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madluluwriting · 1 year

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J'ai publié 11 999 fois en 2022

C'est 3 734 billets de plus qu'en 2021 !

18 billets créés (0%)

11 981 billets reblogués (100%)

Les blogs que j'ai le plus reblogués :

@phoenixyfriend

@wrennette

@ryehouses

@blackkatmagic

@athingofvikings

J'ai étiqueté 85 billets en 2022

#kesett - 23 billets

#my writing - 17 billets

#star wars - 17 billets

#boba fett - 16 billets

#fanfic - 16 billets

#cal kestis - 13 billets

#next day reblog - 6 billets

#b&b au - 4 billets

#modern au - 3 billets

#space dads extraordinaire - 3 billets

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#boba seems a little embarrassed when he talks about his family but cal really would like to know more about all of them.

Mes billets vedette en 2022 :

n°5

The other day I went to watch a movie with my sister (it’s called En Corps for those frenchies interested in the background) and it was a great movie.

It was about a classical ballet dancer that has an accident and breaks her foot on scene. Very classic trope, very well executed. It’s about growing up as an adult, about your body, what you do with it and about dance. I loved it.

Except I spent almost all of the movie asking myself “who is she gonna end with”. And that’s maybe silly because I should have seen it coming. The accident of the beginning is because she sees her lover cheating on her as she’s about to enter the scene so maybe the reconstruction is about her heart too.

But I spent the entire movie asking myself why she had to be with someone by the end. Because I knew she would be.

The film would have been perfect for me if she had been single by the end. The rest of the story was awesome, all the threads and plot lines and the aesthetic. But she couldn’t be happy without being in a couple.

I have never been so frustrated to see the end where the girl gets better at the end. She’s beautiful, powerful, she gets back at pretentious specialized doctors that tell her she’ll never dance again. The story is amazing I cried and I laughed to tears.

But she has to be with someone. She can’t be powerful or beautiful or a wonderful human being if she’s single.

I didn’t understand that.

I think I’m aromantic.

16 notes - publié le 21 avril 2022

n°4

For the one-liner prompt list: anything you'd like with nr 2 - “I swear to god, I’ll beat you to death with my high heels, if you don’t shut the fuck up. ”

OMG I'm so sorry it took me so long to do this prompt ;; I hope you like it anyway! I went with a Kesett ModernAU.

CW include a drunk tank and shitty cop and a Non-Binary Boba in a dress and heels that I would kill for wearing as good as them.

♥

The officer is eying him with undisguised disgust. Oh that’s a nice alliteration that, undisguised disgust, undisguised disgust. The officer hits the cellbars with his fist, yelling at him to shut up. No fun. That one should get out and drink more often. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a killjoy.

Not that Cal usually goes out to drink which maybe is related to the fact he got himself in a barfight with his cellmate. Maybe. But he was alone and Merrin and Cere are like 75 percent of his impulse control. At least. Or maybe 80 percent.

Not that Merrin would have stopped him, the jerk that tried to feel up his gorgeous cellmate deserved it. He doesn’t regret breaking his nose at all. Even if his fingers are making him regret it at the moment and that, in the end, the mentioned cellmate really didn’t need his help. They have a mean right hook. And gorgeous legs to kick their target in the balls.

“Hey,” he calls them softly, “you awake?”

They groan and try to shield their eyes with their arm. He can’t fault them, the cell’s lighting is awfully bright and he’s not even hungover. He’s thirsty, though. The officers didn’t want to give anyone water. Something about making them pay for the intervention. Jerks.

“Hey,” he calls again a little louder.

“Sh’t up,” they groan, “m’ head hurts.”

Cal winces in sympathy and glances at the officer. The man scowls at him in return. Right… No help on this side obviously. He searches for the nearest source of light and tries to stand between it and his cellmate. They sigh in relief, brow smoothing out.

“Better?” Cal whispers.

They hum and crack an eye open to peer at Cal. He smiles gently and takes care to keep projecting his shadow in their face.

“Where?” they ask, voice thick and words slurring.

“Police station, drunk tank.”

They sigh, open the other eye and peer at Cal’s face with a scowl.

“You were at the bar…”

“Yeah, it was a nice fight. Who was that jerk by the way? The one that tried to grope your ass?”

“I swear to god, I’ll beat you to death with my high heels, if you don’t shut the fuck up,” they groan.

Cal winces and rubs at the back of his neck. It’s a bit hard to keep his eyes on the face of his cellmate. They still wear that dark green dress and the neckline is doing nothing to hide the width of their shoulders and the slope of their collarbone.

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I’m Cal.”

They glare at him, clearly feeling their hangover, then their gaze goes to his shoulders and turns calculating.

“Give me your jacket.”

“What? Why?”

“‘M cold. Must’ve left my leather at the bar when the cops came up.”

Cal rolls his eyes. He likes his jacket, it’s a gift from Cere for his last birthday because he was driving her crazy with his favorite poncho. The fake leather is dyed a dark blue-gray that makes his eyes pop and he even managed to avoid any spilled beer or anything in the fight. He sighs deeply and shrugs it off to hand it to his new friend.

“I’m Boba,” they say as they sit up, “nice to meet you.”

18 notes - publié le 18 mars 2022

n°3

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Boba Fett/Cal Kestis Characters: Boba Fett, Cal Kestis, Other Star Wars Character(s) (mentionned) Additional Tags: Break Up, Angst, Boba Fett Has Abandonment Issues, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Canon Compliant, for now Summary:

“I’m sorry Boba. It’s over.” “No. I don’t- You can’t… Cyare, please.” “But I can. I warned you once before that the Order is always first to me.”

20 notes - publié le 2 avril 2022

n°2

MerMay Kesett 👀 octopus!Boba cuddles?

I really wasn't expecting this but it was really fun to write! Thank you for this prompt nonnie!

♥♥♥

Cal sits on the edge of the pier and dips his feet in the water. He likes the quiet here when it’s still desert and the tourists are not about yet. It’s early, the sun barely rising above the horizon and the air is still cool from the night.

Later, he’ll go back to the beach to get the surf boards out and prep everything for the day. But this? This is just for him.

He feels the cool tentacle wrap around his ankle gently and he shivers. He doesn’t look down, it would ruin the surprise. He breathes in and stops himself from wiggling his foot. The weird slick surface slips on his skin when Boba tugs on his leg and he laughs.

“What are trying to do?”

“Getting your attention, is it working?”

Cal rolls his eyes and glances at Boba. He’s beautiful in the morning light like this. It makes the iridescent skin of his octopus part shine green. Boba grins at him and uses his lower limbs to haul himself out of the water and sprawl on his lap.

“Hm, a little. I missed you.”

He slips his hand in Boba’s hair, detangling the knots in his curls gently. His merman boyfriend sighs and cuddles closer, his tentacles curling in what Cal has learned means he’s enjoying himself.

“Coming tonight?” Boba asks with a yawn, “You said you wanted to study the algae.”

“After sundown? I wanted to look at the bioluminescence I saw last time.”

“It’s a date.”

Boba yawns again and tangles his limbs in Cal’s legs. He laughs, amused at his boyfriend’s antics. He knows Boba is more nocturnal than anything and that this is another attempt at keeping him for the day while he sleeps but he has work to do unfortunately. His marine biology doctorate won’t pay itself.

“Sweetheart, I can’t go to work like this.”

“Don’t care. Should stay with me all day. You got sunburn again last week. ‘t’s not good for you, working.”

“Well, we can’t all survive on sea water and raw fish.”

“I thought you liked raw fish!”

“Not all the time. I need more than this to stay healthy.”

Boba grumbles and lets his legs go slowly.

“Tonight?”

“I promise. You should go before someone come over and sees you.”

More grumbling and Boba slip back in the water with a yawn. He waves at him lazily and disappears under the water. Probably to his hide-out near the harbor where he can sleep until tonight. Cal glances at his legs and sighs. He’s gonna have to put on pants again today to hider the sucker marks.

30 notes - publié le 21 mai 2022

Mon billet n°1 en 2022

I want to like give you all the prompts, but I'll stick to one for now. Kesett and~

a character claiming they’re not going to do ~the thing~ but in the next frame is seen ~doing the thing~

I loved the prompt so much OMG It wrote itself a little so don't pay attention if there are typos. (also you can totally give me another one if you want xD)

* * * *

“You are a bad influence on my droid,” Cal whines and Boba snickers.

He shifts on the bunk, hanging his head upside down to look at his boyfriend who is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, and trying to glower at him. It’s not very impressive considering his eyes betray how fond he is of Boba’s antics.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that BD was never that bad about blowing things up before I met you.”

Boba arches a very dubitative eyebrow and Cal flushes.

“If that’s what you think, you should reconsider your memories of BD-1,” he snarks.

“I’m not the one always trying to solve my problems via flamethrower and explosives.”

“That’s unfair, sometimes I just disintegrate my bounty.”

Cal points an accusing finger at him.

“See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Boba rolls over and sits up, his legs dangling from the top bunk where he was reading. He smirks at Cal when his eyes land on his crotch which is just at eye level for him.

“You have absolutely no ground to stand on cyare. If I remember correctly, you are always the one who ends up getting his lightsaber out in combat situation even while insisting that we’re supposed to stay discreet.”

“Wha- You- I’m not! I always go for the weapons in last resort!”

Boba rolls his eyes and jumps down, crowding Cal against the wall of their little bunkroom. He likes how proximity never misses on making the jedi blush and lose his words.

“Prove it, then.”

“Fine! I’ll show you, then. I won’t go for my lightsaber first thing the next time we end up in a fight and you’ll have to admit your bad influence on BD.”

* * * *

Boba ducks behind an empty crate, the volley of blaster fire flying right over it. He sighs and peeks over the crate to try and find Cal. They’d been ambushed by the bounty who apparently managed to acquire some paid back-up.

Luckily the empty warehouse they are trapped in is full of hiding places. He finally spots Cal and doesn’t try to restrain the full-on cackle that bubbles up at the scene. His cyare is deflecting blaster fire with his glowing blade, aiming carefully the redirected shots at his pursuer’s legs.

“You know you just lost the bet?!” He yells at him with glee across the warehouse as he aims a shot at the bounty.

“I hate you! I’m sure you did this on purpose to prove me wrong!”

He laughs and ducks back behind his crate.

“I didn’t do anything!” he shouts over his hiding place.

A noise of crackling electricity fizzles on the other side of the crate and Boba peers over. BD is sauntering to him, beeping joyfully while the bounty is lying on the floor, still seizing periodically from what looks like a violent shock to his nervous system.

Boba sighs and glares at the droid who is jumping to him and already trying to climb on his leg to get on his shoulder.

“If I get stuck on the couch I’m blaming you,” Boba mutters darkly at the droid.

43 notes - publié le 20 février 2022

Obtenez votre année 2022 en revue sur Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #année en revue #mon année tumblr 2022 en revue #votre année tumblr en revue #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

Determination of Death (pt. 2/2)

Continued from here.

All of the angst. If y’all thought this was going to secretly be angst with a happy ending, well...you’ve got another think coming.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death.

Joly led the way out of the meeting room, and Grantaire remembered only upon seeing the expectant faces staring at them from the waiting room that no one else knew what was going on. “Oh, and can you, uh, fill everyone else in?” he asked Joly weakly, unable to bring himself to look any of them in the eye. “You have my permission, or whatever.”

“Of course,” Joly said quietly. “Though you should know...they’ll probably have some opinions on what decision you should make.”

Grantaire snorted. “Your friends? Having opinions? I’m shocked, I tell you. Shocked.”

Joly cracked a small smile. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he informed Grantaire. “It never has. Besides, it’s ‘our’.”

Grantaire frowned at his back. “Our what?”

“Our friends. Not just mine.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “Maybe that was true before—” he started, but he broke off when Joly came to an abrupt stop outside of a hospital room door. “Is this it?”

Joly nodded. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Grantaire’s initial instinct was to say no, but judging by the look on Joly’s face, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone with him, at least at first. “Yeah,” he said. “Please.”

“Of course.” Joly pushed the door open and held it for Grantaire, who took a deep breath before stepping into the room. It was quiet, especially compared to the chaos of the hospital; the only sounds were the beeping from the heart monitor and whooshing sound from what Grantaire assumed was the ventilator.

And there, lying on the hospital bed, more still than Grantaire had ever seen him, was Enjolras.

Even with Enjolras’s head bandaged, even with his face bruised and bloody, even with tubes coming out of him from seemingly every angle, Grantaire still would have recognized him. Every line in Enjolras’s body was as familiar to Grantaire as breathing, even now, even like this, even after so much time had passed since he had last seen him.

He crossed to him almost without thinking, drawn as always to Enjolras like a moth to a flame. But this time, Enjolras didn’t glance up at him in irritation for disturbing him when he was working, or with his expression softening when he saw it was Grantaire. He didn’t tilt his head up automatically for a kiss or roll his eyes and brush Grantaire off. He didn’t scrunch his nose and groan because the alarm clock just went off and he didn’t want to get up yet.

He just lay there, completely still, and even though Grantaire had been expecting it, had been bracing himself for it, it still knocked the breath out of him.

Grantaire reached automatically for his hand, running his thumb automatically over the bare spot on Enjolras’s ring finger where his wedding ring had once sat. He wondered briefly what Enjolras had done with it. Grantaire used to joke to anyone who would listen that he had chucked his into the ocean because good fucking riddance, but he hadn’t – his wedding ring was in the back of the top drawer of his dresser.

He had never been able to articulate why he kept it, but looking at Enjolras lying there like that, feeling the way his own heart stuttered in his chest, he thought he might’ve finally figured it out.

“He’s so warm,” he remarked absently, turning Enjolras’s hand over in his own, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Enjolras’s palm in a way that used to make the man laugh and scold him for tickling him, though there was no reaction now. “I don’t know what I was expecting—”

That wasn’t quite true. He had expected him to be cold.

He had expected him to be dead.

Sympathy was clear in Joly’s expression, and he reached out to gently touch Grantaire’s shoulder. “Are you ok?” he asked softly.

Of course he wasn’t ok – he was never going to be ok again. But he forced a smile for Joly, and jerked a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, looking back down at Enjolras again. “How – how soon do I need to make a decision?”

“Like I said, we’ll retest for brain activity in a few hours. If we still see some functioning, you technically have as long as you want or need—”

“Joly.” Grantaire didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to know – Joly knew him well enough to know he just wanted a straight answer.

“But I’d recommend making a decision on withdrawal of care sooner rather than later, especially if you want to donate his organs,” Joly finished. “The sooner we can harvest them, the better the chances are that they won’t suffer any damage.”

Grantaire nodded again, and Joly squeezed his shoulder. “If you need anything, just push the call button. I’m gonna…” Joly had to pause and clear his throat. “I’m gonna go fill everyone else in.”

“Good luck,” Grantaire told him, meaning it more than he could possibly convey. Joly patted him on the shoulder once more before leaving, and Grantaire was alone with Enjolras.

He had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this.

He sat down in one of the chairs next to Enjolras’s bed without letting go of Enjolras’s hand. Part of him wanted to touch Enjolras, to run his fingers across his cheekbone or trace the line of his jaw, but the bruising and swelling stopped him.

The last thing he wanted to do was cause Enjolras any more pain than he already had.

Instead, he raised Enjolras’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles like he had done a thousand times before. “Hey Enj,” he whispered. “It’s been a long time, huh? I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but...I think given the circumstances, we can make an exception.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, and Grantaire just sat like that for a long time, holding Enjolras’s hand in both of his, completely unaware of anything else, including the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

----------

Maybe it was the fact that he’d gotten no sleep the night before, or maybe it was the unbearable emotional trauma, but at some point Grantaire must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey,” Joly said, sounding just as tired as Grantaire felt. “I figured you could use some company.”

Grantaire slowly sat up, looking automatically at Enjolras, who hadn’t so much as shifted in the bed. He was still holding Enjolras’s hand, and he squeezed it once, even though he knew he wouldn’t get a response. “I’m always happy for company, but you’ve had an impossibly long day. Shouldn’t you be getting home and getting some sleep?”

“I actually wasn’t talking about myself,” Joly said, opening the door. “I brought some other folks who want to see Enjolras.” Grantaire blinked as all of Les Amis filed in, many with telltale red eyes and exhaustion tightening their features. “Visitors are supposed to be limited to no more than four, but I figured no one in the hospital would mind. Provided, um, you don’t mind either.”

As if Grantaire could very well kick them out now that they were all in there, looking at him expectantly. “Of course not,” Grantaire mumbled, looking back at Enjolras before standing up stiffly. “Someone else can sit with him for a bit—”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Combeferre and Courfeyrac had sat down, Courfeyrac taking Enjolras’s hand, and Grantaire bit back the jealousy he had absolutely no right to feel at that.

He ducked his head as he pushed through to the back of the room, nodding in response to the few murmured greetings he got from the friends he hadn’t seen in almost as long as he hadn’t seen Enjolras. He found himself next to Jehan, who didn’t even hesitate, looping his arm through Grantaire’s and pulling him close, resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder as if no time had passed at all.

“You doing ok?” he asked him in an undertone, and Grantaire just shrugged.

“Define alright,” he murmured, giving Jehan a tight, strained smile. “I’m alive. Which is about where the bar is at right now.”

Jehan stifled a laugh, which Grantaire found a little gratifying. Then again, if anyone would appreciate morbid humor at a time like this…

Judging by the dirty look Feuilly shot him from his other side, Jehan was about the only one who appreciated it.

He forced himself to look at Enjolras, watching as Combeferre reached up to rest a hand lightly on the top of Enjolras’s head, almost as if he was trying to stroke Enjolras’s hair despite it being hidden by bandages. Courfeyrac let out a shaky sigh. “He could almost be sleeping,” he said.

It took everything in Grantaire not to laugh, though clearly something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face, because Jehan arched an eyebrow at him. “What?” he whispered.

Grantaire shook his head, not intending on explaining, but this time, it wasn’t just Feuilly who gave him a look – everyone swiveled to stare at him, as if he had just sworn in church or something. “Nothing, it’s just…” Grantaire cleared his throat. “Clearly none of you ever saw Enjolras sleep. He was the least peaceful sleeper of all time. I think I’ve still got the bruises on my legs from him kicking me as he thrashed around, and it’s been a few years since I was subjected to it. It was like sleeping with a very large, particularly violent fish.”

Bossuet looked very much like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “That’s – that’s horrible.”

Grantaire shrugged, managing another small smile. “Maybe. But it’s also true.”

“I really don’t think,” Combeferre interjected, his voice sharp, “that this is an appropriate topic of conversation. If this is the type of thing you want to talk about, maybe you should step outside.”

Combeferre’s disapproval was hardly anything new, and maybe it was just because Grantaire’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point as it was, but he met Combeferre’s icy glare with one of his own. “And seeing as how this is still my husband and I’m still his medical proxy and you’re all here with my permission, maybe you should go fuck yourself,” he said pleasantly.

Combeferre stood up so suddenly that Courfeyrac, who had been resting his head against Combeferre’s shoulder, was almost knocked out of his chair. “Is that really how you want to do this?” he snapped, angrier than Grantaire had ever heard him. “You want a long, protracted legal battle while we get a judge to agree that while you were married to him for all of thirty seconds, we’re his family?:

Joly cleared his throat. “Guys—”

“Good luck with that,” Grantaire said with a smirk. “Just because you hate me doesn’t change the law. I know this wasn’t what you had in mind when you marched and protested in favor of gay marriage, but unintended consequences and all that—”

“Guys,” Joly repeated, louder this time. “All of you need to go outside. It’s time for us to do Enjolras’s repeat brain function tests.”

It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Combeferre’s shoulders slumped, and all the fight left Grantaire just as quickly. They all filed out just as they had filed in, though this time, Grantaire went with them, refusing to look back at Enjolras, mainly because he wasn’t sure he would make it outside if he did.

As soon as he got out in the hallway, Grantaire slumped with his back against the wall, slowly sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He wanted nothing more than to hide his head in his hands, to block the world out so that he could pretend this was all a bad dream that he might still wake up from.

But that would just delay the inevitable, and Grantaire had never much cared for that option.

Instead, he forced himself to look up at Combeferre, who was avoiding looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and Combeferre’s eyes met his. “Of course I don’t want that. And I didn’t mean—”

“Neither did I,” Combeferre told him, exhaustion clear in his expression. “I know Enjolras loved you. Even after everything. We all do.” Grantaire glanced around the circle of his former friends, and all of them were nodding. His chest suddenly felt too tight, but before he could say anything, Combeferre continued, “And you know just as much as any of us. Probably better than most of us.” Combeferre gave Grantaire a tentative smile. “Besides, he and I had to share a bed at a conference once and I’m pretty sure I limped for about a month afterwards from how many times he kicked me.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile, Combeferre’s words picking open a scab on his heart that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying with him. “I don’t know him anymore,” he said softly, and Combeferre’s smile disappeared. “I mean, honestly, I don’t know if I ever did. I thought I did once, maybe. But now…”

He trailed off, and they all fell into silence. After a few minutes like that, quiet, unrelated conversations broke out. Grantaire watched all these people he had once considered his closest friends, watched Courfeyrac wrap his arms around Pontmercy from behind, resting his head against Marius’s back because Marius was too tall for him to rest his chin on his shoulder. He watched as Jehan and Combeferre sat down across the hall, discussing some article they had both read in quiet tones, both clearly looking for a distraction. Bahorel and Feuilly offered to get coffee for anyone who wanted it, and both headed in the direction of the cafeteria, neither walking quite as fast as they usually did. Bossuet sat next to a pretty woman in scrubs who Grantaire didn’t know but realized must be Musichetta, who he had heard about but never gotten a chance to meet before everything fell apart.

That was nice, Grantaire thought distractedly. They all had someone.

Well, except for him.

Grantaire was alone.

