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reiding-writing · 7 months

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Incessant Insomnia [ s.r ]

summary:

The BAU had just finished a case across the country in California, and were now finally on the jet to fly back home, needless to say, everyone was absolutely exhausted and very ready to get some shut eye during the 5 hour flight. Trouble was, Spencer couldn’t sleep, even though he had managed to bag the jet’s sofa, which was arguably the comfiest place on the plane.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers?

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of child death, mentions of touch-starvedness, no use of y/n

wc: 2.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: this is my first upload so please bare with me i’m still learning 😭

As you board the jet alongside your team, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on Spencer Reid's face. It had been a grueling week, with a disturbingly gruesome case across the country that took all semblance of mental energy out of the team to solve. Spencer, ever known for his genius-level intellect and unwavering dedication, didn’t take a single moment to rest throughout it.

And even as he scored the jet’s long sofa for the flight, arguably the most comfortable place on the plane, that moment of rest still didn’t arrive, and Spencer had long given up trying to fall asleep by the time the jet had stablised at 40,000 feet.

He’d tried everything, a Tchaikovsky Sonata playing through his cheap headphones, a travel pillow around his neck, his shoes discarded on the floor so he could curl up his legs under him, he’d even counted the amount of dimmed lightbulbs in the light strips and the number of creases in the leather bound chairs. Nothing. And he was becoming increasingly jealous of the rest of the team resting soundly in their seats.

He’d battled with insomnia for most of his life, a curse of his intelligence as he liked to call it, his mind constantly running so fast it never gave him any time to relax. But this was a little different. Spencer hated working cases involving children, for what ever reason they seemed to press all of the wrong buttons in his mind, and in this instance, the child they’d been called out to save had died before the team had even arrived in California to help.

Spencer couldn’t seem to get the image of anguish from the child’s mother from his mind, replaying like a faulty cassette player with no pause button as he rolled onto his back and let his eyes fall back open. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this flight.

He instead took to an ever-living comfort of his, reading, in the hope that his inner monologue would drown out the guttural sobs ringing through his ears from the grieving mother when the team had uncovered her child’s body, buried underneath her own house.

He pushed himself to sit upright, his legs stretched out in front of him to the point where his feet were hanging freely, and he rifled through the go-bag left tucked under the sofa beneath him for his hand-bound anthology of his favourite poets, a book you’d gifted him for his birthday a few months prior. A book he’d read a dozen times since then.

His fingers traced over the familiar cover. He could almost feel the indentations of the embossing on the hardcover, a tactile memory that was as comforting as the words within. The pages were already dog-eared from countless readings, corners turned down to mark passages that had resonated with him, pen marks and streaks of neon yellow over phrases that had touched his soul in ways that only the poetic articulation of human emotion could.

It had become more than just a collection of poems to him; it was a sanctuary, a haven he could escape to when the horrors of his job became too much. He cherished each line, each word, each letter, as they provided a counterpoint to the harsh realities he faced daily. Except, this time it didn’t seem to work.

His mind was still overrun with images of the recent case, each line of verse morphing into a haunting reminder of the child’s life cut short. The words that usually brought him solace now echoed with a sorrowful undertone, amplifying his guilt and making his insomnia all the more pronounced.

The jet’s engines hummed steadily in the background, a usual comforting sound, now merely adding to the cacophony of his thoughts. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, scanned over the pages, but the words blurred, morphing into a tale of despair that was not originally intended by the poets.

He tried to divert his mind, to block out the pictures of the crime scene, the teary eyes of the distraught mother, the lifeless body of the child, but it was all in vain. Their faces, their voices, their cries, they clung to him, refusing to let go.

His fingers tightened around the book, knuckles whitening with the strain. He could almost hear the deafening silence that followed after they’d found the body, the grim realisation that they were too late, that a life was lost before they could even try to save it.

Spencer felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of the guilt and sorrow threatening to suffocate him. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to break him. He was a profiler, a genius, he was supposed to save lives, not let them slip through his fingers.

He closed the book, the once soothing words now a stark reminder of his failure. He leaned back against the plush leather of the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft hum of the jet's engines was the only sound that filled the silence, a silence that was deafening in its own right.

Sleep was a distant dream, an elusive solace that he knew wouldn’t come. The guilt, the sorrow, the failure, they were his companions for the night, refusing to leave.

“Spencer…”

Your voice cut through the chaos ravaging his mind, and he flickered his eyes to his left, where you were comfortably curled up under a fleece blanket, head nestled in the small gap between the padded chair you were sat on and the jet’s wall, eyes resting closed.

“Why are you moving around so much..?”

Your question was cut short by a yawn, voice laced with an obvious exhaustion. His restlessness must have woken you up.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, rubbing his temples. "The case... it's still playing in my mind." His voice was barely a whisper, the silence of the jet amplifying its weight.

Your eyes fluttered open at his confession, a mix of concern and understanding washing over your face. You knew how deeply these cases affected him, how they seemed to burrow into his mind, refusing to let go.

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice barely louder than his own. "You did everything you could. You always do."

He glanced at you, his weary eyes meeting your earnest ones, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words to explain the turmoil churning inside him. “We didn’t- none of it mattered…”

You sighed, removing yourself from the comfortability of your previous position, letting yourself sit with your legs in front of you and your feet on the floor. “Spencer of course it mattered,”

Spencer pushed himself upright as you did, subconciously mirroring your actions as you wake further from your half-asleep daze.

“He still died-”

“He was dead before we even landed Spencer, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that,”

You cut off the inevitable start of a ramble from Spencer, raising your voice a little to take over the conversation whilst still making sure not to wake your sleeping teammates scattered around the jet.

“I know… I’m sorry i’m just-”

Spencer sighs, dragging his hands over his face and through the unruly mess of his hair, flattened and tangled from his incessant restlessness. “I’m fine… Sorry for waking you,” He let himself fall backwards to lie down again, turning onto his right side so that his back was facing you, as if not being able to see you would put an end to the conversation.

You didn’t say anything else, and Spencer resigned himself to listening to the mind-numbing drone of the jet’s engine as he heard you shift around, presumably getting back into a comfortable position to fall asleep again.

Except you weren’t quite done with him yet, and your weight on the edge of the sofa shifted his position as you sat down, your hand ghosting over his shoulder, not quite sure if you should actually touch him or not.

You knew Spencer had an aversion to physical touch, he always had, as long as you’d known him anyway. He’d rattled on about the number of bacterial colonies on human skin and how their transference could lead to illnesses you wouldn’t even try to name, swerving handshakes for awkward waves and keeping a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser on his person at all times. He’d insist on keeping his distance, even from the people he was closest to, claiming that ‘you never knew what illnesses someone could be carrying’.

But you also knew that he needed comforting, and that words seemingly weren’t enough.

You gently placed your hand on Spencer's shoulder, your fingers just barely grazing over the sleeve of his shirt, offering a silent comfort that words couldn't provide. He tensed for a moment, his body still on high alert from the intensity of the never-ending rampage of his thoughts, but then slowly relaxed into your touch. The weight of his exhaustion seemingly lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to lean into your presence.

The soft warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the deep-rooted ache within him. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture. In that moment, you became his anchor, providing a much-needed respite in the midst of his turmoil.

As Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closed, shutting out the harsh realities that had plagued his mind. He found solace in the simplicity of your presence, the tangible reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. The weight of the guilt and sorrow that had threatened to suffocate him slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and support.

You sat there in silence, your hand still resting gently on his shoulder, offering a steady presence that allowed him to find a temporary refuge from his racing thoughts. You didn't need to offer empty reassurances or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, your mere presence and the touch of your hand conveyed a profound message: "I am here for you."

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, connected by that simple touch. It was a fragile moment. Fragile, but powerful.

You slowly added a gentle pressure with your fingers, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his shoulder as his behaviour showed that the contact wasn’t crossing any boundaries, as Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his racing thoughts begin to quiet, a sense of calm washed over him.

The weight of the case and its tragic outcome still lingered heavily on Spencer's mind, but your presence provided a much-needed respite.

“I’m so tired…”

You slowly escalate your touch, running your hand slowly over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, careful to watch for any signs of discomfort from him.

“I know Spence…”

The soft nickname rolling off your tongue only fuelled to add an extra blanket of comfort over him in the moment, although joined by an uncertain ache that spread through his chest until it felt almost suffocating. Your touch comforted him more than he could ever thank you for, but it also upset him beyond belief.

Spencer couldn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, nor could he stop the slight tremble of his shoulders as they threatened to spill down his cheeks, and the shaking of his breath only proved to expose him further as you slowed the gentle caresses of your fingers to a halt.

As you felt the weight of his emotions, you gently pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing him to release the tears he had been holding back as he buried his face into your lap. You held him tightly, offering a safe space for him to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry-”

Spencer choked out an apology through his tears, as though his emotions were burdening you. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn't mind. You were just grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let his emotions out, to release the pent-up pain that had been haunting him.

“Don’t apologise Spencer, it’s alright…”

You whispered soft words of comfort and reassurance as your hand moved to slowly run through his hair, reminding Spencer that he was a brilliant and compassionate person who had done everything in his power to help. You reminded him that he couldn't shoulder the weight of the world's tragedies alone, that he needed to take care of himself too.

Slowly, Spencer's sobs subsided, replaced by deep breaths as he regained control of his emotions. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in them.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and appreciation. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You gently guide his head back down into your lap, allowing him to use your thighs as a makeshift pillow so he could finally get some rest from his own mind. “It’s alright Spencer, just relax for me alright?”

As Spencer finally succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing gradually slowed and his tense muscles relaxed. You continued to stroke his hair gently, your touch offering a sense of comfort and security that Spencer desperately needed.

The weight of the case and its devastating outcome had taken a toll on him, both physically and emotionally. He had carried the burden of the child's death on his shoulders, blaming himself for not being able to save a life that was already lost.

But in your embrace, he felt a glimmer of hope.

With each gentle stroke of your hand, Spencer felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was as if your touch carried with it a healing energy, easing the pain and sorrow that had consumed him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully surrender to the comfort and safety of your embrace.

In the silence of the jet, Spencer's exhaustion finally overcame him. His body relaxed completely, finding respite from the relentless strain it had endured as it fell into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hold him, providing a sense of security and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time, and you slowly fell into your own exhaustion, your fingers slowing their movements through his hair to a halt as you drifted into your own state of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort #mgg #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst

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snowfll · 4 months

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Miss Me; Coriolanus Snow

pairing - young!Coriolanus Snow x capitol!reader summary - Coriolanus is too busy making his way up in the Capitol to spend time with you. All you want is for him to miss you, like you miss him. words - 2.71k warning - coriolanus snow! note - I really wanted to make this a lot longer than it is, but I already rewrote it 5 different times and wasn't getting very far. I have a hard time when it comes to writing snow so I hope you like it! Oh! i changed my theme, but kept the same username! my other fics in the work should be out soon! until then, stay safe, ily 🦋

“Could you miss me for a moment?” You shouted at the man standing before you. “I’m constantly making time for you, Coryo. How is it that you are always late?”

“I have so much to do and so little time; this is my life now.” He responded, explaining the perpetual busyness that seemed to keep him at a distance.

Upon his return to the Capitol, a palpable shift occurred in the dynamics between you and the once-familiar boy—who now asserted himself as a man. However, the shifting dynamics of your relationship had been set in motion long before Coryo’s reinstitution in the Capitol.

As he embarked on his assignments in District Twelve, you remained a constant presence in his life through the written words that bridged the physical distance. Each week, your letters became a lifeline, painting vivid pictures of the life he missed and offering him a connection to the world he left behind.

In an unforeseen twist, he penned a final letter, a bittersweet gesture granting you the freedom to explore other connections during his prolonged absence. However, despite the newfound freedom, you found yourself tethered to the belief that Coryo was irreplaceable.

The connection you shared, woven through shared memories and the emotional landscape of your history, seemed to defy the notion of easy replacements. Even with his permission to explore others, the gravity of his absence and the unique bond you shared lingered, creating a complex tapestry of emotions.

Your prayers echoed with the fervent desire for the day Coryo would return, a day when everything would seamlessly revert to the way it once was. In the sanctity of your hopes, you envisioned the revival of late-night dates that stretched into the early hours, the days where you stood by his side, and the warmth of shared dinners with his family.

However, as the day of his return finally arrived, the reality that unfolded in the streets of the Capitol shattered those hopeful expectations. The person you longed for, the one you envisioned in your mind, stood before you, yet the familiarity that once defined your connection seemed elusive.

At that moment, the Capitol streets became a metaphorical crossroads, and the realization struck that the journey ahead might not seamlessly align with the nostalgic dreams of the past. Rather than confronting Coryo directly in the bustling streets of the Capitol, you chose a different path.

Walking right past him, you could sense his gaze lingering on you, and a subtle double-take betrayed his surprise at your unanticipated move. The decision to withhold direct acknowledgment was a silent rebellion against the expectations you had harbored, a momentary attempt to regain control over the emotions that had surged within you.

As you made your way to work, the weight of confusion and hurt accompanied each step. Seeking solace, you confided in a friend, sharing the unexpected encounter with Coryo. To your dismay, your friend revealed a disheartening truth—Coryo had been home for almost a month, a fact that had been hidden from you.

With the day unfolding with a semblance of normalcy, the echoes of the unexpected encounter with Coryo reverberated within you. However, the evening brought a sudden twist as a knock echoed through your apartment. Opening it revealed Coryo standing there, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Once you let Coryo into your apartment, he extended the bouquet toward you, a silent offering to bridge the emotional gap that had widened during his prolonged absence. His voice carried a mix of surprise and regret as he confessed, “Hey... I, uh, didn’t expect you to just walk past me earlier. I’ve been back for a while, and I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting a sense of hurt and frustration. “It was more than that. I've been writing to you, waiting for your return. And today, when I saw you, it felt like all those moments were forgotten.”

Coryo’s expression softened, remorse evident in his eyes. “I never forgot, not for a second. I’ve been back for weeks, and I got caught up in trying to make things better for us. Time slipped away, and I messed up.”

The weight of your emotions hung in the air as you processed his words. “I wish I wasn’t so forgettable.”

“You’re not forgettable. You are the reason I’m doing all of this.” Coryo assured, his sincerity cutting through the tension. “I brought these flowers as a small way of saying sorry.”

Examining the bouquet in your hands, you acknowledged its beauty. “They’re beautiful, Coryo. But they aren’t enough—I need you to make an effort to be present, to not let us slip through the cracks.”

He nodded in understanding, a determination settling in his gaze. “I promise, from now on, I’ll be here. I want us to navigate the Capitol together—like we planned.”

His pledge to be present echoed in the air, creating a tentative bridge between past grievances and the possibility of a renewed connection. Despite the lingering doubts, a small glimmer of hope emerged as you decided to grant Coryo a chance to prove himself. The journey toward rebuilding trust required both vulnerability and resilience, and you were willing to tread cautiously along this tentative path.

“I know you’re busy, but you promised you would be here.”

