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dreamingofaizawa · 3 years

Text

You Left

Pro Hero! Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

No gendered terms are used for reader.

Warnings: Cheating, angst, a bit of a cliffhanger ending.

Author's Note: Hahaha....I just hurt myself writing this. I may or may not have a part 2 lined up...with a happier ending...and may or may not have two separate happy endings...because I'm weak and can't handle pure angst...

ANYWAY, ENJOY CRYING~

Part 2 here

"Oi, what's wrong?" Vermillion eyes focus solely on you, on your fidgeting fingers in your lap, on your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"I just...I don't know, I feel like I'm not good enough for you. You're so handsome, and strong, and smart...I feel like I don't deserve you." The blonde scoffs, tugs you onto his lap and plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Dumbass. I've got standards. If you're here then you're clearly good enough. You think I'd fall in love with some extra?" His brash wording combined with the light tint of pink in his cheeks makes you smile. Always so articulate. You know he means well, Katsuki's just emotionally constipated. You giggle, wrap your arms around his neck and pepper his face with kisses.

"Of course not, 'Suki. No extras, just me." He mumbles out a 'damn right, brat' as he lifts you by your thighs, unceremoniously tossing you onto the bed.

"Let me show you just how much I love you, yeah?"

How long has it been since you'd gone to bed without the blonde beside you? Maybe six months? Maybe longer? It's all starting to blur together.

You know where he goes, late at night when he texts that he needs to stay late at the agency for 'unfinished paperwork'. Katsuki Bakugo doesn't have unfinished paperwork. He never has anything backlogged, always on top of everything.

He's out in someone else's bed, listening to someone else cry out his name.

You can't sleep. Haven't been able to at night for a long, long time. Without the explosive hero laying next to you, and with the knowledge that he's sleeping next to someone else...sleep has evaded you. Over the months you've noticed your skin lose its pallor, the dark circles beneath your eyes have only deepened, and more often than not your eyes are red and puffy from crying.

You're heartbroken.

You crawl out of bed, silently rummage in the kitchen and start a pot of boiling water. You zone out for a bit, in a haze as you think about your pro-hero boyfriend. But he isn't yours anymore, is he? No, he's just Katsuki Bakugo: Pro Hero Dynamight, liar and cheater.

The high-pitched whistle of the kettle snaps you from your daze. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and pour the hot water into a mug with the tea bag, take it to the dining table and wait for it to steep.

The light from the hallway is the only one on, casting everything in a soft yellow glow. It would feel homely, if this place felt like home anymore. You just feel empty. Like your bed.

The sound of the lock in the front door turning gets your attention. He's home. You don't have to look to know he's got a haughty pep in his walk, a confident stride and puffed out chest from tonight's conquest. All sounds stop when he sees you.

"You're awake." He sounds disappointed. You don't answer him, instead bobbing the tea bag in the cup to get it fully soaked. You can hear him huff, hear him shuffle closer to you until his chest is at your shoulders and his lips brush your cheek. It's robotic. Routine. There's no love behind anything he does anymore.

"You shouldn't be awake. You need your sleep." You stay silent. Whether it's because you're afraid of what you'll say or if you just have nothing to say, you don't know.

"Oi, are you there? You listenin' to me?" Not really.

"I told you I had paperwork to do," liar, "you should've gone to bed without me." You stop, stand, empty the still full mug into the sink because you don't drink this tea. This is the tea he drinks. It's his tea, in his mug, in his house that you can't sleep in anymore. You heave a sigh, turn around and look at him. He seems taken back by what he's looking at. Has he not noticed your slow deterioration?

"Was it good?" His brows furrow, head tilting ever so slightly.

"The sex. Whoever you've been sleeping with these past months must be pretty good for you to keep going back." He rolls his eyes, scoffs.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm not cheating on you, idiot."

"Liar." He blinks. He hates liars, hates being lied to. And now....

"What the fuck did you just call me?" You stare into those beautiful vermillion eyes. How hypocritical.

"I called you a liar. I can smell them on you, all the different people you've fucked late at night. I can smell the perfumes, the soaps."

"They're from my secretary at the agency! Smells don't mean shit!"

"I've seen the messages, Katsuki. Have you forgotten your phone is linked with our laptop?" He stops, eyes blowing just a fraction wider before his shoulders slump in defeat.

"I thought...I thought you loved me, Katsuki." He looks at you like you'd just stabbed him, reaching for you.

"I do, please baby I do I promise..."

"No the fuck you don't, Katsuki. If you loved me you'd be asleep with me, in our bed. Not with some easy fuck to de-stress!" Your voices are raising, both of you swearing and screaming and it comes to a point where you aren't even thinking, just spewing words that have been bottled up. And then it all comes crashing down.

"Well maybe I wouldn't have to go sleeping around if you were good enough for me! It's not my fault you can't do shit right!" Katsuki's heavy breathing cuts through the deadly silence. He blinks, only now registering the fact that you're not yelling back at him.

What he sees breaks his cold, dead heart. The tears don't stop, but you're like a ghost. Silent, still, pale. He can see it now, see how sickly you've become. See the exhaustion in your bones. He can see what he's done to you. Why had he done it?

You can't look at him anymore. You don't bother speaking as you walk out the front door.

The blonde collapses into the dining room chair, in shock.

You left.

Somewhere in his panicked, shocked brain, he worries if you'll ever walk back through that door.

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki mha #bakugo katsuki bnha #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki angst #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo angst #tw cheating #tw infidelity #angst

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

All Over Again → Kim Seokjin

↳ Pairing: Jin/Reader

↳ Word count: 2,203

⁙ Summary: Seokjin has always been in love with you, even if at an early age you had been stricken with memory degradation and memory loss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t your fault. It was the way you were born, the way you had been destined to be. More than forgetful, more than scrambling around your house wondering where you had left your phone charger. It was forgetting things that just happened. It was forgetting about your friends, the things you loved and the things you wanted to do.

Your memory hadn’t always been like this. You had friends, you had a family, you had hobbies, likes and dislikes, favourite foods and favourite books, but over time things began to fall further and further from your brain. Eventually, a number of things you could remember were how to walk, eat, speak, read, and write.

One thing you always knew was that, no matter what, you seemed to make the people around you sad. You never understood why- you hardly knew anyone. People who came to visit you always had frowned when you asked their names and tears welled up in their eyes when you didn’t know the answers to any of their questions. It was so confusing. Why was everyone so… gloomy?

“Seokjin, I know how much you care about her, but… she doesn’t remember you,” your mother commented sadly to the boy standing outside your room with a bouquet of flowers. “She hardly even remembers us now. Her memory is too degraded.”

Seokjin, the boy who had loved you since preschool only smiled warmly in her direction. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I’d like to talk to her anyway if that’s alright.”

“Honey, be my guest, I think she would enjoy some company other than me.”

You turned your head away from your colouring book as the door handle to your room turned and clicked, the door soon opening. The light from the large window cast a bright and nearly blinding light into the nearly completely white room you were in, causing your visitor to squint as he walked in. You watched this new person enter with curiosity, enjoying the blast of colour that followed him in that took the shape of multicoloured flowers.

“Hi there,” he greeted, smiling over at you. “Mind if I sit?”

“Hi,” you say in return, shoving your book and pencil crayons off to one side. “You can sit down if you want. My name’s (Y/N).”

The boy took the padded seat next to your bed, gently placing down the flowers in your lap. “I know.”

“How?” You wonder aloud. “We’ve never met before.”

The boy smiled at you, and you saw something in his eyes that you had somehow seen before, but you couldn’t exactly place where you had. His plump lips were curved upwards in the most… how could you say… calming way, his fingers leaving the bouquet wrappings to the sheets of your bed, running a finger along the fabric. You blushed by only watching his movements.

“I’ve known you for a long time, actually. My name is Seokjin, but you used to call me Jinny. You’ve always been the only one allowed to call me that.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the flowers, smiling at them. “I like these, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I knew you would like them, they’ve always been your favourite,” he said, his fingers moving back to the flowers, taking one of the yellow petals in between his thumb and forefinger.

“What are they?”

“They’re roses, painted in all the colours you like. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,” Jin explains, and you look back at him with a smile.

“I love every colour,” you say proudly, sitting up a bit straighter.

“I know you do.” Jin’s smile faltered slightly. Tilting your head in curiosity, you watched him look down at his wrist, gently pull back his sleeve and look at a watch. The way he delicately did such a simple thing made your heart beat a little faster.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Nothing, don’t worry. Say, what were you drawing?” He asked.

“I was drawing?” You wonder, looking to your left to find you book sitting next to you. “Oh.” You reach out to grab the book, flipping through to see your most recent drawing. “I guess I was drawing this.”

Your eyes widen as you look at the page. You never knew that you drew it, and the person whose face you drew looked familiar. You squinted at the page before holding it upright beside Jin’s face. You looked from him to the drawing, noticing that they looked nearly identical. An oval sculpted face, heart-shaped lips, thin, square eyes, round nose and tousled brown hair.

“Hey, (Y/N), are you okay?” Jin gently grasped the paper and flipped it over when you fully handed it over to him. However, his reaction to seeing what was on the page wasn’t what you expected. Instead of wide, stunned eyes, he just smiled, looking over your face again. “See? You’ve been drawing me. You’ve known me for a long, long time.”

“But how? I don’t remember you.” You say dejectedly. “I-I’m sorry.” For some reason, pain struck your heart. You wanted to remember him, you really did. You felt like there was something there, a feeling like you did really know him, enough to feel the twinge of nervousness and shyness in your chest, to know what it meant despite what was wrong with you. But, no matter how hard you tried, nothing came to your head, and nothing happened.

Jin placed down your book on your bed and raised his hands, noticing that tears were welling up in your eyes. “No, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he cried. “I just want you to know.”

You sniffle. “Know what?”

“I want you to know that I love you,” he stated, leaning forward in his chair to rest his arms on your bed, placing his cheek against the sheets. “I love you so much, even if you forget about me every time I leave the room.”

Did he love you? Did he get the same feelings in his chest as you do as you’re looking at him right now? Does he find himself drawing you? Does he forget about you, too?

“Jinny,” you say, feeling a bit more at ease when you say his name that way, “I.. I, um…”

“Hmm?” He hummed, waiting patiently for the end of your sentence with a smile.

“I love you too,” you agree with very little thought involved. You know what this was, a deep-seated feeling that even you couldn’t forget. It was love. “Please…”

“What is it? Do you want some ice chips?” He sits up, ready to stand, and you only smile and shake your head, grasping his wrist for good measure.

“Please, don’t go… not ever. I don’t want to forget you.” Tears were now spilling over the rims of your eyes. You knew that if he left the room you would have to meet him all over again. You had done it so many times with your mother until her constant presence finally solidified her in your mind, but it seemed like Jin hadn’t made that kind of progress.

“You won’t forget about me,” he told you, reaching up to swipe a thumb at a stray tear. “You draw my face in your books and you remember my nickname even if I only mention it once. Once you love someone, you never really forget them. Alright?”

“Okay,” you agree, leaning into his touch, his hand now cupping your cheek gently. “Will you stay a little longer, though?”

“Of course I can.”

~ 4 hours later ~

You smiled at your newest masterpiece and placed down your charcoal pencil, holding up your sketchbook and admiring your handiwork.

“(Y/N), don’t you think it’s time you eat your dinner?” Your mother asked as she sat against the wall, returning Jin’s shrug as he could finally move from his pose. She gripped your dinner tray in her hands, it slowly growing cold from the passage of time.

“I only just finished,” you whine. “Can I eat after I put the seal on it?”

“(Y/N),” your mother called scoldingly. “Your charcoal won’t smudge if you leave it for a few minutes, now eat up.”

“You should probably listen to your mom, (Y/N),” Jin chimed as he stood up to stretch. “She can get pretty scary.”

You looked over at your mother, who was looking at Jin with a knowing smirk, but, she said nothing.

“But eating my dinner means that visiting hours are over and you have to go home, right?” You ask innocently.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jin replied cautiously.

“Then I’m never going to eat my dinner!” You declare, placing your sketchbook on the small table beside your bed, promptly crossing your arms and pouting in your mother’s direction.

“(Y/N), come on, Jin can visit tomorrow.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

“Alright, fine.” You sigh dejectedly, nodding in the direction of your mother.

Your mother stands, satisfied at your compliance. She placed the tray on your lap as you sadly watched Jin stand.

He looks down at you with his soft smile, “I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

“You promise?”

“Of course, I promise,” he reassures you by nodding and crossing his heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” He begins to turn around, but you grab his wrist. “What is it?”

“One more thing.” You tug on his arm gently, and his smile grows wider as he figures out what you want. Before you know it, he’s bent down in front of you and placed a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you, too, Jinny.”

Jin sighed as he exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. He knew as he walked down the hallway of the hospital that you’ve already forgotten about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be depressed or sad about it.

He pulled out his phone to text his friends that he was coming home, a smile still present on his lips.

GROUP CHAT

NJ: Hey, Jin, visiting hours ended like half an hour ago. Are you coming home?

TH: Yeah, we need you to make dinner.

SJ: You guys really need to learn how to cook for yourselves. Yeah, I’m coming home.

JM: How was the hospital? Did she…?

SJ: No, sadly.

YG: :( We’re sorry

TH: Yeah… we know how much you love her.

NJ: Maybe one day she’ll remember you

SJ: I don’t care about that anymore, I’m not sad about it

JK: Wait, why not? You’re usually so torn up about it once hours are up.

SJ: I don’t know, I just noticed that every time I go to see her, it’s like she’s never seen me, and…

YG: And what?

SJ: And it’s like she falls in love with me all over again, every day. She never gets tired of it, she never gets tired of my face and she never wants me to leave once visitation is over.

TH: Now that’s what I call true love. She’s never freaked out at you?

SJ: No, never. I tell her that she knows me and she’s always a little confused at first but I always see that light in her eyes, I can practically feel the butterflies she gets. I just know that she loves me, even if it’s new to her every time I go in.

NJ: :) that’s the spirit!

YG: I feel like I could write a million songs right now

TH: Me too :D

HS: That’s so beautiful T_T

JK: You should just pop the question every day to see what she says ;)

JM: It’s good that she has someone like you

Seokjin smiled to himself as he locked his phone. He would visit you every day, watch you fall in love all over again until one day he would finally be so embedded in your memory that you had one less thing to forget. So that he would never have to leave you, so visiting hours were never over.

~ The Next Day ~

“Seokjin, back again, are we?” Your mother asked, a smile on her face as she nursed a cup of coffee, leaning on the wall by the door to your room. “Seems like you’re freeing up your schedule.”

“I’m trying to as much as I can, Ms (L/N),” he says cheerfully, gripping a small gift bag. “Is she awake?”

“Yep, and pretty energetic, too.”

“Oh, good. So, I can go in?” He asked, smiling at your mother.

“Of course, go on.”

The door made a small click once again as Jin entered the room, his smile becoming a grin as you looked over at him from your sketchbook.

“Hi there,” he greeted, smiling over at you. “Mind if I sit?”

“Hi,” you say in return, shoving your book and pencil crayons off to one side with a giant smile. “You’re more than welcome to sit down. My name’s (Y/N).”

Seokjin took toward the padded seat next to your bed, gently placing down the gift bag in his lap, deciding to present it to you before he left at the end of visitation. “I know.”

“You do?”

All over again.

#kim seokjin #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #reader insert #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop imagine #bts #bts imagines

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

Intro to Jaime 101 and a Half

Hey everyone! E here hoping you are all good. It's time for a new chapter of Mirror's Edge! Haha been a while huh? I was actually writing a mini arc for welcome to an Underground cuz it felt right you know? Better to get all that put together and squared away. And now that that's done, here we are.

Umm the next thing I write will either be another's Mirror's Edge chapter, the last intro chapter before I get into actual story arcs or maybe some fandom stuff I haven't decided.

Anyway, I hope you are all safe, sound, keeping your loved ones safe too, wear a mask, wash your hands, vaccinate yourself if you can, push to release the vaccines world wide and be careful. Have an amazing week and see you soon with a new chapter and or story! feel free to leave likes, reblog, comments and recommend this to your friends! I appreciate it, enjoy!!

Here’s the chapter over at a03 if you wanted have an easier time reading cuz tumblr hates me!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/80953405

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what’s it all about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

And here’s a link to all my stories

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Summary: Jaime, adoptive sister of Finnrick and fiancée of Casey, is late to work. The Grimoire, magical library and hub of all knowledges is her workplace and she has thrown herself into it completely for whatever reason. Still with Casey lingering on her mind, she can't help but feel torn between her love of books and the love of her life.

-----

As Jaime hurried away from Willow’s Rook and Casey, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed in herself. She told herself under no circumstances she would see her fiancée but one glance towards his office and Jaime was knocking on his door without a second thought. A ten minute conversation later and now she was late to work.

She sighed, glancing downward towards the engagement ring snugly wrapped around her finger.

Jaime’s heart raced beyond her control as her fingers tingled with the warmth Casey’s cheek. She could still feel the pulsing of their hearts beating in time with one another, love and longing palpable in that moment.

“Jaime, why do you do this to yourself?” she murmured sadly “You said don’t see him. You said don’t visit him. You said you could handle this whole break and now we’re late.”

Jaime picked up her pace, power walking in hopes somehow that could shave off the seconds she desperately needed to avoid being reprimanded: The Grimoire may have been a library but it had a strict late policy both on books and personal.

-----

The Grimoire was as elegant as it was ancient: The library was one of the oldest buildings in Newton Haven, constructed when the city was little more than a mile of stacked bricks among swampland. Faded red stone archways and columns did nothing to belittle the power and importance of the Grimoire. Even the mundane folk could feel the magical force that radiated from within, a fantastic world beyond the threshold.

Of course there was a fantastic world hidden inside: The library was one of the major hubs for the magical community and it wasn’t uncommon to see various races searching the many bookshelves for whatever subject tickled their fancy.

The interior was elegant and timeless: The walls and floors were soothing shades of brown with furniture pulled from all eras of human history. Three stories of endless knowledge about countless subjects. Translucent spirits hurried back and forth, humming happily in death as they did in life while they performed their duties to the Grimoire. In the center, amid the hustle and bustle, stood a spiraling staircase that disappeared beyond the ceiling to the Librarian’s office.

There, just past the entrance and to the side, was a security desk with a figure lazily sitting upon it: He was humanoid, muscular and impossibly large, easily seven feet tall. His skin was gray as storm clouds and his eyes shone with an electric blue shade. His hair and beard were frosted white like he dove face first into snow. His uniform consisted of a dark blue buttoned up collared shirt that was one flex from tearing in two and old rugged jeans. His black combat boots were immaculately cleaned as he placed them on the surface of the desk.

He clicked his tongue as he slowly turned the page on the latest romance novel he had been enthralled by.

“Sinclair, you’re late.” He spoke softly but even a whisper couldn’t stop his voice from reverberating throughout the hall.

Passerby’s shot confused glances at one another but no one stopped at Dusty’s declaration

The storm giant sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly “Sinclair, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence and more quizzical glances.

Dusty shook his head, disappointed as he snapped his finger.

The air smelled of fresh rain while a source-less thunder boomed overhead. Nearby, a person, previously invisible, flickered into existence. Their previously camouflaged self changed into a rainbow of colorful hues before bursting into a flurry of sea green sparks and revealing a sheepish Jaime, her hands raised in defeat.

“Sinclair.” Dusty’s voice was dry yet amused.

Jaime clasped her hands together as she made her way over to the storm giant’s desk “Dusty! I...”

“Am late.” he finished for her, a gentle chuckle escaping his throat “Remington again?”

“Whaaaaaa?” Jaime’s face scrunched into a false sense of surprise “No, no. Come on. Me and Casey are….well you see…..it’s frankly none of your business.”

Dusty nodded wisely “True. It is none of my business. Go on before I sic the ghosts on you.”

Jaime gave a quick curtsy before running as quickly as she could. Dusty rolled his eyes before returning to his romance novel he was previously captivated with.

-----

Everyone who worked in the Grimoire had their own personal office tucked away somewhere to ensure privacy for personal studies. Jaime’s office was in the back of the library, hidden behind the alchemy section. It was one of the wider offices, more akin to a school class room. True to her wizard background, it was messy: Piles of folders, books left open and hastily scribbled papers were sprawled about. A fairly sized cauldron sat ontop of her desk, currently not in use. Sticky notes littered randomly across the walls. And like any true wizard, a magical circle was engraved directly into the center of the room for varying purposes.

Despite the appearance of her lair, she was actually one of the more organized of wizards. Even her prodigal brother Finn’s lair wasn’t as well maintained and cataloged as her. Though, to be fair, she did have help most wizards didn’t.

Jaime placed her bag by the door, eyes searching about for her helper.

“Bartholomew! Bartholomew Ringtail, you here?”

A moment past before the sound of rustling papers and scuttling paws could be heard. Jaime reached into her pack and pulled out a bag of popcorn just in time for Bartholomew reach out for the treat.