When the door to Enjolras’s room opened and Joly stepped out, all conversation died. Joly’s expression was unreadable as he looked down at Grantaire. “We should talk privately,” he said, but Grantaire shook his head.

“Whatever you have to say, you might as well tell all of us,” he said tiredly. “Saves you from just having to repeat it in five minutes.”

Joly nodded. “Ok,” he said before taking a deep breath and glancing around at all of them. “The scans revealed the same level of brain activity as before. Meaning he is not legally brain dead.”

Grantaire groaned, tipping his head back to rest it against the wall. “So the ball’s in my court,” he said heavily, and Joly nodded again.

“Yes. It’s your decision where we go from here.”

Grantaire exhaled sharply before barking a laugh. “You know, the irony is, he said that I would know,” he said to no one in particular.

“What?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

“That’s why he picked me,” Grantaire said, staring up at the ceiling. “I told Enjolras when we got married that he should still make Pontmercy his medical proxy like everyone else did. Told him that I would probably be right there with him getting my ass kicked so I’d be useless anyway. But he said that he trusted me.” Tears pricked in the corners of Grantaire’s eyes but he didn’t bother trying to stop them as they fell. “He said that I’d know when his work was done, when it was time to let him go.”

Silence again fell over everyone, but this time, it was Bahorel who broke it, blurting, “That’s seriously what you two would talk about?” Everyone stared at him, and he shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I just – I always wondered.”

“I think we all did,” Jehan muttered, and Grantaire cracked a smile.

“In fairness, we talked about a lot of things, not just what to do in the case of a traumatic injury.” His smile faded. “But given the likelihood that he’d get his head bashed in at a protest one day, it wasn’t exactly a random hypothetical.”

But in the end, it hadn’t been Enjolras’s activism that had killed him, the way Grantaire always feared it would. It had been a car accident, a random, cruel accident that had ended his entire world, and he was sure there was some lesson to be drawn from that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Instead, he twisted his head to look up at Joly. “Anyway, I, uh, I need some time.”

“Of course,” Joly said instantly. “Take as much time as you need.”

Grantaire looked away, glancing around the circle before adding, “And, um, everyone should take some time with him. To say...whatever you need to say.”

He let them work out who was going to go in first as he instead picked himself up off the floor and made his way over to Marius to ask in an undertone, “Can we talk?”

Marius nodded, looking concerned, and they walked away down the hallway. “What’s up?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

Grantaire let out a shaky breath. “I, uh...honestly?” He let out a noise that might’ve been a cough, or a very dry laugh. “It’s going to sound stupid, but I wanted to make sure I haven’t committed tax fraud.”

Whatever Marius had been expecting, that was clearly not it, since he stared at Grantaire as if he’d grown a second head. “Tax fraud?” he repeated.

“Yeah, since I’ve been under the impression that I’ve been divorced, I’ve been filing my taxes as single.”

Marius barked a laugh, quickly covering his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not funny. None of this is funny. I just can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about.”

Grantaire flinched. “I mean, I’m worried about a lot of things. This is just something that I can do something about.” He glanced at Marius. “Or not, and the IRS is putting a warrant out for my arrest as we speak.”

Marius laughed again, but gentler this time. “You will not be going down for tax fraud,” he said. “The designation is single or married filing separately, which you technically are. Or were.”

The past tense was like a knife to the gut, and Grantaire jerked a nod. “Good,” he said hollowly. “Because if I go down for tax fraud because Enjolras forgot to file our fucking divorce papers, I swear to God, I’ll kill him myself.”

Something shifted in Marius’s expression. “You know, I’m not sure he did.”

“Did what?” Grantaire asked tiredly.

“Forget,” Marius said, before adding in what he clearly thought was a helpful way, as if Grantaire was incapable of following the simple thread of the conversation, “To file the papers, I mean. I think he didn’t file them on purpose.”

Grantaire stared blankly at him. “And yet he clearly didn’t want to be married to me, so…”

Marius shrugged. “Maybe not. I can’t speak to that.” He hesitated before telling Grantaire, “Technically this is breaking attorney-client privilege, but...he came to me, after you had signed the papers. And he asked me what would happen to his trust fund in the divorce.”

“His trust fund?” Grantaire asked blankly.

“Yeah,” Marius said. “According to your pre-nup, in the case of divorce, all of his original assets revert to his sole ownership, save for what he would owe in spousal support.”

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I never wanted his money—”

“But Enjolras didn’t want that,” Marius continued as if Grantaire hadn’t spoken. “He wanted to make sure you had more than that. So I started to tell him about the process of signing over certain trusts to your name, and he blew me off. Said he’d take care of it.”

“Right.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with, but it didn’t really matter, since Marius ignored him. “But I think what he meant is that he’d take care of you.”

Again, Grantaire’s chest felt painfully tight. “By pretending we were divorced?” he asked skeptically.

Marius shrugged again. “Well, I’ve never once argued that the man’s methods were anything resembling sane, but…” Almost despite himself, Grantaire laughed and Marius managed a small smile. “But yeah, I think that was what he was trying to do.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “After all this time...I really didn’t think he could surprise me anymore.”

“He loved you,” Marius said simply. “I don’t know what happened between you two, and frankly, I don’t want to. But I know that much is true.” Grantaire couldn’t seem to speak, but Marius looked like he understood. “Anyway,” he said, “can I answer any other legal questions for you? Or do anything at all?”

Grantaire was about to tell him no when a sudden realization hit. “Actually, yes,” he said. “Can you get Combeferre and Courfeyrac for me? I want to talk to them.”

---------

As it turned out, between everyone saying their goodbyes to Enjolras and the general chaos of the hospital, including a very angry nurse coming to tell them that they were all liable to get kicked out if they didn’t keep it down, Grantaire didn’t get a chance to talk to Combeferre and Courfeyrac together until it was just the three of them left in Enjolras’s hospital room. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were seated on either side of Enjolras, and Grantaire stood at the end of the bed, wanting to be anywhere but there, talking about anything but what he needed to.

“What would you two do?” he asked finally, when the silence had gotten truly unbearable.

Combeferre looked sharply at him. “Legally, it’s not our decision to make.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said tiredly. “But you knew him better than I did these past few years, and I want to know what you would do.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances, and it was Courfeyrac who spoke first. “Enjolras wanted to help people,” he said simply. “Yeah, his aim was always more systemic, because he knew as well as any of us that to truly help folks in the long term required breaking the system that was oppressing them in the first place, but that’s still what he wanted to do: to help.” He paused and took a deep breath. “And I think that in this case, even though it’s not a systemic help, he would still want to help people with his death, if he could. So I would– I would withdraw life support so that he could donate his organs.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “What about you?” he asked Combeferre hoarsely.

Combeferre shook his head, looking back at Enjolras. “I know what the statistics are,” he said, his voice low. “And logic would say that pulling the plug probably makes the most sense, given the odds of him recovering. But as long as there is a chance, any chance…” He swallowed. “Science is progressing rapidly and he could live like this for years, until they’ve developed a treatment that could bring him back to us. We learn more about the brain and healing from brain injuries every single day, and he deserves a chance to see if we discover how to heal him.” He raised his chin as he looked back at Grantaire, something like defiance in his expression. “His work is not done, and I can’t imagine him giving up that chance, no matter how slim the odds are.”

Again Grantaire nodded. “In other words, you’re both completely fucking useless.”

“Enjolras said as much, many, many times,” Courfeyrac said with something like his usual cheerfulness. “Everytime he wanted us to agree with him on something and we didn’t.”

“So like, once a week, at least,” Combeferre muttered, and he and Courfeyrac exchanged a smile at the shared memory. Then he looked back at Grantaire. “But at the end of the day, we’re not the ones making this choice. He didn’t—” His voice broke. “He didn’t choose us. He chose you. And you know him better than you think you do, because you know the parts of him that none of us ever got to see.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue with that, but Courfeyrac stood, squeezing Enjolras’s hand once more before releasing it. “We should leave you alone,” he said softly. “Give you some time with him.” He looked at Grantaire, his eyes shining. “Whatever choice you make, you have my full support. Because despite everything, I know you loved him. And that’s enough for me.”

Grantaire could feel tears threatening to fall again, but this time, he brushed them forcefully away as Combeferre and Courfeyrac slipped away. Grantaire took Combeferre’s vacated seat, staring down at Enjolras as if the man might give him a sign, any sign.

He had hoped Combeferre and Courfeyrac would give him some kind of clarity, but he should’ve known they wouldn’t. Especially since they were both completely wrong.

They had known Enjolras, yes, and loved him, but they hadn’t loved him like Grantaire had. Like Grantaire still did. Loving Enjolras for Grantaire had always meant seeing more than just the leader of Les Amis, but seeing the whole man, even for all his many, many faults. Enjolras cared deeply like Courfeyrac had said, yes, but not about helping any one person; he cared only about destroying the systems that kept people in whatever metaphoric chains he cared about that week. He wouldn’t be swayed by the argument that he could save lives or else he would’ve been a living kidney or partial liver donor.

And he wasn’t a hopeless believer either like Combeferre seemed to think. The thought of Enjolras waiting around for a miracle that might not even happen was utterly laughable. The man’s patience was non-existent. He wouldn’t be content to lie in bed for years on end. He was a man of action, and if there was nothing actionable, it wasn’t anything worth his time. It was, after all, probably why he had been so quick to give up on them, since there wasn’t anything left for him to do or fix.

There was only one argument that would sway Enjolras, one way or another. An argument about the Cause, about the work left undone, and as much as Grantaire was the wrong messenger for anything relating to the Cause or Enjolras’s work, he knew that only he could tell Enjolras what he needed to hear.

Grantaire would obviously never know, but he couldn’t help but think that this was why Enjolras had chosen him. Because whatever else he was, or wasn’t, had been or hadn’t, Enjolras was already gone. Whether they removed the ventilator today or tomorrow or in a week or a year, Enjolras would not be any less gone.

But Grantaire had already lost him, years ago now, and maybe that’s why Enjolras had let this be his decision.

Because he was the only one who could make it.

And he knew what he had to do.

So he squeezed Enjolras’s hand one more time before standing and going to the door, his eyes clear for the first time all day. “Can you get Joly for me?” he asked Courfeyrac, who was standing closest to the door as if keeping watch. “I’ve made my decision.”

----------

Grantaire stroked the top of Enjolras’s head, pretending that the rough bandages under his fingers were instead the fine blond curls he had never quite been able to capture with the right color when he painted Enjolras. He had spent hours some evenings just running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, watching the different shades of gold tumble through his fingers, while Enjolras had worked on something or other.

He would always miss that, in particular, those evenings they spent just the two of them. He would always miss the version of Enjolras that had been his husband. But that was an old hurt now, no matter how much circumstances might make it feel brand new again.

“Damn you,” he said, which wasn’t exactly how he had anticipated starting his goodbye speech, but if he couldn’t be honest in these last moments, then when could he? “Damn you for loving me, and leaving me, and still somehow putting me in this position. For making me be the one to decide, and the one who has to live with that for the rest of my life. You always were an asshole, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but…”

He trailed off, and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together, marveling as he always had at how well their hands fit together. There had been a part of them that had always worked, even when nothing else between them seemed to, and it had been that part that he had clung to even when they were well past their expiration date.

He wondered if that was the part that had stopped Enjolras from filing the papers.

“We were supposed to die together,” he whispered, the breath hitching in his throat. “That’s what I promised, when we got married. That we would be together until we were old. And even if we died early, because of a protest gone bad or something, I still just assumed it’d be you and me leaving together. I never– I never thought I’d be the one left behind.”

He lifted Enjolras’s hand to his mouth again, this time pressing a kiss to the finger where, years ago, he had placed his ring and promised Enjolras he would love him forever. “I didn’t lie, you know,” he told Enjolras. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you.” He shook his head slowly. “I will you until the day I die, no matter if you’re still here or not. And—” His voice broke. “And Joly wasn’t supposed to tell me this, I think it’s supposed to be confidential, but...at least a part of you will still be here. Because there’s a 10-year-old girl in Pennsylvania who’s going to get your kidney. And a 45-year-old father of two who’s getting part of your liver. And your heart—” Again his voice broke. “And your heart is going to keep beating for a very long time because it’s going to a 28-year-old woman.”

When Joly had told him where Enjolras’s organs were going, when Grantaire signed all the consent forms, he had told him as if it was a comfort, somehow, as if Grantaire didn’t now have a list of people to resent because they were going to live, and Enjolras was not.

But it was better than no comfort at all.

“You have done more in your brief life than most people could accomplish in two lifetimes,” Grantaire continued, “and more importantly, you are leaving behind people who will continue doing your work. That’s the part of you that I know you care about, so you can rest easy knowing that they will carry you with them for the rest of their lives, fighting the battles you always wanted to. And as for the rest, well—” He was sure that he was crushing Enjolras’s hand with how tightly he held it. “I’ll carry that with me. I’ve got you, I promise. I always have.”

He had figured he would cry, would weep, but instead, he felt strangely at peace, looking down at Enjolras and telling him all of the things he had always wanted to say but had never been able to bring himself to. Just their fucked up luck that it had taken this.

He leaned in close, his voice no more than a whisper as he told him, fiercely, “Others will take your place in the Cause, and keep fighting. I promise you that. So you can rest now, ok?” He bent over Enjolras and kissed his forehead, his eyelids fluttering closed. “It’s all I ever wanted for you, was for you to rest. And maybe this is selfish of me, maybe it's the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t care.” He opened his eyes, searching Enjolras’s face for some sign, any sign, that he heard, that he understood. He knew he wouldn’t find any, but that didn’t matter.

“The work will never be done, but your part in it is.” His voice cracked. “I love you, and you can stop fighting now.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, Grantaire holding onto Enjolras with everything that he had left. Then a nurse poked her head into the room. “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

It was an asinine question. Of course Grantaire wasn’t ready. He was never going to be ready.

But he jerked a nod anyway and stood, taking a step back so the flurry of doctors and nurses could make Enjolras ready to move, so they could take him to the operating room where they would remove his life support and take the organs he was able to donate. “I love you,” he told Enjolras one last time, something desperate in his voice. “I love you. Don’t fight anymore, ok? Just...just rest.”

“Sir,” one of the nurses said, her voice gentle. “Sir, you have to let him go.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said numbly. “Of course.”

And he let go of Enjolras’s hand.

#enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #les amis #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #former relationship #car accident cw #major injury cw #end of life care cw #major character death cw #angst #all of the angst #truly

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bettydice · 3 years

Text

I didn’t expect you to be lonely (too)

Xicheng, Modern AU, JC&WWX reconciliation, E-Rated

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 8

On Thursday, they meet in front of the park where they first kissed. Lan Xichen greets him with a smile, gratefully accepting the tea Jiang Cheng had bought for him at the café. Jiang Cheng went with a plain black coffee today, himself. Since they’re not ‘dating’, he doesn’t have to pretend his coffee orders are interesting, which is a stupid thought he shouldn’t have had in the first place anyway. Today, they should just do whatever they want and whatever they’re comfortable with.

For once, it’s not raining. The sun bathes everything in a golden glow and the air is crisp and clear. They walk hand in hand, sipping their hot beverages. They don’t talk much, simply enjoy this lovely autumn day together. Jiang Cheng isn’t used to taking walks without a purpose or a destination. He likes it, a lot. Likes just looking. Likes spending time with someone without the need to fill the silence with words. Well, and he likes Lan Xichen. A lot.

Once they’ve circled the park twice, they walk back to Lan Xichen’s apartment, where Jiang Cheng attends to the duties he has as someone who was ‘claimed’ by a bunny. Lan Xichen gives him some treats he can spoil Cloud with while petting her thoroughly, while Lan Xichen (spends some time with Jade). They keep sitting on the floor even after the bunnies have lost interest in their services and hopped away to explore the territory under the coffee table. The sun is shining through the window, perfectly illuminating a square for them to sit in. Lan Xichen leans back on his hands and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth. He looks deeply content and so fucking beautiful, it’s almost painful.

Jiang Cheng feels the overwhelming urge to touch him. He’d like to run a finger over the bridge of Lan Xichen’s nose, his lips, down his neck. Wants to know what Lan Xichen’s smile feels like. Wants to caress the strong line of his jaw. He’s not quite sure why, and he’s sure Lan Xichen would be weirded out if he actually did it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he contents himself with simply looking. Traces the contours of Lan Xichen’s face with his eyes, not his fingers.

Naturally, Lan Xichen opens his eyes the exact moment Jiang Cheng’s eyes lovingly follow the soft curve of his upper lip. He flushes, but before the full force of his embarrassment can hit him, Lan Xichen scoots closer, gently pulls him closer by his neck, and kisses him.

Jiang Cheng touches him then, lifts one hand and cradles Lan Xichen’s face. Strokes his thumb across his jaw, his cheek. And that’s when he does feel it, feels Lan Xichen’s lips pull into a smile against Jiang Cheng’s mouth, feels his cheek move under his thumb. He wants to -

The doorbell rings.

Lan Xichen immediately lets go of him and sits up straight. Jiang Cheng would like to give whoever interrupted them a few choice words. Lan Xichen looks confused for a second, then looks at his watch and … seems to suppress a curse. “I… did not realise it was so late already. That’s… that’s my brother, we’re having dinner together…”

“Ah, okay… Oh!” Jiang Cheng sits up, wants to follow Lan Xichen, who jumps to his feet, smoothing out his clothes. “Should I…?” What should he do? Hide in the bathroom? Jump down from the balcony? Which is a ridiculous thought. They’re not some kind of dirty secret… The instinct to hide is there anyway.

“Oh, no… just stay here with the bunnies.” Lan Xichen squeezes his shoulder and rushes out of the room. “Don’t worry!”

Don’t worry? Unlikely. And indeed, his brain immediately comes up with a fuckton of worries: Lan Xichen’s brother! He doesn’t know they’re together! But he probably knows who Jiang Cheng is! And only knows bad things about Jiang Cheng, because whatever Wei Wuxian told him can’t be good! What if he doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and then Lan Xichen can’t be with him anymore? What if -

His panic spiral gets interrupted by Cloud, who lovingly gnaws on his finger. Clearly a demand for more pets. He immediately takes her back in his lap, grateful for the interruption.

He can hear Lan Xichen open the door. It’s not too late to go hide somewhere. Maybe he could squeeze himself under the couch.

“Wangji! You’re early!”

Granted, Jiang Cheng may be a little paranoid right now, but Lan Xichen sounds breathless, the kind of breathless people are in dramas when they try to pretend they do not have their secret lover over in front of their strict mother who’d frown upon pre-marital relations.

“I’m two minutes late.” Oh no, oh fuck, this is going to be a disaster. Lan Wangji’s voice is calm and doesn’t carry any particular emotion, certainly no anger or criticism, but... it makes Jiang Cheng feel like he did something wrong.

Lan Xichen laughs, clearly nervous. A beat of silence.

“You have a visitor?” Right, his shoes. He’s definitely seen this exact scenario in a drama before.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I forgot the time.”

“You said you didn’t have to work today.” Lan Wangji’s voice hasn’t changed at all, but Jiang Cheng still winces in sympathy.

“Well… it’s not work.”

“I see.”

More silence. Jiang Cheng wishes he could see their facial expressions, because their voices don’t tell him how things are going. He can only make assumptions, which is… not helpful. Jiang Cheng begins calculating whether he would survive a jump from the balcony. It’s possible he’d just break a leg. That’d be fine, he can handle a broken leg.

“Should I… leave?”

“Oh, no! Sorry, please come in!” Lan Xichen sounds… a tad too bright to be natural.

The door closes. Presumably after Lan Wangji has fully come in.

“This is for you. And this is from Wei Ying. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you! That’s very kind.”

Wait, what? What… Birthday? Wei Wuxian is giving Lan Xichen birthday presents via Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng didn’t even know it was his birthday! Today!? Why didn’t he know? Did Lan Xichen mention it? He doesn’t think so!!!??? But he wanted to meet today? Maybe he did mention it and Jiang Cheng didn’t notice???

There’s movement in the hallway and Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet, clutching Cloud to his body like a grumpy security blanket.

Just when he has the thought “What am I doing, I should put Cloud down so I can greet Lan Wangji properly”, Lan Xichen returns to the living room. His brother enters behind him.

Even if he hadn’t known that they’re related, he’d have suspected it. Lan Wangji is just as tall and handsome, but in a more… distant way. Even though Lan Wangji’s face is as carefully blank as his voice, Jiang Cheng immediately feels judged. His eyes rest on Jiang Cheng only for a second, before turning to his brother, waiting for an introduction.

“Wangji, this is Jiang Wanyin, he’s-”

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji turns the full force of his gaze to Jiang Cheng. He should’ve jumped off the balcony. “You’re Jiang Cheng.”

Not a question. A judgement.

“Uh… yes. Nice to meet you.” Jiang Cheng forces himself to smile but Lan Wangji… does not seem pleased at all to meet him. If looks could kill, Jiang Cheng would already be dead and coming back as a ghost to haunt Lan Wangji, because what the fuck! Lan Wangji looks as though he wants to fucking deck him! He’s carrying a bunny, he can’t get punched right now!

Lan Wangji manages to hold back his bloodlust and within seconds, his face is back to being completely expressionless. He turns to his brother and says, no, spits out: “Jiang Cheng?”

Woooooooooooow, okay. That was clearly ‘Jiang Cheng is the guy you’ve been meeting? Of all the people in the world? I expected better from you, brother, and demand you throw him out right this instant.’

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen frowns at his brother. Has Jiang Cheng ever seen him frown before?

The brothers have a silent conversation for a few seconds that ends with Lan Xichen sighing and Lan Wangji turning around and stalking towards Jiang Cheng. Fuck, he’s going to get punched in the fucking face.

He does not get punched. Instead, Lan Wangji takes Cloud away from Jiang Cheng and carries her out on the balcony.

What the actual fuck? According to this guy, Jiang Cheng is not good enough for Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen or a bunny. And this guy is Lan Xichen’s brother. This is… not going great!

