#it's hard to put a pin on him yanno! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feminaexlux · 2 years

Text

Underneath (Pt. 1 / 2?)

Okay so just to clarify I'm pinning Kotallo's age down at 27 and yes I know Aloy is 20 but she carries the weight of the entire world on her shoulders and acts as if she's twice her age a lot of the time so she's a Cougar in spirit in this fic. Girl can get it from her local sassy beefcake sweetheart yanno what I'm sayin'

Quick shoutout to my beta @vanorablogs 🧡

This is largely the same snippet as before but there's more text underneath I swear

Read on AO3

⁂

"By the Ten," he breathed out. Kotallo grabbed onto Aloy's proffered arm and hauled himself behind her on the Sunwing with her assistance. "You sure this... machine won't attempt to shake us off when we are in flight?"

She snorted. "You've got nothing to worry about, Marshal. I've got it. I thought you trusted me?"

"With my life. It is why I'm on here," he said, his voice low.

"Good. Hold onto me. The takeoff is a bit rough but that's the price we pay for air travel. Chief Hekarro!" Aloy called out, performing a tiny salute to the Tenakth chieftain atop her Sunwing. "I'll have to borrow your best Marshal again, sorry!"

"He is no longer mine to lend, Aloy," Hekarro said back in his deep dulcet voice, smiling up at them. "I borrow him from you, Champion."

"What is he talking about?" Aloy asked Kotallo under her breath. She didn't need to speak above a whisper since Kotallo was right behind her.

"Hmm," Kotallo answered in his usual way, non-committal. It almost sounded embarrassed, but Aloy doubted the grumbly Marshal behind her knew anything of embarrassment.

"O... kay then," Aloy chuckled. "Let's go!" The Sunwing reared onto its legs and Aloy hunched forward to brace and keep her head level, but she wasn't expecting that a man easily twice her weight was using her as a brace on their ride. "Oof," she grunted, feeling the air get squeezed out of her as his arm pressed into her midsection.

"Sorry," Kotallo gritted out. She could feel his legs strain trying to wrap harder around the Sunwing's plated exterior and easing off some of the pressure he was putting on her with his single arm by grabbing at the Sunwing plates in front of her. He managed to grab the ridge of plate right in front of her crotch. "Sorry," he said again, half-chuckling.

"It's fine," she hissed out, a blush rising to her cheeks. "Just... need... to--" Finally the Sunwing got enough lift. It beat its wings down and after a couple of intense seconds climbing at a steep incline Aloy leveled out the beast. "Whew," she breathed out, Kotallo's arm settling more comfortably against her stomach. "I didn't expect how hard that was. I need to get used to how additional passengers affect takeoff."

"You... have not done this with the others?"

"No, you're the first. I thought you might enjoy it," Aloy grinned, though she wasn't certain Kotallo could see. "Seeing as you were inspired the last time I flew one?"

"It is an honor," he said, his voice sounding awed. Aloy's smile widened. It was too bad she couldn't see his expression, she thought. His little smile would have been a treat.

"And now that we're alone, you mind telling me what the Chief meant?" She knew she had him as a captive audience and he knew she never backed down. It wasn't a surprise when she felt more than heard him sigh behind her. Several months with the terse Tenakth Marshal had allowed her to understand and enjoy these wordless exchanges more than she thought she would. He was expressive in his own quiet way.

It meant he didn't choose his words lightly. "Chief Hekarro understands your mission to save the world. It is no easy task to take on by a single warrior. Even if you won't ask for it, you need all the help you can get," Kotallo said, lightly teasing. "So I am here. With you. Until the end."

She smiled again, still hidden from him. "So you are." Aloy banked the Sunwing around a mountain range, taking on more altitude. Going too high would make the air harder to breathe and skimming too close to the land would only attract trouble, so she had to balance the reach of any cannon shots and human comfort. It felt wonderful to fly without worries and have the wind pass through her hair, though she idly worried that her hair would be buffeting Kotallo in the face. "Are you alright back there?"

"It is... more than acceptable," he said simply. She rolled her eyes. "Thank you. For bringing me with you. For letting me fly." He sounded sincere. He always sounded sincere because he was, when he wasn't teasing her. It was his best trait. She loved that.

And ultimately she didn't mind the teasing either.

"We'll see if you're still thankful after we get to Meridian," Aloy mused. "I get sore after riding for a couple of hours." She felt a soft snort behind her. What was funny about that? "But thank you, Kotallo. Establishing the embassy was important for Tenakth and Carja both. And now it should be easier since Regalla won't be there to interrupt."

"And I will be meeting this Sun-King Avad himself?"

"More or less. Me and Erend have already vouched for you since you're Hekarro's envoy, and one that was at the original embassy. You'll need to talk official things with Avad but I think that's it."

"I won't be held captive for five years, will I? I remember Marshal Fashav had agreed to those terms."

"I don't think so... but if that does happen we still have the Sunwing to make our escape. If I never have to step foot in Meridian again it will be too soon. But try not to have any diplomatic incidents."

"Hmm," he grunted, sounding amused. Aloy was continually surprised at how much Kotallo could convey with just one hum. "For you I will try." Aloy smiled to herself again. "I should ask, this has nothing to do with Nemesis, does it?"

It was her turn to sigh. "No. But this is a problem that can be solved."

He didn't say anything for a few heartbeats. "Of course." He hugged her a little tighter and relaxed his hold. A comforting gesture, Aloy thought. It was nice. They fell into a comfortable silence.

Aloy wasn't sure when it started but her little squad at the base had given her the gift of touch. Varl had rested his hand on her shoulder. Zo had embraced her. Erend had drawn her up in his crushing hug. Alva had sometimes reached out to grab Aloy's hands when she was excitedly explaining things. Beta herself had run up to give Aloy a hug after she was freed from the launch tower.

Far Zenith were gone forever. But so too was Varl.

The remaining squad had each other and they reminded Aloy through their touches. Except for Kotallo, who gave his touches more sparingly than his words. That made it more meaningful in a way. She was soaking up what she could get with his arm against her stomach and his chest against her back. He was warm and solid and here and those experiences meant more to her than she knew.

She tried not to think about how much she was enjoying this.

And she tried not to think about how she could have just taught him the override to get his own Sunwing. A tide of guilt rose up in her and she put it on her mental to-do list. He'd get his own. She owed him that for all that he'd done. She'll help him catch one when they got back to the base.

She got a notice on her Focus that the Sunwing's battery was running low. Oh. Right. Extra weight meant extra load on the battery. And there was 3 times the usual riding weight. Whoops. She spotted a nearby fire pit with a basic shelter and turned toward it. "Sunwing's running low on power, we'll need to camp for the night."

Kotallo gave a grunt of acknowledgement. As they were coming down and the Sunwing reared up to land on its legs, Kotallo grabbed the ridge plate in front of Aloy again. Again she blushed at how close his hand was to... a place, but wasn't like he had much choice in the matter and she didn't have to think about it too long.

Aloy landed the Sunwing and tapped on her focus, connecting out to Erend. "Hey, slight delay, we ran down the battery on the Sunwing. It should be recharged tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh, hey Aloy. Alright," said Erend, sounding slightly surprised. "Still faster than on foot so no worries. We'll see you when we see you, then."

"What was your original estimate for reaching Meridian?" Kotallo asked after dismounting from the Sunwing. He reached out his arm in an offer to help Aloy down.

She smiled a little and grabbed his arm, letting him guide her to her feet. "I figured it was half a day of riding. We'll only be late by one day." There was a distant clap of thunder and Aloy sensed the change in air pressure of incoming rain. "And it sounds like we got to shelter in time. I hate flying through storms."

"To travel by sky and soar over mountains, crossing vast distances in a single day. I have lived as one of the Ten. I will never stop feeling blessed." He chuckled softly. "Tonight I'll hunt for dinner. Will you set camp?" Kotallo asked.

Belatedly Aloy realized she was still holding onto his arm. She let go immediately. What was wrong with her? "Yeah, sounds good, thanks," she said, feeling mildly embarrassed. Aloy took their bags and placed down the bedrolls under the shelter. She lit a fire with blaze and foraged nearby, filling their water-skins with fresh water from a nearby stream.

Kotallo was already there when Aloy came back to camp. They sat down next to each other in front of the fire, having a simple meal together with the turkey he caught and the fruits she found in their comfortable silence. The rain came in soon after and the fire sputtered but blaze kept it lit.

"What is Meridian like?" Kotallo asked after they finished cleaning up, surprising Aloy a little. She assumed he hadn't really cared at all with it being the Carja capital.

"It's… crowded," she replied, feeling the chill settling in around her as the rain came down around their shelter. "It's a big city. I guess it's pretty? There are people everywhere, mostly Carja but also a lot of Oseram. And too many petty Carja nobles who think they're better than you."

"You saved their kingdom and they still think they're better than you?"

"Some Nora girl stopping Deathbringers and Corruptors from razing their city doesn't fundamentally change how they look at outlanders."

He frowned. "I suppose I understand that. Perhaps there's some similarities with the Tenakth."

"All tribes are like that," Aloy shrugged. "And that's why I need this embassy to happen. We'll need everyone working together to have a chance against Nemesis." She sighed and hung her head, feeling exhausted.

"I will be on my best behavior," Kotallo said, adding a little humor and nudging her with his shoulder. "Be charming. Witty. Noble."

Aloy looked back up at him with a smirk. "I need you to talk with Avad, not sleep with him."

"What a union that would make. The esteemed Sun-King Avad taking a Tenakth barbarian to bed? Bawdy drinking songs would be sung for generations to come."

"Stop that," she laughed, slapping his right shoulder. "And you're no barbarian."

"I may be charismatic but I doubt I'd be appealing to the Sun-King nonetheless."

"Well, he does seem to like people who could snap him in half," Aloy said absently.

"You know of his interests?" Kotallo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He uh… was in love with Ersa, Erend's sister. She led the Freebooter mercenaries that helped him overthrow his father. He also asked me to stay with him," she answered, feeling awkward. "I didn't want that, or him," she added a little hastily, watching as Kotallo's brows ticked down in... annoyance? Concern? Maybe... jealousy? Aloy's heart strangely soared at the idea that it could be jealousy.

But for the love of GAIA, she didn't want Kotallo thinking she was interested in Avad.

Kotallo smiled sadly. "Ah, I think I understand him. A single person making the difference in your people's survival. Appreciation turning into something more…" he said, trailing off. Aloy's heart fluttered in sudden despair. If Kotallo liked her, saw her, only because she saved his people?

She needed a partner, not an admirer.

It took a lot to admit she needed a partner.

"You would have been trapped by duty to a single land," Kotallo said, solemn. Aloy nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "It would be suffocating."

She scoffed bitterly. "Yeah. But what's one more problem to add to the pile? I'm only trying to save the entire world from total annihilation because I'm one of only two people who can unless there's more surprise clones of Elisabet out there."

"It is my belief that you and Beta will save the world," he said simply, choosing to ignore the comment about more clones.

Aloy felt a different kind of despair. "How do you even know?"

"I don't, but you've shown me things I'd never even dreamed before. I've witnessed countless miracles in the time I've known you." He shrugged. "I know it won't be easy. It is why I intend on knocking down whatever obstacles we come across that would impede you, much like your actions for me at the Bulwark."

She buried her face against his shoulder. "Thank you," Aloy said softly, slightly muffled. He drew her in closer, putting his arm around her shoulders. Aloy got shifted in to rest her head against the crook of his neck. "I'm so fucking terrified, Kotallo."

"The wisest warriors are, when faced with uncertainty."

She groaned. "I could use a little less rhetorical goatshit."

"My apologies. Yes, it's fucking terrifying," he chuckled, ending it with a weary sigh. "I'm scared too. We've survived such incredible adversity and overwhelming swarms of enemies, each time pulling through with your - and your sister's - knowledge and ingenuity. But I wonder, how much of that was... luck?"

Aloy closed her eyes and stayed quiet for a bit, replaying over the events of the past 2 years. Life was so damn simple back before the Proving, when all Aloy wanted was to know who her mother was. "Not all of it was luck, but... but maybe some of it was," Aloy admitted.

She felt so lost.

As her teacher, Rost had made her focus on her goal of becoming the best at the Proving, honing her mind and her skills to the sharpest edge, driving her to the very brink of her capabilities... and then letting her realize for herself that she was more capable than she believed. Aloy knew that Rost had loved her in his own way, but there was no denying she had felt alone and unwanted for most of her life. He had been her father. But she had not been his real daughter.

Aloy knew she was needed by the world. She'd been created by a dying GAIA, given a dire purpose to unlock hidden mysteries with her genetic code serving as key.

People like Petra and Avad wanted her… for her skills and fighting prowess and symbolism to bolster their own tribes.

She was no longer alone in her role now that she had Beta, but Beta was still fragile, learning to be part of this world after being isolated for so long.

Where could Aloy feel safe when the Earth was dying?

"Aloy?"

A voice, both distant and yet so close. She half remembered she was having a conversation but she must have been falling asleep. "Mmm sorry," Aloy breathed. The fire was still going and the meal she had was filling, satisfying, lulling her closer to slumber. There was someone? incredibly warm next to her, holding her, touching her skin. The heat suffused through her, easing the bone-deep weariness of her thoughts.

There was a low hum by her ear, a familiar rumble. "Rest well," Kotallo said softly.

#fxl fic #fxl hfw #aloy #kotallo #hekarro #kotaloy #better start ignoring the fxl hfw tag if you just want ml stuff... sorry #erend #whoops forgot erend #aloy x kotallo #i'm pulling the trigger now and making a fool of myself #🥲#horizon forbidden west

17 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Love Through the Ages (Tim Drake)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part two of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You watch the rusty green of the warehouse wall disappear behind a spray of orange paint. There is nothing more satisfying than watching paint make old things new.

A whistle interrupts your reverie, making the can slip from your hand. You swear, the harsh syllables echoing in the empty air. The can bounces down the scaffold and lands in someone’s hands. Tim’s face gets sprayed with a mist of orange. He makes a noise and rubs at his face. You bark out a laugh and he grimaces at you. The begrudging fondness obvious on his face.

He waves at you, eyes still stinging from the paint. Giddiness flourishes in your chest. “I knew I’d find you here!” He shouts in a dialect of Mandarin that you hadn’t heard in ages.

It takes you a moment to understand him. You’re honestly extremely rusty. It takes you another moment to realize that it made no sense for him to find you. “How?” You shout back in Romanian.

Tim shakes his head, throwing his hand over his shoulder. “Open canvas.”

You snort, looking down at him. Tim’s breath catches as he stares up at you, your smile. You’re haloed by sunlight. You look like an angel descending from heaven.

Tim’s forced to pick up his jaw when he hears your voice again. You’re tapping your watch. The words are lost to him.

“What?!”

You shake your head, strands of hair coming loose from behind your ear. “I asked...” You shout in a coarse frawl. “... Isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?”

It was.

He was only 30 minutes early. No big deal.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to watch you paint.” He says, trailing off. Oh God, Tim thinks. Does he sound lovesick? Is Cassie right? He pushes the thoughts down, opting to look at the building instead. On the side of the building was an immaculate portrait of the Red Hood rendered like a saint, haloed in golden light and surrounded by your orange marigolds. It would look at home in any grand cathedral. Your talents never ceased to amaze him.

“Should I ask why you’re defacing a building?”

You turn back to the building picking up a can of yellow paint. You tilt your head. “It’s a massive improvement, yes?”

Tim looks around. The pavement is littered with wet trash mixed. The buildings were rusted. Everything else is covered in grime. “You’re rude… but not wrong.”

You preen, electing to ignore the first half. You turn back to your canvas before Tim can get another word in. He knows he’s lost you.

“So, why *the* Red Hood?”

You look away from the portrait, setting the can of yellow spray paint. It sprays your sweatshirt and Tim laughs. You stick your tongue out at his face flushing. You liked this sweatshirt. He gave it to you the last time you had meandered into Gotham. “Why not? We’re in the Bowery. He’s like a saint here.” You snip, switching to Russian. Ok, that made sense. You toss your sweatshirt into Tim’s face. The fabric is lousy with the smell of paint and of 5-hour energy drinks. It was an improvement over the pungent odor of garbage.

He tries to rub the orange paint on his face away before he tucks your sweatshirt beneath his arm. You’re still looking down at him, wry amusement on your face. “I’ll paint your beloved Red Robin when I get to China Town. Heard he was quite popular in those parts.”

Tim’s heart flutters. He stutters out his next question. “Why are you using spray paint for this type of illustration?”

“Kon said I couldn’t do it.”

Tim snickers, “As if Kon could tell the difference.”

