#that i see what he does for 'thrill' as weird and unnatural | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lsholland · 3 years

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𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - "𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?"

Word count: 3.7k

tw: addictions (alcohol, drugs), swearing, disease, murder...

genre: psychological thriller / suspense / drama

Synopsis: Tom Holland is Hollywood's #1 celebrity and is adored all around the world. But this rise to fame hasn't been easy for him. With fame comes his own demons: addiction issues, a relationship that's about to end and...he doesn't know it yet, but he's about to kill an innocent woman. How is he going to get through it?

You can also read it on Wattpad.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

"Tom! Tom!!! TOM!!!" shouts a woman in a black hoodie among a hysterical crowd of young boys and girls trying to get this man's attention. "PLEASE!!! I love you so much" her voice crackles, she's sobbing in despair.

He stops walking and stands right in front of her, a sharpie pen between his fingers and an unnatural grin on his face. Even though these people claim they love him, he's tired of them. It's something with the drama, the screams, and the perpetual inconsideration that drains his energy. His straight face says it all, if only they weren't obsessed with his looks, he'd be pleased to spend time with them. But he knows he's just an object of their fantasies. He forces a smile, or something close to it, and accepts to take a picture with her. He stands next to her, his arms in his back, his fingers intertwined and shakily holding the pen, glancing at the camera lens, lost in his thoughts. His body is present in the moment, but his mind is thousands of kilometres away in the universe that is his brain.

And she's so happy to finally have that precious picture that her smile shows all her impeccable teeth; she's sweating and rapidly breathing and laughing with the same high-pitched voice as everyone else; she's just a typical fangirl. All her friends gather around her and whisper as if they were hiding a secret from an alien.

And onto the next one. Same hysteria, same cry for help, miserable for his attention. She hands him a picture of him in a Spider-Man suit and asks for an autograph while she's filming the scene with her brand-new iPhone.

It has to do with the way they treat him. The way they pretend he doesn't notice their weird behaviour. The way they simply believe he's not a human being. That he must be good-looking, happy, nice, and funny all the time.

"We've gotta go" says his assistant as he presses his shoulder with his hand. Tom looks at him with relief and closes his eyes for a second. He lets out a sigh as a soft smile appears on his angelic face.

"A'ight, I'm sorry guys" he apologises, but that's not enough. Many of them start crying and push through the thin barrier to get a hold of him; like monsters that haven't been fed, like addicts when you can't provide their usual dose of drugs. They look so disappointed and hopeless; leaving now would reduce all his efforts to dust. Keeping a good image and reputation is the key. He doesn't want to be hated.

Guilt rushes through him like a thrill; he glances at his watch and gulps. He gives them another 5 minutes for pictures, autographs, and hugs. Even if he's late. Even if he's going to miss his interview. Because he owes his success to them; or at least he thinks he does.

And when he goes into the back seat of this huge black SUV with no registration plate, he slams the door shut and . . . Peace. Finally, the moment he's been waiting for. The pressure leaves his body like a bubble burst. He sighs and relaxes his muscles, his head falling back on the seat. His eyes are closed; he doesn't say a word for the whole ride. His time alone is so rare and valued.

And when they arrive in front of that gigantic building to pass this final interview, Tom prepares to show his usual bright smile and pretends he's happy. Nobody notices what's hidden in his gaze. But his eyes are telling the truth. His eyes show how hopeless he is. But nobody dares looking into his soul. They only see the superficial layer, the mask he puts on every day. Because nobody knows who he is. Nobody cares about him.

It's so much simpler to ignore sadness in other people. We just tend to believe only good moments are worth sharing. We just pretend we're happy all the time because that's what everyone else does. And why would he show his sadness anyway? He has it all: a girlfriend, loads of money, a caring family, success . . . What can he be sad about?

The interview is done, Tom is in the car, cruising in the city. He's finally going home after a long, tiring, and stressful day.

He unlocks his phone and checks his text messages. They're plain and all related to his fame or his work. All his conversations are so self-centred. What are his plans? What does he like? And what's his opinion on this subject? He, he, him, him, again and again!

He's so tired and wants to be entertained. This empty space laying in his heart and brain becomes bigger and bigger. It's become harder to ignore it, especially when he's alone like tonight. Besides, he's too used to entertain others that he almost forgets what it's like to be passive and watch people do things. As if the world revolved around him.

Here we go. Instagram. The most toxic of all social media platforms. He scrolls through pictures of his friends. The famous ones on red carpets or photoshoots; the anonymous ones a drink in their hands. They're all so superficial. All the same. And the algorithm showing him pictures fans have taken of him earlier today . . . Icing on the cake. Why would he watch this? He doesn't need it. But he decides to read what the fans say, because he's curious. Or because he's obsessed with what people think of him. He needs to be known, loved, remembered, at the centre of attention – adored. He wouldn't need to sell his soul to the devil because it's already in him, and he's now paying the price of this sin.

The fans he met earlier, who were so happy to finally see their idol, were bullying him on social media. They aren't even aware of it. All these people objectifying him, posting pictures of his family – invading his privacy – and saying he can't 'write' or 'walk' or do anything properly because he's just human. They say they are joking except it's not funny. Tom's feelings are hurt, again. He should have written 'you're' instead of 'your', he should have noticed there was a hole in the grass and not trip . . . These images are roaming in his brain like a car's spinning wheels when you brake at 60 miles per hour; the pressure of the tyres scratching your mind, and the intrusive thoughts that can't be stopped like the wheel. Ever. And you eventually hit the wall.

He glances at the rear-view mirror and see his driver focused on the traffic lights. He glances around to make sure no paparazzi is watching and takes a flask out of his back pocket. His trembling hands poorly hold it, but he needs to drink something to feel better; to feel energised. He spills his boose on the leather seats and sighs with annoyance. Grabbing his hoodie feels like lifting the weight of the world; he manages to wipe it off and savours the sweet taste of vodka. Just one sip can't hurt.

That's how you know it's too late.

"Do you really need it?" says the assistant in the front passenger seat who caught him.

"It's just a drink" Tom replies instantly, frowning his eyebrows.

"I'm just worried about you, you know" he adds as he turns around and looks at him in his eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about," Tom mumbles as he feels relaxed "I can stop if I want to."

"If you say so . . ."

And even the people surrounding him day and night aren't trying to help him. Everyone's aware he's slowly getting addicted and is wasting his potential, everyone but the fans. Everyone pretends to love him, but nobody truly cares. They're just after his money, power, and fame . . .

It's like watching him tiptoeing on the deck's edge of a ferry and being shocked when he eventually falls off in the unforgiving cold, dark sea.

He smiles when the car stops in front of his London house. That's the only place where he feels like he can truly be himself. Or the last of it. After all, who is he really? Spider-Man? An actor that pleases 13-year-old girls? A failure? An impostor? Or no one at all?

What happened to the young boy who was excited about everything and anything? What happened to the one who used to laugh more than he'd breathe?

He is torn. He can't love anymore. He's had many girlfriends, each one more famous and beautiful than the last, but they couldn't bring him back to life. He truly loved them though. He felt good with them and always thought they were a match until he messed up. Making up a behaviour so they'd leave him because he's not strong enough to quit. Because he is just like this. A kid who can't handle success.

He currently has a girlfriend. Everyone loves her. He thinks she's too good for him though. Too beautiful, too clever, and maybe too famous. He feels like she's achieving much more than he is and that scares him. He can't even make love to her without feeling like he's not worth it. So, he ignores her calls, takes days to reply to a text, becomes cold as stone, distant, and unstable. This is how cowards break up. But she holds on to him.

Once he gets home, he sits on his couch and starts watching TV. His stomach is empty; he hasn't eaten all day but the only thing he wants is to drink more. It's like a voice in his brain that takes control of his body. He sees everything but can't do anything about it. The smell, the thirst, the mind that can't think of anything else. His hands are shaking, breathing becomes uneasy, he's uncomfortable in his own skin; he's a stranger to himself until he drinks. He's desperately waiting for someone to help him. But they're all too busy with their own problems.

He tries to drink from his flask, but it is empty.

He groans. "One more isn't gonna hurt" he whispers to himself as he walks towards the kitchen area. He opens the fridge and grabs a cold one.

And another one.

And another one . . .

The saddest thing about the situation is that he truly believes in his excuses. He doesn't realise he desperately needs help.

Now, the fridge is empty. But he still doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the uninhibited state he wants to reach. He's still a victim of his thoughts; the sadness, the anger, the feeling of being trapped in a never-ending game.

He glances at his 80,000 dollars Rolex and decides it's time for him to go to a bar. He grabs his phone and calls his assistant. No answer. He calls his second assistant then. No answer.

"It's only 2AM, come on!" he grunts.

Only?

He thinks for barely a second and grabs his keys and gets into his car. There's a night bar in Kingston that he absolutely loves, and he knows he's always welcome there.

As a celebrity he's obviously welcome everywhere. But he noticed the way people looked at him with pity when he spent an entire night drinking without speaking to anyone. Alone in his thoughts that only he knows. It's different there, the barmaid usually talks to him and entertains him. And she just doesn't care he's famous, which is rare nowadays.

He's been caught drunk driving many times, but he was always released without a word because he's so famous. As if all the police officers have daughters who worship him.

Maybe his problem is thinking he's above all. He who used to be so humble, kind, and generous.

He parks in front of the venue, but the lights are off. He rolls down the window and squints to read the paper sticked to the door.

The bar is closed for annual leave.

"Fuck it!" he shouts. He checks on his phone if another bar is open tonight. Miss Jackson is. It's not the bar he usually spends his time in, but the beers are good and it's not too crowded for him. He absolutely wants to avoid fans tonight.

Most of them are underage, it's dangerous for him. One mistake and he'd become a paedophile. That's why he swore to himself to never do anything with a fan, no matter how hot they are. It's harder to respect this rule when he's drunk though.

"Let's go then" he says in a lazy way, the alcohol slowly taking control of him.

His eyes are red, everything he sees is blurred. He can't keep his thoughts straight.

He starts the car and puts some music to lighten his mood. He needs this to feel better. If something bad happens while he's drunk it ruins his mood. And when this happens . . . he starts having very dark thoughts. The kind of thoughts you better keep to yourself if you don't want people to be scared for you. Where your life is on the line, and you don't care about tomorrow because you just want to stop it . . . The sadness; the anxiety; the constant fears. Because the only moment you feel happy is when you sleep, as if you were dead. Tom feels like this all the time, and he hides it well.

But now he's focusing on the moment. The boose allows him to feel better. He listens to this pop song and its energy is spreading in his body. He's pushed by the music; the excitement and adrenaline take control over his body. He's ready to go.

He quickly backs up the car. He's so excited to go to the bar to finally drink some more and—

BOOM! His car abruptly stops, it sounds like a crash. An alarm is wailing, echoing in Tom's ears, making him feel dizzy. The shock was so intense he hit his face against the airbag of his steering wheel leaving his skin half-burnt. He passes out.

Tom startles as he wakes up, "what the fuck just happened?" he hisses. He stays still giving time to his brain to proceed the information and checks his rear-view camera. It's been disconnected.

He jumps out of his car and checks what happened. He collided with another vehicle. A much smaller car with a crushed bumper. Tom's car is damaged as well, but he doesn't care, he walks over the small Fiat 500 and scans the surroundings. His heart is pounding; air isn't traveling down to his lungs. He suffocates as if he were trapped in a cage down the ocean. He doesn't control his shaking fingers rubbing against his sweating forehead. His lips are parting, gasping for air, while his eyes are wide open looking straight to the ground.

For a second, he realises that he can be in big trouble if anyone knows about this. This can be enough to be fired by the Marvel Studios and ruin his entire career, his life. No one wants a drunk superstar to ruin a movie's reputation.

He hesitates. He wants to run away. He faintly grabs his head in his weak hands and is heavily panting. He can taste iron on the tip of his tongue. He rubs his forearm against his mouth and feels wobbly at the sight of his own blood.

What is he going to do? Has someone seen what happened? And if he leaves, what happens to the unconscious person in the car? But if he helps them, what guarantees him he's not going to be prosecuted? And lose it all? But what if he leaves and this person dies? What if they die and someone knows he killed them? Each scenario is getting worse and worse.

There's only one viable option for him.

"Hey, are you alright?" he says as he approaches the fuming car.

He glances around, but the street is empty. That's the reason why he usually loves this place; because it's so quiet.

"Are—Are you okay there?" he stutters.

He opens the door and see blood. Dark, thick, red blood. An unconscious woman with blood all over her face is lying on the steering wheel. Her car is so old there is no airbag. The shock must've been tough for her. She might even have a brain injury.

Tom places his hand on this woman's neck to check if her heart is still beating. It's weak. She needs help or she'll die because of his stupidity, because he's a drunk who can't even check his surroundings before backing up his car. Poor woman whose life is on pause for his mistake. She'll die because of him.

He dials 999 on his cell phone and repeats what he's going to say once someone picks up the phone.

"There's a woman—she's injured! Car accident!" he cries. He doesn't even try to make sentences; he just wants this to be over. "Please come quickly"

"What's your name, sir?"

His body is wavering, tears are streaming down his face – it's absolute chaos in his mind. He can't tell his name; he'd rather die than publicly suffer from the consequences of his actions. He needs to fly away; he needs to escape from this nightmare. He needs to leave, and now.

He hangs up in a hurry. No one can know he is drunk, and he almost killed someone. He walks back to his SUV and catches one last glimpse of this woman's body before closing the door and driving away.

As soon as he leaves, he regrets his decision, but sticks to it anyway. His soul is crying for him to go back there and help this dying life, but his cowardice tells him to hide and wait until this is over. He's reaching his lowest point, and the only person he wants to see now is his mum. When she holds him in her arms, the weight of his problems is bearable; he can even feel relaxed. And he wishes she'd be able to do it tonight. But it would kill her to know what monstrosity her son just did . . .

He's home, all alone. It's been a few hours since the incident happened, and Tom can't think of anything else. This woman's face, her blood all over the windshield, her crushed car.

Why didn't she see him? Why was she driving so fast in an empty street at night? So many questions roam in Tom's brain, it's slowly eating him alive.

He's sobering up as the morning lights glow on his face. It's already 6AM and he hasn't slept at all. He watches himself in his bathroom mirror and only see dark circles, pale skin, and the features of a monster. The broken blood vessels in the white of his eyes give him an evil aspect. He raises his arm and see the pink burnt skin, another scar for life. How on earth could he leave a dying woman?

He doesn't only feel remorse; he doesn't recognise himself. He's lost and wonders what happened in his life to be so miserable he considers his career more important than someone else's life.

He firmly rubs his face with the palms of his hands and takes off his clothes in a simple sweep. He crawls onto his bed and covers his body with a weighted blanket. He's almost trying to forget he exists when he squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing until his lungs pressure him to open his mouth. Nature has done a wonderful job preventing us from suffocating on purpose. What a bummer for Tom; he would be dead already if he could just stop breathing . . .

He takes his phone, his only friend and his worst enemy, and checks the local news. Maybe they've mentioned the accident and he'll be able to know what happened to his woman. Not many articles have been published since last night. He keeps scrolling until he finds what he's been looking for.

25-year-old in coma after accident in Southeast London, fugitive remains unfound

Tom's heart skips a beat; this article must be about her. For a second, he apprehends and hesitates to read the article. But his guilty mind needs to know everything about what happened since he deserted.

As he reads the article, he gently places his hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out loud. The woman was so heavily injured they needed to put her under artificial coma to keep her alive. She was on her way to meet her dying husband, in the same hospital she's at now.

Such an emotional shock inflicts a profound pain to Tom's heart. He sobs in silence and passes out due to sleep deprivation. He's finally at peace; no thought, no nightmare. His mind is off, and his body is fully regenerating. His brain is solely focused on keeping his body alive. His soul is resting for a few hours until his cell phone starts ringing.

Tom wakes up with a start and answers his phone without checking who's on the line.

"Tom, what are you doing? I've been knocking at your door for the past 10 minutes," shouts his brother "what happened to your car? Dude what are you doing? You've gotta get ready for GQ!"

"Wh—What?" he mumbles.

His brother knocks at the door. Tom gets off his bed and walks down the stairs with difficulty. When he opens the door, the lights blind him, it's too sunny outside. He'd rather stay inside for a few more hours.

His brother checks him out and sighs. "Have you been drinking? The photoshoot is in less than an hour and you look like shit"

Tom remains silent, trying to process the information.

"And what happened to your car, man?"

And here it is. Every memory comes back in his mind like fireworks and his feet are failing, he can barely stand still. He grabs his brother by his shoulder and holds him tight in his arms. He's the only one who can really help him feel better. He wants to tell him everything that happened, but he can't admit he's got a problem.

He's lost.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! What do you think so far of the story? Tom is in a very bad situation, I wonder how he's going to get through it?

Please like this post to be in the taglist.

#tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland fiction #tom holland imagines

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clonecest-bin-account · 3 years

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300 followers bingo - Fox/Wolffe | Pirates AU

(Oof this came out way longer than I thought, you’ll soon see why. Hope you like it!)

As Fox and the rest of his troops inspect the site of the wreckage, the only thing he finds are dead men. Whatever has caused the Dread Wolf to finally sink must’ve done a pretty good job at it.

He can’t help but to think that it’s a shame, despite the fact that the Dread Wolf, and especially its captain, have been a thorn to his side for years, hindering the commerce with their incursions. King Palpatine had even declared by law that any act of piracy will be punishable by death, but that never stopped the crew of the Dread Wolf.

Still, Fox won’t lie and say that he never enjoyed the thrill of the chase, that sometimes he even looked forward to the Dread Wolf’s incursions, so he’d get his chance to duel the only man who he could ever consider his rival.

And now…

That lucky son of a whore.

The man Fox has just found on the shore it’s the same man that he was talking about: here he is - alive and breathing - the master of the Dread Wolfe, captain Wolffe himself - Fox has always wondered which name came first, the ship’s of the captain’s.

How he’s still alive, this Fox doesn’t know, but in the end, it’s not like it matters: now that he’s found him, he will arrest him, and then he’ll be sentenced to death. Either that, or he’ll rot in prison if the king feels merciful - if that can be either considered a mercy.

It’s his duty to take him in custody, to make him pay for his crime… and yet, Fox still hasn’t moved a muscle.

He can’t, he just can’t…

What’s stopping him from fulfilling his duty?

It’s his damn honor, that’s what it is: last time they’ve met, he and his crew had ambushed the ship Fox was in, but he let Fox go despite the fact that he could’ve easily taken him down, only taking the goods the ship was transporting before leaving.

He could’ve easily killed him, but he didn’t, and now Fox can’t bring himself to apprehend him like he’s supposed to do.

… Damn it all!

Before he can be joined by the rest of the royal guard, he takes Wolffe’s unconscious body and drags him behind a group of rocks so that he’ll be hidden, then he goes back to the site of the wreckage, deleting every trace of something being dragged to safety.

Thankfully, both for Wolffe and himself because, if someone finds out, Fox will be hanged for betrayal, he manages to do it before everybody else arrives.

“Found anything?” Thorn, his second in command, asks him.

“Nothing of interest,” Fox replies. “Just other wrecks of the ship.” He truly hopes that Thorn will not see behind his lies; out of everyone, he’s the person who knows him the most.

Thorn nods, thoughtful. “Yeah… Most men must’ve drowned. It’ll take some time before all of them wash up to the shore, if the fish don’t eat them first.”