Bartholomew Ringtail, like his name suggested, was raccoon. Light gray fur, little black mask over his snout and tiny adorable paws. However, unlike most of his kind, wore a small cap upon his head and that made him cuter than the average raccoon.

Well that and the fact he was magical.

While her brother was a master practitioner of powerful protective wizardry, Jaime’s skills lay elsewhere as a conjurer. Her strength came in summoning powerful familiars to further her goals.

Normally a wizard would have to spend time preparing the ritual, collecting the materials related to whatever being they were trying to bring onto this plane. Demons, angels, fey, constructs of strange and alien machinery from beyond human understanding. Anything could be summoned if you had the proper knowledge and power.

Normally such rituals would take hours if not days to perform: Time to gather magical energies, to search the planes of reality for your being of choice and of course drag it kicking and screaming to you. Also summons were temporary as beings not native to the plane could only be sustained by whatever magic brought them. Much like a timer, the magic would slowly fade and once empty any being summoned are forcibly returned from whence they came.

Jaime was much faster and more persuasive in her summoning spell casting. She could do it in a matter of minutes as opposed to days though it still required a massive amount of magical energy, Unlike other wizards, conjurer summons did not decay over time. Whatever they brought into this world stayed in this world unlike magic could no longer maintain their form, usually from being attacked over and over.

Bartholomew was one such creature. In fact Bartholomew was Jaime’s first summon back when she was a fledgling wizard being trained by her brother. She wasn’t hundred percent where exactly he came from but she was grateful for her longtime companion and friend.

Bartholomew popped open the popcorn bag and hurriedly began to stuff handful of the tasty snack into his waiting maw.

Jaime smiled brightly before glancing about room, quietly complementing which project to continue.

A wizard’s magic was as much studying as it was practice.

Finnrick once described the difference between wizards and other casters as using a phonebook. The others were given a phonebook by some higher power. The numbers were already written down and set. However, they could only use those numbers and each different caster had different numbers for different purposes.

Wizards, on the other hand, no such phonebook. They have work hard, study and call each number to understand what the number did. Aside from being tutored by other wizards or spellbooks or other sources of knowledge, the wizard must discovered and write down the numbers on their own, creating their own phone book. Of course that meant wizards weren’t as limited as the other casters and were free to discover a possible infinite amount of spells.

Jaime took a step forward when a voice called out to her.

“Hey sis!”

Jaime whirled around to find the smiling face of her brother Finnrick, fedora in one hand and a friendly wave in the other.

“FINNY!” Jaime cheered, racing forward and wrapping her brother in a tight hug.

Finnrick laughed before returning the gesture “Hey Jai, how you doing?”

“Good” Jaime broke away “Great even! I was just about to practice my spells. I’m still having trouble.”

“Sis.” Finnrick’s voice became firm “It’s visual as much as it is feeling.”

“I know, I know” Jaime shifted uneasily under his gaze “It’s just I usually just bring in heavy hitters, not be one.”

“Any wizard can stick to their strengths. Great wizards are well versed in all forms magic. Spar?”

Jaime gave a crooked smile “Loser buys lunch.”

“And dinner” he cockily added.

Jaime motioned to the circle but Finnrick was already on it. Clasping his hands, Finnrick murmured something too softly for her to hear then pushed his arms outward. A blue dome formed over the two, encasing them in a makeshift arena.

Jaime took her place opposite of her brother “Ready?”

“Sisters first.”

Jaime closed her eyes. She imagined a flame in the palm of her hand. She imagined the heat from the flame. She imagined how it shifted back and forth with a gentle breeze. She saw it clearly in her mind’s eye and then she willed it into reality

“Inferus!” Jaime shouted, her hands glowing with a sea green glow. The flame burst into existence, just as she created. She pulled her arm back and lobbed it with as much force as towards her brother.

Finnrick didn’t budge an inch while flame sailed his way. He rose his hand calmly and with a mighty swing, backhanded and sent the flame skittering across the floor.

Finnrick didn’t waste any time in his counter attack. His finger tips gleamed with blue magical energy and with a flick forward, unleashing a barrage of icicles.

Jaime outstretched her hand forward, sea green glyph forming in the air. A thin matching barrier appeared in front of her in time to catch the first of the icy attack but as the rest collided, cracks began to widen and spread with each successive blow.

“Don’t fight like me Jaime!” Finnrick scolded, sending another wave of icy daggers.

The barrier hadn’t lasted under the second barrage: The moment an icicle collided with her shield, it broke, scattering and fading out of existence.

Jaime, however, was prepared. She ducked and weaved under the attack, pivoting her heels like a graceful dancer while moving her way out of the line of fire.

Jaime twirled about, gathering the magic in her hands before sending outward. Long streams of flames began to swirl about like tendrils reaching for prey as she spun about.

Finnrick gestured at her with a finger gun and clicked his tongue, bringing down his thumb like a hammer of a gun. Jaime’s eyes widened with surprise as she felt some foreign entity began to shift and make her spell uneven. She tried to maintain it but Finnrick’s surge of magic was too much for her. The magic she held exploded, the flames vanishing as the force of the spell breaking sent her sprawling to the floor.

Finnrick was already on the move, arching his arm backwards before throwing forward a bolt of lightning.

Jaime sprung to her feet, leaning as far back as she could to narrowly avoid attack. The lightning bolt struck the dome but before she could react, it bounced and struck her directly from behind.

Luckily it was a training session and only gave a her a light shove forward. Jaime flapped about wildly before she manged to get her balance steady.

“Game, set and match!” Finnrick beamed with a grin.

Jaime rolled her eyes “Big surprise my genius brother won. The dome’s so small I barely had room to move!”

“Exactly!”

Jaime shot her brother suspicious glare.

Finnrick rose his hands “Hey, never let your opponent dictate the field of battle if you can manage it.”

“Yeah, I should’ve seen that coming” Jaime sighed.

Finnrick made his way over and wrapped his sister in a loving one armed hug “Remember sis, real life has no rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jaime nudged Finnrick’s ribs playfully “Whatever you say cheater.”

Finnrick ruffled his sister’s hair playfully “Life lessons are important to share to your siblings. Need help with anything?”

“Oh you better be spending time with me. After that thrashing you gave me, you owe me big.”

Finnrick stood up straight, hand raised in a lax salute.

Jaime responded by poking his stomach.

“Oww, I give I give!” Finnrick chuckled “Why must you resort to violence?”

“Family upbringing I guess.”

The two siblings fell into a peaceful quiet as they began shifting and searching through Jaime’s notes.

“Jaime?”

“Hmm?”

“Question.”

“Answer.”

“Any word on the big move?”

Jaime stopped, her hands hovering over a book.

“No” Jaime murmured weakly “No word yet. They’re still debating I guess.”

“Mhm” Finnrick replied without much else.

Jaime turned to her brother “Finn, I…”

Finnrick rose a hand to stop her “It’s your life. Your choice. If this is what you want, then I will be happy for you.”

“But?” Jaime added in.

Finnrick pursed his lips, running his finger down the spine of a nearby book “I want you to be content as well. I know you…..I mean….you’re still wearing the ring.”

Jaime glance down to her engagement ring. She could still feel Casey’s warmth underneath her fingertips, his heart beating rapidly in time with hers.

“Think about it” Finnrick said with a hint of finality “Life’s too random to live with regrets.”

“So” Jaime cleared her throat, desperate to change the subject “Any news on your angel?”

Silence.

“Finn?”

She found him fidgeting with his fingers, his cheeks blazing a bright red as he averted his gaze.

“Finn! You found her?! And you didn't tell me?!”

Finnrick gave a shy nod, biting his lips nervous.

Jaime lunged at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him in a loving embrace “That’s great bro! When am I meeting her?”

Finnrick turned to her, unsure what she meant “What?”

“When am I meeting her” she repeated.

“Umm….why?”

“To interrogate her of course!”

“Jaime!”

“What? Just cause you like her doesn’t mean I do.”

“Jaime, don’t you dare!”

“Try and stop me!”

Finnrick dove for her but Jaime saw it coming a mile away. She pivoted on her toes, twirling out of the way of Finnrick’s attack. As her brother began to chase her around the office, Jaime quietly enjoyed this moment between siblings.

She was going to miss this when she left Newton Haven behind.

#Mirror's Edge #Original Work #original story #my work

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stay-neurotic · 3 years

Note

Vera 👀

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person!

went a little wild with this and made it a whole thing lmao. hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was to write :)

You saw her from across the room.

Her eyes cut across the crowd like the well-aimed beam of a phaser, finding their mark with deadly precision. Something in her gaze -- the fierce intensity behind those emerald irises -- stole your very breath away. She hovered there for a moment that crackled with electricity and then, those fiery eyes keeping you rooted to the spot, turned toward you and began her unhurried approach, gliding her way through the crowd in way that called to mind a stalking panther securing her prey.

As she grew closer you could make out her features more clearly: silken black hair, arranged in an elegant, twisting avant-garde updo; almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and pointed chin; beautifully toned biceps and calves that peeked out from between the slit of her sleek black dress on each graceful step. The slit opened perhaps a tad wider than necessary for the formality of this event, and her neckline plunged perhaps a bit too deep; but it also revealed the presence of an intriguing scar that cut jaggedly across her chest and disappeared under the fabric, and before she'd even spoken a word to you, you wanted to know more.

Several flirtatious comments, a few drinks, and one relocation to your quarters later, you got the chance.

You'd barely begun to undress her, however, when it became clear something was very wrong. Like a swell of nausea some dreadful sensation washed over you, and quite suddenly your body felt a hundred times its own weight, the effort of movement or speech far too insurmountable to even attempt. Your hands fell from her chest; your head lolled back against the pillow. Vera slipped away.

Before passing out, you watch with eyes heavy-lidded as she casually slips her dress back over her shoulders and sets to work locating what she came for. The lockbox containing the sensitive data rods she seeks proves hardly a challenge at all and she slips them easily into her purse; one last cursory glance brings her verdant eyes back to yours and the last thing you see, as consciousness fades, is the smirk of self-satisfaction that stretches across one corner of her plump, painted lips.

---

You saw her at the bar.

It took you a minute to realize why she felt so familiar, why you thought you recognized those Eastern-European features and that casually graceful yet coolly disinterested demeanor. She was passing the time sitting back and watching, just sipping at her Alvanian brandy and casting silent judgment over the rest of the patrons, and it reminded you fleetingly of -- that's it!

You grab your glass and head her way.

"Don't I know you?" you venture, plopping into the seat beside her. She regards you with a raised eyebrow, wearing an expression as if something mildly unpalatable has just wandered its way onto her plate.

"I'm sorry?"

Her voice is low, and smooth, and rich with the promise of something you can't have -- which only makes you want it more. The sound of it is familiar as the sight of her face and solidifies your hunch; excitedly, you hurry to share.

"We went to the Academy together! Class of '65. You were in my Xenobiology course, always sat way in the back. Whip-smart but super quiet."

Her hand tightens around her glass, but she says nothing.

"Lydia, right? I think that was it. You probably don't remember me, I'm--"

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," she interjects coldly, and then, standing, downs the rest of her brandy and sets the glass down with a thud. She doesn't meet your eyes before turning to leave. "My name is Vera."

---

You didn't see her at all.

The facility was aware of the breach -- everyone was on alert -- but no one had been remotely successful at narrowing down the search. She'd scrambled the sensors, jammed the comms, dodged every patrol; each time it seemed your team had finally tracked and cornered her, she'd simply vanish -- slipping through your fingers like smoke.

At this point it seemed the only wise choice was to secure the perimeter. It was a jungle planet; no craft could land within several kilometers of the compound and so long as your transporter-jamming signal was still operational, she certainly wasn't beaming anywhere. So, it followed, she would escape through the trees.

Your instincts proved correct.

Near the infrequently-patrolled west end of the complex, hidden beside an abandoned building, awaited her steed: a Koraxan salamander with a chest the size of a barrel and scales black as night. You almost hadn't spotted it in the darkness. It, luckily, hadn't spotted you, and you quietly retreat to a safe vantage point -- phaser rifle trained on the shifting shadows of the jungle, sweeping for a target.

You fail to find it before the blade of her throwing knife finds your throat.

---

You saw her at her worst.

She entered your office like most clients do: cautious, mistrusting, resentful at having to be there at all. It's understandable; no one enjoys having to attend mandatory therapy. Less so the brand of clientele you handle. But someone has to do the dirty work of cleaning up the psychological messes Section 31 leaves behind, and for the last twenty years that someone has been you.

She lowered herself into the armchair like it was booby-trapped. She feigned nonchalance, forced her hands to still in her lap, alternated between avoiding your gaze and holding it challengingly.

"I'm fine," she insisted, "really."

But forty minutes later, her eyes are puffy and red, her cheeks tear-stained, her posture crumpled. She speaks between shuttering sobs.

"How do I -- tell him -- how do I admit -- I miss it? Ke-eevan hurt me -- violated me -- why do I want it back so badly?"

She stares at you with eyes imploring, begging for the answer she desperately hopes you can give her.

"What's wrong with me?"

#cw ptsd #cw drugging #cw murder #cw alcohol #vera

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anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya · 4 years

Text

Pride and prejudice - Vasiliy Alexandrovich Podkolzin

AN: There is way too little content for this Russian boy. Enjoy. (:

Word count: 5 023

A day like any other. Boredom, annoying questions by teachers, who think we have actually studied for their classes. The classes, which are according to my humble opinion, completely useless. Don’t let me forget to mention the stupid jokes during breaks and also classes. Hyperactive freaks, who had way too many cokes or cups of coffee for breakfast are dashing around bored students, who are dragging their feet behind them as if they were useless pylons in the narrow halls. Professors, who strode along the hallways give off the feeling of having all the time in the world. You know, the school classic.

I’ve just changed after my PE class and am currently waiting for my classmate Terka. There are two Tereza’s in our class so she’s Terka and I am Tete. But we both turn around when someone calls Terka, anyway.

I am leaning on the wall with my arms crossed, waiting for her to pick up her belongings. When she’s done we leave the locker room. I tap my pocket and realize that, in fact what I am looking for is not there. “Give me a second, I left my phone in there,” I say and jog back in to the locker room.

“Psh,” she sighs with a smile. At first I was the one waiting and now the tables have turned.

I find it in the same spot where I’ve left it. On a bench in the corner of the locker room. I grasp it a little bit more swiftly than I intended to. I shake my head at myself when I almost drop it. The second I exit the locker room I am met with a not so pleasant sight.

Standing right across from Terka is a tall brown-haired imbecile.

He has clearly said something that made her uncomfortable. I figure that out by her defensive posture and desperate glance in my direction. Her action alerts the idiot and his gaze falls upon me.

“Ah, there she is,” he turns towards me with his smirk and accent, which is much more beautiful than he actually deserves. He’s probably the most egoistic and annoying hockey player I know (and I know quite a few). Vasiliy Podkolzin. Never have I minded his existence. Well, until he decided to annoy me with it. I don’t get what is his deal, but not once in his life did he say a nice word about me. Since the beginning of school he’s had some kind of a problem with me, but to this day I have no idea what it is. To hell with that! But he is not going to jibe at my friend.

“Leave her alone,” I furrow my eyebrows at him and slide my phone in the pocket of my jeans. Exactly where it should’ve been before.

He snorts and slides his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants. Wow. Sweatpants in the school. Nice. A hockey player no doubt. I roll my eyes at the choice of his attire. “What exactly have I done?” he raises his eyebrow challengingly and tilts his head.

“I get that you have nothing better to do and are desperately trying to attract some kind of attention,” I start to which he merely raises his eyebrows again. “But leave her,” I gesture towards Terka, “alone.” I cross my arms over my chest. She just keeps switching her look between the two of us. Slight panic growing in her eyes. Poor thing, she is an introvert.

“Or what?” he shrugs and leans on a wall with a smirk I would more than like to wipe of his face with a hard slap.

I roll my eyes again. Seems it is a frequent reaction of mine to his presence. “Because by a conversation with intelligent people you could actually learn something,” I sass him and a smirk finds its way on my lips.

“Lucky me for talking to you then,” his smirk grows even wider and he acts like he’s the absolute winner.

And he is, I have no reply to that. Unless.. “Shouldn’t you be watching the game clips and learning that one does not deke on the blue line?” I smile kindly. I attend the U20 games regularly and unfortunately for him I remember his mistake in the weekend game very well. Which led to the odd man rush and a goal afterwards

I am pretty sure my remark hit a nerve. His smirk falters and he presses his pink lips to a thin line. No one enjoys getting their mistake rubbed in their face. Especially if it’s something you more than care about. “You won,” he rises his hands in surrender.

What? I recoil. I don’t remember this happening before. I look at him dumbfounded, but he just shrugs and seems genuine. I raise my brows and turn towards Terka. She is just as confused as I am. I tip my head in the direction of the classrooms. She nods and heads that direction. I follow her suit. While I am passing him he grabs my wrist and says quietly: “by the way. Nice article.”

I turn to look at him and see the vicious grimace on his face again. I scowl and try to look as disgusted as possible. I free myself from his grip on my wrist and say smugly: “so it actually can read.” How on Earth did he get to that?

His smirk grows even wider, content with my reaction to his comment. “But I am glad you can appreciate my individual puck handling skills marked by Russian school,” he mocks the exact words from my article. I swallow the lump in my throat. How did he know I wrote that? And why the hell could he quote my article!

“Play well or don’t play at all,” I put together a coherent sentence and say it in the most convincing tone I can muster at the moment. “Alexandrovich,” I add with disgust lacing my tone and resist the urge to spit in his face. I bump his shoulder instead. Which I actually fail and hurt myself rather than intimidating him.

“Can’t wait to read another article,” he states from behind me. I just throw him a stern look and flip him off. When we get out of his line of sight I rub my shoulder with a painful grimace and walk eagerly towards my homeroom.

▪

I place my belongings in my homeroom and mumble about using the restroom to Terka. I don’t miss the strange looks sent my way by my classmates, who have probably overheard the bickering with the stupid Russian in the hall. I walk over to the other side of the school, because almost no one uses these bathrooms.

With quick strides I make my way through the almost empty hall with my gaze fixed on the ground. I successfully manage to dodge the little to no students shuffling outside of their homerooms. Just before I reach the staircase I lift my gaze. Mistake. My eyes meet the stupid stare of the narcissist. He looks at me with that cocky smirk of his and continues an undoubtedly life-changing conversation with one of his classmates. I startle and flinch slightly, for not more than a millisecond and then I take off down the stairs.

I burst the bathroom door open and let them close with a loud bang. I lean on a wall and look up at the ceiling, his words playing over and over in my mind. That was a cheap shot. I shake my head and push myself of the wall. I walk in one of the stalls and take out my headphones and phone. I start the music and breathe out with my eyes closed.

That was shitty. I know it wasn’t fair throwing at him his Sunday’s mistake. But I didn’t expect that. How the hell did he know? How did he get to the article? No one was supposed to know it was me writing them. I know he’s noticed me at his games, but there’s no way he could’ve gotten to that. No one knows! Well, at least I thought so.

I emerge from the stall and lean on the sink. I wash my hands and splash my face with water. I take a look at my reflection in the mirror. Is seriously some hockey player full of himself going to throw you off? Absolutely not. I dry myself off and head back to the classroom.

„You okay? “ Terka asks.

„Of course, “I reply and take stuff for my next class out of my bag. „Listen, “I grab her attention after a moment of silence. „Does anyone know about my articles? “I ask with a small voice.

„I don’t think so. Why? “

„Just asking. “

▪

One week later.

Pushing your way through a bus in the morning is pretty interesting. Pushing your way through a bus with crutches and a backpack on your back is pretty funny. Please note the sarcasm, thank you. I almost fell flat on my face while exiting the bus. Keyword: almost.

What happened to me? I’ll answer this question with a different question. What is the probability of one falling on the ice and breaking their leg? Big enough to have a cast on mine.

I wait until most of the people pass and at an agonizingly slow pace I make my way to the school entrance. I have a bit of trouble with opening the sturdy door, but with the help of a couple of passing students I make my way inside. The bigger problem is the staircase leading to the second floor, where my classroom is located. I sigh and reach the first step. With one hand I grab the crutches and with the other I grip the railing. I walk three steps and come to a stop.

God this is torment. Well whatever. I hop to the next step. My small fingers barely get a grip on the crutches and I struggle to keep a hold on them. Just don’t drop them. Just don’t drop them. That’s the last thing I need right now.

„Need a hand with that? “A familiar voice tinted with Russian accent asks above me. I mentally curse and reluctantly look up.

Of course there’s standing Vasiliy. So it really can get worse? I ask myself. I look around. The poor amount of people present would rather get the ground to swallow them than help someone. Yes, it can. I sigh and nod.

