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phantomrose96 · 2 years

Text

Familiar Corpse

Vlad Masters’ housephone rang for the first time in 20 years.

Vlad jolted. It was a noise so starkly unfamiliar that he looked to his cellphone first, then the shut off television, both black and wholly silent. Quiet followed, and Vlad sat in his muddy confusion, eyes roving across the empty study, until the second ring of the phone clicked into memory, and he recognized the sound.

Vlad smiled.

He placed his heady romance novel pages-down. He adjusted both his glass of wine and Maddie the cat so that he could disentangle himself from the armchair. He stood, and followed the phone’s offbeat tittering, its imitation of clambering metal, and snagged it from the line just before the third ring died.

“Hello?” Vlad said, cradling the receiver to his ear, cushioned in the fringes of his bathrobe.

“Vlad, hello,” that lovely lovely voice answered. “It’s Maddie.” As if it could have been anyone else.

“Oh, Maddie! This is a pleasant surprise, my dear.”

This phone line was not Vlad’s business line. This was the line reserved for friends and family only—which was to say, for Maddie only. Sure, she’d shared the number with Jack, though he insisted purely on texting Vlad’s cell. To stay “hip.” To “trend with the kids.” Jack had not texted him in a long while.

“Sorry to be bothering you so late, Vlad. It’s just—"

“Oh no bother at all!” Vlad traded the phone between hands. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve last spoken. How are you? Wonderful as always, I imagine.”

“I’m… not so great, actually, Vlad.” Maddie answered, and Vlad could have scoffed. A remarkable understatement, given what Vlad knew, and what Maddie did not know he knew. “It’s… I’d like your opinion—your expertise—on something. It’s… it’s important. Jack and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“Ohhhhh,” Vlad sucked air through his teeth, “now I am quite busy. The McGovern merger is going through by end of the month and with the re-election campaign and everything--”

“Lunch? Just.. lunch? An hour or two of your time. Really. I can make it fast.”

“My dear I would so love for all of us to meet up like old times but I really cannot overstate how busy I am with--.”

“I won’t bring Jack.”

Vlad fell quiet, smile cracking unseen on his lips. He wasn’t even here to play this game, but he was a man who so loved being handed a victory.

“Just us. Just us two, Vlad. You can pick the place.”

“Oh now that does make things a touch more convenient. You see I already have a reservation for two set up at a nice little spot near the campaign office tomorrow,” Vlad lied. “It was going to be a quick little affair with one of my donors, but, I am sure they can reschedule.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Just tell me the place and time, I’ll be there.”

“Oh don’t even fret. I’ll send a driver to pick you up. Expect him around 11:30. Anything I should know before our… consultation?”

Maddie fell silent.

“…No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to give you anything that might… make you jump to any conclusions. I think I need to explain it all at once.”

“I understand completely, my dear. Wear something red, won’t you? It’s a stunning color on you.”

“Sure. I’ll—11:30? I’ll keep an eye out. Here. For the driver.”

“Yes, 11:30. Until then~”

Vlad hung up, and he ruminated on what he’d agreed to—or perhaps instigated.

This was a matter of clinical curiosity. After all, he was tabling his pursual of Maddie for the time being. A project on hold—cooled, but not soured, he assured himself, as he did not care enough about what happened to feel truly sour.

Vlad suppressed a small laugh. It was funny almost, powerfully ironic, how ideal this situation would have been to him 2 weeks earlier. But it was tainted by the knowledge of what Maddie wanted to discuss.

Vlad knew, and the swaths of blood stains on the carpet knew, which neither bleach nor vinegar had been able to fully lift from its fibers.

…

Sunlight fell like waterfalls through the second-story bay windows of Le Petit Capot. The tables were well-spaced, private despite the vastly open floors. Each was decorated with a satin white table cloth, napkins folded into roses, candles brand new and unlit. A string quartet played near the fountain, a dash of ambient background noise and mindfully polite chatter from the tables already seated. Vlad sat, confident and eager, perusing the wine menu and wondered whether Maddie might be jealous of everything she’d missed out on when Vlad ordered the most expensive bottle on the list.

“Sir.”

Vlad raised his eyes. The host approached, pulling out the second chair from Vlad’s table and gesturing to it. He watched Maddie enter from behind, clad in a stunning red dress whose creases suggested it had lived in her closet for the better part of many years. Vlad took another small victory in how so very out of place Maddie was here. Stunning, beautiful, yes. But she could not carry herself well. She shifted visibly in her dress. They were different creatures, clearly, she and Vlad.

“Thank you,” Maddie took her seat, and the host bowed and exited.

“Wine menu, my dear,” Vlad handed over the menu as though offering a business contract. “I am already intending to order this cabernet,” Vlad said, tapping the priciest item on the list. “We can order a second bottle of course, if anything else catches your eye.”

The wine list did not catch her eye. They were too tired and dull and lifeless for much at all to catch their attention.

“No thank you.”

“Appetizers, then? I know escargot can be a bit cliché in this kind of establishment, but if you’ve never had truly superb—”

“I think I should just. Get started.” Maddie’s hands had vanished beneath the tablecloth, but Vlad could tell she was wringing them out of sight from the uncomfortable shift and shuffle of her arms. Her eyes darted about. Her voice dropped. “Since you’re… busy. I don’t want to waste time.”

“Just the cabernet then. And the escargot, for the table.” Vlad flagged the waiter over. Maddie avoided looking at either of them as Vlad ordered.

“Now then—” Vlad leaned forward, one arm out and palm up, inviting conversation. “You seem quite bothered. What is it you’d like to tell me?”

“Danny’s dead.”

Maddie’s eyes refused to find his as she spoke. Vlad arched an eyebrow, less surprised by the statement as much as he was by its bluntness, by its phrasing. Not “a ghost.” Not “Phantom.” Dead.

“My… my goodness,” Vlad said, constructing whatever kind of faux reaction an uninvolved, non-half-ghost billionaire may have. One who did not already know every detail of what Maddie intended to divulge today. “Oh my sweet dear. I’m devastated. I saw him just a few days ago it feels like.” Vlad reached a hand out, and he pulled Maddie’s right arm up above the table, cradling her hand in his. “When did this happen?”

“Last week. Sometime. I don’t know precisely.”

And Vlad faltered. He was not usually one to falter, but he’d come to this meeting knowing everything, and the everything he knew would not have included an answer like that. “A year ago,” she should have said. “When Jack and I built the portal,” she should have said.

So she was lying to him then, maybe, Vlad thought, a bit colder. An odd choice for a woman who’d come absolutely begging to him for help.

He let none of this show on his face.

“My god. Did he go missing? My Dear you should have told me sooner. I could have had the whole town’s forces out searching for him. I’d have dropped my re-election responsibilities in a second if—”

“Can I… explain please? Can I just explain?” Maddie whispered. Vlad nodded, and rubbed his thumb in circles along her hand, still grasped in his.

“Last week—a week ago today—Jack and I captured Phantom. We brought him back to the lab and dissected him. To study him.”

The rhythm of Vlad’s thumb faltered. He kept it off his face, but it soured something in him, deeper and worse, to hear how few words it took her to say it. How clinical it was, the way she said it.

Vlad remembered it differently.

The desperate slamming pounding on his front door from a boy too weak to phase through. Arms hugged deathly tight around midsection as the only pressure holding organs inside. The whole front of his suit torn away, skin peeled and the whites of his clothing dyed black with rusted crimson and crusted ectoplasm. And the noise—the attempt at speaking—the look in his eyes which was so far gone—the elements which Vlad could not remember without the memories clamping like a fist around his entrails.

Vlad swallowed it all down. His heart rate was rising, and that was silly, as he had nothing to be worked up about.

“Phantom escaped. Jack and I were taking a break, and a cuff was loose—Jack had meant to fix it before, but must have forgot—and it. When we came back down into the lab, Phantom was gone.”

Vlad nodded, staring with an expression he was making sure looked rapt. He was studying her face. He was finding she hadn’t aged quite as well as he’d always thought. That rapturous beauty that had held him throughout college had gone somewhere.

“That—by itself, missing a subject. It wasn’t a problem. Ghosts have escaped before. It happens. Jack and I didn’t think too deeply about it.” Maddie glanced to the right. The waiter hovered against the other wall, wine bottle in hand. He’d read the atmosphere of the table and tried to tuck himself away until a good moment. Maddie sighed. She pulled her hand from Vlad’s. She stared down as she spoke, quieter. “I never… thought Phantom was a vengeful spirit. …I was wrong. God. I was wrong. If I could have just destroyed him on the table. …If Jack and I had never captured him.”

Vlad was glad, in the moment, that Maddie would not meet his eyes. There was emotion bleeding through on his own face which he could not wipe away.

(“I have to tell them, right…? That it’s me…?” Danny, stitched back together to the best of Vlad’s ability, kept alive with the entanglement of machines Vlad had once used to incubate Danny’s clones. He could only speak when the machine breathed for him. A rasp instead of a voice. Eyes too dry to cry, dehydrated and spent from all the screaming and sobbing Vlad had not been around to witness, and could only imagine. “I can’t hide this. They’re gonna know…”)

“Maddie… my dear… I’m—perhaps not quite following—it sounds like you mean—”

“Phantom killed Danny,” Maddie said, and she said it with no emotion in her voice, because the alternative was to fall completely apart.

“That’s—”

“It’s worse,” Maddie said, her voice wavering. “He took Danny’s body. And he told Jazz—told all of us—that Jack and I did this to him. To Danny. He’s still walking around. In Danny’s body. Pretending to be Danny. Jack and I know the truth of course but he has Jazz convinced. Jazz believes it. She thinks Phantom was Danny, that it’s been him all along, and she doesn’t know that Danny—and she thinks that we—Jack and I—thinks that we—”

Maddie’s breath hitched. She was pale now, so starkly pale against the sequin red of her dress and breathing all too quickly. The waiter with the wine retreated. Despite the open air, Vlad felt a pressure closing in around his chest.

(“It’s…………….. going okay.” Danny flinched as Vlad threaded another stitch. It took too much effort on Vlad’s part to align the needle with how badly Danny’s body trembled. It wasn’t because of the stitches. Danny’s body trembled on its own, perpetually, for the last four days. As if it had forgotten how not to, as if those untold hours on the dissection table had broken him into this state. “It was scary when I—thought I couldn’t actually convince Mom and Dad but… Jazz convinced them. They get it, I think. That it’s me. …They haven’t attacked me, you know, haha? …..It’s awkward. I think they’re sorry. It’s weird. ….I think it’s okay.”)

“This is Phantom’s revenge for what we did to him. He killed our son. And no one knows but Jack and me… and you, now. Danny’s dead and I can’t even bury my son… It’s Phantom, now. Reminding us every single moment of what we did to him. And we have to pretend like—because Jazz is there. He turned Jazz against us. She believes Jack and I did this to Danny. We tried to explain but she just thinks we’re trying to avoid the blame. Like it’s denial.” Maddie dropped her forehead to her palm, elbow on the table, holding herself up. “I can’t tell Jazz that her baby brother’s dead. She won’t believe me anyway. I can’t have a funeral for my baby boy. I have to look at his corpse every single day and pretend it’s him, and not the monster that killed him.”

Maddie’s body trembled, and the sight of it was all too familiar to Vlad.

“Jack and I don’t sleep. We don’t eat. That thing lives in our house and our baby boy is dead. And I’m begging you, Vlad, to please tell me what to do.”

Maddie looked up, and the disquiet on Vlad’s face was hopefully not out of place with whatever she expected of him.

“Surely,” Vlad said, mouth dry, “there are ways to prove if it is or isn’t Danny. There must be… a million things Danny would know, which Phantom would not.”

“He’s in Danny’s body, Vlad. He has access to all of Danny’s memories right there. He can read any memory he needs right from Danny’s own brain…” Maddie’s voice caught. “And he can overwrite other people’s memories with possession. Physically, he has Danny’s body. Mentally, he has Danny’s mind. And there is absolutely nothing Jack and I can do to prove he’s not Danny.” Maddie fell quiet a moment, eyes dropping. “And if we go after him the only way we can—as a ghost—Jazz will think we killed our little boy. His friends, too. Do we do that…? Do we just do that, and destroy him, and lose Jazz right after we lost Danny…? Or do we live with the monster. Forever.”

(“It’s… I can’t really tell what they think. It’s maybe more awkward now but, it’s getting better in some ways, maybe, I think. I don’t really spend any time alone with them… or talk about the—haha—the uh—” Danny let out a stressed laugh, blinking away tears as he ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t really talk about the—not yet. Maybe eventually. Maybe we’re—I think we’re healing. Slowly, I think. It’s okay. I’m gonna figure out how to forgive them and it’ll be okay.”)

Vlad wasn’t speaking.

Vlad needed to speak.

“Maddie, I… My dear I hear what you’re saying. But what if—well—if he is so physically and mentally indistinguishable from Danny, what if he simply is Danny? It’s—what would this be—a half-human half-ghost hybrid of sorts? From my research I feel that could be distinctly possible—”

Vlad met Maddie’s eyes, and the pain in them silenced him immediately.

“…Not you too,” Maddie breathed. “Did he get to you already? Overshadow you already?”

“Maddie my love I am not overshadowed.”

“But he’s gotten to you first somehow, hasn’t he…?”

Vlad did not speak. He did not speak, and he thought of the blood lingering in his mansion carpet and the gore he’d seen inside his laboratory walls and the dead dead dead eyes of the boy coming back, day after day, clinging to the same exhausted hopefuls of “It’s getting better...” “It’s getting better...” “It’s getting better...”

The waiter set down the wine bottle, hurrying through a speech about its origin before Vlad raised a hand to dismiss him, and with clear shining relief the waiter bowed out. Vlad had not so much as looked at him. He was staring at Maddie. And she was staring back.

Maddie pushed her seat back, and she set her napkin on the table.

“Sorry to bother you about this, Vlad. You’re much too busy. Forget you ever heard any of this.”

She went quietly. Vlad watched her back disappear without so much as a word.

There was proof, surely, for the existence of half ghosts. There was proof directly within his reach, inside him, which could be shown at a moment’s notice.

But the crimes of Vlad Plasmius ran numerous and deep. It was not a decision to make lightly. It was not a decision to make at all for the broken shards of a family Vlad was no longer interested in pursuing—for a broken woman who’d lost her charm and a son too fractured for Vlad to ever proudly call his own.

Besides, what might it mean to Maddie to see Vlad become such a creature before her eyes? What might that make Vlad to her, if not simply another vengeful ghost in another familiar corpse?

#danny phantom #dp fanfiction #had an idea (evil)#gore tw #horror tw

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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do you think that cardan would have married nicasia is she hadn’t betrayed him? how do you think jude and cardan’s story would have played out had she been faithful??

this is a complicated answer nonnie, but in short: no. i don't think he would have. or at the very least, even if she hadn't betrayed him, there were still a number of things that would've made for an unhappy relationship between them.

Why Nicardan has always slept with the fishes

i think most of my conviction in this theory is best supported by two scenes in the series. the first being the scene in The Wicked King where Cardan confronts Nicasia about her mother's desire for them to be married.

"'Would you marry me, then? Tie the sea to the land and bind us together in misery?' Cardan gazes at her with all the scorn he once reserved for me." (Chapter 13, p.123, TWK)

here, Cardan basically admits outright that he would be miserable in a marriage to Nicasia. miserable. and i don't think this has anything to do with Nicasia's betrayal, either.

it's very clear that he still cares for her feelings, even after she did what she did. he hates Locke for making her cry with his games with the twins. he is very sympathetic towards her in QON when word comes that Orlagh has been shot. so despite her betrayal, he is still capable of these feelings for her on a purely platonic and/or sympathetic level. yet, he says they would be miserable together.

and i think this is something he realised long ago, in HTKOELTHS, when Nicasia takes him to the Undersea for the first time.

"And even though her enchantment protected him, he could still feel the oppressive cold and the stinging of salt in his eyes. Salt that curbed his own magic. And darkness, all around. It didn't feel like the expansiveness of splashing through a pond. It felt like being trapped in a small room." (Chapter 6, p.65, HTKOELTHS)

if there is one thing we know about Cardan, it is that he hates being trapped, both literally and figuratively. this oppressiveness he feels being in the Undersea is so detestable to him that he could barely stand to be there for more than a few minutes. imagine what it would be like for him to have to help Nicasia rule over such a realm.

and in that same scene, Cardan does think about this, what it would be like to be Nicasia's consort:

"The weight of the sea seemed to press down on him. He no longer had a sense of up or down. One was always suspended, fighting against the current or giving in to it. There would be no lying on beds of moss, no barbed words easily spoken, no falling down from too much wine, no dancing at all." (Chapter 6, p.67, HTKOELTHS)

Cardan realises here that to be with Nicasia would mean giving up everything which brings him joy. sure, maybe those things are inconsequential to survival. but they are also the things keeping him going. they are his life rafts, without which he would be well and truly sunk, both in the Undersea and in his own despair.

for Nicasia, being without the small pleasantries of life is not a problem. she is from the Undersea. she is used to the cold. she is used to the harshness of living, and has no need for such luxuries.

"'We would be legends,' she [Nicasia] tells him. 'Legends need not concern themselves with something as small as happiness.'" (Chapter 13, p.123, TWK)

but the same is not true for Cardan, who wanted so desperately to be loved, not despised, that he broke a magically bound crown to prove to himself that he could be.

in the Undersea, however, Cardan knows he would not be afforded the same benefit of the doubt:

"He might be as inconsequential as he was in Elfhame, but even more powerless and possibly even more despised." (Chapter 6, p.67, HTKOELTHS)

so there are many things working against Cardan's happiness in a relationship with Nicasia:

he must learn to like being in a cage.

he must give up everything which brings him joy.

he must learn to live without the possibility of being loved.

even if Nicasia had not cheated on him, i cannot think Cardan stagnant enough to just carry on in his miserable ways. i think he would've come to the same conclusion he did after Nicasia's betrayal: a formal, long-term relationship with her would have stripped him of his most fundamental needs.

Nicasia's betrayal was simply a happy (or not) catalyst that pushed Cardan into sooner realising his desire for something that was not her.

–Em 🖤🗡

more thoughts on Nicardan

more theories

#more overly detailed analysis that nobody asked for!#was still fun nonetheless 😌#thanks for the ask nonnie!! 💜#tfota #jurdan #holly black #asked and answered #em answers #nonnie #my analysis

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sword-brainrot · 3 years

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Hi! I'm sending this match up request for a friend, if that's ok! Heyyyyyy! Requests are open again, yay! :D I’m so happy to see more Touken Ranbu blogs!! \(O v O)/ I go by Qwerty/she/they, and boy am I bad at summarizing myself! So I’m going to try to include both pros and cons to my personality as best I can! I’m pretty smol, fiery, passionate, and VERY loud unfortunately. Sass and sarcasm are my first languages; if there’s an opportunity to joke and tease I’m not skipping out on it. I’m kind of a pseudo-extrovert. A natural cheerleader since I come off very bubbly, prepared with a pep talk every hour of the day, and I’m never afraid to greet someone with a warm smile or conversation. I’m typically the counselor of my friend group(s), even if I’m a bit blunt with telling them the tough truths. However, I do tend to be shy and reserved on the inside until I truly grow comfortable around someone, at least when it’s one on one. When I do, I turn into a complete goofball and you can’t get me to shut up about anything lol. At parties I’ll surprisingly talk to anyone, but I’m chalking that up to liquid courage (but I DO love social drinking because of it lol). Despite being playful 90% out of the time, I do have my serious moments. I like to study international politics, history, culture, you name it, which inevitably leads to being stressed/depressed about humanity lol. I can be temperamental enough as it is, so throwing world struggles on top of that is a bit of a gamble some days. You never know when I’m going to hole myself up because I’m irate, or if I’m going to drown you in tears. But I’m fiercely compassionate, so I’d rather learn as much as possible and try to change things for the better. UNFORTUNATELY, this also comes off as being combative and opinionated sometimes. :’D (Which is TOTALLY valid criticism lol.) I make sure my piece is fully expressed and understood, that’s all! On that note, I do prioritize taking perspective on issues or any situation before coming to a conclusion because at the end of the day I just want to understand. I’m analytical to the core.

