hella good at that

Tony: Where do you go to school?

Tony only realized how creepy of a question that was after he sent it.

Peter: none of your business high

Tony: My bad. Overstepped a boundary there.

Peter: apology accepted

Tony: I wasn’t apologizing.

Peter: bruh Peter: then what were u doing???

Tony: Taking accountability.

Peter: im pretty sure thats the textbook definition of apologizing

Tony let out a soft laugh and everyone in the meeting looked at him.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?” asked some guy who was rapidly approaching the bald end of the spectrum.

Tony smiled, “Nope.”

“Mr. Stark is only amused because these reports show that the student internship program has been a wild success,” Pepper said with the swiftness of someone who was used to Tony’s antics.

Another board member interjected, “Just because something’s a success doesn’t mean we should continue it.”

“Are you being serious?” Tony asked before Pepper could form a prim response.

Pepper sighed, “There is no reason to discontinue the program. Until someone in this room provides clear statistical proof that the student internship program is not worth continuing then it will continue running. Along with every other civil program Stark Industries is running.”

“Tell em, Pep,” Tony said.

Pepper gave him a look with her icy eyes. Tony smiled in turn.

Leaving the board meeting was an instant breath of fresh air. Even if Pepper instantly got on his case. To be fair, he deserved it.

“You weren’t even paying attention,” Pepper said.

Tony tilted his head, “I am taking that accusation very heavily, Potts. You’ll be in contact with my lawyer.”

“I’d have to be the one to call them,” Pepper said.

Tony smiled at her apologetically.

Pepper asked, “Who were you texting?”

“I wasn’t texting.”

Pepper gave him a blank look, “I’m not blind.”

“You know,” Tony admitted, “I’m not really sure. Some kid texted the wrong number to ask for help with homework. It was a circuit problem, the kind they give you in highschool. So I helped out. I accidentally texted them just now because I was trying to text Rhodey.”

Pepper looked at him hard. It was the same exasperated calculating stare Tony had seen a million times over.

“Jesus,” She said after a moment, “you’re like a walking PR nightmare.”

Tony shrugged his shoulders in defeat. She had a pretty good point. But he wasn’t too concerned. Afterall, the kid didn’t know who he was, and Tony didn’t know who the kid was.

Their most recent conversation would probably be their last conversation.

“Dude,” Peter squeezed through the after school hallway congestion.

Ned stood at his locker and gave Peter a toothy smile, “Hi.”

“Guess what just happened,” Peter said.

Ned said, “What?”

“Dude, guess!” Peter shook Ned’s shoulder.

Ned rolled his eyes but complied with a smile, “The roof caved in on Mrs. Little and her class is canceled for the rest of the year?”

“Not even close, dude. And don’t say stuff like that. I like Mrs. Little.”

Ned laughed and closed his locker. They walked down the steadily emptying hall together.

“What happened, then?” Ned asked, “Is it something to do with spider related activities?”

Peter sighed as he looked to the ceiling for dramatic effect, “No! Tony texted me.”

“Whoa,” Ned halted in his tracks, “why?”

Peter said, “He was trying to text someone he calls ‘Platypus.’ Then he threatened to ground me for texting while in class. But I think he was mostly joking. Maybe. It’s hard to tell through text. And he texts like an old man.”

“He probably is an old man.” Ned said, “He probably lied about trying to text someone else just to talk to you. You’re probably the first person he’s talked to in fifty years.”

“Ned, that is so not nice,” Peter said.

Ned said, “I’m just throwing theories out there.”

“Well, settle it down, MatPat, okay? I think it’s probably some old guy who - I don’t know - worked in mechanical engineering or something. He’s probably some regular old dude,” Peter said.

Ned said, “Like I said, it’s just a theory-”

“Don’t,” Peter warned.

“-a game theory!”

“I don’t even know why I’m friends with you,” Peter smiled.

Ned sang, “It’s because you love me.”

“True,” Peter said.

They went their separate ways.

Peter usually walked home. When he was feeling spicy, he’d swing back to his apartment. But, especially as Spider-Man became more well known, Peter didn’t want to do something that risked giving his identity away.

He texted Tony.

peter: my friend thinks ur a sad old man texting me for company

A response, immediately.

tony: Your friend isn’t entirely wrong.

peter: thats concerning peter: do u have irl friends???

tony: Yes.

peter: thank god peter: i was about to be real sad

tony: Don’t worry about me, kid.

peter: i cant help it peter: u helped me wit my hw peter: now i owe u my life

tony: Any time, kid.

peter: whats with u calling me kid peter: how would u like it if i kept calling u old man

tony: I’ve been called worse.

peter: like what???? peter: i’ll fight them for u, old man

tony: Don’t. I deserved it most of the time.

peter: why?

tony: I wasn’t a good person when I was younger. I’m still fixing the mess I made in my early twenties.

peter: ppl r not their worst mistakes peter: u r so much more than what u have done wrong

tony: That’s surprisingly profound coming from someone who can’t be bothered to type out ‘you’.

peter: thank you

tony: Do you just like being difficult?

peter: yes peter: its part of my charm

The kid, Peter, wasn’t wrong. His aptitude for sarcasm and talking back was actually growing on Tony.