He descends the stairs and takes the crutches out of my hands and carefully slides the bag of my shoulders. He dashes up, sets my belongings on the landing and comes back. I place my hand on his shoulder and give my things and then him a skeptical look. He doesn’t seem like he’s up to some dirty shit, but one does never know.

He adjusts my hand so it’s around his neck and wraps his big fingers around my slim wrist. He wraps his other hand around my waist and looks at me with the question written all over his (unfortunately handsome) face.

„If you take me up two steps, then walk away and leave my stuff there,“ I tilt my head in the direction of the landing, „I swear I’ll kick your ass.“ Slowly we start to take up the stairs and I am trying to keep my balance so both of us don’t roll down to the entrance.

He laughs and shakes his head: „I am not that big of an asshole. “

„I wouldn’t be too sure about that, “I point out honestly and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He presses his (for a guy too red) lips in a firm line.

„What even happened to you? “He changes the topic and his grip on my wrist tightens slightly.

„Broken leg, “by a dumb answer I try to avoid the explanation.

„I can see that, “he roll his eyes.

„I fell on the ice, “I answer shortly. „I played hockey, “I add quietly after a while and wait for his witless remark or an insult.

„The shin? “He asks instead of mockery. Surprised I raise my eyebrows, but nod nevertheless.

We reach the upper floor and I lean on a wall by my arm. He jogs down to gather my stuff and hands me the crutches. „Thanks, “I smile weakly. He throws my bag over his shoulder and I look at him confused. „I can possibly manage the couple of meters there. “

„Are you implying that I can’t, “and the smirk is back. I’d rather take that than a kind smile. His friendliness frightens me. I mean, when it’s aimed at me. You get the point.

I roll my eyes, but against my better judgement a small smile finds its way onto my lips. He won’t give me the bag any time soon. Hence I follow him towards, the classroom.

„Where’s your spot? “ He asks when he walks into the classroom. I point at the desk right next to the door and he sets down my backpack on the desk. I don’t miss the weird looks of some of my classmates. The two of us fighting or not talking at all is the general knowledge. To be honest I am just as confused as they are. For the first time in three years we’re not getting at each other’s throat. What a rare moment.

„Bye, “he turns around and walks away.

„Hey Vasya, “he turns around with eyebrows raised in obvious surprise at the nickname. „Спасибо (Spasiba),“ I lift the corner of my lips. He nods and leaves quickly.

„What was that Tete? “One of my classmates asks.

„I have no idea, “I shake my head.

▪

Finally Friday. With my leg propped on a huge couch a game of hockey playing on the TV and a can of beer in my hand. Really an amazing Friday. Would be better without the cast, but I cannot change certain things.

Since I’ve been hobbling with the crutches it is as if I started to exist for the others. It attracts attention and I am not the ghost of our school anymore. People notice me and get out of my way in the halls. I wouldn’t complain if they weren’t looking at me as if I had the plague. But what’s weird is that Vasya is being nice to me. The worst thing is, that I absolutely don’t understand why.

After a while my phone lights up with a new message and I reluctantly reach for it. Right after I take a sip from my beer and criticise the hockey players on the TV for a mistake in the defensive zone. Dumbasses.

Василий(Vasiliy)

>Hi

I furrow my brows surprised, but reply nevertheless.

>Hi?

Василий

>You won’t be writing articles much now huh?

I roll my eyes at the question. Since when do I even have him on snap? Better question. Why do I even have him on snap?

>Eh, well I won’t be going to the games now.. Why are you interested?

Василий

>Aha

>Won’t you lose the readers?

And what is this question supposed to mean now? I frown.

>Vasya what is your point?

Василий

>Come to the game

>Do you even know how many steps are in the arena?

Василий

>I’ll help you

>You are beginning to scare me.

>What is up with you?

>Why am I supposed to go there?

Isn’t he supposed to be happy to get rid of me at least in the arena?

Василий

>I want to talk to you but not on the phone

>Ok?

Although, I have no idea what he wants from me, but the worst case scenario is me going for a walk and punching him in the face tomorrow.

Василий

>Are you coming?

>Yeah.

May I add that in the past three years he has texted me three times, at most? And I am pretty sure I didn’t add him on snapchat. If him helping me with my broken leg in the past week wasn’t weird, then this definitely is. What is going on here? At first he is helping me and now he is texting me to come to his game? If I recall correctly at his latest game he fought with me and tried to embarrass me in front of his teammates. What a douchebag.

▪

When I get to the arena guys are already warming up outside. I sigh and head for the entrance. The moment I get closer they notice me. Vasiliy runs up to me with a surprising smile on his features.

I let my gaze wander over his figure. Muscular tights poking out of dark shorts, a black t-shirt covering a toned chest and abdomen. Can’t miss the – probably – team cap worn backwards. He might be a narcissistic idiot, but he looks good. You have to give him that. When I look him up and down I clear my throat and wait for what he has to say.

“You came,” he says as if I weren’t standing right in front of him.

“Yeah. I said I would,” I shrug.

“Yeah,” he nods and throws his hand in the direction of the entrance. “Um, you can go and take a seat, but won’t you be cold?” he looks at me sceptical.

I am currently wearing black jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt decorated with a huge team logo. “Will you hold this for a second?” I hand him the crutches and he takes them with no hesitation. I lift my brow, but choose to not comment on it. I take the drawstring bag of my shoulders and pull out a dark hoodie. I show it to him with a smirk on my face and he looks at me impressed.

“You are going to be cold anyway if you’re going to sit there for two hours,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. “What do you even want from me?”

“Come inside, I’ll get you something,” he takes the hoodie out of my hands and hands me back the crutches, absolutely ignoring my previous question.

“Vasya stop.” He turns back around. “What is going on? Why am I here?” I ask exasperated.

He takes off his cap, runs his fingers over his hair and puts it back. An incredibly inappropriate comment and thought, but that was hot. “Can we talk after the game?”

“No,” I shake my head. You’re not getting out of this that easily. “We have been fighting since the first grade and you’ve never said a nice thing about me. I break my leg and you are a different person. You’re helping me and inviting me to your game. The least I deserve is an explanation,” I breathe out, desperate for an answer. “By the way, guys are missing you,” I tip my head in the direction of a circle of boys kicking a ball. A couple of them is looking in our direction.

He glances at them with a raised middle finger of his hand and trains his attention at me again. “Since the first moment I met you – three years ago – I have hated you,” he starts with a heavy sight.

“That is one way how to start a story,” I point out sarcastically and roll my eyes.

“Shut up,” he says and quickly continues and doesn’t give me the chance to add anything. “But when I saw you helplessly climbing up the stairs,” after his words I furrow my brows, “It was as if something flipped in me.”

“You mean someone flipped you off,” I correct him with a satisfied smirk.

“This is exactly why I hate you,” he looks at me with his characteristic stern look and I roll my eyes once again.

“Then why are you talking to me?”

He ignores my question – again – and continues. “I knew about you only the things I’d heard from someone and I assumed the rest. Call it prejudice if you want to,” he waves his hand, which is holding my hoodie.

I adjust my crutches and tilt my head to the side. I am listening to him with interest and amazement, that his chicken brain can produce so complicated sentences. “The problem is that the more I learned about you the more my illusion about you crumbled,” I look him up and down again and try to process what he is so determinedly explaining. Prejudice and a spoiled illusion? “I am trying to say that I’ve been an asshole and for absolutely no reason, it wasn’t fair. I am sorry Tete.”

Did he just call me Tete? Not once in my life did he call me that. It was whether Tereza or my last name. I look at him intensely for a second and wonder if he is saying the truth. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“Okay,” I nod. “Apology accepted,” it is only fair to accept it. I’ve done exactly the same what he did.

“You addressed me as Tete. You’ve never done that before,” I point out after a while and he laughs. I swear his cheeks just got red!

“Yeah. And you called me Vasya,” he rubs the nape of his neck. “Almost no one calls me that here in Slovakia. Well, besides them,” he jabs his thumb in the direction of his teammates. That is probably true. Not many people know nicknames of Russian names. When I realize that my cheeks get pink and I train my gaze on his blue sneakers.

“Go out with me,” he throws in as if he wasn’t talking to a person, he just told that he hates them in their eyes.

“What?” my head snaps up and my eyes go wide.

He sighs and waves his hands dramatically. “Tete I like you if you didn’t get it already.”

I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t get out a single sound. I just stare at him dumbfounded. Suddenly I recover and shake my head. “You act like the biggest asshole around and just because you assumed?” I almost yell at him. He flinches and looks unhappy. “Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”

“I am quite aware,” he nods. He is unbelievable! “Look. I get that you are angry, but give me a chance to fix it,” he looks at me hopeful. “Please.”

“Would you hold this please?” I hand him my crutch. He takes it willingly and I – with now a free hand – slap him with as much strength I can muster. My hand stings from the contact. But it was worth it! A strangled laugh comes from his teammates. I look over at the idiots.

“Shut the fuck up,” one smacks the head of the other one.

“Ouch! Are you fucking nuts? Why did you do that?” with every cell in my body I try not to laugh when the two of them start to bicker.

I look back at the Russian in front of me and furrow my brows. I snatch the crutch out of his hand and lean on it. He turns to look at me and rubs his reddening cheek.

“I admit,” he holds his hand to his cheek. “I deserved that.”

“Damn, you did,” I snarl. I turn around and head to the bus stop.

“Tete wait!” he runs up in front of me and tries to stop me with his raised hands.

I snatch the hoodie out of his hands and side-step him. I hear him sigh and out of the corner of my eye I see his defeated posture. I stop and train my attention at the sky. Please don’t make me regret this. I close my eyes and sigh heavily. “Fine,” I turn to look at him. He looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I also hated you only because of prejudice and stereotypes. To be honest you didn’t help it much,” I admit and he nods. “The stupidest out of all of this mess is that I like you too,” I roll my eyes, but can’t help the slight blush on my cheeks.

“Excuse me?” his eyes go wide.

“And what did you think? I don’t believe a guy with your ego hasn’t taken the notice of his looks. If only for a second you didn’t have your head up your ass, you would notice that we have a lot more in common than I am comfortable with.” He opens his mouth to protest, but he immediately closes them. He is probably thinking over my words.

“Apparently the both of us have made a mistake,” I state loudly. “Let’s try to bury the war axe,” I raise my eyebrows and outstretch my right hand.

He looks at my hand and then at me. Eventually he puts his large hand in mine and shakes it.

“So…” he starts and I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Ah, сука(suka),” he says and grabs my small face in his hands. My eyes go wide and my heart starts to pound as if I just ran a mile. “Actually I’ve liked you for a long time,” he whispers. “I refused to admit it myself. It was easier to keep the hatred rather than try to make you mine,” he shakes his head. “The pride made me hate you,” he snorts at his own words.

I place my hand on his wrist and offer him a weak smile trying to slow down my heartrate again. “I think I know what you are talking about.” His proximity and touch is not helping my nervousness at all.

“Dear Lord, how much longer will I be there for?” comes from behind him.

“Kiss her already!” one of his teammates yells at him.

That finally sets him in motion and he presses his lips to mine. Not before he sends the finger his way. I hear clapping, shouting and wolf-whistling. Hockey players. He places his hand – the one used to respond to his teammate in sign language – on my waist and brings me closer. The action makes my crutch fall and it lands on the ground with a loud bang. He pulls back all smiley like a kid in a candy store.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he moves the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Don’t be so full of yourself and go get ready for the game,” I roll my eyes, but with a smile on my face, which I am not trying to hide – this time.

“I’ll score for you,” he smirks with a wink.

“What if you don’t?” I tease and slip my hand down on his strong forearm.

“Are you doubting me?” he raises his eyebrows.

Instead of a verbal response I just shrug with a not interested purse of my lips.

He leans in and whispers to my ear. “Watch and learn.” I get goose bumps from his voice being so close.

He picks up the crutch from the ground and hands it to me with a quick wink. He takes off towards his teammates, all smiles. They greet him with an applause and couple of slaps on the back. I laugh and shake my head. Hockey players.

▪

In reality, he scored just like he had said he would.

A pass in front of the net and a he tipped it in. Right after the goal he looked at me and pointed in my direction. I couldn’t, but laugh at his childish romance.

“A goal scored by number 11. Vasiliy Podkolzin,” echoed in the almost empty arena. Let’s face it. A ridiculously small amount of people attends the junior games.

Vasya took the puck and set it aside. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t his milestone goal or anything. Or was it?

▪

“I told you,” is the first thing he says, the moment he emerges from the locker room.

I roll my eyes at his words.

“Not even a hug?” he looks at me offended with a pout. Like a kid.

I laugh and motion for him to come closer. My leg didn’t heal magically. I lean the crutches on the wall and wrap my arms around him, when he gets closer.

“It’s hard to believe that I hated you just a couple of hours ago,” I state and wrap my hands around his neck. “But now that I think about it. Shut up, don’t say whatever you wanted to say,” I silence him before he has the chance to doubt my ability to think. He just rolls his eyes, but lets me continue nonetheless. “One would expect, that people like us are best friends or something. We have in common quite a lot,” I shrug.

He laughs and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It was mutual,” he shrugs. I want to scold him, but I don’t have the chance because he kisses me. If we hadn’t been fighting we could’ve spent the past three years kissing. Why are people so stupid? “I’ve got you something,” he mumbles against my lips.

“And what is it?” I raise my brows and pull back.

He pulls a puck out of the pocket of his trademark sweatpants and places it in my hand. I look at him expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. I examine the black piece of rubber in my small hand and break into the laughter. I look at him and hug him tightly.

“Are you going to write another article about me?” he couldn’t help himself, but chirp me.

“Shut up you idiot,” I mumble against his chest.

“And we are back to the insults,” he shakes his head. “But I am your idiot from now on,” he presses a kiss to my hair and brings me closer, if that is even possible.

On a white tape stuck around the puck is next to today’s date with a black sharpie written – probably by the coach – in a nasty handwriting “1ST GOAL IN RELATIONSHIP”.

#hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #vancouver canucks imagine #vasiliy podkolzin imagine #vasili podkolzin imagine #vasili podkolzin #vasiliy podkolzin #slovakia #hockey #nhl #vanocuver canucks

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Monster’s Lair - Will-o’-the-Wisps

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 3 | Chapter 4 - Will-o’-the-wisps | Chap 5 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - kidnapping, possessiveness, stalking, angst

Author’s note: I’m back b*tches! And oh, what a delight it was to write this chapter. Enchanted objects in an abandoned old castle? Ugh. Such fun childhood fantastical memories this brought back. I hope you’ll enjoy!

PS. Do you readers find the scenes descriptive enough? I understand that when fantasy comes into play, things can get a little confusing, so...just want to know what you guys and gals think :)

Word count: 2.862

Reading music: Peter Gundry - The White Witch

(Link to my Masterlist)

‘OH I wonder If she’ll want some tea!’ The teacup squealed, tipping excitedly on his saucer, making the porcelain ring.

‘Shhhhh!’ His mother, a teapot, hissed. With her painted eyes she studied the sleeping form on the grand bed, an ocean of blankets and pillows carefully placed around the pale faced girl, scratches evilly scattered about her ivory skin. Oh, what sleeping beauty.

The quiet broke again as the teacup continued; ‘But what if she doesn’t like our..-’

‘SHHHH!’ His mother warned, eyes glaring. ‘Quiet son.’ She tutted.

‘Mppff. I bet you a minute of my time that she wont wake up for another hour!’ The grandfather clock groaned, rolling cog shaped eyes at the excited china.

‘Ha! Which is why she is blinking her eyes, hmm?’ The feather duster chuckled, leaning over the tea cup and tea pot, who were settled on a copper platter on the nightstand. A perfect place to watch the young woman sleep.

‘SHHH Plumette. Everyone. Quiet. NOW!’ The teapot warned, her voice getting a touch too loud, porcelain screeching as she turned to give a glaring look at the chuckling duster called Plumette.

It was then, finally, that two brown eyes slowly cracked open, the sleeping beauty awakening from her slumber. Long lashes fluttered open and closed, like the wings of a butterfly, eyebrows frowning at the tepid light that seeped from the candles, the waxen sticks casting a soft glow over the richly decorated room.

‘Wwh..’ Belle groaned, her whole body thrumming with a dull pain, her hands pushing off unfamiliar blankets. From an unfamiliar bed..showing an..unfamiliar..nightgown..and..she widened her sleep fogged eyes, blinking a few more times before realising she was indeed not at home.

Was she at the Le Comte mansion? She swallowed a low whimper as a painful jolt shot through her leg, her ankle terribly tender from her..

Her…

Wait. The forest. The..the..chase..The..

She looked around, quickly taking in her surroundings. A large room, midnight blue curtains hanging from a heavy oak four-poster bed. Gold-finished candelabras. Yes, it had to be the Le Comtes. Who else would own such luxuries? Such..

Her eyes fell on the platter with teacup and teapot, ready for serving. She couldn’t help but let out an amused huff. Silly as it was, she could indeed use a soothing cup of tea. Both for her nerves, her dry throat and the dull pain that prickled through her body.

With a delicate hand she picked up the teapot and turned it out to pour some tea. But, no matter how far she tipped the pot, no tea would come. Frowning she placed the teapot back on the copper platter, opening the lid to find that indeed no tea was filling its porcelain hull.

‘See mom..she wants tea.’ The cup whispered.

Belle blinked, thinking she had just hallucinated that. A talking teacup? HA! Wouldn’t that be..

*BLINK BLINK*

The painted eyes of the teapot moved, giving a warning glare at the little teacup.

And that is when Belle became truly startled, a silent gasp stuck on her lips as she put down the pot and hastily scrambled to the other side of the bed.

‘Oh..oh my..’ She hiccuped, blinking a few more times. Perhaps she was just dreaming. Yes. She was dreaming. None of this was real. None of this was..

‘Hoo-ha-die-hey. I see time has flown when you were away.’ The grandfather clock chimed, watching Belle with what seemed like two cog-shaped eyes.

A talking clock?

‘A..h...AHHHH..AAAAAAHHH.’ Belle cried in growing horror, eyes darting to find more and more objects springing to life, her feet moving out of bed, but not making it far before she collapsed, her ankle buckling before she could make it even halfway through the room.

WHAT WAS ALL THIS? Talking furniture?! What kind of sick dream was this? Where..where was she? Clambering back to her hands and knees - forgoing another attempt at running - she crawled with hasted speed towards the door.

‘Ohh…’ Plumette pouted, looking at the teapot and her son, the three of them giving each other disconcerted looks. ‘Well..that didn’t go quite as expected.’ She whispered, watching the young woman open the door before quickly crawling out to the hallway.

‘Hmmpfff.’ The clock gruntled. ‘And now what?’

‘Well…’ Mother teapot sighed dramatically. ‘I guess we’ll just have to hope we didn’t startle her too much..especially with dinner cooked and all.’

Half crawling, half walking, Belle wandered through the long halls. It quickly became clear that these halls could hardly belong to the Le Comte estate. It was all too large, too..old. In fact it looked near ancient, dust collecting wherever the eye landed. Huge worn tapestries, portraits of unfamiliar people, huge candelabras, the wax of a hundred candles solidified on their brass arms. It felt..spooky. And, pinching her arm nervously, the slow realisation hit Belle that this might not be a dream at all.

Her neck hair rose at the eerie feeling of being watched, but whenever she looked around there was nothing.

Were there perhaps more of those enchanted objects? What had that been anyways? A speaking cup and teapot? A ..darn..clock?! Plume?! What was happening?!

Gritting her teeth she used a wall to clamber up to full height, her ankle screaming in agony. And with that came another realisation; she couldn’t leave. Not like this. She could not even walk, let alone escape. Because, let’s be honest, it was more than likely that this situation required escaping from. Whining quietly, her sleeping gown covered body shivering in the evening cold, she halted her attempts to walk.

No. She couldn’t leave like this.

She needed clothes. Yes, clothes. Warmth. Okay. She needed to find her dress. That was all. Then at least she wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

Awkwardly wobbling, stumbling and crawling back to the room she had left minutes earlier, she hesitantly opened the door, finding that almost all objects had now moved. The clock stood in the middle of the room, the teacup and pot were having a fierce discussion on the windowsill and a feather duster was swivelling around the room like she was attached to an invisible string.

Noticing Belle had returned, they all halted their activities, turning towards the wide-eyed woman.

‘Eh...ha..h-hello.’ Belle stuttered, keeping the door cracked open just ever so slightly, afraid that the strange objects would lunge at her.

The teapot was first to respond, her porcelain snout curling up in excitement. ‘OH! Hello dear. I am SO PROFOUNDLY SORRY..I mean..we have not had ..guests around here for…’

‘Centuries.’ The clock hummed, agreeing.

‘AYE! But we can make you tea!’ The tiny cup boasted with excitement, his painted little mouth smiling.

‘Oh..eh...no no.’ Belle closed the door again, too confused by what was happening.

Was she going mad?