As for other little tidbits like hobbies, singing (classically trained, baby!), drawing, and DEFINITELY gaming tend to be my top pastimes (ok and sleeping). I love the outdoors, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not indoors more than anything. Still, I could waste hours laying outside somewhere just zoning out on the sky. Put me near any body of water--ESPECIALLY the ocean--and I’ll stare at the water all day. Rainy or stormy days are top tier in my book. Snow is welcome too; winter is best season! ANIMALS GIVE ME A REASON TO LIVE, AND CATS ESPECIALLY MAKE ME CRY. I work with cats and dogs ok, they’re a huge part of who I am. I’m like a Disney princess when it comes to animals, they just always take to me easily. What I look for in a guy is...just as difficult to summarize, so I’ll leave that to your best judgement lol. As long as they’re more patient than I am, they can handle my more tempestuous days, AND STILL LIKE ME SOMEHOW, then it’s all good. Like, I suffer from mental illness, it’s kind of a requirement to be patient and empathetic lol. I agree with your views on the tantous; baby-faces are babies, and the others are just cursed with petite stature. I’M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LONG, BUT THANK YOU FOR ALL OF YOUR WONDERFUL WRITING AND EVEN CONSIDERING THIS MATCH UP!! <3

I loved how much detail you put into this! It really helped me think of who would work best! Thank you so much for the compliment and requesting!!

I Match You With...

🌸 Nihongou 🌸

♡ Picking between the three was very difficult because I could see cases for all of them to bond really well with you since you seem like a very excitable and likeable person that could get the three of them to warm up to you quickly.

♡ In the end, I picked Nihongou for a few reasons!

♡ Nihongou would be very interested in you after you start showing your different sides to your character besides the original shy and reserved part. At first Nihongou would just talk to you when spoken to. After he sees you more energetic and talkative, you caught his interest.

♡ Nihongou is someone who is kind and loves his alcohol. He would gladly drink with you, especially since you are such a social drinker and those are his favorite people to drink with. He is very similar to you in that regard! Nihongou isn’t a quiet man but he is someone who doesn’t get as loud and as enthusiastic as he does when he is drinking.

♡ The two of you would drink until dawn if the citadel would allow it. Laughter filling the room and the two not even remembering what the other just said to make them laugh this hard. It’s enjoyable that Nihongou finds that you are his favorite person to drink with.

♡ Nihongou is someone who would go out of his way to stick by people he cares about and be that strong shoulder for them. He can be sassy and teasing at times but he knows the time and place for that. If you are ever angry and need to yell, Nihongou is getting the booze and nodding along to listen to all your woes so you feel better.

♡ As kind as Nihongou is, he isn’t afraid of speaking his mind. If you are overreacting to the point of making the situation worse, he is going to tell you. He won’t hold any punches when laying down the truth. That being said, he wouldn’t do that just because you vented to him once. He knows that sometimes people just need to get it off their chest before their mind is clear and they can fix it themselves.

♡ By this point, he surely believes he has you figured out. You are shy and reserved at first but once alcohol comes in and you are more comfortable, you are excitable and loud.

♡ That is, until you keep showing more sides to yourself. When you show off your knowledge and show how you can take charge in command, he is stunned. How could such a happy go lucky person be so charismatic and intelligent?

♡ And then the next minute you are upset because you care so much about the world?

♡ Just... Wow. He is enamored. Each time he believes he has you all figured out, you keep surprising him. Which makes him just want to be around you more... something he has not felt in a long time... or if ever.

♡ Nihongou may be kind and sociable, but there is much more to him than that.

♡ He is rather pessimistic, to be frank. Appearing before you in the citadel, he thought to himself that you were just another master and a new one that didn’t know what they were doing yet. He would simple do his orders and not care for you since life is ever fleeting.

♡ He didn’t give you his whole respect from the start but wasn’t exactly rude about it either. Perhaps off hand comments about his pessimism with not thinking the citadel would last this long.

♡ As he gets to know you, he learns to respect you more and more. Realizing that he judged you way too fast before he even knew you as a person.

♡ He wants to continue to be by your side and learn about every little thing about you. The strengths and flaws.

♡ The day you debate with him over something will get under his skin slightly but also.. intrigue him. Never before had he fight with a master like that before and he realized that even when the two of you fight over something, he wants to keep coming back. He wants to see how far you will go and be there with you.

♡ Every hobby? He is there at least to try it once or just to make you happy.

♡ Any hobby that you have where he can show off to you, he will.

♡ He goes from a pessimistic guy that was just humoring your orders to someone to learns to respect you as a sage and learns to love everything about you. From only being there because he had to, to wanting to be there because he loved you.

Top Three Picks: Ookurikara, Fudou Yukimitsu, Nihongou

#Matchups #Touken Ranbu #Touken Danshi #Tourabu #Touken Ranbu Headcanons #Touken Ranbu Imagines #Touken Ranbu x Reader #TKRB #TKRB Headcanons #TKRB Imagines #TKRB x Reader #Nihongou #Nihongou x Reader

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anonthenullifier · 4 years

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Hiii!!! I just finished reading your Snapshots fic on ao3 and they're all amazing!!! I love how you write the family dynamics between the kids and wanda/vision, they're all vv sweet and I'm here for it!! Do u think tommy and billy ever did a parent trap kind of switch for some reason?

Thank you so much! 😁 This was a fun ask and I hope you enjoy!

***

The sizzle of butter in the skillet provides a lively accompaniment to Wanda’s aggravation about the morning’s latest headline - one claiming that Tony Stark was personally responsible for the matchmaking that brought Vision and his lovely, currently scarlet eyed, wife together. It’s a claim not without some merit, if not for Tony’s involvement in Ultron’s creation and then in Vision’s own birth, he never would have been alive to fall so deeply in love with Wanda; however, as with most claims involving Tony it is also inherently hyperbolic. Had the billionaire actually been involved in Vision’s romantic pursuits, there is a very high probability that Wanda would have run the other direction.

“And you know what else it said?”

Vision scoops the pancake batter carefully into the buttered skillet as he responds, “What?”

“That he’s the reason Billy and Tommy want to be Avengers.” The only reason Wanda’s tea does not spill over the edge as she gesticulates out her anger is because she has wrapped it in a sheen of red. “Him!”

Grandiose sense of self worth is a rather glaring fault in the Stark family, a symptom Vision thankfully bypassed, no doubt due to the humble yet confident influence of Dr. Cho. “It is an unfair and misleading statement,” this diffuses her ire enough for her to take a sip of tea, “all that truly matters,” momentarily he turns from the stove to wrap his fingers around her upper arms and stare intently into her eyes, “is that we continue encouraging our sons to be their best selves, even if our work is never publicly acknowledged.”

Finally her face softens, the disdain etched into the lines of her forehead smoothing out with the roll of her eyes, “Fine.” Vision lays a peck to her forehead before turning back to rescue the almost burnt pancakes, “but wouldn’t it be nice if someone praised us for once?”

“It would.”

“Morning mom, dad.”

“Good morning Bil…” Vision’s mouth stops mid-greeting, brain a bit frenzied at the mixed signals he is receiving. The voice that just greeted him registers as Billy and yet the boy in front of him is sporting Tommy’s signature snowy hair and athletic clothing. “Um…”

“Tommy,” Wanda’s acknowledgement of their son should clarify everything, yet he can sense an odd amusement in the way she says the name, “why don’t you sit down, your father’s almost done with breakfast.”

To further add to the confusion of the moment, Tommy merely flashes them a grin (no snarky comment nor demands for it to cook faster) and then slides into Billy’s seat at the table.

Wanda’s hand comes to rest on Vision’s back, her voice low and a bit giddy, “This is going to be entertaining.”

“What is?”

“Just wait…” No further information is provided other than a wink.

Vision attempts to shove his curiosity and need to ask for more clarity down, instead channeling all of his energy into the pancakes and not burning them. Success at this repression endeavor is fleeting, the moment he turns to put the plate on the table, he cannot help but ask a question. “Where is your brother?” A glance up confirms it is three minutes past their usual breakfast time. Billy, like Vision, believes in punctuality and that being five minutes early is on time and being on time is late. For him to be late by normative standards is concerning. “It is unlike him to be late.”

Tommy chokes on his orange juice, eyes a tad wild as he twists around to look at the clock. “Um, I’ll go-“

“Good morning everyone!” Billy waltzes in with a cheery grin, his overall presence gregarious and brash, neither a word typically associated with him. His unusual mood is highlighted all the more by the uncharacteristically sloppy way his sweater is buttoned. “I’m famished.” A sentiment rarely shared by Billy.

Vision is torn between staring at his sons and seeking out Wanda’s reaction to whatever is happening in their kitchen. “Tommy,” his brother's name is overly enunciated, and the question, “Why are you in my seat?” asked with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry,” Tommy apologizes quickly, a first for sure, and then slides over to his normal chair.

This is, for want of a better word, weird.

Wanda, somehow, is making everyday small talk with their sons but Vision doesn’t process what is said, too focused on studying his children and the bevy of possibilities for why they seem so off. The initial fear is that they are Skrulls or some other shape shifting creature, a possibility they have sadly lived through before, not with the boys but on a mission with the Avengers. A vitals and physiology scan disconfirms this hypothesis (thankfully), the two bodies across the table are his sons. Despite this Tommy is eating at a snail’s pace, knife and fork working with precise movements to portion out perfect sized bites while Billy is going fast and loose with his fork, each bite different from the last. It also seems like Billy’s hair is a slightly different shade than usual, a tinge of cinnamon in his typically chestnut hair. Perhaps they have wandered into the multiverse yet again, though Wanda is his Wanda, he is certain of that and she seems to be more amused than concerned. Which means there must be a logical explanation.

Vision decides perhaps listening to the conversation at the table will better aid him. “Are you ready for the big math test today?” This is directed at Tommy, a pre-algebra exam Vision has spent several nights helping him study for.

Contrary to the numerous breakdowns that informed Vision that his son was going to fail so why bother trying, this morning Tommy seems...optimistic. “Yeah, dad’s prepared me well,” and overtly gracious.

“And Billy,” Wanda nudges Vision’s foot as she talks, always a sign he needs to get out of his head and pay attention, “today’s the mile run in gym, right?”

“Yep,” Billy answers while shoving a pancake into his mouth, continuing to talk while he chews, “gonna beat my record for sure.” This comment, and the smarmy confidence behind it, sets a new hypothesis into motion.

Vision runs a second vitals scan, this time focusing on heart rate and brain waves. The results are surprising yet informative, but just to be sure, he recalibrates his sensors, scans again, and re-analyzes it, not wanting to make an erroneous conclusion if his sensors were off. The results match his last scan and the oddities suddenly make sense. Finally figured it out? He turns towards Wanda, her face set with impish victory typically reserved for when she bests him at training. A dip of his chin affirms her telepathic comment though his own mood is nowhere near as bubbly as hers because despite knowing the truth now, it does not actually alleviate any of his concern, in fact it breeds several other pathways of uncertainty. Follow my lead.

The devious undertone of his wife’s comment transforms into an innocent smile as she addresses their sons. “Well boys,” both of their sons look up, “since it’s such a big day, we should celebrate later.” A shared look occurs between Billy and Tommy, one that Vision can’t quite label appropriately, a mix of excitement, bafflement, and victory.

‘Billy’ prods for more, his fork tapping the plate at roughly 200 clinks per minute. “Like what?”

Wanda is so natural at uncovering their lies that Vision can only sit back in awe at the way she effortlessly teases out the truth, “I need to meet with Strange later today, so Billy you can come along and we can ask if he’s finally willing to start training you to be a sorcerer.”

The current Tommy stares mouth agape at the offer, while the current Billy seems unimpressed, “Oh, um yeah, that’d be cool.”

“And Tommy,” Wanda reaches out to grab Vision’s hand, a gesture that is blissfully common but is right now no doubt meant to really drive home the offer, “Your father was going to do some speed trials this afternoon, maybe he can call the school so you can leave a period early and join him.” Vision was not going to do this but he withholds that knowledge so he doesn’t hinder his wife’s plan.

Tommy and Billy turn towards each other, no verbal words exchanged but Vision can easily recognize one of their telepathic conversations—bodies tense, their faces fluttering through a range of emotions, and eyebrows moving in emphasis of whatever comments they’re making. They break and ‘Tommy’ addresses the offer, “Billy has gym in 8th period.”

“Which is why he and I are going to meet with Stephen after school.” Wanda takes a deliberately long sip of her tea to let the information really settle in.

Their tactics switch to the other offer.“Isn’t uh truancy a pretty big deal, you know, if I,” ‘Billy’ catches himself, “Tommy were to leave early.

Vision decides he should aid in some way, voice matter of fact as he responds, “I do believe Tommy has a free period at that time. Plus,” thankfully this next part is not a lie or else Vision would feel guilty saying it, “I have to attend the PTA meeting tonight so we cannot wait until school is out if we would like to get a full session of training in.”

Another deep, very animated mental conversation occurs across the table, one that leads to an exaggerated roll of his wife’s eyes. “What if…”

Wanda cuts off the next suggestion, clearly done with the game, “Just accept that you’ve been caught.”

The two faces across from them are polar opposite, one shining with defiance and the other defeat. With a sigh, Tommy’s white hair darkens into chestnut, the real Billy slouching deep into his chair. His brother is not amused, “Are you really breaking that easily?”

Vision checks the time, noting their bus will arrive in less than 10 minutes. “Boys,” there are several things he wants to say, from questioning Tommy’s brown hair to why they thought they’d get away with it, but he decides those can wait, “perhaps instead of our planned celebrations tonight, we have a discussion on the harms of deception.”

Tommy, the real one, executes a perfect Maximoff eye roll, never one to appreciate the life lesson evenings that correspond with poor behavior. “It was just a joke.”

“I do not find it humorous.” And Vision does not, a deep despair blossoming in his chest at what his sons have attempted and what it means for how their sons view them, whether they think they are not loved enough nor noticed enough to be recognized by their own parents. “You intended to utilize this...joke for personal gain.”

Wanda cuts in, hand coming to rest on Vision’s thigh with a light, reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you both change. The bus will be here soon. We’ll talk more tonight.” Muttered yes, mom s are lost in the scraping of their chairs against the wooden floor. “Tommy.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you dye your hair?”

“Yep,” Tommy runs his hand through his darkened locks, “the box called it chili chocolate.”

Wanda smirks, finding this far more endearing than Vision. “Just promise to use it responsibly.”

A not fully convincing salute goes along with Tommy’s, “Roger that,” and then he runs off in a blur.

“Wanda,” Vision waits until she looks at him, a bit unnerved that she does not seem to show any of the same concern for what just happened. “Are you not troubled at their flagrant disregard for honesty?”

Her eyebrows arch up, lips pursed the way they are whenever he has misassessed human nature and she needs to find a way to gently talk him through it. “It’s kind of a twin rite of passage.”

This is not forthcoming nor satisfying. “Did you and Pietro do this as well?”

“Once or twice.” His confusion must be evident, her lips curving up into a reminiscent mischief. “We weren’t good at it, especially once we were older. But you have to try.”

“Do you?”

A nod confirms the apparent necessity of such an experiment, though no further explanation is provided for Vision to comprehend why it is required. “You’ve never seen the Parent Trap, have you?”

“I have not.”

Scarlet energy entangles itself around the dishes at the table, floating them into the sink and away from their responsibility for now. “Come on,” Wanda stands and tugs on Vision’s hand, drawing him up out of his seat and then leading him into the living room. As she lightly pushes him to sit in the couch, a rush of feet, a banging door and a quick bye! marks the start of the school day, leaving them alone until this afternoon. “Want to watch a movie?”

“I suppose,” he wraps his arm around her shoulders after she sits next to him, pulling her closer and relishing the comfort of her head on his chest, “if it provides adequate research to understanding this cultural necessity of deceit, then yes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

Vision considers the comment a touch longer than needed, just enough for her to look up at him in anticipation, “if it means a day spent with you,” he kisses her deeply, mirroring the soft curve of her lips as he pulls away,”then it is still a yes.”

“Good.” The tv turns on and his education begins.

#Scarlet vision #wandavision #wanda jackson #vision #billy kaplan #tommy shepherd #the maximoffs #ask anon #replies #mine

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mikauzoran · 4 years

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Lila Fake-Dating/Emotional Blackmail Adrienette: Betting Against the House: Chapter Four

Read it on AO3: Betting Against the House: Chapter Four: The Worst Date Ever

“…So…” Lila finally spoke up on their short stroll to Assa Café just down the street from the school. “Nino’s going to fail Physics?” she carefully sounded him out, trying to determine if Nino’s excuse to pull Adrien aside held water.

Adrien made a thoughtful noise. “Maybe not fail outright, but he’s certainly not going to do well.” He cast her a sidelong glance and then pretended to come clean. “The Physics project isn’t actually what Nino and I talked about.”

Her grip on his arm tightened until it was almost painful. “Oh? Then what did you two talk about? Surely you’re not spreading slander about me.”

Adrien scoffed. “Lila, do you think I’d risk Marinette’s safety like that?”

It wasn’t a lie. He was simply leaving it up to her to decide what the truth was.

She seemed to come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t play around when it came to protecting Marinette because her hold on his arm started to loosen.

“Besides,” he sighed, “what would be the point of telling anyone? It’s not like they’d believe me. You’ve got the wool pulled too far down over their eyes.”

Lila hummed softly as she contemplated the merits of his statements.

“Nino’s planning a surprise for Alya,” Adrien volunteered to throw her off the scent. “He’s been consulting me because I’m a hopeless romantic and good at giving gifts and orchestrating surprises.”

“Is that so?” Lila chuckled, a sly grin beginning to form at the corners of her lips. “Prove it. I expect a romantic gift from you promptly.”

Adrien shrugged, pretending that it was of no consequence.

On the inside, he heaved an enormous sigh of relief because it appeared that he had outfoxed her and that she believed he hadn’t said anything to Nino about the blackmail.

“Anything for you, Ma Fleur,” he replied obediently.

They arrived at the café—small and intimate with counter service and only a few seats—a couple minutes later.

Lila did not look impressed as she glanced over the menu. “I guess I could get one of their detox juices. What do you usually get here?”

“Typically, I order the salmon or tofu bentou,” he informed, getting out his wallet. “Their ingredients are really fresh, and the chef is fantastic, so you can’t actually go wrong.”

“The lunchboxes do look good,” she granted reservedly, not wanting to appear too excited. “But rice has so many carbs.”

“So just eat the meat and the vegetables,” Adrien suggested with a shrug. “It’s not like you have to eat everything.”

She pursed her lips, debating. “Which is better: the miso pork or the teriyaki chicken?”

“I don’t know, actually,” he sheepishly admitted. “I’ve never had them. I’m a pescatarian.”

She stood there for almost twenty full seconds gawking at him. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I am,” he snorted lightly, not appreciating her dictating tone. “And I think I would be the best person to ask about my eating habits.”

“I’ve seen you eat chicken before,” she accused, acting like this was some kind of personal betrayal. “I saw you when your father invited me over to dine with you.”

“I’ll eat it if it’s put in front of me,” he confessed, “but, when I have any say about what I eat, I’m pescatarian, so I’ve never ordered the miso pork or the teriyaki chicken here.”

She blew out an indignant little huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.”

Adrien physically bit his tongue to hold in a snarky response.

“…I guess I’ll get the miso pork,” she eventually decided. “Evian to drink and a matcha tiramisu. It really did sound good when I heard you talking to Elise about it the other day.”

“Perfect. Sounds good.” He gave a nod of approval as he moved down the counter to the register to pay.

“I’m going to take a seat,” she apprised, turning in a way so that her hair whipped around behind her sharply.