You frown only realizing your mistake. You curse under your breath. Tim doesn’t stop laughing at you. “Shut up!” You snarl.

Tim dodges the next paint can you throw but the next one hits him square in the face. You grin triumphantly. Tim raises a middle finger at you and you giggle in response. You feel bad, seeing him wince in pain. You’d buy him apology tea later but for now, you clasp your hands and call out to him sweetly. “Sorry, Timmers!”

Tim, equally as mature and well aware that you’re only half sorry, blows out a breath, muttering something colorful before shouting back: “we should get going if we wanna eat out after looting the museum.”

At that, you launch yourself off the scaffolding, your body feeling weightless as it falls. Tim drops your sweatshirt as he holds his arms out to catch you. He catches you easily. You two spin as you wrap your arms around him.

“You are certifiably insane.” He laughs. His nose smooshed against yours.

“And so are you.” You snort, hugging him.

He hugs you back. You hum so softly into his hair that Tim wouldn’t be able to tell it from a breath if he were human. Tim holds you close, hugging your waist tightly. He doesn’t really want to let you go. You don’t either. You and Tim stand there for a bit when you hear his cell beep.

“Why does your phone sound like a pager?”

“Because Babs told me how to.”

“That literally explains nothing.”

“I’m not taking crap from the gremlin who had ‘Baby Shark’ as their ringtone for 12 months. WILLINGLY.”

You pout at him, your face so close to his. Tim’s only half paying attention to your defense. To be fair, it basically boiled down to ‘it isn’t that bad’ and ‘Bart’s ringtone is worse’.

After a short shopping trip and a cab ride later, you arrive at the museum in fresh clothes and less paint on his face for Tim.

“All the World’s a Stage. They botched it! The nerve! The barbarity of it all. It's just like when they botched ‘Words with Friends’ or ‘In Ice We Trust’ or even ‘Tomcat’. That last one was pretty much gift wrapped for them!” You say throwing up your hands nearly hitting Tim and whatever poor bastard was unlucky enough to be behind you.

“For someone who isn't invested in modern media, you're getting fired up.” Tim chuckles, eyes flickering behind you. You had managed to miss the people behind you but you do have a rather conspicuous space behind you.

“They had such good material to work with” you say, gesticulating wildly. “And- and they butchered it.”

“You need a 5 minute breather?” Tim asks, resting a hand on your back.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

Tim grins at you as if he had no idea what this ultimate betrayal feels like.

Determined to prove him wrong, you say : “C'mon, Timothy, you ranted like this when they botched the star thingy.”

“It’s Star Wars, you heathen.”

“Star. Thingy.” You repeat, crossing your arms.

Tim squints at you. You know he’s not gonna blow up at you but somehow that’s scarier.

“You can pay for your own cab later.” He grumbles.

“Star. Thing-Y.”

Tim turns to leave. This always worked. Always without fail, you grab at his hand, lacing your fingers with his. Tim tries not to smile.

“Fine.”

“Was that so hard?”

“It was excruciating actually.”

“You're being dramatic.” He says, showing the woman behind the ticket counter your passes.

“Excuse me, I left all my drama in the Renaissance.”

“Oh really?”

“Ok not really but admit that both Andromeda and Stars, Forgive Me have better writing.“ You bite out.

“I- That’s unfair,” he says. You raise your brow in response.

“...”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But admit that Andromeda should have been named ‘Space Whores’.”

You squint at him then smile. “Oh abso-posi-tute-ly.”

“Have you seen this dirty old hockey mask?” You ask, tapping the glass as if the hockey mask would react if you just agitate it enough.

“What is that?” Tim asks, looking over your shoulder. His brows crinkles when he sees the mask. “How is that romantic?”

You hum. “Ask the curator?” You suggest, looking around. He was usually out and about. He could never sit still even if he tried. You lean down narrowing your eyes at the plaque. “Says here some dude called Jason terrorized 3 kids over summer.”

“That’s very romantic for our Jay to do.” Tim says, crossing his arms and switching to Cantonese. It was a weird habit but you knew why. Apparently for all Jason’s skill in languages he somehow could not get a handle on Cantonese.

“Not that Jason.” You say, smirking.

“You sure?” Tim asks, leaning closer to you.

You snicker, “As in character as that would be...”

“True,” he says, edging closer and closer to you. You rock on your heels nervously at the proximity. “It’s a shame, I thought there would be a machete to match too…” You can feel Tim’s breath on your cheek.

“OH LOOK AT THIS.” You say twisting away and pointing to a black and white photo. Tim’s hands leave his sides to grab for you, to pin you to his chest, but he has enough self control not to. Instead, he follows you.

“It’s just a man and a woman in business suits. Yanno something you can see in any metropolitan city.”

“Yes but,” you say, tracing a nonsensical pattern into the air, “I’ve heard a story about this, they were both extremely rich and heads of their companies, went from enemies to lovers - my all time favourite.”

Tim looks closer at the photo of the man and woman with their backs to the camera just holding hands along the NYC sidewalk. It’s cute. “I thought your favorite was lovers to enemies.”

“Well of course, it is! The drama, the absolute tragedy. It’s better than any trope in existence. But I love that this is just black and white. You don’t need anything else to indicate they’re in love with each other.”

Tim is all too tempted to point out that that likely wasn’t intentional, that it was a limitation of the time, but the look in your eyes robbed him of his breath, so he swallowed his thoughts.

Your eyes rove over the room frantically in search of something.

“So is there any reason you wanted to go to this exhibit instead of watching lavalantula 10 in theaters?” Tim says, tapping another case.

You turn to look at him, shock etched into your features.“10? We've seen lavalantula 1 through 9 in theaters? Why did I agree to that?”

“Cus you love me?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Probably not.”

Tim gives you a hurt look.

You scowl at him. You have no idea why everyone thinks he’s the nice Wayne sibling. He is a manipulative little shit who plays you like a fiddle. And yet here you are falling for it. An absolute buffoon.

You grumble an apology under your breath before continuing. “This is more cultural Timmers and lord knows we need more culture.” You wave sarcastically.

“I think we've lived enough culture.”

“it cannot hurt to experience more Tim,” you snort. He rolls his eyes. You grab onto his arm and look up at him bright eyed. Two can play it at that game. “Please Tim....”

He scowls at you. “Fine-”

“Yes!”

“-but you owe me a movie marathon.”

“Fine. Fine,” you nod, “just don’t pick something dumb.”

“I just got the new star trek box collection.” He beams.

“You could just shove me into a grave.” You sigh dramatically.

Tim grins. “The Renaissance called-”

“Oh fuck you, Grackle.”

He snorts and you hate that you fall in love with him more every time he laughs.

You cross your arms giving him a hard look. “Fine but we have to have an intermission of my choice.” You say, offering a hand.

“Deal.” He says, shaking your outstretched hand.

“Great, you've just agreed to watch the Great British Baking Show with me.” You say smug.

Tim curses himself.

"Are you still looking for that one painting?"

You tip your body back to look at him, your eyes wide and startled. It takes no time at all for them to shift to their usual angry shape. "Yes," you say quietly. It's Tim’s turn to be startled. Your hands curl into a fist. "It wasn't done and those bastards took it."

Tim reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

You cast your hands up to the sky dramatically. "The barbarity of it all!"

Tim smiles, letting his hand fall to his side. You would be ok.

You two walk on as Tim rants about StarGate could have had a bigger fanbase if it hadn’t excluded so many people. You add StarGate to the list of things to not remember.

You stop.

Your heart presses a bruise in your throat.

Framed in wood laden in ivy and marigolds is a painting that was painfully familiar. Even unwashed, you can still see the bright reds of rose petals, the wild greens of the women’s skirts, the brilliant oranges of marigolds, and the blinding whites of cobble stones. The image was a practice in entropy made into perfection. The chaos of Valentine's day in a small town square reduced and captured in an infinitesimal moment.

Damian told you that people had started calling them Warsaw’s Faceless Sweethearts. You hated that. A part of you wants to scream. You want to tell them that this wasn’t for them. This painting was made for one person and one person only.

You’ve been staring at it too long. Tim looks at you. You’ve known him too long to not know that he’s worried. That he’s feeling that stupid surge of protectiveness he always does when you go quiet. It’s in the cautious way he reaches out to you, slow and steady the way you approach a spooked animal. You want to lash out at him but he’s your Tim. Besides, too much of your mind is trapped in the painting, in the white gazebo, in between the couple who’s stuck in the moment before a kiss.

Tim stands closer to you, his fingers lacing into yours with centuries worth or practice. He looks at the painting. “This painting looks familiar.” Tim says for the lack of anything better to say. It was yours. He knew that with only a few seconds of looking.

“I… I don’t think so,” you say clumsily, “that’s definitely not the painting I’ve been looking for. Yup that one looks completely finished. Yup definitely.” You tug at Tim’s arm.

He gives you a look, staying perfectly in place, before turning back to the painting. His gaze draws low. In a glass case sits scraps of paper lined with charcoal. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Tim to realize that they’re sketches the artist did. Tim recognized the baker, the blacksmith, the seamstress, and even the constable. Most glaring of all he recognizes your marigolds. His eyes drift to the sketches of the couple in the gazebo. They were numerous, haphazard and unsatisfied. You were clearly frustrated with the groom’s face. Tim wonders who the poor guy could be.

In the corner of the page in the center, he sees it. “Wait… is that me?”

“NO!”

“Is that you?” He asks, pointing to the figure next to his. In the sketch, your lips are brushing against his. Tim’s lip tingles trying to replicate the sensation.

You’re frozen stiff. You try to pull your hand away. You want to bury your face in them. Scratch that, you wanna be buried six feet under. Tim doesn’t let go of your hand.

“That’s the umbrella you lost back in London.”

“I lost a lot in London, Timmy.”

“Well...” Ok. Yeah, you did. Hence why he can’t get you to London even with the promise of letting you ‘improve’ Buckingham palace. But that isn’t the point. “(Y/n), this is gorgeous.” He says, turning to you. You look at him stunned and scared. He squeezes your hand.

You shake yourself out of his grip. Tim lets you. He knows when to back down.

You step forward leaning on the rope separating you from your work. “I told you it wasn't finished.” You say, glaring at the painting as if willing the colors to move.

“What happened?” He asks, bumping his shoulder against yours.

You bump your shoulder against his. “Warsaw.”

“I don’t follow.”

“That little town in Warsaw. It was kind of hard to finish the painting when soldiers were setting fires to houses. Ok, they didn’t do it directly but there was smoke.”

“Yeah kind of.” Tim agrees, smiling sadly. He looks back at the painting. “I want to keep it.”

“What?” You blink not quite following the shift in conversation.

“Darling, I think we should have it. It’s ours after all.” Tim says holding your hand in his. Your mind is bouncing between too many things. He called you darling. He’s holding your hand. He’s smiling so sweetly at you. You’re addicted to that look in his eyes, pure unadulterated adoration.

You cover your face with your free hand, feeling the smile on your face go uncomfortable wide. You feel something on your forehead, a kiss like a raindrop. It comes again and you feel like you’re going to collapse.

“It’s yours..” He trails off hesitantly. “..if..” You look up at Tim, waiting with bated breath. Tim squeezes your hands. “...if you’ll be mine. ”

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#Tim Drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #vampire au

91 notes · View notes

mammoney-honey · 4 years

Text

Summoning Circles: What to Offer the Brothers GN!MC

MC doesn’t need to set up anything to summon them since they have their pact but sometimes its just nice to add a bit of drama. It’s also a good way to get the brothers to accept Just Because gifts. So what would would MC lay out as an offering for their favorite demon in their pentagram?

Lucifer

Lucifer is hard to get gifts for because hes a man of few words and fewer guilty pleasures

MC does their best to keep an eye out for things he does like and finally sets things up when they feel that Luci needs a bit of a break

They mostly offer things that would make for a good date night but with one small exception: special gourmet dog treats

He won’t admit it, he says Cerberus is just a well trained guard dog, but that big boy gets only the best and MC knows that Lucifer will appreciate the gesture

The rest is all about setting the mood so Lucifer couldn’t possibly say no to staying

The first thing to accomplish this is the finest bottle of hellfire aged wine, a special request put through to Diavolo for whatever he thought Lucifer would like most

And to accompany a good drink you need some good food as well. A charcuterie board supplied with recommendations from Barbatos and Luke. The little guy should be called a mouse rather than a dog with how much he loves cheese. It took a long time for him to stop talking about it

One of the things that MC looks most fondly on of their time with Lucifer was quiet nights in listening and dancing to new music. They didn’t always share the same tastes but they were always willing to give it a go

So MC would find a vinyl, the only thing Lucifer would listen to the purest that he is, of their most recent favorite song or band so that they could share it with him

The last thing offered is that which Lucifer would want above all else as his own, MC

They can think of nothing else that would gain Lucifer’s attention more than offering their full and complete self. His pride could never allow him to deny taking MC when they offer themselves so willingly

He appears in full demon form, he can’t think of who would be ballsy enough to try and summon him and he has to pull back on his full power once he sees its MC

“MC, my dearest love, the pageantry is appreciated but overall unneeded. All you ever have to do is call my name, all I wish is to hear my name on your lips. But now that I’m here lets make sure you are screaming it”

Mammon

He is another one who is hard to gift things to but for the opposite reason as Lucifer. He likes too many things, wants everything and so it makes it impossible to tell what would actually mean something to him

MC tries their best to lay out things that will show how much they love and appreciate their favorite demon

Money of course is the first thing that is set out but not just spare Grimm or human cash

No, MC will put gift cards out for Mammon’s favorite places or for a date that they can have together. It feels more personal that way and they hope it shows that they pay attention to the things he likes

Mammon has a wardrobe to rival Asmo’s but he insists that it all has to do with his job as a model. Gotta keep up appearances and all that yanno. Hes just a label whore though and everyone knows it

He also just melts at the idea that MC might be thinking of what he would look good in so if they put out a new outfit or accessory, even if its just new sunglasses or a belt, he just about explodes

He will scoff and say that hes not sure if human styles are really his thing but of course puts whatever it is on quickly

Next would be a very special edition of the TSL dvds, a directors cut that even Levi couldn’t get his hands on. He has watched it with MC so many times he could practically recite it but they were always borrowing from Levi so it was about time to start wearing out their own copy

The last two things are more personal, something that shows just how much MC thinks of and misses being with him

The first of that is MC’s favorite set of pictures they took with Mammon, a silly photo booth strip that captured their first kiss. MC had surprised him on the first snapshot and it showed a progression of him getting redder and redder before finally kissing them back

Lastly is a page from their diary, as intimate an offering as they can possibly give. Its from a day where the longing for Mammon was at its strongest and filled with sweet words of how much they miss their first man

Mammon is freaked out at first thinking he is being summoned by another witch and is confused to see MC before taking it all in

“H-hey you don’t have to go through all this. I mean of course The Great Mammon won’t say no to the the things he deserves but ... b-but you only ever need to say my name, there is no where I’d rather be than with you”

Levi

Levi has a bad habit of just buying whatever he wants but considering that he has so many fandom’s its not hard to find some piece or another he doesn’t have

MC feels like his brothers don’t give much thought to his gifts though, just typing in a name they know and getting whatever they find. They want to give him something more personal and can’t just be bought and shipped in two days

MC starts to watch a lot of craft, cooking and cosplay YouTubers to try and put everything together themselves. It felt more genuine that way at least to them

MC tries to keep things diverse, hitting a couple of Levi’s favorites but mostly avoiding anything Ruri related since they are afraid of messing it up lmao

Instead they focus on the anime’s and games that they watched and played together. Almost like a collection of inside jokes that they are using to summon him

The first thing MC sets out is a prettily decorated plate of macrons, doing their best to replicate the colors and flavors described in the one bakery time management game they always played

MC also went through Levi’s super secret fanfiction accounts I will fight you he is totally a fic writer because he has so many self inserts and fix it fics and wrote out comments for every single thing he had written. They printed them out not because they didn’t think he read them but to show that they were the ones that left them

Along with the comments MC also created art for Levi’s most beloved OC, creating cute enamel pins of them in chibi form with the cannon character he paired them with

The last two things came as a sort of combo, a couples cosplay from the romance anime they had watched together. The protagonist had been a shut in otaku who had found his soulmate when they were reborn into his world and Levi had latched onto him immediately

It had taken a lot of blood sweat and tears trying to get both of the outfits cannon perfect but damn it MC was not going to settle for anything less

At one point they forgot they were making it for Levi and just got caught up in the the drama that was finding the perfect buttons and trim color

Overall they were so proud of the sewing skills they just wanted to call on him the moment they were done so he could see but they got a hold of themselves so they could set up what they had planned

Levi was summoned into the circle still wearing his headset and fingers tapping at a controller that had been left behind

His demon side comes out at having been cost a serious match from the sounds of it but his anger turns to confusion at seeing MC and then into wide eyed amazement at all of the things in front of him

He started to gush about every single thing he saw before he realized that MC was there beaming at him

“You went through all this trouble to prove that you aren’t a normie and yet you summon me this way?? J-just say my name like you’re supposed to! I kind of like hearing you say it anyway ...”