Fox frowns at the image, but he supposes that Thorn is correct, which makes it plausible that they wouldn’t see Wolffe’s body. And Fox didn’t even need to advance that hypothesis himself, so he’ll look less suspicious for it.

At that point he sighs, gaze moving from the wreckage to Thorn. “If we’re done here, let’s move out. The sun’s setting, we’ll get back tomorrow morning.”

At those words, they all snap to attention. “Yessir!”

Once he can take advantage of the cover of the night, Fox comes back to the site of the wreckage, thinking about how dead he is at each step. He shouldn’t be doing this, and yet here he is.

He finds Wolffe still unconscious, which does worry a bit, but he’s well aware that he can’t exactly bring him to a doctor, so all he can do is to find him a secure place where he can rest, and hopefully get well. If he needs to, he can bring him medicine… Wait, why is he thinking so far ahead? And also, why should he even buy stuff for him? Isn’t it enough that he’s giving him shelter?

Oh well, he can think about this later. Now he needs to take him somewhere safe, which, he regrets to admit, could be only one location: his house.

“Jesus how much do you weigh?” he mutters under his breath as he drapes one of Wolffe’s arms around his shoulders so that he can pull him up and drag him to what will be his temporary hideout.

The more he keeps going, the less he feels this is worth it, but he’s gone too far to stop now. He’s taken a decision and he’ll go along with it until the bitter end.

When Wolffe wakes up, the first thing that comes to mind is how much everything hurts. He doesn’t remember going into a drunken blender the previous day, so that can’t be it…

In a flash, he remembers everything: the storm, their desperate attempts to stir the ship… the wreckage.

He jolts up, or well he would’ve done it if one of his wrists wasn’t bound to the headboard of the bed he somehow finds himself laid upon. Panicked, he raises his gaze to observe what is keeping him there; it’s a simple handcuff, but he knows by the looks of it that he can’t smash it, not without some dull object.

And yet, despite the knowledge, his mind is too fuzzy with panic for him to act accordingly; he tugs on the handcuff, then he tries again, and again, but to no avail.

He begins looking around for something he can use, when a weight presses against his shoulders, forcing him down. “Don’t. Move.”

You can imagine his surprise when he sees that the man over him is Fox, commander of the king’s guard himself.

At that, he tries to shake him off, to free himself even harder than he was doing before, which ends up with Fox reacting by pinning him down by the wrists. “For fuck’s sake, Wolffe, I’m trying to help you here!”

“And how exactly are you helping me?” Wolffe growls back. “Looks like you took me prisoner!”

“Yeah, because I didn’t know what you would’ve done when you woke up!” Fox retorts. “I wasn’t going to leave you unguarded and alone…”

Silence falls between the two, tense at first, but then Wolffe - and consequently Fox - begins to relax, until Fox speaks again. “I found you in the midst of what remained of your ship, and since you spared me once, I’m returning the favor. If you promise me you’re not going to make a mess, I’m going to uncuff you.”

Oh.

This is unexpected. Did Fox really do it?

No, it’s impossible, he must be lying!

… Right?

And yet, for some reason, he finds himself inclined to believe him, because he knows that, unlike many of his companions, Fox keeps his word. It’s one of the reasons why he enjoys dueling with him and why he respects him despite the fact that he’s the king’s dog.

Despite everything, he nods, then. “I promise,” he tells Fox, intending not to betray his trust. If it’s true that he saved him, it’s the least he can do.

Fox looks at him for a moment, probably pondering if he should trust him or not, but in the end he decides to free him, so he slowly goes to unlock the handcuff that is keeping Wolffe to his bed with the key he was keeping in his pocket.

Once he’s free, Wolffe pushes him off, but otherwise he doesn’t seem to do anything else except sit and massage his sore wrist. Just how long has he been like this? He’s afraid to ask.

Silence falls between them, even as Fox sits beside him. In normal circumstances, they would have nothing to do with each other, so it makes sense that they wouldn’t be exactly inclined to talk to each other, and yet, Wolffe has to ask…

“Was there any other survivor?”

Fox sighs. He was expecting this question. “Not that I know of,” he replies, then, figuring that for this kind of stuff, sugarcoating it would’ve been useless.

Wolffe lowers his gaze as a heavy silence settles between them. He looks so miserable but unwilling to show it that Fox almost feels the urge to try to reassure him, but he doesn’t, knowing that no matter what he says, it wouldn’t make it all better like some kind of magic.

Eventually, the atmosphere is so heavy that Fox can’t stomach staying there anymore. “I-I’m going to bring you something to eat,” he mutters. “Stay here.”

With that, he gets up and leaves the room, towards the kitchen. Watching the state Wolffe is in now makes him wonder if it wouldn’t have been more merciful to just kill him, but it’s not like he can go back on his decision now; it’s way too late for that.

With time Wolffe’s body begins to heal, and he finds himself with more and more energy. The same can’t be said about his mind, however, not when this all still feels like a nightmare to him.

Did he really lose all his men? No, it can’t be, and yet he knows that Fox is not lying - what reason would he have to do that when he’s gone all the way to rescue him and not send him to prison immediately?

What should he do, now? What even is he anymore? A captain without neither a ship, nor a crew.

Why did he even survive? Why did Fox take pity on him?

He should’ve just let him die…

Fox is… surprisingly cordial to him.

At first Wolffe found it weird, unnatural even - they’re supposed to be enemies, not this - and yet he can’t help but to be appreciative of the effort Fox is doing not to antagonize him, just as much as Wolffe tries to do the same, knowing that if he crosses him, he risks losing this safe harbor.

Once he heals more, he’s even allowed to explore Fox’s house, though of course he’s confined to his room whenever the commander has guests; it’s in their best interest that he remains hidden.

He still thinks Fox is a fucking dog, but… he’s not so bad, after all.

Living in such close quarters has made him discover parts of him that he wouldn’t even have known about otherwise, like that he hates sweets except from honeyed stuff, that he’s very particular about what to wear - he has to appear perfect always - and that he has a secret soft spot for cats - he must’ve forgotten that Wolffe was inside when he took a weak stray inside to feed him and then let it go outside once it was strong enough to move again.

He supposes that Fox has found out some things about him as well, like the fact that he snores in his sleep, something that he complains about quite often, that he likes meat and that he’s unexpectedly good at flower arrangement, demonstrated when Fox didn’t know what to do for the guard’s doctor’s birthday; he suggested he could give her a bouquet that she could keep in her study, and even helped him arrange some flowers.

“Where did you learn?” Fox asks, dumbfounded by this. It makes him wonder why he didn’t open a flowers shop instead of becoming a pirate; at least he would’ve had an honest work.

“That’s a secret,” Wolffe replies, winking.

They both freeze, at that. Did Wolffe just…

This easy camaraderie shouldn’t be possible between them, and yet here they are, acting like a pair of friends.

It’s weird, just… yes, weird.

Maybe they shouldn’t get so close to each other.

Fox has lost count of how many nights he’s spent without being able to fall asleep because of Wolffe.

To be fair, he can’t exactly blame him for something that, after all, isn’t in his control, but this nightmare business hurts both of them.

He should do something about it, but what? He’s no expert in this matter, and he doubts he has what it gets to calm him down.

A sigh escapes his lips as he gets up from his bed.

Before he can change his mind, he makes it to the guest room.

He finds Wolffe twisting and turning in his bed without any hope of stopping soon.

Fox’s gaze is sad as he looks at him. If he lost his entire battalion, would he be the same? Would he be able to pull through? He doesn’t know…

He’s always had the feeling that Wolffe was pretty close to his crew, definitely closer than he is with the king’s guard, but it would still hurt, even though not as much.

He almost reaches for Wolffe, before having a last minute hesitation; they say that you shouldn’t wake up people who are having a nightmare, so shouldn’t he just let it pass? But he feels bad not doing anything!

In the end he decides to put an end to his suffering, and he shakes him.

He was expecting Wolffe to jolt awake in a violent manner, but he wasn’t expecting him to actually attack him, though in hindsight he should’ve known this was going to happen - he would’ve probably done the same. Wolffe punches him, then he even tries to choke him, but Fox grabs his hands, keeping him still.

“Wolffe…” he says, voice weirdly soft, as he tries his best to keep the other at bay. “It’s me… Wolffe… Stop!”

At that, Wolffe freezes and let’s Fox go. “Fox…”

“It’s fine,” Fox hurries to say, trying to be reassuring. “It’s fine…”

He doesn’t know how it happens exactly - he must’ve been so shocked that he barely registered it - but here they are with Wolffe held in Fox’s arms as he sobs quietly - or at least he tries to do it - while Fox caresses his hair in a silent attempt to bring him some comfort. He’d say something, but first of all he’s afraid of ruining things by running his mouth and potentially saying something that would turn out to be the wrong thing, secondly, he doesn’t even know what to say.

Saying something like “it’s fine” feels disingenuous at best, outright insulting at worst. No, it’s not fine, and who knows if it’ll ever be; he won’t lie to Wolffe like that, so he just keeps holding it, wondering if there even is a point to this, if this is actually helping.

He wasn’t expecting Wolffe to drag him down for a kiss.

These last few weeks have been full of stuff he wasn’t expecting, but this has to take the cake. Most unexpected of all, though, it’s the fact that he finds himself returning the kiss, that when Wolffe falls down on the bed, taking him with him, he goes along without batting an eye.

He feels his hands on his body and he doesn’t push him away, doesn’t try to stop him. Actually, he welcomes every move.

Weirdly enough, he feels like he’s been waiting for this to happen, but he has not, hasn’t he?

It’s not the first night they spend like this. After the first, it’s like something has changed inside them, a burning desire for the other that can be hardly satisfied.

In a way it’s not that different from when they’d constantly seek each other out in battle, only that now their duels are of a very different kind.

With this, however, a feeling of dread keeps hanging over Fox’s shoulders: he’s aware of what would happen to him - and Wolffe too - if they get caught, and the more Wolffe stays with him, the more likely it’s to happen.

Eventually, he’ll have to let him go, and Wolffe, well, he’ll go back to what he used to do, he supposes. If he managed to make a name for himself out there, he can do it again - besides, it’s not like he doesn’t have allies in the pirating business that would surely help him out.

Despite this, however, he finds himself unwilling to let Wolffe leave. For once, he wants to be selfish…

Things change on one night, a night that Fox has no intention of spending at home. He has too much to think about, and feels the need for some fresh air.

Besides, it’s been a while since he let himself be seen outside beside his duties; he wouldn’t want people to think that something’s up…

It’s weird, in a way, being so far from Wolffe…

Eh, look at him. Some shitty king’s guard he makes.

Before he has the time to react, he’s pulled into a dark alleyway, showed against the wall by two men that, on a more attentive exam, are two people that Fox didn’t even think were alive: Wolffe’s right-hand men, Boost and Sinker.

“Good evening, Foxie…” Sinker greets him with a grin, using the nickname that he knows makes Fox growl in fury, which in fact he does. He hates being called like that.

Boost, on the other hand, doesn’t share Sinker’s playful behavior. “Tell us where you’re keeping Wolffe locked up and we might not gut you like the dog you are,” he growls, pushing a knife against Fox’s throat, though Fox looks unimpressed.

“Very classy, like always,” he replies in fact, but that’s not all he has to say, even though he doubts it’ll help. “And, for your information, Wolffe is with me, and not locked in a cell.”

Boost and Sinker look at each other, and Fox knows already that this is going to be a looooong night.

Somehow he’s convinced them to come with him and see with their eyes, though they’re still wary of him, enough that, if he makes the wrong move, they’re going to gut him. It’s fair, he would do the same in their situation, he supposes.

He can’t lie: he’s surprised to see that there have been other survivors, considering what they have found. It makes him wonder how exactly they managed to hide from them, but when he tried to ask they shut him down immediately. It’s fine, he doesn’t care about it that much - liar and hypocrite.

At least Wolffe will be happy to see them…

Just as he thought, as soon as Wolffe sees Sinker and Boost with Fox, he runs towards them, just like the other two as soon as they see their captain alive and well. They meet halfway, almost colliding into each other for the excessive speed.

“I can’t believe it…” Wolffe mutters, drawing the two into a tight hug. “You’re alive!”

“We are!” Sinker tearfully replies. “And you! You are…!”

“So he wasn’t lying after all,” Boost mutters, turning towards Fox, who sagely doesn’t say anything despite how much he wants to retort to that, since he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Actually, maybe he should leave, let them have a moment.

Before he can do that, though, he hears Wolffe scold Boost. “Don’t say that! He… He helped me quite a lot. He saved me, in fact.”

Yes, they’re all surprised at that admission, even Fox, despite the fact that he’s gotten used to the idea that yes, he did save him. Still, it’s weird to hear it directly from Wolffe’s ears.

“I… I should go. Give you some time alone,” he’s able to mutter, before retreating to the kitchen.

Coward…

When he hears the sounds of steps, he pokes out to see Boost and Sinker on their way to the main door.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“None of your business,” Boost states, and after that, he walks out of Fox’s room, leaving Sinker lingering on the exit, but he still hasn’t moved.

He looks at Fox and he seems… hesitant, for some reason?

“Hey,” he begins, “… Thank you, for saving Wolffe.”

Fox’s old instincts push to retort that he hasn’t done it for them, but what would that accomplish? Nothing at all. If anything, it would be detrimental.

“It’s nothing…” he mutters, barely loud enough to be understood. Sinker looks at him, expression hard to read, then he leaves as well.

He doesn’t go to Wolffe immediately, afraid of what he’d see in him once he lays his gaze upon him: the happiness he must be feeling for having found some of his old crewmates and… the desire to leave.

Here he is again, being a selfish fuck. He shouldn’t be like this, and he knows that eventually he will have to let him go - he can’t continue this charade forever, and it’s important for both their lives that Wolffe leaves - but he can’t deny that it will hurt having to do that.

To think that that feared day might come soon…

He shakes his head, trying to get a hold of himself.

In the end, he got attached to Wolffe, something that he shouldn’t have done, something that is dangerous.

A sigh escapes his lips. Well, it’s not like he can do anything about it now, can’t he?

When he goes to Wolffe, he does indeed look the happiest Fox has seen him since he’s saved him.

When Fox steps into the bedroom, he finds him sitting on his bed, but as soon as Wolffe notices his presence he walks up to him and he kisses him with a fervor that he never used before. Fox, although surprised by such an initiative, especially now, can only submit to the attentions, and so doesn’t object when Wolffe walks him to the bed and pushes him onto him, following suit.

He keeps him close and he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him and takes him until Fox feels like he’s drowning, but eh, if he has to be honest, this wouldn’t be a bad way to go…

“So… Are you leaving?” Fox asks. He’s waited until he and Wolffe were done, and what better way to ask than now, while they’re both still recovering lying one beside the other? Sure, he might sour the mood, but Fox needs to know.

“… Yes,” Wolffe replies, suspiciously cautious. Is he hiding something?

There are many things Fox would like to say, so many that it creates such a mess in his mind that he just nods without actually uttering a thing. He has much to think about after all.

Apparently, Wolffe is of the same vein, because he keeps quiet as well. It’s like all the enthusiasm from before has vanished, leaving space to quiet contemplation.

Fox would do anything to know what he’s thinking about; he could ask, but he feels like if he does, he’d only make Wolffe less willing to share. No, he’s got to wait, admitting that Wolffe will share the conclusions he’ll reach after this moment.

He’s lucky, because soon, after a long sigh that doesn’t preannounce anything good, he turns toward Fox, a determined and serious look in his eyes.

“Come with me.”

Fox, taken off guard by such a request, can only reply with a “Where?” before mentally slapping himself. As if it’s not obvious where he wants him to go. “I can’t,” he quickly adds then, shaking his head.

“Why?” Wolffe asks.

Fox doesn’t know what to say; wouldn’t it be too easy to just leave his life behind, and for what even, exactly? No, he can’t do it, no matter how much he’d want to. “I…”

He wants to leave.

The realization hits him like a punch in the gut.

This is his life, what he worked hard to obtain. He has friends, here, people he cares about… and yet, he wants to leave them all behind.

He can’t deny how tired he’s got of everything. The kingdom’s falling into pieces and he seems to be the only one who has noticed it. Is this why he wants to leave?

Yes, but also not entirely: these weeks spent with Wolffe have been special for Fox. He’s never felt more alive than in the company of the same man who’s lying down with him, at his side.

To be able to leave with him… It would be a dream…

“What’s stopping you?”

Fear, Fox realizes. Fear is what’s stopping him.

Leaving with Wolffe would be such a drastic change from his usual life that he can’t help but to feel paralyzed at the prospect. How could he even get used to it? And if he regrets the change?

On the other hand, however, wouldn’t he regret not leaving? Wouldn’t he regret not following Wolffe? Yes, he would.

He can’t lie: he feels a certain thrill at the idea of living a criminal life with his beloved, but could it really become more than just a fantasy? Could they make it work?

He wants to make it work.

Yes, Fox wants this to work, he wants to be free and happy with Wolffe, and that won’t happen until they leave.

He takes Wolffe’s face between his hands and he kisses him, then he kisses him again and again, but when they pull away, he seems to be talking more to himself than to the other.

“Yes… Nothing’s stopping me.” He can leave if he wants - and he wants it. Nothing’s stopping him…

He looks back at Wolffe and every shadow of doubt is gone from his face. If he lets this occasion slip through his fingers, he’ll never forgive himself, he knows it.

Wolffe looks at him expectantly. “So that means…”

“Yes,” Fox says, “let’s do it.”

If you told Fox that one day he was going to find himself running away from the kingdom he’s served since he has memory, following his archnemesis turned lover, he would’ve laughed at you and then thrown you into jail. Funny how some things change, huh?

Here he is now, looking at his house one last time, before leaving it - and his previous life - forever behind.

There’s still some space - a very tiny one - for doubt in his head, but he’s made up his mind: he’s going to live his life to the fullest, and in order to do that, he needs to leave. Wolffe will surely show him a new side of life that he didn’t even know existed, Fox is certain of it.

He turns around, looking at Wolffe, who’s standing behind him, waiting for him to say goodbye to his old life.

When he notices Fox’s gaze on him, he sends him an interrogative gaze. “Ready?” he asks.

Fox stays silent. He walks up to Wolffe, taking his hand once he’s close enough and raising it to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

“Yes, let’s leave this place.”

He’s made up his mind, and nothing can stop him.

#300 followers bingo #foxwolffe #commander fox #commander wolffe #my fics #clonecest #cloneshipping

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

dance with me

request from nonnie! “Hello! Im terribly in love with your writing! I was wondering if maybe, Charlie takes Bill, the twins an (either oc or reader insert) to a muggle party and they’re all super confused but love it and Fred is completely smitten by the OC when she danced and maybe did something weird/special of your choosing. I hope it isnt much, lots of love for u and Mischief Managed! ♥️”

pairing: fred x muggle!reader

word count: 2.2k

A/N: my dudes i don’t even know what the fuck this is but i loved this request so much, didn’t mean to make it sad, sry, also you can interpret this how you will.. personally i think they’re both too vulnerable rn to ~get it on~ but i like to think that maybe fred would open his heart again after this and she’d mend his heartbreak..... brb making myself big sad !!!!!! but listen if you wanna imagine him pinning her against the wall and having the time of his life then go for it, man i'm just...... big into angst;;;;;;; pls reblog & leave feedback & things of the like, thank you loves

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @parker-potters @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 | message me to be added!