Seating was extremely limited—a bench seat along the wall opposite the counter and a handful of tables with individual chairs on the other side—and the restaurant was very small, so Lila didn’t have far to go. She could hear Adrien exchanging pleasantries with the cashier, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying because they were holding their conversation in Japanese.

This irritated her for a reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, and it only got more intense as the cashier laughed and smiled at something Adrien had said.

Lila took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm as she watched Adrien finish at the counter and bring over their trays.

She hated his charm, his irresistibility, his boyish handsomeness, and the way he was so nice to everyone who wasn’t her.

Conversation was sparse as they consumed their food.

They’d never really talked in the years that they’d known one another. Adrien was civil and polite but didn’t make an effort to initiate chitchat, and Lila hadn’t bothered to get to know him either.

He was just a pretty face and a bleeding heart whom she was more than willing to use and step on in order to climb her way up. Besides, she was more than half certain that he hated her, despite his “moral high ground”, “patience of a saint” act. She had never seen the point in truly getting to know him. It wasn’t like he really cared about getting to know her, despite his pretended amicability.

“You’re acting awfully sullen,” she observed when five minutes passed without either saying anything to the other.

He shrugged.

He did that a lot, and it annoyed her. It was like he couldn’t be bothered to give her a proper answer. She didn’t like him dismissing her like that.

“You should smile,” she advised. “The point of this date is for you to make a show of how in love you are with me and how happy we are together. I’m dating you for the media exposure, so stop sulking and look like you’re excited to be with me or something.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled darkly. “It’s a little difficult to act cheerful when you’re upset.”

“What do you have to be upset about?” she challenged.

He eyed her with a dangerously bland look, cocking an eyebrow as if daring her to say it again. “You took something important from me, Lila,” he explained flatly. “My father is a little stingy with my schedule, so I had to plan tonight’s game night with my friends almost a month in advance, but, now, here I am wasting an evening with you. I was looking forward to game night, but you ruined that for me, so, yeah. I think most people would say I had something to be upset about.”

She gave a little snort and tossed her head. “Well, be upset later. Right now, you’re on the clock, so make a good show of being in love with me.”

He sighed, closing his eyes and taking a couple deep breaths to defuse his temper. When he opened them, he smiled brightly, looking for all the world like he was enjoying their outing. “Is this better?”

“Perfect.” She decreed, satisfied…until he reached across the table and stole a bite of her matcha tiramisu. “Hey! Thief! I didn’t say you could have any!” she squawked in protest.

He smirked at her around his spoon. “Sorry, Ma Fleur. I didn’t think you’d mind. I mean…don’t you love me enough to share?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Come on,” he teasingly whispered. “If I have to put on an act, so do you. No one’s going to believe I love someone who bosses me around and treats me like garbage. You have to at least pretend to be worthy of love; otherwise, everyone’s going to see through this sham.”

Her lip curled back into a scowl as she hissed, “I don’t know, Adrien. You seem to love your father, even though he treats you like dirt. Maybe people will just assume you’re a masochist.”

Adrien recoiled, the fake smile dropping clear off his face. He gazed at Lila with contempt but didn’t voice a response.

Her sneer phased into a discontented frown. “You’re going to have to do better at this fake dating thing in the future when we’re in public; otherwise, Marinette might find that there are some unfortunate rumors circulating about her.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “There are literally two or three other people in this restaurant right now, and they’re all around back. No one’s watching our shameful little display, and I did just fine all day at school. Back off, Lila.”

It was a gamble confronting her like that, but, for once, it payed off.

Lila shrugged and sat back in her seat, returning to her dessert disinterestedly. “You did do well at school today. …Make sure you keep up the good work, and maybe we won’t have a problem.”

Adrien nodded, scooping up some rice with his chopsticks and bringing it up to his mouth to keep himself busy so that he wouldn’t press her any further and accidentally push her over the edge.

Things were quiet again for a stretch, each of them lost in their own reverie.

Several minutes later, Lila spoke in a soft, defensive voice, asking out of seemingly nowhere, “What do you like about Marinette so much, anyway?”

Adrien looked up and blinked at her in surprise, unsure if she had actually said anything and whether he had heard her right.

She arched an eyebrow at him challengingly. “Well? What do you like about her?”

Normally, this would be the point where Adrien went off on a bullet-pointed lecture about how amazing and wonderful Marinette was, but, always wary of Lila, he reined in his kneejerk response and formulated a more reserved reply.

“Her selflessness, mostly,” he confessed, cautiously elaborating. “She’s kind, even when she doesn’t have to be, and she’s always willing to take on more work on top of her already overwhelming load in order to help a friend. She’s just a good person like that. She doesn’t do it to get anything out of it…she’s just good,” he finished with a shrug.

Lila snorted, casting her eyes back down at her tiramisu. “Figures you’d go for that goody-goody martyr act. You’re so gullible.”

“…May I ask what you hate about her so much?” Adrien inquired, attempting to foster a genuine conversation.

If he could figure out what made Lila tick, maybe he could come up with a way to gain the upper hand and declaw her. He knew from studying history that some people really were just evil, but he couldn’t help but think that there was some reason why Lila acted the way she did. If he could figure her out, maybe she wouldn’t turn out to be such a lost cause after all.

Lila tossed her head, heat rising on the back of her neck and staining the tips of her ears crimson. “What I hate most is that everyone loves her so much,” she spat with venom. “She doesn’t even have to try, and everybody loves her. She’s so obnoxious with her ‘holier than thou’ attitude. She acts like she’s better than me, but she’s not, and she doesn’t deserve everybody fawning over her all the time.”

Adrien nodded, taking a long sip of his houjicha.

She was jealous, no different than Chloé. The only difference was how Lila went about expressing her jealousy.

Chloé was just a brat and a bully. (He meant that in the nicest, most loving way possible because Chloé was like a sister to him, but that didn’t stop him from seeing her less attractive sides.)

Lila was insidious. She wasn’t outwardly vicious or vindictive like Chloé. Instead, she spun intricate plans like a spider lying in wait to capture unsuspecting victims in her web of silver-tongued lies.

“Have you ever considered that it’s okay for Marinette to get attention?” he tentatively suggested. “It’s not a zero-sum game. Just because people are paying attention to her, that doesn’t take anything away from you, does it?”

“Any time people are fussing over her, they’re not lavishing me with attention; therefore, I do lose out if people pay attention to her,” Lila argued hotly. “You can forget about any delusions you have of making us get along and be friends. She has things that I want, and I’m prepared and willing to take them from her. There are some things that aren’t shareable.”

Adrien’s brow slid into a soft frown. “Like what?”

“Like you,” she replied airily, not letting him see the weight she placed on or the importance of this acquisition. “For starters, anyway.”

“I see,” he replied neutrally, taking another sip of his tea.

What he wanted to say was, “You’ll never have me”.

“Well…have you ever considered that maybe people would like you, even if you were just yourself around them?” he tried from a different angle.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re gullible and naïve. I’m my true self around you, and you despise me, don’t you?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Despise is a little strong,” he hedged.

She laughed mockingly at that. “Please. I’m the bane of your existence.”

“That would be Papillon,” he corrected. “I don’t necessarily hate you, Lila. You make me really angry sometimes, and I want to wring your neck when you hurt my friends, but, most of the time, I don’t hate you,” he explained, trying to convince her.

She cocked an eyebrow at him in suspicion, not taking his word for it.

“Most of the time, you’re an annoyance, and I resent you for being a crappy person,” he summarized. “But I don’t hate you.”

She nodded slowly, analyzing his words. “…I see…. So…how do your personal experiences with me lead you to believe that others would still fawn over me if I dropped the act and stopped telling them what they wanted to hear?”

Adrien pursed his lips as he came up with nothing.

“Mmhm.” She kept nodding. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Well. Thanks for the suggestion, but I think I like things the way they are at present, so I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing. Seriously, thanks, though,” she replied, voice dripping with irony.

“Doesn’t it ever get to you, though?” he pressed, showing his hand a little. “Not being able to be authentically yourself and accepted as you are by anyone?”

She tipped her head to the side, taking a slow sip of her Evian water as she pondered the earnestness of his tone. “Not really. Why? Is this a personal problem you’re having?”

He pulled the shutters down over his emotions, carefully composing his face into a neutral expression.

Like hell he was going to get into the complexities of the lies he had to tell the people he loved in order to protect them and his secret identity with Lila. She didn’t get to know how it tore him apart sometimes not being able to share aspects of his life as Adrien with Ladybug and how he longed to confide in Nino or Marinette about life as Chat Noir.

“If it were, I wouldn’t be talking about it with you,” he informed levelly keeping the ire out of his voice.

A quirky smile slowly turned up the corners of her lips as she chuckled, “Then why did you think I’d open up and be all vulnerable with you when you asked me?”

He blinked, surprised by the question.

He found himself hard pressed to answer her.

“Because you’re such a nice, sweet guy that everyone spills their guts to you?” she snickered. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Adrien. I’m not a problem for you to fix, and I don’t need you to save me. I’m perfectly happy the way that I am.”

“Are you actually?” He really had to wonder. “How can you be? You don’t have any real friends…I mean…unless you count my father, and I don’t think he actually counts.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “I don’t need friends. Friends are for mushy, weak people like you. You band together to protect yourselves because you’re stronger that way, but I don’t need other people like that. I’m tough enough to make it on my own.”

Adrien thought she was way off the mark, but it was obvious that he wouldn’t be convincing her about the benefits of friends at this time, let alone anytime soon.

“…Have you ever had friends?” he asked while she was in a divulging mood.

Even though she’d said not to analyze her, he couldn’t help but be curious. He had to believe that if he could just figure her out, he could help her stop hurting others and herself.

She paused to think for a moment, little trenches burrowing their way across her forehead as she did so. “…Maybe when I was little,” she finally answered. “I remember there were some kids around my age where we were living at the time, and we played together. I don’t remember their names. My family never stayed in one place long enough for me to really get to know anyone, so there was never any point in making friends in the way that you mean. These past three years is the longest I’ve ever been in one country, let alone one city. It’s kind of weird being stuck with the same people for so long.”

“That must have been hard, not feeling like there was any point in getting attached to anyone because you knew it wouldn’t be permanent,” he responded thoughtfully.

She rolled her eyes, balled up her napkin, and tossed it at him. “Oh, stop. I don’t need or want your pity. Stop trying to find explanations for why I am the way I am,” she commanded wearily. “I’m not some tragic romance novel antihero with deep reasons for acting the way I do. There’s no trauma for you to uncover and heal in order to make me a ‘good’ person. You don’t get to play hero this time.”

He held up his hands in surrender, backing down.

He didn’t think she was telling the truth exactly, but she was very clear about her wishes for him to drop it.

“Okay. Sorry,” he bowed out demurely, scooping the napkin she had thrown up off the floor and depositing it onto his tray with his own rubbish.

She snorted softly, crossing her arms. “Real people aren’t so black and white,” she grumbled. “We’re all grey on the inside.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” he agreed halfheartedly, still thinking that maybe there was something he could do to get through to her and make her want to change for the better.

“Give up,” she groaned, seeing the gears in his head moving. “You’re such a goody-goody. Just like Marinette. I’d say you two deserved each other if I didn’t want you for myself.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, a faint smile coming back to his lips.

“This date is over,” she announced abruptly, sounding tired as she rose to her feet. “I didn’t come here for you to turn me into your next do-gooder project. I came here so that people would see me acting all lovey-dovey with Adrien Agreste. Since that’s not happening, you might as well take me home and go hang out with your loser friends like you wanted.”

Adrien hurriedly drained the rest of his tea and got together the rubbish to take over to the waste disposal bin.

“Sorry I’m such poor company,” he apologized, not bothering to put any feeling behind the words as he picked up her school bag to carry for her and held out his arm for her to take hold of.

“You’d better be,” she huffed, taking his arm and letting him escort her out of the restaurant to where his driver was waiting for them, parked on the street outside. “This is the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

“Have you been on many dates?” he wondered aloud without thinking.

“Plenty,” she retorted defensively. “Usually, the boys I date shower me with compliments and can’t take their eyes off of me the whole evening.”

“I must be defective,” he snickered, opening the car door for her. “Sorry. I promise I’ll do better at school tomorrow in front of our audience.”

“You’d better,” she grumbled, climbing in and crossing her arms sulkily.

Adrien made a show of walking Lila to her door and giving her a parting kiss on the cheek in case any paparazzi were watching. “See you tomorrow, Ma Fleur.”

“I’ll miss you, My Prince,” she giggled, delighting in his compliance.

He slumped in the seat as soon as he got back into the car, feeling like all of the energy had been sucked out of him. He looked up to find Victor, his bodyguard, sneaking glances at him in the rearview mirror, trying to assess whether he was okay.

“Rough day,” he sighed, summoning up a tired smile. “I’m actually supposed to be over at Marinette’s playing video games right now, though, so…you don’t think you could drive me over there, do you?”

Victor gave a grunt and turned the car in the direction of Tom and Sabine’s.

#Adrinette #Adrienette #Marichat #Lady Noir #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Lila Rossi #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Fake Dating #Emotional Blackmail #Lila Gets Exposed #Happy Ending #Mikau's Writings #Betting Against the House

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naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

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Day 14 - Fun & Games

The evening was already well advanced when Dean decided to turn off his computer and take a break from his essay. That last year at engineering degree was starting to give him a hard time and, frankly, he was looking forward to graduating and being hired somewhere. Hopefully, he would find a job in the same city and not have to look for another apartment.

It’s been 3 years since he shared a place with his best friend Castiel and things suited him perfectly like they were. Castiel had already been in the active life for two years, working as a heritage officer at the Kansas City Museum, but sharing the rent of their apartment was a relief for everyone. Moreover, they had now settled into a comfortable routine that gave rhythm to their lives in the most pleasant way. Most often, they would invite friends on Friday nights and spend an evening together over a beer. Saturday was reserved for a video game night where Castiel often ended up winning and bequeathing his dishes tour of the week to Dean. Sunday night was a mix of movies and popcorn while Tuesday was a board game night. On Wednesdays, finally, they always ordered from the Japanese caterer on the corner of the street and zapped between Netflix and YouTube until they were too tired to put away their plates and left them on the coffee table in the living room.

Dean stretched out at his desk before he got up. He quietly shut off his laptop and put down the glasses he used for work on top, massaging the back of his neck gently. When he turned off the light from his desk, his room was plunged into darkness and, as if to confirm the late hour, his belly began to grumble softly.

"Okay…" He sighed while putting a hand on his belly. It was time for him to return to the real world.

Outside, he heard Castiel moving a few pots and he smiled softly. He could always count on his friend to cook for them when he was too immersed in his own classes to care, and truly, Castiel was not such a bad cook as he claimed. Dean walked blindly to his door and opened it to a good smell of melted cheese. Growling with envy and a tenfold appetite, he approached the kitchen to find his roommate tidying up some kitchen utensils, the oven gently purring behind him. Dean leaned against the central island with a relaxed smile.

"What’s up, chief?" Dean asked, raising his voice in the hope of surprising Castiel.

The latter did not even jump, probably having heard him arrive without showing it. He put away the spatula he had in his hand before responding to Dean with a smile on his face.

"Four cheeses Mac’n’Cheese!" Castiel proudly announced, turning to him.

"Wow." Dean said, raising his eyebrows, truly surprised. "And what did I do to deserve one of my favorite comfort foods tonight?"

Castiel smiled even more and shrugged, returning to his storage. He took the time to rinse a knife before answering.

"You hardly left your room in the afternoon, I thought you might need a pick-me-up."

And it was as simple as that. It has now been 7 years since Dean and Castiel met, they had found each other at school and had not really left each other since. As a result, Castiel was obviously able to read Dean like an open book and the opposite was also true. They were confidants for each other, brothers almost, pillars on which to lean when everything went too fast around them. Dean and Castiel had actually painted the town red in high school before going to enter together into the terrifying life of a student or, for Castiel, an active worker. Above all, they had always been there for each other. Dean had been more than present during the divorce of Castiel’s parents and the ensuing family debacle, he had even taken his friend out of a very bad drug past for which Castiel would be forever grateful. Castiel, meanwhile, had supported Dean when Mary Winchester had lost her battle against a disease and John spent about most of his time at the bar, drowning his grief while his sons remained helpless at home. Dean no longer counted the number of times Castiel had welcomed him and Sam into his home simply to give them a break from everything else.

Such events bound destinies for a long time when they were lived like this. However, although Dean cherished his friendship with Castiel more than anything, he had to face reality about a year earlier. Dean was not particularly known for his long introspections, but he was obliged to admit after several months of living together that his friendship with Castiel had perhaps turned into a more concrete and disabling feeling in his situation.

Okay, maybe he had a thing for Castiel. A little bit. Okay, good time! He wasn’t even sure it was mutual, so he certainly wasn’t going to waste 7 years of friendship on a simple… feeling? For God’s sake, he had spent whole evenings struggling with this very question, thinking about it again and again until he got migraines, and he had finally come to the conclusion that if he did not have absolute confirmation of the reciprocity of his feelings, then he wouldn’t try anything. It may have been giving up without a fight, but whatever he had was too valuable to make decisions lightly. It was not even certain that Castiel liked men! Well, yes, perhaps, his friend qualified himself as"pansexual". What Dean always said to him was that it was just "being a fucking care bear, but more complicated, just to piss me off."

Anyway, after months of internal debate, Dean always found himself in the middle of that kitchen, with a best friend and roommate he loved a little more every day, but to which he had to continue pretending to maintain the ideal routine in which they had settled. Dean smiled tenderly at Castiel, who had now finished tidying up the kitchen and, realizing that he might have been staring at him for a little too long now, he sighed and went to the couch to choose their program.

They ate in a good mood in front of a horror film so lame that Dean was seized with a hysterical laugher in the middle and nearly choked on a macaroni. For dessert, Dean got up and came back with two ice creams — vanilla for him and a much more sophisticated taste for Castiel like wild mango or whatever — to finish their meal. Surprisingly, Dean was not particularly tired despite his long day of work and considering the energy that Castiel still had in front of the film, neither was his friend. When the credits began to scroll on the screen, Dean sighed.

"What time do you start tomorrow?" He asked in an innocent tone.

Castiel stretched out on the couch before falling back heavily into it.

"At 11:00, I’m closing." He said, grimacing. "But I won’t be spitting on some extra sleep, really."

Dean let out a contemplative "mmh" before turning to his friend.

"Does that mean you’re up for continuing the night a little longer? I’m starting late tomorrow too, and I admit that I’d like to enjoy the last few hours of the weekend without thinking about my damn essay." Dean pouted.

At these words, Castiel laughs softly and Dean already knew his answer by the expression of his face alone.

"What do you propose?" Castiel asked, raising a defiant eyebrow.

Dean took a short moment to think before his gaze landed on the drawer in which all their board games rested. Immediately, his brain set out to lead him towards an idea that would gradually stretch a malicious smile on his face. Of course, he had long established that he could not reveal his feelings to Castiel, but that did not mean that he could not take advantage of them here and there when the opportunity presented itself.

"A card game?" Dean suggested, turning an angelic face to Castiel again. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Castiel frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side, as was always the case when a situation confused him somehow.

"Uh… I can’t say I do, no. It always seemed rather complicated to me when I saw you playing that during parties." Castiel replied slowly, his blue and curious eyes fixed on Dean.

"It’s pretty simple once you understand the basics!" Dean assured, already bending over to open the drawer with his plan still in mind. "I can teach you if you want, it’ll save you from getting ripped off by Gabriel the next time we play."

As he hoped, these words seemed to unlock something in Castiel’s mind, for his friend straightened himself up with new interest before nodding.

"Okay, but only on one condition." He said, raising his eyebrows. "We don’t bet money. I already have to pay Charlie back because of our last night together."

Dean laughs softly at the mention of that stupid bet that Castiel had royally lost while he was reinstalling himself on the couch with the card game in hand.