Satan

Satan surprisingly doesn’t like being the center of attention and thus doesn’t really like surprises or receiving gifts. He also doubts that anyone understands him enough to give him what he wants cocky ass that he is

The idea for the things to set out in his summoning circle came to MC when discussing love potions with Satan and Solomon one day. They were talking about how smell plays such a strong part and Satan let slip some of the things he might smell after MC listed some of theirs

So while MC doesn’t have much, well any, experience in magic or potions they do want to try to stir up those feelings those smells produce in Satan

The first thing he had said came as a surprise to no one, the smell of parchment and ink

MC used each of them as their own separate offering on the pentagram. They used a fancy new calligraphy quill dipped in green ink that matched his eyes to write a long love note for him

The ink was still wet on the parchment that they set down and left the quill and remaining ink as the second gift

The next thing he mentioned was another one MC expected: tea leaves

So MC just walked into their local tea shop and let their nose lead the way. Anything that caught their attention or made them want to keep smelling they bought, creating their own special blend just for Satan

It wasn’t necessarily something that Satan would say for himself but MC had started to burn different candles in their room when he would come to rant when he was angry, trying to find a scent that he could associate with being calm when they helped him work through the anger

Whatever candle seemed to work the best is the candle that MC sets out for him. Probably something woodsy, pine or balsam or even sandalwood. It brings back good memories for MC, kissing all those worries of his away and hopes it does the same

The last item is one that made MC blush when they heard Satan admit it, he had liked the scent of their shampoo

He hadn’t said that specifically but he had closed his eyes and described a scent that he couldnt place but that he adored and when MC was taking their shower that night it clicked

It might have been a little lame, leaving a bottle of shampoo out for Satan but MC knew that when he realized what that scent he loved so much was that he would get the cutest blush

They weren’t disappointed when they summoned Satan. He hid his shock of being summoned this way well, taking his time to walk around the circle and examine each offering. He immediately knew where they had gotten the inspiration and teased them about being such a sap

He stopped when he got to the shampoo though, not sure how that fit into the equation until he smelled it. It dawned on him and there was that blush that he tried to hide by turning his face away

“You always did like to make things difficult on yourself didn’t you? I’m only ever a call away for you kitten. Now come here and let me really breath you in, you’re simply intoxicating to me and I can’t stay away.”

Asmo

Asmo is never shy about when he doesn’t like gifts that people have given him but he has only ever cherished what MC has gotten him. Every small trinket and gift he has on full display in his room and he will wear something that MC got them when he misses them the most

He also will do it when he wants to bother his brothers and show off that MC simply lavished him in gifts (Mammon and Levi are the only ones who fall for it lmao)

So MC decides to offer Asmo things that will allow him to parade around their love for him, things to keep them close when MC isn’t there

The first thing that MC gets Asmo is new nail polish, a color that they agonized over finding because they wanted it to match his eyes perfectly

Asmo has a very organized planner, its how he keeps track of all the events he is invited to, when he has dates, who hes slept with, who hes going to sleep with and everything in between

MC commissions custom made stickers for him so he can decorate the pages of his planner even more. Specifically a whole sheet of cute stickers of them together he could use for when they planned date nights

The next thing was something for Asmo’s room which he was always changing and refreshing so it looked forever interesting for Devilgram pics

MC gets a large print of Asmo’s favorite picture of them together and puts it in a beautiful frame that perfectly matched his favorite decorating style. Perfect to show to the world that Asmo was their favorite demon and that they looked so good together

And so they can take even more pictures of themselves together MC buys a Polaroid camera for Asmo. His phone will always be his favorite thing to take pics on but this way they could have them printed instantly and it continues to let him be trendy

Lastly MC gets Asmo a necklace. A dainty rose gold chain that he can wear with practically everything and with a diamond accented heart shaped locket that could easily be tucked away if needed. It was an enchanted locket, thanks to the help of Solomon, and it warmed when MC was thinking of him

Its the first thing Asmo grabs and quickly puts on, showing it off for MC

“Oh MC you are simply the cutest thing I have ever seen~ I’m sorry I don’t have something to give you in return. I hope the fact that my heart beats only for you will make up for it, now come here I’ve been without kisses too long.”

Beel

Its SO hard not to just grab whatever is in the kitchen at the time and throw it in the summoning circle and call it a day for Beel

But he is more than just his hunger and MC is always striving to show him that they understand that

It was harder than expected, just because asking anyone what Beel might want always got them food answers. They thought Belphie might be helpful but only got told “he probably just wants a nap ... its what I would want”

MC starts to think of all the most special moments they had with Beel, trying to think what about them made them so memorable and they knew for a fact that it wasn’t the food

The first thing they come up with is a banner that MC made to cheer him on at one of his games. It had gotten a little tattered and torn because it had rained that day but they just couldn’t let it go

Mostly because Beel after winning had ran up into the stands and kissed them for the first time. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t ever kissed but they had always been the one to make the first move but this time Beel had come to them. Of course in the biggest gesture possible

It was cheating a little bit offering a cookbook, it was still food related, but it felt better than putting in actual food

This particular cookbook was special to MC too, they had spent several months trying to recreate one of the recipes from it down in the Devildom when MC didn’t have it. Even their D.D.D had been no help in finding the human world dish they were trying so hard to recreate

It had finally been Beel who had found someplace that sold the food they had been craving. He had even been able to bring it back completely untouched just so that they could have it all though he didn’t complain when they offered him several bites from their fork

MC pulls the next thing from their own shelves at home, a well read copy of Lord of the Flies. The spine cracked and little notes about their favorite parts scribbled in the margin

It was one of the human novels that Satan had and one of MCs favorites from school. Beel had caught them reading it and thought the title was ironic but the more he watched MC get engrossed in reading the more curious he got

He eventually asked MC to read it to him, he actually liked books even if most didn’t take him for the type it was just that he had a hard time actually reading himself. He always got distracted by food but audio books always worked well for him when he was working out, it turned out to be even better when MC read to him when he was eating

It was the best of both worlds for him and he found the story actually pretty funny, slightly worrying MC but they figured they couldn’t blame a demon for getting enjoyment out of a story like that. He did find their lack of food concerning though so at least there was that

One of the things that Beel often complained about when MC was living in the devildom was that when he went to go eat they weren’t always there. Sure Beel would ask them to tag along whenever possible but it didn’t always happen. He would call them from the kitchen at times and tell them that he missed them

MC was sure the other brothers would have something to say about it but knew that Beel would genuinely enjoy the next thing MC offered. Amagnet with his favorite picture of them. It was MC caught in a candid he took, mid bite in a dessert he had made them and his hand could just be seen wiping some whipped cream off MC’s cheek

It was a way that Beel could have MC with him at his favorite place every time

The last thing that MC laid out was something that was inspired by Beel. He had once given them a coupon for a free meal by him and they had thought it was just about the cutest thing ever

They made him a whole coupon book of favors ranging from cooking any meal he wanted to recording his workouts for him and of course lots of coupons for hugs and kisses

Beel isn’t used to being summoned at all so hes slightly disoriented when he finds himself suddenly in the human world. As soon as he sees MC though its nothing but smiles and he doesn’t even notice the gifts until after

“MC did you know I was thinking about you? Sometimes I just say your name and hope you will appear ... so if you ever think of me just say my name. I want to be here, even if its during dinner”

Belphie

Belphie is not one to beat around the bush at all. He is a creature of habit and just wants more of the same things that he already has. Dont fix something if its not broke right?

So its fairly easy to fill his summoning circle with things that he loves, just adding to his ever growing collection of happy nap time things

That isn’t to say that MC just grabs whatever blanket or pillows they have laying around, they still want it to be special for him

So yes the first two things they offer to Belphie is a pillow and blanket, there was never going to be anything else but MC spent a long time putting their love into finding just the right ones for him ... and still couldn’t find what they wanted

MC used this as an excuse to create something themselves for their sleepy boy. They dived deep into youtube and pintrest and spent more money than they care to admit on materials until finally they made what they wanted

The first was a quilt large enough for three cause the twins like to make MC a sandwich in a cow print pattern that matched his pillow and demon form marks, lined with the softest fabric she could find that was the same purple as his eyes

His pillow was another quilted design, this time of a cloudy night sky with a sleepy cow jumping over the moon. MC stitched his name in pretty gold thread on the back long with a sweet ‘I love you’

There was one last fluffy thing to give to him, this one MC knew he would probably scoff and tease them about but they couldn’t help it. They saw the angry looking cow plushie and just could not walk away

They have actually been sleeping with it when they miss him most and even if he doesn’t like the plushie the fact they have slept with it so much will make him a bit fonder of it

Even though they were pretty sure that Belphie knew every star in the sky MC couldn’t help but get a book with stories about the constellations. He might already know them all but they thought that he might still enjoy hearing them read to him as he drifted to sleep

The last thing MC has to offer him is also star related. A star map of the day that they made their pact. It was the day that MC had fully forgiven everything that had happened before and their relationship had truly began

When Belphie was summoned he was half asleep but knew who it must be even in his sluggish state. He gave a big yawn and looked around at all the things around him

“At least things are already set up for the perfect nap, including having you. MC next time just say my name alright? Its much more of a drag this way ... and I want to know when you are dreaming of me”

#obey me #obey me hc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

326 notes · View notes

pettyprocrastination · 4 years

Text

Dinner for Three

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Valerie Lord x Black!Fem!Reader

OneShot: This is just a non-canon fic! This is basically placed AFTER the timelines of this fic, just a fun little side ficlet surrounding you and the lords after yall get together in celebration of Valentines day!

*If you want to read the rest of the fic so far here's a link to my masterlist where you can find Rip Out Our Seams & Stitch Us Together*

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: profanity, some groping going on and kissing. That's about it! Fluff and talking of self-worth.

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, you decide to treat Valerie to a nice homecooked dinner, Maxwell joins you when he returns home from work.

If the formatting is fucked im sorry tumblr fucked this like three times today im just trying to get it POSTED for you all.

Tag List: @captainsamwlsn @themarcusmoreno @cinewhore @thesadvampire @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @holographic-carmen @honestlystop @thecrimsonsquire @phoenixhalliwell @that-chick212 @phantomnae @goldafterglow

If I forgot to tag you I'm so sorry please let me know!

Notes: BIG thank you to @ficsilike-reblogged who bought me a kofi! I know i was meant to do asomething shorter but i couldn't help myself! Also my usual big thanks for the ever lovely @teaofpeach for editing for me you are an absolute treat my dear ily <3

(i coudn't find any good lasagna gifs the TRAGEDY)

“What in God’s name are you wearing?”

You turned around at the shocked voice to see Valerie standing in the kitchen doorway, red painted lips dropped open.

You grinned and planted your hands on your hips with pride. “My Valentine’s Day outfit! You don’t like it?”

Her face fell flat as she looked you up and down; the main culprit of her disdain was the shirt you wore, buttoned neatly and covered in hearts. “Hon, you look like a cartoon character.”

You wiggled your brows. “A sexy cartoon character?”

“Remind me again why I love you?”

Hearing the word ‘love’ from Valerie Lord would never not send your heart into a frenzy. It had been months since the gala, since they had told you about their feelings with courage brought on my champagne and their own confessions to one another.

They finally had each other, why couldn't they have you as well?

Of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a… learning curve. When it came to the relationship, Valerie was bad at sharing her feelings. Sure, she’d say when she didn’t like somebody, or when she thought certain food tasted bad or when Maxwell’s new cologne smelled like rat shit. But she wouldn’t tell you when she was sad, insecure or felt like she wasn’t enough for the both of you.

Maxwell was too concerned with the outer view of the relationship, as he had been with Valerie since they got married. It was suspicious of course, for him to be seen leaving with a “mystery woman” without his wife around, so he took certain precautions. When out and about, he would take too much time fretting over the cameras and questions than you.

These precautions nearly cost them your relationship, their sweet girl who brought them together and showed them love and care and made them realize while they couldn't live without each other, they couldn’t live without you as well.

But now, they knew this. That you weren’t a fling who could be replaced. Your nimble fingers had stitched their beating hearts back together with a golden thread they wouldn’t dare untie from your own.

You turned away from the heiress and back to the stove as you stirred the red sauce in front of you.

“As abhorrent as that shirt is-” Her voice purred in your ear as her arms slid around your waist and pulled your back flush against her- “I love you in those jeans.”

You chuckled and kept your eyes on the task at hand as you slowly stirred. “As much of a compliment that is, Mrs. Lord, why don’t you keep those hands to yourself until I put this on the stove, alright?”

She hummed, contemplative before pressing her lips to the crook of your neck. “So mean to me baby.”

Her hands toyed with your belt loop, a painted nail hooking your shirt and slowly sliding it out from where it was tucked.

You sucked in a sharp breath. “Valerie.”

“What? Can’t I show my pretty baby some love on Valentines day?”

“Not while I’m cooking on a hot stove, little-miss-gropey.” A quick slap to her wrist with the wooden spoon made her yelp and yank her hands away from you.

“Bitch!”

You turned and pursed your lips. “Aww, poor baby, want me to kiss it better?”

She grumbled under her breath, taking in the splattered food on her wrist from the spoon before swiping her finger through it and bringing it to her mouth.

“Maybe you can kiss my ass instea- Oh, damn that’s good.”

Her eyes widened and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of such a high and mighty woman licking the back of her hand.

“Is that-”

“Basil?” She hummed at the taste. “I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s my father’s recipe.”

Valerie watched you as you cooked. Methodically adding each ingredient while humming along to the radio and swaying from side to side.

“You don’t talk about him much.”

Valerie knew you were different than her and Maxwell. Your childhood wasn’t full of flashing cameras, propping questions, and hiding tears behind fake smiles to reporters. When your father was brought up in conversation, you didn’t bristle or change the subject. You would smile.

She wasn’t jealous of that joy. That love you had from your family. She’s grateful for it, that amongst the struggles you had, there was also support and happiness.

“He doesn’t come up in conversation often.” Valerie’s hands once more wrapped around your waist, but simply settled at your hips. Her body was flush with your own and she let her head rest on your shoulder, gently swaying with you as you continued to cook.

“Tell me about him.”

She saw the small smile that graced your lips, mourning and grateful all at once as you spoke of him.

“He used to say that as people, we’re a collection of those around us. The ones we’ve loved. All their little mannerisms and tics become a part of who we are. And that we do the same for other people who love us.”

As you slowly set the pasta onto the bottom of the pan and began to layer the sauce, she wondered who you were an amalgamation of. Was the way you tilted your head back as you laughed from an old flame?

Was the way you sang and shook your hips from a best friend when you were young, who you wished had been more?

Were the soft kisses you press to the tip of their noses something given to you? Or an act of love learned by watching your parents?

Did you have anything of hers? Of Max’s?

Did they have anything of yours?

“I see it in you and Max, yanno.” You stepped back to open the oven and settle the pan on the top rack before shutting it. “You both do a lil’ nose scrunch when you get angry.”

“What?” She drew back from your body, unintentionally wrinkling her nose in the process. “We do not.”

You pulled her close to your body again. Your arms settled around her waist as you slowly moved side to side. You hummed along to the smooth voice of Grover Washington Jr. that danced from the radio and filled the large kitchen, empty except for the two of you.

“Sure do. You're also both very boujee-”

“Hey.”

“A touch temperamental-”

“I’ll give you that one but-"

“As well as emotionally constipated-”

“Excuse me?”

“And yet-” You hummed, letting your head drop forward to rest against hers, nose bumping against hers in a gentle caress- “I can’t help but love you both every damn day.”

Her blue eyes widened, before she groaned and shoved her face into your shirt.

“You fucking sap.” She lifted her head to yours and kissed you. The melody curled around you as she wrapped her arms around your neck and tugged you flush against her. A soft moan broke from her lips as you ran your hands over the plush skin of her ass.

You pulled away long enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, giggling when her face scrunched up in response. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Val."

Valerie Lord never thought she’d have this. This love and security. The ability to smile and kiss and dance on a Sunday night in the arms of a lover. She didn’t think she’d ever have a day where she felt love, a love she wasn’t afraid to admit.

Especially to two people.

The pair of you danced in silence, listening to the lyrics that serenaded the way you spun her and the laugh that bubbled up her chest her perfect, pinned, blonde curls came loose.