There was something about the anonymity that made it easy for Tony to spill the feelings he kept from some of his closest confidants. Tony knew it was obvious, though. Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy - hell, maybe even a portion of the Avengers - knew that guilt ate away at him everyday. But, he never said it. Except for the times where he wanted to make a point.

Tony found his thoughts coming back to Peter at hand. Then he stopped himself. There was no way that wherever this thing was going that it was going to be good.

But he found himself intrigued. And an intrigued Tony Stark might be the most dangerous Tony Stark there is.

The day passed by, but Tony’s thoughts were consistently drawn back toward Peter.

He ignored the gnawing for Peter’s sake. The last thing some random highschool kid needed was to be dragged into Tony’s neverending drama. But…

Tony: How was school?

A reply in an instant.

Peter: wow Peter: dad moment Peter: it was alright Peter: like i said the work is easy since i already know most of it Peter: just boring

Tony: I get what you mean. I skipped highschool and went straight to college.

Peter: no way Peter: ur fucking with me

Tony: Nope. It was horrible for my mental health.

Peter: how smart r u Peter: jesus Peter: i wouldnt survive one day in a college class

Tony: They’re not that hard. Surprisingly enough. Tony: It was just lonely being a child surrounded by adults.

Peter: sry to hear that Peter: did u want to go to college early?

Tony: No. But I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.

Peter: thats awful Peter: u shouldnt have been forced into it

Tony: Don’t worry about it, kid. Seriously. Tony: I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. It’s not like you’re my therapist.

Peter: do u have a therapist???

Tony: Yeah, but I don’t really go.

Peter: why

Tony: Too busy.

Peter: mental health is important Peter: go to ur therapy or i wont go to robotics class

Tony: You drive a tough bargain.

Peter: go to therapy or i will go feral

Tony: Now that’s a threat. Fine, kid, you win.

Peter: thank u

It was later that night, Tony found himself dangerously enamored. Though, Peter was an anonymous face behind a phone screen, Tony had really found himself coming to like that kid. It scared him to death, liking people. The people he liked tended to meet untimely ends. Tony didn’t do well with liking people.

His love bordered on obsession. More than most. Pepper, Rhodey, even Happy had all been at his lovebombing mercy before and none of them had been particularly fond of it. Tony knew if he were to do anything for this kid, Peter, then there would be no going back from it. That it would completely undo this weirdly beautiful thing they had going on.

Call Tony selfish, it wouldn’t be the first time, but he liked having someone to talk to who didn’t know him. Who didn’t put enormous expectations on him all the time. Someone like Peter, who seemed young and free, started to make Tony’s wings spread a little as well.

Can’t stop thinking about you, Tony sent, cringing when he realized how much of a creep that made him sound.

Peter: ur so sweet Peter: i bet u say that to everyone who accidentally texts u

Tony: Nope, just you.

Peter: what an honor

Tony’s curiosity got the better of him. Peter, it seemed, was a highschool student. Their conversations have illuminated Tony to the fact that, yeah, Peter is actually a genius. Tony doesn’t know much more than that. A friend named Ned, but no parents, and somewhat disadvantaged.

Tony could work with that. He commanded Friday to trace a phone he felt a familiar feeling. The kind of chilling stomach ache that warned him he was making an irreversible mistake.

“Found him, Boss,” Friday announced, multiple pictures appearing before Tony in an instant.

The blue light blinded him for a moment. He approached it. A small apartment in Queens. Tony smiled.

Friday said, “There’s something else of note.”

“Yeah, babygirl?”

“The local vigilante known as Spider-Man,” a few videos and pictures appear, “has been seen coming and going from this location. There is reason to suspect that Peter Parker may be Spider-Man.”

Tony stepped back. He examined all the data for a fault, but nope. It seemed concrete. The kid who texted him by accident, a one-in-a-million chance, just so happened to also be the web-slinging vigilante known as Spider-Man.

Things just got much more interesting.

Peter was cleaning some dishes while May took a nap on the couch. His mind wandered back to the night’s text he received from Tony. Was Tony hitting on him? It seemed silly, but it wasn’t entirely implausible. Was it?

He told Ned about it and Ned gave him a side-eye while MJ snickered. It doesn’t matter what they think, Peter thought, okay, it kind of does. But they don’t understand what it’s like juggling being a good nephew, a good student, and a good Spider-Man. There’s a lot of responsibility Peter has been shouldering and this Tony guy feels like a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t know who Peter is, nephew, student, or Spider-Man. It’s nice talking to someone who doesn’t have any expectations for him.

There was a sharp knock on the door.

Peter turned toward it as May was roused from her sleep. She started to get up.

“I’ve got it, May.”

Her hair was a mess and her eyes narrowed in the freshly awake kind of way. She mumbled something as she sat up despite Peter’s protests.

Peter sighed and he opened the door. He looked up and opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips-

Oh, shit.

#starker #max writes #yo #here u go

90 notes · View notes

wwilloww · 3 years ago

Text

sh. | chapter nineteen | ot7

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 6.6k WARNINGS AND TAGS sexual negotiations. talk of sex. near death experience. allusions to history of suicidal ideation (resources). dry humping.