Taking another few hesitant breaths, the hallway’s cold licking through the thin cotton of her white nightgown, she managed to calm herself again. Whatever the hell was going on here wasn’t her problem. All she needed to do was stick to her plan. Enchanted objects or not. She needed her clothes and shoes. And then she’d leave. Yes.

Carefully opening the door again she looked back inside, all objects watching her with quiet curiosity.

‘I eh..Just need my clothes.’ She cleared her throat, eyes flitting about the room but not finding her blue dress anywhere.

‘OH! Yes of course dear. Clothes.’ The plumeau swiveled closer, the tip of her handle seemingly pointing at a large wardrobe. ‘We have plenty of those! Though your dress has unfortunately not quite survived your travels.’ She sighed. ‘Such shame. I do like that light shade o’ blue!’

‘Oh.’ Belle swallowed as the plumeau moved even closer.

‘Well then dear! Do come in. We won’t bite, promise.’ The plumeau exclaimed with feathery delight. ‘My name’s Plumette by the way. What’s yours?’

Belle slowly opened the door a touch wider, her body leaning into the door frame as she kept a close eye on all the strange, talking objects. ‘Eh..I’m..Belle.’

‘Delightful!’ The wardrobe sang, swishing open her ornate doors, her voice close to that of an opera singer. Belle froze in place, surprised to find that yet another piece of furniture was possessed with life.

‘Come, come. Before you are late for dinner.’ The grandmaster clock said, waddling with surprising ease to the opposing wall, making space for Belle to enter. And so Belle did, heartbeat racing in her chest, and hands reaching for the walls to support her as she awkwardly stumbled into the room.

Dinner?

The room quieted as she entered, all scared that they might startle her again. It was the wardrobe who spoke again after a few loaded seconds, her voice much more quiet, but still sing-song like. ‘Dear, dear. I have for you..a dress of red..or perhaps then..blue?’ Two dresses were pushed out of her fully packed innards, beautiful luxurious fabrics swiveling out along with a little cloud of dust that made Belle cough.

Belle quickly swallowed her cough and nodded, reaching a hesitant hand inside to pick out the blue dress - of course blue - and pulled it from its hanger. It was surprisingly light, the fabric smooth like the most expensive silk, the bodice embellished with small embroidered roses. ‘Tis beautiful.’ Belle whispered, awkwardly stepping back when Plumette swivelled closer again.

‘Oh.. oh... I don’t mean to frighten you dear Belle. But eh..’ She cleared her wooden throat. ‘You may require some..assistance?’

Belle frowned. She had no time for foolish things like stays and petticoats. Looking back at the wardrobe she saw a drawer slide open, presenting fine silk stockings, various stays, ribbons.

‘Oh there’s..no need. I..eh.’

‘We insist!’ The wardrobe exclaimed, using her magical drawer to practically fling a pair of stockings at Belle. Belle caught them and noticed a chair now carefully walking closer.

‘Milady.’ He squeaked, making Belle blush somewhat. ‘Oh eh..eh..okay..thank you.’ She blinked, feeling the edge of the seat pressing into the back of her legs, her hands gripping for the arm rests as she sat down.

And so the objects helped her out, the mood slowly calming and Belle letting out a few surprised chuckles, the animated furniture indeed being quite comely and friendly.

In fact they were so friendly that they managed to convince her to at least stay and eat the dinner they had cooked. A feast, truly, offering her the most succulent of meats, a brothy stew and a glass of fine red wine to wash it all down. Belle couldn’t believe her eyes as the meal was presented to her at the long end of the dark wooden dining table, a napkin magically folding over her lap.

She smiled, unsure of what to say, her stomach growling at the sight of such food. Of meat.

It had been months since she last had a truly proper meal. With the on-going drought food had been scarce and rationing meant little more than watery soup with herbs.

And meat? Oh meat she hadn’t eaten in forever, since it was a type of food that was reserved for the rich and wealthy, which her and her father were most definitely not.

..her father. Oh no!

Her breath caught in her throat at the idea that she was here, wherever that was, and her father was all alone. How could she? She should..she should leave! Getting up and placing the napkin back on the edge of the table she shook her head.

‘I’m..I’m so sorry. I can’t accept your hospitality. I must go!’ She breathed, pushing back the chair and wishing to step away, but sinking back through her sore ankle quite instantaneously. Howling with frustration, tears welling up in her brown eyes, she reached out her hands to clamber back up and try again. ‘I need to go.’ She whimpered, launching herself at a nearby wall but once more not managing to reach before her ankle caved in. By this point the pain was so terrible that she couldn’t help but despair.

She couldn’t leave. Not like this.

Taking a few more shivery breaths as the furniture around her blinked with compassion, Belle sat down on the rug, exhausted tears running down her cheeks.

Now what to do?

‘I need to go home.’ Belle sniffled.

‘Dare I propose something, sweet lady.’ A high footed candle holder hopped off the table, bowing before her and making the little flames on his candles flicker. ‘Lumiere, pleasure to meet you.’ He said in a thick french accent, a ridge just beneath his arms turning up in what was best described as a smile.

‘Hello.’ Belle sniffled, sitting up and taking another shivery breath.

‘Now. Looks like your poor foot could use some rest. And, as it so happens. We HAVE cooked you a fine dinner on our Master’s request. So if you please..’ - ‘Master?’ Belle interrupted, another ripple of unease creeping up her spine.

It was then she started to piece the puzzle together. Large, absolutely huge building, ancient furniture, seemingly abandoned? Was this..was this the monster’s lair?

‘Oh yes! Our Master. He’s somewhat uneasy being around people. BUT! No worries. He is more than glad to have you as his guest.’

‘Guest..hmm..? Where is your Master anyways?’ Belle asked, unsure of what to make of all this.

‘Oh, ha..!’ Lumiere swallowed back an awkward laugh. ‘I fear he is indisposed at this moment.’

‘Indisposed?’

‘Yes-yes.. But not to worry, not to worry! Now!! Let us feast!’ He exclaimed, waving his golden arms with such excitement that the candles at either side went out.

Belle couldn’t help but feel a tickle of mirth in the back of her throat as the poor candle holder awkwardly put his flames back on, both arms bending to the middle to use the still a-lit candle there. ‘Mmppologies. Tcan be a bit exciting.’ He muttered shyly.

That is when Belle let out a soft chuckle. ‘You really have not had many guests here, hmm?’

‘Oui. It is not often that people come to visit our enchanted home!’

‘I see.’ Belle nodded, wiping away the remains of her tears, the despair in her heart quieted for a moment.

Perhaps Lumiere was right. She could at least stay for dinner and give her feet a moment to rest. Because, honestly, like this she wouldn’t even make it to the front door.

And, well, a nice meal made the bargain even easier.

Belle accepted the service of a chair that walked back around her, and with a few sighs and groans she was seated down on its cushions.

Now, here was to hoping that this Master of theirs was indeed friendly enough to let her stay here for the moment being.

For stories of his kind were gruesome indeed.

Not much later, her belly for the first time in months properly filled with a meal so delicious she couldn’t stop licking her fingers, the next offer from the furniture to at least stay the night was easily accepted - she figured that she could lock the door of her guest room and thus give her feet one more good rest before heading back home.

With a yawn and a comfortable sigh, Belle sank back into the luscious pillows and blankets of the four-poster bed, her eyes drooping closed before she could even think of worrying about her father and her whereabouts.

The monster’s lair? Well, so far no monster had shown.

‘Belle...Be-elle...Come hither..come!’ The little light beckoned, luring her further into the dark of the forest, the night sky sparkling with a thousand stars above her head.

Her ankle did not hurt, her skin was unmarred and her heart fluttered with excitement as she eagerly followed the curious little light.

“And doth, Venus cried out: ‘I pray thee, my dear child Cupid, by the motherly bond of love, by the sweet wounds of thy piercing darts, revenge the injury which is done to thy mother, by the false and disobedient beauty of a mortal maiden, and I pray that she may fall in love with the most miserable creature living. The most poor, the most crooked, and the most vile, that there may be none found in all the world of like wretchedness.’ When she had spoken these words, she embraced and kissed her son, sending him off to fulfil her wish.”

Was that..her own voice? She blinked and wandered even closer, finding a light spot in a forest lair, a girl so very much like her sitting there on a log, reading from Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche. Just like she enjoyed doing when summer was abound and the birds flew high in the sky.

Watching from the shadows of the forest thicket, she saw the will-o-the-wisps now spreading out wider, revealing more of the surroundings of her reading spot. The mice and squirrels that were watching with fascination. The birds that had quieted their song. And ..

A dark figure, hiding at the very opposite side of where she was standing, his large physique hidden beneath a long cape, the only thing to be recognised being his face.

That face.

The face she had seen that night of the fire.

Agonised seemed his face as he watched her dreaming.

The door she had locked to keep monsters like him out had not managed to keep him away, his gleaming eyes now watching her from the foot end of the bed. Too curious was the Master for this strange guest in his bed. Too long had it been since he had last lain eyes on such tender flesh.

A woman.

And all he could feel was agony, the memories of a life long past catching up like it had been only yesterday when all had come to pass. When a woman so much alike Belle had lain in that bed.

Oh..how he could still hear her terrified cries, the walls even now still echoing the pain.

Clutching his hands before him he felt a strange wetness run down his cheek. Not rain. Not sweat. But salt-beaded regret.

Chap 5 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @elinesama

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wednesdaybraids @othersideofforty

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #vampire!henry #belle #beauty and the beast au #abandoned castle #kidnapping #enchanted #adult fairytale #dark fairytale #long fic #the monster's lair #will-o'-the-wisps

48 notes · View notes

ghoulciifer · 4 years

Text

submission:

@msbyslut: “cloud here for a hq boy matchup! ☁️ i'm around 5'8, have dark hair and blue greenish eyes. my favorite color is pink! my aesthetic is anything soft and i love sanrio. 🥺 outside of writing as a hobby, i draw and paint! i also love traveling. i look for security but i get bored easily, so i tend to gravitate towards people who are passionate and a bit spontaneous. anyone who i can joke around with and keeps me laughing for hours. oh and happy 100 tum bby! you deserve it all. 💗”

notes: hi honeybun, thank you so much for your support ❥ i’m very grateful to have you and your wonderful brain as a mutual, you’re literally the sweetest person and you sound like an adorable little cinnamon roll. i hope you like your discount atsumu matchup! muah! ❥

why i matched you:

» okay, we all know terushima can come off as a bit of a fuckboy (*coughkiyokoscenecough*) BUT we did see how he acts on the court - this boy is just a big bundle of energy who wants to have fun! i firmly believe he uses that ‘ladies man’ act to hide just how much a dork he is. but, once he realizes you actually want to stick around, you’ll see firsthand just how much of a goofball he really is, and beneath that suave facade is a good guy who wants nothing more than to give his heart to someone who’ll take care of it. and that’s where you come in!

» terushima loves your creativity and how easy it is for you to express yourself through whatever art platform you use. he’ll beg you to let him read your writing, get a sneak peak at your latest sketch, ‘paint him like one of your french girls’, etc. he just wants to support you! he’s a firm believer in self expression and knows it’s a huge confidence booster when someone shows intrugue in whatever he’s doing, so he’s going to do whatever he can to make sure you know he’s genuinely interested in everything you do.

» baby, you’re almost too soft for this boy. he swears if you were any cuter you would be the death of him, but would he want to go any other way? absolutely not. he finds your love of all things pink and cutesy incredibly adorable. so much so that he can’t help but buy things that remind him of you when he comes across them, or even if you show the slightest bit of interest in them. that cute little gudetama pillow you saw online the other day? he’s got it ordered, it’ll be here friday. that set of kuromi and melody socks he saw in a store window at the mall? he swooped in and got ‘em for you. boy will spoil you to no end because he just wants to see your cute lil’ face light up when he gives you those gifts!

» teru is more than willing to drop everything and go anywhere you want, at any time at all. he also shares your wanderlust and eventually wants to see the world, whether it be watching the sun set over the glittering waters of italy’s canals or watching it rise above the mountains of peru, he’s gonna do whatever he can to make sure you’re by his side to share those experiences. because what better way to take in all the world has to offer than to do it with the one you love?

» like i said before, terushima often presents himself as a bit of a womanizer before pursuing any type of relationship, but once he finds someone he can actually see himself giving his time to? you’re stuck with him. boy will NOT leave your side unless you explicitly told him you never wanted to see him again. he’s going to be hesitant at first, but when he finally opens up, he truly bares his heart and gives you full consent to hold it within the palm of your hand. he’ll only get to that point when he knows without a shadow of a doubt he trusts you, and that you trust him. so as far as security goes? terushima’s got you covered.

» and again, teru’s a HUGE dork. like he almost rivals kuroo on this one because he craves entertainment 24/7, and never fails to make those around him giddy with laughter or anticipation of what’ll come out of his mouth next. he’s serious when he needs to be, but when it’s just the two of you alone, he’ll have you constantly gripping your sides in laughter, and you’re certain to get a good ab workout every time because he’s never not doing something that’ll make you giggle to the point of wheezing. sometimes he feels like he’s too much of a silly hooligan but you’re always the first to remind him that’s what you love about him the most. terushima is definitely one to keep you on your toes, so i hope you’re ready for that challenge!

drabble:

“Yuuji, what’s all this?” Your hand slides off the handle on your front door, eyes wide and skimming across your living room to take in the scene before you.

“Sh-Shit! Uh… Surprise?”

You were aware your boyfriend would be home before you, but what you didn’t expect was to walk into a cheesy, teenage romance movie.

Terushima was sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with a throw pillow in his other hand, casually tossing it onto the sofa already smothered in pillows and blankets that weren’t there before. The coffee table was piled high with an array of snacks ranging from your favorite baked goods to a partly opened box of pizza, and a tin bucket filled to the brim with ice and canned drinks sat flush against one of the table’s legs. The entire living area was bathed in a soft glow from fairy lights strung up haphazardly across the walls and the smell of strawberries and cream wafted in the air from the scented candles resting on the end tables beside the couch. It was all so much, and it made your heart melt just thinking about how much time and effort this must’ve taken your lover to set up.

“Baby, I-...” Your eyes finally return to Terushima’s nervous gaze and you instinctively bring a hand to cover your mouth, tears gathering below your lash line. The second he saw the familiar twitch of your furrowing brow he nearly leapt over the coffee table to reach you.

“Hey, heyheyhey, I can clean it all up, I promise I didn’t mean to make such a big mess. And I can take the lights down if you don’t like the-“ Teru panics when he catches your tears slipping down your cheeks, but you’re quick to cut him off with a quick, sweet kiss before he completely loses it. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your nose into the space below his jaw, while his hands find purchase against your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to fully indulge in the sudden affection.

“Yuuji, I love it… how did you-...?” You pull back after a moment, hands rising to his neck and thumbing the curve of his jawline. You lose the sentence halfway through, the surprise finally settling in leaving you at a loss for words.

Your boyfriend smiles, nuzzling your temple with the top of his nose in relief, “You told me earlier how bad work was stressing you out, so I took the rest of the day off and put together a little movie night for you. I wanted you to be able to relax when you got home.” His lips leave a chaste kiss to your cheekbone, “I, uh-... just wasn’t expecting you to get here so soon.”

You giggle at his remark - of course the one day you manage to leave early you walk in on his surprise. But as you take another long look at the dreamy layout around you, you couldn’t help but be glad you got here when you did. You didn’t realize you needed this until it was right here in front of you. Now all that was left was to enjoy it.

“Thank you… It’s perfect.”

Too engrossed in your gift, you don’t seem to catch the loving look Terushima was casting down at you, smile growing wider as his response leaves his lips.

“Yea… it really is.”

matchups are CLOSED! thank you to those who entered or have been keeping up with this event! remember you can check to see updates on matchups + if your matchup has been posted via the #tumplaysmatchmaker tag!

#tumplaysmatchmaker #cloud.matchup #haikyuu matchups #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji #terushima yuuji x reader #terushima matchup #terushima yuuji matchup #terushima fic #terushima yuuji fic #nishiikun’s events #haikyuu matchup #haikyuu

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celecalamity · 3 years

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solo sonia time yeehaw

[tws: none] - SFW

A dark hallway and a lone girl would usually foreshadow trouble--unless, of course, the girl was a princess and the hallway was her own.

The castle of Novoselic that housed Princess Sonia Nevermind usually shined with glory and cheer during the day, but at night it was as grim as any haunted house; the princess wanted it that way. She adored dim lighting and spooky corridors just as much as any ghost hunter on television, maybe even more. Her love for the paranormal was real.

The flame of her candle flickered and cast the shadow of the holder onto the wall. Jitters coursed throughout her entire body. Tonight was the night Sonia would successfully channel a spirit right in her own home. An hour earlier, Sonia had set up her occult materials in the grand library and ensured that not a single (living) soul would interrupt the ritual. No guard was to be patrolling the area, nor any maid rushing to do nightly chores. After all, Sonia could handle herself if need be.

Stepping around the corner into the library, she placed herself in the center of the room where her materials lay. According to the extensive research she had done, she came up with the following plan: she was to surround herself with a medium-large circle made out of Himalayan pink salt (chosen over regular salt due to the pure and beautiful color), place white candles in the north, south, east, and west around the outside of the circle, and envision herself being engulfed in love and protection as she lit the candles and entered the circle. Inside, she would ring a quaint bell that awakened the spirit of a maid who once worked and resided in the Novoselic castle (Sonia found that personal items meant more than any ritualistic tools when channeling the dead).

"Maiden Alina Vinković, am I correct to assume you are here with me?" she called out to the spirit. "I am Sonia Nevermind! I wish to speak with you about your history here in Novoselic. You were a beloved maid, yes?" With no definite sign or response yet, she continued. "If I am to be truthful, then you must know that not many people you once knew are alive anymore." A cold air brushed against her arm. "However," she began to smile, "I discovered an autobiography written by yourself in this here library! I hope you do not mind; I thoroughly enjoyed your writing!"

Oddly comforted by the silence, Sonia's grin grew wider. She felt the maid's presence in her heart.

"I will not rush you into revealing yourself. Take your time, dear Alina."

#sonia nevermind #danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #danganronpa fanfic #sonia nevermind fanfiction #sonia nevermind fanfic #writing #I have no clue what tags to add lmfao

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shortythescreen · 4 years

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Run With The Wolf.

Warning(s): NSFT/18+ under the read more. Werewolf/anthromorphic AMAB Bloodhound. Brief blood mention but nothing talked about in depth. Vague jealousy/possessiveness but more from a wolfy, scented kind of way. Little bit of breeding kink tossed in at the very end.

Pairing(s): Bloodhound/OC (Valarie Morrigan Everly)

Author’s Note(s): Overjoyed to have done this for my boo @mika-aris! It was super fun to write and I’m so glad she enjoyed it. Hope y’all do too! If you’re interested in a commission, my info can be found here.

The disappearances aren’t a concern right away.

Even now that Val is paying them more attention, they’re not super concerning. Bloodhound always lets her know before they leave, whether from their own mouths, or a note, or the mouth of another Legend sent to tell her. She’s not worried about them, knows that they’re a killer just like the rest of the Legend, that they can handle their own. She’s just… Curious.

They’ve been together long enough for her to notice the cycle with which they take their long hunt. At first, she thought it might’ve been a religious thing – but when Bloodhound revealed to her that they are pagan like she is, she knows there’s no holiday that would require them to disappear as rhythmically, as periodically, as regularly as they have.

She’s intrigued but unwilling to invade their privacy. Bloodhound has shared pieces of themselves that no one else knows, has trusted her with information that the outside world will never know. They are fiercely protective of their business, so much so that not even some of the Legends know the things that Val does. She’s grateful for that, never wants to take it for granted.

But damn it, she really wants to know where the hell Hound goes.

She considers broaching the topic one day after a match, in the process of shedding her gear. It falls to the smooth tiled floor beneath her, bloodied and dirty. Her jacket lands in the pile and she lets out a long sigh, rolling her neck back, tired and in desperate need of a shower. “Elskan,” says Bloodhound, startling her. She turns, finding them standing in the doorway. She raises an eyebrow at them, at the fact that they have yet to shed their gear.

“Hi,” she says, waving a hand. Val likes to think even without being able to see their eyes, she can get a feel of the way they’re looking at her and right now they seem…

Riled.

“Who was it that was on your squad today?” They ask, which seems like an odd question. Val purses her lips, placing her hands on her waist.

“Uh, Revenant. And Octavio,” she tells them, and they hum. Silence passes between them and Val stares, unsure of how to proceed from there. Before she can think of much else, Hound strides across the room. Their feet are sure, swift, and when they finally close in on her, their face finds the curve of her throat. She tilts her head away, lips parting in a quiet gasp, only for her brow to furrow in confusion as Bloodhound… breathes?

There is no biting, or licking, or even kissing. Instead, they just take a deep breath that moves the muscles in their back, that Val can hear when they breathe out.

“Their scent,” they grumble, voice dropping to something low, dangerous. Promising. “It muddles yours. Did Octavio touch you?”