And darling when the morning comes

And I see the morning sun

I wanna be the one with you.

When Maxwell came home, he noticed how quiet the house was. No chatter or footsteps along the hardwood floors. He knew what day it was, of course he did. He wasn’t an idiot. Valentine’s Day wasn’t a special day with the Lords. It never had been.

But of course, that was before they met you.

Maxwell never saw that love with his parents. His mother was cold and cruel, and while his father was a good man, he knew he didn’t love her. He didn’t blame him for it. But now he felt it. The way his heart would hammer against his ribs so hard he wondered if you could hear him. The way all his stress and anger would melt away the moment Valerie’s hands held his face in a grasp like that used to carry a bird with a broken wing.

He didn’t think it was possible to love. To desire and need somebody as much as he did you two. Now he did, and he wouldn’t go back to a life without it for all the money and power in the world.

The sound of smooth sax caught his attention. Slowly, he set down his briefcase and followed the music until he found himself in front of the kitchen.

This. Maxwell thought as he watched the two of you, your eyes shut as you held one another in a close embrace as swayed. This is why he did it all.

The long hours, the greuling work and idiotic employees. If he could come home to this everyday, it’d all be worth it.

He leaned against the doorway, watching you two until your own eyes opened and met his.

“Happy to finally have you with us monopoly-man.”

He snorted at your lovingly crude nickname. “It was a long day at work.” Gone was the fake ‘apple-pie-and-picket-fence’ accent he forced himself to use at work when he spoke and you loved it. To see the real Maxwell was a privilege, one you would never take for granted.

“Every day at work is a long day for you.”

Before he could retort, his wife unwrapped her arms from you and walked over to her husband. Valerie cupped his face in her hand and led him to her lips with a soft moan. Maxwell melted into the kiss with ease, all thoughts of work and conference calls vanished into thin air as his wife’s fingers carded through his hair. She pulled away with a wet pop and ran a thumb over the smudged lipstick on his face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.”

Maxwell let his hand run over her bottom lip with a lazy smile. She was magnificent like this. Not preened or pinned or posed. She was messy and unkempt and happy. She never looked more breathtaking than in those moments.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey.”

Her eyes flicked over his crisp suit and her sweet smile was replaced with a groan.

“Son of a bitch you fuckers are matching!”

You shrieked with laughter while Valerie pointed an accusatory finger at the heart-covered tie that lay on her husband’s chest.

“You tacky traitor!”

You leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back.

“Aw don’t worry, Max. She’s just jealous she isn't matching with us.”

Valerie reared back. “I’ll be caught dead before I ever-”

“Alastair sent them to us.”

A moment of silence passed before she spoke again, more offended than annoyed.

“And he didn’t send one for me?”

Maxwell smirked at his wife, fishing out a small white box and presenting it to her.

“Our son knows his mother wouldn’t be caught dead in anything with gaudy patterns.” He opened the box and she took in the red heart earrings with a smile.

Which was ultimately ruined by you.

“Aw, he boujee just like his mama!”

Before either one could snap back at you, a small ding sounded through the kitchen and you moved quickly over to the oven.

“You know-” Maxwell spoke as he put the earrings on his wife with gentle hands- “We have a chef for a reason.”

You brought out the pan and set it onto the stove, taking in the savory smell with a proud smile.

“Well, fine then. Go get your cook to make you dinner if you want to complain.”

“Wait. Wait, no that not- that’s not what I meant- I’m starving, please.”

Valerie moved around her husband, taking a bottle of red wine and bumping his hip with hers. “Just set the table Maxwell, we both know how you can make it up to her later. It’s a special day after it all.”

Her husband loosened his tie and grinned at you in a way that made you think he wanted to eat you for dinner instead of the meal you prepared.

“Lovely idea, darling.”

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x oc #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord x you #valerie lord x reader #maxwell lord x valerie lord x reader #ROOSASUT #ww1984 #wonder women 1984 #fanfiction #max lord #maxwell lorenzano #tell me if i missed any tags lmao

43 notes · View notes

bunnimew · 4 years

Text

Yule Never Live This Down

Rating: G Fandom: Rise of the Guardians Relationship: Gen or Jack Frost/Pitch Black Tags: You can read it as Gen or Blackice, It's mostly just shenanigans, Hogwarts AU, Yule Ball, I didn't sort them so you can sort them in your heart, Jack dances with everyone Summary: For @rotgsecretsanta 2020 #45: A ROTG Hogwarts AU crossover maybe?

It's time for the Yule Ball. Anyone and everyone at Hogwarts is crowded into the Great Hall.

And they all want to dance with Jack.

On AO3 Here.

For a month the Yule Ball was all anybody at Hogwarts talked about, and now it was here.

Jack felt pretty fancy in his nice robes. They weren’t top of the line, but they looked good on him and chances were something would be torn by the end of the night so best not to invest too many galleons in them, anyway.

As if thinking it brought fate on, Jack felt himself swept up into a huge pair of arms as soon as he walked through the doors of the Great Hall.

“Jack!”

“North!” Jack cried happily. He tried to get his arms around the man who might as well be his father, but physics wasn’t on his side.

“Yes!” the man agreed and Jack laughed. “We must dance!”

Jack squirmed and North put him down, only to push him toward the dance floor. “Aren’t I supposed to dance with other students?”

North waved him off. “You can do that later. First dance with me!”

Jack shrugged and accepted it as how his night was going to start. They didn’t have to wait; the champions always had the first dance but Jack had been fashionably late (or at least he imagined it to be fashionable), so everyone was already crowding the floor. North parted the mob like only he could do and lifted Jack into his arms once more.

“Yanno,” Jack said with his arms pinned at his sides, “usually dancing implies I get to use my feet. At least a little bit.”

North grinned at him with such beaming pride and joy that Jack couldn’t even pretend to be bothered. “Nonsense! Dancing is dancing! We are on the dance floor, no?”

Jack thought about it for roughly two seconds. He was pretty sure there was a flaw in the logic, but. “I’m just gonna go with it.”

North spun him around and Jack ducked his head and prayed his robes would make it longer than ten minutes.

The song hadn’t quite ended when North finally let him go. He was confused until a flutter of color caught his eye. North bowed out of their dance and Jack spun to face Toothiana, who looked absolutely gorgeous in her gown of every color.

“Wow, you are looking magnificent,” Jack said in awe. She giggled and took his hands for a dance.

“You’re too good at flattery,” she accused. “How can I know when you’re telling the truth?”

Jack gave her his most earnest look. “I am always telling the truth when I compliment you.”

She gave him a look of her own. “Seriously, you’re dangerous.”

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, that I can’t deny.”

She laughed again and they fell into something that resembled a waltz, but there was no coordination to their steps. They skipped and twirled around the dance floor to any and all quick beats, even knocked into some other couples, but if anyone minded, nobody stopped them. Jack was out of breath long before the song was over but he didn’t care. Tooth was one of the few people who could keep up with him at his fastest and he was going to enjoy every second of terrorizing the dance floor with her.

They only stopped when the music finally did, and collapsed into the nearest pair of empty chairs to grab their breath. Difficult to do, because they were still laughing so hard.

They grabbed the first drinks they saw without caring what they were and only realized after half the glasses were gone who their hydration salvation was.

Sandy set the rest of the tray on the table and sat down to join them. He conveniently had handkerchiefs for both of them and Jack had never been more convinced that Sandy was a being of pure magic than he was then. Somehow a plate of food appeared, and Jack was even more impressed.

“How do you do that, Sandy?” Jack asked. “Know just what everybody needs?”

Sandy winked and pushed another tiny sandwich toward him and Jack gave in with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’ll let you have your mysteries for now.” As if Jack ever had a hope of unraveling Sandy. “But I’ll figure you out, one day!” Best to keep his bravado firmly in place. He had a brand, after all.

And sure enough, just as Jack was beginning to bore sitting there at the table, Sandy grabbed his hand and pulled him back onto the floor.

Their dance was smooth and easy and Jack definitely pissed less people off this time. Jack twirled Sandy, then Sandy would twirl him. He let Jack lead, which Jack appreciated, except half way through Jack realized he wasn’t the one setting the tone or the pace at all. They were dancing to Sandy’s calming beat, with little steps here, a bit of a kick there, and a slow spin that was all fluid grace.

Jack loved it. Just because it wasn’t his usual didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate taking it slow. They made it through two songs like this, before the peace inevitably had to end.

A throat cleared, and only one person cleared their throat like that.

“May I have this dance?” Bunnymund asked pointedly, holding his hand out for Jack and definitely not Sandy.

Jack had half a mind to pretend, anyway, just to piss him off. But tonight was supposed to be a fun night for everyone, so he took mercy on him and grabbed Bunnymund’s hand. “Yeah, sure. See you later, Sandy!”

Sandy pivoted on the spot and saluted with a casual grace that only he could pull off before disappearing into the crowd, which… was also something he was remarkably good at doing, come to think of it.

That’s when the war started.

Bunnymund stepped forward to lead before they even had their hands in place. Jack had been going for the lead position and nearly tripped when he had to step back. So when Bunnymund went for the lead position, Jack purposely stepped into his space to return the favor. Jack’s hand dove for Bunnymund’s back, but he caught it just in time, which happened to be exactly what Jack did to Bunnymund’s hand on the other side.

They managed to shuffle in an odd circle and at least not interrupt everybody else as they struggled and pressed against each other’s hold, each trying to lead, neither gaining an inch. They mostly staggered sideways, neither willing to step back, neither willing to give any ground. It was basically a metaphor for their entire relationship, including any and all group projects Hogwarts had ever given them. Jack really wondered why Bunnymund had decided tonight was a grand night to subject each other to this.

It was even more exhausting than dancing with Tooth, but also… a lot of fun in its own way. Jack had never claimed to be a good dancer anyway, so why not spend a whole song formally wrestling in dress robes and pretending he actually cared about leading just to piss Bunnymund off?

It was his favorite pass-time, after all.

Jack would never know if it was Toothiana or Bunnymund himself who took pity, but as the instruments quieted and the song began to change, she fluttered by in a whirl of color and stole his dance partner away.

Jack had just begun to slink off to the side of the dance floor when a voice stopped him.

“You seem to be on your own for the first time all night. Does that mean you’re free for a dance?”

Jack thought he knew that voice, but no. His ears had to be lying. Jack turned on the spot to face his newest challenger and was shocked to find it really was Pitch Black.

They didn’t have a single class together. They weren’t even in the same year! How did Pitch Black know Jack was alive, much less that he was free for a dance?

Apparently, Jack in a shocked state would agree to anything, because his hand was in Pitch’s and he was back in the middle of the dance floor again. The song was a quick one, and Jack simply adopted the same method he had with Tooth: step wherever he damn well pleased and hope it matched the music. Pitch seemed much more practiced, which was probably a good thing, because Tooth was easy to forgive, but Pitch and Jack tended to encourage grudges. If they slammed into another couple now, house points were definitely going to be lost.

The realization came slow, the same it had with Sandy. Jack wasn’t leading this dance, and he probably should have noticed that a while back, but the shock was still running through his system. They skated across the floor, somehow in time with the music and somehow in tandem with the rest of the dancers. Jack tripped and Jack slipped but the little hiccups didn’t seem to matter; he was quick enough on his feet not to fall and always hopped right back into the swing.

He was finally starting to relax and really feel the rhythm of the beat when everything stopped with a record scratch only he could hear as Pitch pulled him close and tipped him arse-over-teakettle right there on the floor.

Jack clung to Pitch’s shoulders to make sure he didn’t fall, and wondered what the fuck was happening, and when his brain would catch up.

The answer was never. Pitch set him back to rights and twirled him half a dozen more times for good measure, and when the beat was gone, so was he.

Jack stared after him until Pitch was impossible to see through the crowd of people and… hey, Pitch and Sandy had that in common. Who’da thought?

Suddenly Bunnymund and Toothiana were back at his side and Jack couldn’t quite make himself look away as he smacked a hand into Bunnymund’s chest.

“Hey,” Jack said, hearing the daze and distraction in his own voice. “Was that real?”

“Which part?” Bunnymund asked. “Getting ditched or losing your virginity on the dance floor?”

Jack spun around and smacked him much harder.

Tooth laughed and grabbed for Jack’s hands. “No, you’ve definitely just been standing here for the last six minutes fantasizing and all of us left you to it because we’re horrible friends.”

“You’re horrible friends, alright,” Jack muttered.

Just then he felt a nudge at his hip and turned to find Sandy, who winked multiple times, waggled one eyebrow, did a gesture with his hands and arms that made Jack feel uncomfortable, then smiled.

Jack shook his head and turned around. “Why do I even admit to knowing you people?”

Toothiana snorted, but Bunnymund’s laugh was louder as Jack pushed his way off the dancefloor.

“You’re all terrible people and I am going to bed!” Jack announced.

Just shy of the doors out of the Great Hall, North stopped him with two firm hands on his shoulders and the biggest, brightest smile Jack had ever seen.

“So, he is your boyfriend, yes?”

Jack fought back rolling his eyes and kept his groan internal. He was never going to live this down.

#TheBunni #rotgsecretsanta2020 #Jack Frost #nicholas st. north #Bunnymund #Toothiana #sanderson mansnoozie #Pitch Black #rise of the guardians

15 notes · View notes

noonmutter · 4 years

Text

Love and Leon

Name: Leon E. Ambroce Nickname: Crow, Flame, Cam, a few others here and there

Gender: Male Romantic Orientation: Pansexual/Polyamorous Preferred Pet Names: Anything as long as it’s not dog-related, childish, or demeaning will probably get a pass Relationship Status: Married Crushes: He was the last one to know that he had a crush on @valarin-sunstorm, not counting Valarin himself. He tries not to keep feelings a secret because the twisting guts and fretting over the response just hurt for no reason, but there were complications in confessing to Valarin so he avoided it for a long time.

Favorite Canon/Non-Canon Ship: Being honest, he’d really just give you a funny look if you explained what this means.

Opinion on True Love: “Very real, very powerful, an’ very dangerous. Th’easiest way in th’ world t’urt somebody, an’ th’ greatest feelin’ t’share with somebody. Allus worth th’ risk.”

Opinion on Love at First Sight: “I don’t really think tha’s possible, y’can’t love somebody y’don’t know. Y’kin want ‘em, or wanna get t’know ‘em, or be int’rested in somethin’ they’re doin’, but love? Love takes time an’ effort.”

How ‘Romantic’ are they?: Leon is constantly underselling his own romantic tendencies. This is a man who, after he and Pin had fretted and delayed on doing it for several years (there were a few traumas causing this), decided to get her a wedding for Winter Veil, to be observed on New Year’s Day. She had no more warning than the day she opened the box containing a dress custom made for her. Leon listens, remembers, and does things for those he cares about that always have the maximum care put into them he can manage.

Ideal Physical Traits: Show the man a nice smile and he’s golden. It doesn’t hurt to have a fit build, though if you told him what a dad bod was he’d be very appreciative of that, too. It’s hard to be really physically unattractive to a man who routinely turns into a slavering dog-monster.

Ideal Personality Traits: Good sense of humor, doesn’t have to mock other people to laugh. Clever without being smug or snide. Adventurous, occasionally to the point of foolish (Leon is, after all, a farmboy). Willing to just try something, at least once. Able to chat about nothing for ages.

Unattractive Physical Traits: Groom yourself and don’t be undead and you’re probably fine. He isn’t really sure what he thinks about critters like Mantid or Sethrak, but he’s not outright repulsed by them, either. Like I said, hard to be unattractive to this guy.

Ideal Date: Dating is still a rough concept for Leon because he doesn’t do very much of it, but he’s enjoyed finding somewhere interesting to set up a campsite and tell stories. Bonus points if those stories are about how they found the interesting place to begin with.

Do they have a type?: He doesn’t really think so, but his wives are both warriors and protectors, most of his friends are some flavor of charitable or outright heroic, he himself has been known to jump to the defense of people who need it and also kill himself making food to donate during the holidays, his one confirmed crush has a running joke about how he’s a paladin and won’t admit it... while he doesn’t actively seek out hero types, and there’s an argument to be made about the probability of finding them based on who he hangs out with, it sure seems like a trend!

Average Relationship Length: He hasn’t actually had all that many, unless you count acquaintances (I don’t, because he runs a restaurant). The shortest lasted a few weeks; the longest is still going and has been going for five years now. Possibly six, but I lost the chat logs of the really early RP stuff and can’t be sure of the date.

Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Talking, cuddling, doing a simple activity (cleaning, cooking, chores) together, running (or, if possible, flying) together, forehead-touches, playing with each others’ hands

Commitment Level: If he’s promised it, he’s doing it. If he is your friend, he is going to refuse to stop being your friend until you come out and tell him you want him gone. People doing the “I’m chasing you off for your own good” thing end up very frustrated with him, because he’s the type of person to tell a friend what a fuckup they’re being and then stick around to help them fix the fuckup, because that’s what friendship is. People he loves get this times a billion. He will not forget you and he will take it very hard if you forget him.

Opinion of Public Affection: Within the bounds of decency, Leon is all for it. Hugging and short kisses and getting close together are fine, but it’s disrespectful to the people around you to do more than that when nobody else signed up to see it. Exhibitionism isn’t an excuse to be a gross douchebag shoving your hands down somebody’s pants to grab their ass while you’re in line at Wal-mart, yanno?

Tagged by: @saeil-moonblade

Tagging: If you haven’t already, do it!

#prompty things #leon

5 notes · View notes

henrikvanderswoon · 4 years

Text

Double the Kill: A Nancy Drew Play Written by 12-year-old Yours Truly - Readthrough Reactions

Okay, guys, I went through two cups of super strong coffee reading through this thing and I think I can hear colors now so… Have fun reading this!

I sincerely haven’t read this thing in probably ten years and I legitimately forgot almost everything about this play I wrote for myself and my twin/two best friends to perform. We used to write plays for each other all the time, as well as play Nancy Drew games together, so… this was all very fitting.

Anyway, this is a super long one and I APOLOGIZE but also I hope you enjoy reading this thing as much as I enjoyed writing it 😂

Okay, for starters, this story is titled: “Double the Kill” for two reasons that I can remember: (1) someone actually gets murdered, and (2) someone beheaded the Lincoln Memorial statue.

…

You know when you’re in middle school and you’re assigned some topic to research for a project and suddenly you have this stupid amount of knowledge about something you don’t know what to do with?

That’s what happened here.

Anyway.

So, apparently I didn’t know what the word “pervert” was when I was 12 (poor, sheltered creature) so I legitimately named a character Blake Pervey and I’m gonna fling myself into the sun.

Oh my gosh, I wrote up a case profile for this, complete with character roles and everything. Incredible.

Let’s provide that for you guys:

The Case: Billionaire Erving Nickels is holding a benefit concert at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C., where the band “One Love” will be performing. Erv senses trouble, so he calls Nancy Drew and her best friend Bess Marvin to watch out for anything “suspicious.” But about an hour before the concert’s about to start, One Love’s lead singer Terri James is found dead near the Lincoln statue and the head of the statue is gone!

Contact: Erving Nickels - a billionaire who’d arranged the benefit concert. He asked Nancy to come and watch for anything “suspicious.”

Suspects:

Erving Nickels: Goes by Erv, for short. As it turns out, this man has actually gone bankrupt recently. Could he go to desperate measures to gain back his wealth?

Blake Pervey (I still want to die): One Love’s back-up singer. Terri had broken up with him recently because he’d attempted to cheat on her (huh, maybe he really is a pervert after all). Did he murder her to get revenge and take her place as the lead singer?

Lyza Benton: The make-up artist. Lyza is always on the prowl for the next juicy gossip to spill to the press and gain publicity. Could she have killed Terri to create the ultimate story?

Myra “Ryan” Williams: One Love’s guitarist. She was the person Blake had attempted to cheat with, but she’d refused. Terri didn’t believe Ryan’s story and blamed her for everything, which caused the two women to hate each other.

Victim: Terry James

Okay. Already this is a little better than “Murder at Turquoise Inn,” because there are actual suspects with actual motives??? aMAZING.

Wow, Nancy’s a bitch. She didn’t even tell Erving that Bess was coming along.

Erv keeps saying that he thinks something bad is going to happen tonight, and Nancy and Bess are both like,“Can you please explain why?” And he’s like, “I just have a feeling.” Like boi, that’s sketch.

Bess: “Sorry to change the subject, Mr. Nickels.”

Erv: “Please, just call me Erv.”

Bess: “No thank you.”

Bess…I know Erv is a weird name, but…why?

Mr. Nickels is taking Nancy and Bess on a tour, right? And I keep peppering in random facts about the Lincoln Memorial I learned for school and it’s SENDING ME.

“I’ll watch and wait for our groovy band to arrive, while you girls split up and watch for suspicious activity. Now, let’s boogie!”

Asfbadka Erv, no one talks liKE That!

I would just like to take a moment to preface the rest of this post with the fact that I wrote this for me and my friends, and we were always writing the stupidest dialogue for each other because we thought it was hilarious. Um…which hopefully explains lines like these:

(1) No one calls Erv Nickels, the handsome billionaire, “Darling.” Except his mother.

(2) [We’re going to change.] No, don’t change. We like you guys just the way you are. *laughs obnoxiously*

…

I hate myself.

So Blake and Terri arrive in the limo and let me tell ya’ll Blake is definitely flirting with Erv right now and I’m so fucking confused.

Terri: That man’s got problems. I guess money does that to people.

Blake: But we have money and we don’t have problems.

Terri: Maybe it only happens to men.”

Blake: But… I am a man.

Terri: Exactly.

Okay, you can tell my love for writing banter was here from the fuckin get-go.

Oh god, now Blake is flirting with Nancy. Fuckin hell. I may not have known what the word “pervert” was when I was 12, but this man was aptly named.

Suspicious, suspicious.*Mocking* ‘Can you girls watch for anything suspicious?’ Something suspicious, yeah right. Oh look! A BUG. Oh, soooo suspicious.

Bess…. I love you.

Okay, as dumb as everything is in this thing, some of this dialogue is fucking cracking me up so hard.

Bess: No! Honestly. I swear, it’s almost like he’s trying to keep us busy so something bad can happen.

*A faraway scream cuts in from offstage*

*Nancy and Bess look off in the direction it came from, way too casual*

Bess: What was that?

Nancy: I dunno.

*They pause, then their eyes widen in realization*

Nancy: Oh crap.

Listen, I know I’m a comedic genius, but this is getting out of hand. Dsbfsjkdsjfbk

Bess: Mr. Nickels! What woman was screaming so high like that?

Erv: That was me.

I CAN’T BREATHE.

I saw Terri lying there on the floor, apparently dead.

Erving… the woman is DEAD. What do you mean “apparently?”

Nancy and Bess find a letter Terri was going to give to Erving to tell him she can’t do the concert because she also felt like something terrible was going to happen to her, and all Bess can do is repeatedly laugh at the word, “Flee.”

Hey, too bad “Honest Abe” is missing his head, otherwise he could tell us whodunnit.

Wow, yall. Bess is my favorite.

You know, the funniest thing about this is that you can definitely tell how many of the games I played between writing my horrible novel at the age of ten and writing this. If this thing had better dialogue and more fleshed out story/characterization, I could picture this as an actual game, not gonna lie.

And… maybe if it didn’t involve removing the whole-ass head of the Lincoln statue…

Yanno, tiny details like that.

Lyza: *laughing* Scared you, didn’t I?

Bess: Oh, “scared’"is such a strong word. I’d say more… "severely startled.”

So Erving reveals to Nancy that he’s actually not dumb as bricks, but puts up the facade because he’s broke and doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s not still super rich and air-headed. I’m crying.

You sensed something bad was going to happen. You should have called the police to stand guard! Not some amatuer teenager who calls herself a detective and her little friend!

…. The pervert has a point.

So Lyza likes to meddle in people’s business. Ryan had written about Blake’s advances in her journal and Lyza blackmailed her about it, Terri blamed Ryan for Blake’s attempted cheating. Blake tried to bribe Ryan into going out with him by telling her he’d discovered a way to get his hands on a fabulous collection of priceless jewels, and Terri broke it off with him. He’s upset, Ryan’s pissed that Terri thinks she went along with Blake, Erving borrowed money to organize the benefit concert (in order to benefit himself) and now he’s in even deeper debt because the concert has been cancelled and Lyza is having a fuckin field day.

BOY AM I ON BOARD FOR THIS SHIT.

Before he came into wealth, Erving worked in a museum in Chicago, and Bess finds a piece of paper on the floor of Ryan’s trailer with the phone number to this exact museum. Nancy calls to see if there is any connection between that museum and the Lincoln Memorial and apparently there’s a theory that the head of the Lincoln statue contains jewels that the museum talks about in a part of their exhibit.

*kronk’s face* Oh yeah. It’s all coming together.

Nancy: For all I know, you could be the murderer.

Erv: Why would I do that? I needed the money from the concert!

Nancy: No you didn’t. You could’ve just–I dunno–stolen the head of Abe over there in search for the ALLEGED JEWELS INSIDE.

Ya’ll… please don’t ask me how the FUCK one person would get tools to remove that head without anyone noticing. Please.

Blake: Hey, guys, have you seen Ryan anywhere?

Nancy: Why? You gonna ask her out again?

Kjdbfisfdosidnf FUCKIN’ SAVAGE, NANCE.

oH MY GOD THE CULPRIT SLIPPED UP SO EASILY I’M SCREAMING.

oH my god, Nancy told Erving they needed something to pick the lock on one of the trailers and he’s all: “Like a bobby pin?” And just takes off his hat, removes a bobby pin, and “lets his long hair cascade down and over his shoulders like a waterfall” and I’m crying. I can’t fuckin’ breathe.

Oh shit, wait… the first culprit was actually covering for the real culprit all along I’m losing my mind. My twelve-year-old brain was so advanced I just threw a curveball at myself sjdbfshdbfagh

Okay, so I’m not gonna spoil anything because I think it’s hilarious to keep you all wondering what the fuck is going on and who the hell did it and why, but I would just like you all to know that this play literally ends with one of the characters singing Hannah Montana’s “The Best of Both Worlds” completely off key because I thought it would be hilarious and I think that really tells you a lot about who I am as a person.

#I'm so sad I dont have more things to live react to cause holy shit is this so much fun jxnzjznsksks #nancy drew #nd humor #nancy drew humor #clue crew #long post #have fun guys this went way longer than I'd expected it to jxbsjjsja

32 notes · View notes

luminousbeansarewe · 4 years

Text

wandering stars

ch 12: clean slate

pairings: none || rating: teen || characters: original characters, original clone trooper characters

tags: talking about medical procedures

chapter list

tagged: @yourbitchystudentartist @lordimperius (message me or reply if you’d like to be tagged!)

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

Kamino, Tipoca City, Clone Military Education Complex, 22BBY

Sol waded into the long, narrow paths between the mess hall tables with habitual apprehension. Six months had gone by with her having to choose the seats that were the farthest away from anyone else, and despite the fact that her first day back in training had gone much more smoothly than ever, she hadn’t considered just how fundamentally things had changed.

So, when Grip called out and waved her over to where Cronos Squad was sitting, she almost suspected a trick. “Sol! Over here!”

“Uh, hey,” she said, voice quiet as she approached the table.

“Nice job targeting today. You’re almost as good as me,” Swift joked with a sly grin.

“Hopefully one of us beats you someday, takes you down a peg,” Twofer commented dryly. Stone was scooting over, making a place for Sol to sit between himself and Grip on the long bench seat. She put her tray down and climbed into the vacant spot, jaw a little tight.

“Vor’e,” she said to Swift. “Today was... good.”

“Except for the kriffing hand-to-hand. In which case, you kicked all our shebs,” Grip pointed out. “Which was good for you, I guess. Have you been holding out on us all this time?”

“Well… yes,” Sol replied awkwardly between her first few bites of food. Mostly because she didn’t need the clones being pissed off about losing to her on top of everything else. But the energy had been different, that day, like they’d wanted her to go all-out.

“Hell,” Twofer muttered. “You trained before you got here, right?”

“Quite a bit.”

“With the Jedi?”

“Just a little. Before that, my father trained me for most of my life.”

“He must’ve been pretty good,” Swift said. “You took us down with your bandages still on.”

“He was.” Her tone was heavy, but she pulled it back in. “He was a bounty hunter.”

“Not all bounty hunters are that good with hand-to-hand,” Grip said.

“How would you know?” Sol laughed. “Have you ever met one?”

“Many of the Mandalorians who’re training us here have been bounty hunters,” Stone said. “And our template, Jango Fett, was as well.”

Sol blinked. Jango Fett was the genetic template? For all of these men? His was a name that echoed through her memory, but it did so because he was the object of envy and reluctant admiration from every bounty hunter Sol and her father had ever met. Of course, his actual origin was a mystery— he’d worn a Mando helmet, but the official word had been that the Mandalorians wanted nothing to do with him. Her father had avoided him, regardless.

“All bounty hunters aren’t good at unarmed combat. But all Mandos are,” she said, swallowing her surprise with a bite of her dinner. All the eyebrows at the table shot up, and the boys all glanced between each other with curiosity.

“You sound pretty sure about that,” Swift said with an obvious lead in his tone. Sol, realizing her misstep, advised herself silently not to speak ever again.

“Mandalorian skill in fighting is legendary,” she pointed out, as though she had no personal knowledge of this herself. It was a weak fallback, and she knew it.

“Yeah, but you also know an awful lot of Mando’a, too,” he replied, a smirk sneaking over his expression. “How’s that, exactly?”

“How do you all know so much Mando’a?” she countered weakly. Not being bonded with any of these men before now had really screwed up her game of laying low. She felt like an idiot.

“We’ve picked it up from the trainers,” Twofer said. “But it’s sort of in our blood, if you think about it.”

“Are all the trainers here Mandalorians?” She’d almost never seen anybody but the clones, Shaak Ti, Sergeant Apma, and the Kaminoans. But she hadn’t been everywhere among the facilities; hell, she hadn’t even been everywhere in the Military Education Complex.

“Here in the commando units, they mostly are. Jango picked ‘em himself, and there used to be nearly a hundred of them,” Grip replied. “After Geonosis, many of them retired. But Apma and a few others stayed on to train the likes of us. Last batch of Alphas, and all.”

That settled that, she thought. Fett was a Mandalorian, or else none of them would have come at his call.

“They giving you lessons?” she asked, tone dry.

“I know they’re not giving you any,” Swift said, pressing his agenda firmly. “So, you gonna tell us about that?”

Sol looked between the men around her with a dubious expression. They’d only just begun to treat her like she was allowed to be here; it was far too soon for her to trust them. But some part of her, a part that she rarely engaged with, wanted to. The camaraderie between them was more than just that of regular soldiers. It was infused with what she’d always imagined were Mandalorian sensibilities, the same ones that had kept her father troubled even as he cursed them.

But, it was something else, too. They were created, literally designed for war, and bred inside of tanks (she’d seen the growth chambers once, and found them strangely disturbing) and trained from birth to fight. They were clones, and that singular and very strange reality knit them together in a way she knew she would never understand. Something inside her wanted to believe these men could find a place for her among them, but it leaned sharp against the fact that she could never truly be one of them. And assuming they’d not miss her when she was gone had already caused her to reveal too much, anyway.

“I might tell you,” she replied finally. “One day.”

“Awwww,” Twofer booed, Swift and Grip joining him. “C’mon!” But she only shook her head a little and gave a small smile. Swift threw his hands up into the air.

“Alright. I can wait. I’m patient,” he announced, lowering his hands to cross his arms over his chest and lean back. Grip snorted at that.

“I’m not,” Twofer said with a snicker. “I’ll keep asking about it.”

“And I’ll keep not telling you,” she replied coolly.

“Don’t harass her, vod,” Stone said to his brother. “We may just need to earn it.”

“That’s fair,” Grip nodded. “We deserve that.” Sol had to admit she appreciated their acknowledgement, however indirect, of their past sins.

“In that case,” Swift said, raising a brow at her, “can you at least tell us about that hair?”

Sol frowned, her hand flying unconsciously up to the side of her head where pins held said hair up in a bun behind her head that was trying valiantly to be neat. “What about it?”

“How much of it is there?” Grip asked.

“How do you keep it under your bucket all kriffing day?” Twofer added.

“It’s so white,” Stone said, looking at it almost with awe. He knew better than to ask if it grew in that color; her white brows and eyelashes gave that away.

“I mean, you’re human, right?” Swift asked. “But you have pretty strange features, for a human.”

“My mother was half Ferroan,” she said, hand falling back down to her lap. “So I’m still mostly human. She didn’t have their blue skin. The white hair is a dominant genetic trait, but my eyes are a recessive trait.”

“Did she have gold eyes and white hair too?” Stone asked.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Twofer was rubbing his chin thoughtfully, as though he was trying to remember how dominant and recessive genes worked.

“Are you ever gonna cut it? It looks like more trouble than it’s worth,” Swift remarked. Suddenly his face fell. “I don’t mean it looks bad, just— ”

“Really can’t fathom sticking it up under a helmet all the time,” Twofer said, shaking his head, “is what he meant.”