AN pLEASE read the warnings of this chapter! If you've read the warnings and don't want to read the chapter but still want to know what's going on, message me and I'll provide a little tldr; just for you. This chapter wasn't easy to write, and I learned a lot about myself through writing it. I'd be lying if I said there weren't some tears on the page after writing, but I have the biggest of thank yous to the incredible @hesperantha @thatlongspringnight @miscelunaaa and @sugalaritae who helped me transform this from something I needed to write for me to something that actually fits into the story. I feel hesitant to post this, but I'm trusting you all with this and know you will take care of this story. If you're still here, thank you for reading. You're amazing.

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE EDGE

“We said we’d wait a few days to talk about this, but it’s clear a conversation needs to happen now,” Jimin begins.

The eight of you are sitting around the dining room table, breakfast hot and steaming in bowls before you, but none of you are eating. As soon as you and Hoseok had entered the room, a swift and chilly tension had settled upon the table. Six pairs of cold eyes had been set upon Hoseok as soon as he entered, and it was clear that the exchange that happened in the kitchen this morning was shared with the entire group. Namjoon’s eyes flicker concernedly down to where your hand is wrapped around Hoseok’s.

“We said, after the other night—” it’s clear which night Jimin’s talking about. “—that things between all of us were casual.” Everyone nods. “But it’s obvious to me that that’s not the case. Not one bit.”

Your chest tightens. Not casual? You’re not in the slightest ready for something serious, for some kind of commitment to these men. That’s, that’s simply not what you agreed to.

“As soon as feelings start getting hurt,” Jimin continues, “this no longer becomes casual. I’ve talked to some of you. I’m worried that there’s jealousy—” His gaze flickers to Jungkook, whose head hangs down. “And I’m worried that we’re not respecting the vulnerability inherent to sex.” His gaze lands on Hoseok. The words on his tongue sound prepared, rehearsed, like Jimin’s been going over them in his head for a while now, or practiced them in the bathroom mirror.

“Hoseok,” Yoongi chimes in, his jaw twitching. “In case you weren’t sure, we’re talking about you.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash up towards Yoongi. His lips move like he wants to say something.

“What happened this morning was unacceptable. It can’t happen again,” Jimin says, before a sound can leave Hoseok. Hoseok shuts his mouth. “Not only that, but pushing one of your closest friends away after having sex with them? It’s just unacceptable.”

Hoseok hangs his head. “I know. I’m sorry, and—”

“I think there’s only one solution. I think we should stop,” Jimin says. “I think we should stop all of this.”

Silence freezes through the room.

“No!” you call out. The response surprises even you. You’re not ready for this to end. You’re not ready to let go of what you’ve received from these seven men in the past several days. Your innards hold onto it like it’s something precious, because, you realize, it is. It’s been so long since you’ve felt so accepted, so seen by so many people. Sure, there is a part of you that feels like there’s an unknown edge to all of this—to all of them—that scares the shit out of you, but not because it’s bad. Only because it’s new, unknown. You’re not ready to let go of this. “I mean—I mean. I think this is something that we can talk through. Hoseok and I talked.” You reach beneath the table to take his hand. “We talked and it’s okay.”

“Is it really okay though?” Namjoon asks, his gaze hard and protective. “Is one little conversation really enough to fix things?”

You look at Hoseok then. Perhaps you had been too quick to accept his apology. But you know this man. You’ve known him for years and understand that an apology from him doesn’t come quickly or easily. He surprises you again by speaking up.

“I fucked up, guys,” Hoseok says. “I don’t know what’s been getting into me. I thought, um, I expected things to be easy. That I wouldn’t, um… want. As much as I do.”

“What does that mean?” you whisper.

“I think we need to expand the meaning of casual,” Hoesok says. “I don’t know if I can do casual.”

“What does that mean?” your voice wavers.

“I don’t think I can pretend that sex doesn’t mean something to me.”

To this, Namjoon nods knowingly, like he understands and agrees. Hoseok catches the gesture and offers Namjoon an unsure smile.

“I was trying to pretend that it doesn’t mean anything to me, that you,” he looks at you, “don’t mean anything to me, that none of you do.” He looks around the table, lingering on each of your friends. “But that’s just not true. I shut down, trying to imagine—

“I get that,” Jungkook interrupts. “I get that a lot.”

“Thanks Jungkook, but yeah. I shut down, trying to imagine that things were nothing more than sex, and that’s just not—that’s just not going to work for me. I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I think we’re all ready for some kind of committed relationship,” Hoseok says. “I know that’s not true, and honestly that’s not what I want. But what I need is to know that this—” He squeezes your hand. “—means something.”

Your chest tightens immeasurably, but at the same time, you know something he’s saying is true.

“I think I understand what he’s saying,” Namjoon adds. “I think there needs to be space for the messy bits. The feelings.”

The feelings? There are feelings?

Suddenly you’re reeling, sucking in a shaky breath. This whole time it’s felt like you've been in a vacuum, alone with your thoughts and feelings. You know you’ve felt things for these men. Unnamable, unknowable things. But them? They’ve been feeling too?

