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lovetorn · 4 years

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nightmare dressed like a daydream [dream]

Prince!Dream x Fem!Assassin!Reader

Summary: Y/n is an assassin, moving from kingdom to kingdom to eliminate targets. That’s until she meets Clay, the prince of Dreland, who takes a liking to her unbeknownst of her true intentions.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.”

Word Count: 10.6k (o_O)

Warnings: a lot of death & blood (murder, heart failure), weapons (knives), swearing, toxic relationship, unrequited love :(, mentions of abuse, parental issues — i think that’s all, but if you see anything, lmk!! it’s kinda cringe i use ‘clay’ so like pls ignore it sdfghjkgjh

A/N: this is the fic i’m most proud of :’). there may be a few plot holes and filler paragraphs btw lol. if you have any questions about this fic, shoot me an ask and i’ll be happy to explain, discuss etc. anything you have relating to it! yayyy! enjoy!

She isn’t meant to be here. As a matter of fact, she isn’t supposed to be alive at all. After her last job, Y/n found herself in trouble with the wrong people. She had managed to escape from the small village she was in and find new clients in lands far away—which brought her here, tonight, in the kingdom of Dreland, at a Masquerade in the King’s castle.

She’s dressed in her best skirts and bodice, perfectly fit for the party and makes her blend in seamlessly. She doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention considering her true intentions of being here.

She walks along the edge of the ballroom, her skirts trailing behind her slightly, and the handle of her mask in her hand. Her movements are sharp and calculated but seem elegant to onlookers. Nobody suspects a thing.

Soon, she’s moving into the middle of the floor and being surrounded by older men who extend their hands to ask for a dance. Y/n shakes her head and declines politely; she doesn’t need to cause a scene.

There’s a stage on the other side of the room where the King and Queen sit in their grand thrones, and Y/n observes their actions, watching around them for one person in particular. She sees a young man exit the curtains with a platter. He wears an apron with a white fabric strip around his hair and holds the tray with delicacy. Y/n snarls when she realises he’s not the right one.

She inches closer to the stage, going to adjust her mask and purposefully dropping it. She watches as the object clatters on the floor and sighs exaggeratedly, waiting for someone to assist her. As planned, a pair of shiny black shoes arrive beside her mask, and the person leans down to grasp it from the polished timber.

“I think you dropped this, Ma’am.”

Their eyes meet—or at least she thinks they do; the badly drawn smile on his mask is distracting and incredibly unsettling for an event such as this one. Y/n knows who he is though, even behind the mask. He is her target.

“The Prince?” Y/n exclaimed in bewilderment. “Mr Wilbur, Sir, do you know how hard that’ll be?”

The older man rolls his eyes before he glares into hers. “I was told you were the best in the business. Do you want the 50 gold or not?” Y/n nods.

“Good. Now, I give you three weeks to complete this, or you get nothing but excruciating death.”

The tall man peers down at her. His head is tilting to the side as he takes in her appearance. “Who are you?”

Y/n was waiting for this question. She simply laughs and takes her mask from his grasp. “I was invited by a friend of mine. She seems to have disappeared since I’ve been over here, though.”

Her disappointment of an excuse has the man nodding—he’s taken the bait. “Interesting.”

Y/n smiles awkwardly, the atmosphere of the room shifting slightly. She hates situations like this.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” He asks, and Y/n’s eyebrows raise. “Excuse me for my informality.”

Y/n shakes her head, giggling lightly as she grabs his hand and drags him towards the exit. He’d usually never stray far from events such as this, but seeing a girl his age and ready for adventure changes his attitude.

Sneaking out past the guards, who pay no mind to two people in masks at a Masquerade, the pair step into the fresh air outside.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asks, already knowing his answer.

“Uh—Clay?” His response sounds more of a question than an answer, which makes Y/n cock her head.

“Why do you make your reply sound like that?”

“Sorry,” He laughs. “Most people call me Dream. I’m the Prince of Dreland.”

False realisation crosses Y/n’s face as she facepalms. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, your highness.”

Dream shakes his head vigorously. “No! No need for formalities, truly. I’m wonderful with being normal for once.”

He hesitates before unclasping his mask from behind his head. The ceramic object falls slightly before he catches it and then he’s looking at Y/n properly.

Dream’s hair fluffs up lightly before he runs his hand through it to tame it. Y/n holds her mask in her hand as she watches him fix his appearance.

“Now that I’ve told you mine, what’s yours?”

Y/n is wary of her answer. On the one hand, she could lie, and on the other, she remembers that he’ll most likely be dead soon, so she shouldn’t lie.

“Y/n.”

Dream smiles at her. “Pretty.” Y/n thanks him and then they stand silently next to each other, the guard near the front door inching closer.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private to talk?” Dream asks quietly. Y/n smirks whilst nodding—she didn’t think she’d be finished the job this quickly.

Dream throws a glance back at the guard before he leads her towards the garden. The moon makes it hard to see the path, but they get there eventually. There’s no talking as they walk, the pair far too busy taking in the beauty of the moonlit garden.

The dirt beds are filled with rose and sunflower bushes, the scent creating a solacing hug around Y/n as she goes to sit next to Dream on a bench. The cold air bites at her skin, causing goosebumps to gloss her body.

She usually isn’t nervous about committing murder, but Dream makes her uneasy. The way that his eyes glance at her worryingly and the harsh tension in his shoulders tells Y/n that Dream’s definitely had this happen before. Y/n bites the inside of her lip; she’d have to be very cunning to gain his trust.

The garden in itself provides her with a sense of comfort. It reminds her of her flower bed at home.

“So, why do they call you Dream?” Y/n asks. Her attempt at trying to defuse the awkwardness works as Dream twists his lips in thought.

“Uh—well, my mother used to say I was her ‘miracle’ and then believed the word was overused and cliche, so she came up with Dream; and it stuck—clearly.”

Y/n nods, a soft smile gracing her face as she turns to him. “Well, I think that’s lovely.”

Dream blushes, although it’s hard to see through the night. “Really?”

“Yeah! That’s beautiful.”

The pair sit in silence, revelling in the moonlight before Dream speaks up again. “Would you like to see the lake?”

Y/n contemplates before she replies. “Sure.”

She had no idea why he’s taking her there, but it’s a sign that she’s gaining his trust.

—

“You don’t know how to skip rocks?”

Dream shakes his head at Y/n, who sits with her jaw open. “How?”

He then shrugs, toying with a small pebble in his palm. “Teach me?”

Y/n nods and takes the rock from him before standing and shuffling towards the lake. She gets into position, her arm bent at an angle beside her body.

She takes a glance back at Dream to make sure he’s watching, which he is. “All you need to do is put your arm back like this, and then sweep it forwards and let go of the rock. Make sure you do it quickly, or it won’t work.”

Y/n exhales and throws her arm, the rock hopping along the glassy water before it plops into the depths.

She spins around with a smile on her face. Dream squints at her; he seems to be analysing her actions. He sighs and plucks a rock from the ground, standing and walking over to Y/n.

“Ready?” She asks. Dream nods while getting into the same stance Y/n was in only 20 seconds ago.

He looks down at the pebble for a moment and then throws it as Y/n said. Dream watches as the rock skips across the pond, creating ripples in the smooth water.

Dream leaps around, his eyes wide. “I did it!”

Y/n can’t help but laugh at him, the pure joy he feels influences her too. “You did!”

Dream sighs heavily and goes back to where they were sitting. He flips back onto the ground, avoiding the sharp rocks protruding the sparse grass. He laughs out loud again, who knew something as trivial as rock skipping could make him feel so alive.

“You’re cute; you know that?” The sudden compliment elicits a blush and a groan from Dream as Y/n nears closer. She smiles down at him. “There must be a lot of things you haven’t tried.”

The statement makes Dream’s heart drop. It’s true, there are many things he hasn’t done. “Yes…”

Y/n’s heart spasms in her chest. Poor guy.

“Ok. Well, I’ll make it my mission to make sure you get them all done before your time comes.”

Dream looks at her. There’s an adoration that swims around in them that inclines Y/n to feel uneasy again. “You mean that?”

The girl nods whilst she goes to lay next to him. “Everybody deserves happiness before they die.”

Dream scrunches his nose up, going to disagree before Y/n interrupts. She doesn’t know why she has the sudden urge to say such a thing, but her chest aches when she looks at him.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you, Dream. I’ve only known you for half an hour, but I feel so uneasy around you.”

This catches Dream by surprise. He tilts his head at Y/n, who covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Sorry, sorry–“

“No need to apologise, Y/n. You make me uneasy too, I guess.”

She peers at him between her fingers and then lowers her hands. Y/n lets out a small laugh at his red cheeks and imagines a flush creeping across hers too.

“Uneasy in what sense, may I ask?” Dream’s innocent tone makes Y/n’s ears blush.

“In the sense that you're unpredictable, in a good way. I’m always up for an adventure.” Her description is slightly confusing, but Dream understands.

Above them, the oak trees rustle lightly in the cool breeze, and tiny waves begin to ripple onto the sand meters in front of their feet. The sound of water rushing forwards and then pulling back calms the rapid beating of their hearts.

“I guess I could say the same for you, Y/n.”

“Prince Clay, I have breakfast and a message for you.”

At the sound of his assistant at his bedroom door, Dream groans from his place in his bed. “What time is it?”

“10 am! Get up! I have a message for you if you didn't hear me the first time!” George teases, holding the paper between his fingers; he’s eager to open the letter.

“George!” Dream calls, grabbing his pillow from beside him and shoving his face into it.

“Clay!”

Dream sighs loudly and throws his heavy duvets off of his body, stalking towards the door to unlock it. He swings the door open to see George with a scroll of parchment and a tray with a lid in his hands. Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of breakfast, but George shakes his head. “I have to read your message first.”

Dream rolls his eyes and tells George to hurry up as he struggles to unravel it.

“Ok! Calm down. Uh—it’s from someone named Y/n? Do you know—” George is rudely interrupted when Dream freezes, then smiles. “Yes!”

“Oh, well, she asks to meet you at 9 pm at the place where rocks hop—what does that mean?” George’s face scrunches up in confusion, but Dream sighs, and this time it’s in contentment and not in annoyance.

“Perfect! Thank you, Georgie. Guess I’ll see you later.” Dream snatches the tray from his assistant with his free hand, the other grabbing the piece of paper. George goes to interject before Dream steps to the side and slams the door in his face.

George stands in bewilderment behind the door. His heart aches slightly, and he’s not sure what from—maybe it’s the way Dream discarded him or because of the letter. But he certainly knows Dream has never mentioned anybody called Y/n before.

Maybe they’re just friends? Perhaps they only met last night at the Masquerade?

George scolds himself for his ridiculous thoughts and spins on his heel, heading for his own room. He hesitates before he leaves, hearing Dream let out a shout of excitement. At the sound, George pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and exhales; sadly, the situation brings tears to his dark eyes.

They’re probably just friends.

—

Dream sits anxiously on his bed, his head in his palm as he watches the clock tick. 8:39 pm. 8:40 pm. 8:41 pm.

His heart skips a beat as it reaches the time to leave. Dream leaps from his spot on the bed and goes towards his mirror on the other side of the room. His hands come down to straighten out his dark waistcoat before they move to his hair. He curls his lip up at the sight of his unruly locks and sighs, choosing to ruffle it up slightly rather than putting gel in it.

Taking in his appearance, Dream nods to himself. If he goes towards the Astronomy Tower and then loops towards the lake, he’ll arrive at precisely 8:58 pm; perfect timing.

The night is clear, and the stars look amazing from where Y/n sits on the grass next to the lake. She leans back on her elbows as she takes in the view. It’s whimsical.

Thoughts of murder and pursuit place a dark cloud over the magical evening. Y/n bites her lip and stares at the rippling water in front of her. The lake looks ominous enough to hide a body in or cover up a vast amount of blood, and the dense foliage across the lake is enough to conceal a weapon in. However, Dream is the Prince, and there is no doubt that everybody in the kingdom would be looking high and low for him if he were to go missing.

Y/n’s plans go down the drain. It shouldn't be this hard! Wilbur Soot trusted her to do this, and if she doesn’t go through with it, she is guaranteed death.

She groans loudly, bringing her hands up to dig the heels of her palms into her eyes. Y/n could cry at the idea of failing and being a disappointment, even to people she doesn’t even know.

The rustling of the bushes behind her indicates Dream has arrived, but she doesn't move from her position. Instead, she chooses to gain his sympathy and find a way to manipulate him to make it easier to go through with the assassination.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Dream rushes towards her, dropping beside her on the grass. Y/n sniffs and shakes her head. “What happened?”

Dream places his hand on her back, softly. The act in itself makes Y/n jump; she’s not used to physical contact.

“Sorry.” He apologises when he sees her startled, deciding to move his hand away and place it back into his lap.

“No, you’re fine,” Y/n lets out a teary laugh. “I—erm, I just found out that my father divorced my mother, and he took the farm and cottage away from her.”

Her hands fall to her lap hopelessly, and Dream’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

The girl shakes her head. The pair sit in the dark, the moon being the only thing illuminating their faces. Y/n thinks she’s hit a dead-end until Dream sighs and continues speaking.

“I can actually relate if it makes you feel better,” This makes Y/n’s ears perk up. “My father has been going to L’Manberg on ‘business trips’, but I know why he’s really leaving.”

Gotcha.

“Clay, I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t reply and reaches over to grasp Y/n’s hand. Dream wears a crestfallen expression, his eyes glassy as he looks out over the water. Y/n feels a pang in her heart at the sight of the upset man.

“I used to think that they had a good relationship,” Dream starts. Y/n doesn’t have the will to hear his perspective on it, afraid that she’ll actually feel bad for him and lose any motivation to kill him. “Until I went for a walk one night through the halls in the castle. I heard voices in my parents’ room and wanted to say ‘goodnight’, but before I could, I heard glass smashing and terrible cries.

“I was only a child, but I knew what was happening. I didn’t want to believe it at first because why would the King and Queen do such horrible things to each other? But as I got older, I realised that they had fallen out of love and are only faking it for the kingdom.”

“Clay—”

“They don’t know that I know all of this; they think I’m as clueless as I was when I was nine. But I’m twenty-one now, and I know everything.”

Y/n screws her lips up, her throat burning with emotion. Why is she feeling like this?

“I don’t know what to say.” And it’s true. Y/n remains speechless as she listens to Dream tell her about his parents.

“Nothing. I just needed someone to know.” Dream is blunt with his words and releases Y/n’s hand. She feels awful for not being able to help him in the way he needs, but she’s not here to be his therapist—she’s here to murder him.

“Hey, how about we lighten the mood with some rock skipping?” And that’s just enough for Dream.

—

“Where are you staying?” Dream asks. Y/n is caught off guard by the question but tells him her orchestrated answer.

“In the castle, actually.”

Dream turns to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Really?” Y/n nods.

In an attempt to change the subject, Y/n picks up Dream’s hand from his lap. “Enough about me. Tell me what your favourite food is.”

Dream gives her a confused look before replying. “Vanilla cake.”

Y/n hums and fiddles with his fingers. “Interesting.”

Dream throws his head back to gaze at the moon above them. He is comfortably content at this moment with Y/n, despite only knowing her for a day. His eyes widen before he scrabbles to stand hastily. “I gotta go! You want to walk back together?”

“I’m going to stay here a bit longer, if that’s alright with you.” Y/n smiles at him and Dream nods. It is reaching midnight and Dream knows he’ll be in trouble for being out so late.

After he bids goodbye to Y/n, Dream begins his journey home. He hears wolves howling from behind the walls that surround the castle and goosebumps rise on his skin. It’s expectantly silent for the time of night, the only sound being animals as they scavenge.

Dream’s footsteps are heavy on the pathway back to the castle, and his heart rate picks up at the sound of trees rustling. With his head on a swivel, Dream spins around to face the bush. He sucks his lips between his teeth and continues, checking back every once in a while, to make sure he isn’t being followed.

He sees the grand entrance of the castle and his feet quicken. There’s a sudden whoosh behind him and then a breeze. A twig snaps in the distance and instead of running, he slows down. Dream forces himself to calm down—he’s only scaring himself.

“Dream~” A voice sings into the wind. The tune has Dream sprinting to the doors, his heart beating out of his chest. Surely, he didn’t hear what he thought he heard.

The wooden doors are heavy as he pushes them open before he stumbles inside. Dream is quick to close them once more, locking them in the process. He’s safe now, right?

A sliver of white ripped fabric floats in the wind on a spike outside of his window. Dream eyes it suspiciously, that wasn’t there last night.

He stretches his arms out, his joints cracking as his stare remains trained on the material. An uneasy feeling rises in his chest before his bedroom door opens suddenly.

“Clay~” His assistant, George, sings. He holds a tray in his hands and a beaming smile on his face. “Breakfast!”

“Hi.” At Dream’s wavering voice, George places the tray on the table and stalks over to the Prince.

“What’s wrong?” He sits on Dream’s bed and tries to meet his gaze.

“Somebody’s after me, George,” Dream whispers, his fearful eyes are staring into George’s.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“Well, we have to inform the King and Queen at once, Clay!”

Dream shakes his head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine; besides, I’m inside the castle for most of the day anyways. There’s no way anybody like that could get in.”

George goes to interject but knows better than to do so. He trusts Dream, more than anyone else; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine. Right?

“Ok… but if anything happens, you tell me. Got it?” George says his voice stern. Dream hasn’t heard this tone since he attempted to run from the castle last year after an argument with his parents. George had been scared out of mind when his best friend—the prince—was reported missing.

“Has this got anything to do with Y/n, perhaps?” Dream is bewildered that George would say such a thing. “No! I trust Y/n. She could never do such a thing.”

George nods timidly and apologises before he stands. “Breakfast is on your desk. I’ll be back later to collect the plates.”

Dream furrows his eyebrows as he watches George sulk. Why does Y/n worry him so much?

—

Dream walks in the moonlight along the high walls that surround the castle. If anybody knew he was out at this hour, he’d be in so much trouble. It wasn’t that his parents didn’t trust him; it was everybody else.

When he was younger, a groundskeeper had led him outside the gates with the intent to sell him off. The experience had left Dream untrusting to many, and although he was much older now, much more robust, he had a hard time getting to know people.

An owl hoots from the tree above him and the moon hangs behind its body, casting a shadow onto the dirt beneath. The silhouette is ghostly, and the sight makes the creature look much more sinister than it is.

Dream stops in his place and watches as the owl hops along the thick branch, the rustling of the leaves distracting him for a moment. The bird then pauses and turns to look at him. Dream smiles softly and whispers, “Hi, little owl.”

Much to his surprise, the owl actually hoots back. The sound makes Dream’s eyes widen as he continues to speak quietly to the bird.

A twig snapping behind him causes the owl to flap its wings and shoot off into the night, making Dream frown. He sighs before turning around with the intent of going back to the castle. He’s been out for long enough anyway.

His mind drifts to Y/n. He wonders where she is, his heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of her. It is ridiculous really, how quickly he’s fallen for a girl he only met a few weeks ago. But he knows she’s different from the princesses his family has tried to set him up with. Y/n is different in the sense that she actually makes him nervous—lovestruck, even.

The sound of someone clearing their throat catches Dream’s attention, and then he turns to his right to face the noise.

“Dream.” A voice says.

Dream freezes. His heart picks up speed as he’s met with a person, a mask covering their face. His hands begin to shake as the person draws closer.

As they approach him, Dream can tell it’s a woman. As sexist as it is, he knows he could take her if they were to engage in a fight. Dream scolds himself at the thought, and his frightened expression goes slack.

“Who are you?” He exclaims, pushing his hair from his eyes to get a better look.

“I’m here on orders from someone to kill you.”

Dream’s heart skips a beat. He knew it.

“I know.”

The girl stops in her place. “How?”

“I could feel it,” Dream gulps. “It’s happened before.”

The girl nods and lifts her arm. Dream squints into the darkness to see what she is doing before he’s being pushed backwards. He stumbles slightly before he regains balance and begins running.

“Dream~” The girl sings, her voice slightly distorted. Dream hears her loud and clear as he leaps over tree roots and dirt mounds.

“Leave me alone!”

She laughs and picks up speed behind him. Dream is shocked by how quickly she’s gaining on him, but he persists, nonetheless. A crooked smirk spreads across his cheeks as he looks back at her.

“I can’t do that.”

Dream’s lungs and throat burn as he draws in breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and his knees begin to buckle as he prepares his arms to catch him when he falls. He doesn’t run much. But despite the pain, a sly grin continues to play on his lips.

Dream’s feet give way below him, and then he’s tumbling onto the freshly mown grass. He’s run a long way, now lying in the garden rather than being in the forest. The moon sits high in the sky and shines down on him intensely.

And although he’s scared for his life, Dream can’t help but feel a little relieved. He moves to sit back on his heels as the girl comes up in front of him, a dagger drawn in her hand. It’s like a game to both of them.

“I’ve got you now, Dream,”

“It seems you do.”

The masked girl’s dagger presses firmly against his throat. The blade gleams in the moonlight, and the pressure elicits a groan from him.

Dream smiles as a drop of blood cascades down his chest. He enjoys the feeling a little more than he should, and the glint in her eye shows him that she does too. Why are her eyes so familiar?

“But I’ll spare you.”

Dream’s eyebrows furrow as he watches her pull her knife away from his neck and shove it back into the slot in her boot. “Why?”

The girl sighs, her arms relaxing by her side. “Because I—something’s telling me I should.”

She turns on her heel, looking around before she ducks into the line of trees behind them.

Dream exhales deeply, relieved—the small cut on his throat stinging as he tilts his head up to stare at the moon. He’s vulnerable in this position; on his knees and unarmed. Who would spare the prince if they had the perfect chance to kill him? What made her change her mind?

In his conversation with the moon, Dream thinks about the girl’s eyes and why they were so familiar to him—and why she spared him. He squints at the full moon, begging for answers, trying to remember where he’d seen such beauty.

His dazed smile is quickly wiped from his lips, and the realisation knocks the oxygen out of his lungs, and soon he’s gasping for air and clawing his chest—it’s Y/n.

Dream sits at the long dining table with a new plate of eggs and turkey.

“Dreamy, darling, are you going to eat?” The Queen asks, her head lolling to the side as she talks to her son.