Bloodhound’s squad won the day and Val, Revenant, and Octavio came in a respectable but still frowned upon third. She thinks back, raking her mind for her interactions with her teammates, wondering why it is Bloodhound would ask such a thing. They’re not normally so jealous.

“Uh, yeah, once,” she says and Bloodhound outright growls, suddenly pinning her to the lockers that rattle at her back. She gasps, cool metal like heaven against the hot skin revealed by her small top. Bloodhound reaches up with one hand and pulls off their helmet, divesting themselves of their helmet, revealing their full lips, the slope of their nose, their filthy red hair. “Hound, what-”

“I wish to wash you of their scent, elskan.” They murmur out. Their scent? The only thing Val can smell on Octavio is sweat after a match. It’s such an oddity, something so strange, and Bloodhound grabs her by the hips, growling as they raise their eyes.

“I wish to rectify that, if it would please you, elskan.” They say and when their hands slide down to her ass, she gets their meaning.

“Well…” She trails off because she’s definitely not opposed, already feels scorched by wherever their hands touch her. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they do.

---

Following their rendezvous in the locker room, Bloodhound seems… Smug. Which is unusual for them. They normally walk around with a level of humility that seems befitting of someone who is such a reverent servant of the gods. Still, they are more prone to touching Val where the other Legends can see, insistently nestling themselves into her throat, breathing her in.

They sit on her sofa, watching some silly cartoon she can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Their arms are wound firmly around her shoulders, chin resting on top of her head, their red curls hanging around her face. Their fingers are frigid, curled around her shoulders, and one of her hands rests over the one on her right shoulder, trying to warm it with gentle squeezes.

“I will need to leave for a time,” they murmur. Val twists her head, trying to peer up at them, look at their face. They maneuver with her, lips curving upwards in a little smile. “I hope this does not bother you, beloved.”

“Of course not,” she murmurs, “just wish I could go with you.”

They pause at that, staring at her with their eyes, warm and brown and slightly red like those antique pennies that are no longer in circulation. She watches them lick the upper row of their teeth beneath their close lips and they squeeze her shoulders, turning their face into her hair.

“I do too, elskan.”

---

Val is… nothing if not assertive. It’s one of the things that makes her a good addition to any squad, one of the things that helped her survive after her parents were made victims of war. After their conversation, after seeing that look in Bloodhound’s eyes when they told her they wished she could come with them on their hunt, she took it upon herself to join them.

She treks through the forest leading to their cabin, grateful for the markings in the tree that indicate her way. The sun has just begun to set over the horizon, and the picnic basket she carries in her left hand has two wraps, and fruit that she cut back at her apartment and put into an airtight container to keep them fresh before she arrived at Bloodhound’s cabin.

It’s such a welcome sight as she finishes the trek, the little cottage nestled against the peaceful backdrop of the thick trees. In the orange hues of the setting sun, the shadows of the leaves make it look sweet, like something out of a painting, and Val’s lips quirk up at the sight of the well worn wood, the intricate carvings along the front door that become more noticeable as she approaches.

She steps over the wooden patio, reaching up to knock twice with two fingers. She sits back on one leg, looking to the side, hair flying over her shoulder as she enjoys the warmth of the sun rays, enjoys that for once, she might be the one surprising Bloodhound.

In no time at all, the sun disappears beneath the horizon and a chilly breeze whips through the trees. Val closes her eyes, breathing in the fresh air, how crisp it seems out here in Bloodhound’s little corner of the world. Speaking of, Bloodhound’s yet to answer the door. She opens her eyes once more, reaching up to knock once more.

Then, she hears growling.

Her knuckles freeze, mere inches away from the door, and she stares at the wood. Goosepimples rupture along the nape of her neck, her arms, and suddenly the breeze is not pleasant but frigid. She presses her lips together, swallowing thickly, slowly, carefully turning her head, trying not to make any sudden movements.

When she turns out to the world, she sees eyes glowing at her in the dark of the woods between two trees. Her throat bobs, the red glare practically casting light across the darkening forest floor and she suddenly very much hopes that Bloodhound opens the door. They grow closer and she takes an unconscious step back, gasping when her heel bumps into the door. The animal part of her brain trembles in the face of a predator and her fingers unconsciously tighten on the basket in her hands.

They breach the forest line, an anomaly in the middle of the quiet woods. The growl only grows louder as they get closer, as she sees just who it is that is looking at her like they might eat her alive. Bloodhound’s ears have grown long and sharp, pointed, furry at the edges, and their upper lip has peeled back to reveal a row of impossibly sharp canine teeth.

“Holy shit,” breathes Val, eyes round, wide. They stare at each other, suspended in time, Val scanning what she knows is supposed to be Bloodhound. Just… in a way she has never seen them. Their already broad shoulders are somehow even wider, covered with a thick layer of fur, claws sprouting from where their normally short fingers are. They are taller, larger than she ever anticipated being, and before she can ask, maybe try to reason with them, they are upon her.

Like that day in the locker room, their footsteps are sure, forceful, and Val drops her picnic basket. It falls to the side, food rolling out of it, and the beast grabs her trim sides, lifting her up and pinning her back against the door with their hips wedged between hers. They’re not normally so tall and she clings to them, half afraid to let go in fear she’ll hit the ground.

“Bloodhound,” she gasps, realizing with a start that the human parts of their visage are beginning to fade. More hair – fur? – grows across their chest, thighs thickening beneath their cargo pants that are beginning to tear at the seams. “What- What’s happen-”

“Before I fade,” they growl out and their voice is not their own, deep, rough, like they just rolled out of bed and smoked a cigarette or two before speaking. “I need you to tell me if you do not wish for me to touch you.”

Val trembles, staring into their face, and with a jolt she realizes they’re hard. Her cheeks flood with color and she curses something in the tongue of her mother, her hands finding Hound’s broad shoulders, burrowing them into the thick fur sprouting from their shoulders.

Now it makes sense. It wasn’t a holiday that took Hound away, or a ritual that demanded their presence in the forest. Instead, they were following the phases of the moon, its bright, full face staring down at her with a mocking smile.

“I want you to touch me,” she breathes, meeting their eyes, “please, Hound.”

They snarl and that question seemed to hold the last vestiges of their control, her answer the catalyst that decided whether or not they would flee or fight. They bury their nose in her throat and this time there are teeth – clamping into her shoulder, sinking just past the skin and making her yelp at the wave of pain that follows.

Their fingers – claws dig into her thighs and she gasps as they pull them apart. Their hips grind up against hers and she can feel their fat cock through the torn fabric of their pants, begging for entry, wanting to feel her. How often did they hold this back, this animalism? How often had she seen the beginnings of it in a form more human but could not see it for what it was?

Her thoughts evaporate, disappearing as quickly as the sun had behind the horizon as Bloodhound drops to the wooden deck, holding her down. She squirms, making a noise at the uncomfortable position her shoulder blades are in and their giant paw slips beneath the arch of her spine, sliding up to hold her between the shoulder blades and the scrape of their claws along her flesh through her shirt makes her shiver.

“Hound!” She gasps as they curl their claws into the back of her shirt’s neck and tears it right in two. The fabric falls away and her nipples pucker in the chill of the night, bright red, aching to be touched, but with the little noises leaving Hound and the steady hump of their cock between her open legs, she has a feeling they won’t be doing the touching.

Val takes it upon herself, hands shooting up, folding over her nipples. She pinches them between her thumbs and forefingers, rolling tightly and moaning, pussy clenching in interest. The snarl that Hound lets out makes her freeze, used to a warning following such a sound, or a punishment.

They do neither thing, instead sitting back on their haunches and when she cranes her neck to look, she gets a glimpse of their cock. Her eyes widen at how ruddy red it is, even more impressive than its normal size. She thinks she couldn’t fit both of her hands around it if she wanted to and she trembles at the thought of something so massive stretching her cunt.

“Hound, y-y-you’re big,” she breathes as Hound shreds her pants. She winces as their claws open thin, red lines along her pale legs, bloodied scratches that will heal later but might leave marks. She wonders how much of it was on purpose. “Bigger than normal. I think we need to- or we should… we need to get lube.”

Bloodhound pauses, cocking their head and she bites the edge of her lower lip, watching them from her place on the porch. She wonders how much of them is listening, how much of this beast before her is a different entity. Eyes the color of blood seem locked on her body and she wonders if she’ll be taking their cock dry. Instead, their huge hands find her hips and lift her hips right off the porch, up, until her hands are slamming onto the deck to try and balance herself.

She can’t even get their name out, any question dying on her lips the second their tongue – broader? Is it broader than normal? Fuck – slides from between their teeth to drool onto her exposed cunt. Her chin tucks against her chest, mouth dropping, and god her back is going to be killing her tomorrow but she doesn’t care. Not when their broad tongue is fucking into her hole, spit falling off of their sharp teeth to coat her swollen labia.

“Hound, Hound, Bloodhound!” She cries, entirely immobilized by their iron tight grip on her hips. Her legs flail, kicking out onto for her heels to land on their back, pressing as tightly against the blades of their shoulders as she can manage. Her thighs shake around their head, their thick tongue pushing up against her clit and not stopping, the tip flickering over it at a speed that makes her head spin, her gut tighten. With a gasp and a cry, her hips buck hard into their mouth, grinding against their lips as she cums hard.

She pants, chest heaving, trying to regain her breath. Before she can, Hound lowers her hips to their belly before flipping her onto her stomach. She lands on the deck with a grunt, hands flat underneath her, breasts pressed up against the porch. Her cunt is hot and cold all at once, still coming down from the aftershocks of such a quickly given, intense orgasm, but assaulted by the light air.

Bloodhound pulls her up by her hips, opening her wet, glistening cunt and she shudders. That huge, leaking red cock prods at the entrance of her cunt. Val’s fingers clench into fists and her breathing picks up even more, mouth open like a fish to gulp in air. Midway through another choked off noise, Bloodhound’s cock breaches her tight, wet cunt, and she groans midway through, eyes rolling back.

Their cock is huge, bigger than it’s ever been, and fuck, she almost swears it’s gotten bigger too. Her eyes squeeze shut, fighting off the burn that could be painful or pleasant. Her pussy has never been stretched so wide, has never had to accommodate such girth, and it makes her feel so dirty and hot that she swears her pussy clenches.

The groan that Bloodhound lets up is indication it very well might have. Their claws are digging into the pillowy flesh of her ass and there’s no preamble once they’re seated inside of her, hips flush against her ass. Instead, they start fucking her in earnest, and Val whines at the drag of her nipples against the deck.

“Oh fuck, fuck!” She yelps, pushing herself up on her hands, letting her tits swing instead of being dragged across the deck. It’s hard to keep herself upright, elbows weak, but she tries her damnedest, letting them fuck into her abused cunt until she can hear the sloppy, wet noises it makes every time they disappear back inside of her.

“Do you want to know why I wanted you to come with me on this journey, Valarie?” The monster asks in Bloodhound’s accent and her tongue lolls stupidly out of her mouth as they piston their hips downwards. Every thrust hits the spot inside of her that makes her thighs clench, makes her want to beg. She hadn’t even thought Hound could talk following their comment about fading but she’s proved wrong when their claws hand smooths up the length of their back, watching the muscle bunch and tremble under their touch.

“I wanted you to come here,” they say, pausing as her juicy pussy quivers, around them, around the harsh way they fuck her. “I wanted you to come here because I wanted to breed you, elskan. Wanted to knot you, fuck you full of pups.”

Val whines out and Bloodhound’s paw on her back sneaks around to her belly, pressing against the bulge of their fat dick inside of her, poking against the inside of her thin tummy. They press down and they both groan, Val useless as they drag her up, against their too large chest.

“Is that what you want, mate?” They snarl into her ear and she realizes with a little moan that they’ve started fucking her along their dick, using her as a glorified toy. She throws her head back, arching up when the hand on her tummy drifts, circling the hard nub of her clit. “Do you want me to fill you up with my cum?”

“Gods, yes!” Val cries out and they press down on her clit, hard. Her jaw drops, whole body seizing as she cums a second time. Normally, the second is always softer, gentler, a nice feeling watching over her. This one is almost painful, clit tightening and cunt tensing hard around their massive cock. Bloodhound snarls, continues to fuck her along it then with a final drop, she feels something stretch past the drenched lips of her cunt with a satisfying pop.

Val screams, cunt twitching, accommodating. Bloodhound’s snarl is all the confirmation she needs – knot, that’s their knot, they knotted me – along with the warm spread of their cum inside of her. Her nostrils flare and her body slumps back into their chest, amazed that somehow their cock is still going. Still twitching, and cumming, and filling her cunt.

“So,” she breathlessly whispers, “you’re a werewolf?”

“Yes,” they murmur, nuzzling their nose against her hair, one hand finding her throat. Val realizes they’re trying to clean her throat. “I come here to be one with nature, allow the beast its fill of slatra beneath the gaze of the moon.”

“You tap into the animal instinct?” She asks, smirking, lips still parted to heave in air. Bloodhound snorts, reaching around, placing a hand over her lower belly and filling the soft bulge of their cum. Val squirms and they purr, the noise reverberating through their whole body as their nose finds the spot they’d bitten.

“I suppose that is a way to address this, yes… I hope I did not frighten you.”

“Oh, Hound,” Val says with a little laugh, placing her hand over their bigger once, hands closing around the spaces between their fingers. “If that was you scaring me, I want you to scare me again. And again.”

#bloodhound x oc #bloodhound/oc #apex legends bloodhound #apex bloodhound #apex legends #apex lemons #apex legends imagines #nsft #lemon #shorty writes #tw blood mention #ask to tag #shorty commissions

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letterstothemidnightsociety · 4 years

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It’s crossroads and psychics and shipping, OH MY! Join me as I continue one millennial’s journey to discover why a show about beefcakes and demons managed to last on network television for over a decade. It’s Supernatural!

So now that we’re in the thick of it, there are two moves that the writing team of Supernatural pulled that make a season 2 work, or, more specifically, work for me. The first is that rather than Level Up their heroes, they allow our heroes to lose, and I discussed that in my last post. Now we don’t know what’s gonna happen - they didn’t defeat the bad guy, their ace up their sleeve (John) is dead, and they don’t even have wheels to roll around anymore.

Equally important, the second thing they do at the top of season 2 is World Build. I’ve read this article from Emily VanDerWerff at Vox like, 8 times so I’m just gonna go ahead and quote her directly:

Season two of a great drama usually finds a way to explain why the show isn’t just a story about the protagonist but a story about a whole cast and a whole world. With the premise having been thoroughly explored in season one, the show, by necessity, has to start looking for other ways to tell stories. This usually means turning to the other characters within the ensemble... but it can sometimes mean pivoting to explore a new corner of the show’s setting ...or diving further into core themes...

Side note: I know few TV critics by name but I find Emily VanDerWerff’s tv and media analysis to be particularly insightful and brilliant and if she ever reads anything I write about TV, I just want her to know it. Definitely go read/listen to some of her stuff at Vox.

So let’s break that down, shall we? The job of season one on a television drama (which SPN undoubtedly is), is to set up the show as a story about a hero(es) (which SPN season 1 undoubtedly does). We know the Winchester Brothers. We know their wants, we know their obstacles, we know their pressure points and triggers, they’re standard MO’s. We’ve seen them move as a cohesive unit against a big antagonist and with the start of season 2, we get to see how they handle failure at the hands of that antagonist.

But now season 2 has a bigger job: “explain why the show isn’t just a story about the protagonist but a story about a whole cast and a whole world.” As fun as it’s been riding with Sam and Dean across the country, that Impala does start to feel a little claustrophobic. We’re so focused on just these two characters that it’s hard to believe there’s a great wide world out there. Now, I call it claustrophobic now, but the chemistry between our two leads was definitely enough to carry the show without 3rd or 4th or 5th wheels through that first season and possibly future seasons. I was certainly happy to stick with just Sam and Dean for another 13 seasons when I watched this show for the first time back in 2008/2009. But after many years and many more TV shows, I understand that that model can’t be sustainable for the long haul. And that’s the goal, isn’t it? To get to a season five (and the sweet, sweet payday that is syndication) or farther. If your only regulars in series are two brothers and a car, that’s gonna get a little stale, at least for a broad audience anyway. And frankly, watching season 2 now and knowing what I know about the rest of the series, I’m excited to see new Found Family members show. If there’s one running theme throughout all 15 seasons it’s that Sam’s and Dean’s lives are deeply, tragically lonely.

So the writing team opens up a whole wide hunting world for our brothers to reside in - first with Bobby (AKA Poppa Hunter), then with The Roadhouse. But Bobby plus The Roadhouse crew don’t just expand on the SPN Scooby Gang. They show us, the audience, that Sam and Dean aren’t actually two lone guns out in the wilderness. Sure, season one gives us Missouri Mosely and then the deaths of Caleb and Pastor Jim, but these characters seem few and far between, unconnected to each other except by chance meetings with John Winchester. Introducing the new characters in season 2 shows us that there’s a network, a community out there, one that works together to stem the tide of evil from overtaking the Normals and their Apple Pie Lives.

Quick side note: Can we talk about how this, specifically, was a real disservice John did to his children? In “Everybody Loves a Clown”, Ellen tells Dean that she knew John was closing in on the demon and Dean responds “What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?”, and that’s probably a throwaway line for the joke, but it inadvertently signals that John really kept his sons isolated from having any kind of life at all. Sure, nobody wants the life of a hunter, but what if you had, oh, a community of hunters who took care of each others’ children and called people out on their bullshit abusive behaviors and watched each others’ backs so that there were fewer casualties and also were there so you could talk about all those things that Sam and Dean have spent their entire lives keeping secret from everyone? Ellen says John was like family once, and, like, whut? Why doesn’t Sam or Dean know who any of these people are? Why isn’t there a team trying to take down this yellow eyed demon? Why is it that Sam and Dean have, like, no support system other than their father?? I mean there probably IS a Demon Hunters Quarterly and John should have gotten his boys a subscription!

Of course, the Wider Hunting World isn’t all good guys like Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Ash. There’s also Gordon and Dean’s new Father Substitute, who’s a straight up psychopath, but they can’t all be winners, can they? That episode, as mentioned in my last post, also opens up the world of Team Monster - they’re not just mindless Evil devouring innocent victims. There’s also people out there with hearts and souls and consciousness’ who happen to have monster-like physical attributes, making the Winchesters’ mission that much more complex and fraught with drama and the potential for more storytelling opportunities.

And, in “Simon Said”, we start to see more of the Special Children, which is a fandom term that I do not like. Special Children? Special Children?? THAT’S what you went with?!? Anyway, we get the second instance of 20 year olds touched by the yellow-eyed-demon. There’s new abilities, stronger psychics, and just generally more to these children than Sam and Dean even knew existed. And I actually really love Andy a lot and really enjoyed this episode a lot. Andy is just an instantly likable character and I feel like, with his skill set, he could have been a real asset to the team. I mean, the guys get arrested by the feds at least once a season. But apparently Kripke decided, like, two episodes into the Special Children plot that he hated it and *spoiler alert* kills them all by the end of this season.

Just looking at the three other episodes on the same disc as “Simon Said” (yes, I am still watching the DVDs) I’d say “Crossroad Blues” is another expansion episode. Though it was hinted at in the first episode, the Crossroad Deal is now A Thing, and one that’s gonna come back to bite us later. So our lore is getting bigger, deeper, more involved in the plot. “The Usual Suspects” doesn’t do a whole lot of expanding the world, but that one feels more like filler/light fare to balance out the drama from the first 6 episodes anyway. I’ll add that even though it doesn’t have a lot to offer, “The Usual Suspects” is an A+ episode that does a great job of remixing the formula.

But back to our World Building - At the end of “Simon Said,” you get another taste of what this life should be for Sam and Dean. When Dean starts to pull the same secretive crap his father did, Ellen cuts back “This isn't just your war, this is war. Now, something big and bad's coming and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards. Now, at best all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here.” REALLY, John, you could have gone about your whole life of vengeance in a way that didn’t royally screw up your children and yet…

But Ellen’s complaint sums it up nicely - this show isn’t just about the Winchesters anymore, it’s not their war, it’s a whole world’s war, a world that the show now has the opportunity to explore and expand to their hearts’ content.

And here’s where things get sticky.

Like I said, the first go around, I was happy with only two protagonists and now that I worry about characters’ feelings, I’m really glad that the show tried to expand the Winchesters’ social circle for you know, mental and emotional and spiritual wholeness. And all the new characters that got introduced at the beginning of season two are generally well-liked characters...now.

I mean, nobody didn’t like Bobby Singer, right? The boys lose one father figure and he is replaced by another - better, stronger, more paternal than the one before. He’s the perfect blend of back country tough love and big ol’ softie and everybody loves Bobby, right?

I don’t think anyone hated Ash either, although, you know, he’s kind of barely there. I gotta say, I do appreciate the amount of mullets that show up in the show. I mean, that’s commitment to a bit right there. Ash is their Guy in the Chair and he’s ridiculous and I am not ashamed to admit that I kind of love him.