You chide yourself for thinking in such a small sense. How egocentric of you to think that you were the only one with an inner world like this. Of course they’re affected by all of this. Of course they have feelings too. But for you? For each other?

It’s not a new realization, but it is one that strikes you. Makes you look at them through a new lens. The room is silent as each of you take in the others, unspeakable thoughts flashing behind each of your eyes.

“We’re all friends. We’ve been friends forever. I think it’d be stupid to think that adding sex into our dynamic wouldn’t stir things up. From the past. Even new things, too. But we can’t do this if we aren’t on the same page, or at the very least, can’t communicate.” Jimin shoots Hoseok a look at that statement. “We have to be committed to communication, and we have to be committed to making sure each of us are doing okay within this situation.” He looks around at all of you.

“I want this,” you say suddenly. “I’m not ready to give this up, whatever it is.”

Several people around the table nod: Yoongi, Jungkook, and to your surprise, Namjoon.

“I feel like I understand where Hobi is coming from,” Jungkook adds, reaching across the table to take Hoseok’s hand. “I feel messy. On the inside. Like if I ask for what I want I’m going to ruin something.”

Hoseok nods understandingly.

“That’s not an easy thing to say, Kookie,” Jimin says softly. “Thank you for sharing that. And Hoseok—I don’t mean to be so harsh on you. I just… I don’t want to see any of us hurt. And I saw one of our friends hurting.”

Hoseok nods. “I know. And I’m really sorry.”

“I want to stick with this and see what comes out of it,” you say. “Even if it’s difficult. Even if we need to find new ways to communicate with one another.”

“How does everyone feel about this?” Yoongi asks.

Everyone around the table nods in agreement with you.

“Jin, Taehyung, you’ve been awfully silent throughout this conversation,” Yoongi notices.

The couple exchanges a look. “I can’t speak for Jin, but I hardly knew any of this was going on,” Taehyung says. “We’ve been a little bit in our own bubble the past couple of days. But I think that speaks to a need for us to be more involved, anyways. More present.” Jin nods, like he agrees.

“That’s probably true,” Yoongi says.

Jin clears his throat. “I’m going to add something. Since we added sex to this relationship, to these relationships, I don’t think we can just assume that sex and the rules of sex only stay within the boundaries of the bedroom. For god's sake, Yoongi sucked Namjoon off in the kitchen.” You and Jungkook exchange a glance and at that moment you know that he too is thinking about all of your shared kitchen escapades.

“And vice versa,” Taehyung corrects.

Jin chuckles. “And vice versa, yes. That means that consent and communication are just as important outside of this metaphorical bedroom as they are inside. If any of you feel like you can’t communicate something, you either need to figure out how to, ask for help, or remove yourself from the situation. We can’t be messing around with that.”

Everyone nods seriously.

“Jungkook, you’ve been quiet too. Do you have anything to add?”

Jungkook smiles sheepishly. “I think I’d just like to be included a little more? I know it’s only been a couple of days but… I felt a little bit like I was forgotten.”

Jin grabs his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We got you.”

Jungkook grins back. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Alright,” Jimin says. “Then we’ll put it to a vote. All in favor of continuing this… thing?”

Everyone around the table raises their hands.

“Then it’s settled.”

A spark of joy lights in your chest. It’s not over. Not yet.

“I think I’m ready for that hike, if you are,” Hoseok says, a smile lighting his eyes, as breakfast finishes up. Someone else is on kitchen duty, thank goodness, and you have the day all to yourself. He takes your hands in his own, gripping your fingers tightly between his. “I mean it when I say it: I’m so sorry. I should have never let the situation get away from me the way I did. But I know what I did wrong now. And I won’t let it happen again.”

You smile up at him, and bring your hand to cup his cheek. It feels easy. Maybe too easy.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry for not kissing you.”

“It’s okay.” He turns and begins to make his way towards the door where your shoes are. “You can make it better, anyways.”

“What? Make it better?” You hurry up to him.

“Yeah. Like this.” He captures your lips with his, his hand winding around your back to pull you close. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, and when he pulls away, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know if that’s ever going to get old.”

You turn your head only to find Jungkook staring at you guys, jaw hanging open.

“Jungkook—”

“I’m going to find Jin hyung. Take him up on his offer.” Jungkook hurries away.

Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s going to have the ride of his life if Jin is the one he’s searching out.”

“I wonder if it’s not only Jin he’s excited to see though,” you muse. “There was something there with Taehyung that night too.”

At the mention of that night, Hoseok flushes, like an innocent flower.

“Do you get shy when I mention that?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Never thought I’d be talking about that kind of stuff with you.”

You scoff. “We hardly did any talking that night.”

“Talking, or, you know. The other stuff.”

You sidle up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “What other stuff?” you ask innocently, wanting to push him.

He flushes a little. “Um. You know. Sex.”

“Or Jin sucking you off.”

He coughs. “Or, yeah, uh, that.”

You laugh, slip on your shoes, and press out of the side door.

“C’mon loser. Let’s go.”

Winter teases the edge of the mountains, frost coating the ground, an icy chill whispering in the air. But the trees still hang onto their leaves, reds and the burning golds of the aspens making the world look like it’s lit aflame.