Dream’s lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not that hungry.”

Y/n was on the verge of killing him last night.

“Oh? Are you feeling okay?”

Dream then nods, resting his cheek in his palm. His hair is messy, and his clothes remain skewed from sleeping. He usually didn’t present himself like this at breakfast.

“Yes, perfectly fine. I’m sorry for not looking presentable this morning.”

His mother sighs, her hand reaching out to grasp his free one. “That’s alright.”

Dream gives her a tight-lipped smile and squeezes her hand. He notes that her ring finger is bare but decides against saying anything.

“Where’s dad?” He asks instead. His mother stills, her face unreadable as she nods once.

“He had to leave this morning—business in L’Manberg.”

Dream doesn’t speak and lifts his hand, picking up his fork. The action elicits a soft smile from his mother. He stabs a slice of grilled turkey and brings it to his mouth.

—

“Clay!”

At the sound of his name, Dream turns around.

It’s after breakfast and Dream stands in the corner of the ballroom gazing out of the large windows that look onto the back garden. The head cook, and one of his best friends, Nick, is approaching him. “Nick?”

His friend laughs, untying his apron from behind his back before he lays it over the end of one of the sofas. Dream steps forward to embrace Nick in a hug. “How have you been?”

Nick contemplates his answer before he responds. “Flippin’ awesome.” Dream’s jaw goes slack at the cooking pun and chuckles.

“Ha, ha. SO funny.”

The pair pull away, and Dream faces the window again. The sapphire butterflies that flutter around the apple tree outside bring him a sense of comfort as Nick comes up beside him. The pair bask in warmth from the sun, the window making it much hotter than it is.

“I’ve missed you, man. The kitchen’s been boring without you sneaking in.” Nick frowns and Dream feels his stomach drop. He takes a glance at the shorter man and sighs.

“I’m sorry, bro. George said it’s ideal for me not to sneak around at night because—”

Dream’s breath hitches in his throat, eliciting a cough. Nick shoots him a look. “Because of what?”

“Erm—uh, I guess there’s somebody after me.”

“What? Really?”

Dream nods, wiping his nose with his fist. Nick struggles to find the words to say. “You don’t need to say anything; I don’t expect you to. I just thought I should let you know.”

Nick exhales deeply, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Dream whispers. The two of them stand in silence as they watch the insects fly around in the sunlight. “Come here.”

Then Dream’s pulling Nick into another hug. This time, their embrace means something, and Dream knows it’ll be one of the last times he sees his best friend. Be safe. I love you.

A sniffle from Nick prompts Dream to push him away at arm's length, his hands resting on his shoulders. The younger man complains about how embarrassing it is seeing him cry, but Dream shakes his head in assurance. “It’s okay—I’ll be okay.”

“I hope so; I can’t imagine this place without you.”

Dream sits on his bed, silently. He recalls the events from last night and exhales deeply. A million questions run through his mind as he shifts positions, now choosing to lay on his back and stare at the high ceiling. His fingertips come up to brush the scabbing cut on his neck.

Why did he somewhat enjoy the blade against his neck? Why wasn’t he scared when it pierced his skin? Would he tell George? But most of all, why was Y/n after him? He trusted her–didn’t he?

A sudden knock on his bedroom door and the quiet sweep of paper against wood brings him from his screaming mind. He sits up abruptly, spotting the piece of parchment on the timber floor. Dream glances out of the window quickly and goes to snatch it from the ground.

The crinkling of paper is loud as he rushes to open it.

Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at noon.

Dream’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. Y/n wants to meet with him. Would she mention what happened last night? Does she know he knows it’s her? Is she planning to kill him right now?

Another knock makes him jump. But this time, it opens.

“Clay?”

“George!” Dream exclaims, pulling his assistant by his sleeve into the room, the door closing behind them.

“Uh, yes?” George is confused at Dream’s jagged movements. Dream shoves the letter into the older boy’s hands and waits for his reaction. When George doesn’t reply, Dream rolls his eyes.

“It’s from Y/n!”

“Well, you have to go.”

Dream is both shocked and relieved. “I have to go?”

George nods. He reads over the letter one last time before he gives it back to Dream. George squints when he notices his friend’s slightly pink cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?”

Dream immediately coughs in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. George keeps his eyes on him as he does so, screwing his lips up in slight irritation that somebody can make Dream flustered.

“Oh! Do you have a crush?” George teases, although it’s more of an accusation than a joke. Dream laughs, shoving him away. George chooses to ignore the tugging at his heart when he hears the Prince giggle like that.

“I don’t like her—I can’t. She’d kill me, George.” Dream jokes, patting his friend on the back. But is he really joking?

“Kill you?”

Dream laughs, spinning on his heel whilst shrugging. “Kill me.”

“Did you speak to Nick this morning?” George asks, his fake smile flipping into a frown. The mood drops immediately, all laughs, and carelessness forgotten.

Dream nods. “I told him how I think somebody’s after me again. He looked pretty scared.”

“He was worried when I told him you wanted to talk to him about it.” George tilts his head and sighs.

“...It’s nearly noon. I better get going.” Dream deflects the topic, choosing to stand tall once more. He doesn’t want George to suspect anything’s wrong with Y/n, so he puts on a false façade, a smile stretching across his cheeks.

George doesn't say anything and tries to make his smile believable as he opens Dream’s bedroom door for him. “Have fun, I guess.”

The younger man practically skips out of the room, and when he is halfway down the hallway, he turns. “What was it that you needed, George? When you knocked before?”

George dismisses his question. “Not important. Now, go!”

Although, to George, it is crucial, and now he has missed his chance.

—

Dream’s boots slap the cobblestone steps as he makes his way up the tower. He peers around the corner, wary of his movements as he goes. When he reaches the top, he cautiously tiptoes to the balcony. His hand goes to trace the scab forming on his neck and forgets it when he hears her.

“Clay?” Her voice is soft, holding much more kindness than it did when she had a blade to his throat. “Y/n.”

He sees her perched on a picnic mat, a basket next to her. Dream tilts his head as he watches her stand and approaches him. Her arms wrap around his neck in a hug and then he’s hugging her back. “Hi.”

“Hey,” She laughs, pulling back slightly to admire his face. “I missed you today.” Dream gives a muffled noise of agreement into her shoulder.

Y/n steps back and squints at his neck. “What happened?” Her fingers delicately feel the wound before Dream dodges her.

“Nothing, nothing. What’s all this?”

She appears to overlook his shitty deflection and motions towards the place where she was sitting. “I made us a picnic.”

The way she smiles almost makes Dream forget who she is. He forces a smile back, his heart aching at the realisation of reality. She’ll kill him soon.

“I baked a cake for you, vanilla—you said that was your favourite, right?” Y/n’s anxious actions worry Dream as he sits down next to her. He lifts his head to look out over the land, and the view is breath-taking.

“Woah,” He breathes.

Y/n smiles brightly at him, glancing at the green hills and blue skies before she focuses on cutting a slice of cake.

“You know, I never really admired this view until I met you.” Dream confesses—and it’s true. Y/n pauses, gazing at him as he turns towards her.

“Really?”

He nods, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her. She truly is gorgeous. “You’re pretty.”

Y/n’s eyes widen, and she feels her cheeks flush. “Oh, thank you, Clay. You’re pretty too.” Her hair falls in front of her face as she looks down, and Dream feels a pang in his heart.

“Have some cake,” Y/n mumbles, handing him a napkin with the dessert placed on it. The sweet looks delectable, and Dream can’t wait to take a bite—unless…

“You know what? I’m not that hungry, actually. But the cake looks delicious. Thank you.” Y/n furrows her eyebrows, and a look of hurt flashed across her face. “Oh.”

She hurries to take it back from him, but he refuses to give it to her. “What are you doing?” She asks.

Dream motions for her to cut another piece, “I’ll only eat if you do.”

Y/n nods slowly, moving the knife to slice into the cake once more. She flips it onto another napkin and brings it towards her mouth.

“What? You think it’s poisonous?” Y/n laughs, watching as Dream becomes flustered. “No!”

His response is quick and cautious, but Y/n doesn’t seem to notice as she takes a bite of her piece of cake. Dream watches as she chews and swallows, earning a confused glance from her. Nothing happens.

“Well, I didn’t drop dead. Your turn,” She laughs, hurt still evident on her features. Dream feels guilty. He holds the cake surprisingly firmly, bringing it to his lips. His heart races as he puts it between his teeth and bites down. The cake is very sweet, and it’s good. Dream catches Y/n’s eye as he eats, giving her a nod of approval. She smiles widely and visibly relaxes.

The action calms something in Dream, too. He finishes off his cake and waits for Y/n to do the same. He sees some white frosting fall onto the bodice of her dress, the sugary mixture tumbling down onto her skirt. The girl doesn’t seem to notice as she licks the remaining icing off her fingers.

“Uh—Y/n, you got some—uh,” Dream motions to her skirt, and watches as she sighs deeply. “Awww, I just washed these.”

Dream stifles a giggle when Y/n scrunches her nose up and goes to wipe it off. As small as the action is, Dream’s heart skips a beat at her cute expression. He scolds himself for feeling such this way; she tried to kill you last night.

He eyes the knife next to the basket, sweet frosting covering the blade. The growing desire to grab it and ram it right through her chest burns in his mind, but he holds back. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, Dream is terrified of himself.

He shakes the deranged through from his head. What was that?

Dream watches as Y/n shoves the used napkin into the basket and lifts her eyes to meet his. He smiles softly, causing Y/n to cover her face with her hands. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He laughs, reaching to poke her in the ribs. Y/n yelps quietly, jolting when he shocks her side. “Stop making me flustered. It’s hardly polite.”

Dream stops, the tips of his ears reddening. He makes her nervous? “Oh, come on now.”

The rasp in his voice makes Y/n freeze. She peers at him through her fingers and sees him smirking at her. She lets out a high-pitched sound and returns her hands over her eyes. As much as Dream hates to admit it, there’s a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Clay, I’m going to take my hands away from my eyes now, and you better not say anything suggestive.”

Dream chuckles, extending his arms out to grasp her fingers and pull them down. She doesn’t meet his gaze as he holds her hands in her lap. Birds chirp and fly past the balcony, their singing being a perfect addition to the atmosphere the pair had created.

They don’t say anything as they lean closer. Dream tilts his head slightly, a small smile gracing his face as he sees Y/n do the same.

“Prince Clay, the Queen would like to see you in the castle.”

The two of them are still at the sound of another. George stands at the top of the stairs, a scroll in his right hand. Dream rolls his eyes in annoyance, throwing Y/n an apologetic look as he releases her hands. “Thanks, George.”

“I—I’ll see you later?” Y/n whispers as she watches Dream clamber up to his full height. He nods hastily, not giving her a second look, and rushes out behind George. He feels her stare on the back of his skull but continues.

Y/n sits in silence as the clanging of the wooden door downstairs slams against the stone walls. The chirping of the birds outside dies down, and she frowns.

As much as she’s supposed to detest Dream, Y/n feels butterflies cluster in her stomach at the mere thought of him. The idea of killing him causes the butterflies to turn to spiders and makes Y/n feel sick. She can’t go through with this—not now, not ever.

—

“Dre—Clay.”

Dream freezes; his mother only uses his real name when things are serious. He nods once, prompting his mother to continue.

“Your father has yet to return to the kingdom from his trip to L’Manberg. However, plans have changed, and it seems he’ll be there longer than expected.” The Queen’s voice is steady but has undertones of utter sadness, which Dream picks up on instantly.

“Why?” He asks.

“He gave me a straight answer; business.”

Dream doesn’t say nor does anything. Instead, he remains still. His lack of response earns a reaction from his mother, however. “What is it?”

“Is it why you don’t wear your ring anymore?” Dream refuses to meet her eye, afraid he’ll upset her more than he already has with his question.

The Queen inhales sharply, glancing at her hand before she composes herself. “Yes.”

Her voice is just above a whisper, but Dream catches it. His heart clenches, and then he finally meets her watery eyes.

Dream’s hard exterior breaks as he wraps his arms around his mother. He uses his finger to usher the guards and assistants out of the room and then rests his hand on the back of her hair in an attempt to quiet her soft cries.

He tries his best to be strong for her, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

The room is far too silent for Dream’s liking, and he wishes for something to happen to break it.

And something does. The slam of the double doors makes the pair jump, Dream spinning around to see who had interrupted.

Y/n stands there, the same picnic basket in her hand. “I’m sorry for intruding!”

Dream’s mother quickly wipes under her eyes and places her usual people-pleasing smile on. “What can I do for you, darling?”

Y/n walks further into the room, glancing at Dream momentarily before opening the basket in front of the Queen.

“I brought you some berries. I was speaking to Dream earlier, and he told me you loved strawberries. So, I picked some for you, myself.” Her smile is deceiving, Dream can tell, but it’s also warming, and kind and his chest aches at the sight of it.

The Queen gasps, her hands going to take the basket from Y/n. She peers in and sees it full to the brim with the berries. “Oh my,”

Y/n’s smile grows, her eyes meeting Dream’s. Although he knows her true intentions, he’s extremely grateful for her kindness. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” His mother beams. She turns around and starts walking towards another door behind them.

Once the door closes, Y/n grins at Dream, and he smiles back. His heart twists in his chest, and his eyes burn with tears. Oh, how silly I am, he thinks.

The next time Dream sees Y/n, and she’s under the wooden bridge in the garden, her hair and undergarments drenched. The sun burns intensely down on his neck as he approaches her.

Y/n watches the lake rush under her, the odd fish jumping out and diving back into the freezing water. It’s a harsh contrast to the weather outside, swelteringly hot and humid, but Y/n doesn’t pay any mind when she contemplates going for a swim.

She jogs off the bridge and circles back around to shuffle down the steep, grass bank. Butterflies flutter majestically around her, enhancing the experience of being in an actual kingdom rather than a desert village—it's magical.

Y/n’s eyes dart around before her hands tend to her back to untie her bodice. She sucks on her bottom lip, and she does so, the process takes far too long.

Throwing the structured clothing to the grass, she then moves to her top skirt, pulling it up over her head. Her heeled boots and frilly socks are the last things to remove and then Y/n is left standing in a plain cream skirt and button-up.

She pays no attention to her surroundings as she lifts her remaining skirt and dips her toes into the icy lake, her mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the temperature.

From here, Y/n can see that the middle of the lake is the deepest point; the bottom is nowhere in sight through the clear water.

Y/n doesn’t think twice as she leaps into the middle, her entire body submerging under the surface. Her senses are shocked, and her throat closes at the sudden chill. Y/n claws at the water to reach the surface, and then she feels the sun on her cheeks. She takes a large breath and wipes her eyes.

“Y/n?” The girl turns towards the sound of Dream’s voice.

“Clay?” She smiles. He runs down the bank and towards the water, although he stops before he can dive in.

“What are you doing?” He calls, tilting his head at her. “Swimming.”

Dream rolls his eyes, “Obviously!”

This elicits a giggle from Y/n as she swims to the edge, her clothes drenched and her heavy makeup running down her face.

“Hi,” Y/n says as she draws closer. Dream tries fighting a smile at the sight of her in her undergarments. He feels the tips of his ears redden. “I don’t care if you see me like this, Clay.”

He doesn’t say anything as he reaches his hands for her cheeks. He thinks she looks absolutely gorgeous. But the rising impulse to push her head under the water and never let her up is powerful. Once his fingertips brush her cheek, his breathing becomes laboured and clenches his jaw. She tried to kill you.

Y/n notices him vacantly staring at her and waves her hand in front of his eyes. “Clay?”

Dream’s blank expression doesn’t waver. Instead, Y/n swears, she sees his green eyes darken. His hands move from her cheeks to her shoulders, and his grip tightens. Y/n’s face scrunches in uncertainty, and she tries to shift from under his secure hold. Dream’s glare turns wicked as she continues to withdraw. “Clay? Stop, you’re scaring me.”

His head cocks to the side mockingly, his arms going to push her shoulders down. Y/n losing footing on the rocks under her feet and her neck reaches the water. She claws hastily at his hands, and soon she’s gulping mouthfuls of the icy water. Dream shows no signs of stopping until the sound of her screams brings him from his empty glare. “S-Stop it-t!”

“Y/n?”

Dream blinks, and his face softens. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Y/n struggling to keep her head above the water and grips under her armpits to pull her to stand again. Dream becomes increasingly worried as he sees tears running down her cheeks instead of lake water and makeup, opening his mouth to pour out apologies.

Y/n stays silent, her eyes shooting from his gaze to the water. She is confused and scared. Questions run through her mind at a million miles per second. Why? Why, why, why? Does he know why she is actually here? Does he know her true intentions? Did he just try and drown her?

“What’s your problem?” Y/n yells, scrambling up the edge of the lake and towards her dry clothes. Dream says nothing. Why did he do that?

“I—I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Maybe it wasn’t her who had a dagger to his throat all that time ago. Perhaps she’s just a normal girl.

Y/n snarls at him, her top lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

The words shock Dream back into reality. “No! No, no.”

“Yes. Now, leave me alone, Clay.” Y/n spits as she gathers her clothes and stomps back towards the castle.

Dream stays crouching next to the lake. He stares at his reflection in the water. It twists and turns into a horrible creature baring sharp teeth and dark, dark eyes. He shakes his head instantly; the reflection swirling back into himself.

What is going on?

—

The fire almost burns Y/n’s icy hands as she inches closer to the flame. With her dry clothes on, her hair is still wet, and it drips down the back of her bodice and skirts, making her even colder; Y/n regrets not drying her hair before she got dressed.

As she stares into the fire, Dream’s void expression and evil eyes eat away at her conscience, making her squeeze her eyes shut at the thought.

“You,”

The sound of a singular word makes Y/n turn around. George, Dream’s assistant, stands in front of her. His hard eyes are glaring at her as she cocks her head. “George?”

“You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” He spits, backing away slowly. Y/n's face shifts to one of shock, her hands shaking in at her sides.

“Kill him? I would never do such a thing! If anything, he tried to kill me half an hour ago! At the bridge!”

George scoffs, inching his hand towards the fire poker that leans against the brick fireplace next to him. “You know, you really need to work on your coyness, Y/n.”

She rolls her eyes at him, her teeth chattering as she does so. “You’re ridiculous, George. I love him despite his mistakes.”

The man lets out a grunt. “You don’t!”

Y/n steps back at his sudden aggressiveness. She sees the fire poker in his whitening knuckles and then stares at him in bewilderment. “Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself or me.”

A sinister laugh escapes George’s throat as he brings the sharp object up to her face, “Oh, I’m definitely going to hurt you. You’re not going anywhere near Clay, again.”

At his sentence, Y/n stills, and her concerned expression falls slack. She’s done this more times than she can count. Her cold hands intertwine in front of her stomach as a look of confusion crosses George’s face.

“Listen, I came here to do one thing, and whether or not that plan has changed is none of your business,” Y/n says her stare never wavering.

She hates to make it so vague, but she knows if he told him the truth, she’d be dead either way—whether that be by George and his fire poker, or by Wilbur Soot and his many friends that could have her head on a pitchfork at any given moment.

George narrows his eyes at her. “You’re lying.”

She shrugs; Y/n knows not to show fear; it would only motivate him more.

The end of the poker is dangerously close to her face, and George sighs before he lowers it. “You love him?”

Y/n’s eyes soften, and she recoils slightly. She blinks slowly, her eyes coming to rest on her feet. Y/n hates showing emotion, choosing to spill everything in isolation rather than unveiling her vulnerability to potential threats.

George only nods and retreats, placing the poker back next to the fireplace. He hesitates before he speaks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. George drops his head and sighs, his heart shattering at the mere thought of Dream, returning her feelings.

“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but I know one thing; I’ve never seen Clay like this before, so please don’t hurt him. I can tell he cares about you, dearly.” He refuses to meet Y/n’s eye as he turns to exit.

She becomes wary of his sudden change in mood but decides against asking him any questions as she sees the tail of his dress coat float around the corner of the doorframe.

George almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked into Dream’s bedroom the next morning. The sunlight had only just begun to flood the kingdom, the clock on the wall showing 6:18 am.

“Why are you already up? Who are you?” George jokes approaching his best friend. Dream sits hunched over his desk, his quill hurrying over a piece of parchment. George furrows his brows at the strange behaviour but chooses to ignore it as he pulls a chair beside Dream.

The younger man stops his actions and glances at his assistant. “What are you doing?”

George pales. “I—uh, just wanted to see what you are doing.” Dream throws him a dirty look before he angles his body away.

George bites the inside of his cheek, his body filling with rage at Dream’s attitude. “What’s your deal?”

Dream stills; George has never spoken to him like that before. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Clay! Why are you so secretive all of a sudden? You always tell me what’s going on.”

The Prince doesn’t seem to notice the absolute heartbreak and sadness in his assistant’s voice and clenches his fists. “Just fuck off, George! You’re my assistant, not my friend. I only call you when I need you. Got it?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows. George feels his entire body tingle as it falls numb, his stomach turning sickly. He watches as Dream huffs and turns back to his piece of paper, like a child; his arm covering the page and his other scribbling down words or exactly that—scribbles.

It takes everything in George to stand up and leave. His legs are jelly as he wobbles out; his tears finally spilling down his cheeks. He shuts Dream’s bedroom door quietly, not anger him further, and runs down the hall towards his own room.

The halls are silent, not a soul in sight but the broken one that floats behind George while he tries to swallow choked sobs.

He hops down a few stairs, and then he’s pushing his door open, slamming it behind him in total defeat. He slides down the back of it, his hands coming to cover his flushed face. George scratches at his chest as he struggles to quieten the sound of his laboured breathing and hiccups. His heartbeat stutters within his ribcage—but that’s the least of his worries.

This is the suffering of complete and utter heartbreak, and now George knows how it feels after three years of dreading it. He screws his eyes shut, in hopes of stopping the tears and forces himself to calm down.

He loves Clay as more than a friend—this he knows is true. But, George scolds himself for being so foolish for thinking the Prince would reciprocate his one-sided love.