Then there’s Ellen. Ellen “Definitely Didn’t Sleep With John That One Time” Harvelle. And she is GREAT. She comes right out of the gate with that Big Mom Energy. Ellen is your mom, if your mom could also drink you under the table and still shoot you between the eyes without spilling her glass. A+ job on this character, would recommend, would watch again. Why she disappears for so long, I’ll never know, but it’s probably some kind of bullshit reason that has to do with misogyny and “bad” attitudes and unequal pay.

Honestly, in a sea of testosterone, there emerged a much needed island of femininity, and that island was The Roadhouse. But The Roadhouse also brings us Jo.

Oof. You guys. Now listen, I’m gonna say a thing and that thing might be controversial but here goes: there is nothing wrong with Jo. I’ll say it louder so that Me back in 2008 can hear: THERE. IS. NOTHING. WRONG. WITH. JO.

I’ve done a little digging and it seems the “official” complaint for Jo is that she comes off too naive, too innocent. I...do not agree. At least one site I read through says fans called her “immature”, but watching it this time around, she’s light and bubbly, sure, but she seems very much aware of the world she lives in. If anything, it’s the people around her who treat her like a child, it’s not the character herself who comes off that way. This watch, I see a character who is confident and pretty damn capable. I think “No Exit” shows a character who is maybe more fully realized than I gave her credit for the first go around - she’s tough, she knows how to handle herself in a fight, and she’s quick on her feet. But she’s also a human person, capable of making mistakes and getting in over her head and we see her deal with that once she’s captured by Holmes. She holds her own in both Sass and Skill against Dean and I think, at the very least, she could have made a good addition to the team on a regular basis. She makes a nice foil for both brothers - Sam, who never wanted this life, and Dean, who is already struggling to remember why he does what he does. Given time, I think her character could have settled into something that really stood out in the show. But that’s the problem with new characters who are written to be green - they need time to grow. Supernatural never gave her that time.

I think the REAL problem is that Jo is very obviously introduced to be a love interest for Dean and yeah, that feels pretty shoe-horned in there. But I think we have to hand it to Alona Tal - she really is doing the best she can with the material she’s given, considering that the writing team seems to have done very little work on fleshing that character out up front. It’s like the writers were shocked that they had to write? A person? And not? A sex appeal????? And that feels very on-brand for CW.

Do I ship Jo and Dean? I don’t know. My OTP at 19 was Dean + Me, so I’m real thankful I had no interest in writing fic at the time and there’s no incriminating author-insert work out there. But if asked me to chose an OTP for this entire series now, I’d say I ship Dean and Happiness and I feel like these two could have been happy.

But fans hated Jo, so much so that the writers completely abandoned the love interest subplot and all but wrote her out of the show for good. She was not well liked in 2006 when this season aired and according to several fan sites I looked through, attitudes towards her didn’t warm up until she comes back in season five, basically just to die. Sure, she sacrifices her own life to save Sam and Dean, but she literally comes back to be cannon fodder and that’s what changes peoples’ attitudes towards her. Listen, I’m not saying there isn’t some weird gross misogyny to talk about down the line, but I think we have to acknowledge that this fandom is also guilty of some real girl-on-girl crime.

Now I was curious - what was it exactly that so many fans hated? Why was the backlash against this character particularly passionate? And boy guys, did I find an answer.

I knew this was coming. I knew I couldn’t avoid it. And I’m not happy about it. But I said I was gonna dive into this show and you can’t dive into SPN without acknowledging the darker spots of the show and one of those spots is: Wincest.

I just. Hoo boy. Listen, I am a Ship and Let Ship person. My kink is not your kink, your kink is not my kink, and we can all still get along. At least I hope we can all still get along, cuz fandom is occasionally terrifying and I don’t want anyone coming after me. But also, I did not realize...that they were so...prevalent? Like, seriously. I am very glad that I never actually used LiveJournal as I intended to use LiveJournal because 19-year-old me was not READY for that kind of Fandom.

And hey I...understand why this happened? Sort of? Like, for all of season one, this show is only about two VERY attractive men folk who have VERY good chemistry with each other. And I will admit, in the spirit of honesty, that I too disliked Jo because I felt that introducing a girlfriend character would destroy the brother-character dynamic that was the heart and soul of the show. And I don’t want to dig too deeply into that sense memory because I don’t know that I like where it leads.

But where this becomes a real problem is the implication that Jo was written out of the show because it interfered with the Wincest community? The idea that the Wincesters had that much power is chilling. Chilling. I mean, it’s one thing for a creator to take their fans into consideration when creating, it’s another thing entirely when the fandom makes a major plot point disappear. I mean, I don’t know what Alona Tal’s contract for season 2 was, but I do know that contracting for actors on a television series is affected by how many episodes they appear in. The number of episodes you’re in is also tied to things like pay rates (like those mandated by SAG) and where your name goes in the credits (top billing vs. end credits) Are you a guest star or a recurring character? Are you recurring or a series regular? Now, as a new character, it’s probable that Alona Tal was considered a guest star/recurring role and contract was per episode and not by the season - after all, that’s how the majority of the cast of The Office worked for all of season 1 and most of season 2. Angela, Oscar, Kevin, Meredith, Creed, Stanley, Phylis - they were all recurring characters, only contracted for each episode as it was being produced and they were in way more episode than Tal had in SPN. In fact, it was not until half way through season 2 (episode 11, “Booze Cruise”) that they were promoted to series regulars and received season-long contracts. But as the love interest for their lead, she was probably hired with the promise of getting promoted to series regular at some point in the future. Now imagine being Alona Tal, and finding out three episodes in that you’re not getting that season-long contract and you’re probably not coming back for season 3 because the fanbase is more into Brother-Lovin’ than your character. I mean. Guys.

Now can we really say that the Wincesters derailed a woman’s career? I don’t want to believe it, so I’m gonna say no. I am sure there was a lot of testing the character in key demographics and screenings with diverse audiences and graphs and charts and it wasn’t just that the producers of the show were endlessly scrolling through message boards on LiveJournal to see what kinks the fandom was into. I’m sure that was not the case because that is not the world I want to live in. But also, it definitely seems to have played a part. A REAL part.

So let’s move back to television structure instead - why is this world building important? The key lies in a lot of the “prestige” shows that stream today. A lot of them have really strong first seasons, but a sophomore slump in their second seasons. Emily VanDerWerff calls out Stranger Things specifically, which had a tight, streamlined story that wrapped up so nicely at the end of season 1 that season 2 was left to flounder, trying to find its feet and its new story to tell. And they're not the only ones - this is a trend we see in a lot of premise driven shows.

How did we get here?The trend in shorter seasons has been really appealing to a lot of writers and directors who would typically work for feature length films. That means that a lot of the best shows are being written more like long-form movies than television series. The first season is a complete storyline from beginning to end with little deviation from the Main Quest. There’s less wandering like you’d see in a 22 episode season. Less of those filler/self-contained episodes where the writers get to explore new concepts and character work. This leaves less to detract from the single stream-lined story, but it also leaves little for the writers to explore once the season is done. When you wrap up all the loose ends by your season finale, you’re stuck wondering what’s left of the story to tell in future seasons? By not wrapping up the loose ends in “Devil’s Trap”, and by using these first 8 episodes to expand on more lore, allies, and world to inhabit, SPN is able to make space to create more story for years to come.

NOW - can they keep that up for the next 14 seasons or will it get boring? Will we end up with comically overpowered heroes and villains that result in lower stakes? I mean, all of the characters die at LEAST once and come back, so how can SPN sustain the audiences’ concern for the characters when we’re never that worried for them? How much of the world is there left unexplored as you get farther into the series? How are they going to keep plots and arcs and characters new and fresh and exciting when we’re so familiar with everyone and everything? So many questions and so many episodes left to answer them!

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theweasleysredhair · 6 years

Text

We’re Soulmates? {Soulmate AU} {Pt.4} [S.B.]

Character: Sirius Black

Word Count: 2066

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: On a random day of a random year, you will switch bodies with your soulmate, and you won’t switch back until you meet again. In which Sirius Black wakes up to find himself in a female’s body, and absolutely freaks out.

Other Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Disclaimer: Gif isn’t mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: This is the final part of “We’re Soulmates?” It’s taken me a while, and I’m so thankful to everyone who’s waited for the finale. I hope you love reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! x

+ + + + +

Something you had grown to love about being Sirius was his clothes, especially his sweatshirts. They were warm, comfy and smelt like him - no matter how much you tried to convince yourself this wasn't a reason you liked wearing them so much.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you were, slowly but surely, beginning to feel something towards the black haired boy, not that you'd tell him yet. You wouldn't be able to handle the smugness that would come with him being proven right - he was already extremely egotistical, you wouldn't survive him knowing you liked him.

It was weird, what with him being in your body and everything, but every cheeky comment and cocky smirk made your heart skip a beat.

Okay so you were definitely falling for Sirius Black.

It was an odd thing, falling in love with someone who was in your body, but you guessed if anyone could make you do it, it would be the charming dark haired Gryffindor himself.

You refused to admit it out loud. That would make it real, and that made your stomach do somersaults, but from nerves or butterflies you weren't sure.

So you loved him in secret, suddenly noticing small things that you didn't before, but now were all you could think of.

Like the aforementioned sweatshirts, or the way his hair was always perfect (no matter how you'd slept on it the night before), or his bone structure - Merlin his bone structure was something created from a Greek god. Must've been, because cheekbones that pronounced, and a jawline that sharp, could not have been down to just lucky genes.

Your feelings bothered you. Yes, you were supposed to feel this way for the dark haired lad, but you still had this nagging feeling, this tiny bit of doubt, that maybe Sirius wasn't your soulmate after all. Though obviously this wasn't true, you couldn't help but think that he deserved... more.

All in all, you were having a hard time accepting how you felt, throwing excuses out this way and that, just to avoid the truth. And to avoid him, as you had been trying your best to do for the last week.

You were afraid, above everything else. You weren’t ready for the responsibility of being with someone who you had to make it work with for the rest of your life. And you didn’t want to look at Sirius, feeling how you did, and switch back suddenly, without being able to speak to him for yourself first.

It was difficult. There was a pull, a magnetic attraction that urged you in his direction, and you knew he felt it too, which made avoiding him that much harder. It made your heart ache - a side effect of being soulmates you assumed - to stay away from him for so long but you knew you needed the time alone to prepare yourself for a long relationship with the dark haired boy.

Sitting on the ledge of the window in the Astronomy Tower, you looked out at the views below, taking in the beauty. The sun was just setting, casting a red glow across the school grounds, and illuminating the Forbidden Forest.

As you appreciated the scenery, the time alone also allowed you to reflect on your life - more specifically, your love life.

Of course Sirius was an attractive young man - you’d have to be blind not to see it. And he was funny, smart when he tried and a good-hearted lad deep down. You could do a lot worse.

As you thought about him, you couldn’t keep your smile at bay, and that is when you decided. You loved Sirius Black, and you were finally ready to let him know.

Sirius made his way slowly down the hallway, a frown adorning his features as he looked around for you. Usually he’d just use the map, however with him not being himself, he thought it best not to ask James to borrow it, as no one else was supposed to know about it.

You’d been avoiding him, he knew that. It did hurt, knowing that you didn’t want to be around him, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to float around the castle in search for you - it was like his mind calmed when he was around you, like he couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t happy. He didn’t even need to speaking to you, he simply just wanted to be near you in some way, just to know you were there.

He began to climb the steps up to the Astronomy Tower - if he couldn’t find you, maybe looking at the stars would soothe him. As a child he had always stared out of his bedroom window at night when he couldn’t sleep, letting himself wonder about the many stars and galaxies in the universe. It always calmed him, and he hoped it would tonight.

Sirius slowly reached the top of the stairs, his hands shoved into his pockets as he glanced around the room. His breath hitched at he saw a figure, seemingly glowing under the moonlight shining through the window.

“Y/n?” Your head snapped towards his direction, eyes widened slightly as you saw him step towards you.

“Oh, Sirius, hi!” You exclaimed, surprised. He suddenly stopped a few feet in front of you, looking up at you in awe, eyes shining. “W-Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sirius grinned happily, “You called me Sirius.”

“Oh! Sorry,” you looked down, fiddling with your hands. He reached out to place his hand over yours as he replied quickly, “Don’t be sorry! I prefer it when you call me Sirius.”

Glancing up to see him smiling at you, you returned the grin, “You do?” “Of course Y/n,” Sirius emphasised your first name, “means you’re getting fonder of me.”

“Does not,” you protested indignantly, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sirius smirked as he mocked your actions, “Does so. What do you reckon, you starting to fall for me yet?”

You hesitated, blinking helplessly up at him. Gulping, you continued to look into his eyes, then you heard yourself stuttering, “I-I-I mean I... um... I-“

The dark haired boy raised his eyebrows, a smile toying at his lips as sat down on the ledge beside you. He noticed your pause and pulled your hands into his lap, looking at you expectantly. “You what?” He asked with a cheeky smirk.

"I... well... I don’t know about falling for you, but I do want you to know that... that I hate how perfect your bloody hair is, like what's all that about? How come you get the perfect hair and I don't? And I hate how your eyes are like really pretty. And how you get all this attention from people. You can literally walk into a room and everyone's eyes are on you! And not in a bad way! And you know what else, I just really hate that your clothes are actually really soft and smell really nice and I love wearing them even though I'm supposed to be being you anyway and honestly when or if we ever turn back into ourselves I am stealing your grey sweatshirt, you have no say in the matter,” you rambled, cursing yourself mentally for stumbling on your words, continuing staring at the intertwined hands resting upon Sirius’ lap as your heart beat faster as you realised you had all but admitted how you felt.

When you finally looked up, you saw him staring at you in a way you couldn't explain, a grin plastered across his face, "Fine by me doll, you're the girl I'm supposed to spend my life with, I think I can accept you stealing my clothes from time to time."

You blinked, before letting out a scoff, “That's all you have to say? I just basically poured my heart out there. Practically told you that I'm... I don't know..."

"You're what? What are you?" Sirius probed, leaning towards you.

"You I know what I'm trying to say!”

“No I... I don't think I do,” he shook his head innocently, however his smug grin said otherwise.

"Black!"

"L/n!" He mimicked.

"Fine! I'm in love with you, happy?” You threw your arms up in the arm exasperatedly, watching as his grin got wider, “... what?”

"Oh I already knew what you were trying to say, I just wanted you to admit it. I knew you would fall in love with me, I mean, I'm just too amazing for you not to!” He boasted, nodding at you, “As I've said before doll, as soon as we switch back, I'm going to snog the hell out of you."

You shook your head slowly at him, although you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, “You’re going to be the death of me. It’s a good job I like you as much as I do.”

There was a moment where you felt the world freeze around you, and then as quickly as it had, you found yourself sitting on the opposite side of the ledge, staring into the stormy grey eyes of Sirius Black.

You both looked at each other with the same shocked expression and mouths agape.

As you reached up to check your own face, you exclaimed, “We changed back!"

"Fuck- c'mere," Sirius breathed out, standing up and pulling up up with him. He grabbed you by your hips, bringing you towards him quickly.

He barely brushed his lips against yours, an action you both loved and hated, as it felt good him being so close, but you wanted him closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he finally pushed his lips to yours, kissing you with everything he had.

You had only heard stories of a soulmates’ first kiss, but this... this was much more than you could have ever imagined. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, groaning softly as he licked your bottom lip, biting lightly as you granted him entrance.

He slowly walked you back towards the wall, pressing you between it and his chest, keeping you as close as he could, kissing you as if it were the last thing he’d ever do.

“Did you know I love you?” Sirius mumbled against your lips, pads of his thumbs tracing shapes on your hips. He pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours so he could look into your eyes.

“I had a feeling,” you said with a cheeky smile, before replying properly, “I-I love you too.”

Without giving you a reply, he simply pressed his lips to yours again, eyes fluttering shut as you gripped his shirt in one hand, his hair in the other.

You weren’t sure when you would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the clearing of a throat behind you, making you pull back and Sirius turn around.

“Only came up here to do my Astronomy homework... but this is great! I mean I knew something was different with you,” James teased with a laugh, “You two switched, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Sirius replied, wrapping an arm around your hip and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I ship it, my baby Padfoot and his baby L/n. Fabulous! I'll start planning the wedding now - Quidditch themed of course. Colour scheme will be red and gold - obviously - and there’ll be broomsticks for people to ride on and you’ll get married up on a broomstick in front of the goals and-“

As James rambled on with himself, you looked at Sirius, “I am not getting married on a field.”

Sirius laughed, “Why not, it would be amazing!” “Just no, grass stains on a white dress? I don’t think so,” you shook your head with a smile as you glanced back over at James, who continued to plan your wedding aloud. “Can you believe him?” you said amused.

Sirius shook his head fondly, the smile never leaving his face, “He can plan whatever wedding he wants for us to be honest.” You raised an eyebrow at him, tilting your head to one side questioningly.

He just looked back at you lovingly, grabbing your hand in his and pulling it up to press his lips against your knuckles, “I don't care where I get married, just as long as it's to you.”

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders #harry potter

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nadiineross · 5 years

Note

Print: “How do you 'accidentally' achieve immortality?"

note: abt ur prompts.. i ….actually was planning a fic abt immortality but i dont think itll be done for ages so i slammed this one out. i also made a few posts abt superhero aus btw :’). i watched hercules for the first time in like a decade bc of ur other prompt and wow…. hades is still so funny DSJFHSKH ok anyway i prolly wont write a lot in the coming month bc semesters starting next week BUT i can type out some headcanons for prompts u give me, if u guys r interested in that?

i didnt proofread this and i dont want to because i am Lazy anyway thank u sm for continuing to talk to me abt chlodine yrs down the road. pls feel free to send in ur chlodine headcanons or if u jus wanna scream abt them

Nadine’s been alive for a long time, and so nothing really surprises her anymore. But, then again, Chloe is always her exception.

They first meet in India, only a passing thing. Being alive for so long, well, it gets boring. Nadine, also, could never really handle being purposeless. She enjoys having goals and working hard to achieve them, and she definitely enjoys the brief period, afterwards, where she relishes in those achievements.

It was easier, before, to find purpose: fighting. There were a lot of wars and Nadine was good at it. She was, and is, by all accounts, remarkable. However, to preserve her anonymity, she allows herself to dissolve into the unknowns of history.

She has had many names, most of which she has since forgotten. But, her first, she will not forget: Nadine. It is that name she gives to Chloe, and it is the one Chloe knows her by.

At that time, in India, she had nothing to do. It seemed the age of fighting as she knew it was coming to a close, and she grew bored.

Of course, this wasn’t a new experience; Nadine can hardly find anything she has not experienced. Usually, she travelled. She’s been to most places, but they were always changing, and this was something she appreciated on a deep level.

India, she has not visited in almost four decades.

On her first night, she eats a feast on her own. The restaurant owners were impressed, to say the least.

It is routine, her travels. During the day, she sees the sights, explores the places that have changed the most and visits those that she loved the last time she was here. When nightfalls, again, she feasts. Sometimes, when she isn’t too tired, she’ll take someone to bed.

This, she does rarely. It is, after all, hard to find a woman interested in other women in this world. Harder, even, to find one who isn’t interested in a long term investment, since Nadine is not very interested in the part where she outlives everyone. It isn’t a pressing issue, though. She has needs, sure, but she is patient, and sex did not fall very high on her list of priorities.

Besides, she understands. The consequences of being a woman like her are grave and not a lot of people would want to risk their lives for a fling.

Chloe is only her second in India.

There is a river, a half day’s walk away from where she’s staying. It is her second to last night in India, and there aren’t a lot of things she is itching to see, so she decides to make the walk.

By the time she gets there, the sun is hanging low in the sky, not yet set, but almost. She’s sweating from the heat and the oppressive humidity characteristic of the Indian climate. So, naturally, she unbuttons the first few buttons of her shirt and leans over the edge to splash water over her face.

It is a relief on her skin, and she looks up to gasp out a breath when she sees her. Chloe, shameless creature that she is, watches her.

Nadine doesn’t know how she didn’t notice the woman lounging in the water before now. Bewildered, Nadine blinks at her and feels very bare, suddenly hyper-aware of the droplets running down her face and into her shirt.

“Hello,” Nadine finally says. She is good with languages—there isn’t a lot to do when you’ve been alive for a few centuries.

“Hey.” She swims over until Nadine can see her smirk with distinct clarity, until her bare shoulders come up, but does not go farther up the shore. “Not from around here?”

Nadine raises an eyebrow. Clearly not. “No,” she says.

“Huh. Chloe, nice to meet you,” says she, extending a wet hand from the water. Nadine has to slosh into the water to take it and give it a firm, short up-down shake.

It’s a strange name, given the context, and this whole thing takes her off guard. She stupidly blurts out: “Nadine.”