The weight of the argument lingered in the air as you sat on the couch, the room heavy with the echoes of the heated exchange that had lasted through the night. The tension between you and Coriolanus had reached a breaking point, leaving the aftermath evident in the room. You found yourself pleading with him, exhausted and disappointed at the fact you were going over it again.

The promise he made on the day he came back had been broken long before this argument. The repetitiveness of these arguments weighed heavily on your shoulders, each broken promise creating a rift that seemed harder to mend. The one vibrant connection you shared during your academy days had unraveled, replaced by a stark reality that left you yearning for the Coryo from before the Hunger Games.

The argument slowly died down, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Coryo, in a moment of reconciliation, made another promise—one he claimed he wouldn’t break. In that fragile moment, exhaustion blurred with a glimmer of hope, and you found yourself, once again, believing in the possibility of change.

Foolishly, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the promise, despite the history of unfulfilled commitments. The room held a fragile peace, but the unspoken tension lingered, creating an undercurrent of uncertainty. As you navigated the aftermath of the argument, the promise hung in the air, a delicate thread that would either mend the frayed edges of your relationship or further deepen the wounds of disappointment.

The familiar frustration bubbled up, and the echo of broken promises rang in your ears. It seemed the pledge to be present was just another fleeting promise. As you read the note, a sinking feeling set in, overshadowing the warmth of the anniversary you had envisioned.

The realization hit hard—perhaps your one mistake was believing in Coryo’s ability to change. The echoes of past letdowns resonated, casting doubt on the sincerity of his promises. The bond you had hoped to celebrate on this anniversary seemed to fray at the edges.

The anticipation had been building all day as you prepared for the first anniversary of the rekindling of your relationship with Coryo. Determined to make it special, you embarked on a shopping adventure to gather the finest ingredients for the celebratory dinner you had planned.

As you roamed the aisles, selecting the items with care and excitement, thoughts of the evening ahead filled you with warmth. The memories of the past year, the struggles you both overcame, and the promise of a shared future fueled your enthusiasm for the night you had envisioned.

The disappointment settled in as you returned home, groceries in hand, to find Coryo absent once again. The carefully planned evening to celebrate slipped through your fingers, replaced by a note explaining his absence due to an important candidate meeting for the upcoming election.

As the evening unfolded in solitude, the flickering candlelight highlighted the void left by Coryo’s absence. The apartment, once a haven of shared moments, now felt like an empty shell. The Capitol streets, once envisioned as a path to navigate together, seemed like a lonely stretch.

Laying on your couch, a familiar place of solace, exhaustion had finally taken its toll, lulling you into a restless sleep. As you drifted into slumber, the anticipation of Coryo’s return lingered in the air, a silent hope that he would fulfill the promise he made after the intense argument.

In the quiet of the night, the creaking of the door announced Coryo’s return. He entered cautiously, the weight of the broken promises etched on his face as he saw you peacefully asleep on the couch. The soft glow of the dimly lit room highlighted the tired lines on his face.

As he stood there, a debate waged within him—whether to gently wake you up and guide you to bed or to let you rest on the couch. He pondered over the fragile state of your relationship, unsure of the right course of action. The roses he held in his hand seemed to carry the weight of unspoken apologies, a peace offering to bridge the gap that had widened between you.

Eventually, Coryo decided to wake you up, his voice a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. “Hey, wake up,” he said, holding the roses out in an attempt to mend the strained connection between you.

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim room coming into focus as you saw Coryo standing there with the roses. Confusion briefly clouded your waking moments, but as the events of the night flooded back, a surge of frustration and disappointment overcame you.

“Where have you been, Coriolanus?” You screamed at him, frustration and anger punctuating each word as you sat up from your position on the couch.

Coryo was taken aback, not by the intensity of your anger but by the fact you called him ‘Coriolanus’. In all the years you had known each other, not once had you addressed him by his first name. From the day the two of you met, it had always been ‘Coryo’—a name that held the echoes of your shared history and the intimacy of a connection that had weathered the storms of time.

In a mix of exhaustion and raw emotion, you went off on him, unleashing a torrent of words that had bottled up during the hours of waiting. The importance of the date, the broken promises, and the repetitive cycle of disappointment fueled your outburst.

Coryo stammered in response to your outburst, his eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and mild panic. “I was busy with a meeting; I thought I wrote a note?” he offered, the uncertainty in his voice betraying the realization that he might have overlooked a crucial detail in communicating his whereabouts.

“Oh, I saw the note, but really? On our anniversary, you just had to be busy on our special day.” The words tumbled out of your mouth, a mix of disappointment and frustration lacing each syllable. The weight of the occasion and the significance of your anniversary seemed to amplify the impact of Coryo’s absence and lack of a more personal gesture.

Coryo, faced with your pointed words, could only offer a remorseful expression, realizing the gravity of the situation. The note, which might have been intended as an explanation, now felt insufficient in the face of the emotional void left by his absence on such a meaningful day.

“I understand that you are busy, but don’t you see that it leaves me busy being hurt?” You continued, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the air. Your breathing patterns became a palpable rhythm, the heaviness of your breaths echoing the weight on your chest.

The room, once a space of shared moments and comfort, seemed to be closing in on you. The familiar surroundings that had provided solace now felt suffocating, the air thick with unresolved tension. The weight of disappointment and hurt seemed to manifest physically, making it harder to breathe.

Everything was spinning as the reality of the moment sank in. The couch, once a haven, now felt like a confined space where the complexities of your relationship played out. The emotional storm unleashed by the missed anniversary swirled around you, leaving you breathless and disoriented.

“Hey,” his voice softened, a gentle murmur cutting through the emotional storm. “Take a second and breathe; smell the rose.” Coryo’s tender words carried a soothing tone, and he pushed the bouquet of roses closer to your nose, an offering of fragrant calmness amid the turmoil.

“Why don’t you understand, Coryo? It’s the time, not the flowers, that I want.” Your voice carried the weight of unmet expectations and the longing for meaningful connection. The bouquet of roses, though a well-intentioned gesture, seemed inadequate in the face of the emotional void left by his absence on your anniversary.

Coriolanus tried to make another promise, his voice tinged with remorse and desperation: “I swear, I’ll make time in my day for you; I’ll change, I promise.”

But you, weary from the cycle of broken promises, couldn’t bring yourself to accept it this time. The weight of disappointment had become too much to bear. “No more promises, Coryo. I can’t keep going through this. It’s not just about time; it’s about trust, and that has been broken too many times.”

A breaking point had been reached, and you couldn’t endure the hurt any longer. In a surge of frustration and anger, you yelled at him to get out of your apartment, the words hanging heavily in the air like a verdict on the fate of your relationship. The once-familiar space now felt charged with the culmination of unresolved emotions, the walls echoing with the impact of your declaration.

He hesitated, unwilling to accept the finality of your words. “Please, just give me one more chance. I’ll prove it to you,” Coryo pleaded, his desperation laid bare.

As he lingered, you raised your voice, the intensity of your anger escalating to the point where it scared him. “I can’t keep living like this! I’ve given you chances, and each time, it’s the same story. I need more than promises; I need actions.”

Coriolanus, realizing the gravity of the situation, began to fumble for words. “I love you, and I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his vulnerability evident on his face.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he refused to leave. “We can work through this; we always do,” he insisted, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and desperation.

But faced with your escalating emotions, he felt a growing unease. “I just need some time to think,” you asserted, the strain in your voice clear.

That’s when you dropped a bomb, threatening to reveal the truth about his actions, potentially ruining his chances of becoming president. The weight of the threat hit its mark, and a momentary panic set in. “You can’t do that. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, about everything I’ve worked for,” Coryo protested, his anxiety palpable.

Coriolanus, realizing the potential consequences, turned to leave. However, as he retreated, a chilling declaration escaped his lips, “This isn’t over. You are mine and always will be.” The ominous words lingered in the air, leaving a sense of foreboding and uncertainty in their wake. The door closed behind him, the once-shared space now a silent witness to the shattered fragments of a relationship that seemed irreparable.

#coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #coriolanus snow imagine #angst #coriolanus x y/n

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janeyseymour · 1 month

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La Cosa Nostra- pt 9

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8.

Cowritten with @schemmentis

Summary: You go visit someone... without Melissa.

WC: ~2.25k

Monday morning rolls around, and when you feel two little hands on your face once again (is that really the only way your girls know how to wake someone up?), you groan out. Your head is pounding, your back aches from falling asleep on the couch, and your wife is half on top of you, her chin digging into your neck.

“Mam!” Cat whisper shouts into your ear. Oh, so they do know another way to wake someone up. “Mam!”

“Wake Mommy,” you grumble as you keep your eyes closed.

“But I want you!” your little girl pouts.

“I want Mommy though,” Rosie whispers as she gently shakes your wife’s shoulder. Why does Melissa get the gentle twin this morning?

Melissa peels her eyes open and smiles softly at your younger twin. “Hey, baby girl. Mommy’s awake. Why don’t you two go start picking out your outfits for school while Mam and I get up?”

The two scurry off with giggles, thrilled to be in charge of their own outfits on this Monday morning. Your wife maneuvers her way off of you before kissing you gently. You kiss her back before groaning.

“I’ll grab the Advil,” she tells you on her way to the kitchen. You stretch once she’s out of the room, heave yourself off of the couch, and follow in her direction. She’s already pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator to make breakfast, and you snake your arms around her waist sleepily.

“I’ll get the girls to school,” you tell her softly. “You just worry about your restaurant today.”

“I can help,” she protests.

“You haven’t been at Twelve Tables for a few days now,” you tell her. “I apparently don’t have a business anymore, so at least let me feel like I’m useful and contributing to the family by taking care of the twins.”

Melissa turns in your arms, and she gives you a sad look. “You are useful, and you do contribute to-” She halts her sentence when she sees what Rosie comes into the kitchen wearing. “Little miss, you cannot wear that to school.”

You release your wife and turn to see your little girl wearing one of your tee shirts, specifically the tee shirt of yours that says ‘Corona’ on it. You have to bite back a chuckle.

“But I wanna be like Mam!” Rosie stomps her barefoot against the tile.

Then Cat comes out, and she’s wearing one of Melissa’s shirts. That one has the letters ‘MILF’ printed on it- a gag gift you got for your wife when the girls were born.

The redhead smacks her forehead. “Good lord.”

At that one, you fully let out a belly laugh. “Is it dress like Moms day?” you ask.

Both girls nod with urgency.

“If you want to be useful, find them better shirts of ours to wear to school today,” your wife instructs as she runs a hand over her face.

By some grace of God, you convince them to change into more school appropriate shirts of yours and Melissa’s, and by the time you’re ushering them to the door, your wife is just slipping on her shoes.

“You look beautiful,” you whisper as you kiss her gently.

“Such a charmer,” she rolls her eyes, but she does kiss you back.

“Moms! Stop kissing!” Rosie groans as she grabs her backpack. “That’s cooties!”

“Cooties.” You repeat, leaning down to kiss your youngest twin’s cheeks. “Now you have cooties, lovey.”

You laugh as she dramatically wipes her cheeks with both little hands as you usher the girls out the door.

You see the girls safely to school, lingering just a little longer than you normally would in saying goodbye to them. You loiter for a minute in the hallway, looking through the classroom doorway at them greeting their little friends and instantly jumping into some game only kids can properly understand. You smile, relieved at least that your girls’ lives are peaceful and exactly like childhood should be- with no idea of what’s going on. You hope they never know. When they get older, they’ll surely gain some idea of the life you lead; your wife, too. They’re already too smart for their own good. It will only get worse as they age. You blame Melissa in your mind for having such brains.

You force yourself to get back to her at the thought as she waits in the car, before she can worry you’re taking too long. The plus side of owning a business; you’re technically never late. Except you know Melissa will feel like she’s late anyway. You hold her hand the whole drive to Twelve Tables.

“Pick me up before you get the girls from school?” She asks as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“You sure that’s enough time for everything you want to get done?”

She smiles at you as she leans across the console. “Considerin’ you called in backup and Val was directing everythin’, I think it’ll be fine. Trust the people that are there for you, huh?” She murmurs before kissing you goodbye. “You taught me that one.” She winks before she climbs out of the car and disappears into the back entrance of the restaurant.

You sigh as you sit in the car, idling at the back of Twelve Tables. You have no idea what to do with yourself. You’re used to running around at the salon; taking care of clients. If you aren’t taking care of clients, then you’re making sure those that work for you are and everything is running smoothly. The occasional visit from someone in the family is handled in your back office.

Now, you have hours to kill with nothing to worry about. Except, actually… you have everything to worry about. They’ve put Tony in charge. You still own the salon, on paper, but for them to make this kind of move; it’s bad. They don’t trust you- at least not as much as they used to. They didn’t even put you in charge like this when Bobby was on his way out.

You put the car in drive, pulling out of Melissa’s restaurant’s lot. You turn right, directing the car towards the outskirts of town; and out of it. You have hours to kill. You may as well make the most of it.

You drive the backroads- open fields and farmhouses. Little neighborhoods or small towns you pass through have nothing more than one stop light. If that. Most of the time you just have a stop sign at a four way stop. Your wife might be upset later that you didn’t bring her with you. Or maybe she’ll understand. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Mickey; just you. It’s always a family affair to visit him. At least you and Melissa.

You hope seeing him will set something at ease- like he’ll remind you this isn’t you getting picked over or played. He’ll tell you that it’s just temporary. Mickey, after all, is paying the big price for the family. Time on the inside- his freedom in exchange for everything the family stands for. Maybe he can remind you why you chose this life. Why do you keep choosing it now? The only answer you have is to keep those you love safe.

There is only one real way out of the life. You might be okay if it affected only you. But you know it doesn’t. You push the image of Melissa and the girls in the church you attend on Sundays with Barb from your mind as you pull into the visitor’s parking lot of the penitentiary. Except they’re in all black, with a funeral procession with your casket down the aisle. You can envision the way that Melissa’s makeup runs down her face and her eyes are bloodshot as she clings to the girls like it’s the only thing that’s keeping her tied to this world. That’s the only way out. You don’t want your wife and girls to ever have to go through that, but it might just be what fate has in store for you. Still, while you have whatever time you do left on this earth, you’ll fight for them. That’s why you keep choosing this life, even though every day makes you question the worth of it more and more.

Mickey grabs you up in a bear hug when you walk into the visitation room. “Hey, Y/N! I wasn't expectin’ a visit for awhile yet. How ya doin'?”

Reluctantly, you fill Mickey in on the recent events. He doesn't interrupt you or interject with his own thoughts. He just listens, elbows set on the table that separates the two of you while you speak in a hushed tone.

When you finish telling him how Uncle Dom has taken you off the salon, and put Tony in, Mickey laughs. “Tony? Tony aint gonna turn a profit in that place. ‘Specially not without the side gig. But even with it…” Mickey shakes his head. “That's rough. I'm sorry, Y/N. I know how much that place means to ya.”

“It don’t even matter that much to me anymore,” you sigh. “But it’s a big source of income for us to spoil Cat and Rosie, and… I don’t know, Mick.”