And as the air fills his lungs, George stops. He holds his breath for as long as he can—the burning of his body screaming for him to breathe is the only thing he feels. He’s lightheaded as he gazes out of the window opposite him. The oak trees rustle in the dawn breeze, and it's tranquil. He feels his heart clench in his chest and then an unbearable searing pain that he can only compare to tossing your body into a fire and feeling it melt your skin.

The world is peaceful as he continues to let his body ignite and soon dwindle into nothing.

And as the sun rises higher, his body slumps lower onto the ground, his eyes glassy and still staring out at the garden.

—

Meet me in the garden at dusk.

Her fingers trace the outline of the scraggly letters. Dream’s letter is vague, with no real meaning and nothing to indicate why he wants to meet. Usually, George delivered Dream’s letters to Y/n, but today it was rushed to her by another servant from the castle. Weird.

Y/n squints closer at the letter; she can see how hard Dream drove the quill into the paper by the letters’ slightly ripped edges. Leaning closer, the smell of lavender seeps through the parchment. There are no lavender plants in the garden.

Instead of going unprepared, Y/n reaches into the desk drawer and retrieves her dagger. She brings it towards her face and tilts it in the light, the metal reflecting into her eyes. Lifting her skirts on one side, Y/n shoves the knife into the case clasped around her thigh. It's subtle and easy to get to if needed.

Y/n sighs, reading over the letter one last time before she walks towards the fire in the corner. She tosses it into the flames, watching as reds and oranges engulf the paper.

She knows what comes next. If Dream wants her to meet him, then she’ll do it, but she also has to go through with her duties whether she likes it or not.

Y/n draws nearer to the garden, her eyes darting around the trees in hopes—or in fear—of seeing Dream. The sun burns in the distance, begging to say goodbye for the day as it watches the girl tiptoe over tree roots.

Once she enters the area enclosed by stone walls and arches, tears gather in Y/n’s eyes when she sees him, her heartstrings pulling violently in her chest. Dream stands on the other side of the garden, the thorns from the rose bush piercing his dress pants. Y/n remains frozen under one of the stone arches at the garden’s entrance, her dagger prominent in its case around her thigh.

His cold stare meets her cautious eyes and his face does nothing to soothe her nerves like it usually does. Instead, his stern expression stirs panic around in her stomach and makes her feel ill. Y/n abandons her original plan to stay withdrawn from the situation because once she sees him, she breaks.

“I can’t kill you, Clay!”

Dream freezes at her sudden shout. The pain in her voice makes him clench his jaw, and soon he’s approaching her. “What?”

Y/n inhales sharply, her breath hitching in her throat before she continues. “You know that I came here to kill you, you figured it out! And now I can’t go through with it.”

“Why?” Dream’s glare challenges her.

“Don’t make me answer that,”

“Y/n,”

“Clay.”

“I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut, her fists tense by her sides. Dream’s blunt tone is the last thing she needs to suppress her feelings further. “Because I hate you and I can’t possibly assassinate you when I have feelings like that—it’s immoral.”

He scoffs at her horrible excuse. “If you truly hate me, I would’ve been dead the first second you saw me. Don’t lie to me, Y/n.”

Y/n could scream—in frustration, in anger, in heartbreak. She wants to stand on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and scream about how much she loves him; scream about how much she hates him; scream about how she would go to the ends of the earth for a man she is supposed to murder.

“Leave me, Clay. I need to be alone.”

With the shake of his head, Dream steps closer. “You love me; that’s why. It took me a while to realise, but I know now. And the worst part is, I love you too.”

The confession has Y/n panicking. Her eyes widen, and her hands scramble to snatch the knife from her thigh—but Dream’s quicker. He leaps towards her, his body colliding with hers as they stumble onto the grass. Y/n’s dagger presses against his neck, but there’s one against hers too.

An unfamiliar panic runs through Y/n as she feels a blade across her throat, but she keeps a hard exterior. The deadly look in Dream’s eye catches Y/n off guard as she pushes her knife firmly. A split appears on his skin—his blood dripping onto her neck, making him readjust his grip on his own dagger.

His mother’s face flashes through Dream’s mind while he swallowed thickly. He apologises in his thoughts as he glares at Y/n.

The heat of his hot blood on her skin is unlike anything Y/n’s felt before; maybe it’s the bloodlust or something else, but Dream notices.

Y/n opens her lips to speak but is stopped when he leans down to press his mouth against hers. The kiss is contrastingly soft compared to the incredibly vulnerable and intense position they’re in. Dream’s skin burns where the cut is and feels it grow as he leans closer to her face. Y/n gasps when she feels metal pierce her skin, and soon they’re whispering into each other’s lips.

The end is near. And as Y/n stares into Dream’s enchanting, sinister eyes, she reaches.

She reaches for the release she’s been begging for since she met him. She’s desperate to feel him one last time—in love and not hate. There's one final strand of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can see her dying love for him seep through her ever-growing bloodlust and absolute inhumanity.

But he doesn’t. And the same devilish grin he wore when she had a blade to his throat for the first time splits his red cheeks. The twinkle in her eye tells him she feels it too, and then her teeth bare a vile smirk.

“I’ll love you forever, Clay.”

“Forever is the sweetest con, my love.”

There are dull sweeps of blades across skin, and then there’s silence.

Excruciating, deafening nothingness.

And as the sun dips beyond the horizon, Y/n and Clay’s hands intertwine, not once sparing a glance back at their bodies that lay cold on the cobblestone pathway.

Feedback is always appreciated xx

#dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader #dream au #dreamwastaken au #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #nightmare dressed like a daydream!au #ndlad!au #dream x reader #dream imagine

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nanasparadise · 4 years

Text

“Losing my senses for you” Yan!Joseph (Part 3) x female reader

Hiya everyone! Here’s a little Yan! Joseph (Part 3) x female reader for y’all because apparently, I like to see Suzi suffer lol

Summary: You and your soulmate Joseph share a pleasant dream, as always. Though suddenly, the elderly wants to take your friendship to the next level...

TW: age gap, implied cheating, implied kidnapping, toxic relationship, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

Word count: 2022

Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. Sensible enough to fall in love with his current wife and have a child with her, disregarding the fact that Suzi Q wasn’t his soulmate. Why would he have denied himself love, a family? No, Joseph had been rational enough to not care about that ‘dreaming of your soulmate’ humbug. That had been the case until he’d met you.

The male would have never imagined seeing his soulmate in his dream, not after all these years being married and especially not as an elderly man. You were still so young, a blooming flower in your twenties, ready to conquer the world. How could Joseph be your soulmate? But there was no denying that the Brit was constantly dreaming of you. Nearly every morning he’d wake up, your face still lingering on his mind while his spouse slept peacefully next to him, knowing nothing about her husband’s dream invader. Sometimes, he’d even whisper your name. Joseph didn’t have the heart to tell her, after all, Suzi had been his love for most of his life. But apparently, not the one to spend the remainder of it with.

This night wasn’t an exception when it came to your nocturnal visits. This time, the two of you sat on the terrace of a café near Joseph’s flat in New York City. The crowding streets of the metropolis filled the air with a cacophony of sounds: honking taxi cars, chatting people, the occasional dog that barked loudly. Even though every tiny thing seemed to buzz with life, Joseph knew that none of this was real- all would cease to exist once he’d wake up, except for him and you. Politely, you smiled at the Brit.

“Hello Mr. Joestar, how are you doing today?”, you greeted him, as you always did. Both of you had agreed that you wouldn’t refer to the elderly man with his first name, wanting to keep some distance between you. Just like Joseph, you had been more than surprised to notice that your soulmate wasn’t a person around your age. Though never having been openly said, you two knew you wouldn’t pursue any romantic advances towards each other. At some point, Joseph had even revealed to you that he was married and had a daughter and a grandson. But since you hadn’t found a way yet to end these dreams, you were behaving on an amicable basis. The male believed you’d probably see in him a grandfather figure. Though Joseph couldn’t tell anymore if he saw you as a granddaughter …

As per usual, the pair consisting of you chattered the whole time. You told him about your new job, how you were nervous to meet your colleagues, wondering if you’d get along well. While you were talking, you kept fiddling the napkin next to you, demonstrating your anxiety. During your countless encounters, Joseph had learnt to read your body language. Confidently, the man rested his real gloved hand on top of yours, stopping your tic. You stared into the male’s green eyes, astonishment written on your face.

“Y/N,” Joseph said softly, “you don’t need to be nervous, dear. How could they not like such a ray of sunshine like you?” He flashed you a big grin at his final words. You averted his tender gaze. Oh, how Joseph loved this bashful expression on your face. You were so easy to tease.

“Thank you, Mr. Joestar, though I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Please, call me Joseph”, the elderly man blurted out. A big thumb idly drew circles on the back of your hand. He didn’t know what had driven him into saying this, into breaking the formal distance between you - at least he didn’t know consciously. Deep inside, he was well aware that he loved you - more than just a friend, than a granddaughter, hell, even more than Suzi. In the end, you were his soulmate. Suddenly, all the previous talk about how any other kind of love paled compared to the love for your soulmate didn’t seem like humbug to Joseph anymore. No, the once reasonable man had been utterly struck by the arrow of a foolish love, a love he hadn’t experienced beforehand – not even with his wife. He had been struck by you. Your surprise only grew.

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be awkward?”, you asked hesitantly, eyeing your hand. Joseph stayed persistent though.

“Not at all, Y/N. It’s only natural to call me by my first name after all our dates, isn’t it?”, the man winked playfully at you. He really wanted to see how far he could go with his flirtatious banter until you’d retreat. Or maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d feel the same as him, wanting more out of these encounters. Maybe… Hope blossomed in Joseph’s chest, making the elderly man feel like a lovesick teenager all over again. Only you held that much power over him. Your following words crushed that spark of hope fairly quickly though.

“I don’t know, Mr. Joestar…,” you retorted, obviously refusing to address him as Joseph, “Don’t you think it would enable unwanted feelings between us? This is quite a hard situation anyway for us – you with your family, me with my young age – I don’t think we need to complicate things further.” At this statement, the light in Joseph’s green eyes extinguished like a flame. Of course. He might have lost his mind, but you didn’t. No, you remained rational, cool-headed.

“Ah, I see”, Joseph simply replied, barely hiding the disappointment in his raspy voice. “This is for the best, you old fool,” the tiny voice whispered in Joseph’s head, “How could you keep up with her?” Bitter at his own thoughts, the man made a crestfallen grimace.

“I’m sorry, I don’t intend to hurt your feelings in any way. I do enjoy the time we spend together and I appreciate you, Mr. Joestar”, you added remorsefully. The Brit’s heart warmed at your words of consideration. You cared for him, you must, he was convinced. The effects of the soulmate bond couldn’t just be ignored by you. Maybe, there was still a chance for him. Maybe…

“Y/N”, Joseph murmured your name ever so gently. Surprised by the softness of his tone, you looked up to him. He briefly wetted his lips before he proceeded talking. “I appreciate you, too. A lot, actually. Every time I’m in your company, I’m the happiest man alive. You draw me in and I can’t help myself but wanting more.” You tried to interrupt him, but Joseph quickly stopped you by raising his hand and continuing his speech. “Ah ah, honey, please let me finish. I know what you want to say: ‘But Mr. Joestar, what about your family?’ Well, they’ll understand, they have to. We’re soulmates, I can’t just ignore that. I’ll leave my wife for you, then we can start a life together. Please, my love, consider my words. After all, even without knowing it, I’ve been waiting the whole time for you.” Joseph gazed intensely in your eyes, yearning painted across his face. He patiently watched you gulp heavily and waited for your answer while he put his hand back on yours.

“Your words are sweet and I’m grateful for your sincerity, Mr. Joestar,” you eventually sputtered, “you’re dear to me, I’d be lying if I said you weren’t, but not in the way you intend it to be. I don’t think I could ever see you in a romantic way. And even if I could, I don’t want to be a homewrecker. I know you love your family, you shouldn’t toss them away for me.” Joseph sighed deeply. He’d learnt with experience to tame his quick temper, but still, impatience flared up inside him.

“Why can’t you give me, give us, a try? I’m aware that our initial plan was to keep some distance between us, but if we both have feelings for each other, why deny them then? You said you couldn’t see me as a lover, but I don’t believe that. Give me a chance and I’ll prove you how much I love you.” Joseph slightly squeezed your hand while spilling out his passionate words. “You said I shouldn’t toss away my family, but you want me to throw you away. How could I do that? Every morning, it’s your name that escapes my lips, your body I want to feel next to mine, your scent I want to inhale.” The man grew desperate the more he talked. “Don’t worry about our age difference, I know a way for you to grow old with me.” Joseph perceived your puzzled face from the corner of his eyes as he fixated his gaze on your hand, but kept speaking. “I can give you so much Y/N, if only you’d let me. Please, let us try it.” He finally looked up to you, fearing and yet anticipating your reaction. Yes, only you could make him this nervous… Your brows were tightly furrowed, though a hint of sympathy seeped through your kind eyes.

“Joseph…”, you whispered softly. The Brit’s heart fluttered like a hummingbird upon hearing you finally say his first name. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to reveal this to you, but it’s only fair for me to be honest to you as well. I’ve actually met this man a while ago.”

Joseph’s jaw dropped at your confession and his eyes widened. No, this couldn’t be true. He felt as if his whole world had shattered in this moment. Cruelly, you decided to hurt him more with your words. “And to be frank, things are going well. We’ve even talked about moving in together. I think he might be the one I want to spend my life with, Joseph.” Thud. Joseph’s prosthetic hand slammed harshly on the table. Instinctively, you winced at the loud noise.

“Why would you say that to me?!”, the man in front of you shouted, desperation coating his voice, “Why would you break my heart like that? I can’t believe it! Here I am, thinking about leaving my wife for you while you’ve been having fun with some other guy!” Joseph’s grasps painfully tightened around your hand. His handsome features had transformed into a terrifyingly furious grimace. You gasped fearfully, trying to retrieve your hand from Joseph’s hold. “Why would you bother to be with him when I’m right here? He isn’t your soulmate, I am!” Hot anger flooded the male’s body. It’s been years since he felt this kind of raw emotion again. Joseph glared at you while you still tried unsuccessfully to escape his grasp. Eventually, he let go of your hand. Hastily, you pulled it away from the table. Taking a deep breath, you spoke up.

“I think you forget that I’m still an independent woman, Mr. Joestar.”

“So we’re back at the surname, huh?”, the Brit thought gloomily.

“No matter if we’re soulmates, I’ve still got my own life, as you do. Which means I can choose with whom I’m in a relationship. I hope this incident here is non-recurring and that you’ve come back to your senses the next time we’ll see each other.”

With these final words, Joseph woke abruptly up. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins from his intense outbreak. While laying down on his bed, he tried to calm his agitated breaths. “I should come back to my senses, huh?,” the male muttered quietly into the room as to not wake up Suzi, “What a bold thing coming out of your mouth, since you’re the source for my irrational behaviour.” Yes, Joseph had always thought of himself as a sensible man. But times had changed. And drastic times called for drastic measures. Subconsciously, the Brit knew exactly what had to be done if he didn’t want to lose you to that pest you thought was your boyfriend. Slowly, he climbed out of his bed. Joseph glanced one more time at his spouse’s sleeping form.

There was no turning back now.

Out of a drawer, the man grabbed a polaroid camera and called out his Stand.

#JJBA #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #yandere jjba #yandere joseph joestar #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere joseph joestar x reader #minors dni #tw: yandere #tw: age gap #tw: noncon touching #tw: implied kidnapping #tw: injury

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Note

if you ever get in the mood to write anything take it back part two would be lovely�� only if you’re okay with it of course

Y’all the sheer amount of requests I’ve gotten for this..🤯 Idk what exactly you want because it felt pretty complete to me but you win lol here it is.

take it back: pt. 2

***

He’s always an early riser. You love that about him. Productive and motivated almost to a fault, Grayson Dolan can always be counted on to answer his phone at the ripe time of 7:45 AM.

So when your 8:13 AM call goes to voicemail, your stomach drops.

Granted, it did ring all the way through; he could be sleeping, or working out, or...busy.

But he always manages to answer for you. Even if he’s huffing for breath in-between sets, or barely cognizant of where he is or what time it is after an afternoon nap, you can usually count on his deep voice to be on the other line of that phone.

You feel incredibly vulnerable and somehow more exposed than ever as you lie naked under your covers, just as you were when he left a few hours ago. A gaping part of you left in the open with his potential rejection. Just as you had probably done to him in the early hours of the morning.

Your heart joins your stomach, and you can’t stop yourself from typing out a text to cover yourself.

Did you make it home ok?

You toss your phone with a frustrated sigh to the side of the bed and draw your covers up to your nose. The empty space is vast and cold and makes your throat tighten.

Your phone buzzes, and you snatch it up. A snap from your best friend.

Instagram notifications.

A ‘good morning, have a good day’ text from your mom.

Another Snapchat. A work email. More texts from people who don’t have a little strong arm emoji next to their name.

You’re about to try and pull some sort of reverse psychology bullshit on yourself and go take a shower and pretend like you’re not going to expect a reply from him by the time you get out. But then, just as you’ve tossed your blankets and sheets aside, your phone buzzes fatefully.

[Gray💪🏼] Yeah, thanks

Ironically enough, it’s the worst reply you could have hoped for even though it’s the most logical one.

You bite your lip, chewing it worriedly as you continue your trip to the bathroom. Despite the fact that he responded completely appropriately, you don’t think you’re imagining the dryness in his two words. As stupid and ridiculous as it seems, you know Grayson well enough to detect that.

Good.

Are you busy today?

That’s safe enough. Your surge of bravery has dissipated since he clearly chose to ignore your call in favor of texting. You don’t want to scare him with anything as heavy and loaded as “can we talk?”

You lean against the counter and watch the bubbles pop up on the screen.

[Gray💪🏼] Nah not really. I’m tired tho

Fuck. The rejection before the offer hurts. Your eyes prickle stubbornly.

But then you look in the mirror, and your focus is drawn to a couple of distinct purple marks on your collarbone. You finger them delicately, and rather than the annoyance you might have felt with anyone else, your heart warms.

He’s broken yet another rule. And now, so are you — excited and pleased by the evidence of himself he’s left on your skin.

And you remember the thought that prompted this whole thing to begin with. You’re scared, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Your fingers fly. Can I come over? Please?

He takes long enough to reply that your phone screen goes black, and another minute passes before you realize how idiotic you must look standing naked in your bathroom staring at a blank screen. This is the shit about relationships that you don’t like: the fear, the games, the unknowns. It’s almost too much already.

You distract yourself by turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature right where you want it. And when you turn back around, blood pounds in your ears when you see the lit screen through the reflection of the mirror.

[Gray💪🏼] Okay

***

If you’ve ever taken a quicker shower, you don’t remember when. You rinsed the night off for good, barely detangling any knots from your hair before instinctively reaching for one of his sweatshirts to pair with your jean shorts without even realizing it. It hits you as you throw on some eyebrow gel and mascara where your top came from, and you debate taking it off in case he’s upset with you.

You wouldn’t blame him if he were. The mixed signals you had thrown at him last night were inconsiderate to say the least. Blowing him off only to run right back into his arms, but with more clarity to be fair to yourself just a little bit.

You toss your lip gloss on the counter before you can do what you do best and overthink every aspect of this man, and head straight out the door.

When he lets you into his house half an hour later, he looks hesitant and drawn, but not unkind. Flushed fresh from a workout. Muscles glistening familiarly. Hair flopping into his face. It’s all incredibly distracting, but you push those thoughts aside as you smile at him sheepishly and pass through the open door.

“What’s up?” he asks once he’s led you into the kitchen.

You sit on a barstool and chew a piece of skin around your thumbnail as he watches you out of the corner of his eye while he chugs from his hydroflask. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, and you look away for a moment to gather your nerve.

“I wanted to...talk,” you manage to spit out. You take your thumb out of your mouth in favor of playing with a leaf that had fallen from the flower vase in front of you. You can’t meet his eyes right now.

There’s a silence long enough that it makes you finally look up at him. He’s staring at you, brow cocked slightly, arms crossed across his broad chest.

“Okay. About what?”

You stare back. His handsome face gives you the confidence and courage to keep going.

“I’m bad at this,” you admit. The leaf crumples in your fingertips. “Talking. Relationships. All of it.”

“I know. So am I.”

You smile, small but grateful. He returns it.

“I told you to take it back. That kiss you gave me, before you left.”

Grayson’s cheeks, having returned to a normal hue in the AC, then pink again. He glances off to the side and clears his throat, a hand running through his messy hair. “Uh, yeah. I remember.”

Your heart disintegrates as much as the leaf in your grasp at the visible proof that you had, indeed, hurt him on some level. But you’re here to make it right. For both of you. In whatever ass-backwards way you can think of to make that happen, because you definitely haven’t thought the words out at all.

“Well... I want — I take it back,” you admit quietly.

The fear and frustration are all worth it when you see the utter look of surprise cross his features. His eyes are grey this morning, one of their many colors and your personal favorite, and they widen almost comically. His pretty pink lips part slightly, his fist clenching on the counter for a brief moment.

But then he has a few seconds to process your confession, and your heart skips a beat when you see the corner of his mouth turn up enough to expose a dimple. “You take back your ‘take it back?’”

You bite your lip through your own smile as his grows wider, and you nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

You hadn’t expected that. But shockingly, it’s the easiest part of this whole ordeal.

You reach your hand out and wrap your slim fingers around his thick, calloused ones, gripping them tightly. “Because. You’re you. And I’m happiest when you’re around, no matter what activity we may or may not be doing.”

He laughs, and you tug on his hand to indicate you want him to join you without a slab of marble separating the two of you.

“And because you’re the only person I could ever imagine breaking all of my rules for. And if you can forgive me for being such a hardheaded idiot, I’d really like to prove that to you.”

Now directly in front of you, Grayson towers above you. He grins and lets go of your hand to wrap your arms around his waist, then cups your cheeks in both hands. You close your eyes and you sigh at the feel of those giant palms holding you so tenderly, and the urge to run doesn’t affect you even the tiniest bit.

He leans down, until you feel him stop just centimeters from meeting your lips with his. Your lashes flutter open confusedly, only to see those eyes looking at you with an affectionate expression you’ve never let yourself consider too deeply until now.

“If you really want to take back your take it back,” he whispers, his breath fanning against your sensitive lips and making you shiver, “then come and get it.”