"Okay, okay. That’s fine with me. But we still need to spice things up or poker is a lot less fun." He pretended to think for a moment under Castiel’s innocent gaze before resuming. "For lack of something better... we can consider a strip poker?"

As these words left his mouth, Dean felt his heart speed up in his chest. Of course, he had already seen Castiel half-naked many times before, and although he had always appreciated what he saw there, he had to admit that this context would be otherwise amusing. Nevertheless, Castiel remained forbidden and inexpressive so long before him that Dean quickly lost his smile.

"I mean, no… Of course not, I was joking. What-"

"Strip poker works for me." Castiel cut off.

His friend had answered so confidently that Dean was caught off guard for a moment before he could recover. Castiel agreed with his idea, really?

"But it’s quite uneven." Castiel replied, pouting. "You already know the rules, I’ll be naked in less than ten minutes."

That’s the idea, Dean thought. But as he still had compassion for Castiel, he looked around before he got up.

"Mix the cards, I’ll come back." He said to Castiel.

Quickly, he arrived in the kitchen and began searching in the cupboard just below the central island.

"Do we have any bottles left from Friday?" Dean asked as his eyes swept over the contents of the closet.

"I think Benny left a bottle of sherry, yes." Castiel replied from the living room.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherry, seriously… Did Benny think he was a modern-day pirate or something?

"It’s an insult to call Sherry alcohol when you’re under 40, but… fine." Dean said while grabbing the said bottle before heading out in search of tumblers.

"It’s more of a set of brandy-cut wines, actually, but you did you know that-"

"Cas." Dean sighed again as he returned to the salon with his findings.

He did not need to look in the direction of Castiel to know that he had rolled his eyes heavily. Dean reinstalled himself in the sofa and placed the sherry bottle and the tumblers on the coffee table. He began his explanation while serving the first cup.

"Well, the rules are simple. If you lose a turn in poker, you take off one piece of clothing and the last one naked wins." He grabbed another tumbler. "However... Since I am an extremely nice and magnanimous teacher, we will have three jokers each." Dean pointed to the liquor bottle. "Therefore, if you lose a match, you have the right to choose to drink a shot bottom up rather than take off clothes. We’ll have three jokers each for the whole night. Is that all right, Mr. Know-it-all?"

Castiel did not pay attention to the comment and watched Dean pour the last shot with special attention. He seemed to be much more focused than he wanted to appear until then, and Dean restrained a smile. Castiel had always been a competitor.

"If the three jokers are only usable for the whole evening, then three is not enough." Castiel protested. "I really don’t know anything about it! Allow us at least five? Please?" He added with a more than pronounced pleading expression that came straight to Dean’s heart.

He rolled his eyes before taking out four new cups.

"Yeah, yeah, if you want. Five jokers each then, but don’t expect that to save you from not exposing those gorgeous leopard panties that I gave you for Thanksgiving last year." Dean replied with a mocking smile.

Castiel pushed him with his foot from the other end of the couch and kept his mouth shut on the fact that he, at least, was not knowingly buying Scooby-Doo underwear. Nevertheless, he let go of the remark and straightened himself up on the couch as Dean began to deal the cards. Judging by the smile on Dean’s face, he was more than confident.

* * *

Turns out Castiel was either a damn good liar or he had a freaking knack for poker. Dean continued to bitch in his corner while he was already in his underwear and socks on the couch, his five empty sherry glasses on the coffee table while three on Castiel’s side were still full. Not to mention the fact that Castiel was still perfectly dressed and even sprawled out among the blankets in a casual attitude that only offended Dean more.

He himself was curled up and kept staring at his cards with a sullen expression, alcohol already making him spin his head to make matters worse.

"You’re sulking." Castiel unnecessarily remarked as he was knocking down other cards on their improvised playground.

"I’m not- Damn it, seriously!" Dean suddenly exclaimed in a raging gesture as Castiel won that round again." Dude, I don’t have any more clothes to take anything off!"

Castiel raised an almost cruel eyebrow.

"You still have your socks. Why didn’t you take them off first anyway?" He asked, tilting his head one more time to the side.

Dean simply groaned as an answer and placed his card game with ill-humor on the armrest of the couch. The truth was that he had always been a little chilly in their apartment, whatever the temperature indicated by the thermometer, but he preferred to stand naked in front of Castiel ten times than to admit it in person. Eventually, he began to pull on his left sock reluctantly before letting the poor piece of cloth fall to the ground. If he got sick because of that damn game he started himself, he’d never play poker again.

By attending to his friend’s obvious bad faith, Castiel had to restrain a smile. Eventually, poker was quite instinctive according to him and he even enjoyed playing it now.

"We do one last game before we go to sleep?" Castiel asked, putting the cards together and mixing them again.

Dean sighed loudly.

"What, so I can go back to my room barefoot and bare-bottomed?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel rolled his eyes and began dealing the cards in silence, ignoring Dean’s bad loser attitude and his naked and shivering body before him for a moment. He briefly thought about an alternative before biting his inner cheek with apprehension considering to the direction in which his thoughts were going. Maybe these two sherry cups finally got to his brain... Castiel had never held his liquor very well. However, he was the first to be surprised — and mortified — by the forbidden words that came out of his mouth:

"I have another idea. For the last match, I’ll give you an extra joker." Castiel began, feeling a knot in his stomach as to the turn the events would soon take.

"Mmh?" Dean replied with a questioning look, his curiosity obviously bringing him a new interest.

"If I beat you again on this game…" He handed Dean a few cards, face down. "You will have the right to refuse to take your clothes off. But in that case, you will have to trust me and let me… challenge you?

Dean raised an eyebrow before turning completely to Castiel, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He remained silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally grabbing the cards that Castiel handed him.

"… Will I regret it again?" Dean asked seriously.

Castiel swallowed. He had no good answer to this question. Was he himself certain of what he was doing? Not at all. But he needed Dean to play tonight, because right now, he felt brave.

"No." He lied.

Dean seemed to gauge him for a moment before finally nodding. Thus, another game engaged in a silence filled with concentration. Both of them knew there was a real stake in this game even though Dean was advancing blindly this time. No matter the outcome of the game, he already knew that he would choose Castiel’s challenge, just because he was a player and possessed a curiosity far too strong for his own good. Moreover, this redness that he had thought had subtly appeared on Castiel’s face when he had imposed his condition did not cease to come to torture his mind. He needed to know.

Of course, as if it had been bound to happen, Dean would put his cards down on the couch just to see his chances of winning be wiped out by Castiel a few seconds later. His shoulders dropped heavily, the adrenaline of the game diminishing to give way to defeat. He did not say a word, hardly surprised though, and looked up at Castiel who offered him a compassionate smile. Dean sighed and clasped his hands before him, shrugging.

"Okay Doc Holliday, you got me cowboy…" Dean pouted. "Okay… Joker. What should I do?"

Castiel suddenly seemed nervous in front of him, which did not help Dean relax. He frowned slightly, uncertain, while Castiel laid all the cards on the table.

"I.... I need you to close your eyes. It has to be a surprise or I.... Anyway. Close your eyes please." Castiel stuttered in front of him.

Dean watched him for a moment without saying anything before finally taking a discreet breath and closing his eyes. As soon as the living room disappeared around him, Castiel’s beautiful face faded behind his eyelids as he tried to ignore his crazy heart beating in his chest. The atmosphere had suddenly become special in their apartment, and this since Castiel had brought up the challenge. Dean’s instincts were yelling at him that this was the ultimate time to trust his friend, because something important was going to happen. He could not explain it more than that, he knew it, that’s all.

Dean remained as calm as possible as he tried to listen to what was going on around him. In the first place, only Castiel’s quick breathing made itself heard while Dean remained straight in his place, gently squeezing his hands against each other to control the nerves that he felt rising in him. After a few seconds, he heard movement in front of him and felt the couch rise a little, as if his friend had just changed position. Suddenly, he felt this same rapid breath close to his face and frowned gently, confused. When he could endure it no longer, Dean opened his mouth slightly to ask the question that he was dying to ask before his lips were covered by warm, wet others. Sweet and yet trembling.

Dean opened wide, astonished eyes, in shock as his heart missed another beat. Immediately, he fell upon Castiel’s face, gently close to his own, and swallowed a surprised exclamation which had gone up his throat. The kiss was not really one while Castiel quickly stepped back with nervousness to look into Dean’s eyes, their faces still close and frozen in the moment. Dean looked at Castiel who was looking back at him and everything was crumbling around them in a silence filled with electricity and unspoken confusion. Dean felt like dying and being reborn at the same time, silently in that body that suddenly seemed so narrow to him.

"You…?" Dean whispered, even if he never managed to finish his sentence.

Castiel feverishly licked his lower lip before shaking his head imperceptibly, the face so devastated by the fear of rejection at the moment that Dean felt like he had fallen into his worst nightmare. He could not bear such an expression on Castiel’s face, Cas who had kissed him, Cas who was afraid of his reaction, Cas who cared for him right now. Castiel who loved him.

In a surge of combativeness and surely relief, Dean filled the space between their mouths again and slipped one of his hands to the back of Castiel’s neck to keep him close, preventing him from escaping this time. Once the surprise has passed for Castiel, Dean could almost see his whole body lighten up and melt into their shared kiss. This simple contact seemed to open so many doors that they were too blind to see before that Dean almost had his head spinning. Did Cas have at least as much desire as he had for him the whole time? He tightened his grip around his roommate’s body, he needed to hold on to something so he wouldn’t fall right away.

But he fell anyway when Castiel gently pushed him onto the sofa so that he lay down under him. Later that night he fell again into this large bed in Castiel's room, his lips unable to leave the body of the other as if he desired to make every inch of him feel loved. He fell and fell and fell all night long, tumbling down into the most exquisite and liberating of the falls as a smile split their two faces in the frenzy of the moment. Dean kept falling, but he didn’t do it alone, clinging to the one thing he had never hoped for in recent years and that he could finally touch with his fingers now.

Finally, he was unable to remain angry with Castiel for having beaten him at poker, just as he was unable to detach himself from him that night. As the sun’s rays filtered through the closed shutters of Castiel’s room, Dean gently caressed his lover’s face in the hollow of the pillow with a new, fascinated tenderness. He barely waited until Castiel opened his eyes to steal another kiss before whispering against his lips.

"Hey… I have no fucking idea what happened to my remaining sock yesterday."

When Castiel let out a hoarse chuckle before drawing him closer to himself, Dean promised to do everything to hear this sound every morning now. They were going to need more games night from now on…

* * * @winchester-reload

Yep, I’m late haha, sorry! It took me a while to write this one but no worries, I’ll post day 15 and day 16 today too. I’m really proud of this OS, don’t hesitate to come and talk about it with me in the comments!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

#suptober20 #destiel fanfiction #alternative universe #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural

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fireinmoonshot · 4 years

Text

REBEL ONE SHOT / EPILOGUE | A FIELD OF FLOWERS | ARMITAGE HUX x READER

Summary: Three months after the end of Rebel, you and Armitage spend a blissful afternoon together in a field of flowers on a surprisingly sunny Arkanis day, bringing to light things you’ve been wondering about for months. Pairing: female!Reader x Armitage Hux Fandom: Star Wars Word Count: 2286 Warnings: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER SPOILERS, toothrotting fluff. A/N: SURPRISE! As a little gift for Star Wars Day – May the Fourth be with you all! – I piped out this little baby this afternoon. Basically, for those of you who read and loved Rebel a few months ago... here’s a sneaky sort of one shot, set three months after the final chapter! I had so much fun writing this and revisiting these two. I truly hope you enjoy it and that you’re all having a wonderful day celebrating Star Wars. May 4th is basically over here in Australia but I rewatched A New Hope this afternoon and my love for Star Wars is stronger than ever. I hope, in these crazy, rocky times, this little piece of writing will bring some sunlight to your days! (I also tagged those who I had in my taglist for the original parts, just on the chance some of you would want to read this since you wanted to be tagged for the original!! :))

READ THE ORIGINAL FIC – REBEL – BELOW!

Armitage is smiling. That’s the first thing you see as you round the bend and come upon a large field filled with white and yellow flowers. He kneels in the middle of it, the sun beaming down upon him and making his red hair look even brighter than usual. The rain had subsided for the morning and the flowers in the field that were usually weighed down with rain and surrounded by mud are thriving in the warmth the sun provides.

What really stands out, though, is the small village child running circles around him.

The boy’s mother stands beside you, a smile on her own face as she watches her son enjoying his time in the sun. Arkanis rarely ever had days without rain, and when it did, no one remained in their homes at all. You’d taken to going on a walk with her, a woman who’d become your friend over the last three months since you’d made Arkanis a kind of home, and Armitage had insisted he’d be okay to take care of her son while you walked.

She turns to you as she sees them playing. “I mean no offence when I say I doubted him before,” she speaks. “But he certainly seems to have proven himself. I’ve never seen Rhys so happy around a man who isn’t his father.”

You watch as the boy stops running in circles, clearly dizzy, but despite the dizziness, proceeds to leap right into Armitage’s arms. The force knocks Armitage, laughing, back into the flowers behind him.

While rare, and though you had heard his laughter before, it still ran through you with a beam of shock every time you witnessed it and every time you swore you fell a little bit more in love with him.

Leaving the First Order, taking your hand, had done him more good than either of you had imagined.

The boy’s mother looks back towards them. “Have you thought about children?”

Briefly, you scrunch up your nose. The cursed question, it seemed. You had, though. Both of you had had versions of that conversation, though they had ended at the exact same point every time, and you weren’t mad about it. Armitage was honestly terrified of becoming a father out of fear of unwittingly becoming like his own. He’d promised that if the time ever came, he would try his best not to be like his father, and he’d made sure you knew that. But then he’d admitted a worse fear – the fear that in some distant part of the universe, an inkling of the First Order remained. One that would, when your child grew up, reemerge. That it would do just what his First Order did. Take children from their parents and force them into being stormtroopers, or worse.

It had been hard for him to admit that fear, and you’d seen that as he said it. While you preferred not to think about possibilities like that, you understood his fear. And so you’d come to a simple conclusion: maybe. Maybe one day. But if that one day never came, that would be okay too. And both of you were entirely okay with that one day not being today or tomorrow or the next day.

Today, tomorrow and the next day were reserved for the both of you and you alone.

Still, the sight of Armitage playing with Rhys in the field thrills you immensely, and not just because of how lovely it is to see him with a child he clearly cares for, but also because of how happy it makes him.

He’d been filled with more happiness than you’d ever seen over the past few months on Arkanis, and you were grateful for that. You knew he’d lived a life with very little joy before he took your hand, and so he took extra pleasure in the little joys that seemed to follow him around like a not-so-pesky bug on Arkanis.

You shrug a shoulder and turn to your friend – Dina. “Not yet,” you admit, lying to her in your answer but knowing it’s for the best. Prying eyes still followed you around here on occasion and you didn’t need more on baby watch. It had only been three months, after all. Virtually no time had passed. “It’s still early days.”

She nods understandingly and doesn’t seem to want to say anything else on the matter, so slowly you break away from her and begin to walk towards Armitage and Rhys, still playing in the field. Rhys has moved to sit atop Armitage’s chest and is yelling about how he’s “taken down the big, scary monster” and you’re glad to see that childhood fun on a topic like that didn’t seem to bother Armitage.

He clutches at his chest. “No, no – he got me! Rhys got me! I’m–”

“No, the monster doesn’t know my name.” Rhys drops the act for a second to tell Armitage of this crucial fact before jumping straight back into his games.

You watch as Armitage blushes a shade of bright pink for just a second before continuing to join in with Rhys on his game. It’s only when Rhys eventually looks up and sees his mother wandering a few steps behind you that he pushes himself off of Armitage’s chest – rather forcefully – and begins sprinting towards her.

Armitage stays lying in the grass as you reach his side.

“Does the monster want to lay in the grass forever?” You ask, looking down at him.

His hair is messy, just like you’d seen it many times before. He’d given up on using hair gel months ago and you’d gotten used to the messy, floppy hair it was sometimes. You particularly enjoy how messy it would be after a nights sleep. He did not. And the beard he’d grown during his time on Ajan Kloss had gotten rather messy when he slept too. It was part of the reason he’d shaved it off, and while you miss it sometimes, a slight scruff still remains that makes him look not quite as clean cut as he had when you first met him.

Gone were the days of tight fitting, ironed First Order uniforms, and here were the days of slightly baggy t-shirts and trousers that weren’t as flattering as he would have liked them to be.

Not that you cared.

“Would the princess be mad if the monster did stay in the grass forever?”

“Not at all. But she would be lonely.”

You hold out a hand to him, and his smile returns as he takes it and accepts the help to stand. He brushes himself off as soon as he’s standing, removing some of the grass from the field from the back of his shirt before looking at you.

It’s quite impossible for him to stop smiling around you.

And he still hasn’t quite gotten used to being with you always.

He leans down to press a quick, chaste kiss to your lips before reaching down to take your hand again. With your spare one, you reach up quickly to brush a stray petal out of his hair before you walk over to Dina and Rhys. He’s talking excitedly about his afternoon with Armitage, and Dina is listening deeply.

“She asked me if we’d thought about children before, you know?” You mutter up to him before you get too close. “I think people are starting to get suspicious of us.”

Armitage raises his eyebrows. “People should, frankly, mind their own business.”

You nudge him gently. “People are just curious. They’re a tight knit community. There are kids all over this place. And we’re a new, young-ish couple that are without children. They probably think there’s something wrong with us.”

“Perhaps they should look closer to home.” He shakes his head.

He rarely ever thought about his own children. But only because it wasn’t something that was necessary to him right now. He had you, and he had the other children who lived around him that seemed to like him, strangely. He had been thinking of something else, of course… but you didn’t know about that.

He’d been thinking about it ever since you attended a wedding in Arkanis a month and a half ago. Wondering what his own would look like, if he were to have one. Wondering what you would look like in a dress like the bride at that one had worn. Wondering how he would look in a suit like the groom had worn. The thought had kept him up late at night more than he’d like to admit.

The both of you reach Dina and Rhys and she looks up at you.

“Rhys was just telling me what good fun you had,” she speaks directly to Armitage. “Thank you for taking care of him, love. If you’re up for it, next time we go for a walk, you might look after him again? Only if you’d like to, of course. No pressure here.” She looks at you and it doesn’t take you long to catch her double meaning.

No pressure here for you to have your own children when you can babysit mine.

Armitage, though, is thrilled. He smiles. “If Rhys will have me back, I’d be happy to.”

Both Rhys and Dina beam at that, and soon enough they’re off, wandering back down the hill and through the small woods towards the city centre.

You and Armitage hang back. From this field, you can see half of the city in the distance, but from the other side of it, you have a perfect view of the hills and ridges that cover the planet before the lake, not too far away from here. Armitage lets go of your hand just so he can wrap an arm around your back as you wander back towards the flowers, wanting to take advantage of the sun while it lasts.

Facing out towards the hills, you and Armitage happily settle back in the flowers. Armitage sits behind you, and you lean back into his chest, the warm sun beating down on you. For a few moments there is silence.

Then, Armitage speaks.

“What do you think we could do to deter those who wants us to have a child?”

You can’t look up at him, but you furrow your eyebrows in confusion anyway. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. No matter what we do, people will still wonder. Even though it’s only been a few months, they’ll still wonder,” you admit. “They know how serious we are about each other. Not much would deter them.”

Armitage huffs softly. “What about…” He hesitates. Never in his life had he ever been in a position to discuss something like this with anyone before, though he supposed that the likelihood of there being a good time to discuss it was slim. “No… never-mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“What about…” He hesitates again, and then sighs. “Would marriage deter them?”

You’re spinning around to face him half way through the word marriage, unable to keep the shock and surprise off of your face as you meet his eyes. “You– marriage?”

He nods nonchalantly. “Would it?”

”I– probably not, no. It’d spur them on even more, I think.”

Armitage screws up his nose and shakes his head, disappointed. “Oh.”