The foggy, wet streets of the city were unappealing compared to the very comforting, open landscape next to the Burrow. The very last thing that Fred and George had wanted to do was follow their two eldest brothers in the frigid, rainy weather to some silly Muggle party in central London.

Especially Fred.

He didn’t want to be forced out of the one place that made him somewhat happy, especially when he was still nursing the heartbreak that had been causing him so much unpleasantness.

But they’d obliged, because Charlie had nearly pounced on the two of them about it, and they’d much rather go to this than be forced to sit inside the Burrow with pompous Percy -- although, since the war, he had admittedly gotten better at not being a self-righteous git.

The twins had a ton on their plate; not to mention, Fred wasn’t in the mood for any of it. They were dragged out of their business shop by Bill, who was adamant about the fact that they’d both needed a night out, and when they’d tried to persist, telling their eldest brother many times that they had too much to do before the newest shipment of magical inventions came in, Bill had nearly hexed the pair of them, causing them both to shut up almost instantaneously.

But now, as bright, fluorescent lights hit the middle of the room, highlighting you, your smooth and effortless dance moves, and the very lazy grin on your face as you sang along to the booming music in between sips of your drink, Fred wasn’t so huffy about being here anymore.

His heartbreak didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

At least right now, it didn’t.

Admittedly, Bill was right. They really did need a night out. They’d been so bloody busy working that they hadn’t even been to the pub in a few weeks’ time. Ever since the war, business had seemed to escalate, which was really saying something, considering it was incredibly busy even before all of this had gone down. The two of them hardly ever had a moment to breathe. Which, they supposed, was good for Fred. Kept him occupied, kept his mind at bay. But they reckoned they probably needed to hire some more help. Ron had reluctantly agreed to lend a hand. It was Hermione’s idea. A brilliant one, at that.

George thrust a beer frustratingly into his twin’s hands. “We’ve got so much to do, mate.”

“Yeah,” Fred replied breathlessly, truly not listening to a word George was saying.

Fred Weasley had always had it easy when it came to the ladies. They flocked to him, really. He didn’t like to admit it so as not to come off like an entitled prat, but it was true. It was probably due to the fact that he was always making everyone laugh -- something that came equally as easy to him. Perhaps it was his bright red hair that the girls ogled over. Maybe it was his wicked sense of adventure, and the fact that he was always landing himself in questionable situations more often than not. But that was school. He could easily impress those girls at school. He hadn’t had too in a while, though. He’d been happily tied up with the same person for years — that is, until he wasn’t. Until she’d picked someone else.

This was different, though. This was a Muggle party, in the middle of central London, in someone’s sweaty, sticky flat with a bunch of people he didn’t know. Fred couldn’t do magic here. He couldn’t impress someone with his inventions or with his stories about adventure without giving away the fact that he was a from a magical background. He couldn’t use his usual tricks in front of all of these Muggles or he’d be in a ton of hot water.

He also couldn’t let his very intense vulnerability and his rusty flirting get in the way.

But he wouldn’t be Fred Weasley if he didn’t try, right?

It was always easy for Fred to be able to flirt absentmindedly with women. But with his heart in a fragile state, he wasn’t so sure it would be easy tonight.

Bill, picking up on his younger brother’s locked knees and fingers gripped tight around his beer, stopped in front of them. “You alright, Fred?”

“Yeah,” Fred said again, clearing his throat and swigging a bit of his drink. He then thrust the nearly full beer into Charlie’s hands, who furrowed his brows in a confused look. Fred continued, “More than okay. Hey, you guys have fun -- I’ll catch up with you in a bit, alright?”

He left his brothers standing at the other end of the room as he pushed through tons of people. When he’d finally made it to the middle, you were gone. He casually swerved around, peering all around the room to try and meet the gaze with the eyes he felt like he’s known for years already. He then spotted you toward the corner, pouring yourself another drink. His feet began moving before he could register exactly what he was doing; so quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even heard the obnoxious exchange of words and laughter from behind him from his brothers.

“Merlin, can we go anywhere without Fred picking someone up?”

“Give him a break, mate -- he hasn’t seen anyone since everything unraveled with the last one. It’s been almost two years. Reckon this is good for him — for me, too.”

“Wish it was that easy for me to pick someone up, bloody hell.”

With his heart pounding unnaturally against his ribcage, Fred slid next to you and too began to pour himself a drink, glad to have gotten rid of that beer that Charlie was now undoubtedly guzzling. He opened his mouth to speak, but much to his surprise, you spoke first.

“Ahh -- a whiskey man, are you?”

He was taken aback at the sultry sound of your voice; maybe it was because the music was pounding in his ears, or the fact that you were this foreign person he desperately found himself wanting to know, and very quickly. He looked down at his drink, and then up at you. You were already sipping yours. “That a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily -- though I haven’t decided yet.”

The slight eyebrow raise you gave him made his insides twist. It was too early in the night for nerves. He swallowed them down as he took a swig of his very strong drink. “Haven’t decided, hm?”

You turned to him and then around to face the rest of the party. You inched closer and crossed your arms over your chest, and nodded. “There are three different types of men here tonight, you see. Those, over there,” you pointed with your pinky finger to a bunch of very frat-like men sipping lazily on their beers or glasses of wine, “they’ve come looking for something casual. Not so casual as far as one nighters go, but a fling. Something of the like. Those over on that end,” Fred followed your finger over to a very messy looking group of men who were dancing far too close with some women in the middle of the dance floor -- they looked like they all needed to get rooms. Separately. Merlin. “You know the type of night they’re looking for.”

Fred couldn’t help but snort a bit as he sipped casually.

“And then there’s you. Sipping your whiskey. Cute as ever.”

You turned back toward him and he raised an eyebrow. He was now feeling a bit self-conscious — he was both thrilled and equally embarrassed at being called “cute” by a woman as stunning as you, way out of his league and probably having quite a laugh yourself. He didn’t even know your name. What would you say next? You’d already deemed him the “third type of man” in the room, but the fact that he was a standalone, and not lumped in with another group, made him feel both overwhelmingly relieved, and also slightly terrified. But he tried to play it cool.

“What about me?”

You brought your hand to your hip and wet your lips, pondering this. A small smirk spread itself across your face, the fluorescent light flashing across your eyes. “I dunno yet,”

He liked that. He liked that you didn’t know anything about him. He liked that he didn’t have to be the bloke who made jokes to lighten the mood, the guy who loved messing with people, or the boy who got his heart broken by a girl who’d never really cared for him at all. He didn’t have to be any of those people. He could just be Fred.

“Haven’t decided, I reckon? Like the whiskey?”

You smiled; it was bad enough that Fred was losing his mind solely at the perfume you were wearing, and the fact that this conversation was going absolutely nothing like what he’d planned. Your eyes met his and your voice was soft when you leant in closer, “That’s what makes it so bloody dangerous.”

He didn’t know what the bloody hell you meant by that but he didn’t seem to mind, especially when you grabbed him by the shirt and led him to the dance floor again, slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you as some slow song he’d never heard blared through the speakers in the corner.

“And to think — I was just going to come over here and see if I’d even be lucky enough to have a chat,”

You laughed at this, shutting your eyes whilst doing so, and Fred noticed something sparkly painted on your skin toward the edges of your eyes. “What can I say? You’ve intrigued me.”

Perhaps he could do this without any magic. Bloody difficult to not talk all about it, though.

Perhaps his vulnerability would subside, and he’d be able to talk and flirt and dance without thinking back on his own overwhelming heartache that had rendered him nearly useless the last few months.

But after a while, he stopped worrying. The music was so loud, your laughter so infectious, that he’d forgotten all about all those stupid jokes he’d wanted to make about his shop, about Hogwarts, about the magic he’d learned growing up. It wasn’t until you’d asked him to be in the moment with you that he’d truly remembered them.

“Just,” you’d started, tugging gently on the collar of his shirt and biting your bottom lip as another song played loudly, “just be here with me, okay?”

Fred wondered, as glassiness seemed to fill your eyes through a grin at him, if you, too, were in need of this night out.

Maybe you were nursing some kind of heartbreak, too.

Maybe you were also trying to find some type of normal.

It was in your tone — in the way your voice trembled slightly when you’d said be here with me. He didn’t think you were looking for something like a fling, like those guys you’d pointed at before. And he definitely knew that you weren’t looking for one night and one night only, like those sloppy people he’d kept trying to avoid on the dance floor. Maybe, like you’d said, you just needed him to be here. In the moment. Just the two of you, shoes heavy against the hardwood floor, eyes sparkling underneath the lights.

He realized, when he peered down at you and felt some type of warmth for the first time since his own heart was crushed in its vulnerability, that he just needed you to be here with him, too.

So when you leant forward slowly, trying to read his expression, to see if it was okay to do what you wanted to do, he leant in too, pressing his lips gently to yours in a spark of electricity for the first time in Merlin only knows how long.

And what he tasted on your lips sent him spiraling.

When you pulled apart, he raised an eyebrow and smirked at you. “What?” You asked nervously, biting down on the bottom lip, desperately trying to hide the smirk that was growing on your face.

“A whiskey girl, eh?”

You shrugged casually, as if it meant nothing. But you both knew it meant everything. It was just strange, he thought — your first interaction just hours ago, the conversation you’d held, and how you were here, now, entangled together. You wiggled your eyebrows at him — and he was surprised that he found it both innocent and incredibly alluring. “Told you it’s dangerous.”

You sipped the very last of your drink before tossing your cup into the waste bin. Fred reckoned he could stay here all night, forgetting about all of the things that kept him up at night, the things that had been making him so bloody prone to unpleasantness for such a long time. He wanted to laugh again. He wanted to smile again. He wanted to love again.

When you cocked your head to the side and smiled softly at him, beginning to mouth the words to the music, he reckoned he might just be able too.

Then you tugged on both of his hands, placed them delicately across your waist as you locked your arms around his neck again, you said over the booming of the next stupid song you’d undoubtedly sing every word too,

“Just dance with me, Freddie.”

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagine #hp imagines #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines

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headinthe-fridge · 4 years

Text

My Grandfather’s Lawyer (pt. 1)

⁂ – Ushijima Wakatoshi x reader – ⁂

warning: nsfw, swearing

Summary: Your grandfather, Washijo Tanji, disowned your mother when she was pregnant with you and her hatred towards him was passed on to you. Now, your estranged grandfather wants you to leave your life in Tokyo and come live with him in his estate in the Miyagi Prefecture.

You took a day off and a 6-hour trip, intending to give him a piece of your mind before disappearing from their lives forever. You didn’t expect to see an ailing and fragile old man. Your day trip stretched into weeks and soon, you patched things up with your estranged family and warmed up to everyone -except to one: Ushijima Wakatoshi -your grandfather’s lawyer.

He thinks you have ulterior motives in reuniting with your grandfather.

You weren’t suppose to care what he thinks of you. His opinion didn’t matter.

But it did.

MASTERLIST

AN: So, here’s part 1 and it’s going to be a little fast-paced, with like 5 parts. tops. Lemme know if you wanna get tagged.

⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ – ⁂ –

"If you need anything, I'm only a call away."

You recalled Kiyoko's words earlier this morning. She was the one who dropped you off at the bus station for your six-hour trip from Tokyo to Miyagi prefecture. You and Kiyoko were childhood friends and since the death of your parents, she had been living with you in the house that your parents left you. You knew each other's life stories so it wasn't news to her the hatred and animosity that you harbored for your estranged grandfather.

She was worried at first and voiced out her concern, thinking that maybe your emotions were getting the best of you. But you reassured her, saying that you can handle yourself. And so, you two parted ways with her advice at the forefront of your mind.

You regretted your rash decision, not because you're worried about how your grandfather would react to finally seeing you but because of the long, exhausting, and dusty road that you have been trudging for the past hour.

The nearest train station is one hour away from the Washijo estate -which is located in the Katta District (which has a population density of 77 people per square kilometer). It was a ghost town compared to Tokyo, you thought. The train conductor informed you that from here on, the road is Washijo's property and that you would be very very lucky if a stray cab passed by.

You would've appreciated the scenic view before you, lush green forest by the roadside, mountain ranges stretched in the far distance, clear blue skies plus the unnaturally mild summer wind, if it weren't for the pile of dust and dirt clinging to your skin as you trudge along the damned road.

The hatred within you flared. This is all your grandfather's fault, you seethed. He disowned your mother when she was pregnant with you, he refused your family when your father begged him to help with your mother treatments, and he didn't even come to her own daughter's funeral when she died.

A lone tear escaped your eye at the bitter memory. You have one goal today; and that is to say to your grandfather's face that he's a worthless piece of shit. And that if it weren't for him, your parents would still be alive. After this, you will go back to your life in Tokyo and forget the Washijo name until your dying day. You will remember it only to curse it once more.

A loud honk made you jump, pulling you from your dark thoughts. You turned around with a scowl on your face, because who the hell does that in a deserted road?

A sleek black car pulled over behind you and seconds later, a man boarded off the driver's side. He had spiky black hair swept to the side, his cat-like eyes looked at you curiously.

"Are you y/n?"

You nodded, apprehensive.

The man breathed out a sigh of relief. His whole body relaxed. "Ah, thank god, I was just in time."

"Excuse me, but who are you?" You raised a brow.

"Oh, my bad. I'm Kuroo, your cousin. The one who kept calling you on the phone?"

"Ah..." You tipped your head in acknowledgment. "How did you know I was here."

"I tried calling your phone but I can't reach you, so I called your home phone and your friend, Shimizu, said you were on your way here. I must've missed you at the station."

"I see."

"Come, I'll give you a ride." he gestured towards the passenger seat.

You narrowed your eyes at him, unsure if you should believe his words. For all you know, this might be a human trafficking scheme.

He must've have sensed your hesitation. "I know it's weird, we haven't met each other before but here," he pulled out his wallet, took out an id card and showed it to you.

Washijo Kuroo

"You can hold onto my phone if you want, and have 110 on speed dial if you think you're in danger." He offered you his phone.

You took it after a few seconds of hesitation but in the end, you let yourself be guided towards the car. You also wouldn't want to triple the amount of dust and dirt that already clung to your skin so you welcomed the airconditioned vehicle and the comfortable seat that it offered.

"Ji-ji would be thrilled to see you. I thought you would keep on rejecting his request to come live with us, what made you change your mind?"

"Sorry to burst your bubble but I don't intend to live with any of you." You spat.

"Ooh, is that hatred I sense in your voice?" He teased, despite your hostility. "It seems our cousins are wrong about your reasons for coming here."

"Wrong about what?"

"Nothing, don't mind it, my little cousin. Can I call you that?"

"No, you may not." Your cousin chuckled and that annoyed you. "What's so funny?"

"Did you know that your mother, was closest to my father, out of all her brothers? Oto-san was really heartbroken when Oba-san cut off her ties with everyone. Oto-san would say you have her spirit if he was still alive."

His words confused you. All this time, you thought everyone in the family hated your mother. But what did he say? Your uncle was heartbroken?

"I don't understand, if what you say is true then why didn't, uhm.. uncle reached out? Why did no one come to mama's funeral?"

"We didn't know. Your father kept it from us. Ji-ji almost swept the whole of Tokyo to be able to see her daughter one last time but he wasn’t ableto find her."

"Then how were you able to contact me? How did you get my number?"

"That was an accident. You know Lev Haiba, right?"

Your ears perked up at the familiar name. He was a regular at the cafe where you worked. "Yes. He's a customer."

"Yeah, well he wouldn't shut up about his huge crush on you, we were classmates in high school by the way. One day, he sent a picture of you two in our group chat, and then I recognized you."

You raised a brow. "We haven't met before, how would you recognize me?"

"Oh that, I'll let Ji-ji explain. But yeah, that's how we found you, after that, Ji-ji wouldn't stop gushing about your coming here. I really thought you wouldn't give in."

"Well, I wouldn't be staying long so there's no need to make this a big deal. And whatever your cousins think about me, I really don't care, I mean if that's the kind of people that I'll be living with then no thanks, I'm good with my small apartment back in Tokyo."

"Man, the hatred runs deep, huh? Don't worry, they wouldn't dare do anything against you while Ji-ji's around. Plus, I'll be right behind you. I feel like we would get along well."

You decided not to respond to that and opted to watch the road before you throughout the whole ride.

You knew that your grandfather is a wealthy man. But the moment you stepped foot inside the Washijo Minka, it only dawned on you what wealthy really meant. The house was ornately decorated. The ranma panels that let the daylight in are carved with intricate details of dragons, the tatami floors are spotless, the zabutons are wrapped in silken cloth (what glorious ass wouldn't seat on silken pillows?), and the fusuma slides' designs are hand-painted.

Every object in this house screamed at whoever was in it that the owner is wealthy. So why? Your family only asked for a small amount for your mother's treatment compared to the luxuries that surround you now. Your jaw clenched as your hatred towards your grandfather resurfaced.

"Look who's here y/n, it seems your cousin couldn't wait to finally meet you," Kuroo remarked.

You heard someone scoff and you turned to the person with a piercing look.

"Can't I welcome the new member of the Washijo family? I wanted to meet Noriko's child, too."

The way your mother's name rolled off on the woman's tongue didn't sit well with you. Your eyes swept her form from head to toe, she was tall and beautiful. Gorgeous, in fact, if it weren't for her attitude. You decided she wasn't worth your time. You didn't waste this day to bandy crooked words with her. You're here for your grandfather.

"What, cat got your tongue?" She goaded.

"Stop it, Hoshina-chan. If Ji-ji catches you starting a fight, you wouldn't like it." Kuroo warned.

The one called Hoshina just harrumphed in response. She threw you one last look before stomping off to god knows where. You don't care, actually, you don't have time to deal with brats.

"By the way, here comes Atsumu and Osamu. They're also our cousins." Kuroo informed.

The newcomers made a beeline towards you and Kuroo and you barely had time to compose yourself when they were already shaking your -both- hands and welcoming you in unison.

"N-nice to meet you too, Atsumu-san and Osamu-san."

"Please don't forget that the better Washijo twin is me," the blonde pointed towards himself while the other just scoffed.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips and you were about to reply when someone behind you cleared his throat.

Part 2

Tagging all you lovelies: @thegrumpyhag @sushij1ma @valoryess @yakus-yakult

@ly-nia

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x you #ushijima x reader #wakatoshi x reader #wakatoshi x you #ushiwaka #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x you

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creativia10 · 3 years

Text

First Wip: Dukeceit Vs

Summary: Vigilante Janus has to deal with the chaos that is the newest villain wreaking havoc. Yet they both find themselves drawn to one another.

Notes: I decided to go ahead and try posting some of these unfinished wips. This was actually one of the first fics I attempted to write after deciding I wanted to try and participate in Dukeceit week. I actually really liked this one. I think my original intention was for this to be for the Free day (although I ended up getting a lot of Dukeceit ideas that didn't fit into the prompts). I can see myself getting back to it eventually. Sorry for the abrupt cutoff it ends with at the moment.

Pairing: Janus x Remus

Word count: 2014

Warnings: implied background violence? , innuendos (implied kink), sexual tension

Janus nearly had to swerve as he felt his weight shifted into the wall of the building he was next to.

Well this was new.

Once he got his bearings, he carefully righted himself, testing that the ground was no longer shifting underneath him, and carefully made his way out of the alley he had changed in, still using the wall as a railing in case some other natural shift occurred. He peered out of the alley carefully, working into the natural suaveness his vigilante costume normally gave him.