Your whole body heats at his words, and you giggle before throwing yourself completely into his arms and crushing your lips together. He chuckles too against your mouth, and shifts his hands under your ass so you can wrap your legs around his waist, your kiss heated and sincere but also playful.

“Can I take all of you back?” you ask him once you’ve pulled away for a moment, playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

You’re so caught up in his face that you’re unaware that he’s moving the two of you down the hall until his bedroom door shuts quickly behind him with his swift kick.

“All of me, baby. All of me.”

#like i said hope this satisfies whatever need yall had for this pt 2 lol #dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb

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fluffynexu · 4 years

Text

Astralignment

and the Korribani Calendar System

Before the arrival of the Exiles the native Sith on Korriban had their own system of keeping track of time. Over the years, this became standardized and refined and is still in use by a large portion of the modern Pureblood community. Since the ancient Sith were observant beings of their world, many of the names and symbols reflected their natural environment. All of these aspects go into what is known as a Sith’s astralignment (astro-alignment).

Since the Empire runs on Imperial Standard Time (IST), anything relating to Korriban or any other Imperial world is referred by the local time of that planet.

Compare a year on Dromund Kaas to Korriban:

Dromund Kaas (everything in standard)

24 hours/day

312 days/year

7,488 hours/year

60 minutes = 1 hour

24 hours = 1 day

5 days = 1 week

7 weeks = 1 month

35 days = 1 month

8 months (+4 weeks and 4 holidays) = 1 year

312 (standard)days = 1 year

Korriban

28 (standard) hours/day

780 (local) days/year

21,840 (standard) hours/year

70 (standard and local) minutes = 1 hour

24 (local) hours = 1 day

10 (local) days = 1 week

6.5 (local) weeks = 1 month

65 (local) days = 1 month

12 (local) months = 1 year

780 (local) days = 1 year

This roughly makes 1 Korribani year approximately 2.9 [Dromund] Kaasi years.

Calendars

The days on Korriban are annotated on some versions of the Imperial calendar alongside the standard days.

In this example, names of the days on the calendar reflect the IST. The black numbers indicate the date in IST, the red numbers represent the date of the Korribani calendar. Placement of the Korribani date indicate when that day begins in relation to the Kaasi one.

A. 00:00 is the same for both. B. 00:00 K starts at 04:00 DK. C. 00:00 K starts at 08:00 DK. D. 00:00 K starts at 12:00 DK. E. 00:00 K starts at 16:00 DK. F. 00:00 K starts at 20:00 DK. G. Loops back around and 00:00 K lines up 00:00 DK .

While seemingly complicated to some, most Sith have grown with this system of overlapping calendars and can easily tell the date by the positioning of the numbers in this format.

There are of course, electronic versions where the date is shown simply:

Since the Korribani month is longer than the Kaasi one, the dates will continue through the Kaasi months. These next two pictures show how long 1 Korribani month is in relation to a Kaasi one.

There is also a version of the Korribani calendar that does not overlap with IST. These are used locally on the planet.

The days of the Korribani week were named after major gods from the most widespread pantheon on the planet:

Ahmuriq, from Ahmurn: the creator god.

Marseriq, from Marserha: mother goddess of the Sith.

Bashariq, from Bashara: goddess of passion.

Teraiq, from Teral: god of protection and justice.

Iskarliq, from Iskarln: god(dess) of conflict and war.

Marduriq, from Mardur: patron god of the Massassi and strength.

Rusaniq, from Rusanel: goddess of knowledge.

Zefiriq, from Zefir: goddess of the hunt.

Shumariq, from Shumari: god of the harvest.

Goruiq, from Gorul: the trickster god(dess).

Months

There are numerous constellations in the Korribani sky. Twelves of these mark the months of the year as well as going into the astalignment. The 12 major, monthly constellations all depict local fauna from ancient fables and have certain characteristics that are commonly associated with them.

1. Yuninchâtsutuyok, the jiminat and agzonûboj engaged in eternal conflict. Dedicated, ambitious, and insightful.

2. Qyalatuyok, the qyalak. Calm, sentimental, and inquisitive.

3. Badzuriqatuyok, the badzuriqash. Tenacious, practical, and direct.

4. Kaarjontuyok, the kaarjontû. Spontaneous, contemplative, and observant.

5. Tukatatuyok, the tukata. Loyal, respectful, and staunch.

6. Hatyatuyok, the hatya. Articulate, perceptive, and adaptable.

7. Lomaituyok, the lomait. Disciplined, fearless, and competitive.

8. Dzushatuyok, the dzushaj. Private, calculating, and flexible.

9. Mowhetuyok, the mowhef. Stern, traditional, and ruthless.

10. Dyaltituyok, the dyaltir. Mischievous, studious, and charismatic.

11. Jhan’dikanatuyok, the lost dikana. Creative, sociable, and resourceful.

12. Niqoituyok, the niqoit. Erudite, cunning, and free-spirited.

Years

The years are also represented by local animals. No one, not even Sith scholars or historians, are sure of the origin of how these animals came to represent the years on Korriban’s calendar. It is one of the many parts of Sith culture that have been lost since it is believed this particular record has been passed down through oral tellings.

The years are kept track of in a 6-year cycle with each year emphasizing a likely success for the ones born in that year.

Chiroik - Wealth

Wokinai - Knowledge

Natûsh - Fame

Dzenal - Influence

Litskoj - Power

Sulemish - Longevity

(ie. Those born in the year of the Sulemish will have a long life.) This again factors into a Sith’s astralignment.

In addition to the years, these 6 animals are also used for the hours on Korriban. But time is not conveyed in the same manner as Basic. While in Basic one would simply say “14:25” (or two twenty-five in the afternoon) the Sith have a much more involved way to convey time.

For example: Shyracks screech and return to their caves as the priestess prepares the altar in the hour of the wokinai.

Translates to: 07:15 local time (or seven fifteen in the morning).

As a side note, a few centuries ago Darth Feras domesticated and bred wrats within the Empire. At first they weren’t seen with much interest by her peers. But popular rumor has it that she pointed out her creations embody the physical traits of the yearly beasts.

Eyes - Chiroik

Ears - Wokinai

Body - Natûsh

Hands - Dzenal

Feet - Litskoj

Tail - Sulemish

Afterwards they quickly became a favored pet and companion among the Sith, being seen as an auspicious animal.

While not related to their calendar there is a tradition of being assigned a birth flower. For this, the Sith do not look to their skies but rather, when a child is born the placenta is buried in a pot with 12 seeds. The first of these seeds to sprout becomes that Sith’s birth flower. These 12 flowers are also used in medicine, therapeutic or preventive, for some common ailments.

Serla for headaches.

Roshal for good eyesight.

Nashkir for sore throats.

Atsudqâ for heart health.

Hyaranjat for good digestion.

Mûyoin for muscle pain.

Shasâyar for fertility.

Jûzon for blood circulation.

Ashanin for bone mending.

Qoyo for fevers.

Chisiqsanu for irritated ridge skin.

Kûsk’inti for fatigue and replenishing energy.

The last two parts that go into a Sith’s astalignment are their energies. The weekly energies correspond with 4 classic “elements” of earth, fire, air, and water. While the daily energy simply refers to day or night (d/n) in regards to when the person was born.

Combined with all aspects mentioned in this document, year, month, weekly energy, day (+energy), and flower, one can study a Sith’s astalignment. ex. Darth Vowrawn’s astalignment factors:

The study of these astralignments is a complicated field on to its own while the findings can be very important to some among the Sith. There are specialized scholars who offer their services to the old families so that the “perfect matches” (marriage, business, or otherwise) can be set up.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

aaaaahhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S DONE. i feel like frodo at mt. doom after the ring is destroyed omg... ;-;

SOOOO. i wanted, and i mean REALLY wanted, to finish this for lunar new year (for pretty obvious reasons lol)...... :,) welp. then i was like “i can do may 4″ lol NOPE. but here we are! still technically sith day? whatever. imma say I Did It. :D

also pls don’t laugh at my stupid drawings. i already know i can’t art. ok??? >,<

special thanks to @snootysith for giving me a bunch of sithy names and words for me to use. c: like y’all... coming up with fake words, that look and sound ok is really HARD (for my dumbass anyway)

other worldbuilding posts that are... sorta mentioned/used in this:

@inquisitorhotpants‘s dk calendar

BOOS! x3

and some other stuff ....

but uh, yea. if you’re wondering “hang on there fluffy... did you really make a big, dumbass zodiac/astrology post??” the answer is...

yes.

yes i did... xU

but also i imagine the ancient sith had a lot of special and important dates for you know... religious things? *shrug* and over the many, many years all of this was passed down and prob altered in some way to fit into modern sith society? idk...

now imma say some things here bc i know For A Fact!!! that ppl don’t go onto original posts to read op tags on this hellsite lol.

and this isn’t me trying to sound like an arrogant asshole... but these are for some common questions that’ll undoubtedly come up:

yes, you can use this in any extent or manner.

no, you obvs don’t have to. ignore it if you want. i’ll be ok lol.

no, i’m not gonna write a long ass book with all the little details on every aspect of all the traits and then assign these things for your character(s). just make something up. that’s what i did here xD (plus my brain is d e a d from this)

yes, this is seen as a mostly(!) tomato pureblood sith thing but obvs attitudes are different between individuals. some are super into it, some could careless and think it’s all fake news, some have parents that care too much about it which is annoying and interfering with their life so they lowkey hate it lol.

no, i couldn’t do a read more bc it wouldn’t look as nice and i worked hard ok? ;-; i apologize for clogged dashes in advance.

i think that’s it? ofc feel free to hmu if you’re ok with a reply that can take anywhere from a few min to 3 business days ^-^;

#swtor #sith pureblood #sith warrior #sith inquisitor #y'all know how surprisingly hard it is to make constellations???#like...#DX #they have to look like the thing and i had to know what that Thing was #but also! have you seen rl constellations??#they don't look like The Thing at all!#so i had to make it kinda abstract? idfk #now if you'll excuse me #i'm off to be a completely unproductive member of the fandom again #:')#worldbuilding #long post

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

Text

rosemary & thyme

notes: fun fact this was actually what started unspoken and as such this takes place in the same verse. i’d initially planned it to be in unspoken but sometimes things just don’t work like that. this is also self indulgent fluff for myself today bc my cramps are bad enough that i can’t stand for more than five minutes without starting to shake from the exertion lol

the third gif in this was what kicked this off the ground in the first place

title is from scarbourough fair, mostly thinking of the simon & garfunkel version.

also this is my 900th post on here lol

rating: teen. no real warnings, just fluff. maybe small hints of self-esteem issues and small hints of mostly dulled grief.

pairing: eskel/fem reader

word count: 2.5k

on a spring day, you re-paint the trim of your cottage. it is an old, old pattern, but you are determined to make something new.

“Must you?” you ask Lil’ Bleater.

You’re ensconced in a soft bed of clover that lines your cottage. The sweet, grassy scent of the clovers lingers in the air like perfume, a herald of spring. Hyacinths are dotted through the bed, swaying in the gentle breeze, their buds plump on their stalks, a promise of blooms in the soft indigo peeking through the edges of them, the last breath of a winter sunset.

Lil’ Bleater is intent on eating them.

She noses at a small clump of stalks, each tenderly green, still newly given life. The stalks break under the clamp of her teeth, and you sigh.

“Must you?” you repeat.

She glances up at the sound of your voice and considers you. Then she bleats, loud and indignant, and leans down for another mouthful.

You snort a laugh and turn back to your cottage. You trace your fingertips over the window’s trim, the wood worn riverstone smooth by the years and the rain alike. The paint has chipped, washed out to the soft blue kiss of a robin’s egg. Even the vines, each a delicate scroll of leaves unfurling, have faded into something autumnal, their color muted by nature’s touch. You follow one of them with your fingernail. They wind like the small trails in the woods, meandering yet purposeful.

Your father had steady hands. Even with you and your brother clambering over him, children gone woods-wild, his delicate brush strokes brought the forest to life in the walls of your home.

Sometimes, when the sun shines just right, you think you can see the past peeking back at you, imprints of images long painted over glimmering just beneath the coats of paint.

Lil Bleater butts against your back. “Ow,” you tell her, even though it’s only a short bite of sensation.

The goat prances around your seated form and flops into your lap, all hoof and horns. She squirms until she’s comfortable.

She’s still munching on a hyacinth stalk.

“You owe me new flowers.”

She ignores you.

You sigh and readjust. She’s a warm weight in your lap, the heat of her softened by the thick fabric of your skirts. The goat makes a miffed noise at your movement. You stroke a hand over her horns, the smooth bone cool against your skin, like a spring river just beginning to warm. She nestles down into the cradle of your skirts with a soft noise. Your attention returns to your cottage.

You touch the window trim again, lay your fingers against the faded paint once more. The small flowers - delicate little things, unfurling prettily in soft layers of petals - were your mother’s favorites. They go back to the oldest layer, you know. You trace the one colored for you, and then walk your fingers over to the one for your brother.The ache settles between your ribs, fills the hollow space there.

“It’s still here,” you whisper to Lil’ Bleater. “It’s just built upon, right?”

The goat snuffles, mouthing at the hem of your bodice.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s still here.”

You pick up your bowl, paint the color of the soft blue of the midmorning sky splashed up the edges of it, and sweep a broad stripe of it over the faded flowers.

*******

“Stop,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, pulling your paintbrush from her ever-hungry mouth. “You’re going to get paint on you, and then Eskel and I will have to give you a bath, and none of us will find that enjoyable.”

She’s relentless, butting lightly at your arm and nibbling at your sleeve. You nudge at her with a grumble.

“Trouble finds trouble, I see,” Eskel says from behind you, his deep voice lined with laughter.

“You’d best be talking about the goat on both counts, dear Witcher.”

“Of course, sweetling.”

He wrestles Lil’ Bleater off of you, gentle despite the goat’s squirming. The goat announces her displeasure loudly and butts against his knees. She darts away before he can stop her, pausing just out of reach and bleating at him before she prances off in a familiar direction.

“I really should fence in my garden,” you muse, turning back to the trim. The fresh coat of paint gleams in the afternoon light, shifting to something sea-bright, the sky melting into water.

Eskel sighs. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Me neither.”

He settles behind you, one arm looping around your waist, his thick thighs framing yours. The smithy has left its touch on him since this morning, a hint of soot scent sweeping over you. Eskel’s rough fingers flirt with the hem of your bodice, his thumb sweeping over the ridge of the embroidery. It is hard to keep apart from each other, the first few days after he comes back to you. You gravitate towards each other like small suns, anchor yourselves in each other’s space with unthinking touches. A quiet assurance that you are both here, together.

You lean into the warmth of him. He’s broad against your back, a pillar of strength, and then he softens. It’s just a hint, but you can feel the way he uncoils for a breath. He winds his other arm around you.

“Missed you,” you say.

He laughs, low and sweet, and the rumble of it resonates through you. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I always miss you,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

Pressed against him, you can feel it when Eskel’s breath hitches, catches in his throat.

You turn just enough to press your lips against the curve of his jawline. It is carefully placed, your soft kiss, just beyond the edges of his angry scar. He swallows, the muscles of his thick throat rippling. You hum softly, turn back to your cottage, and lean over to pick up the small stick of charcoal that’s half-buried in the clovers.

Eskel moves with you as you draw closer to the cottage. The charcoal stick scrapes against the paint as you sketch, soft clusters of yarrow flowers blooming slowly beneath your careful hands.

“This is a different pattern than the previous,” Eskel murmurs. His voice is rich against you, flows like warm, honeyed mead.

“Mhm.” You rub a thumb against a wobbly line, wipe it out of existence. “The previous one was my father’s.”

His arms tighten around you, scaffolding to keep you steady. “How many years?” he asks.

“Long before I was born,” you say, rubbing out another poor line. “He added to it throughout his life.”

“There was one for you, wasn’t there? One of the little flowers had your color in it.”

You glance back at him, at the sunrise of his golden eyes. Eskel has a gaze that strips you, sometimes, that peels away the world until it is just you and him. “Aye,” you say softly. “There was.”

He brings you trinkets, sometimes, in that same color. Little things from his journey on the Path. Nothing grand, but carefully chosen, often fitting into the niches of your cottage perfectly. Tiny curios to replace those you’d left behind in your first cottage, as if they can capture the first night he spent there with you soft in bed with him, tucked close around his broad frame.

Eskel slips a hand to your free one and slowly twines his fingers with yours. It’s almost shy, and you turn your palm skyward to better hold him. Your interlaced hands rest on the plush of your thigh, his thick knuckles pressing soft divots into the flesh.

You start to sketch again, adding a sweep of sorrel leaves to frame the yarrow, the soft curve of the leaves wrapping carefully around the buds.

Eskel is quiet behind you. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady like the tide, a cadence that feels as if it belongs solely to you.

Eventually, you pull away from your sketching. You tilt your head and examine it. It’s by no means fine work. You do not have your father’s steady hands, cannot bring life to charcoal drawings in the same way. But your months of practice have paid off. The yarrow buds match the ones speckled along the roadside, and the sweep of sorrel leaves could be the fields that surround your cottage.

“What do you think?” you ask.

Eskel shifts. He leans forward, just a hint, and touches just beside one of the veins of a sorrel leaf. Each inch of his chest is solid against your back. “You’ve practiced.”

“Yes.”

He squeezes your hand. “It’s nice.”

You laugh. “I’ll take nice,” you say. “I suppose.”

“Next time I’ll be more complimentary, then.”

“Good,” you say, and you let go of his hand so that you can wipe the charcoal dust off on the very hem of your skirt, already dirt streaked at the edges. Then you press the charcoal stick into Eskel’s hand. The small stick is dwarfed in his massive hand, and want pulses through you for the briefest breath. “Your turn,” you say. Your bold words have never sounded so shy.

Eskel stills.

That ache that fills the gaps of your ribs pulses, goes sharp at the edges, thorns against your bones.

You feel him draw in a breath.

“If you want,” you say, the words stumbling off your tongue. You keep your gaze ahead, focus on the sheen of the paint. It’s the same pigment your father used. When you crush the ingredients beneath the pestle, the scrape of it against the mortar sounds like your father’s voice. There has never been a blue that evokes such tenderness in you.

Eskel’s fingers close around the charcoal stick.

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s quiet, but not to him, you know.

Eskel always hears you.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and though the words are steady and his voice is the same mellow, deep tone, there’s something wavering in him, an uncertainty that cloaks him.

“Yes,” you say. “I told you - I rarely change my mind.”

“Rarely is not never.”

You ache to glance back at him, to find the honey gold of his gaze, to see the map of his scars against his handsome features. You know you cannot. Something ancient in you knows that if you break this moment, it will never return.

“Eskel,” you say quietly. “Not about this.”

He swallows.

He shifts forward. The motion takes you with him, carries you forward like a wave to the shores. He hesitates just as the charcoal rests against the pristine paint above your sketches.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your lashes whispering against your skin, the barest breath of sound, and feel some of the tension melt from Eskel’s broad frame. You curl yourself into the cradle of his chest. The charcoal scrapes against the wood, a brisk sound softened by the murmur of the spring breeze. The fingers of the breeze stroke through the trees, rustling against the leaves until it’s something of a melody. You listen quietly, let the song of it wash over you, feel Eskel warm and steady around you, and find yourself drifting hazily through time.

The sound of the charcoal fades. There is only the wind now, only the breeze catching in the meadows red-veined sorrel before it slips between the trees. You wait, rubbing a thumb idly over the thick muscle of Eskel’s thigh.The sun is filtering through your eyelids, lighting even the shadows of your closed eyes.

Eskel fidgets. It’s the slightest of movements, but from someone so disciplined, it rings across your senses like a skipping stone leaving ripples across a pond’s surface.

You lay your head back against his broad shoulder and open your eyes. “Well met,” you say to him as he glances down at you, and his eyes burn bright, amber wreathed by sunlight.

“Well met,” he says back, laughter tucked just under his tongue, but then his eyes flicker away.

You nudge at his jawline for the span of a breath, and then you turn your attention to the window trim.

The ache filling the gaps of your ribs fades away.

Eskel has woven sprigs of rosemary through the sorrel stalks, the sharp-tipped herb softened by the dainty ovals of thyme leaves. You can tell where he began to draw. The charcoal is lighter there, not pressed firmly down, but the lines grow darker as the herbs grow more plentiful. The black of the charcoal is stark against the blue. They’re both oddly delicate, the sky blue softened to a pale robin’s egg, and the spider web of charcoal lines lies over it like fragile lace.

His arm tightens around your waist. You reach down and lace your fingers through Eskel’s, a woven pattern strong enough to carry both of your weights. His shoulders loosen. You can feel his slow, steady heartbeat.

“Come,” you say after a moment, “you can help me with the rest of the paint.”

“Dare I ask?”

“I hate grinding for the colors,” you say, rising to your feet and clapping your hands against your skirts. “It takes too long. But your Witcher muscles must be up to the task, yes?”

Eskel pushes himself up in a graceful movement, that sleek dexterity of a Witcher. “If I’d known it was only my muscles you keep me around for-”

“You’d have stayed anyway for the sex.”

He coughs at that, but his smile is broad. “You’re confident.”

You shrug. “It’s good sex.”

He laughs, a low growl of a sound. “That it is.”

You glance his way and find yourself struck by the sight of him. The afternoon sun is kind to him, makes his dark hair glisten and his eyes practically glow. You reach out to him with a small smile, wind your fingers through his once more. He lets you tug him along.

You pause just before the threshold of your cottage, glancing back as Eskel ducks inside. The clover still carries the mark of your bodies, the plush of them pressed down where you had been. There’s a bit of paint splashed across them. You idle for a moment, let the breeze tease at your skirts.

Things will be different once you cross the threshold.

With Eskel’s softly sketched herbs spun in a delicate web around your yarrow and sorrel, your cottage is no longer just yours.

You inhale softly, let the scent of the clovers wash over you. It’s grassy and sweet, with a hint of earthy dirt just beneath. It smells like home.