Jiang Cheng turns toward Lan Xichen with an incredulous expression. Lan Xichen has stepped closer, so he can put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m sorry. Wangji just… needs a little time to process.” He smiles, though it’s a strained one, and inclines his head in apology.

Jiang Cheng is not optimistic that 'time to process' will help get rid of the visceral dislike in Lan Wangji’s eyes, but well… they don't know each other. It’s possible this is how Lan Wangji looks at everyone he meets. Doubtful, but... He gives Lan Xichen a - probably unconvincing - smile.

“This is really not how I wanted this to go. I’m sorry.” Lan Xichen sighs and drops his hand. He looks so unhappy... He should never be unhappy, especially not on his fucking birthday! Jiang Cheng tries to get his shit together and make his smile more convincing. He takes Lan Xichen’s hand and squeezes it. Before he can convince Lan Xichen that this situation is in fact all Jiang Cheng’s fault, Lan Wangji returns. His frosty gaze falls on their linked hands. Lan Xichen tightens his grip instead of letting go, Jiang Cheng tries to not look surprised.

“Wangji, would you like some tea?”

Lan Wangji looks at his brother, hesitates for a second, nods, then picks up Jade and carries her out to the balcony as well.

“Does he think I’m going to fucking steal them, or what?” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath.

Lan Xichen huffs a laugh. “No, it’s just… They’re his bunnies and you’re a stranger.”

“Mhm. And he hates me.”

“He doesn’t, don’t worry.”

“Well, he definitely wants to punch me.”

“But he won’t.”

Lan Xichen smiles, no, smirks at him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, even though he has to laugh. He also wants to kiss Lan Xichen, but Lan Wangji returns from his bunny rescue mission and Jiang Cheng likes Lan Xichen more than he wants to irritate Lan Wangji.

Five minutes later, they’re sitting around the couch table for the most awkward teatime Jiang Cheng has attended in a long time. Lan Wangji has taken to not looking at him at all, which is somehow even more offensive than his “how dare you touch my bunnies with your dirty hands” looks.

Lan Xichen, who has so far unsuccessfully tried to get a conversation going, sets down his teacup maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary and looks at his brother, jaw set with determination. “So-”

“Did you order already? It’s almost half past six, we don’t want to eat too late.”

“I put in the order this morning already, the food will be here in about ten minutes.” Lan Xichen actually sounds irritated. It’s a polite kind of irritation, but still.

“Will he be joining us?” Lan Wangji says, of course without looking at Jiang Cheng.

Honestly? Fuck this dude! Jiang Cheng sets down his cup as well and gives Lan Wangji his best fake smile. “Actually, I’ll be leaving now. I still have some work to do for class tomorrow.”

He doesn’t. Well, he does, but he wasn’t planning on doing it. But staying here seems like a very bad idea. Lan Xichen opens his mouth, clearly wants to protest, but Jiang Cheng gets up before he can say anything. Lan Wangji gets up as well and nods goodbye to a spot on the wall above Jiang Cheng’s left shoulder. Lan Xichen gives him an exasperated look, then accompanies Jiang Cheng to the door.

Jiang Cheng does his best to appear relaxed and unbothered by asshole brothers who hate him while putting on his jacket and shoes. Going by the look on Lan Xichen’s face, he didn’t fully succeed. Jiang Cheng smiles extra hard as he reaches for his scarf, but Lan Xichen grabs it first.

He wraps the scarf around Jiang Cheng’s neck, worry pulling his eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, this is not-"

"It's okay, don't worry." Jiang Cheng rests his hands on Lan Xichen’s and tries to smile the way his sister would. "You should have a nice dinner with your brother and not worry about anything."

"He's not… " Lan Xichen starts, then stops, obviously at a loss as to what exactly his brother isn’t. Hostile? A bit of an asshole? Full of hatred towards Jiang Cheng and only partially justified to feel that way? “I hope you have a nice evening, too. You shouldn’t worry either.”

Still unlikely, but Jiang Cheng gives him a reassuring nod. Lan Xichen seems to be content with that, because the smile finally returns to his face and he tucks in the ends of Jiang Cheng’s scarf before letting go.

After saying goodbye, Jiang Cheng turns around to leave, but then remembers he almost forgot something very, very important. He turns around again, leans forward, rests his hand on Lan Xichen’s chest and kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

Lan Xichen exhales softly, surprised. Then he smiles at Jiang Cheng, warmly, his whole face lighting up. Ah… this definitely helps dispel some of his worries. “Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng very intently tries not to think of anything until he gets home. He takes off his shoes and jacket. Takes off the scarf and carefully hangs it up. He sits down on his couch, checks his phone for messages. There aren’t any. Alright. Then...

What the fuck? What the fuck was that? Why does Lan Xichen’s brother hate him? Jiang Cheng didn’t even do anything yet, isn’t it too early to hate him? What… what did Wei Wuxian tell him? It must have been bad, for Lan Wangji to react so strongly. Is he currently telling those things to Lan Xichen? Is he telling him to stop seeing Jiang Cheng?

His mind conjures an image of Lan Wangji taking away Lan Xichen from him like he did with Cloud and carrying him out to the balcony. Despite everything, he has to laugh, though it sounds slightly hysterical. Why is family so… Why is family?

He lies down on the couch and looks at his phone. He opens Wei Wuxian’s Selfie Of The Day and studies it intently, as though it hides the answer to his questions. But there are no answers to be gained, it’s just a picture of Wei Wuxian’s face. He’s smiling, but it’s a very standard Wei Wuxian smile. The background is blurry, so there’s nothing to analyze there.

Wei Wuxian, do you really hate me?

Just a few days ago, Jiang Cheng had arrived at a very different conclusion, was getting comfortable with the idea of contacting his brother, was feeling hopeful...

But Lan Wangji had looked at him so coldly.

Fuck this shit. He’s going to stop thinking about it, it’s not like that has ever helped him.

Jiang Cheng scours his kitchen for food and ends up eating a bag of chips for dinner. (Some kind of weird novelty flavour that has a very fishy aftertaste -- he should stop buying things just because they’re on sale.) He's still hungry after, so he makes some ramen.

Tomorrow, he should really go out and buy proper groceries. He distracts himself by making a very elaborate shopping list and planning his meals for the next few days. It's highly unlikely he’ll actually follow through on this, but at least he’s considering it.

While trying to think of something else he can distract himself with, he remembers the stuff for uni and decides to forget about it again immediately. Instead, he starts cleaning his kitchen.

Sadly, there’s not much to clean, the rest of his flat is pretty tidy, too (except for Wei Wuxian’s room, which he will not enter). When did he turn into a tidy person? He can’t remember the last time he looked around his flat and thought ‘what a mess’, which used to be a weekly occurrence.

… Maybe this is connected to him feeling a strong urge to clean whenever he sits down to do something for his degree. Maybe.

With nothing left to clean, he returns to the couch with his laptop in hand. Somehow, he gets sucked into watching a bunch of videos by a vet explaining how to best care for different pets. He only intended to watch the bunny videos, but suddenly it’s an hour later and he’s watching “10 Things You Should Consider Before Getting A Pet Snake”.

Suddenly, his phone rings. His sister is the only one who calls him, but it's 9 p.m., and she never calls so late. Unless it’s an emergency?

He almost falls from the couch trying to grab his phone without getting up.

It's Lan Xichen.

"Hello?" Jiang Cheng sits upright, trying to sound like he spent the past few hours doing something productive.

"Wanyin, hello, it's me, Lan Xichen."

"Yes… Hello. Is… everything okay?" Why is he calling him? It’s probably bad news, right? He is going to break up with him. His brother convinced him that Jiang Cheng is the worst, and-

"I'm sorry, it's too late to be calling you isn't it? I should have sent a message first. I can call you tomorrow-"

"No, it's okay! Don't worry, I go to bed pretty late. Is something the matter? Did… the dinner with your brother not go well?"

"Oh, it was nice! Well, mostly. I was just worried about you. I feel bad about how that all went down. You must’ve been very taken aback. I hope you don’t think-”

"It's really not your fault! It just was bad timing. And you would’ve told your brother earlier, if it wasn’t for me and the whole Wei Wuxian situation. I understand why your brother was so…” Well, he can sort of understand it. He still thinks ripping Cloud out of his hands was an asshole move!

"Wangji was just surprised. And, well, he likes Wei Wuxian a lot. And, hm… he’s very protective. Of us both.”

"I understand. Wei Wuxian must have told him that I’m... told him what happened, so of course he dislikes me. He would not want someone like me to be with you." Jiang Cheng had not meant to put it so bluntly, but it’s too late to take it back now. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Lan Xichen to confirm this.

“Ah… You must be worried about what exactly Wei Wuxian told my brother,” Lan Xichen says softly.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply to that, which seems to be answer enough. Lan Xichen’s next words are urgent, almost rushed.

“It’s not what you think, Wanyin. Wangji knew about the situation, but it seems Wei Wuxian prefers not to talk about it. And he seems to think it’s his fault, which Wangji disagrees with, and that’s why he was so… Don’t take this as a sign your brother wouldn’t want to see you. If anything, this is even more reason for you to talk to him!”

Jiang Cheng really doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t expect these words at all. This is quite different from how calmly Lan Xichen reacted after Jiang Cheng had poured out his heart about the Wei Wuxian situation.

“I… You’re right, I was worried about that. I’ll try to… maybe just forget this happened. I’m sure the next time I meet your brother, he’ll even let me hold Cloud for a few minutes.”

He said that to lighten the mood, to make Lan Xichen laugh, but it’s quiet on the other end. Did he sound like he didn’t mean it? Was his tone sarcastic or bitter?

“Are you… really okay?” For some reason, Jiang Cheng has to think about Lan Xichen in the café, pale and with shaking hands.

At the other end of the line, Lan Xichen draws in a deep breath. “Yes, of course, sorry… You… I... “ He takes another deep breath, then gives an embarrassed laugh. “I think I managed to talk myself into a little anxiety spiral in the past twenty minutes. You’re… you’re not mad at me, right?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you? What the fuck?!” Jiang Cheng gives his phone an incredulous look. “If anything, you should be mad at me!”

“Of course not! But ah… I don’t know. I had the thought maybe you were displeased about how you had to meet Wangji without warning… “ Before Jiang Cheng can protest, Lan Xichen continues, almost stumbling over his words, as though they’re leaving his mouth without his permission. “Which was my mistake, I forgot the time, or I could’ve just told you he was coming for dinner but I didn’t because in my mind that meant telling you it was my birthday, which I didn’t want, because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to buy a present or had to spend time with me, even if maybe you didn’t have time or weren’t feeling up to it anymore or…”

Jiang Cheng, who is very familiar with a brain that goes on tangents like that, tries to channel his sister’s best understanding-and-loving-but-firm voice. “Xichen-ge… I’m not mad at you. Not at all. I had a great time with you this afternoon and while meeting your brother was, uhm, quite the experience, it didn’t fill me with more doubts and worries than I manage to give myself every other day.”

“...Okay. Thank you.” Lan Xichen laughs again, a little less embarrassed this time. “Ah, I was calling you to reassure you, not the other way around.”

“You did though! You were right, I was actually spending the evening actively avoiding thinking about that stuff, because I knew I’d just freak myself out.” Jiang Cheng wishes he could hold his hand, hug him, just… look at his face to see whether he’s feeling better. “Was I able to reassure you, though?”

“Mhm, yes.” A short pause. “Do you… could we maybe switch to a video call? If you don’t want-”

“Yeah, sure!” Jiang Cheng immediately pulls back his shoulders, runs a hand through his hair and smoothes his shirt, before holding his phone in front of him and switching to video. Lan Xichen’s face appears on the screen, smiling. Jiang Cheng smiles, too. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Lan Xichen gives a cute little wave, Jiang Cheng returns the wave and they both have to laugh. Then they just look at each other without saying anything, smiling. Eventually, Jiang Cheng relaxes and the nervous energy seems to have left Lan Xichen as well, as far as he can tell.

"Happy birthday again."

"Thank you."

"I hope it was a good day? Despite…" Jiang Cheng grimaces and wiggles his fingers.

"Yes, it was! I… am also perfectly capable to give myself worries all by myself, every other day. So this is just business as usual."

"WYou can call me the next time it happens, too,"Jiang Cheng says without thinking. He cringes. "Well, if it would help."

"Seeing your face always makes me feel better," Lan Xichen says with a completely straight face. What the fuck? Since it's a video call, Lan Xichen can see Jiang Cheng's dumbfounded face. He chuckles. "I mean it, Wanyin."

"Well, if you like it so much, you should let me do something for your birthday," Jiang Cheng sputters. That doesn't really make sense, but what Lan Xichen is saying isn't making sense either. "From now on, you better tell me about any birthdays you have, or anything else you want to celebrate!"

Lan Xichen nods, clearly amused. "Alright. Though I promise, I only have this one birthday."

"Even more reason to celebrate it properly," Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Okay, do you have time this Saturday? We can go somewhere nice, or if you don't want to go out, I can cook you a nice dinner here."

Lan Xichen widens his eyes in surprise. "Oh! Yes, Saturday works. I'd… I'd love that."

"Good! It's a date then! Well, a not-date… whatever!"

Lan Xichen looks at him for a second with a soft smile. Then, the smile deepens. "I do really like your face very much."

Jiang Cheng frowns at the camera and is glad it isn't really picking up that he's blushing.He’s never been known for being able to graciously accept compliments, so instead he replies with a needlessly aggressive-sounding: “Good, because you’ll be seeing it a lot!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t even look surprised this time, he simply starts laughing and Jiang Cheng soon joins him.

They talk a lot that evening. Lan Xichen tells him about what they had for dinner and the presents he received today. Apparently Wei Wuxian drew him a picture of the bunnies surrounded by plants, which is really sweet if he ignores the weird feeling squirming in his chest when he thinks about Wei Wuxian giving presents to Lan Xichen, his probably-boyfriend.

They talk until Jiang Cheng - now lying on his side on the couch, phone propped up on the coffee table - feels his eyes begin to droop. On the other end, Lan Xichen has to yawn and they finally end the call at 10:30 p.m.

When Jiang Cheng falls asleep that night, he does so with the utmost certainty that he’s deeply in love with Lan Xichen. And still utterly terrified of talking to his brother. But the first is larger and more important than the latter.

#xicheng #the untamed #Jiang Cheng #Lan Xichen #cql #mdzs #modern au #To Meet You verse #betty drabbles

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saelwen · 4 years

Text

Eonwë x Modern!Reader

Request by a lovely anon:

Hi! Can we get Eonwe and a modern!reader oneshot ❤️

Masterlist

Warning: Death, Fluff

Words: 2k

“I can’t see shit!” you snarl under your breath as you drive your old car through a heavy storm.

It has been a particularly awful day for you. When you got to your workplace in the morning, you were met by a tone of paperwork on your desk. By the lunch break, your boss had come to you and start yelling at you for something that your stupid coworker had done.

When you were preparing to drive home, a big storm broke. Pouring rain so heavy that you couldn’t anything in the road. You were grumpy from your horrible day, all you wanted was to go home and have a lovely hot bath with a delicious wine to go with.

Your phone ringed, making you look down for a second. You took from your bag and look to the flat screen, seeing your boss number on it. A grunt fell from your lips and you throw your phone back to your bag.

“Whatever he needs, it will have to wait.” you murmured.

You turn your gaze back to the road and a curse fell from your lips as you see the front of a massive truck in front of you. You don’t know of what had happened next since you blacked out, only feeling a sharp pain on your stomach and hearing screams along with ambulance sirens.

----

A soft hand cup your cheek gently, making you groan and turn away from the gentle touch.

“Just more five minutes!” you mumbled, trying to push the cover-up to your head but not finding it.

Your eyes shot open and you sit up, looking around with wide eyes. Remembering the awful pain on your stomach and the warm liquid falling from it. You look down and notice that there wasn’t any wound on you, not even a single scratch. You were wearing a white sundress that goes down to your ankles.

“What the fuck?” you whisper quietly, confused.

“That’s not very nice to say.” a rich gentle voice sounded beside you, make you jump in surprise.

Beside you stood a beautiful man with long light brown hair. His eyes were radiate golden, something that you’ve never seen at anyone. The man was wearing some kind of armor, long delicate feathers coming out from his shoulder plates. Was he some kind of cosplayer? And why was he so close to you?

“Who are you?!” you asked, your voice firm.

The man stood up, his muscled body towering yours. “I think I'm the one who should make that question, Human,” he said calmly.

“Human?! Excuse me but I have a name!” you said while standing up, trying to seem intimidating but failing since you were a tiny thing beside the massive man. You looked more a tiny angry chihuahua.

“Then enlighten me with your name, Human,” he said with his brow lifted, a small smirk on his lips as he said human.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on your waist, puffing your chest. “I’m Y/n L/n! And who are you? And why are you cosplaying?” you said while looking up and down to his strange armor.

The man tilted his handsome face, totally confused by your words. “Cosplaying? What’s that?” he asked.

“Don’t joke with me! I’m not at my best mood today!” you sigh tiredly. “Cosplay is what you are wearing!” you said while pointing to his clothes.

He looks down at his clothes, still confused by what you mean. “Excuse me but this is my armor! Forged by the best craftsman in all Arda, Aulë!” he said with a proud smile. Arda? Aulë? Where the fuck are you?!

Looking at your surroundings, you notice that you were in the middle of a beautiful valley. Tall green grass shaking with the soft breeze. The sun shining high in the sky, bathe you two in his warmth.

“Oh, God...I really died!... I died and now I'm at heaven with a cosplayer angel!” you whisper, your breath coming out in little puffs. Panic and fear spreading through your body like wildfire. “W..Where am I?” you asked quietly to the man.

“You are in Valinor! The blessed lands!... Lands that weren’t made for humans which why I want to know how did you get here?” his voice deep and dark, make you shiver.

Taking a deep breath, you put your hand on where should be a large wound from the accident and look to him. “I..I don’t know how did I get here... I just had a car accident, which had taken my life, and then I woke here.” you sigh and look down. “I just wanted to go home,” you whisper.

The man sighs and begins walking towards a huge gate, nodding for you to follow him. “Well, that didn’t answer my question very well. I take you to my King and see what he thinks.” he said more gently this time. “And by the way...I’m Eonwë.” a small grin appears on his rough lips which made a light blush spread through your cheeks.

---

Your meeting with King Manwë and Queen Varda was the most incredible and terrifying thing that you ever made. When you enter in the Throne room, you were amazed by the architect of the room. It was like something from a medieval movie.

Your eyes almost jump from your face when you saw Queen Varda. She had long beautiful black locks that were decorated with small pearls, making it look like she had stars on her hair. Her skin was pale like the moon which highlights her dark blue gown.

Her husband, King Manwë, was also something from another world. He was contrary to his wife, he had long white hair and light brown skin. He was wearing long white and grey robes, with a beautiful silver crown on his head.

Your arrival was also a huge surprise to them, confused by how a mere human could enter in the blessed lands.

You told them your story and that earns you a sympathy gaze from Queen Varda. They told Eonwë to keep an eye on you and to not tell the other Valar and elves of your existence. He nods and took you to your hiding chambers which were in his room, almost like a walking closet. It was larger than your old apartment.

“They were cool!” you said cheerfully while jumping on your new bed.

“Cool?” he tilts his head, confused by your strange vocabulary. “What’s that mean?”

You let out a giggle and roll your eyes. “It means that they were good people,” you said, yawning loudly.

“Well, I will let you have some rest,” he said while walking out of your room. “Have a cool rest, Lady Y/n.” with that he closes the door.

You let out a chuckle, trying to not laugh like a maniac from him trying to huge your vocabulary. As your head hit the soft pillow you were out, sleeping like a baby.

---

Weeks pass by with you closed in your room. You were told that you can’t roam freely in Valinor since no one except Eonwë and King Manwë and his Queen, knew about you.

You try once to convince Eonwë to take you outside but he only shook his head and told you that he had to follow his King orders.

With nothing to do, you pass your days reading some books from Eonwë’s room or listening to his stories which you adore. You two had become really close since you almost share the room.

He was quite patient with you, trying to teach you his language and his culture. You were shocked when he told you that he was freaking God....well not exactly a God but he was immortal and have freaking powers! You had asked him once to teach you how to use a sword but he said that he had to ask his King first.

A groan fell from your lips as you look out from the huge windows, seeing the beautiful large moon high in the dark sky.

“I would give a leg for just to touch the grass.” you murmured.

“That won't be necessary, Lady Y/n.” a familiar smooth voice sounded behind you.

You look back and saw Eonwë standing by the door with a smirk on his face. His long brown hair styled on a messy bun. He was wearing a long robe which was a surprise since you only see him in his armor. You liked to see him like this. He looked more ...relaxed.

“What that’s means?” you asked while walking towards him.

He grabs your hand gently with his and pulls you, leading out of the room. “I have a surprise for you but you have to keep silence about this,” he said with his perfect eyebrow lifted. You nod quickly and let him lead you to your surprise.

After walking down the large hallways and walk down long stairs, you were standing outside. A huge grin broke through your face, happy to feel the warm breeze hit your skin.

You two were standing in the middle of a beautiful garden. A sweet smell hovered the air, making your body and mind relax. Eonwë leads you to a bench stone and you two sat there, hearing the smooth water falling down of the fountain beside you.

“This place is amazing!” you whisper, looking around in awe.

“I thought that you would like it,” he said, looking up to the large moon. “You are a very strange being, Y/n”

You look up at him, frowning slightly. “How so?” you asked.

“From the day I found you in that valley, you haven’t cry not even once.” his voice was soft and calm. “Not once wished to go back to your old life...to your world.”

You took a deep breath and look down at your hands. “My life wasn’t great there...didn’t have family or friends. No one to miss.” you clean a small tear that had escaped from your eye. “While here had a friend... someone to call family,” you whisper, looking to him from under your thick lashes.