The city…looked like a mess. He almost couldn’t begin to describe it. Roadways were shifted about, all sorts of objects were around in a disarray as though blown there. There were simultaneous evidence of flooding and fires. Janus had never before seen such a catastrophic mess left around. He wouldn’t have believed such a thing was there if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes.

He sighed, and carefully stepped about to find the source of all this chaos. It didn’t take long for him to hear a maniacal cackle.

“Oh what fun!”

A man dressed in all black with accents in various outlandish neon colors was floating in the middle of the city, over what looked like swirling ground debris?

He was looking about, seeming to laugh at people’s reactions to the mess he had made. Attention at things such as people trying to fix wind ruined hair, and turning around as though dizzy in disbelief. He didn’t even seem to notice Janus at first.

Janus stepped up to him and cleared his throat.

“I’m not sure why I expected anything else, “ Janus said dryly. Of all things to say first to the new chaos.

The source of chaos turned to face Janus, and tilted his head, an unhinged twinkle to his eye before suddenly his earth twister collapsed and he landed right on the ground. There was an unpleasant sound as he landed, but the man didn’t seem phased as he looked over Janus. He had strange vibrant eyes, that gave Janus a radioactive feel.

“Hmm, you the goodie here to kill my buzz?”

Janus scoffed. “Gosh no. Do I look like a bright colored government ken doll? I clearly have way more class than them. I’m just someone who wants to make sure my life doesn’t get swept up in whatever craziness this is, and have the means to do so. I’d liked to see the end of the day, and I surely expected the road being twisted into a column is not going to be helpful to getting me to work tomorrow.”

The other just stared at him for a moment before he snorted.

“Ah, that’s a good one. See…I’m not done so,” He shrugged and went back to pointing around and zapping strange bouts of nature around the city.

“Are you even putting thought into what you’re doing?” Janus asked as he slyly brought himself closer.

“Or are you just doing your best to be an annoying menace to me?”

“Hmm,” he tapped his fingers to his lips, weird bits floating around.

“I mean, I didn’t have a particular plan, but I guess annoying you is a bonus.”

Just before Janus could pull out one of his weapons, a water tentacle slunk up from out of nowhere, and pulled him towards the black clad menace, wrapping him up and restraining him. The other laughed.

“Ah, now let’s have a looksy here.”

He walked around and seemed to be taking in Janus. Janus struggled and tried to get out of the hold, surprised there was such a firm pressure and that it was hard to break hold off. He wrinkled his nose when he got a whiff that suggested this water was not the cleanest.

“Hmm,” the villain was much closer now. Janus continued to struggle, glaring at the other, who simply smiled at him.

“Ok, “

Janus rolled his eyes. He concentrated, and Remus jumped at the unexpected slithering sensation around his ankle, which helped release Janus from the water hold.

Remus looked down to see the yellow and green snake there.

“Ah, you can summon snakes. Neato.” He then reached backward and got hold of Janus’ wrists before he could use the other snake like fanged object and surprisingly brought Janus up against his back, but he held the strength.

“Oh, snakey, if you wanted to wrap me up to bind me so badly, you only needed to ask.”

Janus grimaced and tried to break out of Menace’s hold, who in turn spun him around and pressed Janus back to his front this time. Menace made a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr.

“I say, I rather like you against me.”

Janus’ eyes widened, suddenly very aware of just how warm Menace’s body was against his. He tried to get ahold of his breath, struggling for a comeback.

“What, no quip back?” Menace asked, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Janus huffed out a breath and tried his other trick again.

“Oh, that’s not going to work on me, dear.” Menace said, even when snakes wrapped around his ankles.

“You’re not concerned about them being venomous?”

“You would kill me?”

“I’m a vigilante, I play by my own rules.”

“That wasn’t an answer~,” Menace sang. “And I’m sure this would be less fun if I died.”

“Who said anything about fun? That’s your thing.”

“Mhmm~. Sure.”

He leaned in some to whisper into Janus’ ear,

“Isn’t there a thrill to being close to a rival whose intentions you don’t know?”

For some reason, the way he said that gave Janus shivers. He quickly tried to think of something else he could summon to get him out of this position before he completely lost his composure.

“Aha!” A familiar voice cried.

“Release the snakey villain, you new fiend.”

However, the obnoxious ‘hero’s’ entrance gave Janus the distraction he needed. Janus stamped on Menace’s foot and elbowed him enough to be able to get out of his grasp. He turned to face him, eyes flashing.

Menace simply laughed.

“Oh.”

“Your villainous deeds have now come to an end now that I-“

Janus shot a gag at him.

Menace cackled.

“Didn’t expect you to do that.”

“He’s annoying.”

The hero wrestled the gag out and stamped his foot.

“Hey! I am trying to save the day!”

“Mhm, and I’m trying to cut down a pest, so out of my way.”

“As if I would let the sly likes of you determine your own moral law on how we retain the bads of this city!”

“Oh blah blah blah, gosh, does he always blather on like this?”

“Indeed.”

The hero gasped in offense.

“Anyways, I really did not come here to fight two people today. So if you’re determined, I’m gonna head out. “

“Aww, but you’re probably more fun to fight!”

Janus just stated at Menace for a moment.

“What?”

Menace laughed, and then zoomed away on another earth twister.

“Aren’t you gonna go after him?” Janus asked the hero.

“But first-“ the hero started.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He threw a smoke bomb and left before the hero could turn that into another needless battle, like he tended to do.

Janus wasn’t sure what he expected to come of that, but it wasn’t what ended up happening. For one, apparently Menace, as Janus had mentally dubbed him, was better at getting away than he thought. Janus wouldn’t put it past the hero’s incompetence either though, but it really wasn’t his business as long as the pest was done. Recurring villains, unless they were really powerful, were actually not a common thing where they were. Usually the villain would end up in jail. The hero, despite being annoying and over the top, was powerful, like a more dramatic superman. It was annoying often, say when Janus clearly had it against a villain, or the hero suddenly decided to fight him since his deeds were not always the most legal. Nevertheless, a villain being a child about who they wanted to fight was not common. For one thing, usually it was just the hero who fought the bad guys. Janus didn’t always go out of his way since he didn’t consider himself to be a universal do-gooder or anything like that.

Yet, this ‘Menace’ would show up at different parts of the city, bringing about his usual chaos, and almost actively ignored the hero. It was strange. Janus, begrudgingly, felt he needed to step in. The hero didn’t work well with others, or maybe he was just a nightmare to ‘work’ with.

Janus had barely gotten his costume on in the alleyway when he felt a strong wind pulling him out.

Gosh. That was too close.

Menace was standing in front of him, on the ground this time, with his earthy twister behind him.

“Heyy there, snakey. I’ve been waiting~.”

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, despite it likely being covered by his mask.

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm!” The villain leaned forward on his toes, unnaturally keeping his balance, probably from wind powers or something. Janus couldn’t help but lean back some.

“I was getting bored~.”

“That seems to be your whole ordeal, hm? You get bored. I get tired, yet I’m still here.”

Menace snorted.

“See, this is what I mean. You’re fun to talk to.”

“Yes, because snarky rival banter totally counts as talking.”

“Well, it is for me. “

Remus then spun around in his twister that seemed to stretch away.

“Come and catch me!” His voice rang off.

Janus groaned and started to trudge in that direction, trying to decide what he could summon to assist himself. He hadn’t summoned many large objects of transportation, but maybe he could find something to up his speed.

“You! He-“

“Yeah, I know, sir super hero. He seems to want to play with me, I will have to deal with it.”

The hero paused for a moment. “Is there anything I can do?” He asked hesitantly.

Janus smirked at him. “Not that I can think of. You seem the type to care about protecting the people so” Janus waved his hand, and went back to his task. He didn’t get very far before he was thrust into his next obstacle, a sink hole suddenly sucking him into the ground. Janus quickly summoned a grappling hook and hooked it onto the surface so he was dangling, but no longer falling. There was an echo of Menace’s cackle. Janus sighed as he swung himself up and landed smoothly. He looked around and saw he was in a different part of the city.

“Oo.”

Janus heard little clapping.

“That was a neat trick. I got to see you in many different angles. Very fun for me.”

Janus gave him an unimpressed look, before carefully looking around.

“Where is everybody?”

“Oh, probably deserted. I’m not very quiet.”

He slid up to Janus, on some sort of sliding ground formation.

“I think I’d rather have you all to myself anyways~” He said with a whole body wiggle.

Janus made a face.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Hmm?”

Menace suddenly got closer.

Janus took a step back, hand curling for something, but he struggled to wrack his mind of something that he could actually use against the walking natural disasters.

“Th-the comments, to me.”

Janus cursed to himself at the stutter.

‘“Hmmm” Menace tilted his head until there was an unpleasant creak.

“Cause. It’s fun, and I like you.”

Janus paused and stared at him in bewilderment.

“What?”

Menace giggled at that and then suddenly they were against a wall. Janus let out an oof, as his back hit a bit roughly. It didn’t help that the other man was against him.

“Ya know, I gotta say, I’m not the type who’s into pain,” Janus croaked before he could stop himself.

Menace frowned and took a small step back.

“Er, sorry…I got ahead of myself. I didn’t actually hurt you did I?”

Janus narrowed his eyes at the other, a bit

#sanders side fic #dukeceit #ts janus

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owletstarlet · 4 years

Note

For a prompt, maybe a Tanunatsu college AU? I'm sort of picturing something where Natsume is visiting the shrine for a weekend and Tanuma is trying not to focus on the fact that his boyfriend now has earrings

(*insert profuse apology for how long this took here* I had initially wanted to get this posted in time for @natsumeweek as one of the prompts was “future” but I guess this is more an early happy-September-birthday-to-Tanuma fic...

ao3 link in the comments.

When the doorbell rings, it’s a near thing for Kaname to not spill his tea all over the keyboard. He has to remind himself several times on his way to answer it not to look as ludicrously eager as he feels, as though his heart might float right on up and out through the top of his head, in case it’s a mail carrier or a maintenance worker at the door.

It isn’t.

It takes all of a second and a half before Kaname’s got his arms full of him, face buried in his hair.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice muffled against the top of Natsume’s head.

“Hi,” Natsume says back, and Kaname can hear the grin in his voice, feel the arms coming to rest around his waist.

They stand like that for several seconds, in the genkan with the door wide open, and Kaname can feel all the tension he’s been holding for six weeks bleed out of him. Eventually, he asks, “How was your flight?”

“I liked it.” His voice is just as muffled against Kaname’s shoulder. “Sensei didn’t.”

“Really?” Kaname finally pulls back enough to see his face. He looks well, relaxed and smiling, the barest dusting of freckles across his nose from time spent outdoors, and it’s almost enough to push a month and a half’s worth of swirling images and morbid what ifs out of his mind. “You’d think Ponta would enjoy flying.”

Natsume rolls his eyes a little, but there’s something fond in the set of his mouth. “He complained the whole time, about being stuck in human form, and kept saying it was unnatural or something to be up so high where he couldn’t even see the treetops past all the clouds.”

Kaname grins at the thought. “Where’s he off to right now?” He pulls Natsume into the genkan, finally lets him go so he can get his shoes off.

“Probably off getting drunk. Or begging snacks off Touko-san. She was pretty happy to see him.”

Natsume’s been up in Aomori for a little over a month, on a few jobs with the Matsuokas. Field training, as Natori had cheerfully put it to Kaname over the phone. And Kaname hadn’t been thrilled about that, but had felt marginally better to hear that Natori would accompany him for most of the trip.

The Matsuoka clan wasn’t particularly prominent or large, but they were well-funded and well-connected. It was Natori who’d reached out to them over a year ago, once Natsume had given his slightly grudging consent to it. Since then Natsume’s been living two and a half hours away in a spacious apartment and attending a university to which the Matsuokas happened to be generous donors. In exchange for this, and their tutelage, Natsume accompanies and assists them with exorcisms. They’re apparently pleased enough to have him, and Natsume’s told Kaname that they haven’t asked him to do anything he’s opposed to; it’s often either binding a harmful entity or else simply sitting down to listen to whatever it is the troublesome youkai-of-the-day is after. But despite Natori being on good terms with the head of the clan, he’d had to make it perfectly clear that Natsume had no interest in longterm recruitment. Or, at the very least, that potential adoption into the clan was to be a decision that Natsume would be entirely free to turn down.

Kaname himself, meanwhile, hasn’t gone anywhere since graduation. Natori had floated the idea of Kaname joining Natsume, that the Matsuokas be perfectly willing to take him on. And, admittedly, the prospect of learning how to defend himself, and others, with the basics of exorcism under his belt had its appeal. Especially since a big factor in Natsume’s own decision had been an ugly encounter with some cave-dwelling youkai that had landed him in the hospital for weeks, an incident which had ultimately led to the truth--or parts of it, at least-- spilling out to the Fujiwaras. Kaname still has nightmares about it.

It was ultimately the prospect of being able to go with Natsume while he was out on a job instead of having to sit around and fret about it that had had Kaname prepared to agree to the offer. But then Dad had needed knee surgery, and a complicated one at that. And Kaname learned very quickly just how much work it takes to run a temple essentially on one’s own. Theirs was part of a larger organization of temples in the prefecture, who had arranged for Dad to be sent here in the first place. To be fair, they’d been as helpful as they were able, and are still paying Dad a salary. Another priest would come two or three days a week to fulfill necessary duties and rites and enabling them to stay at least partially open to visitors while Dad recuperated, and a maintenance worker would show up once a week to help Kaname care for the actual grounds. But Kaname still typically spends the better part of his week at the desk of Dad’s cramped office poring over order forms and spreadsheets he doesn’t always understand, attempting to balance the books of a little temple that barely takes in enough revenue to stay afloat even with the organization’s support. He’s gotten better at it, and Dad’s helped a lot, but even though he’s recovered enough to receive visitors and resume some of his religious duties, Kaname still tries to keep him out of the office most days so he can get some rest.

Still, Dad worries, not only that Kaname is overworking himself but about how his friends have all gone off to school, how he rarely leaves the temple grounds unless he’s running errands. He knows about Natori’s offer regarding the Matsuokas, Kaname’s discussed it with him. And though he’s made it clear that it’s ultimately Kaname’s decision he’s made it equally clear that he likes the idea—both for the sake of Kaname’s mental health and for the prospect of him learning how to better protect himself. On occasions when Dad’s pushed himself too hard and worn himself out, Kaname has threatened to accept the offer but go on to major in accounting just to get hired on by the temple organization and then end up right back home. But he has to admit, he’s been dreaming of it—of the airy kitchen that always smells just a bit like the tea Natsume drinks in the mornings, of the sun-dappled corner where Sensei likes to curl up and nap, of the balcony overlooking a cityscape both unfamiliar and beautiful in its own way, the mountains that look blue in the distance. Of waking up to Natsume’s cheek squashed against the pillow beside him, safe and whole and wonderfully there. He’ll probably have to wait until the next academic year begins, but he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

“I have something for you,” he tells Natsume now, scooping up the backpack Natsume had set down while taking off his shoes. Natsume smiles, tilts his head just a bit in question. But when he does, Kaname sees something, a glinting just beneath his hair on one side. He blinks, steps forward to brush Natsume’s hair back. “What’s—”

And when he sees what it is, he thinks his face must do something odd, because Natsume’s smile has faltered a bit, turned sheepish. “I actually thought you’d have noticed them already,” he says.

“I left my glasses by the computer,” he murmurs, and he thinks he’s staring. He should probably stop staring. “And your hair’s gotten longer anyways.”

Natsume shrugs, looking a touch pinker than before. “It’s just on the one side.” A pause. “It doesn’t look weird, does it? I don’t really trust Natori’s opinion.”

“It’s not weird.” The answer is immediate, almost embarrassingly so. He realizes they haven’t moved from the genkan, and that he hasn’t quite managed to quit staring, so he takes Natsume’s hand and tugs him towards the kitchen. He hopes his palms aren’t as clammy as he thinks they are.

There are two hoops in his left earlobe, side by side, one silver and one gold, catching the light from behind strands of pale hair. They’re subtle enough—Kaname doesn’t think the tip of his little finger could fit through either—but the sight of them makes the air stick strangely in Kaname’s throat.

“Did they hurt?” he asks, a moment later.

“Not really.” Natsume takes a seat at the worn kitchen table, hand hovering up near his ear in a way that’s half considering, half self-conscious. “Right when they do it, yes, but not so much after.”

Kaname goes to get Natsume a drink, but pauses with his hand on the refrigerator door, considering. “Any particular reason you got it done?” he starts, tone as light as possible. If Natsume’s already shy about it, Kaname doesn’t want to make it worse, but he can’t pretend he isn’t curious. “Just because you wanted to, or…”

“No, I—I mean. I don’t hate it, but there was a reason.” The shade of Natsume’s cheeks is on just this side of salmon when Kaname glances back, and it’s so frankly adorable that Kaname has to turn his back again, not trusting himself to keep a straight face. “Do you remember the farm in Aomori I told you about?” Natsume continues. “The owners had called the Matsuokas for an exorcism because their livestock kept getting sick so we stayed for a few days.”

“I remember.” He also remembers all the grim visuals his own imagination had served up over the course of those three long days, until he’d gotten the text that all was resolved and that Natsume was safe and whole and on a train away from that place.

“The family had a connection to a lesser exorcist clan that sort of fizzled out a few generations ago. And Sayaka-san—ah, the wife—was really her aunt and uncle’s only heir because they didn’t have children. They were both exorcists, and she’d inherited a few things from them.”

“Did the angry ayakashi have something to do with that clan?” Kaname asks, setting two cups of lemonade on the table and sliding into the seat across from Natsume. And god if it doesn’t do something to him, to see Natsume right there, right across from him, pale fingers wrapping easily around the lumpy clay cup Kaname made in middle school, afternoon light through the window settling in his hair and glinting starlike off those new tiny hoops in his ear and every day, Kaname wants this every day. Just this. He swallows, hard, forces himself to pay attention because Natsume’s talking again.

“It actually had nothing to do with them. The farm had been owned by her husband’s family anyhow, but. The land the farm sat on was at the center of some dispute between two ayakashi, some territory thing they bicker about every hundred years. All Sensei and I really did was get them both to agree to meet each other, and they mostly sorted it out themselves from there.”

Kaname blinks. “The Matsuokas didn’t do anything?”

Natsume shrugs. “They didn’t really need to. Sensei worked out what was going on pretty quickly, and didn’t really wait up for their help. He thought the exorcists barging in would just make things worse.” He pauses to take a sip of lemonade. As soon as he does, his eyes light up. “Ah—your lavender! You got to harvest it?”

Kaname feels a grin touch his lips as he watches Natsume take a second, larger gulp of the lemonade, in his face all the bliss of an elementary schooler who’s gotten his hands on an ice cream pop at the park. He’s a bit surprised Natsume didn’t notice the smell straightaway when Kaname had poured it, but to be fair the entire kitchen smells a bit like lavender most days. “I did. I’ll tell you about it later. Finish your story first.”

He does, after yet another hearty gulp. “When it was all resolved and we went to tell the family, Sayaka-san wanted to give me a gift. I told her not to, because it was more Sensei than me, and Hiiragi helped too—Natori sent her with me because Sensei didn’t want him there either—they made sure neither of the ayakashi could get away until they settled the dispute. I asked a couple of questions, mostly because I wasn’t sure what was going on—it was something about a sacred pine grove—but it wasn’t like I resolved things for them.”