You look across the table at Mickey. He's older than when you last saw him. He looks it, like the past four and a half years have aged him at least ten. He'd been in his early twenties when he was convicted. You never noticed in all your other visits to him how much he was changing, being too busy with focusing on keeping your twins near you and your wife or quiet to not interrupt other visits. Or on the occasions it was just you and Mel; too busy listening and occasionally refereeing the silly squabbles he and your wife would get into.

Mickey has gained a fair bit of muscle. He wasn't scrawny when he went in, but he wasn't buff like he is now. He's letting the stubble on his face try to turn into a beard. His eyes, the same color as your wife's, look weary- about as weary as you feel.

“You regret it?” You ask softly. “Paying this price? Bein’ in here?”

Mickey looks back at you. He’s quiet for a long moment as he truly considers what you're asking. The look on his face says it isn't the first time he's thought about it.

Finally, he shakes his head. “No. I don't. If it weren't me, it'd be somebody else, y'know? There's always another body, huh? Another Tony to put in a spot in place of somebody.” He smiles wryly at you. “I'd rather it be me.”

“But why?” You can't help but ask. “Why you? You could be at home for Sunday dinners, seeing the twins whenever. So much other shit.”

“Hey, don't get me wrong, I miss all that. I miss Ma's cooking. I miss pissing my sisters off almost more than I think I miss Ma’s cookin’. I think about the girls all the time- all the birthdays and special stuff I missed. But…” Mickey presses an index finger to the table. “Because I'm here, I know youse are all safe out there. Maybe not from everythin’ in this shit world, but from this. I'd take the fall a hundred more times if it meant keeping you, my sisters, my nieces, Ma, and everybody else out and happy.”

“I almost turned myself over. For the salon.” You whisper. This was the first you've said it out loud other than when broaching the topic with Sammy. Melissa doesn't even know.

Instead of surprise or shock; Mickey nods with a knowing look. “Yeah. You would thinka that.” He smiles, lightly tapping your hand. “Thats why I'm the second Schemmenti you'd marry, huh? We think alike. That and you’d probably strangle Kristen Marie if ya married her.”

In spite of yourself and how you feel, you laugh. “Nah. Mel would strangle me first if I even thought about gettin’ with Kristen Marie, even if we were divorced.”

“Look,” Mickey says, straightening suddenly. You're doin’ what ya can. You’re there for the twins, you have Melissa through all of this, and I’m sure she’s well aware of that. That's what counts. Sometimes this family shit….it's fucked up. But that's when you gotta remember who you really do it for. I aint in here for Uncle Dom or anybody else. I'm in here for my family. If it makes the rest of ‘em happy; that's just collateral.”

“You're readin’ too many books in here. You didn't use to be this smart.”

“I don’t got much else to do,” Mickey shrugs. “I could join a prison gang and make toilet wine, or I could try to better myself so that when I do get out, I don’t end up back in this shithole.”

“No gangs, Mickey.” You say quickly as you get up to hug him. “I don't need to keep Mel from breaking in here just to kick your ass for stupid decisions.”

“Ah, you're right. She's gotta keep you from those on the outside.” He teases with a smile before he hugs you just as tightly when you arrived.

You're almost out of the visitor's room when you hear Mickey again.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn to see him with one of the corrections officers right behind him, ready to walk him back.

“Take care of yourself, huh, kid? My sister needs you. Don't let her down.”

Tags: @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic

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freefallfiction · 22 days

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File: Masterlist (Criminal Minds)

Last Reviewed: 5/16/2024

Originally posted by tinywolfcoffee

rules No Pedoph!l!c Content No Minor Interaction Send Requests Through The 'Asks' Channel Fem!Reader Unless Requested Otherwise Don't Like Don't Read Mind The Warnings Have Fun

S. Reid

United In Grief

How long can two hurting people hold on with only love keeping them together?

Late Night Concessions

Someone broke into your place; it was just past midnight and the rain was near deafening, but you were sure that was the sound of your front door window being shattered. With your phone on silent and Spencer’s number already dialed, you can only hope they’re here for your purse and tv and not the hiding girl beneath the bed.

Re-Run Special

Spencer finds love with a genius hedonistic girl who turns his world upside down, but their clash of personalities can leave him feeling a little left behind.

Play Your Cards Right

Y/n always loved Yu-Gi-Oh. From watching the show as a kid to trading and playing the card game, it’s always been a part of her life-- she should have known her boyfriend would try to learn it for her.

Coffee, My Secret Admirer

He had been wanting to try out the coffee shop on west and third for a while now, and he finally had the chance. He never thought he’d be caught up in a romance when a beautiful girl hopped over the counter and took his order, nor did he think they’d turn into not-so-secret admirers of one another.

Scale of Mental Stability

When a string of murders pick off where a long-arrested serial killer left off, the FBI’s first stop is the children of the cursed family. The problem? The only person who hates the man more than the son they arrested, is the daughter who’s out for blood.

My Hermes (Sending Me Letters From Above)

A coincidental meeting years ago leaves Spencer enthralled by a voice heard in the most unfortunate of circumstances. Y/n couldn't forget the man who gave her the best gift of all, the phone call of a lifetime.

The Seven Stages Of Loving You

A seven part series where Spencer falls in love with the BAU’s CI, or, Spencer finds out just how hard it is to build a future with someone constantly attacked by their past.

Absquatulate

Years had passed. Cases opened and closed, books were written and sold, the world spun and spun until... until it didn’t. The world kept moving until three am on Halloween night-- six shots of whiskey deep-- the world crashed down.

A. Hotch

Last Man Standing

No matter what it takes, even as bodies fall all around him and blood paints the streets, he will come home to you.

Just Like The Movies

It was a rare sight even before what will henceforth be known only as 'the incident' for Aarons smile to stretch so wide his eyes crinkled in a boyish manner that everyone believed was lost to time. It must have been a miracle.

The Egg Crusher

Serial killers in their own backyard had a tendency to start fires within the team that burn hotter than usual; one targeting pregnant women was practically begging them to shut him down. Aaron had begged her to take off work and finally start maternity leave. The worst part was she listened; the constant messages to his work email that set of ‘nesting’ alarms in his head had him convinced she had dived head first into it. Then he gets one signed off with the hidden moniker used when one of them gets themselves in trouble.

D. Morgan

Where You Go (I Wanna Go With You)

Derek always believed the job came first; complete the mission however he needed to for the case to close and the rest was simply collateral damage. Even now, when all is said and done, he couldn't say when his priorities shifted.

Where You Go (I Go)

Derek knew what it meant to be a great soldier. He knew how to follow all the rules and take initiative when appropriate; he’d learned these things as a means of survival. Even if the country he serves has dwindled down to one person, he knows to do everything in his power to get to her till his dying breath. (a part two)

Domesticated

The people at work tried to be more encouraging than envious when her boyfriend insists on driving her to and from work some random Tuesday. The imposing figure the man struck was intimidating, yet they all called him her ‘doberman puppy’.

J. Gideon

The Heart

He thought he'd lost it forever; for years it had been pegged as just another thing the horrors of his profession had stolen from him, a risk his mind simply wouldn't allow him to take. He should have known the brain had no power over matters of the heart.

E. Prentiss

Dancing With The Stars

Maybe in another world, when Emily crossed the dimly lit ballroom with a cutting smile and wandering hand, she did it without the mic in her ear.

E. Greenway

Comfort, Come Forth, King Forge

It was a dangerous field; that was all anyone ever said- you're a small girl, they'll eat you alive. For years after the academy she was always a girl first agent second; then she met her.

D. Rossi

Bella, Ciao

He may have chosen the wild life, but his heart remained every faithful in her hands.

These Trembling Hands

He thought it might be over; similar fates have happened to men far more successful than he. A mission gone wrong and they're sent to recovery, a mandates psych eval that already is stamped 'denied' to send him into retirement. He never thought he'd last this long in the first place, and if the pretty psychiatrist was his parting present he'd be a fool to look the gifted horse in the eye.

P. Garcia

Something Lost, Something Gained

It was a gilded reassignment that brought the new liaison to the team; she was, perhaps, the only agent who loathed the idea of being tacked on to the BAU's list of revolving-door members. The Cyber Response Unit had been home ever since the academy, but a single misstep had started the spiral towards madness, better known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Hopefully there would be someone on the team that wouldn't inherently know every little secret which had been carefully tucked away.

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kishdoodles · 1 month

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Treebark Week 2024 - A Post-Mortem

Hi! If you haven’t seen, I have released seven (7!) videos for Treebark Week 2024! This wall of text is my behind the scenes and also post-mortem thoughts on the project, which I found worth documenting.

Even if you don’t end up reading the text, I appreciate every comment, tag, and view my videos get. I did it for the fun of it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do it for the attention. I did, because I think these videos are the funniest things I’ve ever released. Shoutout to @thefluxqueen for being my partner in crime and confidant for these. You saw my vision.

I wanted to do something for Treebark week but admittedly I had noooo idea. So this whole gimmick was a fun set up for me to stretch my creativity in. What started as “I’m just going to do everything in mspaint with a mouse” spiraled to “I think it’s going to get boring if everything’s in the same style, so I’m going to have to do something different everyday.”

The important factor to me throughout all of this is earnesty.

Even if its life started as a joke, this project is a love letter in every respect. This is what I grew up on, this is the YouTube that is precious to me. Capturing this era of time in 7 videos is all at once easy, yet surprisingly laborious.

First I planned the songs. Fitting the songs with the prompts was a brain scratcher, but once we (me and Spain) had a few in the rest slotted in pretty easily. Common thread was, of course, any popular song from the mid-late 2000s.

The first confirmed song was Sugar, Sugar for Sweet (Day 2) courtesy of Spain, given the Eddsworld video. We had a few songs for Burn (Day 3) or Infernal (Day 4) which we threw out (Elli Goulding’s Burn, 2NE1’s Fire, Steam Powered Giraffe’s Fire Fire, etc.) I ended up digging through my old playlist and listened to 20% Cooler, which after a realization I immediately slotted it for Frost (Day 1). Spain brought up the Heat Waves parody (Cold Spells) for Frost too, to which I realized I could just do regular Heat Waves, so that became what I did for Burn.

Bring Me To Life was brought to my attention (I forgot how, maybe Youtube recommendations?) and with the lyrics, it became the song for Blood (Day 7). The all time classic, Angel with a Shotgun, fit in nicely with the prompt of Divine (Day 4), so there was no contest. Another classic, Everytime We Touch, was harder to fit but I eventually reasoned through the prompts enough to fit it with Lips (Day 5) (the everytime we kiss part).

At this point, nothing I’ve found fit Day 6 (picnic/garden/strawberry) at ALL. So I decided the only way I knew how. RANDOM CHOICE!

Mad World won but that was a trap, for I have biased myself toward Animal I’ve Become at that point and it almost won, so I went with that instead. This is a lawless land.

The actual video ideas really came to me in piecemeal, so I’ll explain how I got each idea as I cover each day in order of when I completed them.

20% Cooler (Day 1) was the most straightforward of the days. It was done in 1 hour and 30 minutes and I was purposefully being extremely literal about the lyrics. I already had the vision for what I want, and I didn’t want to care about quality all that much, so it came together really fast.

For my process, I lined with mspaint brush and then bucket tooled with default colours. I took advantage of the new layer system mspaint added for some scenes, but otherwise it was as simple as just drawing. (Pictured, 3 layers for 2 scenes.)

It was really easy to just quickly edit in Windows Movie Maker 6 too, I just dragged the pictures in, slapped effects, roughly timed everything and it’s done.

Programs used: mspaint, Windows Movie Maker 6

Sugar, Sugar (Day 2) was an honest effort at avoiding any complicated animations. I initially thought of doing an animation similar to the original video that inspired the song choice, but eventually scaled back because. I don’t want to animate.

Thus came the decision of subject matter. I ended up settling on the demon roleplay because I thought it was the campiest thing in the world. And it was a sweet reunion, no? The lyrics just fit the vibe, and in a moment of brilliance (hitting the showers) I thought to make a visual novel. One reflective of old flash games and like the visual novels of cultural zeitgeist at the time.

I’ve known about Ren’py for quite some time now, but I’ve never properly learned how to use it. For this my task was simple. Find out how to change sprites, backgrounds, and move people into the scene.

Sprites and backgrounds were easy, so those were the first things I did. Ren’s sprites were inspired in design by Demon Hunters in the Warcraft world, mostly because I was playing a lot of Hearthstone and liked the idea. Martyn’s sprite style was inspired by early 2000s anime visual novels, like Higurashi (though I’ve personally never consumed it nor do I actually recommend consuming this piece of media (neutral) its ripple throughout the anime community was felt. Notably, parodies of the anime’s opening were very popular.) I toned back the stylizations, but trust me when I say that Martyn’s hands were purposefully big to be yaoi hands. It didn’t end up that big, and I did not give him the dorito chin here so, immense self control on my part (or cowardice?). False and Joel were just my regular style. For all this I used my tablet instead of my mouse.

The programming part was a little troublesome, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t google, so it got done pretty fast. There’s other small bits, like how I mismatched the background sizes, the sprite sizes (with each other)(minorly) but for the most part it came together pretty quick. Once the VN was done, it was just about recording it. So I put on the song, and danced along.

[You can download the VN here]

Programs used: Ren’Py, OBS, mspaint, After Effects (just to move the scene over at the beginning)

So I knew I wanted a classic style AMV, so that eventually became Everytime We Touch (Day 5).

The pictures mostly come from a discord server I’m in (hi [redacted]!!!!) and I thought of it like a nice homage to the insanity we had in there. Bless all of you guys, you guys were the ones I wanted this series to be made for the most.

Not much to say beyond that, besides me just editing it all on movie maker as usual.

Programs used: Windows Movie Maker 6

Angel With a Shotgun (Day 4) was the last to be planned for. I predicted it was going to be the easiest to make on the fly (it was) and just kind of winged it. I wanted a unique style still for it though, and the idea of drawing their cubitos came pretty late.

I was not exempt from this trend in my youth (my art in mspaint, age 11, me and my sister)

The rest was history. Just kidding, I really wanted something to do with the shotgun thing so I literally searched “shotgun” in Curseforge and got MrCrayfish’s gun mod just for the shotgun. I loaded up the 3rd Life world I had from my Broken Lives animatic (it’s a custom made world using the seed) and just got to work with FreeCam and OBS (it’s my first time with FreeCam too!)

A rejected clip I didn’t use because of skin consistency / continuity.

Programs used: Minecraft, mspaint, Windows Movie Maker 6

Heat Waves (Day 3) acquired a pixel art style as an homage to its original lyric video. People have said it reminded them of Homestuck, which I honestly don’t mind. It fits the era and I did grow up with it. It kinda looped back in on itself that way.

I blame this frame, here's it as a gif which lies unused.

For the video, the more I rewatched bits of Last Life for it (it’s been a while!) I realized it had a lot more potential than I initially thought. Though I doubt most of it didn’t come through in the final product (I limit these videos to a minute or less, if possible, excepting credits and allowing few more seconds over the minute mark so long as it felt warranted), I tried to cram in what I thought fitting to the prompt the whole time.