A gentle smile was on his face, his golden eyes shined with the moonlight. He puts his large hand on yours and squeezes it gently. “I’m glad to hear that, Y/n...I also have found a friend in you...even more than that.” the last words come out in a whisper but you caught it.

You smile and rest your head on his shoulder, sighing happily. He wraps his strong around your waist and pulls you to him, kissing softly your head.

You two stay all night there, looking at the moon with gentle smiles on your faces. Happy to be on each other arms.

Hey Guys!!! Here’s a new one-shot with Eonwë!! I hope you like it and feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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oh-theres-a-woman · 4 years

Text

Arthur’s Angel; Part Two

A/N: With the really deep and angst things to come with this plot. I haven’t completely decided on how long this series should be. I’m thinking it’ll be a short series. It’s meant to be something with high angst but a happy ending. Not sure yet however, since I haven’t planned too far ahead with everything in this imagine!

Requested By: @amys-small-world

Taglist: @zodiyack @hesagod-notyet @itsfrancisneptun @amys-small-world @fandom-fucking-shit @hinagiku0 @dylanlover24 @amirahiddleston @midnightstarlight02 @writeroutoftime @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theamuz @uselessbutinteresting @smallheathgangsters

Parts: [ Prologue ], [ 1 ], [ 3 ]

Word Count: 1523

Arthur’s POV: Angel had waited there again for him in the same place. This seemed so cruel to just ignore her, keep his distance. Make it out like he was busy when he really wasn’t. Things had started to get better for him since meeting her and starting to see her for the talks and general chatter they had. Yet, it was still so very wrong of him to be doing this. Watching on as she swung her legs on after the other, back and forth. God, she was so pure and innocent. Too good to be in the company of the likes of him. Even Linda was too good, yet, there was something more conflicting about being around [Y/N]. She was like the brightest beacon in the darkest night. Arthur watched her from the end of another alleyway cloaked in a shady darkness. It felt wrong not to go to her. But, at the same time he was a married man and should not be seeking friendship in an unmarried woman, any woman, correctly. It was too dangerous even now; [Y/N] made him feel so whole and content. Arthur admitted that time a few days prior made him—want to kiss her. The exposed flesh of her neck with hair swept up. Tucked into her beautiful waves the simple pin that he found in market for her. There was something so very lovely about the way she sat there. How her neck had the slightest curve from the way she often slouched. Many would have seen that as an unladylike imperfection. But not Arthur. To him. She as the embodiment of a fallen angel. Her wings torn from her as she fell from the heavens of her birth. Grabbing his heart, he watched as she shivered in the rain. When it began to pour over head. Still not straying from her place. Almost hopefully looking to the sky, hoping that he’d arrive, and they’d have lunch. Pol had made him extras again—somehow, she had caught on about something as his moods improved. Then, how like clockwork he’d always disappear around the same time for lunch. The first time she watched him fumbling about in the kitchen, finally stepping in when he cut himself on a knife and cursed down the whole house and shop attached. She was swift to clap him up the side of the head, John’s kids were around, so his language was not the sort for children. Holding his extra packed lunch, he grabbed a lad who was wandering down the street. Hoping to hear back to work. One of the young factory workers. Or maybe he was even heading to lunch. Dragging him into the alley and into the shadows he stood over the lad with the eyes of mad dog. Pushing the freshly made bakery rolls. Packed with meat and vegetables—best from market then poked to the girl in the alley alone. “You’re going to deliver those to her, now. She’s waitin’ on lunch. Just tell har that Arthur couldn’t make it today, work picked up. No questions, move, or I’ll cut ya.” Art pushed him out into the street once more. Watching the factory stumble out but catch his footing. Offering a dirty look to Arthur that had the man itching to punch that look off his face. Reaching for his peaked cap in a warning—the lad had half the sense of move on. Him and Arthur’s little angel looked about the same again. Early twenties. No older than twenty-five. He wondered just by watching them interact if they knew each other. If only he was a bit younger and not married… Arthur thought watching the lad hand over the rolls. Hands tightening over the blades sown into his peaked cap. Blood weeping out over his finger. It hurt to see her so familiar and smiling to the lad. Yet, from a distance he couldn’t see the straining tear down her hidden cheek, he couldn’t hear the shake in her voice nor the sadness in her eyes. [Y/N] POV In a moment, she lifted her head at the voice calling her name. Expecting Arthur but it was not. Which broke a place in her heart as it was only an old school friend, Frank. [Y/N] had not seen him in years, not since everything had fallen after in her life. Not since the life on the streets was much better than a broken and battered home. “Arthur asked me to pass these onto you, he’s caught up in work. Those Blinders are.” He mocked a sympathy. Well, some extent of it was true when he saw the pain in her eyes and the attempt to blind away tears. Sitting down beside her, he offered the rolls that she meekly took within her hands. Holding the warm foil meal in her hand like it was something holy and blessed. Tucking the spare onto her lap. Frank got out a cigarette and offered one. The dear angel—a devote, did not accept the stick that was offered to her. “No thank you, Frank. I don’t smoke but thank you for offering one.” [Y/N] said in a lightness of her voice, shaky and breaking. Unwrapping one of the meals for herself, taking small bites. Careful not to look the animal she did in front of Arthur some days prior. Scared to cause another man to run away and never look back. That was what she thought—she had chased Arthur off. “I think I actually scared him off—because I do see him hiding off the ways there. Must have upset him and he wants to c’mere on his lunch break and I’ve ruined it.” Arthur’s sweet angel choked back a sob, tears freely flowing. “I doubt that—you were always really aware of people’s feelings in school [Y/N]. I doubt that has changed now. Something just might be holding ‘im back. Or he’s the one with the stick up his arse.” Frank recalled being shoved into the street to deliver food. He wasn’t some boy that worked for the baker… He did not just deliver food. But, somehow, he did not mind the moment he figured out it was [Y/N]. After all, she was the sweetest girl and kindest heart. It seemed odd to Frank that such a girl like [Y/N] would catch the attention of a beastly character like Arthur Shelby. An ironic modern-day version of Beauty and the Beast is what he thought it was all like. [Y/N] ate through her streaming tears, trying to let the sobs subside. In the bad and worst of days; Arthur had been her anchor. Even if they talked only about him. That made it easier for a point in time. Where she didn’t have to worry about herself and how cold it’d be that night, at the run-down abandoned unit that [Y/N] and a number of the Birmingham homeless stayed at night. “You alright? You look like shite, haven’t heard anything of you from your folks in years.” Frank admitted seeing her family about, which made [Y/N] scowl thinking about them. “I’d rather look like shite than have anything to do with that lot,” it had been the first trace of disdain held in her tone that people had seen. “Is it really that bad? How long has it been since they’ve seen ya? A good couple year, aye?” Frank spoke up trying to be the supportive friend he failed in being years ago. But it only led [Y/N] to close off a little more from him. Tears still streaming down her cheeks. Roughly wiping the tears away with her rough palm. She whimpered softly thinking about what going home would be like. The hell it’d bring. “I don’t want to talk about it—it’s better I never go back there again.” [Y/N] said finally. Putting her foot down on the matter. A rare form of assertiveness. “But, living the way you are now, you’re getting mixed in with the wrong kind.” Frank exhaled a thick cloud of nicotine, before rising from his spot. Gripping [Y/N]’s cheeks in his hand, looking at her with worried eyes. “Does he treat you as a whore so you can get a meal?” He asked mildly disgusted at the thought of the eldest Shelby being with someone like [Y/N]. So pure and innocent. The thought of her being tainted by that sort of character was shameful. “No, it’s not like that.” [Y/N] protested allowed, shaking his hand from her cheek. Feeling the build of warmth in her cheeks thinking about him. “He’s a friend… We talk about things here, every day. Over lunch.” She beamed a little too brightly for it to be only friends in her connection there. Which made Frank sigh looking at her. “You’re soaked, come on. We should get you something warm to drink at the Garrison.” He ruffled the wet head of hair in front of him. Shaking off his own cool soak of rain much like a dog after a bath. Offering a hand, [Y/N] took it. Meaning no harm. Arthur thought otherwise, however.

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lady-charinette · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1 - Strings & Papers Lukanette AU (Teacher!Marinette & SingleDad!Luka)

A/N: Hello everyone! As requested, I made this into a full fic. It was originally something small on Tumblr, an AU idea for Lukanette (SingleDad!Luka and Teacher!Marinette) but after many requests, I finally decided to post the first chapter.

INFO:

All characters are aged up! Everyone is at least in their late twenties/early thirties.

Modern AU without superpowers/kwamis. Tikki is a cat here ^_^

A few OC’s will make appearances, mostly the children of some of the original ML characters (Luka’s child Leon…etc.)

This is purely Lukanette.

Oh and I apologize for any OOCness in advance!

Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter 1

Children rushed about, the room bustling with life as her students went about their tasks; trying to create something using their hands and imagination.

It could be drawings, clay creations, any piece of art that the children were able to craft.

The important thing was, it was something that made them happy and that they liked.

“Miss Marinette! Miss Marinette! Look what I did!“ the boy waved his clay creation in the air wildly, cupped securely in his hands.

His teacher flashed him a bright smile, bending down to look at him and his clay figure properly, “Oh! What a cute dog!” the brown clay figure with blotches of white was slightly disfigured, but Marinette could tell from it’s general shape it was supposed to be a dog, a dog with missing ears, but a dog nonetheless.

Marinette grinned cheerfully and nodded towards the others. “Is this what makes you happy?”

He didn’t hesitate to reply. “Mhm! I love my dog very much!” he raised his arms and spread them as wide apart as they could go, indicating how much he loved his pet.

Marinette’s alert gaze swept over her class, catching some students drawing quietly on some tables, others chatting energetically on the arts and crafts table with glue and colourful carton papers strewn about.

Some children were on the floor, building castles, vehicles or even people with lego blocks.

She walked around, asking every child how they were doing and if they needed any help. Marinette offered holding the tall lego tower for a girl while she got the little decorative bow on top of it, her mother’s workplace she said, a place she could play at where her mother was also nearby, because she didn’t want to be alone at home.

The next child was a boy with dark messy hair and kind brown eyes, Leon. He was drawing something.

Two people, surrounded with what looked like music notes. And what appeared to be an instrument on top of the taller figure, a guitar.

Marinette crouched down next to the table and peeked over his shoulder, giggling when he turned his head and wore a full blown grin on his face. “Miss Marinette!” her heart warmed and lips pulled into an automatic smile at his glee.

Leon was such a cheerful child. He was a walking contradiction at times, cheerful and kind but also quiet and polite, he was never mean to his classmates or teachers.

He sometimes hummed a melody during class, but quiet enough not to disturb her or anyone else, she sometimes heard it when the whole class was silent, except for Leon, who hummed a tune to himself, swinging his legs with a small smile on his face.

Marinette remembered the first time she asked him about it, the reason why he hummed and if it was a special melody.

His answer had surprised her. ‘Mhm! My dad always sings me to sleep that way! He’s really good with his voice.”

She couldn’t remember ever meeting the man, Leon’s father, she vaguely remembered jotting down a phone number as the parental contact information, but she couldn’t remember it.

The only parental figure that frequently picked Leon up from school was his aunt Juleka, whom Marinette always had pleasant conversations with. The woman was kind if a bit shy, her voluminous hair, dark save for the purple streak at the front and at the ends, half hiding her left eye. It would’ve hidden the entirety of her face if not for the hairclip holding it at bay.

Marinette couldn’t blame her, she herself normally styled her hair into pigtails, loose hair would get everywhere in her face and it was impractical for teaching.

She also experienced some of the more daring kids try to pull on it, so pigtails were always a safe bet.

Marinette focused back on the picture Leon was drawing, particularly the two figures on it. “Is that you and your dad?” she saw him nod his head, using black to colour the top of his father’s head and blue for the ends. She stifled a giggle, always amazed at how creative children could get. She saw a girl once draw her father with flowing rainbow hair and when she’d seen the man in person, he almost looked nothing alike from the childishly drawn picture his daughter portrayed him to be.

“Your dad’s hair looks cool.” She smiled, giggling at the light blue.

“Thank you.” His polite phrase made her smile and the pedagogical figure in her rejoice, she was proud whenever parents raised their children right.

Then, she pointed to the guitar over his head, his best attempt at the instrument, which Marinette had to admit was good for someone his age. “Is that your guitar?”

This time, Leon shook his head. “No, that’s my dad’s. He plays it whenever he’s home, he also plays for me.” He smiled shyly, sheepishly, rubbing his messy black hair. “Um, I tried to play once, but it fell on the ground. Dad didn’t get mad, but I felt really guilty.” His cheeks tinged pink and Marinette felt sympathy well within her heart as she placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sure your dad forgave you as soon as it happened, it was an accident, right? Accidents happen all the time, Leon! I dropped my mug in the kitchen today!” she giggled, cringing internally because she was known for her clumsiness.

The boy stuck his bottom lip out and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, I still felt really bad, but dad said it was okay…” a bright smile curled his lips in the next second, eyes alight with excitement. “Miss Marinette, can I tell you a secret?”

Marinette steeled herself, adjusting her grip on the table to support her weight. Children were honest by nature, they frequently revealed things about their home life, in extent their parents’, to the teachers. Most things weren’t bad, but very amusing, a secret source of entertainment for teachers to talk over coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

Leon whispered before she could say anything, grinning from ear to ear. “My dad is the best dad in the world!”

She blinked, surprised, but laughed at the ‘secret’, shaking her head and affectionately pinching Leon’s cheek, which made him laugh. “Really? Then I guess I should meet the best dad in the world sometime, hm? I would love to meet him.” She was being honest too.

It was important for teachers to know the parents of the children they taught and took care of through the day and their early education, knowing from what sort of familial backgrounds children came from was important to adjust their teachings or offer the appropriate help if children were surrounded by less than desirable circumstances.

Marinette doubted that was the case with Leon, but she was curious about his father, since she never met either him nor the mother.

She did hear from the aunt that his mother was working and living overseas and that the father was her older brother, but that was that.

She hadn’t thought to ask the aunt, since she thought his father would come to pick his son up himself sometime. So far, that hadn’t been the case, but Marinette could be patient.

If he was as great as Leon described, surely he would have time to drop by sometime?

Standing up, Marinette complimented the drawing one last time before she clapped her hands and announced for the children to hang up they art works somewhere in the classroom, on the walls or the strings over their heads to decorate the room with.

Weeks had already passed since the school year started and Marinette longed for something new and fresh to liven up the classroom, the children found the idea good too. It would help keep their creativity flowing and to brighten the overall atmosphere.

Her gaze strayed to the clock on the wall and a sigh left her lips.

It was almost time for the big break.

A few minutes later…

The two women laughed, Marinette stirring her coffee to dissolve the sugar as her best friend and fellow teacher Alya talked about her day. “Wait, you didn’t take the glue from him?”

The busty woman snorted, taking a big sip from her black coffee before she smirked like a fox. “Nope! I let him squeeze out every last drop, he learned his lesson when the ball rang. He had to clean up all the mess himself and he got a good scolding from his mom too. Good woman, I salute her!” she lifted her mug in a mock salute and Marinette laughed, shaking her head.

“I’m sure the boy had reasons to be so destructive.” Truthfully, children with such tendencies weren’t rare, they were aware of the phases of each child and that sometimes by destroying things, they released pent up frustration or helped themselves focus better afterwards. But this child seemed to be a bit different. “What’s his background like? The parents?”

Alya sighed, taking another long gulp. “Father’s a mechanic, has a bit of a sailor’s mouth. The mother is an iron hard business woman, she even makes me freeze on the spot whenever she comes to pick him up.” She grimaced, extending her hand to throw a sugar cube into her coffee. “I think the dynamics in the family are a bit unbalanced. The father is a bit too lenient but the mother is too strict, causing the two to clash. They’re unsure of their parenting methods, they even had a small verbal fight during parent teacher conference.”

Ugh, Marinette secretly dreaded those days, as did every other teacher.

Parents came in all shapes and sizes, just like anyone else.

There were parents who were the spitting images of their offspring, other were their polar opposites.

There were parents with impeccable backgrounds, academically successful people, but lacking in human warmth. Parents that continued the archaic parenting methods of their own parents, never intending to change the way they were raising their own children from their own childhood treatment.

Marinette disliked those the most, ones that weren’t progressive in their thinking but cocooned in their own ‘deal’ version of how a child had to behave or to what limits a parent’s authority could reach.

It was her secret pleasure whenever she had an opportunity to shoot them down and lecture them otherwise, she lived for those moments to see the colour drain from the adult’s faces while she explained all the potential negative ways their toxicity could affect their child after, that children weren’t ‘small adults’ and that every child had different needs and required a different form of parenting finesse.

Some parents were defensive and angry like lions, others more kind and understanding and willing to better themselves and correct the errors.

In the kitchen of the teacher’s lounge, somewhere in the back of her mind, Marinette kept Leon’s picture stored in her memory and during her conversation with Alya, she wondered just what sort of parent Leon’s father was.

——–

It was two in the afternoon and classes were over for today, for the children the day of duties and learning was over.

But for Marinette, she still had tons of work to do.

She watched the children leave the classroom, watched them put on their outdoor shoes and how some parents were already waiting for them out of the classroom.

Those moments, when the parents came to pick up their children, those moments Marinette loved most.

To see the pure joy of child and parent at seeing each-other, after being separated only for a few hours. To see them kiss and embrace each-other and laugh. The parents asking about their day and the kids retelling everything they did, from the tiniest details, the most insignificant things to the big events.

The parents listened with a smile, some shutting off their phones so colleagues from work didn’t disturb them.

There were also other parents, some greeted their children with a quick hug and kiss, ushering them along so they didn’t stay away from work for too long. Others gave a robotic kiss to their cheeks and took their school bags, marching out of the school like a soldier in the military, their child trailing behind them like a doll pulled by its strings.

Marinette always stayed with the ones whose parents were running late, being met with endless exclamations of gratitude for watching over them on her break and the like, with numerous apologies spilling from their mouths about traffic and work or too many duties overlapping.

She understood, she was an adult herself, and while not a mother, Marinette knew how difficult children could be. Her past work experiences in a local kindergarten taught her the very definition of patience.

And what it means to be assertive.

Kindergarten kids could be surprisingly stubborn and with their temper tantrums, nothing was safe from them.

She remembered starting her private meditating sessions for that very reason, always after work, with or without relaxing music and her bed.

She tried a scented candle once, but nearly burned her foot after not paying attention.

Sometimes, relaxing music didn’t help, the zen-esque tunes not appealing to her at all. She sometimes wondered if the people composing the music ever really tried mediating to it.

But the most relaxing thing to her was still her other passion, besides teaching.

Fashion.

She loved to create.

She encouraged creative minds in whatever way she could.

Her own parents’ encouragement and support in her youth drove her to pursue a career in fashion, then switch over to teaching, to be in a role where she could offer the same kind of warm encouragement and fierce support children didn’t have from home.

Her wardrobe consisted of more than half of her own creations, clothes by her own design. She’d tried opening a small fashion store once, but had to close it due to time constrictions. She couldn’t do two very time consuming jobs at the same time.

It might have been ‘just’ elementary school, but correcting hundreds of students’ tests, writing new ones, overseeing several classes while attending her own educational courses took up a lot of time.

Marinette relished coming home, stretching and taking a quick shower before she set to work.

Before she opened any of her thick folders or worksheets for school, she first opened her journal.

She always liked to document things, for safety but also private reasons. As insurance and the fond – and not so fond – memories to find a home.

For that purpose, she kept two diaries.

A journal for work.

A diary for home.

Marinette took the thick leather bound tome first, a modest brown leather design, a feather imprinted onto the leathery material on the cover, the thick book held closed by a magnet.

She opened it, skimming through filled pages to get to a blank one.

And she began writing, Tikki mewling at her feet, her soft fur brushing against her legs, whiskers tickling her skin while Marinette scribbled furiously, toes gently running along Tikki’s arching back.

“Hello journal,

Today had been a good day, 24th of October.

I started class at 8 sharp, there were only two children who called in sick, with parents excusing their absences immediately.

Class began with arts and crafts, the children received instructions on the tasks for today: decorating the classroom.

The old decorations were discarded, some saved in the storage room for further use, but the broken and tattered ones disposed of. The children had to create something that made them happy, in whichever form they could. Drawing, painting, using clay or building blocks to their heart’s content.

I tried helping as little as I could, to not impede their creativity, but offered helpful advice when asked. Most used clay to form figurines of their parents, siblings or pets. Some even formed food. A few creations caught my eyes, but all of them were unique and beautiful in their own way. Some of the children took their creations home, drawings they made a second or third time mostly. But many others stayed to decorate the classroom, it gave a refreshed image and helped levitate the atmosphere.

Break was spent outside in the school garden, I led some of the children to the vegetable garden to check on the growing plants and explained some of the still budding vegetables, unrecognizable in their ‘baby form’ as the students called it.

Tasks for tomorrow were quickly finished, I worked through my fifteen minute break, the short assignments about ‘happy memories’ had been read through but refrained from correcting. It had been one of their first written tasks, so I refrained from putting a stamp on them with red markings. I’ve returned them today, for the two sick children, I kept them in my desk in the teacher’s lounge to be dealt out once the children returned.

Parents had picked their children after school was over, some running late. Ms. Wilson had a suspicious countenance in particular, I detected a faint scent of something alcoholic, but didn’t address the matter. I did send a message to social worker Chloe Bourgeois, who agreed to look into the matter after some measures. Apparently, the family had already been a case not yet laid to rest and they’d waited for a cue to finally take action.

More to come tomorrow, goodbye for now.

- Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Marinette yawned, spying the clock on her desk reading just passed seven in the evening. Had she been sitting for that long already? She shook her head, leaning down to scratch Tikki’s head, resting languidly on Marinette’s foot.