“What… what makes you ask that? What makes you think of it?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Ever since we attended that wedding I’ve wondered.”

“Wondered… what?”

He meets your eyes and smiles slightly. “What it would be like to marry you. It’s a luxury I never allowed myself to think of before. Marriage. One I never wanted to, one I never thought I would get a chance to even dream of. But I heard stories sometimes, heard people in the First Order, those who worked there, sometimes mentioning husbands or wives. I always allowed myself a luxury of curiosity, but not a curiosity about my own life. About my own possible wife.”

You try and look for the right words to say, but none that come to mind seem to be right. Instead, you lean up and kiss him softly and gently, letting your lips linger for a little longer than usual before you pull away.

Armitage’s eyes are sparkling as he looks at you after. “What was that for?”

“I think I’d like to call you my husband one day.”

His lips twitch. “We could do it, if you’d like.”

“People would be even more invested in us having children, though.”

“I’d get better at ignoring them.”

You’re unable to stop yourself from snorting in laughter at him. Sometimes he surprised you in his kindness and sincerity, and other times he was just like the Armitage you’d met on his ship months ago. Just as cold, just as unfeeling, but different – always with an undercurrent of warmth. This was one of those moments.

“You don’t think it’s too soon? To get married?”

He shook his head. “If there’s one thing I learnt after taking your hand and letting you save my life, it’s that life is not long enough to wait around for things you know you want.” He swiftly kisses you once more. “And I can guarantee I’d like to call you my wife even more than you want to call me your husband.”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t know… that’s a pretty heavy bet…”

“It’s one I’ll win,” he assures you happily.

He’d had the odds against him for much of his life. This time, the odds were in his hands, and he was going to do with them whatever he pleased. This time, that included marrying the love of his life.

–

TAG LIST: @agirlinherhead, @songforhema, @sleep-paralysis-demon @midgardian-witch @capcrayon @redsacrament @wlucyw @the-dream-catch3r @petalduck @hopesxxhigh @treblebeth @burritonee @acaprioglino @rebelspykim @iwritefanficnotprophecies @ahsfan23 @erys-targaryen @tazzclegane @ibikus @seafrost-fangirl @percivalgravs @chewle @j1224 @livy1391 @drowsebaby @lafy-taffy @sleepy-blossom @memys-art-stuff @pink-pirate @sophiasescape @whovianayesha @theserenityspace @rageofpatroclus @hanyasnape @pancakefancake @esperanzavelez @shoochi @iirelynn @we-all-are-strange @empressoftheundergroundsun @carisi-sonny @fredd-weasley @kxte-p @oneandahalfeggs @watercolour-sloth @thekeywordisbalance

#rebel #armitage hux #armitage hux x you #armitage hux x reader #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #general hux #general hux x reader

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galadrieljones · 4 years

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As You Were (Chapter 5)

Fandom: The Last of Us | Pairing: Joel x OC | Content: Fix-it | Rating: Mature

Masterpost

When Joel and Ellie take a wrong turn on their journey from Pittsburgh to Wyoming, they find themselves lost in, what feels like a time warp: a beautiful place with a dark and dangerous secret. While there, they meet Cici and Noah, a mother and son fighting tirelessly for survival, and who have recently endured a terrible tragedy on their family farm. Amidst their joint desire to find hope for the future, the two groups decide set out west together, changing the course of the story (as we know it), and the very course of their lives.

This is an AU, starting after the events of the Summer chapter in the first game, and extending into the timeline of the second game. Joel lives.

Chapter 5: Living Room Jam Session

"There are a million ways we should have died before today, and a million ways we can die before tomorrow. But we fight, for every second we get to spend with each other. Whether it's two minutes, or two days, we don't give that up. I don't wanna give that up."

That night, Cici went out to the circuit breaker next to the shed, and she switched on the electric fence. It worked after all.

“It’ll use up a lot of fuel,” she said to Joel. “But we can’t risk it.”

The farm was peaceful. Almost like nothing had ever happened. A couple cows had escaped, earlier that day. Joel had offered to help wrangle them, but Noah said don’t bother. “We can’t feed them anyway." He shrugged. He slaughtered a cow in the early evening. He showed Joel how to clean and butcher the meat, and how to salt and cure it for longer term use. They had steaks for dinner that night, prepared this time with a few potatoes, seasoned with dill from the garden, which was picked almost clean.

Joel was beginning to gather that their time on that farm was coming to a rapid conclusion. They couldn’t stay there, not much longer. If there were spores in the tributaries, that meant they could get into the water table, too. Cici and Noah knew this. They had been making four hour drives to the Fox River in Fon du Lac for several months now, bringing back water sourced from Green Bay. They said this was how they were able to trade for their fuel for the generators, from the Amish on the other side of the hill—making long drives to clean water. Even with the rain, they could no longer water their crops or sustain their livestock, and the Infected were becoming more of a threat every day. They had a lot of reserves, but it was only a matter of time before they ran out of food, or worse. Like Cici had said, him and Ellie showing up like they had, it was almost happenstance.

“I can get you your fuel tomorrow,” said Cici. They were still outside, leaning against a tree, looking at the circuit breaker. “You made good on your bargain. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel had got a big old cut on his forehead from the events down at the trench. She had patched it up for him with alcohol and gauze. Hadn’t made a fuss, just did it. “Cici, I know we ain’t known each other that long, but I ain’t leaving you and Noah here to deal with this all by yourselves.”

“You don’t owe us anything.”

“I know that,” said Joel. “And trust me, I been wrestling with it myself. But it don’t change anything.”

Cici straightened up off the tree and looked around. Her hair was down now, kind of tangly and windswept. Noah and Ellie were inside the house. “Noah said he told you about LaCrosse.”

Joel looked down at the grass as if to count the moonlit blades. “He didn’t go into a lot of detail,” he said. “But yes, he gave me the gist. Said your husband, he died in a fire. I’m sorry, Cici. I truly am.”

She just shrugged her shoulders. “We never got to find out, what’s been going on,” she said, blinking back tears. “We couldn’t stay, after it happened, and then we couldn’t go back.”

“Noah wants me to come with him,” said Joel. “Back. To LaCrosse. He asked me after dinner.”

“There’s no point,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do. Even if you find the source of the problem, the farm is too far gone to save.”

“I think it’s more about closure,” said Joel. “He didn’t say as much, but I get it. I told him I’d go. I hope I ain’t crossing any lines in doing so.”

She closed her eyes.

“Me and him are gonna head up tomorrow,” he went on. “I figure, the sooner the better. Shouldn’t take more than a couple days. I was gonna ask if you wanted to come with us, or if you'd be okay staying here, with Ellie. I don’t want to take her, because she’s just a kid, and she’s been through enough, and I don’t know what the hell we’re getting into up there, but I won’t leave her here alone.”

“It’s okay,” said Cici. She didn’t even try to argue. “I’ll stay. I don’t—I can’t go back there anyway.”

“Do y’all have anywhere to go?” said Joel. “I mean, aside from this farm? Noah mentioned family down in Moline. The I-80 runs right through there. I don’t know what we’ll find, but we could take you.”

Cici shook her head slowly, staring at the earth. “My sister-in-law was trying to get back there like six months ago. She said she’d come back for us, if it was all clear, but we never heard from her again.”

“I heard about some turf wars going on in the Quad Cities,” said Joel. “Just warning you. It was the kind of place too small for a QZ, but it was too big and too isolated to try and save. The military all but abandoned it. Now that was years ago. Things could have changed. Either way, it’s right on the Mississippi, so if your little problem extends into Illinois and Iowa, it probably ain’t gonna be pretty. But we can try.”

She took a deep breath, and she opened and closed her fists a couple times. She had little bones. She was small, but she wasn’t a weakling. “I wanna think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go inside,” she said, pulling herself together. She had this way of tucking her hair behind her ears. It was like hitting a reset button or something. Truth be told, he was a little confounded by Cici. Not in a bad way. He just found it very hard to predict her, despite her seeming steadfastness, as a woman. “Ellie and Noah are into the vinyls," she went on. "Who knows what they’ve got playing in there.”

“You guys got a ton of records,” said Joel as they headed back to the porch in the moonlit grass. “What is it with that? You just collectors or something?”

“My husband was,” she said. “William. He used to say that if the apocalypse ever came, at least we’d still be able to listen to music.”

“Well, he was right,” said Joel.

The seemed to comfort her. He saw her almost smile, out the corner of his eye.

“What’s this band called again?” said Ellie. She was sitting on her knees on the floor, in the middle of a big old pile of records. Noah was on the floor nearby, sifting through the pile one-by-one. It had been a long time since he’d really taken inventory, since before his dad died.

He picked up the vinyl, examined it front and back. “The Wallflowers.”

“The Wallflowers?” said Ellie. “Weird name, but I like it.”

“Do you know what a wallflower is?”

“Uh,” said Ellie, “like a flower that…grows out of the wall?”

Noah was amused. “It’s a metaphor. It’s like, somebody who stands on the sidelines. They don’t really get in on the action.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Ellie.

“The singer for this band is Bob Dylan’s son.”

“Neat,” said Ellie. “Who’s Bob Dylan again?”

Noah started going through a stack on his left, where he kept the sixties stuff. “This guy,” he said.

“Ah,” said Ellie. “The Blowing in the Wind guy. Very cool.”

“Did you guys ever listen to music in the QZ?”

“Yeah,” said Ellie, “but we didn’t have records. And everything I wanted, I had to steal or trade for with my ration cards. It was like, music or food sometimes. I had a walkman though, so I would just listen to tapes.”

“Do you still have it?”

“No,” said Ellie. “It broke like a thousand miles ago.”

“Bummer,” said Noah.

“Pretty much.”

They listened to the song. It was called “Josephine.” I know you’ve been sad. I know I’ve been bad. But if you’d let me, I’d make you ribbons from a paper bag.

“What do you think this song is about?” said Ellie.

Noah thought about it, looking up at the ceiling. “I think it’s like, the end of a relationship,” he said. “The guy messed up, but he doesn’t feel like he’s good enough for Josephine anyway. He’s apologizing, and he knows he can’t get her back, but he still loves her. That’s what I get from it, but it sounds dumb as hell when I say it out loud.”

Ellie examined the sleeve. It was just a whole bunch of yellow stars on a black background. “It’s not dumb,” she said. “It’s just really sad. Why doesn’t he think he’s good enough?”

“I don’t know,” said Noah. “Why does anyone think anything?”

Ellie thought this was kind of funny. “Good point.”

“Let’s try this one,” said Noah.

He took the Wallflowers record off the platter, put a new record on.

“What’s this?” said Ellie. “Lightning Bolt. Pearl Jam? I think I’ve actually heard of these guys.”

“This one’s got a story behind it. You want to hear?”

Ellie straightened right up. “Hell yeah.”

“Okay,” said Noah, looking down at the sleeve. It was like this big, red eye, full of white lightning bolt decals. “So apparently like, this album was supposed to be released a few weeks after the day the outbreak officially hit in 2013. It got pushed back like everything else, and then the stores all closed and it just like, never happened. My dad had really been looking forward to it, so like six weeks after shit went dark, him and some guys went to a Best Buy up in Madison and looted all these unreleased vinyls from the warehouse.”

“Holy shit,” said Ellie. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“I know. He said he had to get by military guys and everything.”

“Dude, your dad was a total badass,” said Ellie. “You should be proud.”

At first Noah got quiet. Ellie hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d never had a dad, or a mom, or anyone to be proud of like that. She just thought it was so unbelievably rad that he had a story like this to tell other people, about his dad. Eventually, Noah smiled. She smiled along with him. He said, “There’s one song on here I like a lot.”

“Play it,” she said. “As long as it’s not about people breaking up. Because that shit sucks.”

“It’s not,” said Noah.

He set down the needle, and together, they listened.

The song was slow and beautiful, thought Ellie, but it grew. Piano—crisp and clean and rushing as the river—gave way to a man’s voice and the guitar, big as a boat. She sat without talking. She tucked her hands in her lap and looked down at her wrists. She closed her eyes and tried hard to let the music overwhelm her. It was hard for Ellie to let things overwhelm her. She wore heavy armor. She would make a joke. She would roll her eyes.

But this was different than the other song, thought Ellie. It was sad, maybe sentimental, but it was a good kind of sentimental. All the missing crooked hearts, they may die, but in us they live on. I believe. I believe 'cause I can see. Our future days. Days of you and me. It was strong, and it seemed to be about trying. Like, trying to be better, through the eyes of someone else. Loving, and being loved, even when it’s hard. You have to try. It put her back in time, almost to another universe, but she hammered it away. She liked this song much better than the last song. She wished to live inside the music.

When it ended, she looked at Noah, who was looking at the ceiling again, leaning back on his hands and listening, with intent. The song had filled the house with a purifying energy and brought it down, made it simple. The bad things that had happened that day, they were clean.

“That one was awesome,” said Ellie.

“Are you okay?” said Noah. He seemed like he was half-joking, but sort of earnest. It was enough joking to make her smile, but not too earnest to freak her out.

“Oh,” said Ellie, looking down at her shoe laces. “I’m fine. I just—these songs sort of remind me of someone I once knew. In another life I guess.”

Noah waited what seemed like a long time before he spoke again. He was mulling it over, with his elbows now resting on his knees. Then he said, “I get that.”

They played the song again. Then, they couldn’t take it anymore. They took it off and put on some emo shit by a band called Coldplay. It was kind of terrible, they agreed, but they listened anyway, as it was like a dream.

A little while later, Joel and Cici came back inside. Joel held the door for her and once they were in the living room, raised his eyebrows and made fun of the Coldplay.

“You guys okay in here?” he said. “Sounds like you made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Oh, we’re great, Joel,” said Ellie. “You guys are seriously missing out on our jam session.”

“Ha,” said Cici.

Joel stretched and got real big, and then he leaned against the kitchen table. He seemed kind of faded, thought Ellie. He had that cut on his eye. He seemed very tired. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think I’m ready to head up. You wanna come Ellie, or you fixing to stay awake a while longer?”

Ellie got up and wiped her hands on her jeans. They’d gotten kind of dusty from handling all the vinyls. “I’ll come up,” she said. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I’ll have breakfast ready early,” said Cici.

“Sounds fine,” said Joel.

“See you guys in the morning,” said Noah. He glanced up at Ellie then, as if thankful for something.

When they got upstairs, Ellie went to look in the mirror on the bureau and she took down her ponytail. Her hair felt like a rat’s nest. She started to brush it out, aggressively.

“Where’d you get that hair brush?” said Joel, taking his shoes off.

“Cici let me borrow it,” she said.

“Right,” said Joel. He put his face in his hands then, scrubbed them down his cheeks. “Ellie—"

She stopped mid-brush, turned around. “Noah told me about LaCrosse,” she said. “I wanna come.”

Joel took a deep breath, as this had caught him by surprise. “Ellie, no.”

“Well what the fuck?” she said. She set down the brush on the bureau, hard. “Why the hell not?”

He just took to staring at her. She wasn’t actually that mad, he thought, she just seemed genuine in her confusion. “Because,” he said. “I got no idea what we’re walking into up there.”

“Oh, but you did in Pittsburgh, when you drove us straight into a fucking trap?”

“That is beside the point.”

“How, Joel?” said Ellie. “Noah is only four years older than me. I can hold my own.”

“Those are four critical years, Ellie,” said Joel. He was trying not to raise his voice. “And honestly, it don’t matter whether you can hold your own, because this thing going on in, it ain’t about you. It ain’t about me neither. You understand? It’s about Noah atoning with his dad’s death. He needs help, and he asked me, and I am providing that for him.”

“I can help,” said Ellie.

“I know you two get along,” said Joel. “But you're helping most by staying put.”

“What about Cici? She doesn’t wanna go?”

Joel waved her off, started rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No,” he said. “Cici’s made her peace. Or what’s left of it.”

“She doesn’t seem…at peace.”

“I didn’t say she was at peace. I just said she’s made her peace.” Ellie seemed to understand this, and now, he could tell she was just scared, of being left behind. “Look, Ellie,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t come. That’s the end of this conversation. But we’ll only be gone a couple nights. You got Cici with you. She might seem quiet, but I think she's pretty hardcore, and you two got the electric fence. Me and Noah, we’ll be okay.”

“I know,” said Ellie, like she was defending herself. She had flipped open her switch blade, was studying the tip. “I know.”

“We good then?” said Joel.

She hesitated, but then she closed up the knife and flopped back onto the bed. “Fine,” she said.

He was relieved.

“But then you better fucking bring something back for me.”

This surprised him. He gave her a look. “Bring something back?” he said. “Like a souvenir?”

“Yeah,” she said. “A souvenir.”

“A souvenir from LaCrosse?”

“You heard me.”

Joel tugged the covers back, was getting ready to crawl beneath. The day had become a heavy weight, all of it resting right on his eye lids. He was glad it was all okay. “All right,” he said, yawning. “I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good,” she said.

“Now get some goddam sleep.”

“Ay ay, cap’n.”

A few minutes went by. Joel was about ready to get under the covers for good when Ellie said, “I gotta pee.”

He looked at her. “Now?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Just—just be quick.”

“You think I wanna take my time peeing in that thing? Outhouses are like the one bad thing about this place. Other than the whole, contaminated-water part, I guess.”

Joel took a breath, told her he would leave his lamp on. “Just hurry, and turn the lamp down when you get back.”

“I will,” she said.

Ellie went pee in the outhouse and did her best not to make any sounds. When she got out, she didn't feel tired, so she went over and stood by the river like a detour. She did not plan on staying long. She just looked at it, right down into it, and then it blinked back at her like the little bitch it was, bubbling deceptively in the moonlight. She suddenly hated that something so innocent could also be so deadly, and so fucking sad. The night was cooling down but it was still humid. She switched open her knife and wiped the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand. She switched her knife closed again, then open again. She tried thinking about anything else, but that stupid Pearl Jam song had awakened something inside her.

“I haven’t seen you in…in I don’t know how long,” she said.

"Forty-five days?” said Riley. She was nervous. “Well, forty-six. Technically. Wanna know what I’ve been up to?”

The rain outside was like a drum. Ellie didn’t care. “All this time,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

Riley felt everything, but just like everybody else in the whole wide world, she couldn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said. And she took off the dog tag. “Here. Look.”

“God fucking dammit,” said Ellie. She was on her knees now, overcome by something, and she stabbed the knife into the river bank. “Stupid fucking bullshit. Fuck you.” She stabbed it again, and then she felt like a complete dumbass, put it away. She thought about crying but she stared back at the river instead. “Go away,” she said.

“Ellie?” said someone. It was Cici, she was calling out to her from the porch. It must have been too long. “Ellie, you okay?”

“Shit,” said Ellie. "I'm okay." She got up, frantic, and her knees were all wet from the river bank. “I'm okay. I'm coming."

"Just checking," said Cici.

When she got back up to their room, Joel was under the covers. The lamp was dim. He lie very still, on his side, facing the wall, and she stood watching him for a second to see if he'd roll over and scold her or something. But he seemed like he was sleeping, and she was relieved. She didn't know why she cared, but she did. So she turned down the lamp right away and tried to be as quiet as she could so as not to disturb him. She took off her shoes and set them down silently, one by one. Then she took her jeans off, too, hung them over the bedpost to dry. She only had the one pair. She got under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, trying to sink into the mattress, forcing her brain to shut the fuck up. Please. For once, just shut the fuck up. But then,

“'Night, Ellie,” said Joel. He had not moved, by the dim light of the moon coming through the window.

She was near on startled. His voice was really deep and it always filled the room no matter how quiet. “Oh, shit,” she said. “Sorry, Joel."

"That's okay," he said.

"‘Night, Joel.”

Days of you and me.

***

On the record player: “Josephine” by The Wallflowers, “Future Days” by Pearl Jam, “The Scientist” by Coldplay

#the last of us #tlou #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #joel tlou #ellie tlou #as you were #cw: animal death mention

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title: Delicate Cycle

Author: @cellophanerose

For: @akito666us

Rating/Warnings: G/No warnings apply!