The watch tower burning was an easy pick, a classic Treebark moment you might say. For the rest of it, the nuance laid a lot in how Martyn presented the Shadow Alliance. “The Dog, The Shadow, The Roots. We make this place burn.” Under the eyes of the moon, it witnessed this pact form, and its resolution for the server. The moon is included in multiple frames because of this, as a stand-in for the eye of the Watcher(s) I included at the start, watching Martyn through the series.

In a lot of ways, how Lizzie and BigB turned red I also found fascinating. Lava and explosions you could argue are an extension of burning and fire, and an explosion was also how Martyn left the series. Ren, from the start of this alliance, inexplicably committed to and saw through what ultimately rips the people he was loyal to away from him.

Martyn on the other hand, I drew in the later portions quite aware of the position he’s in, hence only his eye in the frame with the last 4 folks. This to me starts a path for him toward where he goes in the later serieses (notably in Limited Life). This is all very “vibes” and instinctual kind of “trust me on this” sort of read on c!Martyn honestly.

On missed opportunities, I’m almost upset at how I never brought up the moment Martyn buys a love crystal from Scar (never used, it got blown up) which I (and a lot of other) may have delusionally thought it was for Ren. Besides that, I never had a chance to desaturate the colours in the video leaving only red (which Ren did upon the encounter of the establishment of the Moon Cult)(it really emphasized Martyn’s lips!), I tried just plain desaturating, but ended up ditching it since it never felt like it jived well with the rest of the video.

All that aside, I finished this one really late (for me, which was past midnight on the day it was going to be posted), so I’m glad it was out on time. It’s the one I put in the most effort for, and I’m glad to see people enjoy it.

The eye on its own, which reveals the Watcher symbol I accidentally did in the wrong orientation. Oops!

Programs used: Aseprite, After Effects

Animal I Have Become (Day 6) was thought on for a while. Eventually I have my eureka moment and I thought it was a nice shout out to the Bannedstory community who I’ve followed in my early days, where I’d watch animations of people’s custom OCs (original characters) made with Maplestory sprites animated to audio clips that I really wasn’t supposed to be listening to at the time lol. That, and all the online games and the like I grew up with on the early internet. I personally didn’t partake in it, but roleplaying on those was a common sight, and I found it endearing.

My partner in crime for this day in particular was @thefluxqueen, because I really can’t be bothered with character customization for a lot of these games (I respect the craft but I lack the patience), but I knew who LOVED doing that. He really knocked it out of the park, helping me do the Gachalife, Club Penguin, and the characters for Animal Jam and Ponytown. For the latter, they handed me the account information and we just went to town.

A Treebark stream in a just world.

I can’t tell you exactly how I assigned the lyrics, but I definitely assigned the animal sections during the chorus so it was a surprise (and so it also fit the lyrics). I did have fun recording and we had a fun time in Ponytown. We were shown where other mcyt fans are by a Grian pony (Hermit Hill) and then we hung out there sitting down while we workshopped the Bannedstory segments with both our sonas together. All in all a great time.

It took a few takes.

Programs used: Bannedstory 3 (I would’ve loved to use 4, I grew up with that!), Gachalife, Club Penguin, Animal Jam, Ponytown, Windows Movie Maker 6, OBS

For Bring Me to Life (Day 7)... I ended up getting more attached to the thought of it the longer this project went on.

I wanted it to be the end all be all, go out with a bang and everything. I kept thinking and thinking, how do I end Treebark week? After a week of homages, how do I make the last one?

What’s beyond my childhood? It was just growing up. But it’s not like I had to let anything go. My artistic endeavors are influenced by all of my experiences. I saw good reason to bring it all home, do a callback to the styles of the entire week, it’s my victory lap.

And why not call back every instance of Treebark through the entire series then? This evolved into me learning more about Martyn’s lore because I want to be informed! I want to make this as someone who earnestly loves the narrative of these characters, and the stories they’ve told.

From a story perspective, it felt like Martyn was always doomed to tragedy. Suppose the life series always does end tragically, but Martyn’s Vtuber in relation to all this has its own inherent tragedy to it. In my eyes, this roamer of cyberspace constantly has to live through different lives with familiar people. The people he loved and cared for in one world will always be ripped from him, and he knows that.

Amongst everything the Unguided Hand gets me the most. In the video I drew the Ren he chases as a shadow. He’ll never get the Ren he knew then, back. Even if he meets another Ren in another world, it's never going to be The Red King. To me, Limited Life is the snapping point, a point of selfishness above all else in the comfortable knowledge that he wins, without ever needing to experience the same closeness and loyalty he had in lives past. The realization that this is what the game was about. Winning at all costs. I wanted the progression to reflect that.

Deep down, maybe he yearns to be saved from all that. The song echoes that sentiment. I tried to match the lyrics to how I saw the timeline of events as close as possible for that to hit. In this, Ren is his anchor, someone that he gets drawn to no matter the incarnation. The tragedy is that Ren, even if he knows about what Martyn’s going through, can’t join him in this journey. Martyn will always be alone in this experience, and Ren can only be a short comfort before the cycle starts anew.

I quite liked the pixel art I did for LimLife!Martyn

From a meta perspective, this video (and by extension, the whole series) is about art and creating. I have been obsessed with art for 14 years now, and as time goes on I’ve grown fond of every way that we, as people, have evolved our storytelling. The multitudes of mediums that we have developed to express ourselves and share narratives will continue to fascinate me endlessly. Cringe be damned, there is a universal desire to create and enjoy stories of all folds. From the smallest story told from painstakingly typing chat boxes for little custom-made characters to say, to the highest production play put on for multiple hours in a game of Minecraft.

And at the beginning of my journey lay paper and pencil. Bring Me To Life is an elaborate pun on my end, yes, but also a reflection of my roots. I started my journey as an artist endlessly doodling the adventures of tiny magical girls fighting demons, drawing fanart of costumes in MMO games I found cool, and sharing them with my friends at school. I find myself still drawing, still creating, for hundreds, if not thousands of eyes to see. Still I get inspired by the stories others tell, and I create in turn. In appreciation, in love.

Bring Me To Life as a song, is a slate that, to me, reflected what I saw in the relationship of Treebark. Bring Me To Life is also a demand, of a piece of art that I had a vision for, that I wanted to bring to life. I struggled at how to end it for a while. Closing the book became very straightforward. It’s the end of this video, this saga, and another way that me, as a Watcher myself (as what they’re originally meant to represent) exercises control over stories in my own unique way. Creation is never limited to a select few. I think everyone should keep getting inspired by the things around them, and keep making art in turn.

To the people who’ve made it til the end here, make art, keep creating. Do shitty doodles, write whatever you want, make sounds and crafts and keep living. That’s all I really want, and this was what this whole series was about.

Programs used: mspaint, Aseprite, Blockbench, Bannedstory 3, Pencil and paper, After Effects

#art #writing #mcyt #treebark #treebarkweek #treebarkweek2024 #inthelittlewood #rendog #itlw #kishdrabbles

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oursecretescape · 3 months

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Forgotten

words: 7.5k

genre: angst

If my fate is to disappear like this, then this is my last letter - Let go xx TW: Mentions of anxiety, panick attack. Trad: anjinho = little angel. a/n: Hello, my babies. This story is the translation of ''Forgotten'' that I recently posted. I tried to make it as angsty as possible, hope I have achieved my goal. My apologies before hand for any grammar erros. English is not my first language. I suggest you all read it along with the saddest song you like. Well... with all that being said, I wish you a happy reading (or sad? lmao. dunno). Tell me later what y'all thought. ♥

"Hey! We'll be there soon. Sorry for the delay. Today's rehearsal took longer than expected. We're leaving now."

Received at 5 in the afternoon.

I take a quick glance at the clock, and it shows eight in the evening. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I feel my heart drumming slowly in my chest, each beat amplifying my growing sense of unease.

I get up from the couch and reach for the umbrella swaying gently in the wind coming from the window. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to manage the sudden surge of fear and despair growing in my chest. My heart is racing, and my mind is in overdrive. A sense of mortality and suffocation, all rolled up into a single emotion: anxiety.

I sit down, sliding along the corridor wall. I try to control my breathing while attempting to steady the pounding of my heart. I think that dying in the hallway of a building would be so pointless and dull that it makes me laugh. A laugh, strained and devoid of emotion, but functional.

Heart rate normalizing. Labored, but controlled breathing. Mind stabilized.

I feel my face wet with tears. I wipe them away with trembling hands. When did I start crying? I rise from the floor, swaying a little. I take another deep breath and press the elevator button.

Dad always said that thinking of ridiculous things in difficult moments would help distract me. He was right, as he always was.

The cold, damp breeze of Seoul's streets warmed my soul. Its black skies, like darkness, covered with thick clouds, carried heavy raindrops that, upon impact, met my umbrella, creating beautiful melodies. It was comforting to hear the drops hitting the hard concrete; they reminded me that I wasn't crying alone.

It was thundering when I arrived at the destination. Bright streaks in the sky made the monument even gloomier. I found it ironic how everything matched my feelings. As I entered through the doors, I could already hear muffled cries. Sadness and suffering permeated the air, leaving me melancholic.

After a few more steps, I could see the person I love the most in the world greeting me with a beautiful smile. His eyes were shining like true rays of sunshine. I sit in front of him, sliding my fingers where his name rests. Lee Joon-Ho.

"Dad, I miss you so much," I say aloud, my voice cracking with emotion. "It's been incredibly lonely without you here. You have no idea how much I long for your company," I said, feeling the salty taste of tears. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring my friends to meet you like I promised. They're all caught up with their own lives, you know how it is. But don't worry, I'll bring them next time when they're less busy," I chuckle, with no emotion.

I hear footsteps behind me. I stand up excitedly, my heart pounding, but this time as a sign of comfort. They didn't forget. I feel my face stretch into a small smile, which is quickly dissolved.

"Hello, young lady. Good evening," the guard gives me a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need to ask you not to linger too long on your visit today. The rain caused some minor leaks, and we'll have to close a little earlier."

"Oh okay, I understand," I responded in a whisper.

"I'm sorry. You have 10 minutes. I'll leave you alone," he said, bowing and leaving promptly.

I turn again, sitting on the floor.

"Dad, today I have to leave a little earlier. But don't worry, I'll be back soon," I feel the tears fall like the drops falling from the sky. "I love you so much," I say between sobs. "I miss you."

I stand up in desperation, running out the door, feeling the drops fall freely on my body, without the protection of the umbrella. It was as if I was washing away all the bad feelings flowing from my being.

Arriving home, I take a hot shower and change into comfortable clothes. The room were in dense darkness. It was just the rain and me. And my cat, who was rubbing against my leg, lay on my lap."

I feel my chest inflate with comfort at the presence of the little being and smile at the gesture.

With the phone in hand, I try to distract my restless mind. I see the Twitter icon and feel my heart pounding as if I shouldn't do this, but I do it anyway. The blue screen shining amidst the darkness of the room soon turns into white, leaving my vision blurred. I switch to dark mode and continue scrolling through my feed.

Within a few seconds, I see something that breaks my heart even more. Among the bursts of excitement from Armys, there are videos of the boys, my boys, having fun in a restaurant with her. They forgot about the visitation day because of her. Again, the reason why I was put aside is her.

Knocks on the door make me forget the feelings of jealousy and anger that burned in my body like fire. I hesitated to remove the furry creature from my lap, as it seemed so comfortable. With a little effort, I get up and walk to the door. Upon opening it, I see Adora's face in a comforting smile. Seeing a friendly face, I feel my tears fall freely on my face once again. She immediately drops the bags she was carrying and envelops me in a loving hug.

I can't say for how long we hugged. What I can say is that it was exactly what I needed at that moment. I feel my chest getting lighter as if all the bad feelings had been carried away by the embrace, and I feel grateful to Adora for that.

Slowly I pull away, and I can see her smile return twice as big.

"Better?" she asks, making me nod.

I step aside, and she enters, placing the food bags on the coffee table. I close the door and follow her.

"What did you bring?" I ask curiously, making her laugh.

"I knew food would cheer you up," she laughs. "I brought a lot of junk food. Sweet and savory cookies, ice cream, sweet and sour pork, hamburgers, and sodas."

"Soda?" I wonder. "Since when do you like fizzy drinks? You always said they gave you gas," I hold back a laugh.

"The soda is for you. For me," she reaches into the bag, pulling out two green bottles of soju. "I brought alcohol," she says sticking her tongue out as she shakes the bottles.

I smile at her little dance, but seeing her gummy smile reminds me of him. I feel the sadness wanting to return when I remember the videos, but I cast aside any bad feelings as I grab the ice cream container.

"I didn't want to bring it up, but I'm really sorry I wasn't there. You know how it is at BigHit. I couldn't leave the production until the work was finished," she explains, and I smile.

"It's okay. I understand," I whisper. "The important thing is that you're here now."

"About the boys..." she starts to say, but I quickly cut her off.

"No, it's fine. I don't want to talk about it."

"But you need to, Cassie. You know that. Keeping it all inside will only make it worse. You know you can trust me. Vent it out. I'm here," she holds my hand.

I close my eyes, nodding. I search within myself for the strength to let out everything I'm feeling. Everything that's hurting me. I bite my lower lip and open my eyes. It's going to be okay.

"It's been some time since my friendship with the boys started cooling off," I begin, feeling her squeeze my hand in comfort. "You know I met Tae before he became famous, and he's the one who introduced me to the rest of the boys. Since then, we've had a very strong friendship. We weren't always together, especially with the tours and my work, but we were close, like a real family. No matter how long we went without seeing each other, nothing changed, until recently," I sigh. "Park Ji-Hye showed up about 2 months ago, a few weeks before my dad passed away. She auditioned for the dancer position and passed the test," Adora nods.

"Yeah, I saw her audition," she says.

"So, since that day, I saw her getting closer and closer to the boys. They were always talking about how cool and funny she is, and, you know, I was happy for them. A new friendship is always good, especially for them, who are famous and always have to be careful with opportunists. But it never crossed my mind that she would take the place I had in their lives," I smile sadly. "They started visiting me much less. Calling me much less. Inviting me to the dorm or out much less. Until the day I literally became nothing to them," I look at Adora, whose face is red with anger.

"These..." I interrupted her.

"You don't want to lose your job, right?" I ask, laughing. "And you can't blame them either. She became their official dancer, which means wherever they go, she's with them," I shrug. "She's with them all the time, and that surely made them closer to her. Even more than me," I feel my eyes welling up. "I don't want to lose them, but I feel like I already did."

"Hey," she shakes me. "Calm down, breathe. I know they messed up. And they messed up badly, but it doesn't mean they've forgotten about you," Adora says, trying to comfort me.

"They forgot me the day my dad died, Adora. I'll never forget that. I feel like on that day, I died twice. I remember calling them in desperation, crying, not knowing what to do, feeling like my world was falling apart," I pause as I feel all the emotions returning. "And they said they were coming, but they never showed up," I continued after a few seconds of silence. "After that, they sent me a message explaining that Park Ji-Hye had gotten hurt dancing and they were with her at the hospital," Adora nods.