“It’s not that hard,” Sol told them with a chuckle. “I just… wrap it up. Like this. It’s messy at the end of the day, but not unmanageable.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Stone said with a smile. He was still gazing at her hair, entranced, which was actually rather endearing.

“Stone wants to grow his out once we get outta here,” Grip informed her. “He’s just jealous.”

“None for me, thanks. You two go right ahead and grow your tresses. I’d like a tattoo, though. I hear once you’re in the GAR you can get whatever you want as long as it’s not… yanno. Vulgar, I guess.” Swift made a face, like he wasn’t sure what that really even meant, rule-wise.

“Or if it’s vulgar, it better be under your armor, ey?” Twofer chimed in, snickering and elbowing his brother.

After that, the table devolved into playful antagonism, and Sol lost track of everything the clones talked about. She chimed in sometimes, but mostly she just watched them and smiled. It was a strange experience, like being inside her own special transparisteel box while they acted like they always had. Eventually the squad was ushered out of the dining hall, and they lured her into a quick game of grav-ball in the rec rooms until lights-out. She moved through it all while watching herself, there and yet strangely far away. She wondered when she would believe these men who had so suddenly offered her their favor.

That night as they all climbed into their little sleeping tubes, Swift leaned over towards her while she was getting comfortable.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, and she noticed how quiet his voice was below the chatter of their neighbors. He was a persistent one.

“What do you mean?” She feigned ignorance, but kept her voice low as well.

“You know what I mean,” he said flatly.

“No, I—”

“Sol.” Now he was frowning. “Your pain thing.”

“Kuur,” she hissed, and he saw the frustration on her face. “I’m fine, Swift. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, don’t shoot me for being concerned!”

“That’s not what I’ll shoot you for,” she muttered, arranging her blanket with undue busyness.

“Then what is?”

“Telling anyone.”

“Sol—”

“Not a single soul. Nobody.” Her look was fierce, and it was evident that this topic really made her uneasy. Which, she had a bad feeling, would do the opposite of get him off her back. “Tayli’bac?”

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” Swift grumbled as he began to lie down. “Ori’haat.”

“Vor’e.” She slid onto her back and tugged the blanket up around her chin. The clone just nodded at her, resigned to his vow of silence for the time being.

“G’night,” he said, letting his voice return to its more usual volume. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Sol felt a pang of surprise at being treated like someone who was supposed to be there.

“Swift?” she asked, almost hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what a cin vhetin is?”

His brow puzzled for a moment. “A… clean slate?” That would be the simplest way to explain a very old Mandalorian idea, she thought. But it worked.

“More or less. Is this… that?” Her eyes, for the first time since she’d arrived on Kamino, were full of doubt and hope in equal measure. “For me?”

Swift’s expression was subtle. He knew that it was not quite fair that she required a ‘clean slate’ in the first place, and felt a little guilty for having to offer it now, about six months too late. But he looked at her with fresh awareness of her endurance, her skill, and— more than anything else— her loyalty. Taking a plasma shot for him had left a profound impression he was unable to take lightly.

“Yeah, I reckon it is.”

A whisper of a smile strayed across one corner of her mouth. She nodded at him.

“Goodnight.”

#sw tcw fanfic #star wars fanfic #fanfic #clone trooper ocs #swtcw #my ocs #my fic #cronos squad

3 notes · View notes

pengiesama · 5 years

Text

The Gang Crashes a Party While in Drag (Chapter 1) (Fic, TOZ, Sorey/Mikleo)

Title: The Gang Crashes a Party While in Drag Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo

Summary:

Sorey and the crew investigate reports of a black market trafficking ring, and zero in on a particularly nasty noble at the center of it all. Luckily, said noble is opening his chateau to host a masquerade – the perfect opportunity to get close. Unluckily, the Shepherd’s fame has spread wide, and Sorey needs a disguise to make sure he’s incognito.

This is achieved by the obvious solution, and that's to disguise him in a dress and pass him off as Rose's sister. What could possibly go wrong?

Notes:

Written for the Sorey/Mikleo 2019 Big Bang!

I partnered up with the wonderful Arivess @minstrels-ink and Nami; both of whom provided their artistic skills to complement my wack-ass ideas. I am eternally grateful to them.

Arivess's art is featured in Chapter 1! You can find her Tumblr here. Nami's art is featured in Chapter 2! You can find her Twitter here.

Link: AO3

Read on Tumblr!

“You’re lucky that you’re such a quick study on running in heels.”

“C’mon, Mikleo, is this really the time!?”

The hellion was fast – very fast – and easily closed in on whatever distance Sorey tried to put between them. His armatus with Mikleo was suited for sniping from afar, not for getting up close and personal with those rows and rows of sharp teeth. A change of tactics was needed, and – one body as they were – Sorey didn’t even need to speak the thought aloud before Mikleo helped him put the thought into action.

Sorey released his hold on the tether keeping them in the armatus, and felt Mikleo do the same. They split in two, and Mikleo allowed himself to be flung from Sorey’s sure and steady grip directly into the trunk of a tree. He vaulted gracefully off the trunk, and used the momentum to spring himself across the clearing and well out of the way of the rampaging hellion – and well out of the way of Sorey’s flaming sword.

“Fethmus Mioma!”

The flames illuminated the dark forest clearing, like morning’s light. The hellion shrank back, briefly stunned. Not that Sorey considered himself anything like an expert on hellions, but he’d never seen anything quite like this before. A wolf-headed hellion that stood at the height of three men, and had the approximate width of one of the emaciated famine victims that were such a common sight in towns these days. It was the width that was, perhaps, the most concerning – by any logic, it should have been wider, so much wider, to fit all the victims that it had been reported to have consumed. How could a hellion that devoured whole caravans of victims – stuffing them into the ever-drooling mouth, with its dozens of long, long arms – still be so grotesquely thin?

As always, Sorey’s certain tendency to get lost in his thoughts was something of a hindrance in battle. Luckily, there was someone still paying attention in this fight. The hellion was knocked over by a lucky hit from Rose and Edna’s armatus, and careened into a nearby tree with a dangerous-sounding crack. The tree lurched and toppled over, pinning the beast beneath it. Howling, the hellion tried to drag its body along the forest floor with those dozens of long arms; like a massive centipede that had been trapped beneath a giant boot. The air around the creature shimmered, and from the glinting aether, glowing chains sprang forth and bound the hellion (and the tree) more firmly into place. Zaveid landed atop the creature from where he’d been slinking about in the treetop cover, and struck a pose.

The hellion was too wounded to flee, too wounded to toss Zaveid off; too wounded and too mad with malevolence to do anything but crouch, drool, and snarl as Sorey and Lailah approached to attempt purification.

Rose wheezed in relief as she stumbled out of her armatus. She shook out her wrist, and flexed her fingers, as if testing to make sure they could still hold a knife.

“Geez! That thing’s skull was rock-hard. Felt like trying to put my fist through a wall…”

“You’re welcome to use your head next time if the Lady Edna’s holy fists aren’t cutting the mustard,” Edna replied drily. “I imagine it’s one of the only naturally-occurring elements that outrank them on the hardness scale.”

“I’m glad everyone’s feeling so energetic after that fight.” Mikleo finished up tending to Rose’s hand and arm with his healing artes, and surveyed the rest of the party judgmentally. “I take that to mean that no one will be whining at me when we head to the inn that their back hurts, then? I’d prefer to be bothered now than have to find out later…”

Sorey felt Mikleo’s stare burning into the back of his neck. He swallowed hard and tried to focus on finishing things up with Lailah and the hellion.

“Yanno, it’s almost a shame that we gotta purify this thing,” Zaveid said. He was still perched atop the hellion, and was holding the chains binding it like a pair of reins. “It’d make a pretty metal mount, don’t ya think? Roll up to a hot date riding this thing and you’ll have ‘em swooning.”

The hellion gave a pained shriek as the flames continued to burn away its tainted flesh. The acrid smell of it filled the night air. Its many limbs clawed at its face and neck, rending the skin there, as if mutilating itself was a relief in comparison to being healed of the corruption inside.

“The more we learn about you, Zaveid,” Mikleo said. “The more we understand you.”

“You’ll want to get down,” Lailah lightly called up to him.

Zaveid winked at her and made a little heart with his fingers. “Ooh, Lailah, no need to be so shy. C’mon up here, the weather’s fine—”

The flames had climbed up to where Zaveid stood, and the hellion’s constructed form finally collapsed in on itself like the frame of a burning house. Zaveid stumbled briefly before managing to catch himself on the superheated updraft of air and bounce off it to land on the ground with a…marginal amount of grace. Or at least without falling on his ass.

“How’s it looking?” Rose called over to Sorey and Lailah. “Human, animal, plant? Bunch of rocks glued together with googly eyes stuck on?”

Sorey took a deep breath to steady himself after the purification, and Mikleo was already behind him to grab at his shoulder. Steady as anything.

“Human,” Sorey said, finally. “Still alive. Not awake yet.”

“Peachy,” Rose said. “Much easier to interrogate a person. I’ve heard that the Sparrowfeathers’ boss is in quite a snit over all those shipments he’s gobbled up, and she’s dying for the full story.”

Which was, of course, part of why they were here. This particular hellion had been targeting caravans navigating this stretch of road between the border of Hyland and Rolance. The harrowing accounts of the survivors was motivation enough for Sorey and Rose to investigate and intervene, but Rose’s own motivation was given a bit of a nitro boost when she learned that several Sparrowfeather shipments had been delayed or lost due to the creature’s activity.

“…delayed…”

The man was waking up. He looked so terribly ordinary, in comparison to the nightmare that stalked the roads on a hundred limbs. He was dressed in simple traveling clothes. Thin cheeks, worn boots. Another person overcome by malevolence by starvation and resentment? He’d hardly be the first. But all he’d need was support, and –

“…delayed, delayed, delayed, delayed, can’t be late again, the boss said we can’t be late again, get the cargo—”

“Hold him down,” Rose said to Zaveid, before moving in herself.

“Anything for you, boss lady,” Zaveid said.

Chains glinted and held the man down, stopping him from thrashing while Rose grabbed his head on both sides and forced him to look at her.

“Hey. We’re passing through. Who’s this boss of yours? We’ll get the cargo to him on time.”

The man’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

“No.”

He began to shake, then began to weep.

“Gone. Gone, they’re gone, they’re gone, we were supposed to deliver them to Hyland for sale but they’re gone and the boss he won’t like it he’ll know it was me and then Anne, Anne and the kids, they’ll—”

Zaveid pulled his chains tight, cutting the man off and binding him tighter to the ground.

“He’s gonna go hellion again if he gets himself worked up,” he barked at Rose. “And I sure as hell don’t like all this ‘them’ stuff with his ‘cargo’.”

Rose knew when to back down – that conversation was going nowhere fast, anyway. She wisely allowed Lailah to cast a spell that sent the man into the comparative relief of unconsciousness, and mulled over the facts they had.

“The Scattered Bones will take him into custody,” she said, finally.

“Custody?” Sorey said uneasily.

Rose leaned her head on her hand and looked at Sorey, one eyebrow raised. “You saw what happened the second he woke up. They’ll keep an eye on him at HQ and see if they can get the full story out of him.”

Sorey stared at the man for a moment, then swallowed hard. “And…try to help him?”

“As best as we can,” Rose replied, honestly. “You’ve seen this before, Sorey. People getting so desperate that they do things they can never forgive themselves for. He might wake up with a new lease on life, and we’ll put him to work in the company. Or he might wake up and immediately go creepy-crawly again the second he remembers what he’s done. Sometimes you just need to—”

“I get it,” Sorey cut her off. “But…we can’t just…he mentioned a boss.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” A slow, dangerous smile spread across Rose’s face. “We’re not done with them just yet.”

Lailah ahemed lightly, and glided forward.

“The man is purified. The Shepherd’s duty is finished,” she said. “Shall we discuss our next moves in a more…hospitable area?”

“Let’s rest at the inn a while,” Mikleo said.

His hand was a comfort and anchor on Sorey’s back. He allowed himself to lean into it, and be guided by Mikleo’s sure current.

“So, good news first,” Rose began. “It didn’t take long for us to get info on this boss guy.”

But Rose’s tone did not, in fact, indicate that the news was quite as good as all that. Things never seemed to be quite so simple, anymore.

“And the bad news?” Mikleo asked, voicing Sorey’s thoughts aloud.

Rose threw herself onto the inn bed and leaned back on her arms.

“Hooboy. Where to start? The bad news, the REALLY bad news, or the damn inconvenient news?”

“Ooh, now you’ve gotten me all excited.” Edna’s face was utterly expressionless, and her tone likewise. She was perched atop the inn’s tall wooden wardrobe; the vantage point allowing her to better beam her disdain at those below like a judgmental gargoyle. “Spill the beans before I perish from anticipation.”

Rose squinted up at her. “…how did you get…anyway. So. Our friend was part of a black market smuggling operation. First it was just contraband goods, and then they branched out into human trafficking – that was when his conscience caught up with him and he started chowing down on his coworkers and stalking the highways. He was pretty low on the ladder and didn’t know much about the guys really running it; he only ever had contact with cronies. But everything he told us lines up with cases that we’ve been monitoring for months. This ring isn’t just limited to a few scattered caravans on rural backroads. We’ve got reports of it being tied to activity across Hyland and Rolance, which let me tell you, will do peace talks no favors. Hyland’s gonna blame Rolance and Rolance’s gonna blame Hyland and so on.”

“…so, was that the bad news, the really bad news, or the inconvenient news?” asked Sorey.

“It’s all blended together in an intricate tapestry of unfortunateness,” Rose said. “So on one hand, it is Hyland’s fault. All of our sources are pointing to one of their nobles being the ringleader behind it all – his eminence Lord Mardoc of House Melwas. House Melwas owns most of the shipping lines nearest to Rolance’s borders, so the infrastructure was already there for him to pull this off. But on the other hand, even though he’s footing the bills and reaping the profits, these kinds of enterprises tend to be…group ventures. Especially when they’ve got a reach as wide as this. It’s not gonna go away completely even if we manage to take the boss chump down.”

“Even if we were to apprehend everyone involved, Hyland and Rolance would need to work together to extradite the accused and bring them to trial,” Mikleo said. “It could take years.”

“And that’s assuming Rolance will play nice,” Rose added. “Bet they’d only be too happy to set the blame totally on Hyland’s shoulders.”

“So…I guess it’s up to the Shepherd, then?” Sorey said, softly.

There was historical precedent for such a thing: Shepherds, mediating international disputes as the neutral third parties they were always intended to be. Sorey could rattle off at least three or four such incidents off the top of his head – one of them even involved digging up the skeleton of a previous Rolance pope to put it on trial. (The skeleton, judged guilty, was stripped of its papal hat and frockery and then beheaded. Sorey often wondered if any of that was truly necessary.) But reading about it in history books was one thing, and being expected to live it himself was…quite another.

A long, drawn-out fight amongst a bunch of squabbling politicians and nobles, all trying to point fingers while the world around them was falling apart. When the cards were laid out on the table like this, the odds seemed…almost insurmountable. Sorey’s shoulders drooped with the weight of his thoughts. Mikleo’s cool hand on his nape was all that kept him from sinking too deeply into a place that would be hard to return from. Here be darkness, and skeleton popes.

“And you guys wonder why I went into customer service,” said Rose.

“Just want to note that it’s so convenient that your little gossip crew dug up so much dirt so fast,” Edna commented drily. “Almost like they’ve been sitting on said dirt for a while, doing nothing about it until it got inconvenient. Like when it was your turn to get your shipments munched on.”

Edna, unfortunately, always seemed to know how to hit where it hurt. She zeroed in on weak points so easily: Mikleo’s height, Zaveid’s receding hairline, Rose’s sense of justice. Sorey’s heart twisted unhappily at the sight of Rose’s knuckles fisted in the bedspread.

“Kinda feels like that, doesn’t it?” Rose finally said. She lifted her head, wearing a thoughtful expression. “You know, we’d joked for the longest time that we should start invoicing the Hyland knights, since we were doing their jobs for them – upholding the peace and all that. But it seems like we’ve gotten a little lax lately.”

“Rose,” Mikleo said. “It’s not your job to police Hyland’s laws. You can’t take all that responsibility on yourself.

Sorey couldn’t help but sense that comment wasn’t just directed at Rose, for some reason. (Like the fact that Mikleo’s hand found his own when he said it, and squeezed tight.) Still, Rose didn’t exactly seem to take the advice to heart. She jumped to her feet, and set her hands to her hips; a grin plastered to her face.