Kaname doesn’t need to hear the specifics to be soundly convinced that Natsume’s not giving himself near enough credit. He takes his own sip of lemonade, the tartness of it tempered by the softer herbal taste that lingers on his tongue. “What was the gift?”

Natsume smiles, a bit rueful. “Earrings.”

Kaname points. “Those?”

“No, these were just to get the piercings done, but I can show you later. They’re talismans, and pretty effective ones from what Sensei could tell. It’s a set of six, they’re little round polished stones in all different colors. I’ve got the types of stone written down somewhere and what each of them is useful for but I don’t really remember. Sayaka-san had inherited them from her aunt and uncle.”

“Did she know what they were for?”

“Vaguely. Enough to think she didn’t have as much use for them as I might. They’d just been sitting in a box in the house, and she was really glad the problem was fixed, so. She insisted. But Natori also insisted on paying her for them.” His mouth twists. “She didn’t love that, but I think he had a sense of how valuable they were, and didn’t want anyone trying to step in and claim I’d gotten them illegitimately. I like Yasuda-san and Tanaka-san—they were the clan members that went with us—and I really don’t think they’d do something like that, but I guess it’s better to be cautious.”

Kaname’s not sure how to feel about that. “That’d technically make them Natori’s then, right?”

Natsume huffs a short sigh. “I did try to make him take at least some of them, but he said they’d do me more good than him, that he’d feel better if I wore them at least some of the time. Also that his agent would kill him anyways if he showed up with holes in his ears. So he took me to get mine done, instead.” His hand’s inching upwards again, like he can’t decide if he wants to touch his ear or hide it from sight.

Kaname reaches across the table and intercepts his hand midair, lacing their fingers together in a move that’s objectively more awkward than suave, but it makes Natsume’s lips twitch nonetheless, and that feels like an achievement. “What’d the Fujiwaras say?” he asks.

“Well when I explained why I got it done, they were all for it, but.” Lips pursed, he looks equal parts embarrassed and affectionately exasperated. “I think it sort of amused them. Touko-san said it looked ‘very handsome’ and had me promise to clean them really well, and Shigeru-san cracked a few jokes about rock stars.”

“I mean—”

Natsume shoots him a withering look. “Don’t you start.”

Kaname agrees with Touko; can picture the barest hint of mischief touching the corners of her wide, delighted smile. “Will you get the other side done?” he asks. “If you’ve got six.”

He shrugs. “Natori said two at a time would be fine. And both sides seemed a bit…”

There’s a dozen different adjectives Kaname could fill in at the end of that sentence, none of them remotely close to what Natsume looks to be thinking. If he had showed up with both sides done, Kaname’s quite sure that his own reaction would’ve embarrassed them both.

“I did think—” Natsume starts, then seems to need a moment to rally himself before continuing. “If you wanted,” he begins again, looking rather more at some spot on Kaname’s cheek than at his eyes. “You could take some of them.”

“Oh.” It’s safe to say that’s not an offer Kaname had anticipated. “I’m not…I’m not an exorcist, though.”

“Neither am I,” Natsume counters, his fingernail tracing idly across the back of Kaname’s hand where their hands are still twined together across the tabletop. “Not really. And you are good at cleansings and banishings, anyways.”

“That’s…it’s kind of just a matter of showing up and remembering the words, but thank you.” He’d been practicing a bit of that at Dad’s suggestion and with his help, and had genuinely found the memorizing to be the most arduous part of it all; he’d taken to muttering the trickier, more unwieldy bits of sutra under his breath to practice while watering the plants or doing housework, most days.

“You’re good at it,” Natsume repeats. “I don’t want to make you feel like you’ve got to go and put holes in your ears if you don’t want to but I thought…” he trails off, looking uncertain.

“Thought what?”

He lets out a tight breath, then says, the words jumbling together a bit as though he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t get it out quickly, “I thought you could use them if you still wanted to come apprentice with the Matsuokas too.”

“I do.” He surprises himself with the immediate answer, but it crystallizes inside him even as he says it. “I will.”

Natsume’s eyes go round. “Really?”

“Really.”

Natsume smushes his lips together for a moment before speaking again, the taut look on his face suggesting there’s something before him now that he’s not sure he ought to hope for. “But…your dad—“

“I think Dad’s close to packing my bags himself if I don’t get out of here soon and go do something that doesn’t involve spreadsheets and invoices.” He feels himself smile. “I’d need to wait for the new school term, and don’t think I can do much to help out an exorcist clan, but…”

“You’ll do fine,” Natsume interjects, in a murmur. “I told you that.” And he had; as nerve-wracking as it is for Kaname to consider that he’d be literally blind to so many of the youkai the clan would be taking on, Natsume had said that he’d already met a handful of respected exorcists who worked for or alongside the Matsuokas whose sight for the supernatural was even less than Kaname’s. Some, even, with no sight whatsoever—who, like Dad, could compensate for that fact with knowledge and technique and become formidable in their own right. It’d been a comfort to know, but Kaname can’t say he’s not nervous about getting someone hurt because he couldn’t keep up, or excusing himself to go be sick behind a tree in the middle of some crucial binding or ritual because his body wouldn’t tolerate it.

Still.

“I want to go with you.” It’s out of his mouth before he can even find it in himself to be embarrassed about it. He’s staring at their hands, his own wrapped tightly around Natsume’s cool fingertips like he’ll find himself alone in the kitchen if he lets go.

Some of the creases in Natsume’s forehead soften. “That apartment’s too big for just me,” he says, with a tiny smile, looking down into his cup. “As long as you don’t get yourself eaten.” He pulls a slight grimace. “Or recruited.”

The first option’s more likely than the second, Kaname thinks but doesn’t say. “I won’t if you don’t,” he says instead.

“No chance of that.” Natsume taps the side of his cup with two fingers. “I think Sensei would rather eat me himself than consent to working for an exorcist. It puts him in a bad enough mood to be mistaken for a shiki as it is.”

Natsume had been very clear from the beginning, that his only reason for working with the Matsuokas was to learn to protect people, though Kaname also knows that means doing so without having to harm any ayakashi that ought to be left well enough alone. Kaname’s not sure why any of that has to be mutually exclusive from pursuing exorcism as a career path, but he’s certainly spent less time with exorcists and clan politics than Natsume has. And he can’t say he wouldn’t appreciate Natsume choosing a less dangerous day job.

“You’re sure?” Natsume’s asking him, now. His expression hasn’t changed much, but behind his eyes Kaname can see the years stacked upon years of learning to brace himself for rejection.

“I am."

***

They’re on the veranda now, legs hanging over the edge, the tips of Natsume’s socked toes not quite brushing the mossy carpet below. Heaped on the floorboards between them is what Kaname now realizes is probably an excessive amount of lavender: dried blooms in a glass jar, loose stems fastened with twine into bunches, yet more blooms rather poorly sewn into cotton sachets with simple blessings Dad had helped him write tucked inside. And finally, currently perched atop Natsume’s head where Kaname had placed it on a whim a moment ago, a carefully twisted wreath of pale purple and silvery green.

“You don’t have to use it all,” he tells Natsume, tapping lid of the jar. “Or take it all. It’s a lot.”

Natsume gives him a small sidelong grin, and with those slitted eyes catching and holding the afternoon sun as if it belongs to them, Kaname has to remind himself to breathe.

“Did you leave any for yourself?” Natsume asks wryly.

A soft snort. “Plenty. I had no idea they’d bloom so much this year, after how pitiful it was last year. I harvested most of them twice.”

Kaname’s got a literal dozen plants, the seeds a gift from one of Dad’s associates who’d gotten them on one of his frequent trips to a network of temples in Hokkaido. Kaname had sprouted them in egg cartons and had done his best with them, knowing that plants more suited to a milder climate far to the north would be finicky to say the least. It had taken two years to coax a decent harvest from them, and that had taken digging up a long strip of garden space to fill in with the sand and gravel they needed, and then painstakingly potting and repotting them all to move them between the flowerbed and a sunny storeroom he’d cleared out at the rear of the house when the weather grew too wet. Dad had joked that they’d bloomed so well this year because Kaname had spent so much time mumbling sutra while tending to them, but whatever the case it had been deeply satisfying to cut and hang the bunches of long fragrant stems up to dry when they’d been so scraggly the year before.

Natsume takes a sachet into his hands, holding it gently between his fingers up to his eye level. It turns a faint purple where the afternoon sun lights it from behind.

“I’m not sure it’ll do any actual good in protecting you,” Kaname says, watching him lightly touch his fingertip to the outline of the card where the blessing is inked. “Taki would be better for that. But it’ll make your pillowcases smell nice, at least.”

Natsume brings it up to his face, letting his eyes shutter as it covers his nose and mouth. “It smells like your room,” he says softly. He reaches up to where the wreath is settled in his hair. “This too.”

“Well I’ve got the one on the wall near my bed,” he says, certain he’s failing to sound casual when there’s that rare, unveiled softness in Natsume’s eyes. His tongue feels heavy and strange, and there’s a sensation like so many soda bubbles fizzing and popping in his chest, but he somehow manages to say, “The smell’s relaxing, so I like it there, but. You can put it anywhere you want. Sorry for not tying it so neatly.”

Natsume takes his hand off the wreath, sets it over Kaname’s, fingertips chilled from the refilled cup he’d carried with him. “It’s a good thing the apartment has a big veranda.”

Kaname chuckles, shakes his head. “Not big enough for a dozen large pots. Where would we hang the laundry?”

“We’ll fit them.” Natsume shrugs, tips his head back, looking utterly serene. “Won’t you want them for your tea?”

And that’s about when Kaname can’t take it anymore. He turns, cups Natsume’s face in both hands, and kisses his parted lips.

For the space of a breath, Natsume’s motionless against his mouth, but Kaname barely has the time to start to wonder if he’s done the wrong thing before he can feel the cool grip above his elbows, practically taste the featherlight sigh between lips that have opened wider to move with his own.

When they part, a long lightheaded moment later, Natsume’s reaching up towards his own hair, brows scrunching together, cheeks marvelously flushed under Kaname’s fingers. “Isn’t this poking you in the face?” He taps his makeshift crown.

“Yes,” Kaname says simply, leaning in to peck the very tip of Natsume’s nose.

Natsume bites down on a smile, not quite managing to look disapproving, and not moving to take it off, either. “All the flowers will fall off.”

I’ll make a better one, is what he means to say. What comes out of his mouth instead, entirely unbidden, is, “I missed you.” His voice snags oddly on the last word, and he swallows hard. A month and some change does not warrant falling to pieces on him, Kaname tells himself sternly, a handful of colorful nightmares notwithstanding. He’d made enough of a scene when he’d nearly tackled him at the door, hadn’t he. Still, he doesn’t trust himself to speak until Natsume does, his throat feeling suspiciously thick.

Natsume, for his part, looks a bit stricken, at first. And Kaname has the sudden thought that he’s grappling with the idea of being missed to such a degree in the first place. But the expression shifts soon enough into one of concern, and warmth.

“You won’t have to, for long,” he murmurs, after pulling Kaname back in for a gentle brush of lips across his cheekbone. “I won’t, either.” A lingering pause. Then, “…ah, sorry. That’s got to be stabbing you in the eye, right?”

Kaname blinks when Natsume abruptly pulls away, feeling muzzy and untethered and wanting very much for Natsume to be kissing him again until he realizes that Natsume’s gingerly lifting the wreath off his head. It catches on his hair despite his best efforts, enough to tug a few blossoms loose, and enough to knock aside those strands that have grown out just long enough to fall past his earlobes.

And Kaname couldn’t have pretended not to stare if his life depended on it.

His hand’s up, fingers outstretched before he even realizes. “Can I, um. It’s not going to hurt you or anything if I—”

“No. Go ahead.”

But Kaname’s only just touched the tip of his finger to the outermost hoop—the barest amount of pressure enough to make it lie flat against the bottom of Natsume’s earlobe—when Natsume sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, ducking his head out of Kaname’s reach.

Kaname snaps his hand back, distressed. “I’m sor—”

“No, it tickles.” Natsume straightens back up, rubbing at his ear with more vigor than he probably ought to whether it’s fully healed or not, leaving the metal gleaming against reddened skin.

Kaname raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

The glare Natsume shoots him is truly remarkable, though the effect is somewhat dampened by his mussed hair, the crumbly bits of lavender that have fallen onto his shoulders. Kaname throws his hands up, a picture of innocence, tucking this particular scrap of information away for a later date.

“For what it’s worth, though…” he starts, once he is well and truly sure that Natsume won’t try to scoot himself several meters down the porch and out of his reach; his arms are wrapped loosely around himself and he’s smiling again, though warily. But at that moment Kaname finds himself so thoroughly arrested with love that he couldn’t have launched the anticipated attack if he tried. “For what it’s worth. The earrings look good.”

#I didn't mention it in the fic but I need you all to know #Nishimura is absolutely thrilled by this development #'let me touch them' 'no'#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #natsuyuu #tanunatsu #tanuma kaname #natsume takashi #owlet's fanfic #lizzyeleven #prompt fic #ask meme

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sea-side-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/76358372

Chapter 58

Nick could tell from the start that this party was going to be a success. Everybody visited to congratulate him and to assure him that the Golden God of Rock was back in all his glory. Nick was especially surprised by one guest that was barely seen in public nowadays. People had already started to wonder if he had become antisocial. If his face wasn’t to be seen all over Wellington Wells they could’ve wondered if he even existed.

Well, there he was, smiling warmly, seemingly unaffected by the little stir he had caused.

“Uncle Jack“, Nick said shaking his hand. “I’m so glad you could come.“

“Nick, it’s wonderful to see you again. I must admit I was a tiny bit worried about you.“

“Worried?“, Nick repeated and forced a laugh. “Oh no, there’s nothing to worry about. I just had too good of a time.“ He led Uncle Jack inside.

“I’m glad to hear that. Without you, the town would lose it’s icon.“

Nick laughed again. “But Uncle Jack, you’re the town’s icon.“

“Not to me“, Jack replied in a tone that made Nick look directly at him.

“That’s why I invited you“, he said half joking and half flattered. “You’re always cheering me up.“

“You were doing the same for me, since the first time I saw you.“

Nick lowered his voice. “You remember that?“

“Fondly“, Jack affirmed. “You were young and ambitious, you and The Make Believes, when you appeared in my show for the first time. You were representing a better world, a happier world. I thought from the start that you were exactly what we needed. I must admit that you were also what I needed. I remember playing your first record every day. Without you, I wouldn’t be the same person I am now.“

“It’s mutual, I think…“ Nick said. “We…I wouldn’t be the same without your help.“

“Isn’t it fascinating, how we all depend on each other?“

“Uh…yeah…Isn’t it also wonderful?“

“Indeed. But fragile. One little change can turn everything upside down.“

Jack gave him a meaningful glance. Nick didn’t know what to say about that.

“Ah, well, I don’t mean to waste your time. We both busy men, you and I. Will you give a performance later?“

“Uh…sure.“

“Splendid! I’m looking forward to that. See you around.“

When Uncle Jack left, Nick noticed that his heart was pounding heavily and he was clinging to a side table as if he was about to fall over.

“Are you okay?“ Morrie approached him, having squeezed himself through a group of admirers.

“Yeah…just…having a break…“, Nick assured him.

Morrie gestured towards the famous host. “He’s a real surprise, right? I thought he doesn’t show up in public anymore.“

“Yeah, me too. But he’s very happy to see me…us again.“

Morrie’s expression changed. He looked at Jack and then back at Nick.

“Only in my dreams, Morrie“, Nick said poking his lover’s shoulder. “He’s a fan, that’s all.“

Morrie relaxed again and Nick let go of the table.

“Are you okay?“, he returned the question to his lover.

“I’m getting there“, Morrie answered. “I’m looking forward to get on stage again. These celebrities come too close and keep asking the same questions.“

“So, nothing changed.“ Nick gave him a smile.

It didn’t take long until a new crowd was gathering around the two stars and Nick gave them all his attention until he managed to get away. But then Morrie was also gone.

Nick knew he couldn’t stick to him all night but he wanted to make sure he was in a good mood most of the time.

Suddenly, a flashlight caught his eye. Nick quickly posed for the camera and then found out who the photographer was.

Of course he was there!

If not for Nick, then for doing his job.

Nick looked at him in silence for too long to be natural, before he walked over to him and casually shook his hand.

“Hi Arthur. You’re having fun?“, he said very unnaturally.

Also Arthur looked uncomfortable.

“Can I talk to you in private?“, he only asked.

“Sure. Uh…follow me.“

Nick led him out of the crowded room, inwardly praying that Morrie didn’t see him. There was no way to hide that he was walking upstairs with another man.

He also hesitated about where to go. He didn’t want to be caught in his bedroom with Arthur, but he also didn’t want to go into the guest room where Morrie slept, so he hurried into the storage room instead. Arthur was probably confused.

“No one will expect us here“, Nick shortly explained before he went back to the point. “So…what did you want to tell me?“ He noticed it came out colder than it was supposed to.

Arthur was taken aback by all this. There was something off in Nick’s behaviour that made him afraid he had misjudged their relationship.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?“, he gave the question back.

“Hey, don’t make this confusing. I asked you first“. Nick made an effort to sound playful.

“Do you remember anything I told you? Or did you take Joy and forgot?“

The playful manner vanished. “I remember everything you said.“

“So why the fuck do you have nothing to say?“, Arthur suddenly blurted out. “Is that why you didn’t come back? Because you don’t care?“

“Now, wait, I just wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself!“, Nick said with held up hands.

“Explain myself? All I asked you for was a place in your life!“

“Oh, no, that’s not what you said! I might look like a stupid Wellie but I remember it all! You said you’re gonna leave the town!“

“Come on, Nick! You never complained about my unusual thoughts before! I thought you wouldn’t make a fuss about it!“

“Is this a joke? What were you thinking? Why did you bother me if you wanted to leave anyway? Do you have any idea how risky it was to meet you? To let you into my house? This could’ve ended my career for good!“

“I had the feeling you enjoyed our meetings!“, Arthur snapped back. “And sorry for risking your career while I only risked my bloody life for you!“

“Oh, I’m sorry too! It must be hard to get the thrills as a Downer! Of course you needed a rock star to cheer you up before you go! I was so blind!“ Nick rolled his eyes.

“Nick, you completely miss the point!“, Arthur was almost begging now. “Are you trying to avoid an answer or do you really not get it?“

“I got it all, don’t you worry! It’s either I abandon my whole life for you or you’ll say ’Bye, Nicky! It was nice with you but now I’ll get myself a new playmate!’

“What?“ Arthur was shocked. “Do you think that’s what you are?“

“Well, what else should I think?“

They eyed each other.

“Okay…just forget what I said about leaving the town“, Arthur tried to save the conversation. “Just forget it! I was only thinking out loud, okay?“

Nick furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand.“

“Can you answer me one simple question, Nick?“ His eyes were pleading.

Nick could barely look at him. He felt like now was the last chance to run away from all this. But it would be so unfair. Arthur had the right to be heard. So Nick nodded.

“Will you let me into your life? Will you share your bed with me so I can wake up every morning with you by my side? Will you allow me to stay near you so I can spend all the little moments of everyday life with you as if we were a normal couple? As if nothing about me was weird? Will you do that for me, Nick?“

Once again this evening, Nick’s heart was racing.