Outside, Hoseok seems to come to life again, his body resetting in the chill of the winter air. Born again, even as the plants die. Despite his vigor, you notice a quietness that settles around him as he looks back at the house disappearing behind him.

“Hobi—Are you okay?” you ask, as you begin up the steep trail. The house itself is located at the base of several peaks, and this is one you haven’t trekked up yet.

Hoseok nods, swallowing heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“What’s going on in your head, then?”

He pauses for a moment before answering: “There was one point in the conversation where I was worried that they—Yoongi especially—they were trying to push me out of the group or something, but I realized that they’re just trying to protect you.”

“Hobi. No one wants you out of the group. Especially not me.”

He smiles at you for that, and offers his elbow to you. You slip your hand through.

“Jimin and Yoongi can be so singularly focused sometimes. But I know they were just worried. I know they love you.”

Hoseok nods several times, like he’s processing what you’re saying. “What about you, darling?” Hoseok asks, turning his head to you. “How are you feeling? I know it was your suggestion that we keep this casual.”

Your jaw twitches a little at that. “Um. I...” You trail off, your gaze going blank over the beautiful scenery before you. “In all honesty, Hobi, it makes me a little scared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I understand the logic. That we need to broaden the parameters of our relationship. That we already love each other, that we all have expectations and feelings and thoughts about the situation, and that casual sex and all that just don’t work together. But I’m having a hard time not feeling scared of it all.”

Hoseok nods. “What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“I’m afraid if I let go of my feelings that everything will come crashing down,” you whisper, as if by speaking any louder the words themselves will usher ill-will into your world. Your throat is a little tight.

“What are your feelings?” Hoseok asks.

“God, I don’t even know,” you laugh.

“Try.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your footsteps coming slower as you think hard.

“God, there’s so many.”

“Just one then.”

You look at him. Really look at him. The weariness of his face, the hope fluttering there, in the corner of his eye, the intensity and care with which he gazes at you with. “There’s you. And there’s this knowing that I want to be close to you.” You take a deep breath. “Closer to you.”

Hoseok laughs. “That’s a thought, silly.”

“Alright,” you say determinately. You let loose a long breath. “I feel regret. Regret that I didn’t kiss you the way I wanted to. That I didn’t make you feel wanted in the way that I wanted you. Anyways, that’s all so serious. We don’t have to be so serious.”

Even as you say it though, there’s an underlying sea of tension between you. Because you have talked about the missing kiss, you’ve talked about the sex, you’ve worked that all out. But neither of you are mentioning exactly where it all started: the night you kissed him for the first time. It hangs between you, large and unspoken. And yet all too tender to speak of.

“You could make it up to me, you know.” There’s a devilish glint in his eyes. His hand catches in yours and he tugs you to his chest. “Can I kiss you now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He kisses you soft and slowly, like he’s taking his time with you, like there’s no rush to urge him forward or responsibility waiting on the other side for him. He kisses you like you’re his, like he’s tasting you for the first time, like you’re something sweet and all his to savor.

He’s a fucking good kisser. And truthfully, it’s nothing like your first kiss with him, that awkward, clunking thing.

You pull back and grin at him.

“You’re a good kisser.”

As you smile at him, you realize: It feels normal again. Like old times, the two of you traipsing through the city together, arm in arm, wrecking havoc wherever you go.

“Hobi! Look! The view!” Right over his shoulder lies an incredible overlook, you’re not sure how you didn’t notice it before. Beneath you, the mountains sprawl in valleys and peaks, an ocean aflame. You’ve never seen anything like it. You run up to the edge of the cliff, the gravel beneath your feet slipping a little. You stumble once, but right yourself.

“Hey! Be careful!” Hoseok calls from behind you.

“I am! I am!” you call back, looking over your shoulder at him. He’s grinning at you, taking his time as he picks over the rocks to get to the edge like you are. But with your gaze distracted, as you near the edge of the cliff your foot slips out from under you. You are falling to the ground, feet flailing before you.

You hit the earth with a clunk, an “oof” leaving your chest involuntarily. But your body doesn’t stop. With the slight incline, it continues to slide forward, rolling over the little rocks and dust. You try to grasp onto anything near to you, with no luck, sand, bits of gravel sifting through your fingers, digging underneath your fingernails. The ground rushes past you. You clamber for anything. You’re falling. You’re falling towards the cliff.

Your legs go over first, then your torso. It happens in slow motion, adrenaline spiking fire through your body. That’s when you come alive. You flip over, hands grasping onto the ledge, stopping your fall.

The scattering of rocks falling beneath you is the only sound in the entire world.

“No!” Hoseok screams, his voice still so far away. But the sound of him, the ragged edge of a torn voice—it cuts right through you.

You’re terrified for him, terrified he’s going to slip and fall and go over the edge like you, but you need him. You need him. The wind howls beneath you, your heartbeat stuck in your ears, pounding.

The wall of the cliff retreats slightly beneath the ledge, leaving nothing for you to get a foothold on.

You’re going to die.

For a moment it all flashes before you, Hoseok screaming for help when you go, him sprinting down the trail to the house, your friends faces when they hear. You’re not ready. You’re not ready to go.