"Yeah, I remember. She just fell on her butt, but she made a scene like she broke her back. Everyone was freaking out at the company, even Bang PD. But in the end, it was just drama," she laments.

"After that, they didn't even visit me. Not even once," I laughed with no emotion. "Right after, they forgot my birthday. I understand that I wasn't excited at all because of my dad, but it wouldn't hurt to receive some supportive or congratulatory messages from them. I was so upset that I sent some sad texts. In less than thirty minutes, they were knocking on my door. We cried a lot, but I felt like a part of me had come back to life and that everything was going to be okay," I sarcastically laughed. "I couldn't have been more wrong, could I?" I asked.

"Cassie..."

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything. After today, I finally understood," I grab a spoon. "They found someone better than me. Someone who can be with them all the time and help them when they need it. I'm just sad that person isn't me. Not anymore," I shove the spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, to prevent the tears stuck in my throat from coming out.

For the rest of the night, Adora didn't bring up the subject again, and I was grateful for that.

A random movie played on TV, but my mind was far away. I looked to the side and saw Adora sleeping with her mouth open. A piece of cookie rested on her cheek while her hand lay above her head. I silently chuckled, covering us and then turning off the TV.

A distant ringing sound caught my attention. I tapped around the couch until I found the phone under the cushion. My eyes automatically closed from the sudden contact with the bright screen, but just as they closed, they widened.

After the first notification, thousands started to show up. My heart throbbed in my chest as my body was flooded with nervousness.

"Min PD: Cassie, please tell me you're there."

"Joonie: Please respond. We're sorry. It wasn't our intention not to show up..." The message appeared cut off because I hadn't unlocked the phone yet.

"Hobierto: Believe us, Cassie. Please, we know you're awake. Answer us."

"Jinnie: Cassandra, we would never do anything to hurt you. Please let us explain."

"Mochi: Answer the phone."

After that message, a group call popped up on the screen. I stared at it, battling the urge to answer. I sighed deeply and threw the phone back onto the couch because no matter how much I wanted to talk to them, I was still hurt. I didn't want to answer and end up fighting. Saying things without thinking and ending up in a worse situation. The best thing to do now was to rest.

I made myself comfortable on the bed we had arranged on the floor, and put the pillow over my head to block out the notifications. When I didn't see any changes, I pressed the power button on my phone and confirmed it right away. I lay back down and took a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. Everything will be okay. ——————————————————

It wasn't even dawn when I heard knock after knock. Disoriented, I got up, searching for where the noise was coming from until my feet led me to the front door. I looked at the clock hanging on the wall and got irritated to see it was six past two in the morning.

I swung the door open, ready to argue with whoever had woken me up so early after going to bed so late, but I lost my voice when I saw the seven people I loved most staring at me ty forlornly.

I felt two arms embrace me tightly, followed by two more until I lost count. Desperate whispers for forgiveness echoed in my ear, making me feel loved... until a certain moment. Memories of what had happened the night before made me wake up from the sleep I didn't know I was in. Slowly, I distanced myself from the seven, able to see the tears streaming down some of their faces and sadness emanating from the others.

"Cassie..." Jimin starts. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't our intention to leave you alone in such a difficult time. Please, believe us."

"We didn't come here to lie to you, Cassandra..." Namjoon says. "It really wasn't our intention. I know this is going to sound completely wrong, but we made a promise to Ji-Hye. We promised to take her out to celebrate her birthday since she's far from her family and would probably celebrate alone," I try to hide a grimace.

They couldn't miss her birthday, but could miss mine.

"As soon as we finished eating, we were going to come straight here. And we really were, Cas, really. But the company called saying we had to go there to finalize the last details for the album. It was then that we sent several messages in the group, but you didn't see any."

"That's why we're here," Taehyung says, interrupting Namjoon. "Cassie, listen to me. You're one of the most important people in my life. Sorry if lately my actions haven't shown that, but please, please, Cas, don't be mad at us. I couldn't bear to know that you're upset because of me," he whispers.

"Go to the dorms tonight. Let's talk about this calmly," Hoseok suggests.

I remain silent for a few minutes.

"Come on, please. Hum? Hum?'' Tae shakes my arm. ''You'll go, right? Say yes," he asks.

"Okay," I sigh deeply. "I'll go."

I feel arms wrapping around my body again, and I relax, enjoying the contact. This time, the hug lasted only a few seconds. The boys said goodbye, saying they needed to be at the company in a few hours.

"Tonight at 7. We'll be waiting for you," Yoongi said and then left.

I closed the door, trying to contain my excitement and the obvious smile on my face. As I turned to go back to bed, I was startled to see only Adora's head peeking out from behind the couch. She had a radiant smile on her face as she looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"Shut up," I say, making her laugh. ——————————————————

I look at the clock on the wall. It's 8:07 in the evening. Damn, I was late. I could already hear Adora's voice slowly emerging in my mind, saying that I should have listened to her and picked out my outfit earlier. Shaking my head, I focus on finishing getting ready. The last thing I needed right now was a lecture from my own mind.

I hear knocks and the doorbell ringing repeatedly.

"Shit," I mutter as I hop over to the door.

I try to put on my sock while walking to the door, but my unfailing plan soon becomes fallible when I trip over my own hand and fall on the floor. The knocks and the doorbell grow louder, and I feel irritation creeping in. "ALRIGHT, I'M COMING," I yell and pick myself up.

I walk back to the door with a pout and my hair completely tousled, covering my face. I take a deep breath, fix my hair, put on a fake smile, and finally open the door. As I see the seven people I love most in the world looking at me with confused faces, I feel my smile turn genuine, and the earlier irritation vanish as if it had never existed.

"Is everything okay? Why didn't you come?" I hear Taehyung ask as he scrutinizes me from head to toe."

"What happened? Something serious?" Seokjin asks, and I shake my head.

"No, guys, sorry. I almost died trying to choose a good outfit to wear and ended up running late, sorry," I explained laughing.

''What do you mean you almost died?" Jungkook asks as I watch their faces turn into a grimace."

"It was nothing, really," I reassure, taking a quick glance at Jungkook, who was holding back his laugh.

He knew it. I am sure he did.

"Are you sure you didn't... you know... fall on your ass?" he smirks. "I'm sure I heard a huge..."''

"Hobi," I said excitedly, "What do you have there?" I pointed to the bags he was carrying while Jungkook laughed.

That little prick.

''Food," he says, shaking the bags. ''We know how much you love eating''.

I chuckle and make way for them to enter. In a few minutes, the food was already on the coffee table, and an improvised bed was set up on the living room floor. I change into more comfortable clothes and join them.

"Look, before we start, we want you to know how sorry we are," Yoongi says.

"Yes... Sorry for not being there on the visitation's day," Jimin adds. "If there's anything you want to say, anything that's bothering you, please let us know. We'll fix it all, Cassie. ''he holds my hand.'' We want things to go back to how they used to be."

"We're here for you, Cas," Jin finishes, and I smile weakly.

I pause for a moment, feeling that it still wasn't the right time. So, I just sigh and shake my head.

"It's okay, guys. Really," I open with a smile. "Let's just watch this movie already. I'm dying to see who'll be the first one to cry and shake in fear like a little kitten." I say, trying to change the subject, and smirk when I realize it worked.

"I am sure it won't be me," Hoseok says with confidence. "Cause you know..." he shows off his muscles. "I'm a man," he pauses for a minute.

It doesn't take long until Hoseok's laughter fills the room, making everyone laugh.

"Who listens to him talking like this, doesn't even think the Gladiator sandal outside belongs to him," Jungkook says, making Hoseok look at him flabbergasted.

''Hey, what do you mean by that?'' he asks shookedt. ''It's fashionable''

"Yeah, Hobi. Sure is," Yoongi says, patting his shoulder.

''Why I don't believe you are being honest?'' Hoseok asks putting his finger under his chain. ''I'm going to expose you on Twitter. Or should I say X?''

''What? Are you into Xvideos?'' Namjoon asks as he returns.

Everybody stops and looks at him. When did he even leave to begin with?

"What were you doing, Joonie?" I ask, smirking at him. "Were you in the bathroom?" he nods as the rest of the boys laugh.

''Now we know why you are thinking naughtiness'' Jimin says.

Namjoon's face turns red as he shakes his hands nervously. He tries to sit down on the couch but somehow ends up falling on the ground. We can see his cellphone flying around the living room as he throws his arms in the air in an attempt to regain his balance, but it doesn't work, as expected.

''No need to be nervous, Joonie'' I say. ''Everybody masturbates once in a while.''

''Do we?'' Yoongi looks at me suspiciously.

"I mean," I chuckle nervously. "How did we even get to this conversation? Let's just watch the movie for God's sake."

"Nah, nah. Don't you try coming up with excuses," Tae says abruptly. "What do you mean by that? Are you dating someone?" Jungkook seems to be having fun as he opens a beer can.

''What? Me? Dating?'' I laugh. ''Not even close. But I can't say the same about Jungkook, can I?'' he chokes.

''Uh? What you on about?'' he asks as he cleans his mouth. ‘’Seven days a week, huh?’’ he burst into laughter. He pauses for a minute before smirking. "Hm, why's that, baby girl?" he says, leaning in my direction. "Are you jealous?" he asks, putting a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Do you want me to…" he bites his lower lip. "You know," he says putting his finger on my lips. I can already feel the cringeness and second-hand embarrassment traveling throughout my body as the rest of the boys laugh. This prick. ‘’You really need to get out from twitter,’’ I say, shoving him away. ‘’The next step is to put up a black and white profile picture and call yourself a webdom’’ He raises both of his middle fingers in my direction before turning his attention back to the beer can. ‘’Are you guys done? Can I finally play this damn movie?’’ Yoongi asks, making everybody nod.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Time passed quickly, and before I knew it, it was time for them to leave. Unfortunately, they couldn't stay overnight. They had to leave very early the next day due to their schedule.

I hesitated to get up; I didn't want to accompany them to the door out of sheer laziness, and feeling Taehyung shaking me with his foot made me even more sluggish.

"If you keep doing that, I swear I'll fall asleep," I say, making him huff.

"Come on, sloth imitation. Take us to the door," Jimin says, but gives up when he sees Jungkook lying next to me.

"Jungkook, I'm sure you really like your video game, right?" Seokjin asks, and in a jump, Jungkook gets up.

"Are you really not taking us to the door?" Yoongi asks, and I remain silent. "Okay then."

When I open my eyes to see what he was going to do, I feel an arm gather and squeeze my legs while a hand starts tickling my feet furiously.

"JESUS!" I scream in surprise.

I heard laughter as I fought for my life. The strange feeling that tickling brought made me confused if I was laughing because I found it funny or if it was fear messing up my nervous system. The laughter increased as I writhed and screamed for help.

"YOONGI, YOU JERK!" I said without realizing that I was actually yelling.

"Weren't you sleepy?" Yoongi asks. "So, I'm trying to help you."

"WAIT UNTIL I GET UP, YOU PIECE OF BROWN SUGAR, I'M GOING TO END YOU."

"Are you going to take us to the door?" he asks.

"OKAY, OKAY, I'LL TAKE YOU, JUST STOP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD," I yell.

I feel my body calm down and my brain start functioning again as the tickling ceases. I looked at Yoongi who was laughing while sniffing his hand.

"Ew, you have smelly feet," he says, and I get up.

"Come here, you little jerk," I chase after him as he runs away mocking me.

After a few seconds, I could already feel that the 70% of water in my body had evaporated and the air in my lungs was scarce. When did my body become so sedentary?

"Idiot," I curse Yoongi who laughs. "I hate you."

"I love you too, beautiful thing," I hear him say.

Finally, I accompany them to the door. After a lazy farewell, I see them about to leave, but a click in my mind makes me stop them.

"As you know, I graduated from college, but since it was at the time when my father died, I didn't have any enthusiasm to celebrate. Adora recommended that I have a celebration the day after tomorrow night, since it's the weekend. Just to not let it go unnoticed. So... you guys are invited."

"We'll be here, don't worry," Namjoon says, and I smile nodding.

We say goodbye again, and this time, I see them leave. Seeing the elevator door close, I go back inside the house. The smile on my face never leaves me for a second, and finally, after so long, I could feel that things would really be okay.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Thanks to Adora, everything was organized on time. The food was ordered since neither she nor I wanted anyone to die from food poisoning. The time we ended up in the hospital the day we cooked for each other was enough. No need to repeat the dose.

I check the time on my phone and see it's 8pm. They would arrive at any moment, so I sit next to Adora on the couch to chat until then.

☂ ☂

Some time passed, and the boys still hadn't arrived. I look at the time again and see that it's 9:46. I try not to think the worst and choose to believe they would be here soon.

☂ ☂

I sigh deeply at seeing what time it is: 11:14. I try to ignore Adora's pitying look and get up from the couch. I suppress the tears once again. I am tired of crying. And more than ever, I realize that they don't deserve my tears.

"Cassandra..." Adora calls me, and I look at her. "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. Something must have happened at the company, and they couldn't let us know." I shake my head.

Something inside me told me that wasn't it, and I decided to trust my intuition.

"Adora, can you take me to the dorm?," I ask softly. "I don't think I'll have the courage to go alone," I weakly smile, and she nods.

"Of course, my love. Of course..." ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The car journey lasted less than I wished. My mind was constantly clouded by memories, anxiety making the painful memories hurt twice as much. I laughed in disbelief. I wondered what I had done wrong to deserve this.

"Thank you for bringing me," I look at Adora. "And thank you for always being by my side in difficult times. If I felt supported and loved, be sure that it's all because of you. You're an amazing person, Adora, and I hope you know that." she smiles.

"Regardless of what happens there, remember that you are enough. Not for them, but for yourself. Don't belittle yourself for them, Cassie, and don't let the love you feel for them speak louder than your self-love. If you survived two hellish months without their presence, be sure that you can live your life and be immensely happy in the future without them. I guarantee you that," I feel her hand squeezing mine for comfort, and I smile. "I'll be waiting for you here," I nod.

I get out of the car, feeling Adora's words take effect. I walk bravely towards the towering building, ignoring every feeling of nostalgia trying to invade me. I couldn't lose focus now.

Arriving on their dorm's floor, I feel my heart skip a beat. I pause for a moment and try to put my thoughts and feelings in order. Seeing no result, I lean against the wall and try in every way to avoid a panic attack that was about to come. As if it were a heavenly help, I feel my phone vibrate. With trembling hands, I pick it up and see a message from Adora.

"Don't forget, you are strong and capable. And never for a moment think you are alone, because I'm here for you."

I clutch my phone tightly. Adora is right. I am strong and I am capable. I can do this because regardless of what happens, I will be okay.

I take a deep breath, gathering all the strength and courage from my being, and knock on the door. I freeze when I realize what I've done, but I quickly compose myself. I will be okay.

A few seconds passed and no one answered, so I knocked again. But just like the first time, there was no response. After the third attempt, I decide to enter. Typing the password on the door, I entered the dormitory.

Upon realizing that there was no one in the main hall, the pounding of my heart calmed down. I begin to walk through the dormitory, recalling every good moment I had with my boys. I feel the sadness emanating in my chest once again.