Prompt: Hinata helps Komaeda to recover from PTSD

Author’s notes: Hello! It’s my first time writing fic, but I still hope you enjoy! It’s more of “Hinata helps Komaeda recover” in general - I hope that’s ok! Thanks for reading!

Hinata had already known that his past was indelible, even if he couldn’t remember it. This was something that class 77-B all had in common – their lives in despair seemed like a hazy memory of a story someone once told, not the painful truth of how responsible they all were for the effective end of the world. Ironically, most of the class more clearly remembered what had happened in the simulation, even though only the “survivors” left with their memories completely intact. Still, it wasn’t something easily brought up – asking a murder victim if they remembered how they died, or the blackened if they could still feel the phantom pains from their executions. Because that was the thing – although no physical harm was carried over, the mental scars cut deeper than any murder weapon.

Despite all their attempts to move forward and forgive each other, Koizumi still flinched when she ran into Pekoyama alone, and Sainoji surreptitiously rubbed her throat when she thought no one was looking. Hanamura froze up when his batter splashed onto him, and Tanaka clutched his fists hard enough to draw blood when loud stampeding sounded. Truly, even a fictional past was inescapable, but they all silently agreed that this would be their penance.

However, Hinata noted, Komaeda remained virtually unaffected. No panic attacks when walking by the warehouse, no nervous sweating at the sight of ropes or fire, not even the spears they used for fishing or bright red containers..

“It was something I did to myself, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda once tried to explain. “I knew exactly what to expect and prepared myself for that. Besides, I’ve been in plenty of other terrible accidents and trauma-inducing situations!” Komaeda tried laughing it off, but Hinata still felt he wasn’t getting the whole truth. But, since he had nothing to go on save for a gut feeling, Hinata decided to let it go for now. Plenty of his classmates vocally asked for his guidance, so he wasn’t going to pull teeth trying to get Komaeda to reach out for help. He wouldn’t even worry about it! At all!

Or so Hinata had told himself. Until, one night, his mind was screaming at him that he wasn’t doing enough – that he would never be enough – that offering his entire being to the sacrificial altar of Hope’s Peak Academy for a chance to mean something still wasn’t enough – kept him awake. (Between visions of a talentless reserve, a bored god, and a dead digital girl, he hardly ever slept through the night, but none of his friends needed to know this.) Tonight, however, instead of futilely chasing sleep that was never coming for him, Hinata slipped his sneakers on and stepped outside. He figured he could do some preliminary work for the day ahead, namely making rounds and noting any malfunctioning equipment or depleted supplies, but truthfully he just felt the need to move.

Hinata left his cottage and headed towards the communal washing machines when he noticed the light was already on. Not an odd thing, per se – several of his peers also had trouble sleeping, but the quiet music did pique his curiosity. It was definitely a familiar song, but he didn’t connect the dots until he opened the door and found Komaeda kneeling on the ground, looking like a marionette whose strings had been cut. It was then it all came together in Hinata’s mind – the heat from the fire, the smoke causing his eyes to tear, the pounding of feet and the shattering of bottles, and finally the sprinklers turning on, leaving only the overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety for reasons he was too afraid to confront. So many sensations had led up to that point, but when they pulled back the curtain, all Hinata could remember was ((despair)). The smell of blood, the look of terror permanently affixed to his face, the spear grotesquely impaling his stomach, every nauseating detail came giftwrapped in a single thought, a single moment, a single truth – Komaeda was dead.

Hinata snapped back into the present.

Komaeda was alive, and he needed Hinata’s help. Hinata instinctually dashed to the radio and slammed the power button, then immediately pivoted and fell onto the floor beside Komaeda. Komaeda’s usually crisp and clear eyes were faded and swirling with a slight darkness, and his façade was distressingly blank.

“Komaeda,” Hinata was shaking, but he still placed both of his hands on Komaeda’s shoulders in an effort to ground him. His grip tightened when he received no answer.

“Komaeda!” he raised his voice, panic bubbling inside him, “It’s okay! I’m here with you.” He couldn’t eloquently string words of comfort together, but he tried his best. “You’re safe, you aren’t alone, you’re going to be fine, just please listen to me!” Komaeda offered no reassurance that the words were reaching him and continued staring blankly through Hinata, to a place only he could see.

Hinata’s hands were still trembling when he wrapped his arms around Komaeda. They had never been physically intimate like this, but at that moment, Hinata needed to feel Komaeda’s warmth just as much as Komaeda needed Hinata. “I’m here,” Hinata mumbled, surprising himself when the words, “I’ll always be here,” slipped out. The most shocking part, Hinata found, was that he wanted it to be true.

Hinata had lost many of his friends during the killing game, and he cared about each one of them, but he would be lying if he said Komaeda’s death didn’t leave an especially strong impact on him. Even after it was revealed that Komaeda had orchestrated his own death, Hinata felt a sadness and regret that he didn’t want to name at the time. Nanami paid the ultimate price for Komaeda’s actions when she didn’t get the choice, so it was easy to bury those earlier feelings under anger and frustration. After everything had settled, and Hinata was reunited with their digital classmate in a moment of great distress, he couldn’t ignore those buried feelings.

Hinata didn’t want Komaeda to be alone. Luck had constantly torn those who cared about Komaeda away from him, leaving him with no one who loved him. Komaeda had told Hinata once that he was afraid of dying alone, and though Hinata at the time fell for Komaeda’s lie of “it was something I read in a book!” it wasn’t because Hinata truly believed it, but rather because it was easier to do so. Komaeda had given him an out in the form of a flimsy lie, and Hinata had taken it. Of course Komaeda was afraid of dying alone – after spending as much time as he had with Komaeda, it was an obvious conclusion for Hinata to reach. And yet, Komaeda manufactured a situation where he would not only die alone, but also in such a horrific manner. He chose to die alone, and that was something Hinata could never accept.

So when Komaeda finally raised his arms to return Hinata’s embrace, Hinata felt such a wave of relief and calm that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.

When Komaeda came to, he admonished himself for being so weak, and started brainstorming ways to explain his reaction away. Telling Hinata he wasn’t having problems with his death, and yet here he was, putting on such an unsightly display. …Actually, what was Hinata doing here in the first place? Embracing Komaeda, of all people? Maybe it had something to do with why Hinata was shaking, he thought. He might as well venture a guess (and buy himself some more time in the process.)

“Hinata-kun, why are you shaking so much? Are you getting sick, maybe?” The question was asked in earnest, but Hinata reacted with anger.

“Don’t make light of this! Do you really think I would be so heartless as to not react?” Hinata was still trembling, but he let his arms fall from Komaeda and balled his hands into fists. Komaeda felt a flash of disappointment before curiosity returned. Maybe he was thinking of this the wrong way?

“…Are you angry with me, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda felt a little silly trying to have a conversation while kneeling on the floor, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Is it really that hard for you to imagine that I was worried about you, Komaeda? That I feel things other than anger and boredom?” Hinata stood up, and Komaeda quickly followed. Hinata looked directly into Komaeda’s eyes, but whatever he was searching for, he must not have been able to find. “…Sorry,” Hinata continued, “this isn’t… I just was scared, all right? Hearing that music, and seeing you like that, I… Actually, it doesn’t matter.” Komaeda was ready to refute that ‘No, it actually matters a great deal,’ but Hinata still continued.

“Are you ok, Komaeda? Does that happen often?” Hinata looked painfully earnest, so Komaeda held back his self-deprecating comments for now.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Hinata-kun, but I’m all right. That song simply caught me off-guard. Up until today, I had completely forgotten it was part of my plan. Only somebody totally useless like me would let such an insignificant thing shut them down!” Komaeda hoped Hinata would let his ‘useless’ slide for now. Hinata sighed and placed his hand on Komaeda’s shoulder.

“It’s ok to not be all right, you know? I know you don’t think you’re worth it, but we’re all here to support each other. You went through something terrible. And don’t say it doesn’t count ‘cause you did it to yourself! You wouldn’t be collapsed in front of a washing machine at 3 AM if you weren’t hurting. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but even if that pain isn’t on the surface, I want to remove it from you.” Hinata held Komaeda’s robotic hand with both of his own. “I won’t let you get lost in despair again.”

Komaeda was deeply shaken by those words, and even if he wanted so badly to believe them, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. He ached to open up, to lay everything out to Hinata that he couldn’t even tell himself, but he knew he wasn’t brave enough to do so. Instead, he fell back into his failsafe: being contentious.

“Haha…Tell me, Hinata-kun, what makes you think you have the power to do such a thing? What could a failure of a reserve course guinea pig do to help someone like me?” He was on a dangerous line, he knew - already he had slipped up and admitted that he needed help. But the faster he hurt Hinata and pushed him far enough away, the better. “I never asked for your pity.”

The words stung both of them, Komaeda realized. He was so used to pushing away people he cared about, but hurting Hinata felt especially vile. However, Hinata surprised him by doing the exact opposite of what he’d planned - instead of getting angry and storming off, he agreed.

“I guess I am pretty useless,” Hinata started. “I’ve always known I was a failure, and you’ve never hidden your contempt for that part of me. But I won’t let that stop me. Because I know you, and I know you want this,” Hinata laced his fingers with Komaeda’s, “And so do I. You can’t push me away this time, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s heart was pounding so loudly that he was afraid the roof would collapse from the sound. He looked up into Hinata’s eyes and saw all stubborn determination and kindness and hope. Komaeda’s lips trembled.

How long had he wanted this? Someone to talk to him, someone to comfort him? Someone to take his hand and make silly, irresponsible promises?

“…I guess if you’re going to be that stubborn, I won’t be able to stop you,” Komaeda tried saying nonchalantly, but a genuine smile was sneaking its way onto his face. He still couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it, but looking at Hinata’s expression, he couldn’t not believe it either. Hinata relaxed in understanding of Komaeda’s thinly veiled acceptance. He squeezed Komaeda’s hand once more before letting it drop. Suddenly, it was like the force that was keeping Hinata steady had vanished and his visage changed to one of pure exhaustion. He swayed towards Komaeda, who held him upright.

“Hey, Hinata-kun? Have you been sleeping poorly lately, perhaps?” He paused for a second before deciding to take it a step further. “I’ve also had problems sleeping recently. Do you want to talk about it?” Hinata looked like he wanted to object, but realized the hypocrisy of such and decided to answer honestly.

“A little bit. Nightmares, y’know? Sometimes I can’t get my brain to shut off,” Hinata admitted. “ A lot of the times I can’t remember if what I see in my dreams is real or not.” Komaeda had a hunch on what Hinata was referring to, but didn’t interrupt. “…Sometimes, I dream about you.” Komaeda jolted to attention.

“Ah, my features are quite haunting, I suppose-” before Komaeda could spit any more vitriol, Hinata cut him off.

“About your death,” Hinata clarified. Komaeda’s vision briefly flashed to visions of fire and blood and pain, but a quick squeeze of Hinata’s arm brought him back to reality. Well, that was surprising. Komeada chalked it up to sleep deprivation that Hinata was admitting this, because the thought that he wanted Komaeda to know how much it affected him was too much to handle.

“…Do you want to tell me?” Komaeda didn’t know how far he could push his boundaries.

“No- I mean - yes, but… I do want to talk with you eventually, but I’m not sure if I have enough energy for it right now.” Was his death truly something that haunted Hinata to such a point? Komaeda had no reason to believe he was lying, but still…

“Let’s try getting some sleep, then,” Komaeda suggested instead. “We can always talk more at a later time!” Komaeda gave Hinata a tired, but bright, smile. He was elated when Hinata returned one in kind.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hinata grinned. Hinata was so bright, like a beacon of hope for Komaeda, but he was still so human and flawed. He had felt a kinship with Hinata from the very first time they met, but through all the trials and tribulations they went through, Komaeda had found himself drawn to something more than a feeling of similarity. He listened to Komaeda’s ramblings, and while he didn’t always agree, he always engaged. It felt like someone was finally seeing him, and that prickly kindness Hinata offered was ‘hope’ in his eyes.

Yes, to say Hinata was Komaeda’s hope wasn’t an exaggeration. Every version of Hinata was dear to him, and the man standing before him despite all odds was the man he grew to love.

Hinata was dizzy with exhaustion and giddiness (at being heard, at finally reaching out and being honest with Komaeda, at Komaeda reaching back) that when Komaeda gave a small wave and turned to leave, he called out to him.

“Komaeda!” Maybe Hinata didn’t want this bubble to pop because he was afraid that, even after tonight, nothing would change, or maybe he could blame sleep deprivation. But when Komaeda turned around in response and Hinata pulled him into a hug and whispered, “thanks,” Hinata realized there wasn’t a reason - he just wanted to hold Komaeda. Hinata was treated to the sight of a slightly red-faced Komaeda, awkwardly deciding how to react.

“Nnnh…No problem?” Komaeda asked, clearly looking for an explanation from Hinata. However, when Hinata dropped his arms and walked away, he left Komaeda with nothing but a ‘good night.’ If Hinata’s ears were burning by the time he got back to his cabin, Komaeda didn’t need to know.

That night, he dreamt of soft touches and interlocking fingers, of white hair and pale eyes.

Hinata wasn’t naive enough to believe that this was the end of nightmares or breakdowns for either of them, but when Komaeda invited him to stargaze and air some more things out before they fell asleep, he had hope that both of them were healing. Even when Komaeda’s luck inevitably brought a storm that covered the stars and drenched them both to the bone, Hinata had never felt as calm as he did when Komaeda dozed off while leaning his head against his shoulder. He spent a long time listening to the soft sound of Komaeda’s breathing and feeling the slight movements beside him before following Komaeda into sleep.

While it was still true that they couldn’t erase their pasts, they can still move towards a brighter future together.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 4 years

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book blogging #1: Dr. Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation

by Olivia Judson, published 2002

Question: what do you think of when you think of books that are “fun” to read?

For me, a lot of speculative fiction comes to mind. Recent books that I found fun include Space Opera (Catherynne M. Valente), The Beautiful Ones (Silvia Moreno-Garcia), and everything by Sarah Gailey that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Though I haven’t gotten ahold of it yet, I’m pretty sure Gideon the Ninth (Tamsyn Muir) is going to be spectacularly fun as well.

These are books that aren’t necessarily my favorite stories of all time, but they have been some of my favorites to read. They’re all propelled by zany premises and whirlwind plots, enjoying themselves way too much for anyone to ever stop and worry about the parts that don’t make that much sense. When Sarah Gailey says “I have a crew committing a heist while riding hippopotamuses, do you want in?” I don’t ask questions. I just say yes and go along for the ride.

But there’s one major anomaly that always comes to mind when I think of books that I’ve had fun reading, and that’s David Sax’s The Tastemakers: Why We’re Crazy for Cupcakes but Fed Up with Fondue. It’s a 2014 work of nonfiction, and as the title suggests it’s an analysis of popular food trends and the forces that power them. The Tastemakers isn’t what this blog post is actually supposed to be about, so I won’t go into too many details, but suffice to say that I was engrossed despite the fact that I know pretty much nothing about the world of culinary trends or foodie fads - or cooking in general, if I’m being totally honest. But there’s something really delightful about learning things that are entirely outside your wheelhouse without having to worry about the material showing up on a test later.

Given that I’m posting this on a blog with relatively few followers and that this is a write-up of a very niche book that was published eighteen years ago and could not be further from trendy, I’m well aware that anyone reading this is probably already at least passing familiar with me and what I do, so you folks might be saying, “Hang on, Makenzie. Are you seriously trying to say that this is outside your wheelhouse? The title on your Tumblr has been “Ask The Sex Witch” since 2015. You’re a whole sex educator, for fuck’s sake!”

Well, yes and no. Judson is a real-deal evolutionary biologist and gets into some pretty serious science in this book, which is pretty wildly different from what I usually do. I talk to people about sorting out their likes and dislikes, their boundaries, their sense of personal sexual autonomy, and so on. Although I definitely advocate for introspection and self-examination, I rarely go looking for answers far beyond the individual level. Judson asks big biological questions to figure out how some truly peculiar-looking behavior evolves: Why is it worthwhile for some animals to fight to the death trying to fuck? What’s up with some species of insects eating their mates? And who, pray tell, is engaging in the noble art of penis-fencing? Clearly, this is a totally different ball game on many levels.

(Speaking of ball games, did you know that the male shiner perch’s testes completely shrivel up over the winter? That’s rough, buddy.)

Offering sex advice to humans is hard enough, but Judson - writing as chipper sex advice columnist Dr. Tatiana - easily offers education to an impressively vast variety of species. The framing device of the book is a charmingly weird one. Each segment opening Dear Prudence-style, with a short letter from an animal badly in need of advice. The first chapter, for instance, begins with a query written by a stick bug called Twiggy (aww) wondering how to get her boyfriend to stop having sex with her after ten continuous weeks of intercourse. (Answer: Girl, he’s not gonna. Apparently that’s how he stops any other stick bugs from getting it in.) For the final chapter Judson mixes it up by formatting a discussion about the pros and cons of asexual reproduction as a hectic daytime talk show, complete with microscopes to view the tiniest guests and seating that offers both saltwater and freshwater tanks for aquatic audience members to sit in, like something out of Zootopia.

(I haven’t seen Zootopia and the only thing I know about it for sure is that in one scene there’s a DILF-looking tiger, but I’m pretty confident in the assumption I’m making here.)

Judson does an admirable job of providing pretty comprehensible explanations for a lot of evolutionary science, and while I did have to power skim through a few segments that were really beyond my grasp, it did make a pretty lively read out of the biological pros and cons of producing sperm bigger than your own body. It’s not exactly a book that’s difficult to put down, but I had a perfectly pleasant time reading it in the moments between doing anything else - eating a meal, resting in bed, getting some sun in my backyard - and even learning a little while I did so. I fully intended to use Dr. Tatiana as a break between the two installments of N.K. Jemisin’s Dreamblood duology, and it has served that role magnificently.

Am I recommending this book to you? Not exactly, unless you’re extremely interested in evolutionary theories that are nearly two decades old or a science fiction writer looking to give your non-human characters some thoroughly non-human sexual habits. I’m not supremely interested in making recommendations with the blog in general, unless someone specifically asks for them; I’m hoping this will be more like writing up my personal thoughts about books and then hurling them into the virtual void like messages in bottles. If they wash up on your shore and you read them and come to the conclusion that this is something you, too, would like to read, that’s pretty rad. I love that for you! But it wasn’t necessarily my intent.

Strictly speaking, I didn’t even recommend this book to myself. In 2019 I tried to stay pretty intentional about my to-read list, really whittling it down to stuff that I actively wanted to engage with rather than anything that sounded vaguely not awful. I was hoping to keep that trend up in 2020, but like many other things that are much more serious, this whole pandemic situation has scuppered those plans a bit. I get most of my books by borrowing them from the public library where I work, and that’s been closed for nearly two months. Unlike many book bloggers I’ve observed I don’t keep a massive stack of unread books around at all times, so I’ve really been relying on the kindness of friends to keep me supplied in these trying times.

My friend Paige slipped me Dr. Tatiana’s (along with the aforementioned Dreamblood books and several volumes of Kurtis J. Weibe’s comic series Rat Queens) in exchange for some books I lent to her, because we all have to look out for each other in These Trying Times. I trusted her good taste, despite having no idea what the book was about and more than a few reservations.

At other times I think this book might have sailed right over my head - not to sneer at the so-called soft sciences, but there’s a reason I gave up on my childhood dream of marine biology and got a sociology degree instead - but right now, as I’m finally adjusting to the slower pace of life in quarantine and remembering how to focus, I’m finding that it fits my needs. It’s unlikely to live on as an all-time favorite, but it’s something to do and gives me an occasional excuse to gasp and tell my roommate something absolutely wild, like the fact that spiders have two penises and that the dual arachnodicks are located on their faces, on either side of their mouths.