Your breath is stuck in your throat. There’s nothing left in you to call his name. But he sees you, he sees you, and he’s tripping over himself to get to you.

“Be careful!” you manage to cry out, and he slows down, picking his way carefully towards you. His hands are clenched into sweaty fists, the terror in his gaze bleeding into yours as he hurries towards you. “But fucking hurry! I can’t—”

Your fingers slip just enough for you to yelp.

“Hobi! Please!”

He reaches you then, bending down. He grips your wrist with one of his hands and with the other, grabs onto a small tree. His hands are shaking, his breath uneven.

“On three, I’m going to lift.” His eyes bore into yours, his voice mysteriously calm. It gives you direction. It gives you hope. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. One. Two. Three.” With a grunt, he uses the leverage of the tree to begin pulling you up.

You kick your legs and the best you can, begin to house yourself up. It’s messy, uncoordinated work, but you manage to hoist an arm over the top, then a knee. With Hoseok’s help you scramble over the ledge, your breath coming hard, your head hanging between your shoulders as you pant on all fours.

He doesn’t let go of you, hand wrapped painfully tight around your wrist. He tugs you forward, away from the edge, and you scuttle after him, pushing as far away as you can. “Come on, come on,” he urges, until you collapse in his arms.

“What the hell just happened?”

You reach for him with the hand he isn’t already holding, grip his hand tightly. With both hands around yours, you feel bound to him physically, even as your body still swings in the sensation of hanging by a thread.

“Fuck.” He wipes his hand over his face, your hand going with it. “I thought you were gone.”

His body shudders beneath yours.

“I’m not though—”

“But I thought you were. I thought you’d fallen. I thought—” His voice chokes up. “And then I saw your hands, grabbing on and oh my god. But I thought you were gone. I really did.” The look in his eyes is one of absolute grief.

“I’m okay, Hoseok,” you say gently.

He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’m the one supposed to be comforting you. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He begins patting you down, looking for injuries.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.” But you’re not. Your throat wells up, closes around you. You grip onto his hand even tighter, stopping his movements. “God,” you hiss, as the tears start to well up in your eyes. You wipe them furiously away with the back of your hand.

“Come here, let's get you away from that edge.”

He pulls you to your feet, nearly dragging you away from where you were sitting three feet away from the edge while your body freezes up. He pulls you all the way to the trail, where the ground is firmer, flatter. You find your footing. You just stand there.

He wraps himself around you. You’re there, wrapped up in him, just breathing. This goes on for you’re not sure how long. And then slowly your body begins to relax. To melt into him. Your fingers come back to life first, flickering, finding purchase in his jacket, tangling in the fabric and pulling him closer. Your breath syncs up with his while you let loose little sobs, your face pressed into the nook between his neck and his shoulder. Slowly, your body feels like your body again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs into your hair. “I can’t lose you.”

“I don’t wanna lose you either,” you mumble back, taking a big sniff. “God, what the fuck is going on here, first the bear, then the forest, now this?”

“The forest?” Hoseok pulls back just enough to look at you, a puzzled expression settling on his face.

You shake your head. You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to have to explain. You don’t want him to think that you’re crazy.

You bury your face in his neck once more, squeezing him so tight you’re sure it must hurt. But he just squeezes you back. Holds you like you’re the only thing left in the world.

“Do you want to go back now?”

“I need—I need to sit. Just for a little bit.”

He nods and you both settle against the trunk of a very large tree. He doesn’t let go of your hand, though. He keeps it held tight in his lap, both hands surrounding yours. He looks at you, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he does, a look of concern flickering across his face.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You close your eyes. Knock your head back against the tree. Stare up at the webbed pattern of the evergreen above you, the way the blue sky flickers through it. That’s when it wells up. That’s when it comes.

Tears, spilling down your face, silently.

It’s like you’ve been cracked open.

Everything comes to the surface.

It washes over you like a stormy ocean, the waves at the surface thrashing, the depths holding a deep, deep chill that you can’t escape.

Sometimes there’s a grief in you that rises to the surface. It comes burbling out of you like a secret pool, hidden away in the vast sprawl of mountains. It comes like the moonlight when the sky is clear, splitting through the night, unjarrable. It comes like poison: green and viscous and spilling out of you. You can’t swipe a hand through it, can’t stop the flow of it when it comes. There’s only one way out: through.

You’ll let the tears sit like window boxes of peonies before they spill out into the yard. But now they’re pouring.

“Hey, hey.” Hoseok repositions himself so that he’s between your legs, hugging you, wrapped around you. “It’s okay to let it out. It's okay.”

You nod into his shoulder, tears streaming down your face.

“I don’t wanna go. Not anymore.”

“I know, I know. It’s not your time. It’s not nearly your time.” And then he pauses at your words, really takes them in. His eyes widen in understanding, noticing the current beneath your words. He whispers your name. “Was there a time when you were? Wanting to go?”

You blink up at him through watery eyes. You nod.

“Shit,” he curses. “I didn’t know.”

“I hardly knew.”

“You didn’t—you wouldn’t—?”

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t. But the thought was there.”

“What happened? When was this?” His whisper tears at the edges, like he’s falling apart with you.