He realized that Arthur’s feelings were true, no matter how twisted his mind eventually was.

This was all wrong. Or was it?

Nick grabbed his hair, nervous and ashamed. “Oh, Arthur…I…that would be wonderful…but what does it matter if it’s gonna be over anyway?“

“Don’t think about that for now“, Arthur urged him. They’d find a way, right? Perhaps Nick would accidentally forget to take his pills or something…for an hour or so…and see the truth. He was definitely not putting Percy behind his own well-being, right?

“We don’t have to run away immediately. We could prepare. Or stay…it doesn’t matter. Just think about us.“

Nick pressed his eyes shut. “Arthur…“ He gulped. “I don’t have much hope…for us…“ It tasted awful to say. “You are so determined about leaving…I see it’s very important to you to get out of here…you never tried to…fit back in…even though you have many options…“

He stared at somewhere in a corner while he felt Arthur’s gaze on him. “But I…this is my home…I love this town. It’s not perfect, but…I’m neither. Letting me out is probably not a good idea“, he tried to joke, but Arthur’s look made him stop.

“You…you mean…“ Arthur sounded like he was at the edge of tears. “You are…?“ He couldn’t finish this sentence.

“Arthur, believe me, I’d love to live with you! But if you plan to leave, then…I…I’m afraid I’m not the right one for you.“

The last words came out very quiet. Still, to Arthur they felt as subtle as hitting him in the stomach with a hammer.

“You’re breaking up with me? Just like that?“, he shouted.

“I…I think it’s better for both of us…“ Nick lamely said.

“But Nick, you can’t do that to me! I’m sorry if I upset you! Why don’t we…forget it all and start over again? We might be an odd couple, but I think it’s worth it!“

Nick had to fight back his own tears. He should’ve felt better, finally coming to terms with what he wanted. But it felt like watching an execution.

“I’m sorry, Arthur…I think we should part ways…I’m thankful for what you did for me…“

“No, you’re not!“, Arthur snapped. “You used me just like everyone else! You didn’t even plan to tell me about it, right? You didn’t show up, I had to look for you again! Did you hope I forget?“

“I…I thought you’ll leave…“

“How wonderful! All this time I was worried about you, you’ve already abandoned me! And you don’t care! That’s low even for your standards!“

“Arthur, I’m sorry…“

“No, you’re not! But thanks for telling me that I don’t have to waste more time on you! And now I know that everything they say about you is true! And you’re right, you should stay here! This hellhole is exactly where you belong! But don’t complain later if you starve…or get poisoned…or start to talk backwards…!“

Ranting, he ran out of the room.

Nick darted after him. “Arthur!“, he yelled. “Arthur, wait!“

Then he dashed into Morrie and froze.

“Just go on“, Morrie said sarcastically. “Don’t let me stop you two with whatever you’re doing.“

Nick stared at Arthur who was disappearing in a crowd of happily chattering guests, leaving forever this time, and Nick could only watch. His look must’ve said everything.

“Morrie, believe me, this is not about us!“

“Oh, no, it’s about you and him. I got that.“

“I really need to go after him!“, Nick begged, eyeing the group the Downer had merged into.

“Would you mind if I come with you?,“ Morrie asked cooly.

Nick gave him a look.

“Alright, I get it. I wonder what a petty explanation you’ll have for this. But don’t expect me to believe you this time.“

“Morrie!“

“No, don’t ’Morrie’ me!“, his lover snapped. “I’m done with your excuses! I’m done with explaining myself! I told you everything and it just doesn’t work! I gave you so many chances!“

Nick backed away. “Listen to yourself! You sound like you caught me in bed with him, but none of that happened!“

“Not today!“, Morrie countered. “That’s what you learned in all those years! You’re not so stupid to betray me on front of my eyes! But I’m not stupid either, Norbert!“

“Ssshhh!“ Nick gestured wildly.

“What? Still afraid of your own name? As if your whole image would fall apart if it came out? It should’ve been a warning for me! Everything about you is fake! You’re built on lies, with a fake name, fake hair, fake beard and songs that aren’t yours…You’re so proud of your lies, right, Norbert?“

“What does that have to do with anything? Why did you come back to me if you hate everything about me?“

“Because I thought there was a better person under all these layers! The one I remember! But did he ever exist, or was that another lie you’re proud of?“

“I don’t know what you mean…I’m just myself…“

“I was afraid you’d say that! Then why did you promise me to change yourself if that’s not your plan at all?“

“I…I’m trying to do what you want…If that’s so important to you…but Morrie, I’m not a teenager anymore! You changed too!“

“Not as much as you! You sold yourself to become a star! I still have my pride!“

“Right, you never liked it… You never understood…That’s why you had no success as a solo star! You hate the press, you hate your fans, you hate other musicians and then you wonder why nobody likes you! You blame it all on me but you never admit your own mistakes!“

Morrie’s face turned a bit more pale, his expression could’ve been described as upset or shocked.

“I also thought you’d change“, Nick went on. “But the longer I live with you the more you act like the hater you’ve been before, just waiting for me to make another mistake you can hate me for. Maybe we’ve both been living a lie.“

“All I ask you for is one simple thing! Don’t lie to me!“

“And I asked you to trust me!“

“I’m sorry, but I know when you’re lying! Do you expect me to ignore that?“

“You could trust me to sort it out…“

“Oh, great!“, Morrie’s words were tripping with sarcasm. “How long will that take? Do you think I’ll be waiting forever until you make up your mind?“

“I’m sorry, but…I can’t…“ Nick stuttered and then ran upstairs to the third floor.

“Where are you going?“ Morrie followed him immediately.

Nick didn’t answer. He ran all the way to his dressing room and locked the door behind him. He heard Morrie shout after him while he opened the entrance to his secret hideout.

Inside, it was all quiet. He didn’t even hear the party down there.

Falling on a padded seat, he let all the tears flow.

Well, it looked like he was alone again.

At least he felt alone.

As if all he could do was to make people run away from him.

He knew he had to go to Arthur if he wanted to see him again before it was too late. But then again, what was he supposed to say?

It was like their love never had a chance and there was nothing he could do about it. But there were so many words he shouldn’t have said…so much that Arthur didn’t deserve. They shouldn’t part like this after all this time.

Still, he didn’t dare to go and at the same time he hated himself for it.

Could Arthur even leave like that? What would they do to him if they caught him? Skippers were to be punished, that he knew.

But if Arthur wanted to go so badly, what could he do about it?

Well, he could at least say sorry, tell him that he cared and that he wished him all the luck in the world, that he’ll find a place to life in peace.

Yeah, that he could do.

That was what he owed him.

But Morrie was already on edge. If he went away tonight, would their love survive this?

Perhaps he had to trust Morrie to do the right thing.

Nick sighed deeply. His body was shaking and he had run out of tears. He’d either go and try to fix what he broke or stay here and perish, because he couldn’t stand himself anymore.

“You might lose both of them.“ James’ warning echoed in his head when he finally left his hideout. It was already dark and the music had stopped. There were only a few drunken guests lying on the floor, that barely noticed him. Nick thought he was alone when he walked into the cold and starless night.

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #arthur hastings we happy few #whfarthurhastings #whfarthur #nick lightbearer #whf nick #whfnick #nicklightbearer #whfnicklightbearer #morrie memento #nickxmorrie #nickxarthur #uncle jack #foggy jack

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therealsaintscully · 4 years

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My list of X-Files inspired BBC Sherlock fic prompts

I recently finished reading @88thparallel‘s fabulous “Written in Ashes”, a BBC Sherlock fic inspired by the X-Files episode Demons. I’m a huge X-Files fan myself, and the idea of adapting an XF story into a Sherlock one sent me down a rabbit hole. I decided to compose a list of ideas, all up for grabs, for X-Files plots that can be adapted in interesting ways to a BBC Sherlock casefics.

Below you’ll find a list of X-Files episode with their original description, and some suggestions based on my knowledge of the two shows of what makes the plot an interesting one to write. As I mentioned, these ideas are PROMPTS, suggestions - feel free to write them. In fact it’ll be my honor! Let me know if and when you do (I might even create a collection for them in AO3).

Ice (1x07) - Mulder and Scully investigate the death of an Alaskan research team. Isolated and alone, the agents and their accompanying team discover the existence of extraterrestrial parasitic organisms that drive their hosts into impulsive fits of rage. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: extreme nature adventures (mountains, snow, remote research facilities); isolated together with strangers in a distant location (Ice was supposed to be a bottle episode); a lot of suspense as Mulder and Scully’s trust in each other is put to the test (a handgun showdown), physical inspections rife with sexual tension, ooo!

Darkness Falls (1x19) - Mulder and Scully are called in to investigate when a team of loggers disappear without a trace. Initially suspecting eco-terrorism, the agents find themselves trapped by a seemingly ancient menace lurking in the woods. According to Wikipedia, “Chris Carter was inspired to write this episode based on an interest in dendrochronology (sic? that’s how it’s spelled in wikipedia), a subject that involves analyzing annual growth rings found in non-tropical tree species.” An interesting topic to develop! Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: Just like in Ice, opportunity to write magnificent nature descriptions; also like in Ice, Mulder and Scully have to fend to themselves against the ‘others’; wonderful quotes such as “Rugged manly-men. In the full bloom of their manhood.” and “Come on, Scully. It'll be a nice trip to the forest." A Three Garridebs moment could work here!

Pusher (3x17) - Ah, Pusher. An early Vince Gilligan classic! Mulder and Scully’s assistance is requested for a case involving a man, who goes by the pseudonym "Pusher", seemingly capable of bending people to his will. The suspect uses his mysterious abilities to manipulate Mulder into a dangerous end game. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: Many parallels can be found between Modell and Eurus and or Moriarty; the game of cat and mouse in hopes of luring Mulder as the end game is quite similar to the TFP/TGG; the final game of Russian roulette with Mulder at the end is a classic MSR scene which could be lovely to write for John and Sherlock (Gillian is amazing with that One Tear™ while she threatens Modell); an opportunity to instill a fear of a very specific shade of blue in your readers; a chance of a sequel, since Modell returns with a vengeance in Kitsunegari.

Jose Chung's From Outer Space (3X20) - Mulder and Scully hear, and promptly investigate, a story about an alien abduction of two teenagers. Each witness provides a different version of the same facts. Within the episode, a thriller novelist, Jose Chung, writes a book about the incident. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: Humor! Lots and lots self-aware, meta-type inner-jokes humor as an observant book writer describes Mulder/Sherlock’s many weird traits.

Avatar (3x21) - Assistant Director Walter Skinner is accused of murdering a prostitute, Mulder and Scully investigate to determine the truth behind what happened. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: A fine chance to turn Skinner into Sholto or one of John’s other army friends (Skinner discusses trauma from his days in Vietnam in this episode, which could be adapted to Afghanistan). John Asks for Sherlock’s help on behalf of Sholto/said friend and there’s a thrilling prospect of some good old jealousy :) *After writing this I kinda fell in love with this idea and I might attempt writing this, but I’m absolutely not claiming this exclusively! If you like the idea go ahead!

Paper Hearts (4X08) - Another Vince Gilligan episode, my go-to one these days for when I miss the show and need a good dose of Mulder and Scully. I can go on and on about why I love this episode but I’ll spare you from that right now ;) Mulder and Scully find that a child killer who Mulder had helped to apprehend several years earlier had claimed more victims than he had confessed to; and in the resulting investigation, learn that the killer is now claiming to have killed Mulder's sister Samantha. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: The Alice in Wonderland theme in the episode is somewhat reminiscent of the Hansel and Gretel theme from TRF so Moriarty could be one way to go; another way to go is have Eurus as a villain in a TFP plot fix-it (if you find the Sherrinford plot exaggerated), with Sherlock’s hope of finding Victor’s body by the end of the game.

Zero Sum (4x21) - In the episode, a case Mulder is asked to investigate is covertly covered up by the agents' boss Walter Skinner, who has made a sinister bargain with The Smoking Man. Scully is missing in this episode (Mulder cites her cancer treatments; Gillian Anderson was filming something else at the time). Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: A wonderful opportunity for a Lestrade-as-Skinner story! (and you’re given a fine chance to write a Lestade naked with nothing but pants situation); Mulder is a bit lost without Scully in this episode so that’s added background Johnlock angst; the story can happen when John is away, either during his honeymoon or after Mary dies.

The Pine Bluff Variant (5x18) - This is an underrated episode which I quite like, personally. Scully grows suspicious of Mulder when she thinks he may be helping a terrorist organization. Scully begins to wonder if he is now a traitor to the FBI. It is eventually revealed that Mulder is working as a mole in the group, and he is trying to stop them before they are able to use a biological weapon—that may have been created by members of the U.S. government—which causes rapid degeneration of human flesh. Cool plot points you might enjoy: alternating POVs between Sherlock and John; a lot of tension between John and Sherlock while John is suspicious; Mycroft recruiting Sherlock to appear as a traitor.

Triangle (6x03) - What can I possibly say about Triangle that hadn’t been said before? Cool plot points you might enjoy: An AU-within-AU opportunity - a chance for John and Sherlock to meet in a WW2 era, saved by rebel-Nazi Lestrade, Sherlock’s irregulars are The Lone Gunmen, a kiss, a punch, “You’re my one in five billion” (remember when there 5 billion people on this planet?) :) If you do write this, please make sure present John and past John pass each other by and get a strange, tingling sensation as a result! It’s one of my favorite scenes in the entire show.

Dreamland I & II (6x04 and 6x05) - Mulder and Scully visit Area 51. But when the agents witness the flight of a mysterious craft, Mulder and a member of the Men in Black switch bodies, unbeknownst to the others. In part two, Scully begins to suspect that her partner's strange behavior is more than it appears to be, while Mulder fights to return his life to normal before it is too late. Cool plot points you might enjoy: Humor, humor and more humor. Mostly Morris Fletcher trying to bed John (=Scully) who promptly pulls a gun on him. That should be an awesome scene to write in and of itself. And let’s not forget “Lately, for lunch, you've been having this six-ounce cup of yogurt, plain yogurt, into which you stir bee pollen because you're on a bee pollen kick even though I tell you you're a doctor and you should know better.“ as well as “I’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly.”

Tithonus (6x09) - Another underrated episode. I think it deals with the theme of death’s inevitability rather beautifully. Scully learns that she, but not Mulder, is being given a chance to prove her worth at the FBI, and—paired with a new partner—she investigates a crime scene photographer with an uncanny knack for arriving just in time to see his victims' final moments. What she does not expect, however, is for Death to play a role himself. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: John exploring on his own, for one reason or another, attached to another investigator (things happen!); this episode further explores a theory referred throughout the show since Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose, that Dana Scully is immortal (she seems to avoid death in this episode as well). It’s an Appointment in Samarra sort of story.

Monday (6x15) - Mulder and Scully are stuck in a deadly time loop. It’s a story that writes itself! Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: Sherlock or John having a really bad morning, over and over again.

Alpha (6x16) - Mulder and Scully investigate several killings blamed on an Asian dog called the Wanshang Dhole, thought to be extinct. Mulder and Scully join an obstinate Sheriff, a seemingly eccentric hunter, and a reclusive canine expert to find it. However, there is more mystery to the expert than meets the eye. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: I enjoy this episode because it has some gentle but obvious MSR moments. Scully is suspicious (and low-key jealous) of Karin Berquist’s involvement in the case and it colors her opinion of the investigation. A key quote in this episode, preformed softly and beautifully by Gillian, is: “She's enamored of you Mulder. Don't underestimate a woman. They can be tricksters, too.”

The Unnatural (6x17) - This is a weird ass episode, let’s admit it. This is DD’s love story to baseball and it’s silly and sometimes boring/slow. BUT, it has lovely MRS moments. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: The structure of story within a story (Mulder retells his time spent with Arthur Dales who tells him the story of Josh Exley) is interesting enough. The opening and closing scenes are lovely as well of course!

X-Cops (7x12) - Mulder and Scully are interviewed for the Fox reality television program Cops during an X-Files investigation. Mulder, hunting what he believes to be a werewolf, discovers that the monster terrorizing people instead feeds on fear. While Mulder embraces the publicity of Cops, Scully is more uncomfortable about appearing on national television. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: It’s your chance to write a Sherlock crossver fic about an X-Files crossover episode. If that’s not cool, I don’t no what is.

Hollywood A.D. (7x18) - Let’s admit it, Hollywood A.D is not a good episode, as funny as it is. This episode was one of the first signs the show had lost its edge, possibly because they thought this would be their truly-this-time last season. However, it IS funny and gave rise to fans claims that by this point, Mulder and Scully were Definitely Sleeping Together. Wayne Federman, an entrepreneurial Hollywood producer and college friend of Walter Skinner picks up the idea for a film based on the X-Files, however Mulder and Scully find that the level of realism in their fictional portrayal is somewhat questionable. Meanwhile, during the filming of the movie, Mulder and Scully research the mysterious "Lazarus Bowl", an artifact that supposedly has the exact words that Jesus Christ spoke to raise Lazarus from the dead recorded on its surface. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: Lots of inner-jokes and crack humor, many fluffy moments, the chance to imagine who’ll play Lestrade, Sherlock and John in a BBC Film, Lazarus could refer to The Fall(!), which could be the plot to said film.

The X-Files: I Want to Believe - Mulder and Scully have both left the FBI, but when an FBI agent is mysteriously kidnapped, and a former priest who has been convicted of being a child molester claims to be experiencing psychic visions of the endangered agent, they reluctantly accept the FBI's request for their paranormal expertise. I know, I know. Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t like it either at first, but a) compared to the revival seasons, it’s not that bad and b) in terms of established relationship angst, it’s a fucking goldmine. Cool plot points you might enjoy writing: A chance to write a post-recent-retirement fic for Sherlock and John, with a lot of tension in their established relationship based around John’s reluctance to return to their lives as investigators. IWTB has quotes like “This isn't my life anymore, Mulder. I'm done chasing monsters in the dark.” and “This stubbornness of yours, it's why I fell in love with you.” So there! Don’t dismiss the idea so quickly!

Wow, this turned out longer than I expected! I hope you liked them, and even if you don’t write anything - I definitely enjoyed this exercise.

My finished fics are ready to be read on AO3 :)

#bbc sherlock #sherlock fic #sherlock fic prompts #x-files #the x files #sherlock/x-files crossovers #john watson #sherlock holmes #dana scully #fox mulder

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seyaryminamoto · 4 years

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What would you have thought if the Kumurikage from the Avatar comics were real, and not a hoax? And that it really was the spirits that kidnapped the kids. And that the kidnappings were the spirits way of “restoring balance to the world” by making the fire nation pay for their crimes. And that Aang(and possibly Azula) must figure out a way to stop the kidnappings and figure out how to applease the spirits.

Well, damn, Anon... you see, I generally just don’t like the overuse of spiritual beings that a lot of post-canon ATLA content has relied on. Spirits, as LOK Book 2 proved, have to be handled in a very thoughtful way and canon doesn’t often do that, at least not in the comics and in LOK. ATLA Books 1 and 2 did it really well because spirits felt utterly unpredictable, from the most inoffensive ones to the most dangerous ones. You absolutely could feel that there was something otherworldly to how they behaved, to how they saw the world... whereas I never had that same feeling when I read Yang’s comics (nor with LOK Book 2). Whether because the spirits had some remarkably simple, even human-like motivations, or because they were easily roped into service of a human just because the plot demanded it (Unalaq... just, Unalaq...), it just felt off, and the Kemurikage might feel off similarly if they’re not handled properly.