You turn around and go inside.

taglist: @tutuwho @witchernonsense @whitewolfandthefox @riviawitch3r @hina-chans-stuff @restingnurseface @raspberrydreamclouds @ambivertomnivore

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine

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tirednotflirting · 3 years

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show's over, the same old story now

hi i wrote a fic based on ‘moon in the morning’ by adam melchor. objectively this is very much not a happy fic am very sorry (but also not bc i think it’s good lol)

if you’re not comfy with reading stuff about infidelity this one is not gonna be your jam just fyi

thank you to @reveriesofawriter for giving this a read for me this morning <3

you can read it on ao3 here

He’s never given Alex a key. Jack figures he has to draw the line somewhere so he’s never given Alex the spare key to his place.

Instead, the key stays just beneath the flower pot beside the front door and it stays there rather than under the mat because the first place someone would go looking for a key is below the mat, Jack. So really, the line is more like faded chalk on a sidewalk after a summer rain and Jack can’t be bothered to fix it with something more permanent.

It’s around midnight when Jack hears the lock turning and the front door open and close. He’s been sitting on the floor in front of his coffee table working on a research paper for the last several hours, late night talk shows play from the TV for some background noise. Without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen, he listens to Alex kick off his shoes by the door before wandering into the kitchen. It’s a well rehearsed routine. He doesn’t need to look across the room to know that somewhere on the other side of the wall Alex is plugging his phone into the charger by the coffee maker before checking the fridge for leftovers. (They’re aren’t any in there tonight since Jack finished off the last of the chicken parmesan for his own dinner. There is some watermelon on the top shelf though.)

Given the time and the fact that it’s Friday, Alex must have been picking up someone’s shift at the bar so Jack isn’t surprised when he hears more soft footsteps head in the direction of the bathroom. A few moments later he hears the sound of the spray from the shower. Jack figures that’s another ten or so minutes he’ll have to work on his citations so he gets back to the task at hand.

Almost exactly ten minutes later, Alex wanders into the living room wearing a pair of sweatpants pulled from Jack’s closet but his own flannel. He hasn’t bothered with the buttons and Jack does what he can to ignore that observation. Alex takes a seat on the couch just behind where Jack sits and again, in an all too familiar routine, Jack sighs at the feeling of Alex’s fingers pressing into the tension he holds in his shoulders.

“You’ve gotta stop sitting on the floor when you’re working,” Alex says. “You’re going to graduate with a masters in back pain otherwise.”

“I’m comfiest on the floor.”

“I promise you would be comfier at your desk, Jack.” Alex says with a laugh before he leans forward and presses his lips against Jack’s hair like he always does. Before he sits back up, Jack catches the faded scent of Alex’s cologne on the collar of the flannel and it’s enough motivation to reach forward and quickly hit save before closing his laptop for the night. Jack pushes himself up onto the couch beside him and their brown eyes meet for the first time since Alex let himself in twenty or so minutes earlier. Alex looks tired (he always looks so tired) and Jack can’t help but lift a hand to cradle his cheek, his thumb brushing gently below the dark circles he can see in the glow from the TV.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack finally answers after a few beats of silence pass between them.

“Just trying to take care of you,” Alex mumbles as he drops a hand against Jack’s knee and his thumb traces circles against the bone there. There’s some kind of emotion Jack can’t quite place in his tone. He’d question what to call it but they both know that’s not where this is headed.

“You always do,” he replies instead and moves his hand to the back of Alex’s neck to pull him closer to bring their lips together. Alex catches on quickly enough and sighs against Jack’s lips before climbing into his lap and winding his arms around his shoulders, his fingers tangling into the ends of Jack’s hair.

Jack smiles into the kiss when Alex gasps at the feeling of Jack’s fingertips skating their way up his back below the worn flannel shirt. Jack has perpetually cold hands meanwhile Alex’s skin always feels like he’s on fire. There’s probably something poetic in that but Jack ignores the dreamy thoughts and words in favor of pushing the soft material away from Alex’s shoulders until he briefly removes his hands from Jack’s hair to shake the shirt the rest of the way off. He tosses the shirt behind him before wrapping himself around Jack again. Jack feels goosebumps rise against where his fingers brush against Alex’s chest and he knows it’s something he’ll never get over the thrill of being able to do.

Alex’s lips travel down Jack’s jaw to the tattoo on his neck that Alex has always been fond of. “Let’s go to your room,” Alex mumbles in a lower voice, his lips brushing against Jack’s ear. He all but falls out of Jack’s lap before grabbing his hand to pull him in the direction of the hall. The flannel is left forgotten on the back of the couch and the TV is left on with some random late night show host still telling bad jokes to a studio audience.

As they pass the kitchen, Alex’s greedy lips pressing against whatever skin he can find as he pulls Jack toward the bedroom at the end of the hall, Jack swears he can hear the sound of Alex’s phone buzzing out a rhythm against his kitchen counter.

And unlike Alex’s melancholy tone or the poetry told by the temperature of their skin, Jack doesn’t have to question who’s trying to call Alex after midnight on a Friday night. Jack already knows the answer. But as he takes the final steps into his bedroom and lets Alex kiss him against the closed door, he once again chooses to ignore the truth and the buzzing beside his coffee maker in favor of falling into bed with a boy he knows will be gone by sunrise.

A few hours later, the sound of the sink running wakes Jack from his sleep. He’s always hated how lightly he sleeps. He knows he’d be far more well rested just in general if he could stay unconscious through the sound of thunderstorms and his late night companion leaving in the earliest hours of the morning. But he figures for the universe to stay balanced he has to be punished for this somehow and maybe this is the best the universe can do at this kind of hour.

His eyes flutter barely open, just enough that he can make out some of the details of his bedroom from the tiny light provided by the moon shining through the curtain he hadn’t bothered to close before falling asleep a few hours earlier. As he listens to the sounds of Alex brushing his teeth and wandering around Jack’s apartment to find the clothes he arrived in, Jack takes in his open closet and the mussed up other side of his bed. It’s reached the point in the year where Jack only sleeps with a sheet because he can’t rest when he’s too warm. A long time ago Alex told him something about how he’s never been able to sleep without something weighing down over him. Jack had started keeping a quilt in the chair in the corner soon after that. It’s already been folded up again and placed back in its spot.

He hears the familiar jingle of Alex’s keys that he dropped in the bowl by the door on his way in a few hours earlier and exhaustion starts to settle back over Jack. He pulls the sheet up over his chest and turns away from his bedroom door and lets out a long breath before closing his eyes.

He’s just started to tumble back over the edge toward sleep so he can’t be sure it wasn’t the beginning of a dream but Jack swears he hears the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet and feels a pair of lips press against his temple. It’s probably easier for everyone involved to assume it’s only his subconscious playing tricks with him again though, he figures, and then he’s asleep.

It’s a couple weeks later on a night that follows the same routine as all the others. But for some reason they’ve both chosen tonight to pull a wild card on each other. Rather than forcing his eyes shut and his breathing to steady out after listening to Alex shuffle around the small apartment before heading out, Jack lets himself stay awake. He sits up against the headboard, the sheets falling to pool around his waist. He feels himself shiver in the cool air. He always keeps his place fairly cool at night but he stopped noticing it when he so often is sharing a bed with a human furnace.

Alex steps back into the doorframe, his arms crossing against his chest as he leans his shoulder into the wood, his dark eyes falling to meet Jack’s. He doesn’t look all that surprised to see Jack awake, his eyebrows only barely lifting in recognition that they’ve gone off script a bit.

“You should get some rest, Jack,” Alex says in a voice that suggests he should take his own advice. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Does he make you happy?” Jack asks, his tone all curiosity. Jack is a student before all else; all he wants to do is understand, really.

“He doesn’t make me unhappy,” Alex answers as though the answer should be that obvious. “I wouldn’t stay with someone that makes me miserable.”

“Then does he know you come here? Does he never question why you come home two hours after closing smelling like another man?” Jack isn’t sure who he’s judging more out of the two of them with the questions. He watches Alex take a moment to sigh and scratch at the back of his neck.

“Jack, we can’t have this conversation right now,” Alex says, his eyes floating around the room from his spot at the door in an attempt to avoid Jack’s gaze. “I need to get home. It’s late.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns then to leave. Jack holds his breath until he hears the front door open and close and the lock slide into place. He takes a deep breath then and lets his body fall back against the mattress. Jack closes his eyes and pushes aside the ache in his chest at the silent reminder that despite how often Alex makes his way into Jack’s apartment and heart at the end of the day, home will always be within a different collection of four walls and with a different boy.

It’s a creak in the mattress that wakes Jack up this time. For a moment he’s confused at the warm body still pressed against his back. He’s worried his mind is starting to play even more cruel tricks on him in his dreams but the fingertips pressed against his middle tell him their current position is a reality. He lets his fingers fall into the spaces between Alex’s and he feels a sigh against the back of his neck. But he also doesn’t miss the way Alex pulls him impossibly closer against his chest.

“I need to leave soon, Jack,” he states quietly, another emotion hidden in his tone since Jack can’t see Alex's face.

“Can you stay until the morning?” Jack asks the question before he can stop it from leaving his lips. He squeezes their hands together. The action feels somewhat clumsy, it’s not often that they hold hands. “We’ve both gotta get up for class. I’ll make coffee, you can borrow a shirt.”

“He’ll wonder where I was,” Alex answers though there isn’t anything combative in his voice.

“Will he?”

They’re both silent for a few moments but they both know there’s an answer that’s been said regardless. Alex presses his lips against the back of Jack’s neck and it feels like he’s struck a match against the skin.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

And as both of their breathing evens out while they stay pressed against each other under the sheets, Jack’s final thought before stumbling into sleep is that maybe he wouldn’t mind getting burned.

#jalex #jalex fic #atl fic #yeah i'm not gonna lie i felt a bit bad about this one like it's just a very angsty fic #excellent song highly recommend if you haven't heard it #adam melchor makes some bitchin tunes

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mcrmadness · 4 years

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A Masterpost: ALL MY OLD die ärzte (aka Bela&Farin) COMICS (from 2010-2011)

I’ve lately been talking about my art, especially comics, here a lot but I have never posted my OLD old dä comics here! That’s about to change now. The old ones happened in 2010-2011 when I was 19-20 years old, so they are a bit cringy now :D The scans are my old ones so don’t mind about cat hair or something like that in some of the scans. And I know: my hand writing hasn’t really changed in the past 10-15 years at all :DD

And a slash warning (do I really need that with this fandom tho..?) because I used to draw just very fluffy Bela/Farin comics and they barely have any good plots even. There’s just 4 overall in this post and they all are quite short. But at least for me it’s fun to see how far I have come and how I’ve gotten better at drawing!

Anyway, without further ado, this is where it all started:

Bela&Farin - “Du willst mich küssen”

Simply the idea came from the fact I noticed that on the “Du willst mich küssen” single there’s only one additional song: “Die Antwort bist du”, and that one out of all the potential other songs from the studio album. (Now I’m wondering if I should try to redraw this some day to see my progress? :DD)

The rest under the cut because they get very cringy but if you want to read B/F fluff comics and facepalm at my idiotic humour, go ahead and click the read more link.

Bela&Farin - Bela will ein Baby

(eng. Bela wants to have a baby)

This one was the first I did in German and I traumatized myself. I had just started learning German and totally failed everything and an (old) online friend, native German, wrote something that indicated laughing and I felt so insecure about my German after that that even today I have a fear of saying/writing even simple German words in front of native Germans. She anyway “beta read” the plot and corrected every faulty phrase (aka every phrase) and this is what she suggested that I’d write, and that’s what I did.

The plot shortly: Bela just wants to have a baby but he wants it with Farin obviously, so Farin says they’re both men and can’t reproduce together but Bela found a solution: he found them a surrogate mother. Problem solved.

***

Bela&Farin - “Beer Belly”

Prepare yourself for a cringe overload :)) I’m so sorry that you have to suffer through this.

With this the idea came from the live videos I was watching back then - lots of live videos from 2007-2009 and I noticed that Bela just kept growing and losing his belly all the time. (OMG HELP I’m crying because “SQUEAK SQUEAK” XDDDDDD)

Also the ending is... I don’t know what is it. I guess I just wanted Rod ot make an appearance and didn’t come up anything better than this ::D My peak of humour is right there btw: anything that happens at the background. That shit just never gets old for me. So I find that still funny in this comic but I have no clue how a bass can be pregnant.

Also hey, I have started drawing shadows :DD

And yes, Bela actually did have a cow t-shirt like that in some of the videos and I just had to draw it! And btw, the reason for the fluff is probably because the concerts where those videos were from? It was extremely slashy, Bela and Farin barely could keep their hands off of each other so you really can’t blame me for all this. The ship just sails itself.

***

Bela&Farin - “Zucker”

(eng. “Sugar” - this one was again in German because it wouldn’t work in English. This time I think I did all the language stuff myself but I can’t remember for sure so maybe I got help, maybe I didn’t... This is the last one of these old comics and my personal favorite. You can see that my style somehow went through some major changes but I don’t know what even happened there. I can’t remember.)

I can’t get over Farin’s hair in the last panel, I drew it so perfectly and I still don’t know how to recreate that lol. And now I’m losing it at that tiny “XD” in the grin panel because I found it so stupid looking - the first time I had even drawn a grin for him lmao. Also ignore Farin’s arm that has suddenly lost all its color. (Aka: someone forgot to color it.)

THE IDEA for this comic is simply in the name of brown sugar. At least in Finnish that is called as “fariinisokeri”, which always amuses me still after 12 years because I am a bit simple sometimes, and I figured that it can also be called “Farinzucker” in German so of course I needed to make a Bela/Farin comic about it.

The dialog for those who don’t speak German (too well) yet - Bela just goes to Farin to ask for “Farin sugar” and Farin first is like “nope” but then “jk” and they lived happily ever after. Or something.

***

BONUS:

Something I drew with a ballpoint pen once when I was visiting my aunt and cousin and was bored and doodled this. I like drawing repeated patterns like brick walls or apparently also flowers.

And I have no idea where did I draw this - maybe it was something to do with one course through the employment agency as I tend to doodle when in any kind of class. I feel like I had been watching “Die band, die sie Pferd nannten” prior to this, based on Bela’s looks.

And it was back in 2010, I didn’t have a smart phone yet so no internet to use for reference photos :D

***

So, back to the comics - I only made these 4 back then but before this I did draw other stuff and comics too. I drew several of them as horses when I still didn’t know how to draw humans, and I also have one of them as rats too. The rat one might work as a redrawn human comic, tho... Anyway, at some point I got annoyed because I didn’t like drawing them as horses or rats and wanted to invent a “human style” so then one night, this happened:

The texts are mainly just me chanting how I’m dying from laughter etc. That is actually what I do when I am very insecure of what I do and then I just start openly laughing at everything and myself, that way things don’t feel as bad failures than what they actually are :D (And yeah I know the article is wrong at some point, let’s just say I hadn’t memorized all the article stuff from German yet :D I don’t know if I had even started learning German yet at that point.)

But yeah, then I did find the style and these are the next sketches from my sketchbook:

The bottom left says “facial experessions” - and oh my god I was so damn cringe whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy---

but anyway, those were what I ended up with eventually and the rest is history. I think I’m still gonna make one post with stuff I drew in 2018 and that I haven’t posted here yet as there’s still a few of those, too.

#mcrmadness draws #my dä comics #my fub comics #my old drawings #dä fanart #die ärzte #belafarin

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sparkles-and-trash · 4 years

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My fav 3 versions/interpretations of South Park characters thing!

I’m so sorry this took much longer than anticipated, I was gonna do it Friday but then I had a panic attack for the first time in forever because my CFS have been real bad lately and I was in such bad shape my BFF had to come and smack me back to life, and Sunday was suddenly full on breakdown day, a bad BPD episode and yeah, it was rough, but today I’m doing better and I realize nobody really cares about my personal issues lol but I just have a need to excuse myself here and I realize that’s kinda dumb but here we are ANYWAYS I hope these are okay, and that these are in no way the RIGHT interpretations, just my personal favorites!

Kyle:

suggested by the wonderful @otherluces <3

I’m not gonna lie, I love nerdy, preppy Kyle. Sweater-vests, collard shirts, doesn’t realize how attractive he is Kyle, oblivious to people having crushes on him Kyle, set on Harvard to become a lawyer and fight for justice and argue for a living, yanno?

I also really like the more dorky and nerdy Kyle, where he has really niché interests that he gets totally invested in and talks about 24/7, loves reading and studying, but not just to get good results, but because he genuinly enjoys it.

The last version I can think of with him, is the tall, lanky and kinda hard to read Kyle. He keeps a lot of his feelings to himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them. He plays basketball, he’s good at it too, and while he does well in school and everyone expects him to go into law, he has some totally different dream he keeps to himself for now. He kinda perks up a bit when in smaller crowds, esp with his cloest friends, but he still carries a lot of secrets that some time needs to come out.

Tweek:

suggested by my new fren @soft-craig-and-tweek ^^

I like Tweek in so many ways these were hard to pick, but I’mma try to narrow it down a bit and not go totally off haha

I actually quite enjoy the jagged, tired Tweek, the one who with help from friends and family manage to get off the meth his parents feed him secretly, but who still struggle with withdrawal, dark bags under his eyes, kinda pale and with sharp features, but he’s still a sweet and kind boy, a boy who wants to make the right choices and change the world to a better place, but who still has a darkness he carries, and the fact that he never gives up that fight is what makes him so special

and okay I have to be honest, I do love myself some sunshine boy Tweek. This Tweek still has issues, he is maybe even more anxious than the last one, but he’s also just as vibrant and energetic as he is anxious! He is an artist, he paints with bright colors, he composes beautiful, hopeful melodies, he feels everything so much, and he is a contagious and exciting person to be around. Cannot dress for the life of him. So much mis-match and odd outfits, but it kinda works?

The last one I’m gonna mention for this wonderful boy, is the more alternative Tweek. He writes obscure poetry, he watches too many conspiracy theory videos on youtube, he draws the monsters in his mind, and he writes the scariest, most hauntingly beautiful stories on the internet, and people online love him. He has no idea how to deal with being popular in that sense, because irl he is the type to not belong to a certain friend group, but he does go along well with most people on a surface level. Dark circles, shaky hands, crooked and cute smiles, baggy t-shirts and ripped jeans. When he first opens up to someone, he really, really does, and he will always support and be there for you. If you deserve it, that is.

Nichole:

also suggested by @soft-craig-and-tweek <3

I love nerdy Nichole who isn’t afraid to show it! Maybe she’s a streamer or youtube gamer even, I can def see her writing fanfiction, and being hella good at it too! Makes quite a name for herself online, and hangs out with the boys a lot irl, has game nights with the boys from Board Girls (even Cartman sometimes), is funny in a sarcastic way, but never mean.

Popular girl Nichole is also a favorite for me, but not in the “classical” sense. I imagine her to be a sporty, maybe on both the basket and volleyball team, captain for the basket one, she’s a born leader, she’s kind and fair, but can also be strict, and people always trust her to be honest and true.

Artsy Nichole!! I imagine her in bright yellow dresses and with her hair flowing and free, with flowers in her hair, freckles on her face, a big, genuine smile, a loud laughter that is so contagious, she loves spending time with Jimmy because they have a very similar humor, and she’s a theater kid, she sings like an angel and can act, oh boy can she act, she can make anyone laugh or cry in just a blink of an eye, she’s just a human sun-ray and I love her a lot

Butters:

suggested by @kinguidamundo, thank you so much!!

I love edgy Butters soooo much??? Like, he’s still a kind and bright boy, but he can also stand up for himself a lot more, he likes fashion a lot, he gets tattoos and piercings, he explores tons of ways to express himself, he’s a yes-dude, he goes out on dates a lot, but isn’t ready for a “real” relationship yet, but he enjoys meeting people and testing out himself around different types of people! Also he is a bi icon change my mind jk u can’t

I have a weak spot for the kind of soft and timid looking Butters too, who wears pastel colors and have big, innocent eyes, he is genuine and kind, but he carries something darker inside, something he isn’t sure how to deal with, something that scares him, but in reality it’s just normal feelings, anger, resentment and fear, but he’s lived his life ignoring them so much they catch him off guard at times. He learns to live with them slowly, and he does so with lots of help and patience from friends and loved ones.

Okay, last one, totally self-indulging here, but yeah, happy sunflower boy is also a big favorite. He is more confident than the previous version, but in a gullible way if that makes any sense? He believes the best in people, and if he is proven wrong, he’s willing to try to help them become better people, if they want to or not! This is honestly the version I love most with Stan, Butters being the ray of sunshine in Stan’s life and Stan being the realism to keep Butters grounded and them both supporting each other so much? Fuck yeah that’s the good stuff.

Clyde:

suggested by @horrorpumpkin, ty sm friend! <3

Himbo Clyde!!! Jock dude who genuinely loves sports, he’s a team player, and while he might not be super intellectual, he is very socially smart, he is kind and empathic, he is funny and likable, he always tries his best to make everyone feel included, and while he loves chicks a lot, and is a sexual dude, he does it with nothing but respect and admiration for the ladies!

Bisexual disaster Clydeeee <3 obv being bi isn’t a personality trait, but he is very open about it, he wants to be confident and good at flirting, but goddamn is he a MESS! He’s also a huge supporter of every single relationship his friends is in, he loves love, in all shapes and forms, he is emotional and kind and awkward in an endearing way.

Can’t leave out crybaby Clyde, can we now? He’s a bit of an awkward bean as well, but he owns it a bit more. He is kinda like a puppy, a cute, excitable and emotional puppy who loves his friends, video games and lazy movie nights, kinda chubby, he loves baking and does it a lot with Tweek, he is also a huge nerd for Harry Potter and totally geek out over it with Kyle and Nichole sdhlksgdhl

Kenny:

suggested by anon!

First up I guess I should put my high school AU Kenny. I know it’s controversial, but I imagine this Kenny to be more on the quiet side, but not really in a shy way. He’s just a bit of an observer who doesn’t speak unless he really sees fit, and while he still has his crude humor and is kinda rumored to be sleeping around a lot, he actually struggle with intimacy issues. He never imagined them to include sexual stuff, but turns out they do, and balancing being sexually open and curious and having these issues ain’t easy on the boy, let me tell you that.