The words come with the tears, tumbling out of you, welling up from that dark, deep place you can’t and won’t name. “I didn’t want to be here any more. There was a part of me that just wanted to disappear. To stop being.” You squeeze your eyes shut, and Hoesok’s grip on you tightens. The tears come quicker with the words, like you’re finally letting the thing out that you have been holding back for so long. That you’ve been too afraid to even admit to yourself. It rises like an interruption to the narrative you’ve built around yourself, but you can’t hold it back. Not anymore. The truth feels rattled from its cage. “Quarantine was harder than I thought it would be. The loneliness. It was so much. Nothing like I ever knew before. I just—” You choke on a sob. “I feel so lucky to be here with you all again. Like there’s light again. Like there’s living again.”

At the very beginning, when everything had come screeching to a halt, you had thought you were fine. But the monotony of life, the ensnaring of your life, the locked door, the world shut down beyond your fingertips—it had left you feeling like nothing more than a wild animal trapped in a cage. It wasn’t just a physical feeling. It was in your head. It settled in your very bones.

You’d begun to spiral. That’s when the thoughts set in, green and dark and deadened, like rotting leaves. They covered the floor of your mind, so that there was no escaping them.

“Shit,” Hoesok curses, and when he says your name, it’s with all the ache in the world. “I wish I had known. I wish you felt safe enough to tell me.”

“I think I needed to put myself away from everyone,” you whisper. “It was so hard to tell anyone. I thought… I thought that you all would see me differently if I told you.” You take in a shaky breath. “But I did get help. I went to the doctors. I went to therapy. Wasn’t an easy fix, but it helped a lot.” It had been a week after the thoughts had set in—just a week, though it had felt like ages longer—before you’d gone to Namjoon. He’d helped you, held you, gotten you to the right doctors and the right therapists. He’d taken all of the work out of your hands so that you hadn’t had to worry about a single thing. All you had to do was show up.

And he hadn’t let it change a thing in your relationship. He was still there, a comforting presence, in your life. He asked you what you needed, but he didn’t treat you like something broken. You especially appreciated this when you arrived at the mountain house, because it felt like you could have a new start, a fresh beginning, where you could leave this safely in the past.

But these things, these things don’t leave a body easily. That much is true. Coming back to an apartment with a lock on the door and a quiet world outside didn’t make things any easier. But things had slowly begun to shift. And ever since you had arrived at Namjoon’s mountain house, things felt like they were catalyzing. Like you were changing, for the better. Like instead of dust, light was coming through your cracks.

Hoseok grips your hands, a look of deep seriousness falling over his face.

“I—I don’t want to do it alone anymore,” you say. You sniffle and pull a hand away from him to wipe at your face. “Can I ask you something? Can I ask a promise of you?”

“Anything,” Hoseok says, and he seems like he means it.

“If it happens again, I want to know that you’ll be there. That you’ll be here for me.”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to choke up. “I’m so sorry I ever made you think I couldn’t be there for you, I’m so sorry—”

“Hoseok, I don’t need you to be sorry, I just need to know.”

He nods, wiping at his eyes. “Of course. Of course I’ll be there for you.” He sniffles. “And we can make it easy too. We can have a code word. If you feel it coming on, you can just text me ‘peanut butter.’ And we’ll take care of you. We’ll get you back.”

You nod, the tears beginning to slow.

“I love you, Hobi. I really do.”

“I know.”

He’s so close to you now, his eyes pressing into yours, a deep look of concern on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you, but you press your lips to his.

He tastes like the sea.

He stills with shock, going still beneath your touch. But then his hands come to your face, fingertips dragging through your tears as he cups your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the wetness. He kisses you back, a slowness to your desperation.

A massive confession, a near death experience—the adrenaline floods through you at a breakneck pace. Your body zings with energy, sparking at the tips of your fingers, and it feels like the only way out is through, well, him.

“I need you,” you say, tears spilling from your eyes. You’re not sure why you’re so emotional, and yet you can’t stop it, can’t stop the small hiccups that wrack your body, can’t stop the yearning that fills your chest, desperate, desperate to be satiated.

His eyes are wet too as he meets your lips, hands cupping your face as he squeezes his eyes closed and kisses you.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been needing you,” you admit, sniffing. “God, I must look so gross right now.”

“No, no, absolutely not.” He pulls away just enough to wipe away the beading tears that are gathering at your water line. The touch is so tender your eyes well up once more. “You don’t look gross. You look human. You look alive. And that’s what matters.”

“I feel like a boulder in athletic clothes.”

He laughs at that. “Then let me make you feel different.”

You sniffle. “Yeah.”

Slowly, he rolls the both of you over so you’re on top of him, straddling him.

“You’re a certain kind of lovely,” he says, whispering your name at the end of the sentence. “A kind of lovely that even with tears all over you and a good bit of dirt on your face, doesn’t disappear.” Your fingers come up to your face, where the dirt must be. He grabs your hands. “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your lips. “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses your jawline. ”Don’t worry—“ He bites down on your earlobe and you arch into him. He grunts, as your core presses against his length.

A gasp rattles through you as you realize what’s beneath you. Between your legs.

“You’re so hard.”

“Touch it—if you want.”