She would need to feed her later and check her water bowl. Tikki was sometimes surprisingly gluttonous, despite her slender frame.

Stifling another yawn, Marinette safely stored the notebook in her first drawer, locking it with a key and slipping the metal into a hidden sleeve underneath her desk, well concealed from inattentive eyes.

She smiled when she grabbed her private diary, the pink leather book feeling heavy with memory in her hands.

She pulled off the leather string tying it together and flipped it open to a fresh page.

And began to write.

“Dear diary,

Today had been a stressful day.

The children were fine and well-behaved, but I had so much work to do! Not to mention, I missed one of my breaks because a colleague had called in sick unexpectedly and I had to fill their shift. Can you believe it? She couldn’t have called hours ago before school started, she HAD to call five minutes before her class started and I had to FLY across the hallway to make sure the children were inside and busy with tasks.

Sometimes, I wish I could throw a banana at some of my colleagues.

Some people just shouldn’t have become teachers.

The world would be a better place, the children growing in it too.

Speaking of children, something caught my eye today that I just couldn’t get out of my head.”

Marinette paused, tongue sticking out of her mouth as the image of Leon’s drawing burned brightly in her mind, as if she imprinted it so perfectly into memory.

“Leon drew a picture today, under the theme ‘what makes me happy’. He drew a picture of his family, his dad and him. He didn’t draw his mother and I didn’t ask, it wasn’t my place to and I doubt he’d know anything aside from ‘mommy doesn’t live with us’ or the like. At least, that’s the impression I got. But from everything I saw so far, it looked like the father didn’t live with him either. He never set foot in school before! Or at least I never saw him, Alya apparently did, but couldn’t really remember, saying it was for a short time and there were so many people.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, thinking back to the conversation she had with Alya in the kitchen.

That woman could memorize six pages of their random chats about a boy they gossiped in high school, but couldn’t, for the life of her, remember seeing the parent of one of the children at parent teacher conference two years ago. She smiled, shaking her head fondly and the pen was scratching against paper again.

“Anyway, what Miss Reporter said, Leon’s father was apparently pretty busy. She didn’t know what his occupation was, but it was the only logical conclusion, right? A man that rarely picks his son up from school? Sends his sister to do it for him? He must be some businessman. Then again, Leon mentioned how ‘he was the best dad in the world’ and he would sing and play songs for him before he went to sleep. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, but what was the deal with not coming to school? Was he a former dropout? Did he just have a phobia? Maybe he really was just too busy, but still, something’s fishy. Juleka, the aunt, mentioned how apologetic the man felt for not always being there….I guess he might not be a bad parent, but still, Leon talked so fondly of him, I really hope he isn’t the jerky parent I think he could be. I also, wondered about where the mother was. Leon rarely ever talks about her, I don’t really dare to ask neither him nor Juleka. It was a family matter after all, but still, I was biting my nails the whole time! Juleka just mentioned the mom lived and worked overseas and the dad was busy, but that was it. Were they divorced? Forced to live apart because of work? I don’t think Leon seemed to mind much, at least he hadn’t showed any signs to. He rarely talks about his mom, but he regularly gushes about his dad. Maybe I shouldn’t judge too quickly, the man could have his reasons for not picking up his child.

Still, I’ll see where that goes. Maybe I’ll try to flip through the parent contact book and try to give him a call, just to see how he would react.

Anyway, that’s all for today, I still need to feed Tikki and myself.

See you tomorrow, dear diary!

- Marinette

Thanks for reading! What did you think so far? :)

Tag List: @seraphkitty @canadianburd @macaknight @fher43 @vivilakitty @quickspinner @im-here-for-the-content @decaffeinated-happyshit @jessigurl-design @2sunchild2 @zebrabaker @redscarlet95 @didntwant2come @graduatedmelon @eve-is-the-dawn @bresso23 @anjuschiffer @alissawhited-blog @rudy-ruby @mystery-5-5 @winter-gardenflower @kayla-the-rambling-writer @teresarosiadeviluke2112 @captainmac6 @violatiger8 @crazywhitemofo @varksvader

@veroocasanova (I’m sorry for not asking before, but I remembered you wanting to read more Lukanette fics without Adrien salt 😅)

#ml au #ml fic #miraculous ladybug #lukanette #lukanette au #lukanette fic #luka x marinette #teacher!marinette #singledad!luka #i like your dad au #lmao I will not get rid of that name huh #luka couffaine #marinette dupaincheng #leon couffaine #fanfiction #crossposted on AO3 & FFnet

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Fic: Sympathy for the Devil (John Wick x Reader) 2/4

Summary: Your best friend is getting married and you’re very excited until you find out that your ex is coming to the wedding. After a night of too much drinking and without a date for the big day, you summon a demon to make a deal.

Part 1

Author’s notes: I was gonna wait until Wednesday to post this, but you know what? F*ck it! Let’s be chaotic! Have some more demon!John my good people! I was pleasantely surprised at how many of you responded to this. Thank you for being as interested as Demon!John as my crazy brain and @toomanystoriessolittletime (but she doesn’t really count because we already established we share the same brain! lol Kidding! I love you). So here’s chapter 2 and a brandnew cover! Thank you @themanthemyth-thelegend for lending me your photoshop skills to add the title. Love you lots!

Wordcount: 3470

Warnings: once again mentions of alcohol and nausea and hangovers (but no one throws up, I promise!)

It took you a moment to finally open your eyes after the kiss. You didn’t think anything could feel that good and that might have been the best kiss you had in a long time. Maybe in your entire life. You were almost disappointed that John had broken away because it made you feel a strange sort of loss.

When your mind finally stopped racing enough for you to pay attention to your surroundings again, you noticed John was nowhere to be found and there was no trace of him. No sign he had even been there in the first place. Maybe your inebriated and horny brain did conjure him up after all. Shaking your head, you returned home, setting the jewelry box on your bedside table and crawling under the covers. As you closed your eyes, you were convinced the entire thing had been a weird dream.

The next morning your head was pounding, your stomach churned with every movement and your mouth tasted like something had died inside. You stumbled blindingly into your bathroom, fighting off nausea. The shower made you feel a little more human and awake. The fresh pot of coffee, the stack of pancakes and a bottle of aspirin waiting for you when you got to the kitchen finished off the job.

“Didn’t hear you come in last night,” your mother commented while you shoveled pancake goodness into your mouth.

“Went drinking with the girls,” you replied around a mouth full and your mother grimaced in disgust, making you roll your eyes. It wasn’t like you were doing that in public. It was just you and her, but she always made a big deal about your manners. It wasn’t as bad as in your pageant girl days, but it was still annoying.

Back then your mother would control every aspect of your life and behavior, because being a pageant queen herself, she always dreamt of passing on her legacy to her daughter. You lost count of how many times she told you how she and her dad struggled to conceive for years and had pretty much given up hope when she found she was pregnant of you, their little miracle, and her dream had come true at least.

You kind of enjoyed at first, the whole pageant life. All the tiaras and pretty dresses were fun, but as you grew older, your interest shifted and you always felt like she never had forgiven you completely for not going forward with it, choosing college and police academy instead of state and national pageants.

“I ironed your dress for tonight and hung it in the laundry room,” she said conversationally bringing you back to the present and you winced, appetite gone.

“Thanks, mom,” you said pushing the plate away from you.

You had blissfully forgotten the entire wedding/rehearsal dinner and the fact that you’d be running into Ryan on both but here was your mom bringing it all back. It wasn’t really her fault. She didn’t know he was in town, much less the details of your breakup. All you told your parents was that you two were done. They didn’t ask for details too relieved that it was finally over.

After washing your plate and refilling your mug, you went back to your childhood room, planning on doing some work before it was time for dinner, but stopped at the sight of the jewelry box and book of shadows.

Part of you wanted to believe you didn’t go to the middle of the street like a lunatic to play summoning demons, but the cut on your finger was still there, so was the box. That did happen. Could John had been real? He couldn’t be, right? What was more plausible? That you summoned a demon from the pits of hell or that your hallucinated a gorgeous man due to too much alcohol?

You cleaned the box and put your necklace back on with snort before powering your laptop so you could write up some reports, being confronted with the low battery light. You dug through your bag, searching for your charger but apparently, you had left at home. This was so not your day.

“I’m heading into town,” you called out from the front door as you put on your shoes. “Anybody want anything?”

“Could stop by at Callum’s, see if the books I ordered arrived?” your father asked and you called a quick agreement before you stepped out into the sunny spring day.

You considered taking your car but decided that a walk would do you some good so you put your earbuds, blasting one of your playlists and after twenty minutes you were at the heart of town, waving at familiar faces as you made a beeline to the electronic store to buy yourself a new charger, before heading to the antique books dealer a couple of blocks down the road.

Callum’s bookstore was a little place that had been standing for as long as you could remember and it was one of your favorite places in your home town. As you stepped inside a small chime rang out, announcing your arrival. To your surprise, it wasn’t Callum that stepped out to meet you, but a young man who smiled brightly at you.

“Welcome to Callum’s books. How can I help you?”

“My father ordered some books,” you said, offering your last name and watching as the man – Clark according to his nametag – typed on a computer. Apparently, Callum was beginning to modernize his business.

“They’re in the back. I’ll pack them up for you,” Clark replied with another smile, before disappearing behind a door.

You wandered aimlessly, browsing the book spines, picking up random titles that caught your attention to flip through it. There was something magical about reading through words that someone else had read one day or even made notes. It was a unique story inside a story.

As you read through a dedicatory in one of the books you picked up, you felt the familiar prickling on the back of your neck, the strange, uncomfortable feeling of being watched that always made the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on its ends.

You breathed slowly left hand falling to your waist but coming up empty. You didn’t have your holster with you because you weren’t on duty. This wasn’t New York, this was your hometown a city where the worst kind of crime that had ever happened in the last ten years was someone vandalizing the high school principal’s car.

Setting the book back, you turned around, breath catching in your throat when you saw John there, leaning against one of the bookcases and watching you with his intense dark eyes.

“Hello, darling.”

Your mouth moved wordlessly for a couple of seconds as you tried to make your brain work through your shock. He was real? You didn’t hallucinate or dream him?

“No, you didn’t,” he said, lips drawing into a smirk as he took a step towards you. “We did indeed meet at the crossroads and make a deal.”

“Right,” you croaked, the memory of kissing him enough to make your knees weak.

Fortunately, you heard Clark calling your name and had an excuse to look away from John and focus on the friendly seller instead. As you reached for the pile of carefully wrapped books, John swiped in, picking them up for you.

“Why don’t I give you a hand, darling?” he said, not giving you a chance to answer, his gaze shifting to Clark. “Tell Callum I’ll meet him tomorrow to see the other book.”

Before you had a chance to protest, John had already stepped outside his long legs giving him an unfair advantage and you had no other choice but follow. He made his way to a gorgeous Mustang holding your books under his arm, as he opened the passenger door for you.

You stood there still too stunned to know what to do. Were you really about to get into the car of a strange man, possibly a demon? Before your mind could finish processing that thought, your legs had already moved you forward and you got in. John flashed you a smile as he handed your books before closing the door.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he teased, turning on the engine and you snorted. It was ten in the morning and you were still nursing a hangover but he was absolutely right.

“I’ll settle for some coffee,” you said instead and John nodded, driving the short distance to the same diner you had been at with your friends yesterday. The two of you even sat at the same booth nursing the burned coffee as you just stared at each other, the air heavy with tension.

“You have questions,” John said, finally breaking the silence. “Ask them.”

“You’re really a demon?” you blurted out and he chuckled, giving you a quick nod. “Prove it.”

“You want me to grown horns and a tail or something?” he asked with a smirk and you snorted. That would be quite funny and ridiculous. “It would.”

“And you can read my mind.” It was an assertion, but John still nodded. You wondered how that would feel, to listen to everyone’s thoughts.

“A little bit like listening to a radio that’s picking up interference,” he replied, startling you and he even looked surprised himself like he wasn't expecting to tell you. “I can hear yours much clearer. Other people, they’re usually just whispers, and I need to focus a little more.”

“So, I guess I have to be careful about what I think around you, huh?” you said with a smile, which John returned.

“Probably.”

And just because you could, you conjured up a mental picture of him with bright red horns sticking out of his dark hair. John nearly spat out of coffee, laughing and you chuckled too, relaxing.

The silence stretched between the two of you again, but strangely it wasn’t uncomfortable. John set your nerves on edge, but not in a bad way. It was more like eager expectation, the same you used to feel every Christmas morning before coming down the stairs to find your presents. He was a fascinating surprise you were anxious to unravel.

“What exactly happens with this deal?” you asked, drumming your fingers on the table, just to have something to do.

“You get what you want and I get what I want. Simple as that.”

“And what you want?” you met his gaze that seemed to electrify your body and steal your breath with its intensity.

“What you think I want, darling?” he asked, tracing the brim of his cup as he watched you and you swallowed hard, looking away.

“My soul?” You guessed and for the third time, Joh just nodded. It was refreshing to meet someone this honest. “But I didn’t give you that in the deal.”

“True. But there are other ways to get it. Just takes longer.”

“Is there a way to break the deal?” you asked.

“Do you want to?”

You thought about it and you should want it. You were sitting across a literal demon who just told you point-blank that he wanted your soul. You should want to stay as far away as possible end this before it even began but something was stopping you. A sort of morbid curiosity, the same one that pushed you to the crossroads last night. That part of you wanted to see how far John would go to have your soul and how far could you push back, challenge him.

“No,” you said finally and John smiled, it was almost wolfishly, predatorial and made you shudder.

“Then what time should I pick you up tonight?”

---

Eight on the dot John pulled up in front of her house, dressed in one of his best dark suits, his hair pushed back and away from his face. He surveyed the two stores Greek revival style construction, the picket white fence and perfectly manicured lawn. The embodiment of the American dream.

With a smile, John walked up the stone pathway to the front door and before he could even reach for the doorbell, it was pulled open and there she stood in a navy-blue dress falling just above her knees and a deep neckline that commanded his eyes to take a peek at her generous cleavage.

The dark color of the dress complimented her porcelain skin, just like the dark shade of red of her lipstick that kept pulling his eyes to her full lips and the way her hair was pulled up exposing her neck almost dared him to kiss it. She looked irresistible and John couldn’t help but want to wreck her, taint the pristine purity he could feel on her.

“You look beautiful, darling,” he said and she actually blushed, lowering her gaze, a shy smile across her lips.

“Thank you.”

She took the hand John offered her, letting him lead her to his car. He could feel her hesitation, doubt filling her mind again, along with concern for her friends at the thought of bringing a demon to the rehearsal dinner.

“You have nothing to worry about, darling,” John reassured. “I’m bound to you until our deal is completed. I will not harm you or anyone you care about. I have no reason to do so. Not unless they threaten me.” John could tell she was inclined to believe him, but there was still a hint of uncertainty. “Rest assured that I will never lie or deceive you. Not when the truth can get me everything I need.”

She met his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment, searching for the truth in them. John knew she was very apt at spotting lies if due to her training or natural talent, he had yet to discover, but John was very happy that he was being completely honest with her. Apparently satisfied with what she saw in his gaze, she nodded and got into the car.

It was a short drive to the Italian restaurant the rehearsal dinner was being held and when John handed his keys to the valet, he also included a healthy tip. It was much easier to assure the safety of his car by being generous than being threatening.

He offered his arm, noticing how small her hand looked tucked by his elbow as he guided the way to the entrance. As they stepped closer to the door, John was flooded with her anxiety, the fear of running into her ex and his new girlfriend and uncertainty about her looks. It was overwhelming and unsettling and John was getting nauseous himself, so he entwined their fingers together and squeezed lightly. She looked over at him almost surprised as John offered his reassurance.

“Everything will be fine,” he said against her ear, making sure his lips grazed her skin just to see her shiver and gasp. Once again he was overtaken by her scent, making him unsteady with want. He pulled away, noticing the way her eyes were a little glazed too. It was good to know that he wasn’t the only one affected.

They quickly located their table, sitting side by side and John ordered her some sparkling wine to settle her nerves and bourbon for himself.

As the night progressed and conversation flowed, John could tell she had relaxed considerably as she talked and laughed with her friends. He piped in every now and then, but his focus was mainly on her, making sure she was enjoying herself, that her glass was always full, but alternating with water so the wouldn’t get sick.

He kept an arm around her shoulders, fingers either playing with the loose strands of hair on her nape or with the delicate chain of her necklace as he sipped his own drink. John didn’t quite understand his need to have a constant point of physical contact with her but didn’t question it and she didn’t seem to mind. As a matter of fact, whenever he pulled his hand away for any reason, she searched for it, leaning against his touch like a cat starved for affection.

When she stood up to make her toast, John tried to ignore the loss, focusing instead on scanning the rest of the guests. He had noticed a blonde man staring at her all night and wondered if that was the ex-boyfriend. Regardless, John made sure she remained oblivious to him and he didn’t dare to come closer.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her hugging the bride after her speech, the two of them exchange quiet words. A rush of pleasure shot through his body as she lied about him to her best friend. It was small, but it was a sin and her guilt tasted like rich coffee in his tongue, bitter but delicious. He grinned into his bourbon, glancing to where he saw her, but finding the spot empty.

As John looked around for her a sudden ache in his chest chased away any enjoyment that came from tainting her soul, confusing him because he never felt bad about corrupting anyone before. Then again, he never really met anyone like her before.

He took a moment to tune into her thoughts, listening to how she chided herself for lying to her friend and for being smitten by John. He almost smiled because she was a very intelligent woman. She could tell John was manipulating her, using his ability to be privy to her thoughts and feelings to give her everything she wanted, but she still couldn’t fight her attraction any more than he could fight his.

There was a moment of silence and then John was overcome by panic. It squeezed his gut and made him stood up in an instant, ignoring the strange looks he was receiving. She was terrified and the need to find her grew impossible to ignore or fight against. John let their bound guide him, finding her cornered by the blonde man just outside the restroom. Apparently, he was indeed the ex.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights and it brought forth a savage urge in John to ripping this man to shreds. He could actually feel the thrum of power barely contained under his skin and knew that if he looked into a mirror right now he would find his eyes were pitch black.

John pushed down at his impulses, a little shocked at his lack of control and protectiveness towards her. He never cared about the ones he made deals before. They were just meat sacks carrying around the prize he wanted. Not her though. She was different to him and he didn’t know why.

“There’s something you need to know about our breakup.” John heard the man said just as he moved closer to them, making the other man shut up.

“There you are, darling,” John said catching her gaze and her relief was obvious.

He moved towards her with sure steps, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his body, giving into the possessiveness he seemed to be feeling for her. He was rewarded by the feel of her tense muscles relaxing in his embrace as she hugged him back, her thumb hooking on the belt loops of his trousers.

Once he felt she was safe and protected, John shifted his attention to the ex-boyfriend. Examining the other man and enjoying way too much the terrified look in his face as he confronted the darkness of John’s eyes.

“Hello. I don’t think we’ve met,” he said offering Ryan a hand. “John.”

“Ryan,” the blonde said, his voice cracking slightly, and John smiled. Spineless asshole, not worthy of his time. He shifted his gaze to her, dismissing Ryan.

“Are you ready to go? It’s getting quite late.” She nodded quickly, letting John guide her away from Ryan, her relief growing at each step they took.

“Thank you. How did you know?”

“We’re bounded, my darling. I will always know when you need me,” he said caressing her arm soothingly and pressing a quick kiss to her temple. The action surprised both of them. John didn’t mean to be this gentle and he realized she wasn’t the only one getting too involved.

He waited while she said her goodbyes to the bride and groom, another lie slipping easily through her lips. The rush of sin wasn’t as big, neither was her guilt. Once she was ready, John led her outside where his car was already waiting. This time, she didn’t hesitate on getting in the car, as a matter of fact, as John took the driver’s seat, all he could feel coming for her was comfort and relief.

tbc

Permanent Taglist (give me a shout if you want to added or removed)

@poisonedjoinery @ringa-starr @curly-minnie @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @caryled @beyond-antares @kathorax @krazycags01 @meetmeinthematinee @red-pill-blue-pill @baphometwolf666 @soarocks @imagine-the-fanfics @moonlit-raven-haven @cumberbatchbaps @coolbreezeinkeanureeves @kindainlovewithkeanu @sgt-morgan @hisdeadwife @generalgoldfishldrm @thesadvampire @a-really-bi-girl @solariumss @sagekeanu @fanficsrusz @ehggowo @nonsensicalobsessions @howtoruin-someones-perfect-day @flaaff @sanctuarygirl @mikaneonox @futuristic-imbecile

#john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick x you #demon!john wick #fanfic #series #alternative universe #sympathy for the devil

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lailaliquorice · 4 years

Text

may we all be so lucky

We’re back babey!! I haven’t been able to write in a few months because I’ve been so busy with uni and theatre things but believe me I never left the fandom, I’ve still been stockpiling ideas and now my exams are over I’ve had time to write one at last. I’m amazed by how quickly I wrote this. Clearly I love these characters just as much as I ever did.

Here is some very soft Aragon as I’ve promised several people, going back to my routes and writing the mother/daughter aspect of Boleyn (no Aralyn today!). Two prompts combined for this one, the first from an anon being “It’s icy outside– also, can you help me limp to the couch?” and the second from @impossibleclair being 'you look like you could use a hug'. Thank you both!!!

Also tagging @qualquercoisa945 bc I think Maria had an excitement induced heart attack when I told them I was writing again. I love you sweetheart <3

Winter had always been a time of reflection for Catherine of Aragon. Not only did the Christmas period naturally bring around a time for reflecting on her religion and her relationship with Christ, since her second chance at life it had also become a time to reflect on her relationships with herself and those around her. Both Anne and Maria could attest that Catherine was a completely different person nowadays than she had ever been back then, something which she privately thought was for the best, and she knew within herself that she felt happier than she had ever felt in her old life. There were still days she thought she didn’t deserve it, but for the most part she was learning to take what God had been gracious enough to give her and simply enjoy it.