My basic understanding of evolution is that change rarely happens based on logic or reason, but by finding something that works and then sticking to it, no matter how improbable it may seem. When male elephants get horny they apparently develop an insatiable bloodlust and piss so constantly their penises turn green (yikes!), which is definitely not the most practical way to do things, but evidently it’s been getting the job done. Getting through quarantine has been sort of like that, has it not? A lot of behavior that might not be the most intuitive but is somehow enabling ongoing survival, like occupying myself with books that I might not have given a second glance in the halcyon before times.

That’s totally the same thing, right?

Right.

A note about the appearance of this book:

I’ve been talking a fair amount lately about my dislike for what I see as pretty transparently romanticized materialism in a lot of book blogging spaces, with an emphasis placed on acquiring and showing off as many pristine books as possible. I don’t own this book, and it looks like ass. It looks like Paige stole it from a library in North Carolina, which would not be shocking. When I noticed the large brown stain in the corner I jokingly asked if she’d dropped it in coffee, and she unflinchingly confirmed that yes, she had.

#bookblr #in which makenzie is a book blogger until she forgets about it

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roxannarambles · 4 years

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Top 3 Favorites Of Fire Emblem 3 Houses

It’s time once again for Top Three! This time, for Fire Emblem: Three Houses, a game I’m rather late to playing but have finally gotten around to!

I’ve decided to divide it by houses and give my top three favorites from each of the playable characters from the three houses/four routes.

(Contains a few plot spoilers.)

Black Eagles

1.) Caspar

Caspar isn’t a perfect guy; he tends to have a disturbing tendency toward black-and-white thinking on morality, dividing the world into pure heroes and pure evil, and he doesn’t always stop to ponder the more intricate details of moral quandaries. Yet, despite that fact, in his heart he means well, and you cannot help but love him anyway. He’s enthusiastic and earnest, whole-hearted in what he does, and will fight fiercely to protect his friends. His voice actor is simply splendid and I think half of why I adore his character so much; the delivery is just perfect. The character will bring humor and energy to almost any situation, and both those elements are valuable standouts in a game with often heavy story themes.

2.) Petra

In a lot of ways, Petra is simply fulfilling a warrior princess archtype; a self-reliant huntress, proud, fierce, grateful to the blessings of mother nature, confidant, driven. With all that, it’s hard to find anything to dislike about her. She’s genuinely open and caring with everyone, despite the injustices against her country. She works very hard and carries the burden of an entire country on her shoulders with poise. She also makes for a powerful assassin unit.

3.) Linhardt

Linhardt is, to be perfectly honest, probably suffering from some pretty bad depression. His tendency to skip sleep some nights in favor of binge-studying, and then to sleep excessively and at all odd hours of the day, doesn’t read as “quirky” to me so much as a plain and very real symptom of depression (which can manifest in a number of ways, including insomnia and excessive sleep). His general attiude of apathy, again, seems a rather plain sign of depression. Considering the troubles of his past that he mentions he’s been trying to avoid confronting, this does make sense. While I don’t particularly enjoy Linhardt’s apathy and sleepiness, he’s actually quite a nice intellectual and a very good friend, when he puts his mind to it.

Blue Lions

1.) Ashe

Ashe is a Very Good Boy, My Good Son. He’s as sweet and pure as a summer’s afternoon and I won’t suffer any fools who say otherwise. He dreams big and he actually puts the effort out to pursuing those dreams. Even when others try to dissaude him, or tell him he’s being niave to have such glowing ideals of knighthood, he fights for them anyway and follows his heart. He also cares deeply about his family and does all he can to take care of them, putting their needs above his own. And, he’s flippin’ adorable. What a lovely person.

2.) Felix

Ok, look. I don’t always like rude, bitchy, acerbic tsunderes. But when I do, I like me some Felix. Apparently. Felix is a disappointingly rather two-dimentional character in a lot of ways, since he falls into the “obsessive swordsman trope” that Lon'qu, Rutger and others also fall into. He obsesses over his swordplay and over improving himself, but there is no real core to WHY he obsesses over it; what drives him. The support conversation with Byleth and Felix explores this, but the conclusion never actually reaches any reason why he obsesses over it. He simply wants to be strong for the sake of strong. He has no idea why and never actually finds a reason. I find this deeply unsatisfying. Still, despite this fact, I cannot help but enjoy him anyway. His bitchiness and tsundere behavior is highly entertaining to me. And he does seem to at least draw some very clear lines: as obsessed as he is with power for sheer power’s sake, he is truly disgusted at excessive bloodshed and cruelty. He’s equally disgusted at romanticizing battle or dying for your ideals-- although I think his interactions with Ashe make him consider that sacrificing for your ideals may not be so terrible after all.

3.) Annette

She’s bubbly, cheerful, energetic, loves to learn, is super friendly and often silly and provides comedic relief. The Blue Lions are generally a bunch who carry some pretty heavy emotional baggage-- so Annette’s presence is pretty essential to lighten the tone at times and help buoy people up. That’s not to say Annette doesn’t have her own shit to deal with, considering her father left her and her mother when she was still young. Still, she is a resiliant person who manages to carry on with aplomb despite that pain. And we get to enjoy her reconciliation with her father during the Blue Lion route, which is quite nice.

Golden Deer

1.) Claude

Claude . . . Claude has so much great potential as a character, but I feel he was short-changed, in the end. He has an intriguing combination: he’s a man who has built up a reputation of being a sneaky, devious schemer, somebody to not be trusted and who does not trust others-- who relies soley on himself. Yet, on the other hand, he also has big, flowery dreams of creating a world that has destroyed racism and xenophobia, that welcomes and celebraties diversity and differences of all stripes. For all his claims of being self-serving and mistrustful, his dreams are enormously altruistic and compassionate. There was great potential in exploring this contradiction in his character, as well as tracing Claude’s path of slowly opening up and learning to trust others with his tender heart-- such as with Byleth. The trouble is this never actually HAPPENS in his route. The main plot focuses mostly on the actual military strategy; it does not go into the character development he so deeply deserved. His support conversations with Byleth were intended to show this character development, but without actually showing how he got from Point A to Point B-- wary and mistrustful vs. learning to open up-- it rings hollow to me. It’s frustrating, because I do love Claude dearly (deer-ly, haha. . .). He deserved, quite frankly, so much better.

2.) Leonie

Leonie is very straightforward: what you see is really what you get. She’s a Commoner from a small village with big dreams of heoric mercenary life-- not all that dissimilar, really, from Ashe’s big dreams of heroic knighthood. She managed to drum up support (both emotional and financial) from her village and now feels obligated to do them all proud and pay them back for their support and kindness. While she can be a little single-minded at times about her adore for Jeralt (sometimes even lashing out in jealousy at Byleth), overall she’s a strong-willed, clever, and very determined young lady. I can’t help but love her. She also excels as a fantastic unit to use in-game, powerful, versitile, and getting so much done through pure grit, without any of the advantages or leg-ups that the Crest-bearing nobles are in posssession of.

3.) Ignatz

I do realize this is Sweet And Pure Archer Son Number Two on my list, but there’s no way he’s not going on the list. He’s just too wonderful. Look at my son!!! He loves his family dearly and puts aside his own dreams to honor their needs and wishes! But he also can never quite give up on his artistic dreams and his friends all gradually encourage him to have the confidance to pursue them! He is so polite and sweet and friendly and shy! He has adorable little daydreams about the Goddess and has a crush on Saint Cethleann! He has such a huge glow-up after the timeskip and turns into such a dependable, strong young man who fights for justice and always holds such tender compassion in his heart! He’s great. :)

Church of Seiros

1.) Seteth

I would be repeating myself if I wrote anything here expounding upon my love of Seteth, which is as wide and deep as the blue-green seas. So I will just link you to a previous post. That should explain exactly how my feelings evolved over time about Seteth. He was an absolute surprise and a joy to discover. I never expected to fall in love with him; when I first started playing I always expected that Claude would be the one to steal my heart, not this mysterious man. But life’s funny like that.

2.) Alois

This man is a giant freaking dork and a goober, and I feel a great deal of affection for him. He makes me feel happy and safe and he is a great adoptive brother/dad/uncle/whatever. Truly, the game and the church would feel much emptier with him not around (and much quieter, haha).

3.) Shamir

Shamir, when you first run into her, simply seems rude and cold. In fact, you will probably always have that impression of her, unless you read her support conversations. Once you access her supports, a whole new story is told. While she’s reserved and can be curt, she really does have a warmer side, growing to truly care for her allies. She’s deeply thoughtful and reflective, full of surprising insights. She’s also a remarkably talented mercenary and assasin, but while she insists she’s simply a sellsword, she does care about more then just the pay and survival.

#fire emblem #fe3h #mystuff

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carry-on-my-wayward-imagines · 5 years

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A Normal Day

Originally based on: “Imagine Dean breaking up with you for your safety but pretending it’s because he doesn’t love you anymore”

A/N: I’m trying to get back in the mood for writing one-shots so I decided to do this for therapeutic reasons, for lack of a better word. I’m not taking the blame though, this was completely inspired by doing a re-reading of reactions to “Untitled” and @thefreshprinceofmirkwood

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 2,104

Warnings: any warnings outta “Untitled” are fair game in here. Some angst, some fluff. You know me ;)

Untitled (Part I), Part Two (Part II), 2,629,745 (Part III) Conclusion (Final Part)

----

“Kids aren’t that bad, Dean,” you chuckled. “You just got to know how to calm them down. Once you’ve figured out how to do that, it’s pretty nice to be around them.”

If Dean couldn’t see you blush as you kept your head pressed against his chest, he sure felt it. After four years of marriage, you were still shy to his compliments, and he loved it. He loved telling you how amazing you were, how brave and different and fearless you kept on being even after you left the hunting life. But he mostly loved the shy smiles that came with his compliments, so soft and genuine that he could swear his heart would stop for a moment. It was reassurance that he was keeping his promises. Dean sometimes felt as though he had failed so many people, even you, but that would never happen again. Especially after he vowed to do his best to keep you happy all those years ago.

“I’ll take your word for that, then,” he finally replied to your comment, the corners of his lips gently tugged up.

Even if you weren’t a substitute teacher, Dean had no doubts you would be great with any children you’d have together. It was a topic you didn’t bring about too much, so he didn’t either, but he was finally feeling ready. Your fifth anniversary would be in six months, maybe enough time to start trying and get some happy news around the date. His smile widened as he thought about starting the talk today. Maybe he’d take you out to a nice dinner.

“Are you still going out with Charlie tonight?”

“Yup.” Dean’s smile faltered, but then picked up again. Tomorrow night. There was plenty of time. “Are you sure you don’t want to go see the new Marvel movie with us, though? Sam and Miranda are still on their honeymoon, and I don’t want you all cooped up here by yourself, babe.”

“I can always call Cas,” Dean shrugged, kissing the top of your head. He would need sometime by himself to get some plans ready. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please!”

Dean chuckled at your enthusiasm, seeing you light up. His cooking was the only thing that would ever bring you close to being a morning person, and he took pride at that. He began untangling himself from your embrace with a slow kiss to your lips, missing the other part of his puzzle piece even as he got out of the bed and threw a shirt on. Dean felt your eyes on him, gave you a crooked smile as he turned back to you, and then another kiss.

“I was thinking of banana pancakes,” Dean mumbled against your lips when you finally parted. Your smile gave him the approval he needed.

“Well, you’re the chef,” you said. Dean chuckled as you leaned forward and captured one last kiss from him. “You’re welcome to make whatever you want as long as I don’t do anything.”

“And you’re welcome to walk into the kitchen at any time as long as you’re still in only my shirt.”

He knew he was being cocky, but he couldn’t help throwing you a wink as you shooed him out of the bedroom. It was truly a sight that would never get old.

----

To anyone else, you might have seem excited about the movie, but Dean knew otherwise. He didn’t want to pry as he watched you nervously doing your makeup, or when you couldn’t stop tapping your foot against the floor as you ate pie together. You were going to be picking Charlie up, although you hadn’t seen her in months. Maybe it was that.

“Don’t forget your wallet,” Dean gave you a small grin, watching you almost head out of the door and straight past where it laid on the table. His smile was quickly replaced with a frown though, and he approached you cautiously. “You seem a little off today, sweetheart. Are you sure you can drive?”

You sighed, looking away from Dean.

“I’m okay to drive, babe,” you said quietly. “I’m just, well… I’m honestly a bit nervous since I haven’t hung out with Charlie in a while. I know it’s stupid, we’re both adults and dorks, but I also don’t want it to be awkward, you know? And Sam usually hangs out with us.”

“You’re going to be alright, darlin’,” Dean reassured you, happy that there wasn’t anything more drastic worrying you. “If you really want to, I could come with you.”

“Oh no, mister, that offer was in the morning when there were still tickets. You’d be crazy to get some now,” you half-joked, more confident.

“Alright, get going then! I held you up enough.”

Dean leaned in to give you the usual departing kiss, but was surprised when you pulled him in more passionately than normal. Perhaps he should give you motivational speeches more often. He could still feel the taste of the cherries on your tongue, so sweet and fresh that he was sure you took out another slice after brushing your teeth. His mind was filled with only the smoothness of your lips and the comfort of your hands around his neck. And the only thing to convince him that the kiss was fleeting instead of several days long was that the darkened sky outside had remained the same when you stepped back.

He had never seen you looking more happy.

“You know,” you said, closing off the space between you once more, but this time with a hug. “I think I made the right decision all those years ago. You’re the best husband ever. I love you, Dean.”

“I love you more, my cheesy warrior,” Dean smiled. “Now, drive safe and say hi to Charlie for me.”

Your car was soon a quiet rumble in the distance, growing ever so tiny as you drove away. Dean watched until you had disappeared, his heart feeling full, before he went into the house again and locked the door behind him. He had a couple calls to make, perhaps maybe try and make a special reservation at one of your favorite restaurants. He had to plan fast before businesses closed out for the night.

And soon, the long hand of the clock hung straight down, pointing at the plain six while the shorter one signaled the two identical pairs of ones. With a sigh, Dean grabbed the remote of the TV and turned the monitor off, the black screen faintly reflecting the movement of his body as he stood up. He wasn’t particularly tired, but he did have to work at the mechanic shop the next day, so he drained the leftover beer he hadn’t finished in the sink and turned off the living room’s lights.

After a quick check of the devil traps at the entrances of the house, he headed toward your shared bedroom. A yawn stretched Dean’s lips apart as he closed the door of the room, flicking on the lights with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. He slipped off the worn pair of jeans and threw them in one corner, making a mental note to remember that it was his turn to wash this week.

He was deciding between saving time and just throwing everything that needed to go to the dry cleaner’s in a bag right now, or choosing to do that when you finally got home from the midnight premier, when he finally saw it. Sitting on top of his pillow was a rectangle envelope, and, judging by the faded yellow color and the bent corners, Dean guessed it must have been at least a few years old.

Curiosity pulled him towards it, the corners of his lips curving up as he read the words written on the front of the envelope: “To my dearest Orion.”

Dean took the old item into his hands and sat on the edge of the bed, observing your handwriting for a moment and chuckling to himself as he noticed that it hadn’t changed a lot despite the passing of time. Then, sure that what was inside wouldn’t fail to amuse him, Dean opened the letter.

It surprised him to see that the date on the corner read from four and a half years ago, but he kept on reading.

Dear Dean,

Well, I guess we finally did it! Okay, maybe not from my point of view, but from yours. I also think I should explain what I’m talking about, since this must be really weird for you. Anyways, if I didn’t freak out (or you) then we’re probably married by now. I don’t know if you noticed it, but tonight (or at least for me) is the day before we’re getting (or hopefully got) married. It would be a lie if I said that I’m not scared as hell of messing up tomorrow, but really none of this is what I wanted to talk about.

Dean’s smile started to fade as he continued reading. It wasn’t long before his hands were shaking, tears welling up in his eyes as he read, completely blurring out the words. This was wrong. This had to be wrong. It wasn’t just his vision that felt blurry, but everything else too. His head was spinning, the ticking of the clock was too loud, and his heart hammered against his chest with a pain he hadn’t felt before. It was constricting him, stealing every last bit of oxygen he had.

I’m sorry that I can’t be with you anymore.

He didn’t finish reading the letter.

“Y/N, what have you done?” Dean whispered to himself as he fumbled to find his phone, hands still shaking. This couldn’t be happening. He quickly began to call, feeling like his heart was stabbed with every ring. “Answer, god-fucking-dammit!”

But you didn’t pick up.

Dean quickly threw his pair of jeans on again, slipping into an untied pair of boots and running down the hallway with the phone still pressed against his ear. His could feel the heat growing on his neck as desperation crawled like a swarm of insects up his back in into his chest. You couldn’t be gone.

“Cas! Castiel!” Dean screamed into the empty house letting the phone fall to his side as his knees gave out. No one came. He was alone. “Please! I need you! Y/N is in trouble!”

Moments passed with Dean still on the floor, shoulders sagged. The shock was too much. He had to do something, but what could he do? Where did you go? Why didn’t you tell him sooner?

Dean heard his heart pulsing in his ears as he grabbed the phone once again, barely feeling the sobs racking through his body as he continued dialing your number. The tenth missed call didn’t make a difference. He couldn’t stop himself. He had to hear your voice say this was all an elaborate prank, that you would be home soon, safely tucked into his arms. That your hands would rub his back when he woke up in the middle of the night, dreaming about the terrors that weren’t supposed to be in his life anymore. He would never let go of you after this again.

He never imagined that morning that this was how he would end the day, what was supposed to be a perfectly normal day.

And in the days that followed, when he finally got a hold of Castiel, and when Sam cut his honeymoon short for a flight and frantic drive down to your home, Dean wanted to imagine that that wasn’t how the day ended. That you would come back despite your letter, running through the door to tell him about your movie night with Charlie. Charlie, who was five states away.

Your car, which was 60 miles away from your house.

Your phone, which was in the backseat.

Your ring–sitting undisturbed on the hood of your car.

It was the ring that broke him. Your promise to always keep it on was broken, just like the promises of protecting you, his wife, had been completely cut through. No matter what your letter said, he would never bury you in the back of his head, even if the weight of the pain dragged around his ankles like metal chains. Even if he had to pretend to carry on eventually, put up a facade to everyone else that met him, and imagine that the day would be a normal day like that day was supposed to be. Even then, his heart would never forget.

He would always be your hunter.

———

Tags:

General

@itsbubbaog @xxmy-day-dreamxx @lamme0456 @deannotmoose @15wiishes

Dean Winchester

@akshi8278 @Justanotherdogperson @justanothersepticeyefan

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prettywordsyouleft · 6 years

Text

Intrigued

Prompt: #15 for @katdefbeom with Mark Tuan (GOT7) – “There was never really anyone else.”

katdefbeom said:

Lovely! I love your writings! Can I please request #15 for Mark Tuan? Thank you ❤️❤️❤️ (PS. I’m greedy. I’m sending one for Jaebum too lol)

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: roommates au / friends to lovers

Warning: none

Word count: 1612

“Am I just not enough of a person to love?!” you asked the universe as you sat down next to your best friend Mark once arriving home, huffing indignantly as you folded your arms over your chest. You caught glimpse of your dress you had antagonised over choosing out of your wardrobe earlier in the day. It had been a waste, it all had been. You shook your body in annoyance. “I look too good to have been stood up like this!”

Mark nodded quietly, not taking his eyes off his laptop he was playing his game on. He had been through these sessions with you all too often lately and even you didn’t blame him for not having the same comforting words as he had in the beginning.

You just plain old sucked at this dating game.

“Why don’t you just take a break from all the blind dates and relax?”

“Relax?” you echoed and he nodded again. You smiled forcibly at your best friend and then shut the lid on his computer, receiving a loud curse and groan from the man next to you. He looked at you exasperatedly and you shot him the same expression back. Rolling his eyes, Mark then moved the device off his lap and turned to face you.

“Why are you trying so hard?”