“It’s a matter of customer service at this point,” Rose said. “The Scattered Bones can’t refuse to investigate a direct request, now can they?”

Sorey blinked. “A direct request? From who?”

“Our friend from last night. Remember? Eight feet tall, big and scary, sharp teeth, loads of arms?”

“I don’t remember him asking anything,” Sorey replied, dubious.

“He definitely didn’t,” Mikleo agreed. “He yelled a bit and then passed out. I’d wager his hellion form was much taller than a mere eight feet, as well.”

“Guys,” Rose groaned. “A little bit of room for interpretation, please. Plus, if this Mardoc guy really is behind this operation, his homebase is probably lousy with malevolence – cleaning that up is right up our alley. So what do you say; wanna do a house-call at Chateau Melwas? It’s on the outskirts of—”

Sorey startled at Rose’s question, suddenly remembering something very important – something absolutely vital. He seized Mikleo’s wrist, urgently.

“Wait! Chateau Melwas. Of course; we only ever saw it written out like that, but of course it’d be owned by House Melwas!”

Mikleo’s eyes went huge, and he seized Sorey’s wrist right back.

“You’re right! It’s only logical. Chateau Melwas, built atop the underground Baudemagus Cathedral. An architectural marvel, built with a mix of Hyland and Rolance techniques to keep its structural integrity. It’s been sealed off for centuries from the public.”

“We could see the archivolts,” Sorey whispered urgently.

“We could see the archivolts,” Mikleo agreed, just as urgently. For just a moment, his gaze grew distant and vacant, as if he was wholly lost in thoughts of archivolts. Sorey could relate. He could so, so relate.

“I know I should be more careful about what I say, but I just don’t ever know what’s going to set them off…” Rose lamented. She looked up at Edna. “Wanna help me find Lailah and Zaveid so we can start brainstorming?”

Edna hopped down from her perch. “I’ll take any opportunity to get out of this room, no matter how unpleasant. Circumstances must.”

They were to infiltrate the chateau of House Melwas, to gather evidence and evaluate the truth of the claims against Lord Mardoc (and admire some archivolts in the process). Luckily for them, they had stumbled upon this mission during a most fortuitous time – Lord Mardoc was opening Chateau Melwas for a masquerade ball. It would be the best chance they’d get to investigate…and, perhaps, the only chance.

To an outside observer, the cards would seem to be stacked in Sorey’s favor. Not only would he have the noise and bustle of the masquerade to hide his movements, but he also had a master assassin and four magical invisible friends to back him up. Surely it would be child’s play for the almighty Shepherd.

Unfortunately, there were a few handicaps in play that evened the odds:

One: Sorey, even at this point in his short career, had become quite recognizable as the Shepherd.

Two: Rose, having a long and storied career as one of the continent’s most successful capitalists, was even more recognizable.

Being that they were famous-slash-infamous, it called for them to attend undercover – after all, if it was discovered that the Shepherd was in attendance, Mardoc would surely rush to dispose of any evidence of his illicit activities, making their entire search fruitless.

Surely a masquerade would make undercover activity simple…if it were not for the final handicap:

Three: Sorey was an absolutely wretched actor, and was sure to give away the game in a matter of seconds.

Thus, this called for a more stealthy infiltration. To this end, they tested out Mikleo’s talents in the safety of their base of operations (being their room at the inn).

“Uh…” Rose frowned, looking Sorey over critically. “I don’t think this is gonna work.”

Sorey was invisible…in some places. One arm, then the fingers of his other hand, and his torso. His right leg blinked back into view, then disappeared again, then slowly regained its opacity once more as the seconds ticked by.

“Just…give me a minute…” Mikleo said through gritted teeth. He was visibly shaking from the effort of keeping up the spell for so long. His skin was even paler than normal, and was beaded with sweat.

Sorey appeared to be torn between the urge to rush over to Mikleo’s side to support him, and the urge to stay in place as firmly instructed by Mikleo at the start of the experiment.

“Mikleo,” Sorey pleaded. “We’ve got backup options, you know?”

“Like what?” Mikleo snapped. He briefly lost his hold on the spell, and Sorey’s torso flickered. “Put a bedsheet over your head and pretend to be ghosts haunting the grounds?”

Rose shivered. “Gonna veto that one. Hard.”

Edna made a sympathetic noise, and patted Rose’s shoulder. “You’re so right, Rose. That’d be so inconsiderate to all the ghosts that probably already haunt that moldy old underground cathedral. Don’t wanna stir them up.”

Rose wailed and immediately retreated under the bed.

Lailah, finally, set a hand on Mikleo’s should and bade him to stop. Exhausted, Mikleo released the spell and leaned heavily on his staff. Sorey rushed over on his reappearing limbs to offer his support, and lead him to sit on the bed that Rose was currently lurking beneath.

“It was well worth attempting, but I must advise overexerting ourselves on this venture,” Lailah said. “Chateau Melwas is well outside of Ladylake’s jurisdiction – and as such, well outside of the reach of Lord Uno’s protective domain. The malevolence is thick here, our powers dampened with it. It would be dangerous indeed to take risks.”

“Back in the day, I’d just…dash up the walls and in through the windows, in and out like a shot…” Sorey heard Rose quietly musing underneath the bed. It seemed like she was mostly talking to herself. “Can’t really do that anymore, can I? Zaveid, he just doesn’t get my style, not like you did…”

Sorey squeezed Mikleo’s shoulder, and tried to get him to catch his eye.

“Rain check on cloak practice?” he asked, hopefully. “Maybe when we’re in a place where the air’s a bit cleaner?”

Mikleo would not, however, catch his eye, and sullenly wriggled his shoulder out of Sorey’s hold. Sorey’s heart sank.

Seeing Mikleo’s already-sour mood, Edna clicked her tongue, ready to make things worse, as usual.

“Why must we bank our hopes on the powers of a single frail Meebo?” she asked. “Just tart Sorey up in something pretty and have him flash the bouncers some leg at the door.”

She clearly did not mean this statement in earnest. She clearly meant it as a joke, as a way to needle Mikleo for being unable to live up to his own unreasonably high standards of personal achievement; to get him riled up enough to stop stewing in self-pity.

But there came a rumble from beneath the bed.

Rose scuttled out from her dark domain on all fours; her hair and eyes wild with inspiration.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s our game. We dress in drag and crash this party.”

This bizarre conclusion at least seemed to break Mikleo out of his sulk. He stared at her, baffled.

“…you’ll do what?”

Rose grabbed Sorey by the shoulder with one hand, and grabbed his chin in the other. She presented him to the rest of the group thusly, very proud of herself.

“I present to you: Lady Soreyella Sparrowfeather, with her dashing older brother, Lord Roseino Sparrowfeather. We are young single nouveau riche siblings travelling the world on our mamá and papá’s dime, looking for fun, excitement, and a suitor who will treat my naïve little sister like the delicate, squishy little cream puff she is.”

“…Okay,” Mikleo said, once he was sure Rose was finished. “Just give me a few minutes and we can try the cloaking arte again. I know that if I can just get a handle on the light refraction, I’ll be able to keep it up for as long as we need…”

Mikleo trailed off. The atmosphere of the room had changed palpably with Rose’s suggestion – it seemed to burn alight with an excitement that tingled the skin. The source of the burning flame was unmistakable: Lailah seemed to almost be hovering above the floor, and was wreathed in a holy aura of light. She clasped her hands together, and lifted them upwards, a prayer to the heavens.

“Splendid,” she whispered. “Oh, how splendid indeed. An undercover mission – not only under the cover of night, but also under cover of the finest finery!”

Mikleo wondered if it would be out of line for him to walk over and tug Lailah back down to have both her feet on the floor. Surely it would be within Sorey’s rights as Shepherd…but what would stop her from arising once more? Would it be better to simply tie a string to her ankle so she didn’t accidentally float away? These questions were all important ones, but they were secondary to the more salient question of the moment:

“Are you forgetting Lastonbell?” Mikleo asked. “Our resident provincial lard? Hello? Oh, not him too…”

Zaveid had joined Lailah in her conference approximately six inches above the flooring, his excitement equally as evident.

“Food, wine, gorgeous sights to see,” Zaveid whispered mistily. “Ladies beckoning with their burning gazes from across the crowded dance hall.”

It was becoming clear that the vote was heading in a certain direction; that direction being “Sorey and Rose crossdressing to crash a party”. Edna smirked at Mikleo and Sorey devilishly.

“Rose’s suggestion really just is so splendid, and the Lady Edna wholeheartedly supports it.” Edna twirled her umbrella as she spoke. “She simply cannot wait to see the Shepherd traipsing about in a shimmering gown and heels, resembling a graceful overdressed cupcake. He will blend right in with the buffet table and remain utterly undetectable. The perfect plan.”

Mikleo gaped at Sorey, speechless. Sorey, for his part, seemed resigned to his fate. He sighed heavily.

“If you guys think it’ll work, I’ll do it,” Sorey said. “But I don’t…I don’t really know anything about, well…any of this. Dancing, and balls, and dressing up…”

Lailah and Zaveid floated over to Sorey, and both took one of his hands in their own, tenderly.

“Fear not,” they spoke in unison. “For we will be at your side.”

“I know,” Sorey assured them. “You always are. But I’ll feel a little, well…out of place…”

Lailah’s grip tightened, and she leaned in, her eyes blazing.

“Please understand, Shepherd Sorey,” she said. “We will be by your side, all of us, in finery as fine as yours.”

Edna’s umbrella stopped twirling. “Excuse me?” she asked flatly.

Zaveid rose several more inches off the floor in his excitement. “You mean…”

“With the powers invested in me by the Lord Maotelus, I decree as Prime Lord that we shall all be disguised in a similar method, alongside the Shepherd and Squire.” Lailah’s voice was clear, commanding – it seemed to echo off the walls of the inn as if the walls were made of the resonant marble of a cathedral instead of ordinary wood. “It is our duty as seraphim to assist the Shepherd in all things, to show solidarity and share in his trials.”

“Pass,” Edna said, then shrieked aloud repeatedly as she was forcibly levitated off the ground to join Lailah and Zaveid.

“Guess you shouldn’t have voted for such a splendid plan if you weren’t willing to participate,” Mikleo wearily commented. He, too, was also being lifted off the ground by an invisible force gripping his capes and dangling him like a scruffed cat.

“Um,” Sorey said. “I really appreciate the company, but…isn’t the masquerade in less than a week? Can we find someone who can make outfits for everyone on such short notice? Especially outfits for, well, someone they can’t even really see…”

Rose threw her arm around Sorey’s shoulder (with some effort, considering the height difference and the fact that she was not currently taking part in the levitation fiesta).

“Sorey, Sorey, Sorey. Are you forgetting who you’re dealing with here?” Rose said. “The Sparrowfeathers have their ways. We just need to hit up this one tailor that owes me a favor or three…”

It was, of course, in Lastonbell that they found this tailor – the city of artisans was home to the most skilled hands on the continent, no matter what the craft. Rose smiled charmingly at the woman who answered the door. The smile was met with a weary stare.

“Ella,” Rose said. “Have I got a project for you.”

Ella slowly tried shutting the door, but Rose wedged her foot in before she could manage.

“Now, now, don’t try to be shy about it; we both know that you’re always excited to do work for me! Like I was saying, I’ve got a project and I just know you’re the only person who can pull it off. Don’t leave me out in the cold, here!”

Ella sighed tiredly. “I’ve told you a thousand times that there’s a limit to what those suits are designed to withstand. A little blood, the sealant can handle. You get sloppy, you get stains.”

Sorey could hazard a guess at how Rose had made the acquaintance of this woman. Rose huffed in irritation.

“Why do you always think I’m here about our suits? I’ve got other stuff on my plate, you know.”

“I also already told you that I can’t make them withstand deep ocean pressure.”

“We can talk about that again later!” Rose muscled her way in through the door, pulling Sorey along behind her. “Right now I need you to make six people look very pretty. Four of them are invisible. Also we’re all crossdressing and in disguise.”

Ella processed Rose’s words, and the situation she was presented. On her worktable, a pencil lifted, and began to sketch fervently on the sketchpad there. After a few moments, the pencil paused, and the sketchpad floated over to present itself to Ella for review. Ella leaned in, squinting through her thick glasses at the designs the phantom pencil had drafted for her. Finally, she shrugged.

“Whatever.” She went to fetch her measuring tape and some paper for notes. “As long as you keep giving me discounts on fabric.”

The day of the masquerade had arrived, and their disguises had arrived to their inn room, not a moment too soon.

“Your tailor friend worked so tirelessly, day and night,” Lailah said with a note of concern, even as she was visibly itching to tear into the carefully-wrapped packages. “I do hope that she didn’t exhaust herself.”

“She gets like that when she’s inspired,” Rose explained. “And it’s not like she did it out of the goodness of her heart. She gets first pick on any of our textile shipments, and every completed commission is a punch on her Scattered Bones loyalty card. Ten punches and she gets a free assassination request.”

The room became palpably awkward. Rose sighed aloud.

“Joking,” she said. “Not about the shipment thing though.”

“We just wonder sometimes…” Mikleo mumbled.

It was the moment of truth. The fashion show of the century. The couture reckoning.

Rose posed with her booted leg on a footrest. She looked sleek, debonair – her fitted suit hid her curves, but could not quite flatten her entirely; giving her a silhouette that would steal the attention of men and women alike. The suit was a reddish-pink the color of the sky at twilight, and the fabric shone and shimmered luxuriously in the candlelight. She looked inarguably well put-together, but had an air of the rogue. Her red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she wore a black handlebar moustache for…some reason.

“A moustache is not a toy,” chided Lailah.

Lailah looked as elegant as ever, and as understated as ever – that was to say, not understated whatsoever. It was a known fact in the study of zoology that the male of a species was very frequently the most glamorously-dressed, and while it was doubtful that Lailah had much interest in the field, perhaps she’d once travelled with someone who did. Or maybe she just saw a peacock one time, and thought, Yes! That is what I want to look like if I ever had to crossdress for a villain’s masquerade ball! Her ruby-red suit’s tails trailed behind her like a bird’s tailfeathers, and the ensemble positively dripped with white lace and golden filigree. Her hair was pulled back into its customary ponytail, but was braided through with red ribbon. Despite her admonishing Rose for moustache crimes, she herself wore a gaudy, dandy top hat atop her head.

“I swear on my last breath that I will smear jam all over this cravat and hide it in your bed at night,” Edna hissed.

Edna…well. Perhaps it was karmic consequence that had landed her in her current outfit, or perhaps it was her complete refusal to work with Ella and pay more than a scornful glance to the outfit designs that Lailah had drafted. She looked like the precious darling scion of a hallowed aristocratic house. She was absolutely drowning in frills and lace, in bows and cravats. Though the design was intended to bring to mind a sailor suit, a rock would have looked more seaworthy.

“You cut a distinguishing figure,” Lailah said sincerely. Rose cackled and twirled her moustache.

Visibly miserable, Edna yanked and tugged at the white stockings that she wore under her bloomers. “I haven’t worn pants in years. If I suffocate tonight I’m going to smear jam all over these tights and—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it.” Rose twirled her moustache once more for good measure. “Gentlemen, or should I say, gentleladies! You’re up!”

Zaveid’s leg was the first thing that could be seen in the doorway – his bare leg, sporting a gun holster hooked to his garter. He whirled into view, pressing his whole body up against the doorframe, posing like a femme fatale from a trashy stage play. Ella probably did not need to spend much time on his ensemble, considering how…little there was of it. It showcased his entire back, and bared cleavage to the point of obscenity. The sides were slit up to his hips, allowing him to showcase the curve of his ass with very little trouble. Despite the…lack of modesty, he didn’t look bad. It was just…

“I thought we were trying to not call attention to ourselves?” Edna commented flatly.

“You think about how we’d manage that with Zaveid, and you get back to me,” Rose said.

“I’m just…too much…to ignore…” Zaveid said breathily, fluttering his eyelashes on every syllable.

Despite herself, Edna had to give her that one.

“Um,” Sorey’s voice called from the hallway. “Can you guys tell me if I put this on right? I think I’ve got some leftover sashes…”

The group was stunned to silence as Sorey entered the room. It was not as though they expected Sorey to look bad in his disguise. They just didn’t expect him to look this good. Ella had outdone herself. The white bodice, trimmed with blue and gold embroidery, served two important functions: it cinched Sorey’s waist, and pushed up his already fairly large chest to create the illusion of a voluminous bosom. On the other hand, Ella chose not to hide Sorey’s broad shoulders and muscled arms; instead flattering and showcasing them with cutout shoulders and draping sleeves. The blond wig on his head framed his face charmingly; when Sorey gave a shy, awkward smile, those present in the room felt as though a thousand arrows hit their hearts.