This one is kinda heavily inspired by Luces, but I love him as kind and loyal, but also a bit more chatty and charming, but not for his own gain. He wants others to feel good about themselves, in social settings, his friends, during sexy times, he is selfless and good, but he is also living for the moment, he is a likable and wonderful guy, but he does still only REALLY open up emotionally to people he really trusts. Not traditionally attractive, but interesting looking in a way. Lots of freckles, bit of buck teeth with a big gap between his front teeth, messy kinda curly hair, long straight nose. Always wears baggy hoodies and worn out jeans, shrugs and gives that lopsided smile when people ask him about anything personal.

Mysterious Kennyyyy. You think you know him, everyone does, but in reality, very few have seen the real him. He likes people, and he likes to help them, he’s always down to listen to people’s problems and help them, he wants to inspire kids like himself to never give up and think there’s only one path for them, because he knows there is not. Volunteers at the animal shelter with Stan, works part time at Tweek Bro’s and is good buddies with Tweek. Had a early sexual debut, slept around a bit and got his heart broken unexpectedly when he was a Freshman, so there are some walls there now, but he ain’t usually one to turn down someone who’s up for it and whom with he has good chemistry either.

#kyle broflovski #tweek tweak #nichole daniels #leopold butters stotch #butters stotch #clyde donovan #kenny mccormick #south park #south park headcanon #south park headcanons #sp #South Park tag #sp kenny #sp butters #sp clyde #sp nichole #sp tweek #sp kyle

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offtopicoverload · 4 years

Text

Disney Princess - 2

Day late, but oh well, I got it done and that's an accomplishment in itself.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

T Rating (just grumpy Aurora in this one lol)

Aurora x f!MC (Rylen Damen (changed it lol))

~4.3k

Read on Ao3

Aurora Emery is tired.

She’s incredibly tired, of anything and everything. She can barely sleep anymore, she can barely relax, and now she can barely focus on her work. Which is arguably the worst of the three, since this is her livelihood, her passion, her priority. It’s what she’s always excelled at, it’s what she’s poured years and years of her life into, and now she doesn’t even know what she’s reading and has to restart at the top of page 268, for the fourth time now.

But instead of rereading once more, she huffs, slams her textbook shut, and falls back on her bed, staring up at the plain, empty ceiling as if it will solve all her problems for her. Unfortunately, it doesn’t, and that fact only further irritates her. She turns on her side, facing her open window and the lights spilling into the ill-lit room through the glass panes. Lights from the buildings surrounding her own, lights from traffic swimming in the current of the street, lights from neon signs and street lamps lining the sidewalk, lights that provide a tiny glimpse of sunshine in the chilling dark of night.

Her phone buzzes from behind her, shaking the comforter underneath her, and, with a sigh, she tosses her arm backwards and searches for it, her palm fumbling along her comforter as she does. When she finally finds it she grips her case tight as she draws her arm back, and unlocks it to find a notification from Rylen Damen. ‘Hey Princess,’ Aurora rolls her eyes, ‘How’s Jonathon Quell? Did you figure out what was wrong?’

She sighs, pulling her other hand from beneath the weight of her body, and begins typing, ‘It was a bacterial infection. His results arrived this morning and we ran through his treatment plan this afternoon. He should make a full recovery,’ she sends, dropping her phone back to the bed as she does.

But of course, that’s not the end of the conversation; it never is with Rylen. Aurora’s phone vibrates again, and she turns it on to find ‘:DDDDDDDDD’ staring back at her, her mind immediately replicating the obnoxious smile Rylen has when she’s excited.

Her lips twist as she stares at the obscene image, an image she cannot fathom sending to a colleague when discussing patients, an image that she hates she knows it’s actual equivalent to, before she begins typing with another sigh, her curiosity getting the best of her, ‘Not that I’m advocating for this professional conversation to turn at all casual, but why not use emojis?’

‘I dunno,’ pops up almost immediately, ‘Just always used them. Old habits die hard, I guess,’ arrives just as quickly.

‘Okay,’ Aurora types, somewhat eagerly for a change, ‘Now are we done here?’ She taps the side of her phone case - some random black one with red flowers she found at the store she bought the device from - distractedly, waiting for her escape from this horrendous exchange.

Rylen’s response is just as fast, a few dots bouncing before grey explodes on the screen, ‘Ouch, Princess, you really don’t like me.’

Aurora rolls her eyes at her screen, frown firmly in place as her fingers fly back to the keyboard, ‘This is a professional interaction, and if we have run out of professional material to discuss, then this conversation has come to an end.’

‘You must be a blast at parties,’ Aurora rolls her eyes again, a seemingly constant urge when around Rylen or even interacting virtually, just as her phone pings again, ‘Sorry, *professional parties*’ she corrects.

And Aurora barely suppresses another eye roll, frowning heavily at her screen, even as her lips fight against her to quirk upwards the tiniest amount, ‘I don’t go to parties.’

‘No kidding.’

Aurora glares at the letters, at the challenge held within them, at the unbridled insult staring her in the face. ‘Do you?’ she retaliates, the faintest droplets of hurt welling somewhere inside herself.

‘Too busy. Why, you asking me out? ;)’

Aurora shakes her head exasperatedly with an exhale from her nose, simultaneously fighting against the growing smile on her lips even harder. She forces it away as soon as she realizes it’s there, her jaw clenching and nostrils flaring in irritation as she decides it’s time to put an end to this absurdity provoked by Rylen, ‘Enjoy your evening, Damen, I have work to do.’

‘Night, Princess,’ buzzes her phone for the last time, a final message to bookend a conversation Aurora would rather not repeat again, but she knows she will. And it’s some odd mix of infuriating and oddly comforting, knowing that even if she tries to shut her up, Rylen will still be there chattering away, coming up with joke after joke, tease after tease, all presumably to force Aurora into smiling or something of the like.

Rylen once asked Aurora if her muscles were incapable of moving like that, of lifting in a smile, and Aurora scowled in response. Rylen put her hands up in self-defense, eyes wide as she explained that she was only curious why Aurora never looked happy, that it was an innocent question. And Aurora’s terse reply had shut her up quite quickly: “If I find something that makes me happy, then I’ll smile.”

Aurora sighs, letting her gaze shift to the blank, unassuming ceiling once again. Her eyelids fall shut as she sucks in a deep breath, steadying herself as best she can, working to dissolve her irritation and annoyance as her chest rises with each calming breath. Then she launches upwards, grabs her textbook, and flips it open to page 268 to continue reading. After what feels like forever, she’s managed through each of the passages she needed to read, and gathers her books and papers to settle them on her desk.

She flops back on her bed after she clears it, staring at the dull, boring ceiling for another quiet moment before scooting up to the pillows and tossing the covers back. She sinks into her pillow, hating how unfamiliar the sensation has become in recent weeks - maybe even months - and grabs her phone to set an alarm. She moves to plug it in on her nightstand, but before she does, she opens her messages again, scrolling to her last conversation for one final text: ‘Night, Damen.’

---

An alarm blares near Aurora’s head, startling her awake just as sunlight creeps above the horizon outside, glinting through her still-open window and bathing her in yellows and oranges. With a huff, she turns off the blasting noise, suppressing the urge to throw her phone against the wall as she does, and crawls out of bed reluctantly. She retreats to the bathroom for a quick shower and throws on her scrubs when she’s done, just two more steps in the constant routine that’s been her life for years now.

She leaves the apartment without breakfast, she enters Edenbrook without any greetings or warm welcomes, she works her shift without any breaks or breathers. She works until she has nothing to work on, until the nurses are looking at her funny as she orders exam after exam, and until her aunt’s calling her into her office. Only she wishes she could just keep working, keep ignoring her aunt and keep helping people, it’s the entire reason she’s here, anything else is a distraction, a waste.

Another buzz shakes her phone as she exits Harper Emery’s office with a huff, her features twisted in frustration as she shuts the door behind her with a thud. She stalks down the corridor outside, glaring at anyone that dares to look in her direction, interns and residents alike. She stops outside a patient’s room, pulling in a deep, steadying breath as her phone vibrates in her pocket once more.

With a roll of her eyes, she pulls it from her pocket, flicking open to the last person she wants to talk to, but is the least surprised by at this point. ‘What about Cynthia Lane?’ is the first one she sees. ‘Did you figure out Nathan McAllister too?’ is above it.

She rolls her eyes at the messages, at the gall of Rylen to insert herself into hospital affairs from her apartment, miles away. ‘They are in my care for a reason, Damen, I assure you that all your previous patients are fine,’ she types back, tapping her foot as she does.

‘Sorry,’ fires back almost immediately, as if Rylen was waiting on the edge of her seat for some sort of answer. ‘You’ve definitely got this,’ a beat later, with a smiley face tacked on the end, before one last message arrives, ‘Just keep me updated? Please?’

Aurora sighs, tapping her foot and considering a response. But she can’t think of any outside of providing Rylen with her request, so she pockets her phone without sending another message and steps into her patient’s room, forcing a tight smile on her lips. He smiles back, though much more relaxed, and she runs through the usual, familiar, boring routine that’s starting to drag on her day by day, wearing her down quicker than it should. And all the while, she plans out her analysis of this patient for Rylen, focusing her energy on the recent addition.

---

A day later, Aurora’s flying from room to room, floor to floor, and wing to wing. And she hates it. She hates that she’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off, she hates that she’s the only one working, alone in the stark halls, and she hates that her aunt refused to listen to her earlier, ignoring her words and piling more charts in her arms.

She tugs a door shut behind her, already scanning another chart as she hurries down the hall to the next room. She repeats the process all morning, lines and lines of exams, results, treatments, medical histories, anything and everything fill her mind, imprint on the back of her eyelids, drown her in monotony and the emptiness of Edenbrook today.

Her phone buzzes against her as it rests in her pocket, an annoyingly familiar sensation now. And she doesn’t even have to guess who it’s from; no one else texts her, least of all when she’s in the middle of a shift. She pulls the offending device out with a huff, immediately greeted with ‘Didn’t see you at the hearing.’

Aurora’s jaw clenches, eyes alight as she drops her stack of papers on the nurse’s station she’s found herself at. ‘For your information, I’m working, rather than wasting my time on something so ridiculous. This is a hospital, people need help, and you’re stealing all the decent doctors from them,’ she types furiously, irritated at both her situation and the circumstance the entire hospital has found itself in, all because of Rylen.

She waits for a response but after a minute or so, it’s clear she’s not going to receive one. She shuts her phone off entirely, jamming it in her back pocket as she carries on, a scowl plastered on her face as she works, and works, and works. She meets with new patients and attendings, she assists old ones, she even discharges two, but the entire time she’s irritated and frustrated and just so tired.

Nearly the entire hospital’s at that hearing, she has every right to be there, too. This impacts every single member of the staff, she has every right to know what could happen to her career. This affects one of her colleagues, she has every right to know what’s going to happen to her, whether or not she’s going to see her in the hallways and put up with that absurd grin that she can call upon in a fraction of a second.

She sighs as she exits another room, flicking through her files and folders and stack of papers, and starts for a nurse’s station, dropping papers off with the few people still working. She forces a smile at Danny as he beams at her, before spinning on her heel and starting for the atrium, gritting her teeth as she marches down a series of hallways. She drags a hand through her hair as she draws near, finding a crowded atrium as she exits into it. She grits her teeth as her aunt spots her, waving her over with a smile.

She obliges, snaking through the gathered groups of doctors and observers until she reaches one Harper Emery. “Aurora, perfect, I was just about to send a page for you,” she greets cheerily.

Aurora forces a minuscule smile back, opening her mouth to respond when Harper cuts her off, “I have new assignments for you, I’m guessing you finished your previous ones?” she inquires with a smile.

“Well, actually,” Aurora begins, shifting on her feet and forcing herself to meet Harper’s gaze, “I was hoping I could come watch the hearing to see the outcome,” she explains.

Harper shakes her head, “No, you should be working,” she answers, rather sternly.

Aurora bristles at the tone, “Everyone else is watching the hearing, why can’t I?” she counters, her lips twisting downwards into a frown.

“Because, Aurora,” Harper begins gently, Aurora only further bristling, “this is the perfect chance for you to pick up some extra cases,” she smiles encouragingly.

“But…”

Harper ignores her quiet protest, “Report to Dr. Alondra, then Dr. Mirrielees.” And Aurora can’t take it. She can’t take being ignored and forced to walk those empty halls when everyone else gets to be a part of something so important, and crucial, and she can’t take that she can’t be there to see what happens to Rylen. Harper’s continued, “Tell them I sent you -”

“God, Aunt Harper, would you just stop?” Aurora explodes, “You don’t listen to me! Ever since I got here, you’ve used me to feel like you’re still practicing.” Her face has contorted into an brazen scowl now as she spits the words.

“That’s… that’s not true,” Harper stammers, staring at Aurora in disbelief and simultaneously attempting to wrangle the surprise on her face.

“No? Tell me how much you love being chief, then,” Aurora challenges, drawing herself to her full height. “Tell me how you don’t miss being a surgeon. How much you love paperwork and kissing up to scumbags like Declan Nash! How much you didn’t care about getting back in the O.R. the other day!”

Harper plasters on her own scowl now, “Aurora, you can’t talk to me this way!”

Aurora only laughs coldly in response. She’s done with the ‘can’t’s and the ‘no’s, she’s done with being her aunt’s lap dog, she’s done with conforming to someone else’s ideals for her. She’s done with this, with all of this. “You know what the hilarious thing is? Damen is exactly who you’ve always wanted me to be and you’re letting Nash railroad her out of a fair hearing.”

Harper doesn’t respond, her face tight as Aurora meets her gaze in challenge. She can feel pressure building behind her eyes, but she’s not giving up, she’s not giving in, she’s not losing this fight like she’s lost countless others. If she has to work herself to exhaustion, alone every step of the way, she’s doing it on her own terms.

Harper only huffs, turning away from Aurora and striding in the direction of the hall that’s held the hearing. Aurora turns too, storming across the atrium with her face set in a glare, firing it at anyone stupid enough to stare at her, to acknowledge the raised voices that came from her and Harper. She sneers at some random intern that still doesn’t get the message, and they quickly avert their eyes.

She turns forward again, and, for the second time today, Aurora catches Rylen’s gaze across the room. Only she’s not interested in conversation this time, she’s not interested in wishing Rylen luck as she faces the demise of her career, she’s not interested in even holding her gaze. She’s not interested in anything to do with Rylen Damen, plain and simple. “What?” Aurora snaps at her.

She watches Rylen stutter for a second, her eyes displaying her evident shock at whatever’s just occurred before her, until a grin splits her lips in half a heartbeat, “Thanks for standing up for me.”

Aurora’s frown remains firmly in place as she meets eager eyes, “That wasn’t for you, Damen. That was for me.” She stands taller, flicking her gaze away from Rylen’s, “But you’re welcome anyway,” she mumbles awkwardly, her feet already moving again as she retreats from that stupid smile, that smile that seems to be Rylen’s default, that smile that was present in the fourth floor supply closet.

She retreats in the direction of the hearing’s hall, slipping inside carefully to remain as unnoticed as possible. She takes a seat, slumping in it in the back corner behind two random interns that won’t stop chattering, even as the hall begins filling up, even as the board retakes their places, even as everyone else within the grand room slowly quiets. It’s become still enough that Aurora can hear what they’re saying now, even as they whisper, “Dude, she killed someone,” one of them insists, “Throw her in jail, she’s fucking crazy.”

Aurora jerks forward in her seat before she can even consider reacting, lips pulled back in a snarl as red sparks in the corners of her vision, “Hey!” she hisses, a low, vicious sound. The interns turn, eyes wide, and Aurora focuses in on the one that uttered something so ridiculous. “You wanna stand up and tell everyone that? Or you gonna keep whispering like a coward?” she hisses again, watching his features slowly morph from surprise to fear as he takes in not only the person speaking to him, but the expression on her face.

His jaw falls open as he glances to his friend, eyes wild and face quickly flushing red. But his friend only leans away, hands raised in surrender as he abandons his friend to the wolves. Or, more accurately, a furious Aurora Emery. He turns back to her, stuttering incessantly, “I, um, so - er - I didn’t - that’s - well - okay - er, I, uh…” he stalls, face paling as Aurora sinks into her seat again.

“Then keep your mouth shut,” she snarls, a slight sense of pride blossoming in her chest at the way the intern adamantly nods his head, turning back to his friend just to get laughed at. She’s about to snap at him too for treating her understandable frustration as something comedic, when Rylen retakes her spot at the podium, the entire hall silencing immediately.

Aurora taps her foot anxiously as she watches Rylen standing at the podium before the gathered group of attendings. She watches the way Rylen stands ram-rod straight, her spine like a ruler and her body rigid as she stares ahead, eyes trained on the people before her, the people judging her. She watches the way Rylen relaxes some as she mentions her friends, turning back to them with a small smile, the words like an activator, alighting something inside her.

She watches the way Rylen uses that fire, her face settling into stone as Dr. Chandra asks her a final question, “Do you regret what you’ve done?”

Her jaw sets as she speaks, clear and determined, her voice ringing in the hall, “I regret distracting us from what matters. This hospital is full of sick people who need our help. But instead we’re in here, debating the consequences of my actions. So if you’re gonna pull my privileges, let’s get it over with. Because all of you need to get back to work,” she accuses, fingers gripping the podium and knuckles turning white.

And Aurora watches the entire speech with a slight smile crooking her lips, some combination of self-satisfaction and pride swirling in her stomach, stirring her, provoking her to shift forward, knees on her elbows as she watches intently. As she watches the vote that determines Rylen’s entire future, that might even determine Edenbrook’s entire future. “The seven panelists will now vote whether to revoke Dr. Valentine’s privileges at Edenbrook,” Harper begins, adjusting in her chair and looking down towards the other panelists.

Until the door at the back of the hall swings in, a low voice booming throughout the room, “You weren’t going to start without me, were you?” Dr. Banerji’s cheery tone echoes, stealing every pair of eyes in the room as he enters, an intern Rylen knows - Landry, Aurora corrects - helping him walk down the aisle.

Aurora’s eyes flicker to Rylen, to the shock on her face as her mouth hangs open, the artificial lighting playing in her wide eyes. Rylen blinks, still processing the man before her, “Dr. Banerji?” she whispers, and it’s too far for Aurora to hear, but enough for her to make out the shape of Rylen’s lips as she murmurs.

“Sorry for the wait. Once he woke up, I got him here as fast as I could,” Landry announces, still aiding the older man towards the board of gathered panelists, carefully and slowly.

“Naveen, what are you doing here? You said you were retiring,” Harper’s standing now, palms flat on the table as she gapes at Banerji with her own wide eyes.

Dr. Banerji laughs lightly, albeit weakly, “I should have said I was expiring,” he clarifies with a grin, somehow unafraid in the face of death. “Until yesterday, I was on the verge of death. Sepsis of unknown origin,” he continues.”Unknown, that is, until Dr. Damen gave up her last day to prepare for this hearing by solving my case.” Rylen’s cheeks flush as she bows her head, avoiding the eyes settling on her. “Now then, I believe that seat still has my name on it,” Dr. Banerji beams to the board.

Declan Nash jumps to his feet, his face beet-red, “Cyrus! Stop this!” he whisper-shouts in the direction of one of the panelists, earning a panicked expression from the doctor in question.

He fumbles to follow the order just given to him, “That’s, uh, fantastic news, Dr. Banerji, but I’m afraid it’s too late for you to vote. Procedure and all…”

“You never were a good liar, Cyrus,” Banerji tuts disapprovingly, even with his grin still firmly glued to his face. “Now then,” he takes his seat, Landry retreating to the audience, “Given the circumstances of my resurrection, I think we all know what I’m about to say. That’s going to be a ‘nay’ from me.”

Two more ‘nay’s echo Dr. Banerji, until the attention falls on Harper. Her brow furrows as she visibly regards her options, eyes roving across the hall before coming to rest on… Aurora. Aurora meets her gaze, attempting to force the anxiety from her eyes as best she can, still slumped in her seat and tapping her foot, an unstoppable beat that shakes her entire body as it continues and continues and continues, just like Harper’s gaze pinning her to the spot. Just like the nerves squirming inside of her, just like the exhaustion eating away at her.

Declan mutters something to Harper, every feature on his face drawn tight, a snarl splitting his lips as he glares at her, still bright red.

Harper draws in a deep breath, finally removing her eyes from Aurora and settling them on Rylen, Aurora relaxing as her heavy, contemplative gaze leaves her. “Dr. Damen, you’ve proven you’re someone who focuses as much on what a patient wants as what their body needs…” she pauses, Rylen visibly twitching with anxiety at the gap in speech. “But we’re not here to save bodies. We’re here to save lives. I vote nay,” Harper nods, Rylen instantaneously melting on the spot.

Her head bows to the podium, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths as the board continues, three more ‘nay’s sounding and applause beginning to echo at the prompting of Bryce Lahela, another of Rylen’s friends, a surgeon. But Rylen doesn’t move, eyes glued to the podium as she grips it, potentially even harder than before, her knuckles pale as they remain clenched.

The room spins into chaos around her, cheers from her friends, a few disappointed murmurings that Aurora may have to stamp out, and the shouts of Declan Nash as he attempts to fight the resolution. It’s mayhem, pandemonium, but the entire time, Rylen stays frozen, a peaceful island escape from the waves of disaster.

When Rylen’s head finally shoots up, a brilliant smile is on her lips in a heartbeat as she steps around the podium, nearly skipping as she walks to the board with her hand held out. She stops at every single panelist, shaking their hand and sharing small conversation with them, even the ones that worked for her downfall. By the time she reaches the end of the board, she’s almost bouncing on her feet as she turns back to her friends, rushing over to tackle Sienna Trinh in a hug, lifting her off her feet as she does.

All the while, Aurora’s sitting in the back of the hall, her foot no longer tapping as she shifts her gaze to the floor beneath her feet, observing the light playing of it, reflecting, creating shadows from nothing. That’s all it takes, is one spark, one illumination, one flicker to send the world careening to a stop or to kick it back into action. All it takes is one catalyst, one butterfly effect, for Aurora to sit alone, facing the floor as Rylen celebrates her victory. One tiny domino for her phone to buzz, ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me, Princess.’