“Because I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life,” you mentioned matter-of-factly and he wasn’t impressed. You sighed heavily. “Unlike you, I can’t garner the attention of any person I want.”

“Correction, I garner the attention of plenty of girls who I also don’t want,” he replied with a small smile and you thumped him in the chest.

“We can’t all be good looking like you!”

Mark grabbed you playfully around the neck and pulled you close. “Who said my Y/N isn’t good looking?!”

“You’re meant to say that, you’re my best friend.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t I actually meant to say you look like shit and-”

You stuffed your hand over his mouth to muffle the rest of his sentence. You had worked too hard on your makeup today to listen to anything otherwise.

Mark’s bemused expression softened as did the arm around your neck. He gazed at you for a while, falling deep into thought. You nudged him and he blinked a couple of times before diverting his stare and moved to retrieve his laptop. “You can always have me, you know.”

“Very funny,” you replied dryly, looking at your friend in poor taste. Whilst you had often thought about how attractive he had gotten over the years, you hadn’t ever imagined anything but friendship with Mark. He was your best friend and it would be odd to have anything more with him.

Wouldn’t it?

You shook your head before you contemplated anything further and let out another heavy breath. “The right guy has to be out there waiting for me.”

“I’m certain he is,” Mark replied and you stared at him, before scrunching up your nose and getting back to your feet. You needed to go sleep and forget all about tonight.

Staring up at the ceiling of the darkened room, you kicked at your blankets angrily. Despite all attempts, you had been lying awake ever since you went to bed hours ago. You had tried counting sheep, cows and all sorts of farmyard animals with no luck, and tossed and turned so much to find the perfect position that your blankets were worse for wear. You had gotten up, taken some pain relief for the headache you were now sporting and you had tried to politely tell your brain to shut off.

But it wouldn’t, and you were desperate for the thoughts to stop.

It wasn’t over your date, or lack of one, you could normally push out your negative thoughts enough to allow slumber to drift you off to a nicer place where gorgeous men saw you for who you truly were.

No, you were stuck on one thing from tonight and it wasn’t the call to say something had suddenly come up. It was Mark’s words.

His offer, actually.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why had he suggested such a thing? Even if you loved him like no other and shared an apartment together because you suited each other domestically, not once had you ever viewed anything with Mark in a romantic notion. Well, you had seen him naked by chance last year and that image was definitely still burned into your brain, but even then you hadn’t conjured up some idealistic world where you fell in love with your best friend and lived happily ever after.

Could that even happen?

What was worse was that you couldn’t figure if Mark was joking around with you or not. Normally there was a subtle sign in the way he spoke or held himself when he was messing with you, and you knew better from over all the years of his pranks when to not fall for his words. But with this, you couldn’t pick up on any. And that was what was bothering you at three in the morning.

You wanted to know what he was thinking and the urge was growing stronger by the minute.

You knew he had gone to bed an hour ago, you had heard him use the bathroom and then the click of his bedroom door close across the hall from yours. You had even heard Mark switch off his light because you were that heightened in your senses tonight. You wondered if he was truly asleep though. Sometimes he liked to play games on his phone if he was still restless, but then he was also big on sleeping. You were conflicted on what to do and before you could logically come to a conclusion of how to approach this in the morning you were out of your bed and crossing the small hallway to open his door.

He wasn’t playing any games and was laying with his back facing you. Moving quietly across the room, you chewed your lip before whispering out his name. He stirred and you felt your emotions pound in your chest. You couldn’t sneak away now, Mark was awake and blearily looking up at you. “Y/N?”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what? It’s three-fifteen what are you doing up?” he mumbled after checking his phone and sat up. He managed to capture your eyes in the dim lighting and blinked a couple of times. Standing up, he then moved to your side and pushed the hair away from your face to view your expression up close. You knew it then before he responded and your heart thumped noisily in your chest. “Did you really just spend all night contemplating my offer? Of course, I meant it. I’ve always meant it.”

You stared at him, trying to decipher when else he had told you to come to him. Little moments that you had brushed off in the past as playful or misconstrued lined up in your head and your mouth fell ajar a little.

Mark was hesitant; you could see he was battling with his own emotions in the super-charged environment. His arms were half stretched to grab you but his hands were closed, as if they hadn’t been given permission yet. He stood close but not enough to be intimate with and he was waiting for you, watching to see if you would step closer.

You did and looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “You like me? When you could have anyone else?”

“There was never really anyone else for me, Y/N. I fell in love with you years ago.” He smiled, as if he was remembering back to the time when he first realised it. You longed to view what he was, to see what the younger you was so blinded by to not realise.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He gave you a look and you nodded softly. “More than the subtle hints, Mark.”

“I wanted it to be something you would feel comfortable with and there was never really any moment that I could just proclaim it to you and have you actually believe me.”

“But now?” you asked, moving forward again. Mark eyed your proximity and finally extended his fingers out to reach for you, pulling you into his embrace. It felt different now and you were overwhelmed with how good it was.

“Now, I’m going to show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

His lips touched down on yours slowly but there was nothing simple about it. This was how you had imagined kisses to be. Where there is a sudden eruption of flutters in your stomach that you weren’t prepared for, and the giddy sensation of being transported to another realm of delirium just by a set of lips. You had kissed before but you hadn’t been kissed like this, ever.

He shifted back a little, both of you catching your breath and Mark smiled down at you. “Are you intrigued, even just a little?”

“I’ve been since earlier in the night,” you pointed out and he chuckled. Burying into his chest, you smiled happily. “Can this really be happening though?”

You yelped when he pinched you and snapped your gaze up to see his smirk. “I don’t think you’re dreaming.”

“I’m starting to regret this,” you said darkly, trying to escape his arms around you. Mark tightened them and shook his head softly.

“No way, that was only one kiss. I have so much more to show you.”

You had to admit, you were definitely interested now.

_________________

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for-peace-war · 5 years

Photo

art by @idrawbuffgirls

Part VI is the final part of this series prior to its in-game conclusion. It was a lot of fun doing it... thought his one went to an hour and a half because I had to look up a lot of information. All the same, thank everyone that followed the story to this point. It means a lot to me that people found it worth looking at in any regard.

This follows @iamreinhardt‘s Valenso the Zingaran. And as always, thanks Kelzack for the awesome art!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Follows Part IV.

Follows Part V.

Part VI.

VALENSO THE ZINGARAN vantage of the vivacious Vendhyan vixen enveloped in velvet violated what vaunted virtues he envisioned for himself. She was an exotic acquisition—black hair that fell like a funeral pall along her lightly toasted features. In motion her body was a series of quiet seductions, which the Zingaran had enjoyed many, many times the nights prior. She claimed that her father was a brahmin of the priestly varna. He informed her that if that was the case, then her father had sinned mightily—for to steal a piece of the heavens and offer it to infidels, now could that be anything short of sacrilege? And then he had sinned mightily with her.

Oh, what a time it had been.

“You do not sleep?” She asked. Her voice was quiet and husky, the sort that made bedroom chatter incline toward bedroom play. Though he spoke enough Vendhyan to get around when needed, Valenso did not care to engage her in the tongue; he much preferred to hear her stumble over Iranistani. It was cute—in a way.

But she was correct in her inquiry—he did not sleep. The air was perfumed not merely in the fading notions of their congress, but spices and the heavy scent of the oils she had placed upon him. Though that haze had seen him clearly to the point of exhaustion, it had not prevented his mind from remaining fixed on one truth: one unmistakable truth. It was not that he had lost Zaliki—it was that he had never had her at all.

The Zingaran moved a hand to slap the girl’s bottom, which clapped to a sound nearly as delightful as that which came of her mouth. She pulled away, the velvet sheets upon her drawn like a whorl in her wake, and revealed more of him to the warm air that infiltrated the ship at its mooring. She looked back at him playful; he ran a hand through his hair and allowed his amber eyes to take in not merely what was before him, but what was not. There was no small wonder why he had picked the girl, of course. She was shapely, with the body of a dancer and the large, heavy breasts of a matron-to-be. Her hips jutted out into vase-like curvature that placed to shape the pottery of the greatest Corinthian kiln master. Along the tops of her breasts and around her midsection, thin lines of a softer shade appeared where her skin had stretched along itself, painting those areas in a pale, though vibrant wave of hues not at all dissimilar from the orange glow of the setting sun. And her eyes—the one that had not been concealed by the sea of black that she swam within, were a brilliant blue so fine that sapphire might well have been carved from them.

No, it was no wonder at all that he had chosen her.

But she was not the wonder that he had chosen.

“I am going to go for a walk,” the Zingaran said. “Try to pretty yourself up a bit for me before I return, yes?” He winked devilishly at her. She blushed a fine color along her brown cheeks. When he drew himself out of bed, he knew that her eyes followed him with admiration. There were few men that could command enough physical beauty to deny a woman’s inclination for wealth, and few men that commanded enough wealth to make a woman forget how hideous he had become in its acquisition. Fortunately for her—and more importantly, every woman that had ever crossed paths with him—he was the possessor of the better part of both qualities. He was born into beauty the same as he was born into wealth. When one was a noble, what else could they expect to know?

She mewled after him. “You do not like what you see?”

His response was to draw her closer by her hair, so that she winced a playful protest, and then kiss her. It was not the manner of kiss that was intended to claim souls—it was the kind that was meant to stoke a fire and keep it well tended in his absence. She warmed against him and her hand, covered in golden ringlets, found his strong jaw and stroked the hair upon his chin. His hand moved from the gentle slope of her neck, down to the full, hanging breasts he had favored with so many affections before, and he carefully squeezed upon nipples as dark as earth, and twisted tenderly until she moaned against his lips. She was heated by his presence, he could feel. If he wanted, it would have taken him no time at all to slip into bed and back into her in an instant. Even had he been a pauper—and perish that thought!—he would have been faced with no great resistance. As a man of the sea, he had learned to navigate all manners of wetness and opened legs were no less wonderful to sail than the open sea.

But, alas, he had business elsewhere—business, and a mind, that though piqued knew it would not be sated on her for the time being. He drew his hand away from her breast and brought it to her chin, where he pressed his thumb against the side of it and his other fingers claimed portions of her jaw. She was made to look at him directly then. He spoke to her, in the slow and patient way a man might have a mule, a child, or any other simple creature not fit to stand as his equal.

“Do not ask whether or not I like what I see, little girl,” he told her. “Pray that I do.”

He did not hurry away from her, but rather dressed slowly in the wake of his command. Her attention was wholly devoted to him and in those moments, the Zingaran allowed himself to become what he knew he never could truly be: free of worry, of the burden of concern. The masks he wore would always prevent him from needing to delve deeper into what pressed against him, and just as he slipped back into his fine clothing he could place on more to protect him from the elements that surrounded him. The warmer climes of Iranistan had made his attire less suitable than it had been previously, so he adopted their garb—a sirwal and a silken coat that followed him as loyally as the Vendhyan girl’s eyes did.

What was her name again? As he snatched a pear up off the table he reminded himself to ask, but had forgotten his interest in the matter by the time he was tossing it away.

Zariba was a lively city. Deeper within Iranistan, near Anshan, he knew that Zaliki had claimed to have a need to speak with someone and though he had been inclined to accompany her there were ways in which the Stygian could make a man forget what his true intentions were. After all, she had convinced him—a proud son of the sea—to make a journey to Iranistan of all places. The coastal condition had made it slightly less daunting to consider, but some part of him knew that even if she had asked to be deposited in the heart of Drujistan, then he would have carried her there.

The streets were filled with the exotic enticements of a decadent world—a world so decadent that even he had made a vow not to enjoy any more of it before he had learned something of what had become of his companion. What had begun as a vigil, set by himself in her name, had devolved into a torrid series of vices that ranged from beauties to brawn to the bestial things that came between them. He had no reservations in most cases when it came to taking what he wanted, but when what he wanted could not be taken, it was a hollowing experience. What was the use of all of his skill, coin, and bravado if he could not acquire that which was on his mind?

Why had he allowed her to leave without much protest?

There were times when Valenso thought that he might have seen her in the streets. At the corner of his eyes, perhaps behind a snake charmer or a rug merchant he thought he saw her, nearly fair despite her heritage and draped along the arm of some rich aristocrat. But each time they turned out to be nothing more than voluptuous mirages, and after he had sampled their wares he always came away feeling as if he had wasted even more of his time. But wasn’t it all just a waste of time?

Wasn’t he being an immense fool, in the end?

Marioso, his first mate, had been as clear as his cordiality permitted him. “If she remains, my lord, then she does not wish to be seen.” Darmino, a cocksure sailor with a golden tooth, had offered his agreement in the form of a muttered vow that his ‘jigglestick’ was sore from its stay in port for so long. “Me sores is sore,” he declared. Valenso had considered their words and with the aplomb of a man that knew his place in the world, promptly ignored them. For what did either know of what they had seen in the Accursed Lands? What did either know of what it meant to survive through determination alone?

It was not merely the entertainment of their voyage that kept him so devoted to his post, he knew. Perhaps in passing when he recounted the tale to another he would say how the temptress, when astride any man on a ship, made the whole world seem a tumult that threatened to swallow him in passions only she could produce—and truthfully, the sight of her ply that secret and dark talent of that came of Luxor’s bosom and undulated as mightily as her own was a sight to behold—but it would have been false. Time spent with Zaliki was less a matter of what one desired, and more one of what could not be obtained. Perhaps they had fucked—and yet, they had not fucked each other.

She fucked him.

He fucked himself.

“What the fuck am I doing here,” the Zingaran said to himself as he strode the streets further. The arming sword at his side, a masterwork of crafting, felt the only thing that belonged to the man that he was. It was not love that bade him, he realized with each step that he took. Nor was it even the devotion of one friend to another. It was something more, something more personal and intimate than even that.

It was that she had promised to return—promised in a way that he knew she could never break. As childish as it may have been, the Zingaran realized that it was belief in another that had kept him in place!

Gods, had he ever fucked himself!

There were more beauties that met the eyes; delicate creatures, draped in fine fabrics that revealed only their eyes to the passing man. Daughters of great men, surely, with big eunuch guardsmen that blocked the way of any that would have arrived at their bedchambers. As he watched one of the women guiding her sisters along the street in detail with her guards, his mind shifted from the sway of her hips to a distant enchantment. He recalled his adventure with Zaliki when they had arrived in Sabeaa, to the south, and provisioned themselves for the final leg of the trip. The portside town was of little interest, but it was a tale that two fishermen had shared with the Stygian—informing her of how her beauty would be appreciated by Mirza Hashem, that their interest was piqued.

“The mirza’s palace,” one of the fishermen said, “is a sea of beautiful flowers surrounded by walls of ivory. Anything that a man could desire can be found within it: wine, women, work—so long as Mirza Hashem has turned his favor upon you, there is no place better to be.”

His friend added, “And considering your beauty, my dear, I do believe you would be right at home among the clouds.”

Valenso had learned long ago how the Stygian’s voice changed when she had something on her mind. She perfumed her words in a sort of trance that made men sway in the wake of her every word. “Does this palace have mangos?”

“I think so,” one of them said.

She turned back to him and offered him a Shemite’s smile.

“I suppose we are going to get a few mangos, eh?” He grinned.

The fishermen had not been lying. In fact, they had undersold what awaited them. In the middle of what should have been desert stood ivory walls that were so pale they made the surrounding sands seem as though mud. Fine music coated the air about them, and the glittering golden armor of the guardsmen at the gate shone with enough brilliance to make him squint. There were any number of reasons not to go into the garden—for a mango, no less—yet Zaliki’s prodding made him feel it was worthwhile.

Oh, how right that feeling had been.

An adventure including an enraged Mirza Hashem, a vow to see them dead, the echoes of pleasure from the mirza’s finest concubine in his mind, several rings that then coated his fingers—and one mango later, they had retreated with laughter back to his ship and enjoyed the spoils of an evening well won. It had been a glorious moment, indeed.

“It is rare you smile so openly,” a woman said to his right. She was tall and golden-hued, shaped as if Ishtar herself, with regal cheekbones and a head of brown hair that fell gently past her shoulders. The turquoise green of her eyes and the way her full lips formed into a familiar smile were unforgettable.

“Zaliki.”

“Valenso.” She stood before him in the flesh—flesh as lovely and pure as it had been when last he saw her. Daylight had begun to retreat from the pale walls of the city and those within it began to retreat into their homes. Zaliki, dressed as a local townswoman, offered him a smile. In some strange way, the cotton seemed far more exotic upon her than the silks he had last seen her in. She was almost normal—and that made some part of his mind want to see the creature inside of her all the more. The smile she offered him was greedily accepted; he devoured her with his eyes.

“I was only thinking of—”

“Mangos,” she finished for him.

He smiled. “Yes, mangos.”

But there was something about the air that was different. Valenso eyed her more carefully. Had she been injured—was she being used as a trap of some kind? Danger did not escape her, neither did a reason for sympathy. She was not the same woman, though. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I am,” she said.

“Thank the gods. I could not suffer much more of this place.”

“Thank you for enduring it as long as you have.”

They walked back to his ship in relative silence, chatting as if she had not vanished off into the darkness one night and returned with the arrival of another ominous might. Reminiscing became a protection against the moment they were in: it was a mask, that allowed them to delight in the off-putting of a heartbreak that he had not yet felt and yet had already experienced a thousand times in a thousand different ways. The moon described a path for them, but where it led was a mystery to Valenso. He could still feel how soft her skin was; knew that her thews were silken sheaths over sturdier stuff. The body of the woman beside him was not one he would ever forget, and yet what was within it—that was what confused him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Part of it,” she said.

“You should see the woman I found to pass time with in your absence. Your Derketo would find no reason to complain of her.” He thought to compare her to her directly—to perhaps draw a bit of jealousy out of her so that when they fell to play upon the girl, she would be as mean as she was invigorating. Yet that idea felt like an aborted dream, divided by a chasm that denied what was—and what could ever be.

A phantom’s romance floated off of Zaliki’s voice when she spoke. “Did she satisfy you?”

He found that question surprisingly difficult to answer. “In a way,” he said. The Zingaran looked at her and noted her eyes were turned toward the distance as they walked. He looked to the starry sky. “I have had better, I suppose.”

“And worse,” she said.

“And worse.”

“It is always good to remember that. Better—and worse.”

Their conversation became more fleeting. Iranistan’s streets had become empty and for an ephemeral moment, Valenso wished that Mirza Hashem’s golden-scaled men might have emerged from an alley and forced them to fight their way from their midst to his ship, where a speedy retreat would have been met with laughter and lust. But the streets were quiet and the only gold that saw was that which they wore.

When they arrived back at his ship, they stopped.

Valenso spoke first. “You aren’t coming back with me, are you?”

The Stygian was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was of a different world. “No.”

“Then why did you come back at all?”

She stepped closer to him and with a gentle touch, placed her thumb to his chin, and allowed her fingers to claim possession of his bearded jaw. She kissed him, not in the manner that made one’s flames come to life, but in a way that caused the soul to release it had been relinquished at long last. The masks that he wore fell to the floor, and he realized that he no longer cared for the coins he had acquired or the beauties he had known. Truthfully, even the Vendhyan that waited for him hot as the flames that had spawned her could not promise him a moment of what he saw before himself.

“Goodbye, Valenso.”

“Zaliki,” he said her name as if holding her by it. He was a nobleman of fine blood, who had conquered the seas and escaped the Accursed Lands. Saying her name should have been enough—it should have held her fast, as fast as his hands might if he could seized her. Even that act felt helpless, though. He knew that he could not hold her—that man could, in the end. “Where are you going?”

The Stygian’s silence was agonizing. She turned her eyes toward him once more—eyes that joined the craftiness of her Shemitish and Stygian blood, yet somehow were able to convey an earnest concern where neither bloodline would have done so on their own.

“If I tell you, you must promise never to tell another.”

He did so.

She told him.

The Zingaran swore to never tell a soul of where she had gone—or to ask himself how he could allow her to go there, alone.

#conan #writing exercise #valenso the zingaran #the great winged one

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