In terms of the friendships she’d formed in this life, it was even easier to see how different they were compared to before. Then she’d only had one true friend in Maria, without doubt the truest friend she would ever have in that life or any other, whereas now she could feel comfortable of her place in the circle of friends that had formed around her. That seemed to grow closer around winter too; everyone’s hearts were lighter, their smiles brighter, and she always wished those warm times could last forever.

There was one drawback to the cold spells though. Catherine had never quite adjusted her body temperature from the Spanish heat she hadn’t felt in centuries, and even though it was warm inside the cold outside their door wouldn’t let itself be forgotten about.

Upon opening the fridge door first thing in the morning, dressing gown wrapped tightly around herself like a shield against the cold kitchen, she didn’t bother holding in her groan at discovering they had no milk left. Her normal breakfast consisted of a cup of green tea and a bowl of porridge and that was hopeless if there was no milk, meaning she would either have to break the routine she’d had set in stone since barely a month into modern life or brave a frosty walk to the corner shop.

After pursing her lips and staring at the empty spot in the fridge door for a few seconds her decision was made. She let her frustration get the better of her for a moment as she gave the door an unwarranted slam, grumbling under her breath as she exchanged her dressing gown for a thick coat decided sweatpants were good enough to leave the house in that once. But she’d barely walked past the driveway of the house before her annoyance disappeared in an instant at the sight of someone heading towards her.

Anne was also wearing a winter coat with what looked like pyjama bottoms and a rucksack on her back, arms wrapped tightly around her torso and her head bowed against the wind. What worried Catherine more than the question of what Anne was doing walking home at a time she wasn’t normally out of bed though was just how she was walking; unsteadily, clearly favouring one leg and barely putting any weight on the other foot at all.

She looked up when Catherine called her name, the smile on her face not entirely succeeding in hiding the pained look in her eyes. “Morning!” she chirped brightly, attempting without much luck to walk normally now she knew Catherine was watching her. “What brings you out- woah-“

Catherine surged forwards to catch her as her bad leg gave way, just about managing to keep them both from falling down. “I think a better question is what brings you out here, and what in God’s name you’ve done?” she asked, her voice serious in the hope that Anne wouldn’t keep trying to play it off.

“It’s icy out here – also, can you help me limp to the sofa?” Anne responded with a sheepish grin.

Despite her worry, Catherine couldn’t help but laugh dryly as she nodded. Anne clung onto Catherine’s shoulder as she hopped alongside her on the thankfully short trip back to the house, clearly grateful for Catherine’s arm tight around her waist. Once Anne had been deposited carefully onto the sofa in the living room and their coats shed, her voice left no room for refusal as she asked “What really happened then?”

Anne shrugged. “Like I said really. Ground was icy, I didn’t notice, I slipped over and landed on my leg. And now my knee and ankle won’t hold up.” She eased her boots off as she spoke, moving painstakingly slow as she pulled her sock off to reveal a purple bruise already spreading across a swollen foot.

“That looks bad, you must’ve gone down very hard” she murmured quietly. She winced in sympathy when Anne rolled her pyjama bottoms to reveal similar bruises forming on the side of her knee. “Let me go and get the first aid kit, I’ll be back in a minute.”

She didn’t wait for Anne’s noise of acknowledgement before hurrying into the kitchen, keen to get an icepack on both injuries as soon as possible to hopefully keep them from getting worse. Her idea to make a hot chocolate for each of them was quickly ended when she remembered they still had no milk, the whole reason she’d been out in the street to find Anne in the first place, but still flicked the kettle on for her customary green tea.

The sound of the kettle boiling meant she didn’t hear Anne creeping into the kitchen until there was a loud thud behind her. Catherine whirled around expecting the worst, but was instead greeted by Anne gripping onto the worktop with her rucksack crashed onto the floor. “Sorry if I scared you, just had a wobble and dropped my bag,” she blurted out before Catherine could say anything.

“Fine, but please let me help you,” Catherine insisted, taking Anne by the elbow and leading her slowly to sit down at the table. A hint of amusement crept into her tone as she added “What do you have in that bag anyway for it to make that much noise?”

Anne brightened considerably as she pulled her rucksack onto her lap and unzipped it. “Milk!” she said triumphantly, pulling out a fresh carton of milk and setting it down loudly on the table. “I used the rest last night and knew you weren’t gonna want to go get more first thing, I know you don’t like the cold. So I thought I’d go get some before you woke up.”

Catherine was rendered speechless for a moment by how thoughtful Anne had been, before she gave her a warm smile. “Thank you,” she said genuinely, glancing towards the kettle as she asked “Now I can make us some hot chocolate if you’d like?”

“Yes please! You always make it best.”

The switch on the kettle flicked off just as Anne spoke, and Catherine took the milk from her before busying herself with finding Anne’s favourite mug from the cupboard and making both their drinks. She placed both of them down on the table beside Anne before she went back to rounding up medical supplies, eventually sitting down beside her with two ice packs and a few things taken from the first aid kit.

“Let me see?” she asked gently, helping Anne lift her leg to rest her foot in Catherine’s lap.

Anne was quiet as Catherine examined her ankle, barely a wince crossing her face as she carefully manipulated the joint to assess the extent of the damage. She just sat quietly sipping her hot chocolate, pale hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes never straying from Catherine’s hands.

Eventually Catherine was happy with her conclusion that it was only a sprain, humming contentedly as she picked up the jar of bruise healing balm that was in constant high demand in a house full of dancers. “Well I don’t think we’ll need a hospital trip this morning,” she joked lightly, not missing how Anne’s chest practically deflated at the news.

“Not broken?” Anne asked quietly.

“Not broken,” Catherine confirmed. After gently spreading some of the balm over the worst of the swelling, she wrapped an ice pack in a tea towel and secured it over Anne’s ankle with a length of bandage material before doing the same to her knee injury. “All finished. How are you feeling?”

Anne pulled a face. “Bloody stupid, that’s how I’m feeling.”

Smiling over the rim of her mug as she took a sip of her drink, Catherine shook her head in fond exasperation. “I meant how is your leg feeling,” she corrected, emphasising the leg as she pointed down at the puffy ankle still resting on Catherine’s lap.

“Oh. Hurts a bit but the ice is helping,” Anne said. There was a beat of silence before she added “Still feel stupid though. I wanted to surprise you and I would’ve gotten away for it too if it weren’t for that meddling ice.”

Catherine laughed at that, matching Anne’s triumphant grin with a beaming smile of her own. “It’s a good thing I’m here and not Jane or I doubt she would get that reference,” she pointed out, making Anne giggle too. Jane’s inability to grasp pop culture references was something they always lightly made fun of, though never without showing her what they meant afterwards.

Their laughter was interrupted with a gasp of pain from Anne as she unthinkingly jostled her ankle, Catherine placing a hand lightly on her shin to help keep her leg still. “Let me get you some painkillers,” she said, lifting Anne’s foot off her lap with the utmost care and placing it back on the chair before returning to the medicine cabinet.

Anne was silent as she took the painkillers with her hot chocolate, hiding behind her mug and refusing to meet Catherine’s eye. “Are you ok?” Catherine asked more seriously, not believing Anne’s quick nod in the slightest. “You look like you could use a hug.”

“Yes please.” Anne’s voice cracked with those two short words.

Careful not to knock her leg again, Catherine leaned down and let Anne throw her arms around her neck. She didn’t react when she heard quiet sobs next to her ear, just rubbed soothing circles into Anne’s upper back as she cried herself out. It was easy to comfort her as Catherine’s maternal instincts rose up and held the younger girl close to her chest; she wasn’t always the most tactile of the group, always wrestling with her physical boundaries, but when one of her family needed her she would always be there to provide whatever they needed.

“Sorry,” Anne whimpered after a while as she drew back, rubbing shaky hands beneath her eyes. “I just don’t like being in pain. It’s scary after… after back then.”

Kneeling down to place a comforting hand on Anne’s uninjured knee, Catherine nodded in understanding. “I know babes, I know,” she said soothingly, reaching up without thinking to catch the tears that continued to fall down Anne’s cheek. “But I’m here, and you’re going to be ok. Give it a couple of weeks and you’ll be good as new.” She knew Anne knew that really, but in her fragile state she also knew that the reminder would give her something to cling onto.

Anne nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.”

There was a shyness in Anne’s small voice then that was very rarely heard, and Catherine gave her a motherly smile. “You’re welcome,” she said softly.

Glancing at the kitchen clock, Catherine knew that they would probably have a couple more hours until any of the other queens came downstairs. It was their weekly day off which meant that only Jane and Catherine were usually awake before midday, but Jane had been harbouring the beginnings of a cold all week and was probably taking the opportunity for some extra rest and she had Anne with her instead. So she looked back over at Anne and suggested “Would you like to watch a film or two? We can get the blanket out and rest on the sofa for a while.”

It was a task getting Anne back into the living room without causing her too much pain, but after a few challenging minutes they were sat on the sofa with a favourite Disney movie of Anne’s playing and the thick movie night blanket spread over both of them. Anne hummed happily as she curled into Catherine’s side during the opening credits, prompting Catherine to wrap an arm around her shoulders and let Anne rest her head on her collar. It reminded Catherine of how she’d held Mary long ago, the pair of them watching a hunt from the window of their quarters, a rare moment where she’d been more like her current self than most people had ever seen back then.

As Anne’s breathing evened out indicating she’d fallen asleep, Catherine thought back to when they’d first been reincarnated and she and Anne could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other. Getting locked in the costume room together after a show by accident had finally made them break down their barriers and now they were here.

‘I don’t know how I got this lucky’, Catherine thought as she rested her head atop Anne’s hair, ‘but I wouldn’t change this for all the world’.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #laila's writing

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

7 from the kiss prompts with runner/chuckler pls xx

sha-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy 💋 (accepting!) 7. routine kisses where the other person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss without even looking up from what they’re doing

Vera doesn’t quite understand what Hoosier means, when he opens the door to them in the middle of Sid Phillips’s already bustling house party, and declares, “Finally! Someone to tell me I’m not crazy.”

“Got the wrong guy for that, buddy. Unless you ask real nicely,” Bob declares, patting Hoosier on the shoulder as he steps inside.

Hoosier shrugs him off with a grunt, hardly sparing his friend a glance. “What makes you think I’m talking to you?” He looks offended at the idea. Instead, his sharp gaze is fixed solely on Vera, drawing her inside before she even has a chance to say hello. “You. Somebody with actual eyes in their head. Thank fuck you’re here, cause I can’t take another second of this.”

“Hello to you too, Bill,” she remarks fondly, shrugging her coat off and handing it off to her waiting boyfriend. Bob smirks over his shoulder as he abandons Vera to Hoosier Smith’s mercy; Vera, quite content to be abandoned, just smiles back. She enjoys Hoosier, for all his idiosyncrasies. He’s coarse and forthright, says exactly what he means… and always smiles like he’s got a secret, and sharing it with you is an act of remarkable magnanimity. Vera loves to be in on those secrets, passed so sparingly from Hoosier’s lips to whoever he chooses to honor. She loves figuring them out. She loves figuring him out — sometimes thinks she’s almost got it.

“Look,” he declares without preamble, keeping one firm hand in the center of Vera’s back to guide her through the crowd. Though a little baffled, Vera is nonetheless intrigued. She follows, waving at a few faces she recognizes, flashing grins of greeting that Hoosier doesn’t acknowledge at all. It’s a full house tonight, the crowd swarming through Sid’s downstairs parlor and dispersing amidst his family’s substantial living rooms. The upstairs is blocked off out of common decency… but no doubt, a few couples will find a way to sneak up there, trusting the Phillipses to have guest bedrooms to spare. No doubt Bob will want to give it a try… and, at some point, Vera might even agree.

For now, though, she could do with a drink. Relief ripples through her as they step into Sid’s kitchen — a picture of modernity, marble floors and countertops highlighting the latest microwave model his father’s been able to afford. A few kids have taken advantage of the chic coffee maker; a few others have scattered ice chips and rock salt, dissected lime slices forgotten on the counter. If there was a bartender, he’s gone. It’s every man for himself, and the drinks are flowing.

Hoosier sets her up very strategically near the doorway, in a perfect vantage spot to survey the room. “Wait here,” he declares, adjusting her shoulders at an angle.

“Rum and cranberry juice,” Vera informs him, like reading off a price tag.

Hoosier smirks. “Lady with taste.”

As he goes, her eyes follow himself across the kitchen. It occurs to her, not for the first time, that Hoosier is blunt to a fault; it wouldn’t kill him to elaborate a little more, especially when he wants something. Vera’s got no clue what she’s supposed to be looking at, or for. as her eyes drift from Hoosier to scan the kitchen, she finds herself at more of a loss.

There’s Stella, perched atop the counter with her legs crossed, steadied by a young man with both hands on her hips; if they twitch too far sideways, the drinks forgotten beside them will spill everywhere, but neither one looks concerned. Sid’s red headed friend Eugene is frowning at his highball like he doesn’t know what to do with it. A harassed-looking Jay is trying to pour out a plate of chips and salsa, but people passing by keep stealing them as quickly as he can lay the snacks out. Standing behind the island, which doubles as a bar, Chuckler and Runner have set up and are taking orders.

Vera catches Chuckler’s eye. Immediately, he breaks into a grin, calling out a greeting to her. She waves back, perching on her toes to be seen over the crowd. God knows this dress looks great on her — Bob stared for a solid minute, before declaring turquoise was suddenly his new favorite color — but the matching flats do nothing for her height. Chuckler’s tall enough that he can be spotted anywhere.

Hoosier makes it to the bar just in time; Chuckler has already nudged Runner, and they ignore their friend in favor of calling out to her. “Hey, Vera!” Runner says, voice carrying easily over the music and chattering crowd. “Who’s entertaining you over there?”

“You guys, as always.” Hoosier looks supremely put-out, which is Vera’s cue to leave her assigned spot. She joins Hoosier’s side, laying a fond hand on his arm while bracing herself against the bar. “Bill’s my date for tonight. I lost Bob somewhere on the walk in.”

“His loss, not yours.” Runner is already mixing up her drink order, movements deft and confident. “Anything you feel like, tonight — Sid’s given me official bartender status, cause I’m the only one who knows how to make a decent screwball ‘round here.”

Chuckler puffs up with pride. “I’m helping.”

“Help,” Runner scoffs, shaking a steel thermos violently. “That’s one word for it. You see what he did over there? You see that?”

Vera has, in fact, seen the mess left on the counter. Her lips purse in sympathy.

“Do you know how dangerous cutting lines can be?” demands Chuckler, defensive on principle. “The juice squirts. It’s like acid.”

“Don’t say you got it in your eyes —“ He leans in, proving exactly that, in more explicit detail than Vera would like. Her frown turns into an full-on grimace. “Ooh, Lew.”

Runner sets two drinks in front of them, sliding a whiskey towards Hoosier and Vera’s crimson concoction, adorned with one of the lethal limes, her way. “Ahh, he’s fine,” he declares, smacking Chuckler in the center of his broad chest. “Look at ‘im — healthy as ever.”

And that’s when it happens. Vera’s not sure what she was expecting, really, when Hoosier demanded she look — but Runner’s hand lingers where it struck Chuckler’s chest, and almost on reflex Chuckler turns into him. Just like that, they kiss. The peck on the side of Chuckler’s mouth is so deft, so effortless, that if she weren’t looking right at them she might think she imagined things.

Neither of them bat an eye; they just go right back to what they were doing, Runner mixing and Chuckler setting out glasses, like it’s any other day.

Hoosier pinches her hard underneath the bar top.

With no one else reacting, Vera finds herself at a loss. A few seconds pass, threatening a silence bound to be awkward, before she summons her most charming grin and swipes her drink off the bar. “Alright, you guys,” she says lightly. “We’d better go track down Bob.”

“Save the poor bastard whose ears he's talking off,” Hoosier adds, deadpan.

“A rescue mission. Right.” Vera claps his arm, subtly towing him away. “We’ll see you around… keep up the good work!”

Chuckler and Runner have other customers, and more orders to fill. They just wave, Chuckler sending Vera another bright smile, as their friends go on their way.

To his credit, Hoosier waits until they’re out of the kitchen to shoot the elephant in the room. “You saw it, right? You saw that shit.”

“I saw it.” She doesn’t know what else to say. Her head is still kind of spinning from it. Eager for a distraction, Vera takes a sip of her drink. Her eyes widen— possibly larger than at the moment her two friends smooched. “Oh my god, this is actually amazing. Why is this — he actually knows what he’s doing.”

“First time in his life.” Hoosier still clutches his rum; the expression on his face makes it clear he’d have preferred the whole bottle. “They been doing that all night. All week. It’s been going on for fuckin’ weeks.” He rounds on her, and for the first time, Vera sees desperation in his eyes. The worst part is, she gets it. “And every time I bring it up to your boyfriend, he looks at me like I going the crazy. Can’t decide if he’s blind or I’m stupid, but they’re definitely…”

“Dating,” Vera decodes promptly.

“You think?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“I…” Hoosier blinks, mirroring Vera’s baffled expression, with twice the consternation thrown into the mix. “Well, how the fuck do I know? I’m not dating either of ‘em, I dunno what they’re like.”

“The kissing speaks for itself, Bill,” says Vera, gently, feeling like she’s telling a child their goldfish has died.

A familiar voice from behind them cuts through the awkward atmosphere like a hot butter knife. “Kissing?” Bob echoes, sidling up behind Vera just to wrap an arm around her waist. She leans into him, because he likes to show off in public, and went through the trouble of wearing her favorite cologne tonight. When she turns her head to greet him, he’s grinning, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Don’t tell me you went off and had fun without me?”

Hoosier must be relieved for the distraction. He smirks. “A lot more fun without you.”

“Bill unhooked the bra on his first try,” Vera adds brightly.

Bob clicks his tongue, looking between his best friend and girlfriend in a terrible impression of abject betrayal. “Showing me up, huh? I thought we were friends.” Sensibly, he doesn’t give Hoosier the chance to reply. Instead, he scans the crowd around them, eyes narrowing. “You guys seen the terrible two around here?”

“Just left them tending bar in the kitchen,” Hoosier replies; as quickly as it vanished, that same harassed look floods back over his face. “They’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me that. Vera saw it too.”

“Saw what?” Bob demands, innocent as a Catholic schoolgirl. When he looks toward Vera — honest-to-god question plain on his face — she stares at him for a moment before shaking her head.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Bob demands, voice rising an octave as he darts between Vera and Hoosier. When Vera rounds on the only other sane person here, expression demanding an explanation, Hoosier just shakes his head. I told him, the mile-long look in his eyes declares. I told him more than once.

If he really hasn’t noticed, there’s no choice. They’ve got to show him. With a nod of agreement, the two set their conspiracy into motion. Hoosier seizes Bob’s arm, tugging him through the crowd, while at his side Vera encourages in the gentlest, completely non-pushing way possible. Bob lets out a squawk of protest, because he was just talking to someone else with an interest in the French and Indian War, he could introduce them — but Hoosier isn’t having it.

“Leave me to deal with it on my own, then tell me you didn’t notice… shitty eyesight, piece-of-shit observation skills for a goddamn journalist — quit dragging your toes, Leckie, and get in here.”

They come to a stop in the doorway, roughly where Hoosier left Vera ten minutes ago. She settles her hand on his shoulder and declares, “Wait.”

“Wait — for what? I’m not even allowed a drink?”

“Shut your mouth and open your eyes,” Hoosier hisses.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes — that’s the incredible part. They don’t have to observe any longer than it takes for Vera to finish her drink until, out of nowhere, Chuckler proves their point again. This time, he catches Runner with a kiss as he’s squeezing by to serve a drink on the other side of the bar. Runner doesn’t even acknowledge it, save for the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. When they maneuver past each other again, Runner squeezes behind, and his hand goes somewhere that makes Chuckler jump.

“Yeah,” Vera affirms, nodding to herself. “Definitely dating.”

“Nah,” replies Hoosier. “My money’s on fucking. They don’t have the emotional intelligence.”

“What am I looking at?” asks Bob.

They both turn on him, baffled.

“You didn’t,” Vera says — then stops, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “You didn’t see them do that?”

“You didn’t see ‘em do it last week in the diner? Or the other night, in the back of your car? Or on my goddamn couch?” At Bob’s blank stare, Hoosier slowly leans in, seizing him by the arm with a calm fierceness almost guaranteed to bruise. “They’ve been doing it for the last few weeks. Everywhere.”

“It’s almost cute,” Vera muses. “They make it seem easy. Bob, you’ve never kissed me like that.”

“Like what?” Bob exclaims.

“Really?” says Hoosier. “He ain’t ever kissed you like muscle memory?”

Vera regards her boyfriend for a long moment. Bob shifts under her gaze, helpless and inflamed at some offense he wasn’t even aware of making. His ignorance is his one saving grace — Bob Leckie has never played dumb in his life, so genuinely missing what’s right in front of him is the more likely bet. It’s all a matter of perception, Vera supposes. You see what you want to see.

Or, in poor Hoosier’s case, what you don’t.

“Don’t worry,” Hoosier declares, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sure if you ask nice, those two’ll be happy to give you pointers.”

“Pointers for what?” Bob demands, two seconds away from choking on his own bafflement.

There’s no point telling him. He’ll have to figure it out on his own eventually… and until then, Hoosier will have to put up with fifth wheeling between Bob and Vera, and whatever’s going on behind the bar. Runner’s shoulder bumps against Chuckler’s own, casually affectionate, and it takes all of Vera’s self-control not to, “aww,” out loud.

Maybe soon her boyfriend will be as quick on the uptake as those two are with their kisses.

#runner/chuckler #the pacific cast #team leckie #my writing #first time ever doing a vera pov!! i love her

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dynastyau · 4 years

Text

Masks

Updating two days in a row? Look at me go! I won’t be able to post anything in the next few days, my computer charger just broke so I need to order a new one and it won’t be here till Sunday. I hope this part can tide you over until I can post again.