Chloe’s grin becomes wider. She doesn’t try to hide the way she eyes Nadine’s open shirt. Nadine isn’t dense, either, so she knows when there is an opportunity she could take, is she wanted.

She’s not sure yet.

“And you? Are you from around here?”

Humming noncommittally, Chloe stands, abruptly, to her full height and walks around Nadine to the shore. She is naked, and Nadine has to swallow a lump in her throat.

Nadine has seen a lot of women, and she can say with certainty that Chloe is one of the most beautiful she has seen. She tries not to stare and succeeds, given that she has excellent self-control. Though she will admit, Chloe certainly tested her in that moment.

“Where are you from?” Chloe asks as she picks up a shirt strewn across a rock and slips into it. Now, Nadine notices the pair of pants and shoes hidden behind the rock.

Nadine smiles, wryly, aware that she is giving more information than she is receiving. “Africa.”

Chloe doesn’t seem to take offence at her brusqueness. Just laughs. “Ah.” Then, because Chloe is so brave and so young, barely thirty by the looks of it, she stoops and holds up her pants, and asks, “Should I bother with these or are we going to address… what should I call it? The tension?”

Oh, how they address it.

After, as Chloe disappears into the trees on the other side of the river, Nadine realizes that she is entirely, profoundly, surprised.

Nadine has met many bold women; she can be one herself when she wants to be. Chloe, she never really forgets, but she is filed away into a tiny corner of her mind, fading away until Nadine never really thinks about it unless she is alone at a river and has run out of things to think about.

Besides, World War II has started, and she’s occupied with killing those Nazi bastards. She doesn’t enlist in any army—can’t exactly fly under the radar there—but she has connections and resources, and works perfectly well alone.

In the face of all this, Chloe is not forgotten, but she is not remembered.

And Nadine’s life goes on, and on, and on, as it is wont to do.

Nadine doesn’t know why she never dies. It just happened or, more precisely, it just never happened.

Her parents did. She never really knew her father, as her mother raised her, but she does know he died. Her mother, she held as she passed.

Years later, people began to talk. Nadine turned thirty, and that was it.

She doesn’t know if she can die at all, but she isn’t interested in testing her theories. She has avoided fatal wounds for so long; she won’t stop now.

Sure, she has suffered and has felt like she might die, but she doesn’t think she wants to die. There are so many things she wants to know.

So, she decided, a century into her life, that she would not question it. She isn’t at all old enough to have been there for the Trojan War, but she does know not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It is the 2000s and Nadine begins to feel a little existential. She will not fight in wars now, given the stakes and, especially, given her moral compass. Well, at least not official ones. She has accepted that she is a little bit of a vigilante, and she’s focusing on bettering her own home.

Always levelheaded, she never bites off more than she can chew. She only takes to the streets every few weeks. In the meantime, she decides to get into academia.

If she’s so keen on learning, why wouldn’t she go to school? Human achievement is impressive!

She has one PhD already and is working on her second. She has just started, meeting her advisor for only the third time, when she sees a flash of red in the hall, heading towards the History department.

It’s a woman with jet black hair, ponytail swinging. Before Nadine can think to squint, she’s rounded the corner and is gone.

Blinking, Nadine turns away and heads to the courtyard. She likes to sit on the grass and do her research there. Small pleasures.

It’s been an hour, maybe two, when a shadow casts over. Strangely, she feels her heart start to beat faster before she even looks up.

“Hello,” she says, throwing an arm over her forehead to shade herself from the afternoon sun.

Chloe in the flesh. She puts on the same old smirk and looks down at Nadine with her hands on her hips. “Hey, you.”

Nadine raises an eyebrow as she sits down and makes herself at home on Nadine’s picnic blanket, among her sea of books.

“Well, look at you.” Chloe keeps on grinning, shark-like. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You’re too kind,” Nadine says, thinly. “And neither have you, by the looks of it.”

Dismissively, Chloe waves a hand and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “No need to flatter me, you’ve already gotten into my pants.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Much, at least, she thinks. Then, wonders if, perhaps, she is dreaming.

“That’s nice.” Chloe leans closer, growing serious but retaining her persistent underlying curiosity. “Oh, Nadine, what are you?”

Nadine snorts. “Always so bold.”

She shrugs. “Places to be, things to know, people to do. I’m a busy girl.”

Like a shark, Nadine thinks again. She keeps her mouth shut for a few moments, just watching Chloe watching her. As Nadine recalls her memories of Chloe, she notes that Chloe mostly hasn’t changed. Finally, she leans back on an arm and says, “Looks to me like you have all the time in the world.”

“Hm.” Chloe lifts a hand, maybe to touch her arm, maybe to push her hair out of her face, maybe to cup her cheek. Nadine will never know. She tenses, instinctively swaying back a little. Chloe’s hand drops down, but she keeps on smiling. “You’re immortal, then. All the time in the world.”

Nadine doesn’t say anything, just waits for Chloe to draw her conclusions.

“How long have you… been like this?”

Nadine pretends to think. “About a century or five now. You?”

“Well, I was thirty-four when I met you,” Chloe wonders aloud, tilting her head as she does the math. At this, Nadine frowns and, upon seeing this, Chloe huffs a laugh. “Yes, actually thirty-four.”

That makes her roughly two centuries old. Nadine doesn’t know how to feel about this, about everything, about Chloe. She had been, to her knowledge, alone in this for three centuries. Never once had she met someone else like this, and she didn’t want to, she doesn’t think. She had always been slow to trust.

She never tried to think about this too hard; she doesn’t know how it works—is she contagious? But none of the other women turned immortal after going to bed with her. Still, she worries at her lip and examines Chloe.

“How?”

“How am I like this?”

She nods.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Quid pro quo.”

Nadine rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. I just never died.” She sighs, harshly, and closes the book in her lap with a full clap. “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright,” Chloe says, gently. This time, when she reaches out, to touch her wrist, Nadine lets her. Chloe looks down at the point of contact, seemingly charmed. Then, after a beat, meets Nadine’s eyes again and smiles. “Well, I don’t know how exactly it worked, but this was an accident.”

“…what?” Nadine scoffs. “How do you ‘accidentally’ achieve immortality?”

Chloe looks sheepish now. “I went into an ancient temple and mucked around, and maybe I broke something, and… well, here I am.”

Suddenly, struck by the urge to lie down for a decade or at least go somewhere more private for this discussion, Nadine shoves her books into her bag and stands. Chloe, startled, mirrors her movements and then stills as Nadine rolls up the blanket and easily hefts everything up.

“Uh, what’s going on?”

Nadine picks up her baseball cap and puts it on, and then sweeps an arm towards the paved path. “We’re going to my apartment.”

A little dumbly, Chloe follows along. “Who’s bold now?”

Nadine gives her a look, and Chloe just smiles, looking away with a shrug. They make the journey in silence, Nadine’s is a stubborn one, and Chloe’s obliging. When they reach the apartment, Nadine lets her in first and gestures to the couch. It’s not a very big apartment, but it’s comfortable and in an alright neighbourhood.

After Nadine puts her bag away, she comes back to see Chloe leaning over the back of the couch to look out her window. She twists back around as Nadine sits.

“You alright?”

Nadine looks up at her, eyes hooded. “Ja.”

Chloe smiles, a kind one. She has such an expressive face. Nadine wants to run her hands over the dips and curves of it. Wants to feel a little more grounded in reality—is she really not dreaming?

The urge to just ask disappears in a moment as Nadine comes back to herself, feeling safer on her own turf.

“So, this is where you’re from.” It’s not a question, but Nadine nods anyway.

“Originally. I don’t remember exactly where but I grew up farther inland and then moved to the coast later before my mother passed.” Nadine rubs a hand at her temple. Tired. “They both died. I’m the only— I was the only one. For the longest time, I was the only one.”

Chloe shifts, an unidentifiable emotion drifting across her face. “Nadine.”

She sighs and says, “I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” she says, not ungently. “It’s been a long time.”

For once, Nadine allows herself to give in. She leans over until she falls, turning her face to press her nose into the hard muscle of Chloe’s tensed thigh, just above the knee. She hugs her arms to her chest and counts her breaths. Chloe sighs, too, and puts her hand in Nadine’s hair.

Nadine’s back is to Chloe.

It’s been a long time.

So, this is how it happened.

She was abandoned by her mother and raised by a father who wanted a son. He loved her, regardless. He just taught her the ways of his trade.

Her childhood was spent scaling the shelves of libraries as he did his research and sitting uncomfortably still as he spoke to “experts” in their homes. When she was old enough, by his standards, he took her out to ancient ruins, and they explored.

It could be dangerous; she broke a few bones on these adventures. Most never healed properly, and so bumps and scars littered her body.

The worst, the one that almost killed her, occurred in the temple.

Her father passed a few years before, to disease. She carried on his work, suddenly alone. His life’s work: a crumbling ruin.

She had spent days scouting it out, hidden behind a waterfall, like in the legends. She was nervous. Afraid that her father’s work would amount to nothing, that the life she had led without him would’ve turned out to be a waste.

So, she spent days by the falls and walking along the river. It was there that she met Nadine.

She had thought Nadine was a figment of her imagination at first, peeking out from the top of the water. A beautiful, sweaty spirit of the wilds, dressed like an average person.

A blessing she received.

That night, she went in. There were traps, which she expected, and treasures, which she had desperately hoped for. In the centre, buried underneath layers of chambers, was the Tusk.

She got greedy.

Traps triggered—

The Tusk, she held to her chest—

She curled over, protecting it from falling rubble and—

The tip, sharp and shiny, punctured her middle. It was shallow, but still, she cried out and tripped, and the spear she landed on went too far in to be considered shallow.

She doesn’t remember the details; all she knows is that she came back to herself while crawling out the collapsing entrance, sticky with blood.

She hid the Tusk away, for later, and stumbled her way to the nearest town, broken spear sticking out from her ribs.

Half a year later, freshly healed and free from the doctor, she went back. The Tusk was still bloodied, and a gem from the tip of the Tusk had fallen out somewhere. At least, it made up for all her suffering in gold.

In the face of all that, Nadine was not forgotten, but she was not remembered.

Feeling awkward and uncomfortable, having been vulnerable for the first time in almost half a millennia, Nadine sits up and grimaces. Chloe opens her bleary eyes and stretches.

“What time’s it?”

Nadine could look at her watch, but she grabs hold of Chloe’s forearm. “Does it matter?”

Chloe looks down and frowns. “I suppose not. What’s happening?”

“Do you want to address the tension?”

Chloe’s muscles relax slowly. She kicks her sneakers off and, in one swift movement, shrugs Nadine’s hand off and settles into her lap. Her mouth descends onto Nadine’s.

This time is almost like the last, fast and sloppy. Except they do it three more times, at least, and afterwards Chloe settles in beside her and stays till morning.

Nadine also has many scars, and Chloe maps them all out just as Nadine does to her.

“So, am I the older woman or are you the older woman?”

Nadine bites into her skin, licking a soothing stripe along the scar tissue there.

Chloe groans and looks down. “Does that mean I should shut up?”

Nadine gives her an unimpressed look. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she breathes, hand flying to the back of Nadine’s head. “Whatever you say.”

South Africa is best experienced in the weeks after Summer has passed, in Chloe’s very vocal opinion, and maybe that’s why the days she spends holed up in Nadine’s apartment feels a little like paradise.

She is not the sentimental type, and Chloe even less so, but there is something to be said for attachments. She had forgotten.

Chloe even admits that she was only here because she saw Nadine’s picture and wanted to use Nadine for information on why she‘s the way she is. Nadine doesn’t take it too personally, because she would’ve done the same, probably.

It ends, of course, as all things do. Not permanently, but Chloe isn’t the type to stay still, and Nadine’s set her sights on finishing this damn degree.

They agree, in five years, they will return to the tree, the patch of grass, and try again.

Nadine feels like she has aged the five centuries she had powered through almost numbly in the span of those five years.

They kept in contact because neither of them is the type to make significant, corny gestures like that. Over text, Chloe echoes the sentiment.

For Nadine, it is as if Chloe had barged in, reminded Nadine that she was in control of the remote and that hitting the fast forward button on life wasn’t the only option.

“Why do you chase after violence?” came her voice, tinny over the phone. She was in Russia.

“Do I?”

Chloe hums. “All your wars, your crusades. You insist you don’t want to die and yet…”

Nadine raises her eyebrows and finishes typing out her sentence before pushing back on her desk chair. Her first instinct is to be defensive, but Chloe starts to hum tunelessly, and it reminds Nadine that not everything is a fight to be won and— “Ah.”

“Do you wanna talk about something else?” Chloe laughs, then, and jokes, “My abandonment issues? Inability to sit still? Maybe how I’m greedy and selfish?”

Nadine smiles softly. “It’s okay.” She clears her throat. “I think I just got scared of losing people and just, frankly, losing in general, with life and all. I took being independent to the next level. I forgot the value in doing things senselessly, and in a way that’s exactly what I did.”

“How do you mean?”

Nadine shrugs even though Chloe can’t see. “I don’t know why I’m immortal, and I didn’t want to know. What makes me deserving of eternal life and not anyone else? So, I thought only of what I would do with this and doing those things. I’m good at fighting. Why wouldn’t I fight? And I can’t die—there are causes I could give myself to.

“I mean, there were moments, in between, where my thought would wander, of course.” Nadine pauses, feeling nonsensical. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“That’s alright. I get it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Anytime, love.” Another breathy chuckle. “Literally, anytime. From now until the rest of eternity.”

“Hello,” Nadine says when she feels a shadow loom over her.

There’s a rustling, and then a kiss to her cheek. “Hey there, sleeping beauty.”

It’s been five years.

Nadine opens an eye and sees Chloe peering down with her stupidly beautiful smile. Her fingers graze at Nadine’s cheek, featherlight, and Nadine’s touches over them. Warm.

“So weird how you haven’t aged a day.”

“Ja, I didn’t get a chance to develop stress wrinkles since you left.”

Head thrown back, wind blowing her hair aside, Chloe laughs. Nadine thinks there hasn’t ever been a surprise as nice as Chloe since the dawn of time.

Stooping over, Chloe kisses her.

#THANK U FOR THE PROMPTS THEY R V INSPIRING and also thank u for still caring abt chlodine yrs later #ok i didnt edit this n i wrote this all in one sitting literally 5 seconds ago and this isnt good like plotwise #and the themes r not thought out at ALL but #but i still am proud of myself for slamming this one out #chlodinefics #ask #anonymous

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Loki Baby Pt 6

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 -

@sdavid09, @theincaprincess

Past the doorman Scott paused in noticing the man behind the desk and smirked in turning around realizing that just like in Luis’ story they were identical, hurrying to the desk he asked, “Miss Pear is expecting me, which-?”

“Take the elevator, top floor, I’ll buzz you in.”

Scott nodded then asked with a grin, “So how’d you get the desk job over your brother out there?”

Flatly the man answered, “I do not have a brother.”

Scott pointed at the door saying, “The doorman. You’re, twins, right?”

The man behind the counter looked to the doorman then back to Scott and let out a laugh making Scott laugh awkwardly, “I have heard of this, you are pulling my leg. Humor is lost to me. Top floor, I will buzz you in.”

Scott nodded then turned to head to the elevator mumbling to himself mentally, “Crazy…” Inside he let out a breath and said, “Ok, I can do this. Just go in, and explain the whole thing.”

At the next to top floor the elevator paused and his eyes flinched to the floor screen at a buzz that went off signaling his admittance to the top floor after the camera above the screen captured a photograph of the room. Another stop later and the doors opened revealing the impressive top floor lit by the walls of windows partially coated by shutters rolled down between the panes of glass in some spots and up fully in others to light the floor and cast shade where needed. Passing another identical man Scott flashed him a grin he quickly returned even wider before he turned his head seeing who must be Trish, Luis’ second cousin in law in her own office off to the side in various items in bright orange to her taste with brightly colored flowers and glass vases with colored marbles contrasting the warmer shades in the rest of the floor.

Grinning in her pop up the petite woman wiggled her pencil skirt down to her knees again and on her platform stilettos trotted her way into the hall with a widening grin in a flick of her braided ponytail over her back to extend her claw nail ended fingers in a far from surprising shade of orange for a handshake he accepted. “Mr Lang, Luis has told me all about you. Honestly I think it is just incredible what you can do and we all were just thrilled to hear you finally got off your probation.”

With a nod Scott glanced back to the man behind the desk who answered a call from the front desk clarifying he had made it up the elevator, “Ya,” looking at her again he raised his hand and she shook her head.

“You get used to them. Cute as ever, but a little heavy up top if ya know what I mean.” Her head nodded to the side with a widening grin, “Miss Pear’s in there, just go right in.”

Scott, “You don’t need to-?”

Trish shook her head, “Nope, the lift sends a picture to her office and I am late for my lunch. She prides herself in our care.”

“Ya, Luis mentioned that. Sweetest woman on the planet.”

Making her let out a squeaking giggle and turn to head to the elevator while he turned to the double mahogany doors, a timid press on one of the bar handle he lowered it opened revealing a look into a Sherlock Holmes styled study if he ever saw one complete with fireplace, not lit today but clearly of frequent use. Behind the desk was the wingback chair and right in it sat the stunning purple eyed woman with a curious grin flashing up at him as she hummed out, “Scott Lang, if I am not mistaken.”

Weakly he chuckled and said, “Yes,” moving for the chair you motioned your hand to for him to sit in.

“Long time since I’ve seen your face on my sensors, not since Stark hired you to take some of my diagrams for my older designs, he make use of them?”

On the edge of blushing as his body warmed up Scott sat down with an awkward grin on his face and he cleared his throat answering, “I, um, I don’t know. Actually.” After a moment he added, “I wouldn’t have taken the job, had I known how well Luis knew you.”

Shaking your head you grinned again making his brow twitch up and down again in wonder at how you could be old enough to have employed his fully grown friend’s mother in her youth. “Not a problem, I doubt any but the Princes could have helped him through them. No matter, what sort of jam have you found yourself in?”

Scott inched forward in his seat, “You see,” digging his phone out of his pocket he found the picture, “Stark called me, and hired me again,”

“Ooh, can’t wait to hear why.” You giggled out making his eyes flinch up to you again.

Passing you the phone he said, “He wants this pen,” you glanced from the image to him again with a smirk, “And he wants me to take it from you and give it to him.”

“Ah,” a giggle escaped you making his lips part as your legs crossed and your curved fingers smoothed under your chin in a quick swipe, “I imagine he must want my pen very badly then, how much did he offer you?”

“15 grand.” Again you giggled smiling brightly at him in doing so and he stammered out as your fingers locked on your lap in the lowering of your arms, “But of course then Luis told me about your place in his life and how you helped us start out our company and I can just turn him down.”

Shaking your head his brow inched up again, “No, why do that? No, if Stark wants my pen, then by all means,” you giggled again, “You should steal it.”

“I, I don’t follow…”

“Tomorrow I have an appointment at a suit shop at ten in the morning. I imagine I will be there for a few hours at least, by all means, sneak in and steal my pen.”

“You’re serious?”

His tone dropped and you nodded, “I’ll have my pen in my bag and, just, carry it away to Mr Stark for his own personal delight.”

Looking you over he asked, “So, you would just, leave it lying around?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

You giggled again, “To hear Stark’s screams from his tower when he finds out it’s just a pen my godfather designed for me.”

Scott couldn’t help but smirk and inch more to the edge of his seat, “Why, I mean, what’s going on there? What’s Stark got against you?”

“Apparently SHIELD imagined me to be dangerous and Stark has taken it upon himself to solve the riddle of my life.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I seem to be quite interesting a mystery at the moment. But as always he will reach a dead end in my monotony and lose interest like all the others who have tried the same.” Leaning forward on your chair his eyes turned to the pen you brought out of the sheath in your purse at your side to write on the pad of paper left on your desk.

“Wow, quite a pen.”

You smirked replying, “My godfather spent a great deal of time designing it.” You said writing out the address to the shop you tore free and passed to him. “Here’s the address, I look forward to being mugged.”

Accepting the sheet he smirked and stood up as you did pocketing the note and joining you to the door that opened at the work of the man from the desk making Scott look from him to you in your quick grin at him he gave back in your passing by he continued in a glance at Scott. Back at your side in waiting for the elevator you hit the button to Scott glanced between you and the man again taking his seat at the desk in your entering the now open elevator. Turned around and leaning against the rail on the wall you held your bag against your legs in front of you then caught Scott’s eye in his glance down at you when the doors closed, “I have to ask, what’s with the guys? They’re a bit-,”

Your head tilted for a moment in another giggle and you said, “You’ve met Vision?”

He nodded, “Stark’s red flying buddy?”

You nodded, “Yes, well, he was sent out a few weeks back, tried to scan my servers, tripped my alarms, though didn’t get anything but the security botched the personality vortex in their switch box. Nearly got the new dials completed to repair them. Couple days yet.”

His brows shot up, “They’re robots? Can they fly?”