I really didn't want to lose them.

As I walked down the corridor, I heard voices coming from the kitchen. I started walking with firm steps, but I felt my legs waver when I heard a female voice among their voices. It was her.

"Jungkook-oppa, you're so silly," I hear her delicate laughter, feeling jealousy burning in my chest.

It should be me there.

"The silly you love," I hear Jungkook reply.

I could hear the happiness in his voice. It was as if they didn't need anyone else at the moment but her. And that made me hate her, but my own mind scolded me. She is not worthy of my hatred. She is as innocent as I am in this story. She did nothing to hurt me, so why would I hate her?

"Hinnie," I hear Hoseok's voice.

Hinnie...

"Try it and tell me what you think."

There was a moment of pause until applause and sounds of appreciation were made.

"It's amazing, oppa," she says. "You really keep improving in the kitchen every day."

Unable to bear it anymore, I think of simply turning around and leaving, but something catches my attention. And it was precisely there, in that moment, that I regretted staying.

"Why do I feel like we're forgetting something?" I hear Taehyung say, and I feel my body tremble.

Once again, there was a pause until someone shouted.

"Shit, really," Jimin said. "We forgot to take the drinks out of the freezer."

I feel my heart break, as if that were possible. I let out a disbelieving laugh and finally come out from where I was hiding.

"And try more of this," Hoseok suddenly stops. "Cassie..."

I hear the sound of something falling to the ground. Soon, everyone was staring at me wide-eyed. I repress the urge to laugh. I realize how messy my whole body was the moment I wanted to laugh and not cry.

"Oh no," Jimin says, as if remembering something. "The party."

With that said, everyone becomes even more desperate. Seeing them approaching, I panic.

"Don't come near,"

They quickly stop. I see them not knowing what to do. And it wasn't just them. I end up getting disoriented with so much pressure. Where did my courage go when I needed it most?

"Um... what's going on?" she asks, and I close my eyes.

It's not her fault. It's not her fault...

"Ji-Hye, could you leave us alone for a moment?" Namjoon asks.

"Yes, of course. It's time for me to leave anyway," she gets up. "I'll see you later," she says bowing both to them and to me.

After she left, silence hung in the air. I tried to hold back my laughter, but when I saw everyone's confused faces, I knew I had failed. When I noticed that no one was going to say anything, I took the initiative.

"Do you know what's more disappointing? It's that I really thought this time would be different," I shrug. "I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"Cas..."

"Do you remember when you asked me if I had something to say, Jinnie? If something was hurting me? Well, I do, and I hope I won't be interrupted."

With no response, I continue.

"I feel like I died. It's been a while since I am just surviving," I start. "The fact that you didn't come to the visitation isn't the part that hurts the most, it's that you weren't there when my father passed away. I remember how desperate I was, and the only people I could think of were you. But you weren't there. Damn, you didn't even call." I whisper as tears fall freely down my face. "When I found myself alone in the hospital, realizing that the person who adopted me and chose me to love had died, that was my first death. The person who loved me, who looked beyond language or race barriers, and who taught me everything I know had suddenly left, without even giving me a chance to say goodbye. Do you know how I felt? Devastated."

I pause for a moment. Melancholy takes over my body as I recall all the feelings I felt that day, and for a moment, I allow myself to cry all I needed. I sob so much that I thought I might choke. Without caring about looks or pity, I just allowed myself, knowing that everything would be okay.

"When I called the only people I thought I could count on, and they told me they were coming, I didn't feel so alone," I let out a humorless laugh. "Until I realized that those people never arrived. The people who always said they would be there for me weren't there when I needed them the most. That was my second death," I look at Jin. "Don't say these things to anybody if they are not coming from your heart. Don't hurt anyone else by saying you have their backs or that you will always be there for them when in reality it's not the truth."

I look at each one. Their gazes were distant, as if they were reliving every moment.

"You know, I don't want you to think I'm mad at Park Ji-Hye. Actually, quite the opposite. I was really happy when you said you met someone nice. Someone who really cared about you and genuinely wanted your friendships. I know how tough it is for you to find real friendships with all the fame, so I felt fulfilled too. I remember telling daddy excitedly, and he laughed at my excitement, happy for you and for me. Right after that, I lost him, and little by little, I lost you too, like I was meant to be alone," I smile weakly. "I am sorry if I'm being selfish, but that's how I feel. You guys forgot my birthday. Forgot the visitation days, and to top it off, you forgot my graduation party. It's like you replaced me as if I never even existed in your lives, and that really hurts. Really.''

I finish, and only then I realize they were crying with me. Some didn't have the courage to meet my gaze. We spent a few minutes without anyone saying anything. The only thing filling the air was the sound of our sniffles and sobs.

"On the day your father died," Namjoon begins. "We felt like we had lost a family member because he was, in fact, one. I am truly sorry, Cas, but for me, Park Ji-Hye's fall was an escape. I didn't want to face reality. I wouldn't know how to react to the loss of someone so special, and I also wouldn't know how to act with you," he looks at me.

"On your birthday, we thought you would like to be alone. It would be the first without your father, so we didn't know what to do, Cassie. We panicked," Jimin sighs. "But now I realize how you felt," he laughs humorlessly. "My God, I never thought I'd be such a horrible friend. What a disappointment," he whispers, covering his face with his hand.

"On visitation days," I look at Hoseok. "I confess that I clung to any opportunity not to go, Cas," he cries. "Not because I didn't love you. I love you, and I love you very much, but I never knew how to react to death. The only two times I entered a cemetery, I spent the rest of the week feeling bad, with depressive thoughts. I also couldn't let Armys worry. I didn't want their 'Sun' to lose its brightness. I am so sorry for not being able to tell you this before. I didn't want to seem selfish."

I suppress a disbelieving laugh.

"Hearing all this, I realize how futile our apologies seem," Yoongi laughs weakly. "But they are true, Cassie... I understand what Hoseok says. You know about my history with depression, don't you?" he asks, and I nod. "It's the same thing for me. If I enter a cemetery, my thoughts don't stop. Some come in a worse form, and I feel like I'm going crazy."

"We were selfish, Cas," Seokjin says. "I was. I didn't want Armys to see us sad because I knew the chaos it would be. I have no words to express how special you are to me," he pauses. "Cassie, you are my sister, my family. You weren't crying alone; I cried with you. I just couldn't show it. I knew it would be worse if I saw you cry, just like I am seeing now."

There was a moment of silence. Until his voice broke.

"I am sorry," Taehyung says. "Damn, I don't even know what to say, Cassie. You are one of the most precious people I have ever met. I remember how you stayed with us through thick and thin. I also remember how happy you were for us at the beginning, and I know the genuine happiness you felt when we received our first award. You stood by my side when my grandma passed away. How could I not be by your side too? My God," he puts his hand on his head in an act of despair. "You stayed by our side when we thought about disbanding. It was you who helped us see why we are here, who helped us find reasons to stay," he looks at me anxiously. "How could I be so selfish?"

"We thought that regardless of anything, you would always be by our side. That you would understand us, even with our deplorable attitudes. We always thought we would have you next to us, so we neglected you," Yoongi shakes his head. I feel like he answered more to Taehyung than to me. "Damn, anjinho, I'm sorry," I lower my head as I hear him call me by the nickname I loved so much.

"The fact that we started a new friendship also influenced us," Jungkook says. "We were so excited that someone, besides you, wanted a friendship without interest that without realizing it, we put aside the one that had been with us from the beginning," I hear Jungkook say muffled, as his two hands covered his face.

"We don't deserve you, Cassandra. We left you at the most difficult moment of your life, and yet you never stopped loving us," Yoongi pulls his own hair, a habit he always did when he was nervous. "We can't let you leave thinking that we don't care about you because, Cassie, that would be a complete lie. With the stress of the comeback, things only got worse. It was rehearsal, recording, agendas to fulfill, productions, trips, tours. Our minds were a mess, and Park Ji-Hye tried to help us from there. We know she's not the one to blame, and it's not your fault either. It's ours and only ours. I know this will seem like a lame excuse, but I didn't want to let you go thinking that you aren't precious to us. You are Cas. And you always will be."

I close my eyes and try to control my breathing. If before I felt bad, now I feel ten times worse. It seemed like I didn't even know them anymore. The feeling of comfort they made me feel was replaced by anguish. By sadness.

I open my eyes, and for the last time, I look at my boys. I realize that Taehyung understood my gaze.

"Cassie, please... Please don't..." Taehyung starts, but is interrupted by Seokjin.

"Don't you dare say what I think you're going to say."

"But I can't lose her, Hyung. I can't lose her," Taehyung says, crouching down.

I think about going to him, but then I retreat my body. If I do that, I know my heart will weaken, and at the moment, the only person I need to think about is myself.

"I'm sorry, hyung, but I'll be selfish," Namjoon says to Seokjin, and I look at him confused. "I don't know what your decision will be, Cassie. I'll support you, even if you choose to leave without our friendship. But I beg you... Cassandra, I implore you, try to find in yourself a little piece that doesn't want to give up on us. It doesn't have to be now. I want you to heal, and I don't care how long it takes. The only thing I ask is that you don't forget us and don't give up on us. Come back to us when you feel ready. I don't want to lose you, Cas. I..."

"I really hope you find a way to forgive us, Cassie. But understand that if you don't, we'll understand. You, more than anyone else, have every right to hate us," Yoongi says, interrupting Namjoon. "I hope you don't forget about us because, with all my heart, we won't forget about you."

I feel my heart shattering with every tear that falls on their faces. I smile weakly. I will really miss them.

I bow in a sign of respect, and as I return to my normal position, I raise my hand to my heart.

"Thank you, my boys. For all the good moments. You were a very important part of my life, which I will carry forever. I will never forget about all of you," I smile faintly. "How could I forget my first true friendships? My first loves?" I whisper.

I take a breath and smile. A true smile. A smile of gratitude.

"Regardless of what happened, you guys deserve nothing but love and happiness. Don't let anyone say otherwise. Even far away, please remember I will always be cheering for your success. And whenever you feel unloved, remember I love you. Very, very much.'' I can hear their sobs getting stronger. ''Don't think I blame you for what happened; I think I finally understand that life has its ups and downs. People come and unfortunately go," I see Taehyung desperate, trying to find something to say. I look away. I need to be strong. "I hope that every day your friendship with Park Ji-Hye grows, and that you take from all of this a lesson.''

I take a deep breath, looking at them for the last time.

''From the bottom of my heart... I wish you to be immensely happy."

In a gesture, I send thousands of kisses. I see Tae wanting to approach, so I turn around and start walking towards the exit, and this time, I don't cry. I feel the weight of sadness in my chest, but the weight of peace for having put everything I felt out was greater. And for the first time in two months, I believe it when I say that everything will be okay.

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footprintsinthesxnd · 3 months

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Chapter 5: The Dangerous Skies

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

This chapter has been a while in the making and a small idea that erupted into a whole lot of chaos. Please comment and reblog and let us know what you think.

Summary: After an accident causes Gale to realise how precious, he decides to make the most of everyday with the woman he loves. While John realises how he really feels about Ruth.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

Monday, August 23, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich

Regensburg, Germany…the mission that earned the Hundredth its nickname was finally over.

Nine forts lost.

Ninety men gone just like that.

Ninety boys who would not return to their families.

Among these ninety men was Curt. Buck and John were still in shock when their small group of officers tiredly pushed through the doors into their nissen hut. A few beds were made with fresh sheets, all remnants of their previous owners long gone.

Gale flopped down on his bunk, throwing his kitbag down beside him. There was a small stack of letters on his nightstand and he stretched over the bed, his fingers grasping at the string that bound them together. His fingers running over the familiar return address as he tore open the first letter from Hope, his eyes scanning over her words quickly, desperate to know what she had written. He still had her picture from the plane tucked firmly into his pocket, he wasn’t about to leave her behind in Africa.

August 17th 1943

To my dearest Gale,

I can’t even begin to explain how worried I am about you. Ruth and I barely slept last night, thinking of you both preparing for your mission. I did not think it was possible to miss someone so much and after only a few hours apart as I write this. I miss you Gale. Today was perfect and I wish I could live there forever, in your arms by the river, with Meatball too of course.

The radio is playing our song right now. Well, I call it our song “You’ll Never Know” which is a strange choice for our song maybe because I only hope you do know just how much I love you. I wish you were here now to sing it with me.

I have been thinking about our lives after this war. When we get home. I saw how you were with Meatball the other day and I think our first order of business as a married couple should be to get a dog. Just think of all the walks we could go on, just the three of us. Life would be so perfect.

The only comfort I can find is knowing that I’ll be there with you on your mission, and not just my picture but I’ll be with you in spirit all the way there and back. And I know you will come back. I have asked Hugh to keep you safe and I know that you will look out for him too. I never realised how hard it would be to have both of you in harms way. I can only hope that his stubbornness and your skills will bring you both safely home to me. You mean the world to me Gale.

Yours forever

Hope

Gale smiled fondly, his eyes lingering on ‘yours forever’. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up with someone as amazing and kind as Hope, but he thanked God every night for bringing her to him. The second letter was addressed August 19th, just two days after the previous letter and Gale smirked, knowing that Hope didn’t want to seem desperate but she was just as worried as he was.

Dear Gale,

It’s been exactly two days, four hours and twenty four minutes since I last wrote to you and I couldn’t contain myself any longer.

She was counting down the days. Gale's heart swelled at the thought of her, sitting at the desk in the corner of the girls room, her pen sitting between her lips as she pondered what to write.

Somehow parting with you this time was so much worse than any of the others. It’s like I left a piece of my heart at Thorpe Abbott with you. I hope you’re keeping my heart safe wherever you are because I need you to bring it back to me.

Ruth has already begun to design her bridesmaid dress for our wedding and I fear she has broken the news to John already, I hope that doesn’t put you in a bind or anything. I think she is as excited as I am. Frank has also been enquiring into wedding planning. I feel like they will have planned the whole event before we are even officially engaged.

Mrs Hope Cleven does have a nice ring to it. I’ve also thought more about the situation of a dog once we are back in the states and I like the sound of a spaniel. They have the sweetest little faces and the biggest droopy ears. I can’t stop imagining the three of us exploring the country together.

I apologies if I’m getting ahead of myself. I know you haven’t officially proposed and you must think me a foolish girl for talking about it so much, but it’s the only thing that gets me through each day without you. The only thing that gets me into our plane in the morning is the thought of you and one day being in your arms once more.

On another note, I hope Hugh is keeping out of trouble. I’m afraid he’s been drawn to it since he was a boy creating havoc wherever he went. You’re lucky he likes you, otherwise I’m afraid he would be giving you hell.

Come back to me Gale. I love you.

Yours forever

Hope

The third letter soon followed, dated August 21st.

To my dearest Gale,

I’m sorry for sending so many letters. I’m sure you are so busy so please do not feel obliged to reply to them all separately. I find writing to you helps calm my nerves, it’s the only way I feel close to you when you are not here.