I guess the thing is... even just the concept of spirits stealing kids to make the Fire Nation pay for their crimes sounds like they’d be too concerned with human reality? And I’m not sure that’d really suit spirits, at least, not the way I like to see them...

To break down what I mean: Hei Bai gets angry that the forest was burned down, and goes on a rampage that affects humans all around. Hei Bai saw no difference, fundamentally, between the humans who destroyed and the humans who didn’t... until Aang showed him the forest could be regrown. Hei Bai wasn’t attacking the village because he blamed the villagers... he was attacking in retaliation for the forest burning, an emotional, volatile reaction that only stopped when his problem was, more or less, resolved. It was irrational entirely, and highly dangerous because there was no telling just what the spirit was doing or if his actions would do a lot of harm to innocent people.

Secondly, Koh: what does Koh obtain from stealing faces? I mean, sure, he has a collection of faces, but they serve no particular purpose, do they? If he just wants to kill for the thrill of it, he doesn’t need to steal anyone’s face for it. Yet... stealing faces is what he does. That’s his power. It’s cruel, it’s creepy, it’s the subject of horror films, really xD and part of what makes it terrifying is that in the case of Koh, there’s NO REASON, no stated logic to it, he just does it because he has that power and finds amusement in destroying lives the way he does. Koh steals from animals, from humans, from spirits, from whatever he wants... just because he can. It’s not all that different from the reasoning of the Fire Nation, attacking and destroying just because they can: in fact, the Fire Nation has more ideological basis for what they do, more reasons behind which to make excuses for the destruction they’ve waged, than Koh does. Neither, of course, is justified, but Koh is notoriously unnatural because... this is just what Koh IS. A face-stealer. He gives zero shits about hurting anyone, probably even finds amusement in it... this guy is one nasty piece of work, and he’s a spirit. Which tells you... spirits aren’t simply pure and good beings. There’s some like Koh who are DEADLY. That he has no sob story (in the show) only makes him extra daunting and effective.

Thirdly... Wan Shi Tong. This guy is probably the most straightforward of all, and precisely because of that, he’s really interesting and I despise how he was written in LOK :’D but in ATLA, Wan Shi Tong outright says one of the most poignant lines of the show when he tells Team Avatar that they’re not the only ones who think their war is justified. It’s not an excuse of the Fire Nation, obviously not: but it’s criticism of war as a whole, of human violence perpetrated for whatever their reasons may be. Wan Shi Tong doesn’t give a flying fuck about their reasons, Fire Nation or not: he only cares about his library and knowledge. If these people put his library and its contents at risk over a war he must consider pathetic...? He’s not going to take it lying down. Like Hei Bai, who prioritizes his forest, Wan Shi Tong prioritizes his library and acquiring knowledge: anything that threatens his potential acquisition and preservation of knowledge is the ultimate offense against this creature. If humans are going to bring their violence into his library, he’ll be violent right back to protect his knowledge. And he’ll also isolate himself by sinking his library as deep as he wishes because... why wouldn’t he? xD if he wants to keep humans away, there’s no better way to do so than to keep his library to himself.

These three examples show there’s an inhumane simplicity to these spirits: they’re absolutely bound to be violent for their own reasons, when what they prize most is in danger, for instance. There’s also those who are dangerous just because they can, like Koh: then there’s others who are good and helpful to humans, like Tui and La (then you even have La as an example: when Tui is killed, La goes on a rampage against the killer, taking advantage of Aang’s spiritual power to do so, but La absolutely targets the enemy, La doesn’t murder the Water Tribe people willy-nilly), or even the lion-turtles. Basically? You never know what you get with spirits, and that’s the part that was really interesting about them in ATLA. The lion-turtles do feel a little more convenient and helpful because the whole role of the creature was to bestow power upon Aang just because... but there’s a shroud of mystery around it that still works, you know? No one knows where the lion-turtle took Aang, how it entranced him, why it showed up right then and there... it’s still mysterious enough that it works, as far as I can tell.

Meanwhile, LOK simplified matters so much... even featuring Wan Shi Tong somehow striking an alliance with Unalaq and being supportive of Vaatu? Why would he give a flying fuck about Unalaq and Vaatu? Why would he help them kidnap Jinora? What does that have to do with Wan Shi Tong’s long-established priority: knowledge? Instead, they featured him saying that Unalaq “was a good friend to the spirits”. Like... like the spirits are nationalistic or something? Why would it matter one bit to Wan Shi Tong if Unalaq wants Vaatu’s kite? :’D and that’s exactly what I’m referring to when I say that I dislike spirits serving human purposes: it steals from the otherworldly, starkly non-human behavior of these entities, and renders them as simple plot devices rather than actual characters.

As for Yang... I hate the Mother of Faces. Her design is interesting, but not only is she profoundly inconsistent, she destroyed part of what made Koh so intriguing by establishing a completely confusing concept of spirit motherhood and by playing it as though Koh steals faces “to feel closer to his mommy”. Why... why would you do this. Why would anyone feel the need to do this. Why would they need any connection in the first place. Why would that connection have anything to do with the Mother of Faces turning into a lamp genie and handing out wishes left and right, when she had already established she only granted ONE WISH per human encounter... *siiiiiiiiiigh* it feels so wrong to me, and it again makes spirits so unnecessarily human. Why. Just... why.

Thus, I wouldn’t want the Kemurikage to be real if they would only turn out... like that. Stealing Fire Nation children in some sort of vindictive spree to punish the Fire Nation when the war is FINALLY over...? It sounds a little weird. With the storyline established by the comic itself (though I’d honestly never hold that too close to heart, I really disliked that so-called origin of the Fire Nation...), these spirits came to be because a warlord stole all their children and they were taking revenge for that. That, at least, still sounds in-line with the logic that spirits have a specific purpose in mind, right? So... if no one’s stealing children, they probably shouldn’t show up to steal them themselves spontaneously. If they were concerned with the war and the Fire Nation’s lack of balance, they could’ve punished the Fire Nation back when Sozin was in power since that’s when it all began. Why punish it when Zuko shows up and ends the war?

In the end... I’d say if there’s no clear means to keep the spirits in question as otherworldly and non-human as possible, I don’t want stories with spirits. I think, for a story where spirits force Aang to work with Azula somehow to protect the Fire Nation, we’d need a wholly different concept, and not the Kemurikage. Just to use a quick and REALLY SOLID example from Inuyasha... there’s a spirit there from a one-time episode that plays a flute to guide the souls of dead children whether to heaven or hell. Its eyes are closed when everything’s going well, but if a child resists, the eyes start to open and if they open fully... it means the kid’s going to hell. Dark, ey? It’s a single episode and yet it nearly made me cry xD but the point of the comparison is... this spirit has a duty, of a sort. It’s not “stealing” children, it’s herding them off to the next life. What happens in the episode is that one particular soul of a very bitter and frustrated little girl refuses to heed the soul piper’s call because she’s taking “revenge” on her brother, whom she blames for her death (along with her mother): the girl’s defiance results in the spirit nearly dragging her to hell, and the protagonist has to do everything she can to rescue the girl’s spirit and in the end, the girl’s realization that she’d misunderstood her mother and brother, who of course never wanted her dead, makes her change her mind about them and the spirit gives her a second chance when it senses she’s changed indeed. There’s no morality to the duty of the piper, not really: if the child’s a rotten apple, it goes to hell. Unless the child proves NOT to be a rotten apple, as the girl did last minute, there’s no changing the spirit’s mind. If the child’s a good kid, the spirit will just herd the child off and nothing bad happens.

How to apply a story like this to ATLA? Well, it’s obviously hard to say xD but my point is... if any other spirits would show up in future stories, if there’s going to be any more of them doing... anything? It should be along the likes of Books 1 and 2, or like this soul piper. A spirit with its own concerns, with its own duties, who either coexists with humans peacefully or exists completely apart from them until whatever they care about is threatened... but not a spirit that goes on a furious rampage against humans because the crush who friendzoned him died and he assumes humans killed her. Not a spirit who has an established behavior that she then sets aside immediatley just because. Not a spirit that has some sort of random stake on the state of the human world when that’s not their dwelling and they probably see little to no difference between warring nations. Hence... the Kemurikage as a concept probably would be best off left, in my opinion, as a matter of lore rather than anything that should be making a comeback in Zuko’s era. If some other spiritual entity causes trouble in the future, I’d rather it were written with a different set of beliefs and understanding of the world rather than making them excessively human... the way all of Yang’s spirits were. Just... defeats the purpose of making them spirits if they’re essentialy humans with fancy weird powers beyond bending.

... At any rate, I’m not saying there’s anything inherently wrong with taking this storytelling route... just that I, personally, don’t find the Kemurikage all that interesting as a concept, not as the spirits they’re supposed to be, not as villainous entities. If you, personally, want to write this, you’re 100% free to do so and to explore these sorts of storylines. Just... it’s not my cup of tea, and I doubt it ever will be.

#anon #when it comes to spirits #I have too many ~opinions~#I'm sorry if this sounds discouraging #that's not the intent #you can absolutely set up stories for Azula to end up helping Aang in different ways too #at least that's how I'd go about it #but if you want to go about it this way #you're absolutely free to do so #zero judgment here!

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pi-cat000 · 5 years

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MSA: Take Two (part 12)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Part 13: here?

Lewis clears his throat and Arthur glances away, searching the room for inspiration. Nothing comes to mind and they both shuffle about in awkward silence.

“Well,” Vivi starts, drawing out the word to break the stiff atmosphere, “This is nice. We’re all getting along and no one is mad at anyone.”

Lewis coughs, appearing somewhat guilty, “Yeah…ah… sorry about freaking you out back in the van. It must have been strange…to see me.” They’d definitely figured out that his alternate-version-Lewis had died in that cave. That was fine. As long as they never found out how Arthur had died then it was all fine. The only one to ever know would be Mystery and, going off experience, he knows Mystery can keep a secret.

“Not your fault,” Arthur is quick to reassure, “It was just… a shock.”

A spark of electricity emphasises the statement and Lewis blinks, surprised at the joke. It does help to lighten the mood somewhat.

Vivi lets out a snort, “Nice.”

“What can I say, there’s a whole field of electricity-related jokes.”

“Stop that,” She teases. Lewis's mouth twitches into a smile. Vivi seems to take that as a queue to elbow Lewis forward a few more steps so they are no longer standing in the doorway. As they inch their way into the room Arthur realises he has inadvertently drifted back into the far corner again.

“…I’m surprised my counterpart didn’t beat me to it,” he comments both to distract himself from his nerves and because he’s curious. Vivi has already mentioned the other Arthur and, seeing as Lewis is very alive and acting normal, he wants to know how the younger Arthur is handling everything. Surely, if his younger self is alive and well, then he would have tested out a range of jokes by now, being stuck in the hospital and bored out of his brain.

The troubled expression on Lewis’s face and Vivi’s sigh has him thinking it might not be all sunshine and roses. What if the other him was sick and dying of an infection… or something worse! What if the reason this Lewis cared so much was because the other Arthur wasn’t long for this world and he needed a convenient Arthur replacement!

“He’s okay right?” He asks anxiously, trying not let the sudden paranoia overwhelm him. The other Arthur can’t die! If he did, then everything was for nothing.

“Oh, he’s doing fine, physically at least. He’s being discharged from hospital in a few days.”

He slumps with relief. “That’s good to hear.”

In his timeline he had spent almost a month in the hospital, fluctuating between catatonic and various states of panic. Then there had been another month of visiting every few days for therapy. He could see how, with the support of both Vivi and Lewis, this Arthur would be better equipped to bounce back from the horror that had been the cave. And yet…

“He’s been quieter…” Lewis mutters, scanning him, making Arthur twitch, “You know what’s bothering him?”

Damn. He had forgotten how perceptive Lewis was. He scans the other man, searching for the rage he knows isn’t there. All he sees is concern. Arthur frowns, turning his thoughts inward, trying to ignore Lewis’s presence. If his hazy memories from before the cave were accurate then this current Arthur was going through his weird ‘Vivi and Lewis don’t actually like me’ phase. All overdramatic nonsense in hindsight because it was pretty obvious, going off the affection in Lewis and Vivi’s voices, that they cared for their Arthur immensely. But, his younger, idiot self wouldn’t be picking up on that. He would probably notice if Lewis and Vivi starting keeping secrets.

“You told him what happened right?”

“…” The uncomfortable expressions worn by both Lewis and Vivi sits like a led stone in his non-existent stomach,

“…About what happened with the possession, mind control stuff? You told him about it right?” He continues, agitated.

“Ah. No. Not yet. He didn’t remember any of it when he woke up.”

“We thought it was better to let him recover a bit more,” Vivi finishes, before continuing cautiously, “Does he remember?”

“No. I mean, I didn’t…not at first. But trust me when I say that whatever conclusion he comes to won’t be good. He’s probably thinking it’s his fault or something. Don’t wait. Tell him. Tell him as soon as possible. It will help. ”

“We will,” Vivi placates, worried, “We wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

“Good,” Arthur nods, happy he can save them- and his younger counterpart- this small amount of heartbreak.

Lewis, who has lapsed into contemplative silence gives an upset exhale. “It’s not your fault.”

Arthur freezes.

“Lewis…” Vivi tries to intersect but Lewis continues.

“You said Arthur would blame himself…Well, it’s not your fault either. Whatever happened before, in that other time, I’m sure I didn’t blame you.”

Crack. The electricity around him buzzes, sizzling, agitated. It feels like his whole head is filling with cotton, muffling his thoughts. Slowly, he processes the words, staring at Lewis. At his concerned expression. At his sympathy.

The regret, which had been sitting at the back of his mind in a haze of static, ramps up, drowning out Lewis’s confused follow-up question

“Arthur?” Vivi also questions, noticing him freeze.

“Stay back,” he snaps, more for his benefit than worry for her safety. That intense emotional pressure is back and growing steadily stronger. Lightning flashes and his whole form flickers. The desk lamp sparks then explodes like the ceiling light. The air crackles angrily.

There is a flash of red and the sound of books and furniture being knocked over as Mystery’s kitsune form fills up the room, forcing Vivi and Lewis away. Next comes the unpleasant sensation of having his heart-thing yanked and sudden loss of his solid human-like form.

“Mystery! What are you doing?”

/Apologies. I will return shortly./

“Where are you go….”

Arthur becomes vaguely aware of space moving around him. Vivi’s frustrated voice is lost in the quick movement as Arthur is whisked away through the window. Houses, pavement and streets flash by. A second later, they stop. Mystery plonks him down and Arthur reforms so he is floating outside amidst low growing shrub and patches of cactus. The horizon is empty and flat plain in all directions.

It happens almost too fast to process and Arthur spends a second staring at it in confusion before the pressure becomes too much and he explodes. The sudden release of compressed energy ripples around him in a shockwave. Now he is no longer in Vivi’s room he doesn’t have to worry about breaking things. Crack. Long lines of jagged yellow lightning tear the earth up in long groves.

Why?

Whywhywhywhywhy.

Why did it end up like this!

Under him, the ground glows, superheated where the lightning strikes it. Several potions of dirt and sand solidify into a glass-like substance.

Why couldn’t this be his! WHY! Why is he still here!?

Bright white and yellow electricity arcs up into the sky like a lightning bolt in reverse, exploding into a shower of sparks. Arthur doesn’t even bother trying to real the power in, letting it run wild until he’s floating in the middle of a blackened circle. Serrated, upturned earth and shards of that glass-like substance surround him, leaving Arthur feeling hollowed out and increasingly tired. Eventually, he runs out of juice and the electricity splutters out. A familiar heavy sensation descends upon him and he finds himself lying on his back staring up at a pale, slowly darkening sky.

“I’m a hazard,” he mumbles. All that work Vivi did in proving that he was safe to be around and he went and did that. Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised that he messed up.

/If it is any consolation, I believe it went quite well. Better than expected./ And Arthur thought his expectations were low.

“Lewis and Vivi probably hate me now.”

/I very much doubt that./ Mystery’s elongated fox snout appears above him to block out the sky, head cocked to the side. Arthur twitches in unease, leaning away.

Mystery shakes his head, taking is Arthurs discomfort with a concerned frown and backing up. /How do you feel?/

“Terrible. All I had to do was keep it together for one measly conversation.” He wants to go to sleep and never wake up. The air shimmers as Mystery transforms back into his dog form.

/The fact that you seem instinctually disinclined to injure Vivi and Lewis is significant. I have never personally witnessed a ghost with that level of control./

“Nice to know I’m clearing the lowest of bars,” he mutters, struggling against the unnatural weight to sit up. Mystery watches, maintaining a respectful distance. Arthur examines his soundings to avoid eye contact, moodily poking a piece of solidified ground. Maybe it’s the sudden exhaustion, but all that pain and grief seems barely noticeable. Now he’s not around Lewis all that turbulent emotion has settled back into a familiar buzz of regret.

“So…what now?” What were they going to do now? Go back to Vivi’s house? Apologise for almost destroying her room? She was probably worried. He glances up at Mystery, uncertain.

A long exhale follows, /It has come to my attention that I may have been overly presumptuous in our first meeting and caused some unneeded stress. I have since been informed on the importance of ‘bedside manners’ and ‘taking things slow’ in aiding a human’s mental recovery./

Was it him or did Mystery look a whole lot more unsure than was normal?

“Yeah, well, better safe than sorry,” he responds, unsure where the sudden admission has sprung from. It kind of sounds like an apology, maybe? Not that he thinks Mystery has much to be sorry about. Sure, Arthur’s not thrilled with some of Mystery’s poking and prodding but it is to protect Vivi and that’s a pretty good justification.

/True...However, I believe I could have been less…/ The dog pauses as if searching for a word, /pushy…/

Arthur would be frowning, you know, if he had a face. “Don’t worry about it?”

Mystery gives a curt nod like they’ve just settled some sort of disagreement. Arthur goes back to examining the destruction around him.

“I don’t want to explode again. Is this going to happen every time to feel any sort of strong emotion?” Gosh, that would suck. Unsteadily, Arthur struggles back into a standing position.

/All part of the learning curb I am afraid. There is a lot of hard work ahead before you attain any sort of stability./

Arthur sighs, “Yeah I figured. But I‘ll get better right?”

Mystery hums, scanning him up and down, /I believe so. Of course, it is always hard to be certain, but your chances are.../ A pause /optimistic./

Arthur lets himself feel a small amount of relief.

/For now we shall return. Both Lewis and Vivi will most likely be worried and have a few choice words to say about me running off in such a hurry./

“Do you think I can go back into the heart thing…I’m beat and that grabbing thing you did was…really uncomfortable.” He reaches up to cover his heart again, eyeing Mystery for any sudden movements. A few hours or ‘recharging’ sounds pretty good. This isn’t running away! He’ll apologise to Vivi and Lewis later when he has more energy. Now he knows that Vivi - and maybe Lewis- does care about his wellbeing, dissipating back into the void doesn’t feel like he’s completely giving up. The change is subtle but no less important.

Mystery apparently thinks so too, because he easily offers the information without any further warnings, /Simply envision yourself sleeping or resting. The process should be instinctual./

“Right…” That sounded simple enough. Arthur thinks of his van back home in his own timeline. He thinks of curing up in the back with Vivi, sleeping bags next to each other, isolated on a stretch of unnamed highway in the middle of nowhere. A safe place, away from everything. He must be more tired than he thought because the world around him disintegrates into comforting darkness.