“Well I wouldn’t ask them to without the new dials, but after they can.”

“Is that why you and Stark are at odds? You’re marketing robots?”

“I don’t sell robots, but I do intend to protect my office and those that work here. Trish included. Besides, It is much easier with their help, don’t get much traffic either way to leave someone bored out of their mind.”

“True, you often leave early?” He asked in your leaving the elevator.

“No, just my day off.”

“Oh, I’m-,”

You shook your head, “Don’t you worry about that. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, and I look forward to tomorrow. Happy planning.” You said as you exited the front door heading for your waiting car where Scott smirked seeing your driver identical to the other workers you had created.

“Enjoy your shopping.” He called out awkwardly gaining a wave and giggle from you in your climb into the car that closed and took off back to your home.

Adorable, helpful and yet slightly pushy when it comes to organizing. The floating Otters had been quite tricky to sate in terms of proving that they had done a satisfactory job before they floated off freeing the confused Prince to turn to his pantry to reorganize things to how he wanted them. He only had a short amount of time, in his own mind, he hoped you would return early that was the plan at your saying it was a friend of a former employee. It couldn’t be more than a matter of a referral or money meaning you would try to hurry out of it, clearly you had spent more than enough on him and wouldn’t be looking for another to be spending your cash on no matter how kind a person you were.

Again his chest puffed up in readying the snacks and film he had chosen in his living room, a full check of his media system was done and now he just had to wait letting his mind wander as to what creature could be wasting your free day you could have been spending with him. Shoes were cast aside and lounged on his favorite armchair after changing to flannels and a sweater again he stared up at the ceiling tossing the remote for his stereo up over his head and catching it trying to pass the time.

Giggling to yourself you eyed the pen in your palm wondering which of the copies you would take for Stark to find, you had so many decoys. Ones that screamed, set off smoke alarms and triggered power outages, some with projectors or even those that copied your writing to upload on a computer later. Yet a smirk eased across your lips as you chose a completely different pen altogether.

Out of the car you climbed sheathing your real pen and made your way inside. From the door you turned for the door behind the counter the man there opened for you and nodded in return to your thanks and closed the door behind you. The hall there allowing you on to the larger lift waiting there. When it opened you entered and turned to the control panel you pushed the lobby button you pushed the right side of holding it down as it scanned your finger before sinking in to twist around to stick out halfway for you to twist downwards starting the trip down to the hidden bomb bunker under the building.

This was just one of the doors down here but you really wanted to handle this before heading up to see Loki again, before which you’d have to add another of those patches of the poor guy would burst fully blue in losing his control on your pheromone’s behalf. It was supposed to be easy, true it could have been timed better, you could have waited until your fertile week was over but he truly looked so lonely. You had been that lonely, thousands of planets away from your maternal people, with none of your father’s left and no knowing where he could have been off to this time or when he would pop up again without your calling him.

As the doors opened you exited into the stone room with mirrored bubbles on the dark blue upper half to the stone walls with what seemed to be a mile of bookshelves around the lower half packed with books, diagrams, models and various tools and trinkets around a tall dark blue police box you grinned at and patted in your approach. “Just a few more weeks precious.”

Past the box you chuckled at its whirring in return and you opened the cabinet in the wall with shelves with plastic tubes packed with copies of your pen. From the top right shelf you grabbed one of them and closed the cabinet saying to the box in its next whir with a smile to the box, “I know, I miss it too, but darling, just a few more tweaks to the measurements and I can replace your last converter knob then we can fly again.” Another whir sounded and it fell silent at your next pat on the door, “Who knows, maybe Dad will show up with some spares if he’s not been out populating again.”

With the fake pen added to your purse up to your floor you rode and hid the button again exiting to head for your apartment. Unlocking the door you entered and made your way up to your bedroom, where you dropped the bag on your bed and removed your shoes to leave in your closet, changing from the blouse and jeans you changed to a baggy shirt and sweat capris. Lastly was to add another patch behind your ear. If you were going to lounge you were going to be comfy, next was your makeup to be washed off and down again you went to cross to the next apartment over and gave the door a quick knock.

Up off the chair Loki popped zapping himself to the door he opened for you with a wide grin spreading when he saw you dressed for bed again. “You look comfy.”

Giggling in his step back you entered saying, “Well I rarely spend a day off out of comfy clothes. Glad to see you felt the same.”

Straight to the couch you went joining his side for his trot to beat you there to turn everything back on again. Happily Loki settled beside you and through the films he put on each chance to scoot closer was taken until a believed to be interesting film had his eyes drooping. One droop earned another and somehow in your head drooping onto his shoulder his body seemed to give way sliding to his side with you drooping after him. A subtle wiggle and behind him you draped your arm over his side humming to yourself at the drop of the spotted Otter to coat you with a blanket. In its rise to leave it collected your snacks and floated to the kitchen only for its fur to bristle making it set the snacks down and get to rearranging everything by color before it went back to its nesting cubby in the wall.

Inhaling deeply in the raking of nails across his chest through his sweater Loki’s bright red eyes opened in a sea of hormones coursing through his body. Warm, closing his eyes he basked in the warmth of it smoothing his hand over the back of yours to lace his fingers between yours exhaling lowly keeping himself from rolling over. Clearly a forehead was smoothing into his back and a grin ghosted across his lips, centuries he had hidden and planned and been fighting for his way home, little time for contact of any sort past attacks on his person. True he shouldn’t be so willing to show his back to anyone but nothing could get him to wake you and break your hold on him. Every ounce of his hormones screamed for him to turn over and goad you into a less than romantic morning tryst yet still his body molded back against yours in the easing of your leg over the side of his to savor the touch.

The whistle of a kettle stirred him from another nap he had slipped into and once again apple scents filled the air and by the emptiness of his hand he sat up to inspect the room only to flinch seeing the glaring spotted Otter there with a pair of mugs on its palms. One red and the other green with black spots, the latter was the one he pointed to and it floated away signaling his slow rise. Tentatively he followed it to the kitchen where he found you giggling in your spotting him up on his feet, the adorable uncertain glances at the Otter had broken your mental relay on having fallen asleep holding the Prince. “I see you’ve upset Coco.”

“That was not my intention.” The Otter floated up to his side and his head pulled back an inch, “I am terribly sorry, I did not mean to upset you. Truly.”

With a huff he passed Loki his chosen mug and then floated away to the opening in the wall it floated through making the Prince with raised brows turn to see you still smirking, “Sorry, I should warned you about changing things after their leaving. They are a bit sensitive, especially Coco.”

“I, shall try to adjust to color sorting.” He said glancing into his pantry.

With a giggle you replied, “Don’t worry, I will try to help you compromise.”

“So they are like Vision then, overheard his arguments countless times even years later.”

Breakfast slid into changing for your outing and again his hand reached out to claim yours for the trot down to the car. The classic suit shop instantly welcomed you both with a soft bell above the door and the suit clad man behind the counter came over to you asking, “Prince Loki I presume?”

Loki nodded, “Yes.”

The man stepped aside in a turn, “Of course, follow me please, father is waiting for you.”

Through the shop to the door in the wall he opened for you opening the private fitting area an elderly man stood with a grin next to a display of fabrics and styles beside a platform across from a set of standing mirrors. His grin widened as his hand outstretched for you speaking adoringly, “There you are songbird. Lovely as ever.” Loki glanced between you two then caught the man’s eyes in his stating, “Quite the protector you’ve got here. Saved me from the trenches with only her whiles and a pen.” His eyes turned to you patting the back of your hand cradled in his, “Haven’t aged a day since the war.” Looking to Loki he said, “You should hear some of her stories. Quite impossible tales all the way back to Troy.”

Loki looked you over and you giggled saying, “I’m only about 1200 years old, but you’d never tell. I am so sorry for staying away for so long.”

“Oh, my dear. You have nothing to apologize for. Off saving the world.”

His hand released yours and you glanced at Loki saying, “Or the oceans, one Otter at a time.” Making him chuckle and shake the hand of the elderly man he had offered.

“Here, up onto the platform we will get some measurements.”

Up there his grin doubled in climbing up on the platform keeping watch of you in the mirror seated in one of the offered chairs along the wall.

“What are we doing here?” Hank asked Scott as he finished wiggling his fingers into the gloves on his suit after adjusting the straps across his chest.

“I have a job to do.”

Hope, “A job you still haven’t explained.”

Looking at her Scott said, “Look, I understand you don’t trust Stark, but this is a simple job.”

Hank turned in his seat, “Oh really? Then what are you taking from this suit shop?”

“A pen.”

They both asked as he hit the button on his chest in the closing of his mask, “A pen?!”

Onto his latest wasp steed he hopped and piloted his way into the shop through the vents making Hope and Hank watch on the monitors. All at once in the slits of the vent their lips parted recognizing you making Hank say, “Please tell me you are not stealing anything from Jaqi Pear!”

Through the earpiece he heard Scott reply, “Don’t worry, she knows I’m here.” Through the slits his focus turned to the other body in the room though.

Hope, “What do you mean she knows?!”

Scott, “What is Prince Loki doing here?” He asked seeing Loki eying the suit jacket marked to fit him perfectly while the man hurried off to get some more supplies while you stood next to the platform getting a closer look and chatting with Loki. “There it is.” He said flying lower near the chair with your purse on it laying open. Landing on the ground he hopped off and hit the button on his chest growing again.

Lost in his adoring gaze at you Loki stated, “So, we have blue, green, maroon, silver and a black with tails for the Black Tie on Friday. You are certain this is not too much?”

The giggle you gave broke at Loki’s sharp turn with daggers appearing in his palms brushing you behind him in a hop off the platform spotting Scott. “Oh shit!” Scott exclaimed then shrank again palming your pen as your hand reached around Loki’s back to rest in his chest.

“Loki, let him go.”

Turning around his lips were parted and he said, “That’s one of-,”

Softly you said, “I know,”

Furrowing his brows he asked, “You know?” His eyes dropping to your lips only a matter of inches away at how close he realized he was standing to you.

“Scott came to me yesterday, Stark hired him to steal my pen.”

“Pen?”

In the nearing shuffle of feet you guided him back onto the platform and you said, “He thinks it’s a weapon or something, so I brought a decoy.” A smirk eased onto his lips and you pointed at his hand, “Pietro is so hospitable, kindly try to hide the stabby stabby, he tends to get flash backs.”

Nodding he flicked his hands again and the blades vanished making him chuckle in your raising his sleeve, “They are at home, no hidden sheaths.”

“Hmm.” The door opened and you turned grinning at the man entering with more choices and supplies.

Out in the van again Scott grew again chuckling as he held up the pen, “Got it!”

A swat from Hope landed on his shoulder as Hank said, “You have no idea what you’ve just done. What she can do. Even HYDRA couldn’t stop her, whatever she was up to. You have no idea how many agents were sent after her and came back broken.”

Scott, “She seems so nice. We talked, had some laughs, I mean she got the whole situation and agreed to me stealing the pen.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed in asking, “She was nice to you?”

Scott nodded and Hope said, “Wait, you left SHIELD-,”

Hank nodded, “Exactly, she is not human and you should stay away from her. She’s dangerous.”

Scott scoffed, “Luis has known her his whole life and besides, she backed our business loan.”

Hope’s eyes narrowed, “Really? She runs security-,”

Scott, “Exactly, that is what I asked, but Luis says she’s the sweetest woman on the planet. And I’m kind of believing him. I doubt she would hurt anyone.”

Hank, “Are you forgetting the Prince of Darkness in there? Who tried to stab you?”

Scott waved his hand, “Loki’s not that bad actually. Absurdly polite, I mean even when I’ve gone up to the Tower any time Stark would-,” His face dropped as it all clicked together in his head, “Oh,”

Hank, “Oh what?!”

Scott, “Guys, I think Stark’s the bad guy in this. Or at least the well intentioned good guy who screws things up royally.”

Hope, “Bad guy in what? What does that have to do with Loki?”

“Stark would treat Loki like a pet, Miss Pear helps people, that’s what she does, if Loki’s with her, he asked for help. And with how he jumped between us, I don’t think she’s just helping him pick a suit.”

Hank, “Then, and we’re just going hypothetical here, if she’s not here to be evil, and she just wants to help people, why hasn’t she approached us and just explained who she is?”

Scott, “Maybe it’s to protect us.” Raising Hank’s brow, “Just hear me out, all those time traveling films, if she’s from planets and knows about what we couldn’t even dream of, maybe she stays quiet because none of us will believe her. We only just met Thor, what, a decade ago?”

Hope, “He has a point.” Hank looked at her and she shook her head, “He does, no telling if she knows tech or power sources who she shares with what they could do with it. If SHIELD has always known about her, then there’s no telling how old she is,”

Scott, “Maybe she got stuck here, like crashed here. I heard Loki joking about Troy, not a person but the city. Now, if she was here then, maybe that’s how they’re friends, I mean even Thor doesn’t share much about his old travels to our planet. Maybe they’re protecting us form something, something old.”

Hank, “You mean like Godzilla?” He asked teasingly.

Scott, “You might not believe me but you know she’s old, no telling what creatures she’s seen. I mean look at what Loki brought here! Think of what could be out there!”

Hope mumbled, “Or hiding here,” her eyes met Scott’s, “And now she’s been shielding cities, homes.”

Hank, “You think something’s coming?”

Scott shrugged, “All I know is she wants Stark to get this pen and I’m going to give it to him. It didn’t sound like she wants to hurt him, just tired of him following her around.”

Pt 7

#Tale Teller’s 52 Week Writing Challenge #Loki x Reader OC

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raiswriting · 5 years

Text

dancing with your ghost

inspired by this song

warnings: symptoms that are similar to mental health issues like depression but never explicitly stated

genre: pure angst sorry

pairing: lucas/yukhei wong x reader

summary: ummm heartache???? basically the aftermath of a ‘hey let’s pretend to be dating bc i need someone to take to this wedding and you need someone to scare off your ex’ type of story

word count: 1582

a/n: lmao i am reposting this because it absolutely flopped the first time hehehe ALSO i made a playlist to go with this story. the first half or so is the same playlist that is mentioned in the story then the second half is more about the theme of it. i put way too much effort into it but i hope you enjoy it!!

there was an emptiness that couldn’t be filled

an ache that couldn’t be soothed

a feeling of nostalgia for what never was

honestly you couldn’t be sure if this hole in your chest was a bad thing anymore. you’d grown so used to it that the thought of one day living with out it seemed so fantastical and out of reach. you found a sort of morbid comfort in the sorrow

time has slipped away as routine comfortably took its place. mondays became indistinguishable from wednesday or friday. the only thing separating saturday and sunday from the rest was the lack of work.

your thoughts drifted from the idea of getting up and taking a shower or even just washing your face to the cup of tea that’s been sitting on the coffee table and once more to your phone lying next to it. it lit up with yet another text message to which you would send yet another half-assed response of ‘id love to get together but work has been super busy lately and i need a me weekend.’ you wonder how many more ‘me weekends’ you’d be able to have before someone saw through it.

you just couldn’t have that face to face conversation with any of them. how do you explain that none of it was serious. or that all he needed was someone to take to family get-togethers for when his uncles would ask about his love life. or that you had grown so used to his hand in yours that the emptiness you felt when he wasn’t there scared you. or that you missed him. how could you look someone in the eyes and say that you had not only lost a love but also a best friend. how do you describe that hurt. how do you say that you feel unlovable. how.

you couldn’t say those thoughts aloud because as soon as you did they’d become real. he would really be gone. and happy. and in love. and you would have to admit that you were hurting. you’d have to admit that it was really over.

so instead you lay here on the sofa. and keep it all in. sometimes you can’t help but remember him. and how happy he’d been.

the knock on your door drew your attention from the sheet of cookies ready to go into the oven.

there he stood in the doorway with a smile so bright that it put the stars on the clearest of nights to shame.

‘hey y/n’ he pulled you into a warm embrace. the scent of his cologne was intoxicating. strong and inviting, the prefect reflection of his personality.

‘hey lucas. i wasn’t expecting to stop by today.’

‘yeah i just wanted to share some good news with you. like really good news. like i came here as fast as I could kind of news.’ he spoke so excitedly as he followed you back into the kitchen.

‘well spit it out,’ you reply while placing the sheet of cookies in the oven.

‘i found someone,’ his smile wider than ever.

you almost dropped the sheet of cookies as you took in what he said. you knew this day would come. the day he would find someone to actually love and care for. the day he no longer needed you. but still you hoped and prayed that maybe there was something there. maybe the secret touches shared between just the two of you actually meant something. that maybe he’d choose you.

he didn’t.

‘so get this. i was walking into the coffee shop on seventh street that me and you usually go to. and i bumped into this gorgeous girl and spilled her whole coffee so i offered to buy her a new one.’ he rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the floor. ‘so cheesy and cliché i know. but y/n this girl. we talked and talked and she made everything seem to….right. when I looked into her eyes i just felt…’ he sighed and leaned against the counter.

‘…like everything just seemed to make sense for once.’ you finished the sentence for him as you checked on the cookies.

‘yeah exactly’ he didn’t even try the hide his love struck expression. it was clear as day that he was really falling. ‘when i talked to her it was so easy. almost as if we knew each other for years.’

we did.

you looked him in the eyes for the first time since he broke the news and forced a smile to your face. you couldn’t even fathom the idea of ruining this for him.

‘lucas im ecstatic for you.’

‘really?’

‘of course. if there’s anyone who deserves true love and happiness in life, it’s you.’ and you meant that. it just hurts that he found it in someone else.

‘and hey. at least now you actually have someone to take to all your family functions.’

he chuckled lightly, ‘yeah you’re right. i don’t know if your cheeks could handle another one if aunt maya’s pinches.’

‘the pinches i could handle,’ you say as you forced a laugh out, ‘but I’d have to buy a gym membership if i had another dinner at your parents house.’

‘it’s not my fault mom loves insisting on third helpings’ this time he let out a full real laugh, remembering all the shared glances between the two of you at a dinner table. wondering how you could possibly eat another slice of meatloaf.

‘we can celebrate your new found love with some cookies, if you’d like. they should be done in a minute or two.’

the smile dropped slightly from his face. ‘oh y/n. i’d love to really but i promised angelina that i’d meet her again for coffee. i just stopped by the tell you the good news.’

‘of course, of course. you should get going then. a love like this comes around once in a life time.’ and who am i to stand in the way of someone living their lifetime.

lucas cast a sympathetic look before pushing himself off of the counter and embracing you once more.

‘thank you for everything y/n. seriously. you’ve helped me out so much. if you need anything let me know.’ his cologne was still so strong. and it hurt to know that someone else was going to experience it like this.

‘that’s what best friends are for lucas. you’ll be the first person i call when im sick and throwing up everywhere.’

you could feel him chuckle lightly before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

‘you got it y/n.’

the door shut, leaving you alone.

your hands shook as you took the cookies out of the oven and set the tray in the stove top. they shook as you turned it off. they shook as you took off the oven mits. they shook as you ran them down your face only to find them wet with tears. and they shook as you lowered yourself to the kitchen floor.

your hands were steady now and found their way to that playlist like muscle memory. you had long since deleted all the photos of you and him. but you just couldn’t find the strength to delete this. he had made it for you before the whole fiasco of pretending to be together had ever crossed either of your minds. he said that ‘these song remind me of us.’ and maybe you had gotten your own hopes up. maybe you had searched too deeply between the lines of lyrics. maybe you looked so hard that you had only found what you wanted to. because they were just songs. songs of bad timing and unrequited love. but at the end of the day still. just. songs.

as they played throughout the room. filling the stale silence as your body began to move, lifting you from the couch. your gaze landing on the sweater which rested on the arm of a chair. it was his. he had left it accidentally when spending the night here one time. you had meant to give it back for some time now but haven’t been able to. everytime you had gained the courage to call him and ask him over, he was busy. eventually you stopped calling. and he stopped texting. stopped checking in. so there the sweater sits. still smelling of him.

your body began to move once more reaching out for it and pulling it close to you. maybe if you breathed in enough of his scent, it’d feel like he was here with you again. of course it didn’t but it was as close you could get.

your hips swayed to the rhythm. as your feet worked their way around the living room. stepping over pillows and discarded take out. you danced for the first time in what felt like years. you felt the tears fall but paid them no mind. still clutching the article of clothing impossibly close to you, you sang along with the lyrics.

Yelling at the sky

Screaming at the world

Baby, why’d you go away?

I’m still your girl

Holding on too tight

Head up in the clouds

Heaven only knows

Where you are now

I stay up all night

Tell myself I’m alright

Baby, you’re just harder to see than most

I put the record on

Wait ‘til I hear our song

Every night I’m dancing with your ghost

a/n: there it is. i was listening to this song today and got super inspired and just had to write. there’s also a reference to a hobo johnson song if you can find it ;) thanks for reading. let me know if you’d like a prequel to this when reader and lucas were together. i hope you enjoyed and pls feel free to leave constructive criticism. thanks, rai :)

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