“So what’s this I hear you’re engaged to my sister?” Gale’s head shot up and he came face to face with Hugh, who was staring blankly at him. He couldn’t read his emotions and didn’t know whether he was happy or he was about to punch Gale in the face. Swallowing hard, Gale nodded slowly, eyeing his fellow pilot cautiously until a wide grin broke out across Hugh’s face and he jumped up, moving to sit next to Gale on his bunk.

“I’m so happy for you, Gale. Good luck with that one, she acts all sweet and innocent but she’s a wild card. You know what I told you about Kansas City.”

Gale laughed, relieved that Hugh wasn’t about to try and murder him.

“So, have you got a ring?” Hugh cocked an eyebrow at him and Gale shook his head.

“No, not yet. I haven’t even officially asked her,” Gale sighed, suddenly feeling guilty that he’d somehow lied to her by not actually asking her.

“Well, then you are in luck because I do,” Hugh stood up from the bed and moved over to his own, rummaging in the bedside cabinet for a few minutes, while Gale looked on confused.

“Ah ha!” Hugh called out triumphantly, his hand clasped around a small black box which he quickly placed in Gale’s hand.

“What’s this?” Gale glanced down it the box, running his thumb over the round, leather box.

“That, Gale, is an engagement ring,” Hugh grinned, seemingly impressed with himself for producing a ring out of thin air.

“But why have you got an engagement ring?” Gale glanced up at Hugh, watching as his face fell a little.

“Well, it’s a long story. There was a girl back in the States, I thought she was the one. Turns out while I was training to fly B17s, she was making her way around all the single men in town. My parents were less than impressed when they found out. But I already had a ring so I bought it with me.”

Gale chuckled, “So you bought an engagement ring to war just in case?”

Hugh nodded, “Pretty much. Well, it came in use right, now you can give it to Hope.”

Gale shook his head, pushing the box back into Hugh’s hand, “I can’t take this. It’s your ring.”

Hugh passed the box back to Gale, shaking his head, “But I want you to have it. I have no use for it and anyway, I know Hope will love it because she helped me pick it out in the first place.” Hugh lay his hand on Gale’s back. “Take it, please.”

Gale smiled weakly, opening up the box and revealing a small gold band with intricate silver weaving on either side and a diamond on top. “Alright, thanks, Hugh.” He shook his fellow pilot's hand, and Hugh grinned happily back at him.

“Welcome to the family, Cleven.”

“Got any big news you wanna share with the class, Buck?” John asked from his bed, raising his eyebrows at Gale while holding up a letter.

Gale confusedly looked over at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Rolling his eyes at Hugh, Buck sauntered over to John, standing over him with hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Hope Cleven,” the older man grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

A bashful smile appeared on Gale’s face. “I’ve got a ring and everything, now. It’ll be after all this is over.”

Standing to his feet, Bucky pulled him into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground. “Whenever it happens, I better be the best man! That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“Yeah, yeah, you will be,” Buck chuckled as John put him down, releasing him from his grip. “Just don’t tell Hugh that.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Hugh shouted across the officer's hut causing Gale to groan.

“Well, it makes sense. I am Buck’s best friend,” John retorted, sending a sly smirk Hugh’s way which only riled the man further.

“Yeah, and Hope’s my sister. I’m his future brother-in-law.”

Gale stepped back as Hugh stomped over to them, coming chest to chest with John who just continued to playfully glare down at him.

“So what? You're a St. Louis fan,” Bucky pointed at him, a grin tugging at his lips. “That instantly makes you not best man material.”

Hugh snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and I suppose you being a great Yankees fan makes you the right choice, huh?”

“Absolutely,” John replied matter of factly. “How can you cheer for a team who lost 11-3 to the Pirates? The Pirates.”

“At least we didn’t get shut out by the Indians.”

Gale knew this wasn’t going to end well. No one could insult the Yankees and get away with that in John’s eyes...except for Ruth, of course. Before John could find a comeback, Gale stepped up, moving to stand between the two men.

“Now, now. I’m not having you two fighting over being my best man. If it’s that much of a problem I’ll make Demarco my best man and Meatball can be the ring bearer.”

Neither of the men seemed too pleased with that outcome.

“Not Demarco!”

“Yes Demarco.”

John groaned, pursing his lips, and Hugh remained silent, looking at the ground solemnly at their childish behaviour.

“You should choose whoever you want to be your best man, but-” John began with a nod before Hugh interrupted.

“Yeah pick who you want, Gale. Hope will probably want me to walk her down the aisle anyway so I’ll probably be in the bridal party instead.”

John snickered with raised brows as he imagined Hugh in a bridesmaid’s dress, but he fell silent when Gale elbowed him in the ribs, glaring at him.

“Come here,” Bucky pulled Gale into another hug and slapped his friend’s back, “Congratulations Buck! You’re a helluva guy.”

“The best,” Hugh added.

As they stood there celebrating Buck’s life-changing news, the trio couldn’t help but think of their close friend who wasn’t. Their group got even smaller…

“Curt…he would,” John cleared his throat and nodded, forcing down the emotion that threatened to creep up his throat. “He would be happy for you, Buck.”

Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and they mirrored the same emotions…hurt, regret, sadness. The men who came back never talked about those who didn’t, and both of them knew this was the one time they would.

“Yeah, he would,” Buck breathed, one side of his lips barely turning up into a mournful smile.

Silence filled the air around them there for a few moments, all three stuck in their minds until Gale spoke up.

“That from Ruth?” Buck asked, gesturing to the letter in Johnny’s hand.

He nodded once and sat down on his bunk with a soft smile, suddenly remembering the last half of Ruth’s letter he still had to read. “I’ve got another one to read after this one. Then I’ve gotta write her back.”

As Gale looked down at his friend’s lovesick gaze, he smiled to himself and shook his head. If someone had asked him if John Egan would be rushing to read love letters and send a response to a woman, one woman, whom he’d been exclusively seeing for over a month, Buck Cleven would’ve told them they were crazy.

“Tell her I said hello,” Gale said quietly, patting Johnny’s shoulder before returning to his bunk.

Saturday, August 28, 1944: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base

John, Gale, and Hugh were riding from their nissen huts to the mess hall when the familiar roar of a C-47 filled the air. They were used to the sound meaning their girls were on base, and it filled them with excitement as they peddled faster to the landing strip.

“Did you know they were coming today?” Buck asked, quickly glancing over at Johnny and Hugh.

John shook his head, a lazy grin curving his lips. “No, Ruth didn’t mention it in her last letter.”

Nodding to himself, Gale couldn’t shake the feeling deep down that something was wrong. As they approached the airstrip, Colonel Harding appeared, calling out to John.

“Bucky! I need a minute,” he yelled from the balcony of the nearby flight tower.

Holding in a groan, Johnny nodded at Hugh and turned his bike toward the tower. “Tell Ruth I’ll see her in a minute.”

The boys had been thankful they didn’t have a mission that day, and instead spent their time on base with their girls. Gale and Hope had gone back to the officers Nissan hut and spent most of the day cuddling on the bed after their shower, happy to be back in each other's arms. Ruth and John had spent the rest of the day together too, giving Hope some time alone to recover, before coming back to the hut in the afternoon.

After Ruth and John left the Nissan hut, Gale found himself dozing once more, his eyes growing heavy as he fought off sleep. A light knock on the door roused him.

“Come in.”

A worried Hugh poked his head around the door, chewing his lip anxiously, a habit that Gale noticed Hope always did. “Can I come in?” He asked, glancing at his sleeping sister.

“Of course,” Gale waved him in and watched as his fellow pilot made his way over, flopping down on his cot beside them.

“How’s she doing?” Hugh found himself fighting the urge to brush the loose hair off Hope’s face, smiling when Gale did the same. It was unusual for an older brother to approve of his sister's choice of partner, but Hugh didn’t think that there was a more genuine, or honourable man out there than Gale Cleven.

“She’s doing okay. The morphine had helped, she was in a lot of pain earlier but she’s managed to get some rest,” Gale admitted, stroking her hair softly. He couldn’t help the gentle smile that formed on his lips every time he looked at her.

“That’s good then,” Hugh went to stand when he noticed the ring adoring Hope’s finger and a wide smile spread across his face. “You popped the question then.”

Gale smiled, “I did, and she said yes.”

Hugh laughed at the proud expression on Gale’s face. “Well I didn’t exactly expect her to say no. She’s all you talk about in her letters. Our parents are excited to meet you. She sent a picture of you home and if I remember correctly my mother thought you were ‘a fine young man’.” Hugh moved to rest his hand on Gale’s shoulder, “I’m real happy for you both, you deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks Charliee,” the two men kept eye contact until Hugh cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “I best be heading back. I promised Demarco I’d look after Meatball for a few hours.”

Gale nodded, “Feel free to bring Meatball by, I’m sure Hope would appreciate the visit. Our first order of business after the wedding is to get a dog.”

Hugh smirked, “Is it a spaniel by any chance? She’s always had a soft spot…”

“For the long fluffy ears,” Gale finished, “Yeah it is.”

Hugh snorted, “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Gale glanced back down at Hope, she looked so peaceful that he hated to wake her. The door closing softly signaled Hugh leaving and Gale sighed, leaning back against his pillow.

He smoothed his hand over Hope’s head, brushing the soft locks away from her face, fingers tracing the pale flesh of her temples. His other hand remained firmly around hers, wrapping them close to his chest, over his heartbeat. He hadn’t truly processed how close he’d come to losing her today, if the shrapnel had gone any further to the left it would have hit her femoral artery and she’d have bled out before the plane even touched the tarmac. Gale shook the thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on Hope’s rhythmic breathing in time with his own. She’s alive. She’s still here.

Gale had known this war wouldn’t be easy, he’d known that he would lose people, friends, brothers, but he hadn’t banked on falling in love and he hadn’t banked on her being up in the air during combat like he was.

Hope snuggled deeper into his chest and Gale’s arm instinctively pulled her closer. They had survived another day: together.

Gale’s mind began to wonder as his eyes traced the elongated semicircles that lined the roof of the Nissen hut. Thinking back on happier times when the girls visiting the base meant that it was going to be a good day.

Hope sighed loudly, folding up the third crate of dressing material, and packing it into the smaller crates to be loaded onto their C47 later that afternoon. It was a tiresome, mind numbing job but someone had to do it. A loud crash, followed by a small whine caused Hope to shoot up for her seat, hurting towards the noise where she found a rather disheveled looking navigator sitting on the infirmary room floor.

“Oh you poor thing. Here come take a seat,” Hope ushered the rather green looking navigator towards the empty chair.

The man plonked himself down with a sigh, gratefully accepting the glass of water Hope offered to him.

“Whatever’s the matter…?” Hope asked, pausing as she realised she didn’t know the man’s name, although she recognised him from around the base.

“Oh Harry, Harry Crosby,” the man thrust his hand pathetically forward and Hope shook it carefully. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I'm normally fine once we’re in the air. All the boys will be rigging me later for being in dock again.”

Realising that this must be the navigator with air sickness she had heard about from the infirmary’s doctor, Hope sighed, “It’s alright. Everything’s different up there when you're in combat. It’s bound to play on your nerves,” Hope reassured him, smoothing the sweaty hair away from his forehead and placing a cool, wet cloth there instead.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Hope whispered, glancing over her shoulder jokingly to make sure no one else was around. “I used to get terribly air sick when I first started my flight training.”

“Really?” Harry asked in amazement, his large eyes staring back at her reminded Hope of an excitable child.

“Oh yeah, I was terrible. I took a bucket up with me on every flight and tried not to eat in the mornings but I was still sick, every damn time.”

Harry wrinkled his nose before asking, “But you're not sick anymore?”

“No. Not anymore, luckily. I don’t think I’d have made much of a flight nurse if I was being sick all the time.”

Harry looked down sadly at his map case, “I don’t suppose I make much of a navigator either.”

Hope pulled her chair closer to Harry’s, “Now you listen here. You are a fine navigator Harry Crosby. You navigated through flak fire and you bought all the boys home. That is not something to be snubbed at, understood.” Harry nodded quickly and Hope gave him a reassuring smile. “Good. I don’t want to hear any more negative talk, alright? You’re good at your job, Harry and with time the sickness will fade, I promise.”

Harry stayed a little longer until his nausea subsided and he finally felt well enough to leave the infirmary. Hope began to tidy away some bandages when Gale stuck his head around the door.

“Knock, Knock?”

“Hello Major, and what brings you down here today?” Hope asked, smiling brightly at him.

“Oh I’m just here to see the prettiest girl in all of England. Have you seen her around?” Gale asked, glancing quickly around the infirmary before his eyes returned to Hope’s.

“No, I'm afraid I can’t say I have. Better luck next time, Major.” Hope turned her back to move away from him but his hands quickly found her waist and he spun her around.

“Not so fast, Beautiful. I haven’t seen My Baby all day and I’ve missed you like crazy.”

“Your Baby, huh?”

“Well yeah. Well you see the plane is ‘Our Baby’ because the whole crew get her but only I get ‘My Baby’,” he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, his breath tickling her as he kissed her pressure point gently.

“Is that so?”

“Oh it is so.”

“Well then, there’s only one thing for it,” Hope pressed her lips firmly to his, weaving her fingers into his hair and pushing him towards the table. As the backs of his thighs came into contact with it, he sat down, allowing Hope the height advantage but allowing himself to wrap his arms tightly around her torso.

“Now this is what you call a welcome home,” he laughed between kisses, pulling Hope even closer so they could embrace. The table creaked beneath Gale’s wait but he was unphased, too preoccupied with holding his girl, to finally have her back in his arms, that’s all that mattered.

Gale smiled, eyes closed as the images of Hope’s smiling face filled his mind. She was here. She was safe and that’s all that mattered.

Hugh returned later that evening with food for the two couples and Meatball following along at his heels. The large husky made a beeline for Hope, greeting her at the side of the bed.

“Hey Meatball,” Hope mumbled, leaning as far as she could to ruffle the dogs fur. Meatball groaned when she began scratching his ear, he closed his eyes and tilted his head, expressing his enjoyment. “Who's a good boy?” Meatball hopped up on the bed, snuggling into Hope’s side.

“You can keep him if you want. The damn thing keeps howling. It’s driving me insane,” Hugh complained, passing Hope a bowl of steaming soup. “When Demarco gets back I’m giving him a piece of my mind, leaving me to mind his dog all afternoon.”

Hope accepted the soup gratefully, but could only manage a few mouthfuls until the wave of nausea washed over her once more, and she placed the bowl down.

“Ugh, I feel so sick.”

Gale was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on the small of her back as she bent over, head in her hands. Ruth looked anxiously at John from their seats on John’s bed and started to put down her bowl to help when Hope spoke up.

“It’s okay Gale, it’s just the morphine,” she reassured him, squeezing his hand, to which he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade.

Hugh sniggered, “He didn’t get you pregnant while I was away did he?”

“With us in here? Sounds like a nightmare,” John chuckled, rolling his eyes at the same time Ruth grimaced from beside him. She knew a signature Hope Armstrong comeback was incoming.

Hope glared at him,”The fact that you have so little knowledge on pregnancy concerns me for your future wife.”