Summary: Eurydice tires to cover up the damage but is unsuccessful and Hades takes notice.

-MaKenzie ♥️

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Every night Eurydice woke with nightmares, the scene from Friday replaying in her head. Even though she tries to push away the memory she can’t, it’s plastered on her face. There was a sizable cut across her cheek highlighting the darkened skin. With soft movements, she brushed her fingers across her cheek trying not to wince at the pain.

Tears threatened to overflow, but she would not show any more weakness. She had to be strong, there was no other choice for her. No one could know what happened, they would see the true weakness in her then. Weakness is what hurts you and Eurydice is a survivor.

Quickly she touched up her makeup. The poor girl could only afford the cheap stuff so it was fading far too fast for her liking. While the makeup didn’t fully mask what happened it did help lessen the blow. While it could mask the injuries, it could never mask the internal damage. That would be there forever.

Eurydice was thankful Hades was out of the office all day in meetings, one less person to see her damaged state. With an empty office, she was able to let her mind wander to better times, times when things were easy. The emotional trauma allowing her to seek comfort in old memories with the one person she has ever loved.

The ringing of her desk phone broke her from her thoughts, “Mayor Hades' office, how may I help you?” She put on the fake voice of someone happy to be answering the phone. Over the past year, she has perfected her “customer service” voice as she would like to call it.

“Eurydice cancel the rest of my meetings for the day, I am on my way back to the office,” the anger in his voice caused her to tense.

Trying to keep her voice light she responded, “yes, sir,” and hung up. Her anxiety spiked at the thought of him coming into the office, especially if he is as angry as he sounds. When Hades was angry he tended to take it out on his employees and that is the last thing Eurydice needed at this moment.

After angering many people she was finally done making all the cancelations. Right now she was feeling drained, thoughts of all of the bad things that she has been told recently flooding her mind. All she wanted to do was turn it off, turn off all the pain, the memories, everything. She wished she could be paralyzed, unable to feel again. Then she wouldn’t have to feel the pain and the heartbreak and the betrayal that he has brought into her life.

Pounding footsteps caused her to stiffen, her hands shaking. Fear that he would be angry with her setting in, right now his hanger would only set her off. She kept her head down, not wanting to face his wrath head-on. She let out a sigh of relief as he walked straight past on the phone. For now, she has avoided him.

The end of the workday was nearing and Eurydice couldn’t be happier that Hades stayed in his office since returning. She had to make constant trips to the bathroom to touch up her mask, being forced to confront her demons every time. The distant sounding of church bells sounded the end of the day. Quickly she grabbed her things, keeping her head down. “Eurydice,” Hades' deep voice stopped her.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her bag. She was so close to freedom and now she was going to have to face him. With a deep sigh, she straightened, pulling out whatever confidence she could find. “Yes, sir?”

The automatic darkening in his features alerted her instant. “What happened?” He took a few steps toward her, trying to get a closer look. No matter how much makeup she put on the injuries shown through. “Who did this to you?” the darkness in his tone frightened the poor girl. She has seen Hades mad before but this...this was different.

Quickly she raised her cheek to cover the mark, trying not to wince no matter how bad it hurt. “It’s nothing,” she didn’t allow him to probe anymore. Her feet carried her away from him, she didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. “Oh great it’s raining,” she mumbled to herself.

The rain was something she always enjoyed. She was envious of the sky, it was allowed to let go of the things holding it down. Clouds have the freedom to let go, she doesn’t. Bitter drops penetrated the thin coat she wore, washing away her mask. She reveled in the feeling of letting go of the mask, it protected her today but now she didn’t need it, no longer needing it to hide.

Suddenly the man that has been recently haunting her stepped in front of her. Her cheek started to throb, reminding her of what happened last time she was in her presence. There were scars of his own littering his face, “It seems like we have some unfinished business.”

The sinister words caused Eurydice to take off in the direction she came from. His long legs allowed him to catch her easily. Before she could scream he covered her mouth before dragging her away. This side of town was not densely populated, it was unlikely anyone would see what is going on. “I suggest you unhand the lady,” this voice brought some comfort to her.

Without turning around the boy fired back, “And who the hell do you think-”

When we came face to face with Hades, the attacker froze. Hades was known for his intimidating appearance and right now he looked like he could murder the boy. Eurydice took this moment of confusion to push away and run towards Hades. “Get in the car Eurydice,” his tone was direct, there was no room for questions.

“Mr. Hades I am fine, I’m just gonna go home,” she didn’t want to take his help. Too much weakness has already been shown and if she went with him she would crumble more. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she was scared to be alone with him anyway. He would never do anything to her but men have only hurt her recently.

She wanted to run from him the moment his fiery gaze met hers. “I wasn’t asking Eurydice, now get in the damn car!” Fear took over pushing her to get into the car. Hades waited to turn towards the man until she was in the car. She watched as he turned towards the boy, his veins popping out of his neck as he yelled.

No matter how much she was tempted, she refused to watch what was going on outside. Instead, she turned her attention to the luxurious vehicle she was in. The sleek, modern car was the nicest place she has ever been. This car just screamed expensive. She was almost too afraid to move, scared she would break something.

She was so preoccupied with admiring the car that when the door opened she jumped. If Hades was a cartoon character steam would be coming out of his ears. Eurydice opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by the raising of his hand. They rode in silence, to where...Eurydice had no clue.

When they pulled up to Hades’ home she was surprised. Why would he bring her there of all places? Why not just take her home? “Um, Mr. Hades” she kept her voice small, trying not to cause him to explode. He looked at her and she took it as an invitation to continue, “why did you bring me here? Why not take me home?”

The car was put in park but neither of them made a move to get out. They sat in silence for a few moments, it was almost suffocating Eurydice. “Was he the one who gave you the marks in the first place?” his tone was gruff, you could tell he was holding himself back. Too ashamed to answer verbally she just nodded her head.

The slamming of his hand on the steering wheel caused her to jump. Her fear that he would harm her overriding all logic. She pressed herself further into the door, her hand gripping the handle ready to flee. Hades' eyes flew to her hand, he could see just how terrified of her. “I just wanted to keep an eye on you tonight. What you went through was tough kid, no one should ever have to go through it,” it was strange to hear those words coming out of Hades’ mouth. She took comfort in his words, it was the first time she felt cared for by an older man.

He let out a small chuckle, something she rarely hears, “Plus, Steph would chew my ear off if she knew I let you go home alone, unprotected.” Eurydice brightened at the thought of seeing Steph again. She knew that she would be able to seek comfort in the mother figure Steph has become. Noticing the tension leaving her body, Hades opened the door. “Come on Eurydice, let’s go inside.”

She let a small smile grace her face, something she hasn’t done since the incident. They walked up the steps, memories of Orpheus falling to his knees came flooding in. The guilt of how she hurt him squeezed her heart. “Eurydice what happened?” Steph came flying down the hall towards the girl. She pulled her in, providing whatever comfort she could. Eurydice clung to her like a lost child, the tears she had been holding in finally crashing town.

Hades came up to her, whispering in her ear what was going on. The girl sobbed into Steph’s arms, a heartbreaking sound to hear. “Aunt Persephone, what’s going on?” Eurydice instantly stiffened pushing herself away, she just had to see his face.

They both gasped looking into each other's eyes. There stood the boy she loved. She could deny it any longer. Orpheus was home and he stood right in front of her in her weakest moment.

#dynasty au #eurydice #orpheus #orphydice #orpheus and eurydice #hadestown #hadestown broadway #modern hadestown #hades #persephone #hades and persephone #hermes

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casbeanwrites · 5 years

Note

Dean goes on a terrible Tinder date. Cas is the waiter and sees the whole thing. “I can do way better than that.”

also on ao3

Cas notices it about two minutes after they’ve sat down. Actually, he notices it before, when the guy pulls Dean’s chair for him, and Dean looks a bit dumbfounded and clears his throat like he does when he’s uncomfortable. Cas is immediately on high alert.

Dean’s been a client here for a while – bringing dates, friends, or even sometimes dining alone. He’s friendly, a generous tipper, and his warm laughter makes Castiel weak in the knees. Also, he’s ridiculously attractive.

Which is why Castiel doesn’t understand what he’s doing, week after week, with a different and insufferable date. He understands why Dean always end up taking a cab alone at the end of the night, though. Cas knows this because he’s usually on his break, hanging out on his phone in the back alley, when Dean leaves, and Dean stops to chat with him if he’s managed to escape alone. It’s how Cas learned his name and the very few other details he knows about him – like the intricate pattern of freckles scattered on his cheek, and the fact that he’s a mechanic and owns his own body shop. It’s how he knows that there’s nothing in the world Dean loves more than his little brother, even though his car comes pretty close second.

It’s also how he knows that one of those dates deserve him, but the mystery remains of why he’s dating them in the first place. Dean shouldn’t be trolling for dates on a stupid hookup app – people should be lining up in the street for a chance to be with him.

That man should be loved and cherished every single day, and if Cas had a chance with someone like that… But he chases those ridiculous thoughts away as he makes eye contact with Dean from across the room. He can see already that this is going to be another bad one, just from the way Dean glances around with a contrite look on his face as his date keeps talking about his very scientific workout and diet in details.

Cas can only see the back of the other man – broad shoulders in an expensive suit, a haircut worth at least 200$, and too many rings on his large fingers. Their eyes connect again, Dean’s widen in a please help me way Cas knows too well.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Yes, finally, we’ve been here for at least an hour,” Dean’s date complains when Cas steps up to their table.

Dean frowns and opens his mouth, probably to apologize, but Cas shoots him a reassuring smile. That guy isn’t the first client to be a dick, and Cas is used to it – at least he’s not the one who has to sit there and listen to him all night long. He orders a chicken salad but asks for a vegan dressing, which makes no sense but Cas notes it down anyway. Dean looks at him the whole time, sympathy and apology in his stunningly green eyes. Warmth, too. His eyes are warm like the sunshine through the leaves on Cas’ favourite plant and they make him melt from the inside out.

He’s worked in this restaurant for years, has been a waiter for even longer – yet he almost forgets to note down Dean’s order because he’s too busy getting lost in the delicate pattern of freckles on his cheeks. In the admiration of his pink, plush mouth, in the way it moves as he speaks. Cas blinks quickly when he realizes Dean’s not talking anymore, and that both him and his date are watching him expectantly. His hands are shaking as he picks up their menus and his heart beats loud against his ribs all the way back to the kitchen.

Dean is leaning over with his head in his hand when Cas walks towards him, balancing two plates on one arm and a water carafe in the other. He only looks up when Cas puts his steak in front of him and then gives him a weary smile, along with the usual thank you, which so many costumers don’t even bother with.

“Is your date gone?” Cas asks, slowly refilling the water glasses just to give himself reason to stay.

“No, uh, just the bathroom, I think. Shit, I’m sorry, he’s been such an asshole to you.”

“It’s fine,” Cas chuckles. Dean’s hair is sticking out from running his hands through it. “What does he have on you?”

“What?”

“Why are you still here? You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Dean huffs, the hint of a beautiful smile spreading on his lips.

“Nothing, just… my brother’s been on my ass to settle down since his wedding. I guess I want that too, y’know. Figured I gotta give people a chance.”

“People, yes. Him? I think you should run.”

Dean laughs fully at that, and Cas heart flutters happily. He made Dean laugh. He did that.

“I would, believe me, I would… But he works with my brother, and I don’t wanna make things awkward between them, y’know. Straight up leaving wouldn’t be subtle.”

“I could tell him you have an emergency.”

Dean doesn’t have time to reply that the guy gets out of the bathroom. Cas could swear his hair is even more shiny and wet-looking than it was before, as if he’s dropped a second bucket of hair gel on it while he was gone. He’s not bad looking, with a professional stubble on his large jaw and piercing blue eyes, but comparing him to Dean would be like comparing a rock to the actual sun. Cas gives Dean an apologetic look and makes his exit before the guy can comment on how long it took for the food to arrive.

“How is everything? Are you enjoying your meal?”

“Chicken is cold,” the guy says, and Cas doesn’t miss the way Dean looks at the ceiling in a silent prayer.

“I’m so sorry, do you want me to take it back?” Cas politely offers, resisting the urge to tell him that of course the chicken is fucking cold, that’s why it’s called a cold chicken salad.

“I don’t know, are you sure there’s no eggs in that dressing? I feel like I can–” the guy ticks his tongue against his palate in what is possibly the most annoying noise Cas has ever heard, “–I feel like I can taste it, it’s eggy, it’s–”

“No, there are no eggs, sir. It’s a cashew nut dressing. Will that be all?”

The guy shoots him a glare at the interruption, like Cas is the most offending person he’s ever met.

“No, we’re fine.”

At that moment the man’s phone – that’s been laying next to his glass the entire meal, Cas saw him check it almost obsessively whenever Dean managed to slip a word in – lights up and starts ringing. He takes it with a rude “excuse me” directed at Dean and steps away from the table.

“Help me,” Dean immediately whispers. His green eyes are pleading, his hand reaches forward as if to touch Cas and then falls back on the table, grasping at his utensils. “I’m fucking dying here. He keeps talking about the benefits of egg white and about how dumb his assistant is and how much his fucking suits cost and I’m about to stab this fork into my fucking brain.”

He still manages a smile when Cas laughs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The easier way would be to tell Dean that he has a phone call, but thanks to modern technology, no one calls restaurants to talk to costumers anymore. He’s seen Dean use the emergency phone call trick a few times, but on his last date the girl definitely saw through it and started yelling at him in front of the whole restaurant. Dean ended up having to comfort her and his eyes stared at Castiel in complete panic as she sobbed against his chest.

Cas isn’t entirely sure of what he’s about to do when walks back to the table. He has a bottle of the wine the guy’s ordered in his hands, ready for a refill, and he mulls over his options. The thought of just grabbing Dean and kissing him crosses his mind – he could maybe pretend to be his jealous ex, make a scene – but that would basically be assault. It’s tempting, though. And could possibly work, but…

This is his brothers’ restaurant, and Cas is their best waiter, so he can get away with a lot without getting fired – but he suspects that assaulting a client in front of his date would be crossing the line.

He still has no clue when he steps up to the table. The man is currently explaining something to Dean and Dean is looking down, his cheeks a little red. Cas frowns, and then he hears it – “Look, I’m not saying you’re fat, but you could use to eat a little less pie, if you know what I mean–”

Cas’ ears are ringing and he doesn’t even question it – he pours half the bottle of wine directly into the man’s cold chicken salad. There’s a moment when everything is still, except for the dark red liquid pouring and sloshing and dripping all over the white tablecloth… and then the guy shoves his chair back and scrambles to his feet.

“What the fuck, idiot?” He yells, his face as red as the wine, as Cas calmly straightens the bottle back up. “This is a ten thousand dollar suit you incompetent fucking moron!”

There’s barely a drip on his pant leg but he’s wrapped his hands around it as if Cas had stabbed it with a butter knife.

“I’m gonna fucking break your–”

“Alright, alright,” Dean says and Cas finally looks at him – he looks strangely calm, as if he’s fighting hard to keep a straight face. He quickly stands up and places himself between his date and Cas, almost like a shield. The whole restaurant has fallen silent, all the eyes are on them, but Cas only sees Dean – standing tall and protective in front of him. He smells like a field of wildflowers under the sun, he smells like cool wind and an autumn walk…

“There’s a dry cleaner two blocks from here, if you run you can make it before it closes. I’ll deal with him,” Dean turns towards Cas as his date frantically tries to wipe his pants with a handkerchief. His eyes lock with Cas and there’s a spark in them, almost teasing. “I’ll make sure the ‘idiot’ gets fired.”

The guy barely lets him finish that he’s storming out of the restaurant, phone against his ears, saying something along the lines of “I know you’re it’s after-hours you dipshit this is a fucking emergency”.

Dean stares at Cas like he’s just fallen from Heaven and crashed right into the restaurant. Wine drips along the leg of the table.

“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean finally says. “I could fucking kiss you right now.”

“That would probably be inappropriate since I’m on the clock,” Cas answers without thinking. He’s too lost in the way Dean is looking at him, soft and adoring. “But my break starts in five minutes.”

He hears the words come out of his mouth but doesn’t fully register them until Dean’s eyes widen and his lips part. And suddenly Cas isn’t standing in front of him anymore, but instead he’s slamming shut the door of the walk-in and leaning back against it, sighing in relief as the cold metal presses against his back.

Crap.

Oh god. Oh god, Cas has made a complete ass of himself. He just poured wine all over a table, caused a scene, and then somehow managed to expose his feelings for Dean in the most pathetic way possible.

He takes a few minutes to breathe and let the crips cold bring him back to his senses. He still needs to clear his head, though, so he grabs Anna in passing and asks her to take care of his tables for a few minutes. He hears Gabriel call for him – “who the fuck just poured wine in the middle of my dining room?” – but manages to escape through the back door. He’s barely made two steps that he collides with a warm, insanely good smelling chest and would’ve fallen back on his ass hadn’t it been for Dean grabbing him.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, his breath warm on Cas’ face.

For a moment Cas is too shocked to answer. Dean’s face is breathtaking form up close, and Cas resists the urge to grab him and kiss him senseless.“Dean, I’m so–”

“Did you mean it?”

Cas stares at him, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and he’s pretty sure Dean can feel it. Their noses are inches apart. Dean’s never looked quite as beautiful, the hard lines of his face softened by the yellow glow of the street lamps.

His eyes dart down to Cas’ lips, then back up again. His grips softens around Cas’ waist but his hands remain there, warmth seeping through Cas’ clothes and onto his skin.

“Yes,” he breathes out. He feels like he’s under a spell. Dean’s eyes flick down to his mouth again and he licks his own lips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time you walked into the restaurant.”

“Damn it, Cas. You should’ve said something earlier.”

Before Cas can reply, a smooth, warm mouth presses against his lips. His eyes flutter close, his fingers grasp at Dean’s shirt to bring him closer. The kiss is gentle, soft and tentative at first, but Cas can’t resist deepening it. Dean groans his approval and his arm curls around Cas’ waist, slamming him against his chest, his other hand sneaking into Cas’ hair and pulling. Cas pants, heaves, grasps at Dean’s strong shoulder as if he could possibly hold him closer. This is so much better than anything he’s dreamed about, Dean’s lips are plump and soft and fucking sinful to bite into, his tongue is playful and warm and Cas feels shivers running under his skin and deep into his bones.

“Really should’ve done that a lot sooner,” Dean mumbles when they finally part. He still keeps them close, resting his forehead against Cas’.

His cheeks are deliciously pink and Cas can’t quite believe he’s real.

“Maybe I should give you my phone number so you can call me and save me next time I’m on a shitty date,” Dean murmurs, letting his lips run along Cas’ jaw, then down his neck.

Cas freezes. Again, the words leave his mouth before he can even think about them.

“Or maybe I should give you my phone number so you never have to go on another shitty date again.”

Dean smiles wide and bright, and his neck kiss leaves Cas dizzy and barely able to stand on his wobbly legs.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you should do that.”

#deancasfanficnet #profoundbond #spncreatorsdaily #writersofdestiel #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #au fic #first kiss #m writing #thank you for the prompt!!!!!!!#i had so much fun writing it

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madamebaggio · 4 years

Photo

Notes: SMUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!!!!

This is the next chapter on my Gretel x Nuada modern AU. Previous chapter is here, and you can find everything on my AO3 account.

Seriously, guys, this is pure smut. Not safe to read around other people.

I hope you enjoy it.

****

Chapter 3

This time around, Gretel was feeling even more confused. She wished she knew what was wrong with her.

She wouldn’t even consider Nuada’s motive. He might be an immortal elf or whatever, but he still had a cock. She wasn’t shocked he was going around looking for hookups, but she was shocked at herself for falling for it, not once, but twice!

Where was her self respect?

Was he a great fuck? Yeah.

Did it justify all of this? Hell no.

It was really appalling that she was acting like this.

Gretel enjoyed sex as much as the next person, but there were some lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Fucking a -supposedly- former megalomaniac who’d planned on world destruction was a huge fucking line! And she didn’t just cross it. Oh no! She skipped happily across it.

This was so problematic.

And she couldn’t even blame it on a tendency to like bad boys because of lingering daddy issues. Exactly because she’d spent years believing her father had plain abandoned her and her brother, she only got involved with the sweetest men she could meet. Sure, they bored the hell out of her eventually, but at least they didn’t break her heart.

She had no idea what she was doing.

So she did what any normal, mature adult would; she pretended everything was alright and worked.

Which meant going to meetings.

If there was one thing that made her truly believe that hell existed, it was the existence of meetings. Only the Devil could be so cruel as to create something like this.

However, today… There was something extra.

Gretel mused at it while she sat there, pretending she was listening to Agent Something. It wasn’t Nuada; he was as cool as cucumber, and he didn’t even make eye contact with her.

Hansel was fine, sitting between Mina and Abe. There was Nuala...

Nuala, who was making a real effort to avoid Gretel’s eyes. And, taking in consideration how polite and friendly the princess was most of the time, Gretel was instantly in alert.

Then Nuada said something and Nuala focused even harder on the floor, making Gretel understand exactly what was going on.

She’d waited until the meeting was over then dragged Nuala to the closest restroom. “You know!” She hissed.

To her credit, Nuala didn’t even try to deny it. Although, with her expression, it was useless to even try. “It’s not as if I’ve sought the knowledge.” Nuala replied on that overly formal and prim way she had.

Gretel hadn’t thought Nuala wanted to know what her brother was up to, but anyway… “It makes no fucking difference.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god.”

“I am sorry.” Nuala cringed.

Gretel sighed. “It’s not your fault, but…” She groaned. “It’s still uncomfortable.”

Nuala gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Does he know you know?”

“Of course he does. We just act like we don’t.” Nuala told her. “It’s the same he does for me and Abe.”