NOTE: I’m not dead, just super busy.

#mystery skulls animated #MSA #msa fanfic #fanfiction #Vivi Yukino #arthur kingsmen #Lewis pepper #Mystery the dog #ghost arthur #Ghost headcanon #misunderstandings #sorry if this fic comes across as choppy i lost my plot notes #allways keep backup files of ur fics

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halequeenjas · 4 years

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Donating to the Family || Jared & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @themidnightfarmer & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jared volunteers to remove the chickcharneys from Jasmine’s attic. Things don’t go as smoothly as Jasmine would have liked.

Despite his recent reservations about his skills in actually caring for the creatures in his protection, Jared had decided that ANYONE was better than pest or animal control. He arrived with what he hoped translated into a polite smile, and a cardboard box. The nymph knocked and waited patiently, his hands clasped behind his back swaying to music playing in his head that had been on the radio on the drive over. He mumbled to himself a little as he waited as well, a mixture of the lyrics of the song and a few random thoughts. When the door opened he was on the tail end of a comment to himself mixed with a song lyric and he couldn’t stop himself finishing off before greeting Jasmine. “I should advertise as animal control ah ah ah ah stayin aliiive. Hello!”

Whether the guy who offered to come get the freaky birds out of her basement was a hunter or some sort of other supernatural enthusiast hardly mattered to Jasmine. She wanted these little shits out of her house without anyone getting seriously injured. It was hardly a lot to ask for, but then again, this was White Crest. A handful of years ago, she’d give anything to leave, now she couldn’t imagine it. Discovering what she was made her realize she was needed here even if her heart pleaded for the always eyeball free, California sun. When she opened the door to a random man on the internet, she carefully studied him. He didn’t appear overly tough by any measure. Hell, he was even a bit awkward. “I mean, good song, but weird greeting. You haven’t been drinking have you?”

The dark circles under his eyes were hard to cover over as Jared was unused to doing such with his usual glamour. This meant that his exhaustion was clear on his face. He wilted a little and chuckled at her words in the hopes that it would smooth over the weird moment. He just wasn’t able to get his brain to cooperate properly lately. “No not drinking, sorry just...songs get caught in my head I guess.” He fibbed lightly before peaking past her, stooping at the same time to lift the cardboard box into his arms. He very much hoped to come across as far more normal than he had initially. “So you have birds in your attic? Any holes in the eves I can patch up for you or do you tend to have windows open around the house? This season is a risky time to have windows open I’m afraid. Fledgling season and all.”

This guy did not look so hot right about now. Jasmine could tell he was exhausted so she wasn’t entirely sure why he volunteered to come grab the birds. He must have really liked those things which was weird in itself. “Right,” she said slowly and realized she vaguely recognized him from Bea’s birthday party which meant he couldn’t be that bad… even if he was a little odd. He had to be one of Luce’s friends. “I’m going to pretend that makes sense for the sake of getting these birds out of my home.” She stood off to the side and allowed him into her home. Hopefully, she wouldn’t come to regret that decision as she eyes his choice of supplies. “I didn’t exactly climb up, so I’m not sure about holes, but I did have the window open the other day. Noted on it being their season.” She led him over to the attic entrance. “So this is how you get up there. Do you need a ladder or anything?”

He entered her home, careful to take in his surroundings and make sure his cardboard box didn’t knock anything over. Jared followed her to the hatch into the attic and shook his head. “Don’t need a full ladder, do you have a stool or something?” He was tall enough he’d be able to grab onto the edges and pull himself up, he just didn’t trust not looking unnaturally strong if he was to push the hatch out of the way with just his finger tips. His strength was far more than he looked, but that wasn’t natural for a human so it was best to compensate a little. “Will you be able to pass the box up to me? Or are you planning to come up as well?” He didn’t know if he hoped she’d come so he’d stay aware of himself, or if she shouldn’t just in case she saw something suspicious. The nymph had been struggling with his glamour in his exhaustion as it was.

While she had a ladder, she had never personally used it and wasn’t too keen on dragging it out. Jasmine was relieved when Jared asked for a step stool and quickly went to go fetch it out of her kitchen. She came back and set it up just below the attic. “Okay, there you go,” she stated and looked up at the attic. She could hear the stupid bird things up there and was eager to have them out of her house. “Yeah, I can pass it up to you. I have no intention of getting anywhere near them,” she answered as her nose scrunched up in disgust. Outside of Diamond, who was currently stowed away in her bedroom, she wasn’t too big on animals. It dawned on her those things were pooping up there and she let out a sigh. She’d have to have the cleaning lady hit the attic this weekend which was definitely going to cost extra. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be right here.”

The nymph pulled a head torch out from his back pocket and pulled the band over his head before stepping up and reaching to move the hatch. Jared pulled himself up into the attic easily, only grunting with effort for Jasmine's benefit. Once up he held his hands out for the box, feeling the gaze of the birds on his back as he did so. Once he had it in his reach he was instantly hit with a wave of dread. The attic wasn’t as clear as it could be, and there seemed to be a lot to both trip on or hit your head. It made for difficult herding he was sure. He paused just looking into the dim air. Trying to count the creatures he could see. The fledgelings had already hopped out of their nest which was bad news for catching them and trying to persuade their father to follow. He crawled away from the hatch as he made his decision. Jasmine was sure to hate it. But he could maybe play it off. He was out of sight up here so he switched his head torch off for a second. He slammed his hand against a beam and yelped before rushing the birds so that they’d beeline for the only source of light. And there they went falling out of the hatch.

Jasmine had an uneasy feeling as she watched Jared pull himself up into her attic. All she wanted was to get rid of these birds and have her home remain in the immaculate condition she always kept it in. Already, it seemed like he was making quite the ruckus up there as she heard a large bang. She didn’t like this one bit and she sat there with her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for Jared to emerge with the weird birds in his cardboard box. “Come on,” she whispered quietly to herself and almost immediately regretted when she saw the birds falling through the hatch and onto the very expensive rug she had lining her hallway. She let out a shriek and quickly shuffled away from the now very angry looking birds. “What the hell,” she practically screeched as Jared fell through with them, “Get these things out of here!”

The nymph wasted no time answering her yells, he hit the floor in the hall and managed to catch the most dazed bird in his hand and pop it into the box he’d dragged down after him. Jared folded over the top and motioned to Jasmine to make sure it didn’t push it’s way out before he tore after the other two. Fledgelings weren’t all that fast on their feet yet, and they had little space in the hallway to spread untested wings either. SO with a quick motion the second bird was in his grasp. The father would be the hardest, it was unfortunate that the critter appeared to have shoved it’s way into another room. “Moving back to Jasmine he plastered on an embarrassed and rueful smile hoping to win some points back with the no doubt fuming woman. “Got bitten.” he lied. “Tripped on their nest and they took off. Sorry about that. But two down, and only the one to go.” He let his voice lilt to gain favour. “The door at the end of the hall.”

Jasmine was decidedly not amused with how this bird collection was going. One was at least stowed away in the box as he fell, but another was darting down her hallway. It hardly seemed professional he’d gotten bitten, but then again, he was a farmer not pest control. Still, she wasn’t thrilled. “Bitten, right,” she said with an air of annoyance in her voice, “Just get them out of here, please!” The last one was heading down her hall toward her office and dread filled her. Why hadn’t she closed her doors before this process? Had she been disillusioned to think this Jared could successfully just scoop the mean birds out of her basement. She let out an exasperated sigh and bolted for the doors. She did her best to close them all off, but the little bugger beat her to her office. “Shit,” she screamed out, “Get off of that rug! Get that thing out of my office!”

Jared was thankful he hadn’t ACTUALLY been bitten, but it was a small victory, hopefully the chickcharnies wouldn’t open wide enough that Jasmine was able to see the full set of human like teeth in their mouths. But then again in this town with so many deniers, it wasn’t guaranteed that she would recognise it as odd enough to remember anyway. She took off as he managed to trap the second into the box securely and turn back around. The little ball of feathers rocketed into her office and her scream of annoyance made the nymph wince. High pitched like that wouldn’t be very calming for the birds. He shushed her gently, trying not to be rude but also hurrying to peak into her office with his finger on his lips. “Too much noise and you’ll spook him into a cu- something manic.” He was definitely losing his edge, he’d almost admitted to the cursing ability of the birds. He pushed past the awkward stumble in his wording and pushed the door slowly open all the way. “Does the window open? We could herd him out? He’ll hear the cries of the little ones once I’m outside, might be better than catching him.”

At this point, Jasmine was fuming. His mistake led to the stupid magic birds falling out of her attic and he was shushing her? In her home? Seriously? The glare on her face showcased her dissatisfaction with his bird collecting abilities. “Fine,” she huffed with arms crossed over her chest in annoyance. The way he cut himself off did at least indicate he knew these birds were of the supernatural variety. If there wasn’t one likely about to drop a deuce in her office, she’d be a lot more inclined to ask how he knew about this kind of stuff anyway, but right now, her precious metal chair and imported wooden desk were far higher on her priority list. When he suggested she opened the window, she looked at him dumbfounded. “Are you seriously suggesting that I go in there with crazy bird,” she asked with the shock evident in her voice. “Ugh,” she grumbled, “I’ll open the damn window. He better not ruin this jacket, it’s Gucci!” As he went outside, she made her way into the office and did her best to take quiet steps. The last thing she wanted was to attract its attention. She snuck by and carefully opened the window before darting out of her office and to the front door to see if this Jared guy’s plan worked.

If she’d been looking for a professional, Jared most certainly was not. But he wouldn’t apologise. He didn’t really have much consideration for her things, his main goal was extracting the poor critters without the threat that animal control would pose to them after all. He would however look as apologetic as he could. He didn’t directly want to upset her, she just definitely wasn’t his biggest concern. The nymph and Jasmine were on completely different wavelengths and it showed almost down to the dust on their clothes. Jared was a farmer, he owned exactly nothing designer, and if he had he’d have sold it already. Jasmine was on a completely different path and it was curious to him, but he didn’t spare her more than a passing curious thought. She agreed to open the window and he thundered outside, whispering a soft word to the fledgelings in the box before he shuffled them uncomfortably. They both started to cry, and sure enough within the office their father grew agitated and made his flightpath out of the window and circled above the nymph. He smiled and raised a hand to Jasmine standing in the doorway. “He’ll follow me and the kids home from above I’d say. The nest will be abandoned, but I’d have someone take it away, maybe dust up there or something.” Jared only belatedly realizing it was a small slight on the state of her attic and his face reflected this as he cringed and moved to his truck parked illegally in the street.

This was a disaster. If this didn’t work, Jasmine swore she was going to slap this kid. She didn’t care if he was Lucinda’s weird friend or not, her house was a mess now. She’d have to call Kristy over for an emergency cleaning. Her arms were still crossed haughtily over her chest as she stood on her front porch watching Jared with the birds. The last bird was now fluttering outside the window to get its babies back and Jasmine wanted no part of that. “Right, right. Just please get them out of here, I’ll message you again for your Venmo. I’m not getting anywhere near you or the birds while this guy is pissed, thanks.” Thankfully, he was already going toward his truck with the birds in tow. As annoyed as she was, she was grateful to have her house to herself following this ordeal. No more weird birds that probably had some weird powers. Those were Jared’s problems now. “Hope they do well on the farm or whatever,” she said with a wave and hoped he’d be on his way with the little demons.

#wickedswriting #donating to the family #jared #// this was fun thank u rhi <3

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drones-of-innocence · 5 years

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Has anyone requested Mario x Peach for the ask yet? Because I am! Yahoo!!!

I will gladly do Mario x Peach!! This one got pretty long, sorry about that!

Who was the one to propose:

Mario did!! Technically he did in canon already haha, but I think he’s got the heart and the showmanship to put together a proper proposal for his Princess. It was adorable; he caught her completely by surprise, because she figured if he was going to ask, it was going to be before all their friends as the center piece for a wonderful celebration. Instead, he was quite simple about it. She recognized his nerves. His hands trembled just the slightest, his voice caught in his throat, and his breath seemed to shudder whenever he addressed her. Still, when he invited her to the lake on a lovely summer evening, she had no idea what his plans were. They often spent their evenings alone together anyway, whether it be on the lakeside or on her balcony. They were dating, after all. The fireflies came out just when the stars did. She should have known he would have asked her in his own simple, charming way. Mario cleared his throat, and spoke briefly of the future. He couldn’t manage to give a long, elaborate speech like he thought he should. So instead, he got down on one knee, and offered the ring. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, my Princess. Will you marry me?”

Who stressed more over wedding planning:

Again, this one has to go to Mario. Peach has no qualms about being under the spotlight, speaking in public, or organizing large events. Mario, on the other hand, didn’t even know where to begin, especially with Toadsworth stressing him out over proper behavior and manners at a royal wedding. He was going to marry a whole entire Princess!! The only person possibly more stressed than Mario had to be Luigi, who’s extreme sense of empathy went out to his poor brother. Both of them were just two little balls of nervous energy during the planning.

Who decorated the house:

So they don’t technically live together? I see Mario splitting his time between the castle and his house, but Peach can’t exactly leave her castle whenever she pleases. But she does visit. If they could have a house together, I see Mario as the one who could put a room together. Neither of them are master interior designers, but Mario has at least had experience, having moved between several apartments in he and Luigi’s past. If Peach were in charge, she would hire someone else to do it more likely than not. But Mario, being somewhat of a penny pincher by habit, would rather take care of things like that himself.

Who does the cooking:

Luigi does the cooking! Just kidding haha, but Peach has food provided for her whenever she pleases. In the Mario household, Mario cooks breakfast, and Luigi, self proclaimed as “il maestro della cena,” will not allow anyone else to cook dinner. So when Peach visits, or even when the brothers visit the castle, he insists on taking over the kitchen. He’s more than happy to cook for his family; he was very thrilled to be the first to point out that now he is Peach’s brother-in-law.

Who is more organized:

So Peach is more organized in the classical sense; her room is always very tidy, her notes very easy to read, handwriting neat. She has lists and agendas and calendars and journals galore. But Mario is organized in a different way; his thoughts can be very scattered, but he is excellent at mobilizing/organizing emergency responses, prioritizing and getting things done. In the event of a disaster, Mario is your man. He can literally survive in the wilderness with nothing but his wits. He naturally regulates his own sleeping and eating habits, which he can adjust and adapt to his situation as need be.

Who initiates bedroom fun:

Okay, so...I made a vow that I would never publicly do or make anything NSFW for characters that belong to a franchise aimed at children, even discuss headcanons. So I will construe the meaning. Peach and Mario have lots of fun in her bedroom because it’s sort of closed off from the rest of the world. They can read, relax, nap, whatever you can think of. It’s a sort of safe haven for them. Peach is often the one who suggests going back to her room, as Mario is too polite to be the one to bring it up. The proposal alarmed him at first, as the bedroom in his world was a very different place than it is to him now.

Who suggested kids first:

Peach suggested children! This was to Mario’s shock, as he never thought he would ever really have the privilege of being a father. Mario, over a good deal of time, taught her about conventional family values on his world. He mused to her, seeing similar values echoed in the Mushroom Kingdom, that survival of the species definitely has something to do with it. But something about the way he spoke inspired her to wonder what she would be like as a mother. She knew all along he would be a good father; he’s excellent with children and he clearly loves having them around. But she wanted to experience what he spoke about, how a mother’s love is stronger than anything he’s ever seen.

Who’s more dominant:

It’s about 60/40 with Peach often being the more dominant one. She’s the sole monarch of an entire Kingdom, so she’s used to taking charge. Mario, who drinks more than his share of respect women juice, doesn’t mind in the least. He defers to her often, and actually prefers for her to make the difficult choices. The only time he’s the one making decisions is when it comes to adventures and survival, where his leadership shines.

Who’s the cuddler:

Mario! Mario loves cuddles; as he’s often fighting off enemies and running into not-so-friendly people, he doesn’t get much tender contact. Hugging Luigi used to be the only way he could meet those emotional needs. But with the Princess, he can get all that he could ever want. He’ll never admit it to anyone else, but he adores being the little spoon. He feels completely surrounded by her, and safe. He doesn’t often get to feel completely secure in that way. Of course, he’s also more than happy to provide her with that security too. Even before their relationship, Peach liked to sit close to Mario; his Firebrand makes his body unnaturally warm, so he’s nice to be close to.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity:

If not cuddles, then baking! Both of them adore sweets of all kinds. It was one of the things that allowed them to bond so quickly and so closely. Peach is fantastic at baking, and Mario always provides the best feedback to her creations. He can bake, too; he enjoys making his favorite Italian sweets for her.

Who comes home drunk at 3am:

Well, honestly I can’t fathom a world where either of them would do this. Peach has too much responsibility toward her Kingdom, and Mario likes to be in control of all his faculties. Now, this doesn’t mean the brothers don’t get a little buzzed sometimes; you know how much Italians like their wine. It’s just another way the brothers can relax and have fun in the privacy and safety of their home. So they might invite the Princesses over for a night of board or card games and wine. Just adults being silly, nothing crazy. Mario notably becomes a wonderfully sensitive romantic singer once he’s had some to drink, but he also forgets to speak English when that happens. His entire goal becomes making everyone laugh as much as possible. This is also the sort of scene where Mario and Luigi act out games like ‘The floor is lava,’ ‘Don’t let the balloon touch the floor,’ or they literally pretend they’re in a war zone and one of them ‘dies’ dramatically while the other is like “sometimes I can still hear his voice.”

Who kills the spiders:

Mario will fight anything to protect his Princess. But Peach doesn’t like to kill anything. This means Mario does this weird thing where he tries to intimidate the spider into leaving, reason with it, something, until Peach reminds him that he can just take it outside.

Who falls asleep first:

Mario can literally fall asleep anytime, anywhere. If you leave him idle long enough, just like in the games, he might nod off. Normally, he’s very goal driven, like when he’s trying to rescue Peach. But focusing that long and hard is very tiring. He gets rest when he can, because he doesn’t know when he’ll have to go without it next.

Their relationship summed up in a gif:

So this is Sheeta and Pazu, from my favorite movie of all time; Castle in the Sky. These two capture Mario and Princess Peach, I think, because of their persistent optimism and hope throughout the film. And their sheer joy! Look at that, they embrace each other with such fervor and relief that they’re safe and that they made it to their goal! Pazu is such a wholesome sweetheart who prioritizes Sheeta’s safety, and does whatever he feels like he can to protect her. Sheeta does the same, albeit in more thoughtful and clever ways. As Pazu put it, “if my head were any harder, you could use it as a cannonball.” That pretty much sums up Mario and his headstrong nature. Sheeta wants the best for everyone, and does not hesitate to put herself in direct harm’s way if it means sparing those who she loves. She gives herself up repeatedly, hoping it would save Pazu. And Pazu, from the moment he saw her, wouldn’t let her go on alone. Their dynamic is very similar to Mario and Peach; they both want to do the right thing, and they can’t do it without each other.

Thanks so much for the ask!!

#Yahoo!!#Ask #Mario and Peach #My OTP ahh #I spent too much time on this haha but I really enjoyed it!#So thanks again!!#Nintendo #Mario #Princess Peach #Heacanon #Ask meme #Silly thoughts

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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