You reach between your legs, letting your hand rest against him, squeezing, before running your hand up and down the length of him. There’s something about this all, the over-the-clothes setup, the rawness in your chest that makes this feel like you’re much younger, like you’re doing something like this for the first time. Or maybe it’s just Hoseok.

Hoseok takes the opportunity of your distracted mind to bite down on your earlobe again before sucking it into his mouth ever-so gently. You gasp, and your hand slips from him, coming to his neck, tilting his head. You kiss him furiously, angrily even.

How dare he make you feel like this.

You can feel a dampness growing between your legs, knowing it’ll stain the panties that you—against Jimin’s rules—decided to slip on today. And you’re glad you’re wearing them for once, worried you’ll sink through the layers of clothes you have on and onto Hoseok. Though, when you dripped onto Namjoon, he hardly seemed to mind.

Knees pressed into the dirt, your body feels like it begins to come back to you. It’s slow at first. The regaining of feeling in your fingertips, Hoseok’s skin beneath your touch, and then it’s the discomfort of small rocks pressing into your legs, a discomfort which is quickly overridden by the firm pressure of being held by the earth, of being held by Hoseok.

With your center pressed to him, you begin to grind against him, slowly at first, just unhurried dragging against his cock. He moans into your mouth. But today is anything but slow, meandering, and your pace soon quickens into a desperate grind.

His hands come down to your hips, fingers searching through the layers of clothes for your skin.

“N-need you, Hoseok—“ you gasp, as the tip of his cock presses against your clit. It’s a dull pleasure, one that’s building quickly though.

His hands are pulling at your clothes, and your leggings are being pulled down your legs. Your hands drift from his face to his pants, where you unbutton them. There’s an uncoordinated moment as both of you shimmy and jolt, trying to work your pants down. You both get about halfway–one leg out of your leggings, his pants down to his knees–before his lips are on yours again, his hands on your face, pulling you closer.

Not before you catch a glance of the bulge straining against the very limits of his boxer-briefs.

You sink down on top of him, your panties coming into contact with his cock, his hardened length sliding perfectly against your covered cunt.

His hands meet your hips once more. “Move your hips, like this,” he demonstrates, grinding your hips down upon himself. “Back and forth.”

You laugh. “Hobi, I know how to.”

“But don’t you wanna know how I like it?” He smiles up at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “And then you can show me just how you like it.”

“I like it like…” You’re not entirely sure, trying to think back to the last time you grinded against someone like this, your clothes still on. You think it must have been with Taehyung, in the back of his car, when you were younger, much younger, scrambling your way through college. So you test out several different motions with your hips until you find exactly the one that works for you.

“Like this.”

With the tip of his cock pressing against your clit, it’s not long before a strangled moan makes its way out of your throat. He swallows it up like it’s his own.

There’s a certain kind of power to having Hoseok shuddering beneath you. A kind of thrill. Joy, even.

“F-fuck, Hobi,” you gaps, falling forwards so your lips meet again. As you kiss, his hips begin to buck up against yours. The movement feigns sex, and it feels even more desperate, more depraved than sex itself.

You pull him up so his chest is slotted against yours, your arms wrung around his neck. The both of you are panting in tandem, a breath in with a breath out. You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm nears.

It’s a kind of warm bleed, golden and burning through your body. You cry out as you come, and he’s not long behind you, gasping into your mouth, hands gripping tightly onto your hips as he holds you against his cock.

The comedown is slow. Foreheads tipped together, you stay like that for who knows how long. That’s when you notice: your tears have dried, leaving your body tired through and through, as if you’ve been wrung out like a wet towel.

“You’re special to me,” Hoseok says. “You’re really special. I don’t want you going anywhere.”

You nod.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

And you know you mean it in all the ways that you could say it.

Hoseok helps you to your feet, personally pulling your leggings up for you, a move which is both sweet and a little funny to you. He does this before fixing himself up. You think he can’t be comfortable like that, come in his underwear, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he just swings an arm over your shoulder and kisses your cheek.

“Let’s get you home. I think there’s a conversation to be had between all of us.”

The hike down to the house is longer than you remembered it. As you step out of the forest, you can’t help but look back over your shoulder.

“Why can’t I go outside and it be normal?” you mumble, more to yourself than to anyone else.

“Hm?” Hoseok hums.

“Nothing.”

As you step into the house, one thing is clear to you: Your tango with death seems to have left you with a new vigor. You’re not giving this up. Not unless God wrangles it personally from your hands. You grip onto Hobi’s hand even tighter.

← || series m.list || →

THANK YOU FOR READING! 🔆 if you enjoyed this, please consider telling me what you think by leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! i love chatting with you all! 🔆 want to read more stories?

PERMANENT TAG LIST @spicykoreantatertots @usuallynervoussheep @myimaginationsrunningwild @lucedelsole97 @yoong-i @kookieskiwi @ries-universe @minyoongiboongi @shameless-army @frisianqueen @emmmui @rm4lyf @kelly-luvya @baby-g @madseok @elyte @twobirdsinabox @peonymoonchild @sweetmustardleduc @rkivian @boubourella @sugalaritae @herecomesjoon @hopelesslylivv @parkdatjimin @blairscott

352 notes · View notes