It takes a second, but Aurora grins at the letters, at the message. Unabashedly, she grins for what feels like the first time in forever, not caring who sees, not caring what someone will think at Aurora Emery smiling and what that could possibly mean. She even snorts at the next message, the next letters, because she knows the exact beaming smile it’s meant to convey, the smile still sparkling across the room: ‘:DDDDDDDDDDDDDD’

#choices fanfic #open heart fanfic #oh dp #aurora emery #aurora x mc #not my favorite chapter with all the action #but were gonna get some more emotions going again soon

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transbibennyweir · 4 years

Note

I love mbav so much it’s one of my favorite shows ever and I’m still so upset over the cliffhanger ending but on a side note Benny weir was definitely my number one favorite character but that might be due to the fact that I have a crush on him and in real life too anyway though I will say bethan is definitely my otp favorite pairing from the show as well and I was so upset they didn’t end together in the end but I was wondering if you would consider making Bethan fanfiction for this month?

duuude i feel the same way i love the show and even me who isn’t really into shipping can’t argue that those two had some real chemistry going on. that cliffhanger ending will always suck but at least we got fanfic to cope and pretend it didnt happen lol but yeah i’ve been writing two or three (really) short fics. the requests are mostly bethan so lucky you! i just put a new i did under the cut. its short and smiple and not too over the top shippy. its still good i think but the next bethan fic i want write to be super over the top shippy for fun with fluff (and angst with comfort ofc) (also this is on ao3)

The Valentine Dance at school was only a week away and Benny had the less than amazing plan to confess some long time dwelling feelings, and if he was lucky score a date to the dance. Although, he was lacking in any confidence seeing as he was never the best with plans and had the worst luck with... Well with everything if he was honest. Ethan was more the plan guy. Which was a total problem when Ethan is who the confession was for. Benny debated for half the school day if he should ask anyone for help, it became pretty obvious that they wouldn’t be that helpful. Rory can’t keep a secret to save his undead life, Erica isn’t much of the romantic type (ignoring that she wouldn’t want help at all in the first place), and Sarah... Actually Sarah might be the only one that would be any real help. That’s if she wanted to help. After what happened Freshman year with Ethan pinning for her and the eventual coming out from Sarah that she didn’t like guys it was sometimes amazing they could still be friends without one of them dying of awkwardness. If anything it was more awkward to ask for help from your current crush’s ex-crush, but Benny was out of options.

“Hey Sarah!” Benny greeted on his phone, his leg bouncing as he sat nervously on his bed. He had decided that he would try talk to her after school, partly hoping he would talk himself out of doing any of this. “I kinda need your help for something important. How quick do you think you could be at my place tonight? Sarah? Sarah!”

When there wasn’t a reply Benny repeated her name wondering what happened followed with a moment of silence and a sudden swiping sound of gusting wind through his phone then a whoosh out in front of his bedroom window. Vampire speed, always handy. “This quick enough for you?” Sarah giggled. Between last year to now Sarah was a lot more playful about her vampire-ness, much to the amusement of Benny.

“Knew I could count on you, Sar!” He grinned at her.

“As always. So, what’s this super important thing you needed my help in the middle of a school night?” She asked, jumping onto his bed with a weightless thump. “Is it a magic problem or just your special brand of weirdness for tonight?”

“Ha! Very funny. I mean it. It’s serious. There’s the dance coming up and I need your help scoring with-” Benny was cut off by Sarah abruptly standing up with a squeaked out “What!”

“Benny! I thought you said this was serious. I rushed over here for you thinking ugh-I can’t believe you! I am not helping you with ‘score’ with some random-”

“It’s Ethan.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah....”

“Benny, I am really sorry.”

There was an awkward silence that made Benny want rip his insides out which was a total confidence booster. “Nah, no, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have been so ‘Benny’ about it. My fault.” Benny’s voice sounded worn and hoarse. Sarah wrapped her arms around Benny to comfort him, sitting back on his bed they stayed quite, Benny taking steading breathes. “I know it’s been a summer since he got over you, but I dunno we’ve always been friends and really close. Confident Benny wants say there’s a chance he’s into me, but Nervous Benny says everything I think has been a sign is just me getting way too hopeful and I’m just,” Benny sighed leaning into Sarah’s hug. “Really tired dancing around how I feel all the time.”

“Awe, Benny,” Sarah settled into her place on the bed facing her favorite spell-caster. “Okay. I’ll help you. What’s the plan?” Benny sheepishly smiled and raised his shoulders.

“I was kinda hoping you could come up with something. I’m more of a plan follower than a plan maker. My ideas tend to lead to the actual problem that needs fixing.” He laughed nervously.

“I think I can come up with something. You still know that flower spell, right?” They grinned at each other.

“Of course.”

+++

The school dance was now only four days away and Sarah’s plan was simple and more importantly fool-proof. Which is what Benny was counting on.

“So, all you need to do is talk to him. Take him to the park. Whoa him with some magic, some flowers and then boom! Ask him to the dance. Simple and sups romantic.” Sarah said as they walked outside to see Ethan and their friends waiting for them in the school parking lot. “Think you can manage?”

Benny waved at them nervously. “I’m totally going mess this up.”

“Ben, it’s literally the most straightforward plan on the planet. There’s no way for you to mess it up. Just be your usual funny and charming self, it’s what he loves most about you.” Sarah smiled reassuring. Reaching their friends Benny tried not act anymore strange than his typical self, which was hard when Benny’s go to was being strange. It came with the magic powers and general teenage boy awkwardness. Erica was pushing Rory back onto the ground as he tried to float above her head saying there was something in her hair, there wasn’t, really he just wanted steal her hair pin that he was obsessed with.

“Come on, Erica!” Rory teased picking at the clip.

“Rory, if you don’t stop I’m going drive a stake through your un-dead heart!” She threatened as Ethan laughed before turning his attention to Benny and Sarah.

“Hey, Sarah, Ben.” He smiled sweetly, his eyes glancing at Benny with a sheepish blush. Although the boy in question was too busy freaking out internally to notice. “We still on for movie night?”

“Oh right!” Sarah said suddenly with a false quickness. “I totally forgot that’s tonight. Me and the vamps have some Vampire Council business and such. Y’know, vampires only. Heh.” She lied poorly but Ethan was just a little too slow to catch on.

“We do?” The two other vampires said holding off on their mini fight over a hair clip, Erica holding onto both Rory’s wrists in opposing directions. Erica watched the panic in Sarah and Benny’s eyes that said all she needed to know; ‘please just pay along’ written all over their faces. “Oooh. Yes-yeah. We do. Totally. No humans allowed or they will eat your face off. We’re doing a... vampire... ritual.... Yeah.”

“We do that? Awesome!” Rory said suddenly excited if not a little confused. “Why didn’t they tell me anything? Do you guys have their number or something because if so I feel it’s unfair that I don’t-”

“Rory, not right now.” Erica pulled her hair clip out of Rory’s hand, annoyed. “We should get going. Don’t want be late for the... ritual. Right, Sarah?”

“Right! Yeah, we really need get going. Super speed can only be so quick. Let’s go.” Sarah chuckled, pushing two of her friends away from Ethan and Benny. “We’ll see you later!” The three vamps speeded off, the other two waving them bye. The school parking lot was empty by then, Ethan’s full attention placed fully on Benny who felt the crushing weight of his friend’s eyes on him as he always did when they were alone. It was easy to play off any pining feelings when they hung out, their friendship had always been enough for Benny. Even when he had see Ethan longing after a different person, it was hard sometimes, but Benny could always push down any budding jealously or unsettling sadness. Ethan would always be his friend and now if he was lucky he could put boy in front of friend. The thought making his cheeks warm and his heart fast.

“Soo, movie night?” Ethan asked, they started their walk home only instead Benny had planned to take a subtle left turn towards the park the spell for appearing flowers repeating in his head.

“Actually I was thinking we could, uh, go for a walk... to the park?” Benny flinched with the odd expectation that his friend would suddenly reject him right there and then. “I have something I want show you, I dunno. Is that dumb? I feel dumb.”

“Benny. It’s cool. Come on, I kinda wanted tell you something anyways.” Ethan replied with a smile, his hand close to gracing against the taller boy’s. The near touch drawing them closer to each other, they’ve always gravitated towards one another with a strange pull that was always between them. Benny wondered if Ethan ever felt it, if he could ever see how Benny looked at him with such love and care. Maybe his seer powers let him see it more clearly than Benny felt it, lucky him Ethan still didn’t fully know how mind read yet.

The start of their walk was mostly silent, the longer the quite went for the more Benny’s internal freak out grew into full blown panic. He was seriously reconsidering saying anything at this point. Half way to the park and they hadn’t said a single word to each other, a first for their friendship. Ethan was biting his lower lip clearly lost in deep thought, Benny was too nervous to speak and break into whatever was going through the shorter boy’s head.

“Ben... Benny, heh, uh, I’ve been wanting to say this for awhile and I didn’t know how and I know you’re you know... You.” Ethan started. None of his words were comforting to Benny right now. “Wait-wait. That came out weird. I just wanted say when we came out to each other last summer. I know I acted really weird afterwards and it was totally uncool of me and I know I should’ve said sorry forever ago, but I’m real sorry, Ben. It was lame of me and I only acted like that because there some feelings I didn’t think I was ready to think about and now it’s like my brain is stuck thinking them but I don’t want things weird so, uh, am I making any sense?”

Benny didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, he went with the former and abruptly began to giggle in a almost soft of manic way. The sudden out bust of laugher worried Ethan. “Why are you laughing? Benny, I’m being serious. Come on, dude.”

“Sorry, dude. It’s just, you really scared me there for a second, E. I know it was a weird shift it’s totally fine. I was never mad.” Benny said, his laughter subsiding. Although he took note of the last bit, he didn’t want feel like he was reading too much into it but it couldn’t nothing, right?

They reached the park a few yards off where there was a bench was waiting for them. The lump in Benny’s throat was starting appear and it was getting too late for him to choke and bail on this whole thing. “Let’s go sit on the bench. It’s my turn to ramble and make barely any sense.”

“So nothing new.” Ethan teased. Ben wrapped his arm around Ethan’s neck and ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, yeah. Just sit down, okay?” Benny sat down with a nervous smile and his leg bouncing with a quick uneasy pace. “On the topic of us not being the straightest lightsabers in the bunch. Heh. There’s the dance coming up and I didn’t want go alone and there’s this person I wanted ask-”

“Really?” Ethan butted in with a sad look making something clink in Benny’s head. “That’s... great. What’s he like?”

“Oh you know, he’s really cool and mega smart and like, the biggest dork in the whole world.” Benny was grinning now, biting his lower lip to fight back his nervous joy. Maybe it was petty but if he was understanding right then making Ethan jealous for two minutes would make up for last year’s Sarah obsession.

“Oh. Uh. He sounds really cool. I’m glad you like him so much. So, what’s the plan to ask him out?” Ethan asked, his mood becoming more downcast suddenly. E, you pretty idiot. Well, just a bit of teasing fun wouldn’t hurt.

“Mhm. Yeah, he’s really great. I was thinking of asking him after school, y’know, surprise him with some flowers use a little magic to make sure their his favorite. Like this,” Benny made a quick glance to make sure no one was looking before making a bouquet of flowers appear. It had been the first simple trick that Benny had ever show Ethan. It started as a cheesy way to impress girls now it was becoming a cheesy way to impress his Ethan. The flowers matched the color scheme of Ethan’s favorite Star Wars character, right down to matching the center one with the character’s lightsaber.

Ethan stared at the flowers with a shy sadness. “Oh? Then what? Explain to him vampires are real next? I’m sure that one will go over real great, Bens.”

“Maybe. I think he’d be freaked out at first, probably less than he should be but grow to think it was way kick ass. I think he’d do pretty awesome fighting some bloodsuckers. Bet he looks really hot staking one out. The same way I think he looks really hot when he plays video games and starts losing and sits on my lap-which is totally cheating by the way, but I let it slide because again total cutie. I want ask him to the dance, maybe after we could sneak out and-”

“Jeez, Benny. Stop it, okay. I get it.” Ethan stood up from his seat, covering his ears. “You must really like him. What’s his name?”

“Oh, I dunno it’s something like Ian? Eric? Wait! No, I remember it’s Ethan Morgan the dumbest yet prettiest boy in town. Only second to yours truly.” Benny grinned gaining more of a cool confidence as he saw the way Ethan’s blush grew dark across his face.

“Oh.”

“Yeah ‘oh’ you dope! Who else could I have ever been talking about?! Han Solo?”

“First of all, I don’t know! And second, Han was totally gay for Luke but that’s for a different time.” Ethan said, glancing as an older couple walked past them.

“Wait, were you jealous? Like actually?”

“What! No way, I was not.” Ethan’s blush creeped up to his ears. “And anyways, it was totally not cool of you-”

“Then we’re even. Fair?” Benny leaned closer to Ethan, the flowers disappearing from between them. “Were the flowers too gay?”

Ethan leaned closer and bit his lip. “Bens, I don’t know how break this to you, but you’re like the gayest person in town.”

“Second to you.” He laughed before Ethan closed the gap between their lips catching him off guard. The small doubt that lingered in the back of his mind was put at ease as their lips fit together. “Sorry. I was really hoping I didn’t mess this up.” Benny tried not to giggle.

“Lucky you, your bad gay jokes and charm is what got me hooked on you in the first place.”

“Yeah, guess I am a catch. So... We’re on for the dance?”

“Yeah.” Ethan smiled holding Benny’s hands. “Yeah, Bens. We are.” They grinned at each other, hands clasped together and knees touching.

#mbav #my babysitters a vampire #bethan #benny weir #Ethan Morgan #asks #fanfic #request

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wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Telephone Line

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,449

Warnings: pretty sad ngl but not angst, mentions of death, mentions of cancer, these warnings sound bad but i promise its just kinda sad lol

A/N: ngl even i dont know where this came from lol but ill prob make a pt 2? if the idea i have strikes enough material for another part. enjoy anyways tho!

MAIN MASTERLIST

A deep orange hue shines through the cracks of his blinds as Bucky looks at the new shiny exterior of his new iPhone. Being too reckless on a mission led him to a cell phone cracked in two, resulting in him having to spend four hours at the Apple store all the way in Manhattan, quite a ways away from his apartment upstate.

Low trumpets flow softly through the speakers of his record player, a bold blue box that Sharon gifted him this year for his birthday. He hums to Marvin Gaye as he goes through the device in front of him, setting up account after account, typing in password after password. Gaye was a few decades after his time, but he won’t let it show in front of Sam how much he enjoys his music.

He downloads the mindless puzzle games he had on his previous phone and is thankful that the contacts that were in his old phone were able to be transferred for him.

He locks the phone and sets it aside before taking out the small sketchbook from the drawer in his desk. He also grabs a pencil from the cup sitting on the corner of the wood and flips his book open to a fresh page. A new hobby Bucky’s picked up since Steve’s passing.

His real passing. Not the one everyone sold to the world in order for him to live the rest of his life in peace in a cabin far away, probably crowded in trees and flowers; perhaps the house is where a rainbow begins or where the sky rains golden droplets. Bucky wouldn’t know, he never visited after seeing Steve as an old man after he returned the stones.

There wasn’t anger; Bucky and Steve spoke about his plans before he left and Bucky was happy for him, he was finally getting the life he deserved after so much time spent doing the “right” thing, and not what he wanted. It was a situation of feeling… weird and awkward around this new Steve. It was a completely different Steve with different experiences, different memories. A family. Kids and grandkids and great-grandkids. Photos probably hung on the walls of the house of people he wouldn’t recognize. He always wondered what happened to him in Steve's timeline. In other words, he wonders if Steve rescued him from Hydra and spared him the eighty years of torture. He wonders if there’s any pictures of him in Steve’s house. For Bucky, it became, “I’ll go visit him another day,” until, well, there weren’t any more chances.

A sketch of what he can remember Times Square to look like from this afternoon appears on the paper. Rough lines shaping out tall buildings and people, small squares to outline the pavement, bigger boxes to indicate the shapes of the numerous cars that filled the area. He reaches for his box of colored pencils in the side-drawer of the desk when the generic ringtone of his new phone belts out loudly.

A number that isn’t saved into his phone appears on the screen. A Brooklyn area code. Maybe all the contacts didn’t transfer themselves.

“Hello,” Bucky answers after swiping his right pointer finger along the slide bar.

A hitch of feminine breath is heard before a few seconds of silence, before the three beeps signaling the caller hung up. Probably an accident.

Bucky goes to pick up his pencil again before the tone is heard once more, the same number on the screen. An eyebrow quirks upwards and he answers the phone again.

“...Hello?” Bucky says once more. Again, he’s met with silence before being hung up on. Maybe not an accident, maybe a prank caller. I’ve had the phone for maybe six minutes and this is already happening.

The same number calls for a third time and Bucky debates even answering this time. He lets it ring three times before answering.

“Hello?” He asks, met with silence. “Listen, I’m not in the mood for prank callers, so if you don’t mind-”

“Who is this?” A quiet feminine voice finally answers through the speaker against his ear.

“Who is- What do you mean who is this? Lady, you called me first!” Bucky responds, already exasperated with the conversation.

“How did you get this phone number?” She asks, voice shakier than the first time she spoke.

“I got a new phone and they gave it to me? How else do you get phone numbers?”

“No, no, no. You don’t understand. This-this is my husband's number. It can’t be your new number!” The woman responds, voice cracking this time.

“Okay, okay, hey, relax. Maybe there was a mistake? Maybe your husband received a different phone number?” Bucky offers, not really wanting to play Tech Support as he draws to wind down his day before dinner.

“No! There wasn’t a mistake, my-my husband is dead! This was his phone number and-and-and I call it everyday once I-I get out of work! How did you get this number, why did they give his away?!” Pants and shaky breaths are heard between almost every other word as you start audibly crying on the phone.

Bucky’s eyes widen, not expecting that explanation. Great, a fruit gave away her husband to me.

“Hey, okay, take a breath.” Bucky suggests, and waits for her breathing to become a little more regular before continuing. “I’m sorry they gave me your husband’s number, it was randomly selected. I mean, I hope it wasn’t the last thing you had of his voice?” Bucky tries to offer.

“Of course it’s not,” You reply, voice sounding calmer now. “I just wasn’t expecting them to give away his number like that, it stayed for a few weeks so I thought,” a humorless chuckle, “I thought they’d let me keep it.”

“I’m really sorry about your husband. I, uh,” Bucky hesitates, questioning if he should be telling this emotionally unstable widow about his personal life, but continues anyway, “I recently lost someone important to me, as well. My best friend.” Bucky confesses, fingers toying with the circular edge of the back of the colored pencil.

A pause, “Can you tell me about him?”

“He, um, was a good guy. Real selfless. He was uh,” Bucky thinks of how to talk about Steve without actually leading to the fact that he’s talking about the former Captain America, “He was a bit older than me, and he passed away from health problems. Heart problems.” Bucky comes up, technically not a lie, his heart did stop when he died.

A small sniffle, “My husband passed away from lung cancer. The doctors told me there was no other hope for him; he needed a machine to help him breathe and a bunch of tubes in him to help him do everything else. So I asked the doctors to just…” You trail off.

A sudden deep sigh escapes her, the raspiness of her voice heard through the speaker and flows into his ear, “Sorry, I probably sound like a crazy person right now, calling her dead husband everyday just to hear his seven second voicemail.” You apologize, another humorless laugh following your words.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re just trying to cope the best way you can. You miss him.” Bucky objects, still toying with the purple colored pencil in his hand.

“Um, yea.” You respond, probably not even expecting Bucky to actually listen to your rambling.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

“James.”

“Of course it is,” You mumble, eyes closing on the other side of the call.

“What was that?”

“I said, of course it is. That was my husband’s name, too.”

A sympathetic smile pulls at his mouth, even though you can’t see it.

“Listen, if you even want to call again, I don’t mind. I can either listen in silence, or we can talk, or, whatever you want. It’s okay.”

“Thanks, James. That’s nice of you.” You say, voice watery, but Bucky doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll, uh, let you go, James. Sorry for any bother.” He can tell you’re struggling to hold back tears with the way your voice is straining.

“No bother at all. Have a good rest of your night, okay?” Bucky bids her, hoping she will, but accepting that there’s a good chance this poor woman will be in tears for the rest of her evening.

“You, too.”

A couple seconds of silence follow before the call ends. Bucky sighs, locking his phone once more. He picks up the pencil in front of him, ignoring the small tremor in his fingers, and presses the pencil to the paper.

He thinks about her for the rest of the night.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #oneshot #bucky x reader

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angelixskz · 4 years

Text

↳ pairing; seo changbin x reader

↳ genre; suggestive, fluff if you squint, soulmate!au

↳ summary; your leg is killing you, but that doesn’t stop you from getting a new tattoo.

↳ word count; 2,448

HAPPY BELATED CHANGBIN DAY! I hope he had an amazing day and that he smiled till his cheeks hurt. I hope that he ate well, stayed safe and overall go all the happiness that he deserves.

↳ a/n; I got a little carried away with this fic, just a tiny bit. thank you to @haechaaaaaaanssi for beta reading and helping me make this header because my brain does not understand the concept of headers. hugs for janna. anyways, I hope that you enjoy this angels <3

↳ inspo; these pics and touchy feely by ro james (can y’all believe that someone gave that to me as a song rec lol)

↳ warning(s); making out

It was getting harder and harder to walk towards the parlor.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the nerves partying in your stomach or the increasing pressure around your right calf, or maybe, it was both. Turning back briefly, you saw your friend give you a thumbs up. The tiny encouragement sparked an ounce of determination, and with that, you tightened your grip on the warm cup of coffee in your hand and pushed open the door to the dimly lit tattoo parlor with a blinking neon ‘open sign’.

Presented in front of you was a small waiting room, the lighting as dark as the tinted windows showed. Covering the wall behind the wooden front counter were various pictures of previous customers’ designs. Decorated on the other black-painted walls were simply just framed sketches.

You were alone in the parlor.

Light shone behind the black curtains leading to, what you presumed, were the work stations for the employees. You could faintly hear the buzz of machinery and the hum of a fan. The pain in your leg thumped your hand into action. Hesitantly, you pressed on the bell resting on the counter.