Gretel cringed in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine having that kind of intimate knowledge regarding her brother.

“Are you alright?” Nuala asked her carefully.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Nuala sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Let’s go with your policy with your brother and pretend we never discussed this.” Gretel asked.

“We can do that.” Nuala agreed quickly, then paused “It’s just…”

“No.”

“I’m not supposed to say that, but…”

“Then, please, don’t say it!” Gretel hurried to press. “Please.”

Nuala sighed. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be right.”

Was there anything right in this situation?

***

Gretel had had horrible nights before, but this…

She knew their work was essential. Normal people couldn’t handle the supernatural; they thought they could and that they wanted to… But they didn’t, not really.

Some things were meant to be handled by the right people, and that was them. This was why she and Hansel had chosen to stick around the Bureau. They did what they could alone, but with more resources they could do more.

Tonight, it didn’t feel like they could’ve done anything.

Gretel already feared human terrorists, but those that came from the other side…

It must be even harder for Nuada, because until recently, he was their symbol; the spark that fired a desire for revolution.

And that was why today it had been so cruel to them all.

Nuada had to kill the leader of a terrorist group led by elves that -as he had once- wanted to make humans pay for how they destroyed their world. The elf that called him a traitor, claiming he was fighting the battle the prince had abandoned.

It couldn’t be pleasant to hear that, especially since Nuada wasn’t a part of the Bureau because he wanted to.

The mood of the whole team had been dark as they came back, and Nuada had left before the debriefing.

Nobody went after him to make him participate.

Gretel was going to take a hot shower and forget this night had ever existed.

She’d just kicked her shoes off when someone knocked on her door. She sighed but went to answer it. Nuada was on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” She asked quite rudely, but her surprise made her forget her manners.

Nuada sighed. “I wish I knew the answer to that.”

Gretel gave him a flat look. “Go rest.” She didn’t have the energy for this fuckery.

She pushed the door, intending to close it, but Nuada held it open with his hand.

She glared at him, ready to tell him to fuck off, when he shocked the hell out of her. “I yield.”

“What?” Not the smartest reply but she was truly shocked.

“I’m yielding to you.” He explained unnecessarily.

“We aren’t fighting.” She pointed out.

He gave a meaningful look to the door between them, the one she was trying to close and he was holding open. She refused to accept that as fighting and her look made it quite clear.

Nuada mumbled something on his language. “I’m giving control over to you anyway.” A pause. “Only for now.”

Of course he’d put a limit to that. “What should I do with it?” She asked honestly, because this whole situation was bizarre.

“Whatever you want.”

There was this moment when they stared at each other, Gretel trying to understand his motives better and Nuada just letting her try it.

The more she looked at him the crazier this seemed, and she could probably fill up a notebook with all the reasons this was a very bad idea.

She stepped to the side. “Get in.”

He did and she closed the door behind him. “I’m taking a shower.” She gave him a look. “And so are you.”

He didn’t comment, just nodded and followed her from the small bedroom to the tiny bathroom.

They took off their clothes in a practical way, no seduction to it at all.

Gretel fiddled with the shower handle, more to distract herself and have time to think what the fuck she was doing.

The water was the only good feature of the Bureau compound. It had excellent pressure and it was piping hot, just the way she liked it.

Gretel stepped under the water, let it beat down on her. She felt the moment Nuada stepped in behind her.

“Wash my hair.” She ordered him, pointing at her shampoo. “No funny business.” She warned.

She was shocked to see him complying without any complaints, but he did exactly as she asked.

They didn’t exchange any words as he lathered her long hair, his long fingers massaging her scalp until she felt her shoulders sagging. She didn’t even need to point the conditioner to him.

Once he finished her hair, she told him to wash.For a while they were both two people sharing the same shower, just washing the day away.

Nuada was rinsing under the water when she stepped up to him and kissed him. His hands were -for the first time- hesitant, as he put them on her waist. She bit into his lower lip and he pushed her against the wall, his tongue pushing into her mouth.

Gretel pushed him a but. “Slow.” She ordered. “This time, slow.”

He growled at her, but when he kissed her, it was slower. Their kisses seemed deeper this way, with a punishing edge to it, even as their tongues tangled.

Her hand slipped down his torso, until she found his cock and closed her fingers around him, pumping slowly. Nuada’s fingers weren’t idle and found her cunt, working her until he could slip two fingers in.

Shower sex was always a bit of a challenge, but if there was one thing in which Gretel trusted was Nuada’s raw strength.

She hooked her left leg on his hip, encouraging him to just fuck her already. It took some maneuvering before he was able to slip in with a single thrust. Gretel was very satisfied with her non slip shower mat, now more than ever.

Their mouths remained fused as Nuada fucked her against the wall. She did have to stand on one leg and on her tiptoes for it, but she wasn’t complaining -maybe she would later.

At some point Nuada grabbed her other leg, bringing it to his waist as well, and Gretel groaned as both her feet left the ground. She squeezed him tight between her legs, her arms around his neck, his mouth to her throat. She felt as if he was hitting her so deep he might never find his way back out.

She let one of her arms slip from around his neck so she could play with her clit. Nuada watched the progress of her hand, then started fucking her harder. It didn’t take long for her to come, biting her lips so she wouldn’t call his name. He followed right after.

Nuada lowered her to the ground with a gentleness she didn’t think he had. Gretel once again stepped under the water, this time to clean up.

She stepped out of the shower and picked up a towel while Nuada washed himself, then passed another towel to him once he was also out.

Her legs were shaking, so she went to sit on her bed. She watched through the open door as he toweled himself dry, then dressed quickly and in silence.

Should she say something?

“You should get Mina to teach you the arts.” He said as he came into the room fully dressed.

She definitely wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“You have talent; it’s raw and untapped.” He informed her, barely looking at him. Was he really telling her to study magic? “If you learn how to harness it, you’ll become a great asset.”

“Is that a compliment?” She asked him dryly.

He finally looked at her. “No. You haven’t done anything to deserve one yet.”

She scoffed. “Thank you for the advice.”

He opened his mouth, like he intended to say something else, before changing his mind. He gave her a stiff nod and left the room.

Gretel fell back on the bed. “What the hell?”

Should she talk to Mina?

#madame baggio #crackship #CrossOver #Crossover Pairings #AU #gifs not mine #smut #hansel and gretel witch hunters #hellboy the golden army #gretel #prince nuada #gretel x prince nuada #why dont we kill each other slowly

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jack-kellys · 4 years

Text

it’s fizz, with another fic, another au. idea lowkey stolen from the lovely @vioislit, but she has input don’t worry :)

anyhow

———————

“super” broke

words: 1.2k

warnings: cursing, pain description, passing out...yes that’s all

—————

Jack

Jack didn’t actually like being late.

Crew was supposed to be at tech way before the actors, and yet here Jack was, earning a disappointed glare from his stage manager. Especially as her ASM, assistant stage manager, he should be ten minutes earlier.

Another thing Jack didn’t like- or understand, really: why was he, a design major, assigned to assistant manage again? He could’ve helped design this whole set instead of attending rehearsals and taking notes and all the damn reading he had to do and the organizing and piles of paperwork… Well. Maybe he was assigned this to reorganize himself, actually. God knew he’d been wildly caught up in...himself.

Jack had reason, of course. It wasn’t some self-absorbed thing (for once, Spot would say). He was genuinely busy outside of Shakespeare In Love—he had semester courses that were finishing up and finals were damn near literally creeping up his asshole, he swore. He had an entire art project to do that in actuality would have taken him two months...if he didn’t have only two weeks to do it.

Jack groaned inwardly as he set up his laptop backstage, nabbing his printed pre-show list to start checking things off around the area. He was used to burying himself, but lately the soil felt suffocating. The show—which had turned out to be much bigger than anticipated—his classes, upcoming finals, and...y’know.

The whole superpower thing.

Back in September, when Jack was working a play and running the lighting board, he’d been alone on headset and bored. He hadn’t learned much about sound design yet, so of course he was messing around. The spotlights weren’t up on the catwalk yet, their PSM wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and no one’s voice was crackling over the headset. Jack was idly turning dials on the soundboard as a result. Because Jack—and he knew this—was an idiot, he turned one of the many colored dials way up to one side. He’d done it before to a few different dials and nothing had happened, so he figured ...Wrong. He figured really fucking wrong.

A piercing sound struck horizontally in his skull, like it's lightning-bolt points were stabbing through his brain and out of his ears. His hands lost feeling and he tried to cry out, eyes squeezed shut, though he could only emit a small gasp of agony. Honestly, Jack couldn’t feel much of anything with the blinding pain at the forefront of his nerve endings. He knew his knees were to the ground now, he sure as hell wasn’t standing with his legs heavy as lead. It wouldn’t end, it seemed, the pain still as powerful as it was initially. If his hands decided to be useful, they could switch off the dial, or take off his headset, but for now, they were set on feebly attempting to protect himself. For some reason, he’d stuck his hands out and away, like the pain source was right in front of him.

Then, the brain-burning feeling dropped away, and Jack carefully opened his eyes to find a slightly opaque blue forcefield surrounding him like a bubble. He shifted to one side, and the blue moved with him. He sat up, and it adjusted. Jack broke out into an astonished grin. How the fuck had he gotten a forcefield from a sound board? Not like he cared how he got them—all that mattered was that he could make a forcefield with his fucking hands and that was the coolest shit he’d ever seen.

So that was the whole ‘superpowers thing.’

Since that day, Jack had been experimenting with himself, hence why everything else was becoming even more heavy on Jack’s back. He couldn’t help but dedicate real time to figuring out this random new ability. Homework kind of took a backseat to mysterious abilities.

Jack would find himself a private area in between classes—secluded enough not to simply be found but reasonable enough to not look sketchy—and just concentrate. Envision the blue around himself as he held up his hands, eyes scrunched closed. Picture its shade, a stark and royal blue, but still able to see right through it.

“Jack.”

The pulse of something so close to being emitted from his palms.

“Jack.”

Feel the zap of energy between his ears, somewhere deep in his brain-

“Jack FUCKING Kelly! You in there?”

His gaze finally focused back in with a gasp. Someone was whapping his cheek.

Oh, god. Right. Shakespeare. Shit. He was still standing backstage, and was apparently staring at nothing.

“Hi Sarah, um,” Jack chuckled sheepishly to his stage manager. “I, uh...dissociation’s a bitch, huh?”

Sarah Jacobs frowned. “Technically true,” she muttered. “Just get back to it. Actors are called in twenty, so make sure your side’s all set up.”

“Thank you, twenty,” Jack sighed with a smile as her boots padded away. Thank God he was on her good side. Sarah was one of the toughest seniors Jack had ever come across. Her glare could probably cut straight through a freshman’s heart.

Jack had finished setting in only ten minutes, about to decide to help the other ASM when something blinked out above him and a loud “SHIIIIIT, Jesus…” called from the back of the house.

“Oh God, Spot, what happened?” Jack groaned, glancing up towards the lights as he came center stage. A whole line of them had gone out. Shit. “The hell did you do, man?”

“Whatever it is, you’re dealin’ with it!” Spot yelled back. “I’m going over cues in three minutes. You figure it out, Kelly.”

He was on Sarah’s good side. Not Spot’s, despite he and Jack being in the same grade and shared many classes together.

“Fucking….fine.” At least it would give him something to do.

Jack’s investigation led him outside, unfortunately. He shivered against the cold as he checked the power box, only understanding what about half of the switches meant. Conlon never gave him a damn break, did he.

A gust of wind blew through him, making him shake like a damn leaf in addition. Fuck Spot rights, Jack decided spitefully.

“Uh, hello- hi?”

Jack paused, turning around to see leaves swirling in the air still as well as a curly-haired kid staring at him with wide eyes. He looked freaked.

Jack’s lips pursed, hand coming up to gesture.

“Did you…” Jack pointed to the kid, then in the direction the leaves were blowing.

“Yeah,” the kid nodded hesitantly, “I was running-“

“You were running?” Jack scoffed, surprised. “And it created a damn windstorm?”

“Well, yeah, what’s it look like?” The kid shrugged, taking a few steps closer to Jack. “Maybe don’t...tell anyone, okay?”

He looked rather vulnerable, eyes shifting around their surroundings in search of other possible witnesses. A pang of sympathy struck Jack’s heart, he couldn’t help it.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Jack smiled. “I’m Jack. You can trust me, I promise.”

Jack watched the guy breathe out a small sigh. “I’m Anthony,” he smiled slightly, sticking out his hand. “And thanks.”

Jack’s smile grew. “Nah, nah, I get it. Gotta keep your identity secret, and all’a that.” He shook the kid’s hand as Anthony let out a small laugh.

Something white and hot zig-zagged up Jack’s arm at the contact. He felt his whole body nearly vibrate, and then he blacked out. This really wasn’t Jack’s goddamn day. ——————

of course the first thing I write is gonna be a series, because I hate making life easy please tell me if you don’t wanna be on my tag list anymore! or if you wanna be on it! it’s been a few months heh :) just message me I don’t bite

TAG LIST:

@suddenly-im-respecsable @getchapapes @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @technically-whizzy @papesdontsellthemselves @starrysence @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @accidentalnewsiesblog @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @eveningpaper @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @ireallyloveiainyoungwow @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you @bxnesof92 @backgroundensemble @orollyitsracetrackhiggins @a-most-auspicious-erster @modern-race-owns-airpods @asphodelnerd @albert-eats-cookie-cake @certified-kingofnewyork

#yayeet #ITS HERE! A POST! HOWS EVERYONE DOING TONGIHT YOU FEEL GOOD ?#my writing #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #sarah jacobs #heheh #newsies #newsies au #newsies fics #series #fizz freaks #:’) it’s here

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writingwhimsy · 5 years

Text

Siren’s Lament

Prompt by screaming-til-im-numb:

“I want someone to write a book where Mermaids are the women thrown off ships when sailors got afraid because having women on a ship was bad luck. And, as they sink to the bottom, legs tied together, they change slowly until they can breathe, until they can use their tied up legs to swim. And they drown sailors in revenge, luring them in by singing in their husky voices still stinging from the salt water they breathed.”

——————————————

The water closed over her head with all the finality of a tomb sealing closed.

She twisted, trying and failing once again to break free from the rough rope that kept her hands bound behind her back and her feet kicking aimlessly against the weight of her clothing. The simple cotton dress that had represented freedom only a few days before had become the instrument that would bring about her death if the burn of her lungs and tired muscles didn’t succeed first. She wished for her sewing scissors, a pen knife, anything that she could use to rip herself free and get back to the surface.

Even that thought wasn’t enough to wash away the icy certainty that here was where she would meet her end. Alone. Forgotten. Just another casualty of the ocean’s fickle whims.

Kicking hard, she managed to break through the waterline in time to see the ship’s outline flashing dark against the white clarity of the lightning storm for an instant before it was gone again. Her skirts tangled around her legs like chains making it almost impossible to keep moving. She gulped in air and sea water as quickly as she could before she dropped into the silent abyss once more.

Above her she knew the storm raged--no matter what the sailors’ superstitions promised her. Bright flashes of light illuminated the endless darkness around her at random intervals and the rough vibration of thunder rumbling too close for comfort. The great irony and agony that the sailors hadn’t bothered to weigh her down with anything ensured she would linger here, within sight of the surface but unable to touch, until the air left her lungs. Here, below the tides, there was nothing but the sound of her thundering pulse, the sting of salt in her eyes, and the burning agony of her lungs to keep her company.

She would scream if she could. Scream and rage and curse in all the ways she’d always been forced not to.

“A lady doesn’t lose her temper.” The voice of her chaperone and every other governess she’d known was no comfort here.

Being a lady hadn’t saved her from the callous hands of the other sailors or the lingering stare of their captain. It hadn’t saved her from the rough press of his hands and the sharp scent of rum on his breath when he’d pressed himself against her in one of the secluded areas of the hold. The memory of the darkness in his eyes and the cruel twist of his lips was still enough to make her shudder with a mixture of rage and disgust.

She should have known it wouldn’t end there.

When the rains had come like icy knives that froze the rigging and stripped the sails, she’d been grateful for the distraction. It meant she could hide herself away in her cabin with a book and only worry about ignoring the constant litany of prayers and Hail Mary’s from her overly-religious chaperone. The mousy, frantic woman-- “Call me, Miss McTavish, if you please” --was meant to ensure events like the captain’s unwanted advances were curtailed quickly, but mostly she hovered near the side of the ship, vomiting the hard biscuits they were served with each meals.

What should have been a simple storm continued to batter the ship as it limped along its route to the Americas, draining patience, wits, and hope in its wake.

After five days, she stopped wandering out of her cabin to avoid the hard stares and angry murmurs from the crew as they struggled to keep the ship in one piece.

After seven, they stopped bothering to whisper about ‘Jonahs’ and ‘bad luck having a woman aboard.’

Despite her naivety to the outside world, she wasn’t stupid. She told herself that no one really believed the old stories that ships could be plagued by the bad luck of an individual, a Jonah. The thought that her gender might cause storms belonged in the old mythology books her nanny used to read to her. They were all modern people after all and intelligent enough to not believe in such nonsense. Besides, it wasn’t like she was the only female on board. There was always the slightly green Miss McTavish.

It wasn’t until she heard the violent banging at her door followed by the sounds of multiple voices calling her name that she realized that rational thought wouldn’t be enough to save her.

They dragged her onto the deck, kicking and shouting for the captain, for Miss McTavish, and even for her father when the fear began to choke her. No one stepped forward to stop the first mate and the sailor who’d spent the first week of her voyage teaching her the names of the glittering constellations above their head from looping a rough length of rope around her trembling hands. She eyed the grim faces around her, slick with rain and the shadow of their sins, and saw not one ounce of sympathy. Only a terrible belief that her life would be enough to save hers.

Eyes blurred with tears and throat rough from pleading, she couldn’t recognize the faces of the crewmembers that pushed her to the edge. The helpless anger bubbling up in her chest wasn’t enough to do more than straighten her spine and look down her nose at the circle of fearful sailors. To lift her eyes to the forecastle deck where the captain smirked down at her with Miss McTavish looking at once relieved and horrified at the scene before her lurking beside him.

Then she was falling back into the inky depths.

Now she stared up at the small stream of bubbles that twisted up above her like a funerary dirge. The last bits of her oxygen and life disappearing as easily as she had to the sea.

Lightning flashed again, enough to highlight the shadow of some unknown creature lurking just out of sight. A hysterical laugh threatened to pull the last bit of air she clung to covetously--would it be the sharks or the water that finally ended her miserable last moments? Would she survive long enough to feel their teeth rip into her flesh? Savagely, she thought that maybe she’d prefer dying at the jaws of some sleek sea monster instead of the shaking, sweating palms of men too terrified of what they didn’t understand to recognize the murder they were committing.

Something smooth and cold brushed her left foot where her slipper had long since disappeared and she jerked. Her first instinct was to scream, but she knew that would only speed up the inevitable. Instead, she kicked out, connecting with something that twisted out of reach only to trail along the ropes binding her arms behind her back. Her heart raced in a frantic pace that only increased the burning in her lungs.

Not long now.

The thought was enough to make her teeth grind together in fury that she was forced to spend her last moments here in the dark with nothing but the monsters to keep her company. She wanted to drag down the captain to suffer with her. To watch horror and fear overtake the sinister murmurs as the waters enveloped them. To witness the last air leave their lungs and the final spasms of their muscles as they sank into the deep.

She was dying and all that was left of her now was the need to have her revenge.

The skies burst to life above her, turning the water clear and luminous--revealing the nightmares that had come to keep her company in her last minutes. The brief flash was enough to illuminate the sleek curves and fins built for speed and agility, the vicious curve of a smile that displayed rows of sharpened teeth, and the faint impression of dark hair swaying above pale skin like a cloud.

Mermaids, her bewildered mind supplied, but the word was too soft for the predators that circled her.

Sirens.

A dozen of them circled her slowly, curiously, their eyes like chips of the night sky in the gloom of the ocean. Before she might have been frightened. Now, she matched their twisted smiles with one of her own, glancing back to where the dark shadow of the ships hull was moving out of sight.

Whatever god or devil that had heard her twisted plea, she sent out a fervent thanks. At least she could be certain that the creatures would see justice be served to the sailors who’d abandoned her to the waves.

There was a shift in the water close to her and when lightning flashed again, she found herself face to face with one of the sirens. She blinked away the sting of the salt water in her eyes and tried to resist the urge to spasm with the need to breath. Already black spots were dancing in her vision, but she refused to release her hold on this world until she was certain her death would not go unpunished.

The creature eyed her, gills opening and closing in delicate slits on its--a quick glance down confirmed it was female--her neck. Fingers webbed with gossamer membranes and topped with vicious claws reached out gently to follow the painful curve of her arms where they were twisted behind her back. Those dark eyes flicked back to hers with a terrible understanding and anger lurking within.

The girl bared her teeth at the monster, jerking her head towards the ship and its crew.

Find them, she wanted to beg, kill them for me. Make them pay.

The words were silent, but her intent was clear enough that the siren gave her a slow twist of its lips, too full of screams to be called a smile. Around them, the other sirens moved closer and she could hear the moment when their song began in her blood. They moved in slow circles around the girl and their leader, waiting. The siren in front of her opened its mouth, but the response seemed to resonate in her bones and blood as it spoke.

What will you give us in return?

She looked out at the gathered creatures of legend and nightmares, the only witnesses to her silent, helpless end. Thought about the way her protectors had stood idly by as foolish, evil men used her sex to spell her doom. Felt the last bit of her air burning like a flame in her lungs.

Then she smiled.

With the last of her air, she spoke to the hungry sea and its guardians, “Everything.”

And sucked in her first lungful of water and revenge.

#sirens #mermaids #merfolk #prompt #original writing #writing prompt #excerpt from a book i'll never write #dark fantasy #twisted fairytale

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