“It’s a little tight, you know, in…this area.” Sorey gestured to his honkers. “But I really like the skirts! Did you tell Ella how much I love flappy capes?”

His practice in the armatus gave him the grace and balance to twirl in his heels, allowing the long, flowing skirts to float around him like a princess from a fairytale.

“Your tailor girl’s a magician,” Zaveid said with a note of wonder in his voice. “Man. If she made Sorey look like such a sweet little thing, just think about…”

He trailed off, but everyone knew exactly to whom he was referring. They looked towards the door, on the edge of their seats.

Secretly, everyone really had been looking forward to seeing Mikleo all dolled up—

“Mikleo! Come out, please!” Sorey pleaded. “I wanna see how pretty you look!”

…okay, “secretly” for everyone except Sorey, who was always extremely loud about all things Mikleo. But the fact remained: Mikleo was already stunning enough, with his snow-white skin and striking violet eyes, with his tiny waist and delicate features. Expectations were high, and were only made higher by the clear demonstration of Ella’s skills.

“I took a sneak peek at the dress Miss Ella sent for him,” Lailah sighed aloud as she spoke. “Truly lovely! Mikleo will be a vision in it.”

This assurance only served to heighten the excitement in the room, and served to make Sorey nearly start vibrating in place. They heard a grumble and the sound of footsteps from the hallway, and Mikleo stepped into the room…

…

…well.

“Are you happy now?” Mikleo spat, crossing his arms. That snow-white skin of his was cherry red, from the tips of his ears to his chest.

The dress was indeed beautiful, and was fitted to Mikleo’s envious figure perfectly. His waist, dainty as ever, was only made lovelier by the finely-embroidered and ribboned bodice. The sleeves and skirts flowed like water, shimmering in the room’s candlelight like a pond reflecting the sun. The colors of the fabric complemented his fair complexion perfectly – it was as though a fairy of ice and snow had descended to bless them with a crisp winter’s day.

However, the enchanting effect was seriously spoiled by the sour and uncomfortable look on Mikleo’s face, and the stiffness in the way that he moved. He walked like he was on stilts, and turned in place like he had sacks of barley tied to his hips. It was abundantly clear that skirts and heels did not agree with him on a personal or spiritual level. Putting a beautiful swan in a beautiful dress resulted in something that was less than the sum of its parts. And resulted in a pissed-off swan.

Sorey sighed dreamily, and swept over in his skirts to twirl around the room with Mikleo – Sorey, moving with effortless charm, and Mikleo, moving like a flailing fish.

“You look so great! Doesn’t he!?” Sorey asked the room, though he wouldn’t have heard any answer they gave, so lost he was in their twirling. “If only everyone in that whole ballroom could see you, I bet they’d just look at you and go, ‘wow’…”

At least now Mikleo was pouting, rather than scowling. It made him look marginally more presentable.

“…well, now that the two of us look so dashing,” Rose said, trying to get the subject onto something that wouldn’t horribly offend Sorey. “I think we’re ready to crash that party.”

“As long as our Cupcake Shepherd keeps his mouth shut,” Edna mumbled. She was lying face-down on the inn floor to indicate her displeasure at everything around her.

“Yeah, well, if things go well, Soreyella Sparrowfeather won’t need to do much talking at all,” Rose said. “Roseino will distract all those guests with his charm and tales of adventure, while Soreyella and Miklette slip out to investigate the building and get some evidence of Mardoc’s extracurricular business ventures.”

“Mikleo,” Mikleo harshly corrected. “Will escort Sorey. Without these stupid—pointless—”

In a fit of fury, Mikleo tore off one heeled shoe and threw it across the room. He then hobbled out of the room, one heel still on, grumbling as he lurched back to his own room to find his normal footwear. Sorey gathered up his skirts and hurried after him like a practiced maiden.

The stage was set, and the cast were in costume and ready for their cue. But the question remained: even with evidence at hand, what could be done if Hyland insisted on ignoring the crimes of its nobility?

(Art by Arivess!)

#sormik #sorey/mikleo #suremiku #soremiku #soymilk #tales of zestiria #sormikbb2019 #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

allthings-fantasy · 6 years

Text

Dear Bellamy (Pt 6 of Pen Pals)

Author: @allthings-fantasy

Pairing: bellamy x reader

Word Count: 2646

Summary: After Bellamy’s outburst at dinner, he begins avoiding the reader at all costs. Will anyone be able to get through to him? Or has he shut everyone out for good?

Authors Notes: I’m so glad everyone seems to be enjoying this series. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve written so far. Enjoy reading!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 MASTERLIST

Bellamy’s POV

He left Y/N’s apartment without a single glance back. He didn’t mean to yell at her, didn’t mean to push her. But what was done was done. There was no going back now. Bellamy knew he officially scared her off for good. Maybe it’s for the best. He didn’t want to burden her with his baggage. She deserved better than this. But it still didn’t stop his chest from shattering.

His foot slammed on the gas petal, he didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it had to be far. The further he drove, the blurrier his vision got. For a moment, Bellamy let his emotions get the best of him. His eyes stung as tears slid down his cheeks.

Driving wasn’t enough to calm his nerves, he needed something else. Something to cloud the thoughts of her. Bellamy didn’t like letting people in. Hell he barely let his sister in. But Y/N, that damn girl dug herself so far under his skin.

The neon sign of a bar shown in the distance. Without a second glance, Bellamy pulled in the parking lot. It was packed, bodies lined up along the bar. The familiar smell of smoke made his nose twitch. He sat down on an empty stool at the far end of the bar. 80′s rock music filled his ears, he almost didn’t hear the bartender. “What can I get ya handsome?”

Bellamy’s eyes traveled to the woman behind the bar. She had blonde hair, a little too much eyeliner smudged around her eyes, and a tank top that was about two sizes too small. “Whiskey.” His own voice surprised him, it was raspier than usual, deeper.

“Sure thing.” She flashed him a smile, white teeth standing out from her bright red lipstick. Bellamy’s eyes watched as she turned, grabbing a bottle and pouring the dark liquid into a glass. She was back in front of him in an instant. Sitting the glass down in front of him, “So you wanna tell me why you got that sad look on your face?” Her elbows rested against the bar, leaning in closer to him.

Bellamy scoffed and gripped the glass, tossing the alcohol down his throat. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He shook his head, not daring to look her in the eyes.

“Try me.” Her voice dropped, a teasing tone underneath. He clenched his jaw, hard enough to make his teeth hurt. “C’mon. Family trouble? Girl problems?”

He quickly downed what was left in his glass. “Something like that.” This time he did look up, her eyes were dark. Her face was close, too close. “Another one.” The girls eyebrow raised and Bellamy reduced the urge to roll his eyes. “Please.”

She smirked at him and went to grab another drink for him. Although this time when she came back, she brought the whole damn bottle. “My name is Sarah, by the way.” He simply nodded, taking a large swig. “Normally this is were you’d tell me your name.” She laughed and it sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t melodic like Y/N’s, instead it kind of got on his nerves.

“My name is Bellamy.”

By the fifth glass of whiskey, Sarah’s laugh wasn’t so annoying anymore. He didn’t mind the messy makeup on her face, the cheap perfume that coated her skin, or the way her hand would occasionally reach out and touch his arm.

For once Y/N wasn’t on his mind, the guilt in his chest finally started to fade. It was replaced by the warm numbness the whiskey was providing him. Sarah was nice, really nice. Would it be so bad if she just helped him forget? Just for one night?

Reader’s POV

It had been five days. Five days since Bellamy’s outburst. Five days since you’ve seen him, talked to him. The night still played through your head like a bad nightmare that just wouldn’t go away.

After Bellamy left that evening you stayed on the floor for a long time. Long enough for all the food on the stove to burn and fill your kitchen with smoke. You spent hours trying to get the charcoaled food out of the pans, cursing the entire time you did it. You felt pissed, hurt, so many things.

You didn’t try contacting him that night, or even the next morning. But on the second day you cracked. You had to know if he was okay, what he was doing. Octavia didn’t know either. He wasn’t answering her calls. She told you to stop by his place a few times, but it was pointless. It’s like he fell off the grid.

So you tried your best to ignore the twisting feeling in your stomach every time Raven or Octavia asked if you’ve heard from him. The answer was always the same. You weren’t sure why they even asked at this point.

It was day eleven now. Still nothing. You buried yourself in your work and classes. Whatever you could to keep your mind off of him. This entire situation reminded you of the first time he ghosted. But this time was worse. Now you’ve spent time with him, talked to him, kissed him. But he just vanished.

After a while you stopped calling, stopped texting. just stopped trying. Why were you so focused on him when he obviously didn’t care? “Y/N... Y/N!” You jumped slightly, snapping out of whatever trance you were in.

Raven shook her head before shutting her laptop. “Seriously what is going on in that head of yours?”

You shrugged. “Hmm, what kind of icing I should put on these cupcakes?” You offered her a smile before scooping some peanut butter icing on top of the chocolate cupcake in your hand.

“Nice try.” She took another gulp of her coffee before sliding you an empty cup. “More please.” You rolled your eyes and took her cup.

“I just don’t get it you know. I’ve been nothing but understanding and I tried my best to be helpful. I really did, yanno?” Raven sighed and nodded her head. “So then why is he avoiding me?”

You exasperated before sitting her cup down in front of her. “He’s been through a lot, Y/N. PTSD is a thing, he’s probably just trying to figure out how to deal with it all.”

A sigh left your lips, focusing extra hard on the cupcakes in front of you. All you wanted to do was help me. You couldn’t understand what he was going through right now, but you knew you were going to try your damn best get through to him. You’ve made up your mind. There was no reason for him to go through this alone.

It was around 8:00 when you made your way over to Bellamy’s place. You knew he wasn’t home, he was never home. Your heart was pounding in your chest when you walked over to his door. Maybe you were making a mistake, you didn’t even know if Bellamy even checked his mail anymore.

Biting on your bottom lip, you fumbled with the envelope in your fingers. Taking a deep breath you opened the top of his mailbox pinned to the wall beside his door. You noticed the box was empty. Good. At least he was checking his mail.

Before your thoughts talked you out of it, the envelope was dropped inside. You don’t think that you ever dipped out of a building do fast in your life. The thought of running into Bellamy was enough to make you nauseous. You made it back to your apartment without any complications.

There was only one thing you could do. Wait.

Bellamy’s POV

No matter what he tried, that girl could not get out of his head. No matter how much he drank, no matter who he talked to, she was always there. Right in the back of his mind.

Bellamy tried moving on from her. The night he left her apartment, he thought he was getting over her with the bartender. But as soon as Sarah’s lips touched his, Bellamy couldn’t go through with it. She didn’t feel right, didn’t taste right. He wished he never would’ve kissed Y/N, then maybe he would’ve been able to go through it.

But she ruined all other women for him. And it pissed him off. No one else had that little twinkle in her eye that made his stomach turn in knots. No other woman even came close to Y/N. He tried, he really did, but nothing worked.

He wanted to talk to her, even just to check in on her. But Bellamy knew it would only make things worse. She was going to want more from him and he couldn’t give her that. It killed him that he couldn’t give her what she wanted, what he wanted.

Bellamy couldn’t be selfish with her. She didn’t deserve it. He groaned at his own inner monologue before walking back to his apartment. Opening his mailbox, he saw a few things inside. Same as usual bills, flyers.

Walking inside, Bellamy threw the pile of mail on the counter. Pausing for a moment when something caught his eye. There was a plain white envelope mixed in with the pile. Furrowing his eyebrows, Bellamy picked up the envelope. His name was scribbled on the front. He for sure thought his heart leaped into his chest when he recognized the hand writing.

Y/N?

He needed to sit down for this. Did he even want to open this? Of course he did. What was he thinking? Bellamy took in a shaky breath before sitting down by the kitchen table.

With careful hands, he opened the envelope. His heart was thudding against his rib cage. Why did she write him a letter? Bellamy clenched his jaw as he unfolded the paper, letting his eyes scan over her words.

Dear Bellamy,

I don’t know what you’re doing or where you’ve been. But I miss you. At this point I’m not exactly sure why. I just wanted to help, I still do.

That night I didn’t mean to make you upset, or angry at me. I can’t pretend to understand what you went through. But I do want you to know that I am here for you. I shouldn’t have said anything about Octavia - I hope you’re not mad at her. She was just concerned about you, like I was.

She told me you weren’t sleeping. I could see the dark circles around your eyes. I know you have nightmares, Bellamy. You can’t let guilt control your life. You’ve suffered so much. But you’re not there anymore, Bell. You’re back here, with your sister, with me. You can’t keep your mind back at war.

I want to see you. Meet me Friday night at the beach we went to. 9:00pm, okay? I hope you want to see me too.

Sincerely, Your Pen Pal

Bellamy read the letter over and over until he almost had the entire thing memorized. It was Wednesday, he had two days to figure out what he wanted to do. He missed Y/N. He really fucking did.

She made him feel better about himself, like maybe he could actually get through this. Bellamy only hoped that he didn’t have another outburst in front of her. He was so afraid of hurting her, he wasn’t in control when his episodes took over. Bellamy already pushed her, what else could he do?

Reader’s POV

Friday night came a lot faster than you anticipated. You didn’t know what you were going to do if he didn’t show up. Hell you didn’t know what to do if he did show up. You paced in your bedroom in front of your closet, biting on your fingernail.

It was only 6:00, you had plenty of time. You took your time in the shower, lathering soap all over your body, letting the hot water attempt to calm your nerves. You stayed under the steady stream until the water started to run cold.

Pulling your towel around yourself, you stepped out of the shower. Your hand wiped over the foggy mirror, staring back at your reflection. To be honest, the past few days haven’t been the best to you either. Your cheeks were hollowed a little more than usual, a shade of purple rested on your bottom lip.

Maybe the worrying got to you more than you thought. You went back to you closet, pulling out a little sundress from the back of your closet. It was baby blue and a halter with the back cut out. The top of the dress hugged across your chest before flaring out at your waist. It was cute, simple.

You glanced back at the clock, you had one hour until you have to leave. Your nerves were coming back again. After brushing and drying your hair, fixing your makeup, you were finally ready. The reflection you saw almost startled you. You haven’t seen yourself this dressed up in a while.

Before you knew it, it was time to leave. Somehow you managed to walk to your car and drive down the road. You bit your lip, trying your best not to start shaking. The moon wasn’t as full as it was that night you and Bellamy came here, but it was still beautiful.

You pulled your car into the parking lot, doing a glance around. Bellamy’s car wasn’t here. You couldn’t help the tingle of disappointment brewing inside of you. Shaking your head, you brushed it away. You were early, he still had time.

Stepping out of your vehicle, you grabbed your towel and headed down into the sand. You checked your phone every other minute, constantly glancing behind you. But every time you looked, there was no signs of Bellamy.

The disappointment came back again, but this time it wasn’t going anywhere. And it wouldn’t not unless Bellamy arrived.

It was 9:10 now and you were beginning to antsy. You were no longer able to sit down, pacing in the sand. The waves crashed by your feet. You tried following the advice you gave Bellamy, matching your breathing with the waves.

Each minute that went by was another crack in your heart. Maybe there was traffic? Every excuse you could muster started going through your head. There was no way he was going to leave you here right? He had to come.

9:20

It was hard to keep believing that traffic was the cause of his absence.

9:35

Why were you even here at this point? Bellamy made it perfectly clear where he stood, all you could do was accept it.

Bellamy’s POV

He was a mess. There were too many thoughts spinning around his head. A part of him wanted to speed down the highway, run onto that beach and wrap Y/N in his arms. The other part kept telling him that he wasn’t worthy of her, to let her go. He looked at the clock. It was 9:00. Bellamy knew she was standing there on that beach. Alone.

One side eventually won.

Bellamy practically sprinted to his car, tires screeching slightly when he turned onto the main highway. He glanced at the clock again, biting his cheek. His hand pounded against the steering wheel as if that would make the car go faster. Bellamy’s heart was racing. He was late, what if she already left?

The rest of the drive was a blur. Bellamy whipped into the parking lot, not even worrying about locking the doors. His feet pounded against the pavement, slowing down once he hit the sand.

Bellamy slowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the sound of his pulse in his ears. He made his way down the beach. Bellamy stopped walking. Taking in the sight in front of him, all the air in his lungs froze.

TAGS: @divadinag @literallyhelpme @iamabeautifulperson18 @imarypayne @glittered-unicorn-lava @coffeebooksandfandom @sighsophiia @kararanae23 @wisestydia-15

156 notes · View notes