As you waited, you turned your attention back to the framed papers hanging on the walls. They were all very pretty, but they didn’t compare to the one that you had in mind. Remembering the piece of paper, you reached into your back pocket. It was odd how you came about it; simply waking up at the crack of dawn with a pencil in hand and a beautiful sketch of vines and flowers on a white sheet of paper in front of you. At that moment, you were heavily thinking about pursuing your career as an artist. Instead, your friend convinced you to get it tattooed on your body.

The first tattoo parlor that came to mind was the one across the street, conveniently, right across the cafe you worked at.

“That regular who never talks works there, right?”

Of course Felix would remind you of Changbin, the seemingly never smiling tattoo artist who would only utter his order before leaving to his table. You looked at the sketches hanging under his name. While they were all very pretty, one specific design caught your interest.

Stepping away from the oddly short counter and past the worn out leather seats sitting next to the entrance door, you shot one hand out towards the one paper hanging loosely by a transparent blue tac pin. The ache started to increase, almost as if the vines imprinted on the skin of your leg were tightening.

Before you could fully compare your own design to his, a hand shot past your ear.

“Can I help you?” came out the gruff voice.

You turned around with a grimace. With each second that ticked, the ache in your calf didn’t seem to falter. For a moment, you held your breath, for you were met with the dark gaze of the Changbin. He always looked peaceful while drawing in his sketchbook as he occasionally glanced outside the window to observe the people passing by, yet here, he didn’t look too happy with his furrowed brows and irritated dip of his lips.

Glancing down at the harsh grip he held on the paper with his right hand, you explained that you were here to get a tattoo. Your gaze lingered on the ink peeping through the crumpled lines. “This… is a tattoo place, right?” you questioned, finding the courage to look back up at him.

Perhaps your words confused him because his once irritated expression morphed into one that you could only describe as a constipated scrunch. His eyes squinted slightly, brows accompanied by line etched in between and a slightly gapped mouth.

“Did you read the sign that says Stray Tattoos?”

You smiled brightly at the boy, “Of course not, I just randomly decided to visit this mysterious looking store across my cafe.”

He clicked his tongue before turning around and walking behind the counter. You followed along, hoping that your limp wasn’t showing as you struggled to deal with the horrid throbbing in your leg.

“You have a design in mind?” he asked, bringing out his sketchbook.

“That one,” you told him.

He raised a brow at your pointed finger. The paper he previously tore from the wall was still clutched in his hand. “No.”

You blinked, “What?”

“It’s not a design.”

“Then why was it on the wall?”

Changbin stared at you with an unreadable expression, “It’s not now, so go choose a different design.”

You frowned, “Why can’t I get that one?”

“I told you, it’s not a design for sale,” he pursed, “and you most definitely did not have this in mind. It’s not posted on our website or any of our social media accounts.” His frown deepened, confusion written in his eyes, “Even if it was, no one should be able to see the design.”

He mumbled the last part, but you managed to catch onto his small words. You smiled cheekily in response, “Well maybe I’m special since I’m able to see it.”

Wholeheartedly, you meant it as a joke. Changbin’s dead serious face didn’t seem to take it as a joke. He wanted to say, ‘you must be’ but he knew better–soulmates don’t exist.

He rolled his eyes, “Whatever. The point is, you can’t get this tattoo.”

You pursed your lips, “Fine, then I want this one.” You pulled out the folded piece of paper from your back pocket and slapped it onto the counter. Changbin’s eyes widened as he stared at the identical design you gave him.

Before he had a chance to speak, he was interrupted by the voice of a blond boy with a dimpled grin. “Are you giving our customer a hard time?” he chastised.

“Hello there! I’m Chan.” He placed a hand on the shoulder of his fellow grumpy co-worker. “Don’t mind Changbin here, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

Changbin slapped away the hand of his friend.

“See,” Chan whispered, a hand covering his mouth from Changbin’s view, “he’s a bit sensitive today.”

You chuckled, “It’s okay, I just gave him my design.”

Chan followed your gesture towards the folded paper that Changbin was holding against another crumpled paper. Confusion flashed in Chan’s eyes for a brief moment before he hid it with a gleam of playfulness. “I see, you guys are exchanging secret sketches.”

“Secret sketches?” you echoed.

“Yeah, did you guys use invisible ink or something–” he vaguely gestured towards the papers–”because there’s nothing on there.”

You would’ve laughed at him if it weren’t for the pinch of pain that pulsed through your leg.

“What do you mean? There’s designs on both of those papers,” you frowned.

Something sparked in Chan’s eyes and he gave a knowing look to Changbin.

There was a silent battle of glances between the two, one that you witnessed without much focus. You were too busy remembering the bothersome prickling in your leg. Frown deepening, you focused on the warmth of the coffee cup you held in your hand, hoping that the warmth could transfer to your leg. You cleared your throat. “Well if today isn’t a good time, I can just leave. Oh, and uh,” you placed the now cooling cup down on the counter, “this is for you, Changbin, since you didn’t come to the cafe today.”

You bit the inside of your lip, hating how the pain increased tenfold when Changbin made eye-contact with you. You gave a slight nod and let out a silent wince when you turned around–conveniently missing how he expressed a small grimace.

“Wait,” he called out, “You can get the tattoo.”

You anxiously wiggled in the black leather chair when Changbin entered the room.

Wordlessly, he sat down on a chair next to you. He didn’t seem to be concerned that you didn't have any pants on, but then again, he hasn’t glanced once at you since he arrived. He was quite content on his needles, jaw clenched. Your leg throbbed, unbearingly so–you let out a whimper.

He casted his eyes on yours, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you weakly replied, “just nervous.”

“First time?”

You nodded. Slowly, he trailed his gaze down your neck, past your chest and down to your bare legs. He stayed focused on the vines wrapped around your calf–a new wave of pain washed over you.

“But it looks like you already got one? Unless it’s fake,” he observed, your wince unnoticed by the fact that he tried to ignore the insufferable sting in his right shoulder. “These vines match the ones on your calf,” he added.

“Would you believe me if I said that it was marked there when I was born?” you managed to gasp out, sweat starting to form against your hairline despite the wind blowing towards you.

Pain clear in your voice, he quickly turned to you with concern, “Are you sure you’re okay? We can do this another day.”

“I’m-” before you could utter ‘fine’, you let out a yelp, your hand moving to your calf to rub away the pain. Changbin dropped the needle on the floor and instinctively reached for your extended hand.

Suddenly, it stopped.

Everything stopped, it seemed. The needle stopped midway to the ground, the fan blowing in the corner froze, the clock’s hand paused, the rapid acceleration of your heart slowed, but most importantly, the ache in your leg dissipated.

Your breath hitched when the vines around your leg started to unravel. You felt breathless as they grew. You followed as the vine slowly trailed up your leg, the slow beat of your heart suddenly loud in your ears when you saw another vine out of the corner of your eye.

There were no words you could speak when you realized that the other vine was trailing down Changbin’s arm. You spared a quick glance up at his eyes. They sparkled with the same awe as yours. Letting out a breath of disbelief, you looked back down at the two vines moving towards each other. Your vine moved up to Changbin’s knuckles that were touching the skin of your thigh and connected to his vine that curled around his wrist.

When the two vines interlocked, pure serenity fell over the two of you. Flower buds blossomed in the trails of the vines. Slowly, Changbin let go of your hand. Once the two of you were no longer touching, time resumed; the needle started falling again, the fan resumed cooling the room, the clock started to tick, your heart never actually stopped beating but it sure felt like it, and the ache in your leg throbbed faintly. The vines started to retract, budding flowers starting to disappear.

As light as a feather, Changbin touched one of the flower buds. The two of you were sucked back into a frozen universe within a split second. His thumb smoothened over the bud as it started to blossom, vines extending and curling towards his touch. You could only watch with a held in breath as he leaned closer towards the flower. As if in a trance, he pressed his lips softly against your skin. The pillowly touch of his lips was light, yet it still managed to make your heart flutter and it elicited a gasp from your mouth.

Too in awe at the colors inking your skin and flooding the outlined flower, you failed to notice how Changbin regretted his action. It wasn’t until he pulled away did you realize that he was spouting out countless apologies–he thought that he overstepped his boundaries.

Before he could fully dismiss his touch, you cupped his face. You tried not to get distracted by the vines creeping up his neck and growing to where you hand lie.

“Hey,” you murmured, “it’s okay.”

His brown eyes were blown wide, a haze swirling in the galaxy of his iris. “Are you sure-”

You chuckled and nuzzled your nose against his, “Did you know how many times I thought that this vine on my leg was some useless birthmark? Never did I ever think that it was my soulmate mark.”

“I thought soulmates didn’t exist anymore,” he admitted, eyes glancing down at your lips for a moment.

“I didn’t either, although, I did feel a certain pull towards you whenever you visited the shop,” you confessed, “but then again, that could’ve been because I thought you were cute.”

He raised a brow, “Cute?”

You smiled, “Yes, cute with your beanie and sketchbook, just drawing away while admiring the pedestrians passing by.”

Something about you calling him cute didn’t sit well in his stomach. “Cute,” he repeated, almost scoffing out. Your heart started to speed up as he slightly pushed you into the chair. He hovered over you, breath mixing with yours. He pecked kisses from the corner of your lips all the way down to your collarbone. Flowers bloomed and colors exploded on the flesh of the two of you.

Together you painted a beautiful picture.

Your breaths became shallow as you felt his tongue swipe against your skin. He colored your skin as he moved back up. His kisses trailed along your jaw and aimed at the corner of your mouth, never quite planting his lips on yours.

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

With a small smirk, he slowly connected his lips with yours. There was no hurry in his actions, afterall, the clock was no longer ticking. He never stayed more than a second before pulling away. His eyes glimmered with amusement as you chased after his lips each time.

“Changbin,” you whined when he disconnected his mouth from yours for the nth time.

The way you breathed out his name made him break.

He pushed his mouth against yours, teeth clashing and temperature rising. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip. Saliva mixed together just as the vines around you twirled within each other. The leather beneath you started to stick to you as you wiggled around.

You tugged at the hem of his shirt which prompted him to quickly remove the material. With hot pants leaving your mouth, you marveled over the numerous vines penned from his neck, connected to his shoulder blades and curling down to his torso. You trailed your hands along the path of vines, flowers blooming with each touch. When he exhaled a shaky breath, you chuckled.

“Cute,” you teased, pressing a kiss to a flower on his jaw.

The color pouring into the petals of the flower contrasted the darkness that engulfed his eyes.

He mocked your chuckle, “Oh, baby, I’ll show you cute.”

#askz.changbin #inkidz #kafenetwork #UR-NET #stayhavennet #seo changbin #changbin scenarios #changbin imagines #changbin suggestive #skz x reader #skz suggestive #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz one shots #changbin one shots

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missmonsters2 · 5 years

Text

The Color of You || Part IV

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: It was another mission Natasha was assigned to. Nothing she hasn’t done before. Same mission, different people. Sent undercover to investigate William Cain, suspect to funding terrorism and smuggling weaponry. Under the disguise of Natanya Rovinski, Natasha is ready for another routine mission. Until she met you, William’s fiancé.

Warnings: There are dark elements to this series. Also, smut later on.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Action

NOTE: Y’all know the drill. Drop a comment to be added to tag list! Also, I wrote this while I was sick, so please ignore any glaringly obvious mistakes LOL

PART I || PART II || PART III

PART IV of X

Count: 2420

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The morning before Natasha was to meet William, she decided to stop by to see you again. Natasha’s not exactly sure what compelled her to do so, but it didn’t settle well with her how things ended last night.

The maid let Natasha right in, stating once more that William was already gone to work.

Now, Natasha stood before your studio door again, looking through the glass at your back once more.

You were painting, working on the same piece you were last time. Whatever it was, you were intensely focusing on it.

Natasha let out a slight huff of breath as she tapped her knuckle lightly against the door.

You jumped slightly and genuinely.

“Come in,” you said, turning your attention to the door. You seemed surprised to see Natasha entered, but your face showed no memories of last night--to Natasha anyways.

“Natanya,” you greeted quietly, and it was then that Natasha finally got a better look at you.

There were streaks of paint on you again, shades of yellow on your arm and even a stripe on your cheek.

Your hair was in a tied up messy bun, strands falling out and framing your face as you demurely tucked a stray strand behind your ear.

Natasha missed this look of you. Rather than the fancy dresses and strains of politicians around you, she wanted you to always look like this.

But when she looked at the oversized men’s shirt on you, she couldn’t help but shirk a little.

And you noticed.

“Is that William’s?” It’s hardly words of greeting, and Natasha feels she might regret hearing the answer, but she can’t help it.

You’re ruining her.

You look down at your shirt and chuckle lightly.

“No,” you tell her, and Natasha feels the tension in her stomach relax, and it annoys her a little.

“I end up ruining a lot of shirts when I’m painting, so I buy shirts in bulk for cheap,” you explain further, tugging slightly at the hem of your shirt.

Natasha only smiled, eyes flitting over to your painting.

“Yellow today?” Natasha asks even though it’s clear with the streaks of paint on you.

You nod, looking at your work in progress as well.

“Tell me something about the color yellow,” Natasha says, falling into habits.

“Other than the obvious things?” You tease her and tilt your head when she chuckles.

“Well,” you start, thinking of what to tell Natasha. “Yellow is actually a very difficult color to read. Since it reflects so much light, it’s straining to the eyes. I can’t help but feel happy when I see the color, though.”

“Why?” Natasha asks softly.

You look up to the ceiling, and Natasha wonders what you see.

“It reminds me of my childhood,” you reveal to her. “In my parent’s summer cabin they used to own by a lake. Many yellow flowers grew there, and my mother used to bake sweets while my father fished. I would draw in my sketchbook, and nothing mattered then.”

“What did you want to not matter?”

“The future,” you say quietly.

The way you said it was so soft and sad that Natasha might’ve missed it if she weren’t hung up on your every word. But then the moment was gone when you looked back down and quirked your lip at Natasha.

“What else do you see about the color yellow?” Natasha asks you, not sure what else she can say but she doesn’t want the moment to end.

“It’s a complex color,” you tell her. “But it’s also the color for friendship.”

There it was.

Acknowledgment of last night.

Words that Natasha didn’t want to hear.

And so she crosses the threshold, invading your space as her hand touches the bottom of your back, dragging it’s way up until it’s between your shoulder blades.

“How are you so different from William?” Natasha asks quietly in your ear.

This was exactly what you had asked Natasha not to do, but she can’t help herself. She doesn’t want to pull away.

“How can you tell me to just be your friend?” It was a quiet hiss in your ear. Natasha lined her shoulder up to yours, her right hand covering your left.

“How can I only be your friend?” She asks you, her lips just brushing the tip of your ear and you bite your tongue.

“When I’m begging you like this?” Her forehead momentarily rests against yours as if in defeat and Natasha feels a wet spot against her wrist.

She pulls back to see a bright shade of yellow against her black sleeve. Your eyes pull down, and you frown.

“Sorry--I’m always getting paint on you,” you tell her, turning away to grab a cloth but Natasha grabs your hand.

“No,” she tells you. “I don’t want you to wipe it away.”

Her hand slowly slips from yours, and Natasha turns away to walks off, adjusting her coat in her arms.

“Natanya, wait--”

Natasha stops and turns her head back at your call.

“Tell...tell me something interesting too,” you ask her softly.

Natasha purses her lips tightly before sighing as she gives you a half-hearted smile.

“It’s getting harder to pretend you exist only here to me.”

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Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

She’s distracted.

How immature of her, she thought.

The entire afternoon, Natasha had been working on looking through the files and following up with Tony to see if he had anything.

The entire time, she couldn’t get you out of her head.

A part of her--the dark park, whispered about how it was a weakness. You were a weakness, an infection that was making her inefficient.

But after years of being with Clint, it was easier to silence the voice.

She heard a car drive up to her front porch and checked the time.

New plan, Natasha thought.

If she could find out tonight what William’s plans were, and in addition, secure all the microchips, she could be done with this all.

William would be put away, the microchips wouldn’t be released, and you?

You...

Natasha released a heavy sigh from her nose before she opened the door to see the driver.

“Miss Rovinski,” he greeted before gesturing to the car.

One step at a time, Natasha reminded herself.

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The drive was shorter than Natasha thought was normal.

The driver wasn’t taking her to the warehouse that Natasha had seen Emilio load off the microchips at.

In fact, she ended up on the Cain’s estate once more, but instead of the main house, she was being led to the right-wing that was detached.

“Natanya, glad to see you made it okay,” William greeted her as she stepped in. She was the last to arrive, seeing many familiar faces of politicians and CEOs of companies that were supporting William’s campaign.

There was one face that Natasha didn’t recognize.

A woman with very sharp facial features, blonde hair, and in a tight pencil skirt stood a little further away with her hands behind her back.

Natasha took a seat as William started his presentation.

“I’m glad you all could make it. As you know, I’ve promised for my campaign something revolutionary...and I’m here to provide just that.” William grinned, throwing his palm out to the blonde in the back. She placed something in his hand and William brought it back, placing it delicately on the table.

“What this? A phone chip?” One of the CEOs asked as he leaned closer to take a look.

William chuckled and shook his head.

“Not even close. This, everyone, is our future. It’s a bio nanochip, meant to be inserted just right behind your ear. It’s a data collector. Anything about yourself will be put onto this microchip. Health, genetics, personal preferences, all of it.”

“Why would anyone want to have that?” Another person asked, William just grinning further.

“Think of it like this. Your family has a history of heart problem, the nanochip picks up on that. You’re constantly making unhealthy choices--not exercising, eating junk food, not visiting the doctor. The nanochip is picking all this up, by the way. Maybe you need a heart transplant--what would you do?”

The men and women looked at each other around the room, perplexed by the hypothetic situation.

“I would go to the best doctor available,” one woman said.

“What if you can’t afford it?” William countered.

“I--” She stuttered.

“What if you’re a student wanting to go to the best university there is, and you didn’t get any scholarships--what would you do?”

“Get student loans from the bank or government,” a CEO offered.

“You didn’t qualify, or maybe you don’t want to pay the insane interest rates for the rest of your life. What then?”

Everyone is silent. Natasha is confused about what exactly William wants to do.

He pushes the nanochip forward.

“This nanochip collects all your data on you, gives you the information via an app. As stakeholders, you’ve all purchased your share into the company I’ve started up to provide this technology to the public. The chip is free itself but to get it, people must sign an agreement with our company that it can collect, use, or sell their data.” William lifted his finger off of the nanochip, looking at everyone.

“In situations where maybe people are looking to get a little...help, stakeholder and other companies who purchased into the company can reach out to this individual and set up a side contract with them. Be it their services or whatever they can offer in exchange for the financial help, connections, or whatever it is.”

Natasha felt her stomach dropping more and more as William spoke.

She was going to vomit, she’s sure of it.

William was going to turn poor people into...into slaves to the rich and to companies.

Poor people who can’t afford healthcare, education, a job, or even a home. They wouldn’t even realize what selling their information would do.

Who is to say a company or person using a someone’s information wouldn’t do things like make them unemployable--forcing them to turn to rich people and companies for help?

The worst part is many people wouldn’t even see a problem with it. They would be stuck in a cycle, relying on the rich to stay alive or achieve anything. The rich would have complete control over people who’ve signed their life away.

“Amazing,” A CEO said, looking at the chip. The potential for free employment was outstanding, and he was already increasing his profits for the upcoming year.

Sure, they may be shelling out thousands of dollars, but whatever they were shelling out would be made back on interest and their services. A trade of equal or higher value.

After all, humans are the best resource there is.

“How do you know if companies will want to be involved?” A woman asked.

William grinned throwing a stack on paper on the table. “On average, 70% of businesses in each state has already invested in this. Even some internationally. The funding for everything is already secured.”

“When is it set to roll out?” Natasha asked, plastering a smile even though she felt sick.

“It’s already rolling out,” William told her, “it’s been going in batches. The last batch will be shipped out tomorrow night.”

The first thing in Natasha’s head was panic.

The second was that she needed to call Tony and Steve immediately.

The third was that she needed to get a hold of the last batch.

There was a small celebration happening, and Natasha stayed as she felt the group was too small for her to sneak out unnoticed.

When it came to an end, Natasha made sure William watch her leave in her vehicle.

Halfway through, Natasha got her driver to stop, drop her in the middle nowhere, send him off on his merry way as she turned around and made her way to the warehouse on foot.

The warehouse was quiet, quieter than Natasha expected. No guards standing outside, but maybe because that would seem suspicious. Using her intel from last time, she slips through a window, landing gracefully and moves behind a pillar when she sees a guard standing inside at the door instead.

She makes her way quickly to where the crates were last time which was the back of the warehouse, but there’s nothing.

No crates.

It was all gone.

Suddenly, alarms were going off, and Natasha found herself in flashing red lights, guards were screaming, and there were footsteps quickly rushing towards her.

Natasha didn’t have time to make it back to the window where she came in from and quickly left the through the nearest back door that led outside.

Red flashing lights were on the outside too as the alarms continued to ring and Natasha was running into the trees and bushes outback.

She could hear the footsteps running after her and Natasha thought she would have to take out the guards.

If she did that, it would alert William for sure someone was onto him.

Just as Natasha debated on what her next move should be, an arm shot out from behind a tree, pulling her roughly in before shoving her down and underneath a bush to hide.

Natasha was about to attack whoever was on top of her, her body tensing up but when she found herself staring into your wide eyes, fingers to your lip as you signaled her to be quiet, she did as she was told.

Time seemed to stop as the silence shrouded the two of you, the footsteps in the distance.

The two of you didn’t dare move.

It was an awful time to notice how warm your body was and how much it fitted against hers, but Natasha had always been acute to noticing everything around her.

It wasn’t until the footsteps and voices passed the bush the two of you hid in without incident, the voices fading further and further away until there was nothing but silence again.

You let out the breath you were holding in, eyes closing in relief, shoulders sagging, and Natasha felt all the tension leave your body.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask you what in God’s name were you doing out here and how the hell you knew she was here.

But you opened your mouth first as you turned your head towards Natasha, eyes ablaze with fury.

“What in the hell were you thinking?!”

PART V

#mm: my fics #series: the color of you #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x ofc #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #Avengers AU #avengers reader insert #marvel mcu #Modern Avengers AU #marvel imagine

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