Hugh stuck his tongue out in response, “That’s not a no though.”

The pillow from Gale’s bed was a near miss as it went sailing past Hugh’s head and he dodged it dramatically, glaring at his sister.

“Come on, with all the ‘Dear John’ letters Sparky gets, I’d be surprised if he ever settles down,” John joined in.

“Look who’s talking, Bucky,” Hugh retorted, pointing at Ruth with his spoon. “At least I got letters. You didn’t get a single one before Ruth came along.”

“Really?” Ruth asked quietly, surprise etched on her face.

The Major nodded with pursed lips, pushing the vegetables around his bowl before looking over at her with a small smile. “There was no one worth writing to.”

At his words, the blonde’s cheeks heated, and she got caught in his gaze.

From their position across the room, Gale and Hope watched the interaction with fond smiles, both happy to see their friends with someone who clearly adored them. But the moment was interrupted when Hugh burst out laughing.

“Well that didn’t stop you from-”

He was cut off when a pillow came sailing into the side of his face, knocking some of his soup onto his pants as the pillow fell to the bed. Hugh’s gaze flicked towards the cot the projectile came from, ready to yell at Hope, but what he wasn’t expecting was her wide eyes as she stared up at Buck in awe.

“Sorry, Charlie,” Buck shrugged. “It just slipped.”

Ruth and Hope broke into chuckles, but John just sent Gale a thankful glance. Bucky then turned his attention to Hugh, and the two pilots glared at each other, John frustrated about the comment, and Hugh still clearly sour over the best man situation. They soon gave up and went back to their soup.

After a few minutes

Once they’d finished their supper, a knock sounded at the door. “Everyone decent in there? Girls?”

Frank.

“Uh, yeah,” John called, lifting an eyebrow at Ruth.

The door swung open and the Captain walked in with his lips in a straight line. “Thought you two’d be in here,” he nodded before turning to Hope. “How’s the leg?”

“I’m okay. Still hurts like a bitch, though.”

“Did you get it checked?”

Her face shifted into a grimace at the question. “I took care of it.”

“You, Hope Armstrong,” he sighed. “Are the reason I drink.”

“You know you love us,” Ruth added, tilting her head with a grin.

Frank’s attention drifted to Ruth’s figure beside John. “And how are you, Ruthie?”

The blonde looked up at John, thinking of how he’d taken care of her throughout the day. “Better now.”

“Alright, enough of the lovey eyes, you two,” he called out to them, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his hips. “The Angel’s out of commission, and the Grove can’t send anyone tonight with the blackout, so we’re stuck here for the night.”

Both couples perked up at the news, but Hugh just groaned.

“As much as I wish I could make you stay with the Red Cross girls, I know I can’t. So you two,” Frank pointed at Gale and John. “No funny business, okay? None.”

Johnny’s mouth twitched, almost quirking into a smirk, but he was able to hold it in as Buck replied with a “Yes sir.”

“Zero funny business,” Bucky fake saluted from his bunk.

Running a hand down his tired face, Frank scratched his mustache. “Hugh, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on them.”

“Trust me, I will.”

“Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Frank disappeared, the door closed behind him with a slam, and they all visibly relaxed. Hope moved to shuffle back onto the bed beside Gale, the wave of nausea having passed when the door flew open again.

A cool breeze filled the hut as five men strolled into the hut, apparently oblivious of the girls until the one at the front of the column spoke up.

“Would you look at that? Major ‘no girls in the hut’ Cleven has a girl on his bed,” he pointed at Hope before the man behind him tapped his shoulder, causing him to turn and notice Ruth. “And Egan, too. Christ, I’m surprised Charlie hasn’t joined in.”

Gale sighed, standing up and placing his hand on Hope’s shoulder, “Hope, Ruth, these are the boys.” Buck took a breath to introduce them, but John beat him to it.

“DEMARCO,” John hollered, causing Gale to groan at his friend’s childish antics.

Demarco just smiled, “Egan,” he greeted him before motioning towards Ruth, “How did you manage to snag yourself such an attractive broad?”

Ruth blushed under the other man’s gaze but John just chuckled beside her, “Must be my endless charm.”

“Sure thing, Major,” Demarco snorted, his voice lowering to a whisper as he glanced down at Ruth, “Blink twice if you need help.”

With a shove from John, Benny laughed turning his attention back to Hope and Gale, while Bubbles moved over to greet Ruth, having already met him earlier that day.

“And you must be the lovely Hope that Meatballs told me about. He’s taken a shine to you,” Demarco motioned towards Gale, “Shame this one keeps third-wheeling your dates.

Hope giggled, turning her head to look at Gale who is now leaning against the headboard, “You may have some competition, Major.”

Gale hummed in amusement, “How am I supposed to compete with his charming personality.” As if the husky knew they were talking about him, he let out a low groan, stretching out across Gale’s bed.

An argument had broken out between John and Jack regarding a certain jeep that Gale and Hope had yet to hear about. Hope shuffled up the bed, wincing as the stitches pulled.

“Are you okay?” Gale’s hands came to rest on her hip, as he watched her worriedly. His bright eyes widened slightly as he noticed Hope’s lip quivering before she replied.

“Yeah, just sore. I need to change my bandage, it’s oozing through…” Before Hope could finish her sentence, Gale’s hand slipped beneath her shirt, noticing the blood leaking through the bandage.

“Hope…” he whispered under his breath, his forehead creasing as he lowered his head to look closer at the wound, but she swatted him away.

“Gale, I’m fine,” she sent him a weak smile, her hand coming to rest of his cheek and she stroked it slowly. “I’m okay. I just need to change the dressing.”

Gale nodded slowly, helping Hope move off the bed and to the back of the hut where they could have a little more privacy, while John continued to bicker with his fellow pilots.

Gale sat her down on a chair, facing away from the other men before he pushed the shirt up to expose her thighs. He unwound the dressing, exposing the rudimentary sutured wound. It was red and angry and hot to the touch.

“Hope, this might be infected. I think I’m the morning before you head back to Berkshire we should head to the infirmary.” Hope raised her eyebrow, giving him a doubtful look to which he shook his head, “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Hope sighed, leaning back in the chair as Gale worked to clean gently around the wound, using the gauze to wipe away the blood. Hope didn’t particularly like the way the wound looked either and even she would admit that she at least needed some penicillin.

“Alright,” she replied reluctantly and Gale chortled.

“This must be the first time you haven’t argued about something, you must be feeling unwell,” Gale whimpered as she smacked him lightly on the head, unamused by his comment.

“Just get to work, Doctor Cleven. I wanna go to bed.”

Something in Gale’s eyes changed at that comment, his eyes normally as clear as a summer's sky, seemed dark and stormy.

“Doctor Cleven, I could get used to that.” Hope hummed in appreciation as Gale’s lips met her thigh, just below where the shrapnel had hit. His warm hands massaged the rigid muscles in the hope of releasing some of the tension of the day.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Hope mumbled, running her fingers through Gale’s blonde locks, “You’ll always be Major Cleven to me. Well, unless you change careers or something.” Hope thought for a moment, “Hmm Doctor Cleven, Major Cleven… Professor Cleven has a ring to it.”

“Professor, huh,” Gale smiled, the grin nearly reaching his eyes. “I see you’ve got it all planned out, Nurse Armstrong.”

Gale made a surprisingly good nurse and he soon had a fresh bandage wrapped neatly around Hope’s leg. He even went as far as to check the tension, as he’d seen Hope go so many times with wounded soldiers.

In the time it took Gale to redress Hope’s leg, Ruth and John had disappeared outside, Hugh was lounging across his cot chatting to Bubbles and Veal. Kidd had given up arguing with John and was reading John’s battered copy of ‘Guys and Dolls’, as for Meatball, he’d finally moved over to Demarco’s bed, lounging across the cover while Benny was on his hands and knees, rummaging beneath the cot.

"Hey, where's my pillow?" Benny asked, his eyes scanning the surrounding beds with a creased brow.

“Here!” Hugh launched the pillow across the room, smacking Demarco square in the face.

“What the hell was that for?” Benny went to stand but Gale pushed him backwards onto his cot.

“Now, now boys, we’ve got female guests. Let’s not get too rowdy tonight, alright?” A few silent nods seemed to satisfy Gale and Hope couldn’t help the amused smirk she sent his way. The Air Force hadn’t just given Gale friends, but an unruly group of men who acted like teenage boys and who Gale had become the adopted father of.

Hope slipped under the sheets, sighing as the thin mattress sunk under her weight. Gale slipped in beside her, careful to avoid knocking her injured leg, and his left instinctively found its home on her waist, while he used his other arm to prop himself up, running his fingers soothingly through her brown locks.

“Today was a good day,” Hope mumbled, her voice muffled with sleep, as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“A good day? Hope you could have… I could have…” Gale’s voice thick with emotion as he tried to find the words he wanted. Hope rolled over to face him, glancing up at his crumpled features. He looked utterly broken and a silent sob left his lips before the tears began to fall.

“Oh Gale,” Hope reached up, gripping onto Gale and pulling him against her chest. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Her fingers danced up and down his spine, as he sobbed into the crook of her neck, allowing the emotions he’d been bottling to finally release.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m okay. You’ve got me,” Hope kept repeating like a mantra for both of them. They were both okay.

Gale pulled away, a teardrop hanging off the end of his nose as he spoke, “I love you so much, Hope. I don’t know what I’d do if… if…”

“Shh Gale, please don’t cry. It’s okay. Look,” she placed her left hand above his heart, her engagement ring clearly in view and Gale could himself run his fingers over the small gold ring.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he admitted, cupping Hope’s cheek and placing a loving kiss on her lips.

“As if my answer would have been anything other than a yes. I love you, Gale with all my heart.”

Gale pulled Hope down with him, nuzzling into her neck and placing small, chaste kisses along her collarbone.

“Didn’t think our first time in bed together would be quite like this,” he mused, kissing Hope’s forehead.

“No, neither did I,” Hope laughed, “In fact, I had a very different image.” Hope began to speak again when Hugh called out.

“Hey, no funny business, Cleven. You hear what Frank said and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of him.”

Gale sighed and went to reply but Hope interrupted him, peaking out above Gale’s shoulder, “Hugh, would you give it a rest, just for one goddamn night. Please.”

Hugh raised his hands in surrender, turning back to his conversation with Bubbles. Gale smiled in awe at Hope’s ability to shut Hugh up.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Gale placed another kiss on Hope’s forehead, pulling her closer to his body as they both drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @blueberry-ovaries

#masters of the air #on a wing and a prayer #gale cleven #hope armstrong #Hugh Armstrong #Ruth Morgan #John Egan

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bachissidehoe · 9 months

Text

shut the door - bachira m.

chapter 2 of 7 of the blue lock band series. chapter 1. chapter 3. chapter 4. chapter 5. chapter 6. chapter 7.

synopsis: it doesn't take long in her time working as Blue Lock's journalist for y/n to have to face the fact that she's not the only one isagi wants. and if he can have more than just her, she can have more than just him.

warnings: smut; penetration; oral giving; oral receiving; squirting; praise; pet kink; tears; hair pulling; hickeys; fem reader minors DNI

disclaimer: all songs referenced are credited to THE DEEP END

w.c. 3.2k

“Are you for real?”

“Yeah, obviously. I did some research, and you have a degree in journalism and another one in advertising. I’ll pay you double what you make now.” Mikage explains, turning his clipboard around to show her the salary he’s offering her.

“And you want me to just drop everything and tour with you?” She stares at the large number with wide eyes. It’s a tempting offer, and an extremely tempting salary.

“Um, yeah.”

“Mikage-”

“Call me Reo.” He interrupts. “Mikage’s my father.” He winks.

“Okay, R-reo. I just, I want to but- I have an apartment and a car and a job…” She trails off.

“Any kids?”

“Huh? No?”

“Pets?” He asks.

“No.”

“Okay, then I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll pay your lease while you’re on tour, I’ll send some people in to clean for you, clear out your refrigerator, grab all your clothes, I’ll send a letter to your current job, whatever you need.” He says with a smile. He really is making an offer she can’t refuse. “So whaddya say?”

She pauses briefly, but they both know her answer. “Okay. I’m in.”

And it’s been two weeks now, two weeks of being Blue Lock’s professional journalist. Reo explained that though the band blew up quickly, information about them is only circulating in one small genre of individuals, and their network is not expanding. Having a journalist to publish interviews with them, write articles about their shows, generate social media campaigns, it’ll all be much more effective if it’s someone who already knows the band pretty well. So far it’s been working tremendously, they’ve been booked for interviews with magazines and television programs worldwide, their singles are being advertised by other famous bands, and a second song of theirs, “Shut The Door”, went viral on TikTok.

This also means it’s been two weeks now of fucking- or rather being fucked by- Isagi Yoichi. It’s not like Reo doesn’t know of it, they all know. But Reo’s philosophy is this: if she’s fucking the band, she’ll have emotional ties to them, which will come out in her writing and advertising for them. Of course, the extent of their relationship will be kept out of the public eye, but other than that, the band manager sees this only as a good thing.

It’s what he tells her as they stand off to the side of the stage, watching the boys soundcheck for their final show of a three-day stretch. They’re exhausted by now, but at least after this they get a two day break.

“So you’re telling me you’re less than concerned with the public finding out that our lead singer is fucking our journalist?” The stage director Bachira Meguru, who y/n has also grown close with over the past two weeks, adds his two-sense.

“If it gets our name out there, I couldn’t care less who any of us is fucking.” Reo says matter-of-factly, spoken like a true businessman.

“You talk about me fucking Isagi like it’s nothing.” Y/n chuckles nervously, her eyes darting between Reo and Bachira.

“Sweetheart,” Bachira smiles, a demon-like smile that might portray a hint of psychosis. “You think you’re the only one Isagi’s fucking?”

The words hit like a blade through her chest. “I- well- b-wha-”

Reo sighs. “I’m sorry, y/n, I know I can be harsh with what I expect of you, I’m just trying to say that I’m doing the best I can think to do for the future of the band. I don’t want to put your emotions at risk, but I also want you to be able to separate them from your job.”

“I, yeah, I understand. I am.” She nods profusely, her unconvincing sentence prompting a shared look between the two backstage band members.

She can’t help but worry about Bachira’s comment, she worries about it throughout their entire concert. She watches backstage as the loud music blares through the speakers, Isagi’s voice striking down on the crowd like magic, Nagi and Chigiri’s background vocals adding shimmer to the air around them.

She decides not to bring it up to Bachira again, it’s not like he’s been very good at hiding his obvious attraction for her since she got here, so he’s probably just jealous. But it doesn’t matter what she tells herself, she just can’t shake it. Does Isagi really not like her? Is he really just fucking her? It’s not like she expected they’d be in a relationship or anything, but maybe he would have told her if he was hooking up with other girls.

“Something on your mind, beautiful?” Bachira catches her alone in the hallway, taking a breather after they finished their show.

“Hm? Bachira- oh-” She chuckles nervously.

“You seem to not like when I flirt much.” He laughs.

“No, um, it’s just that, you know-” She struggles.

“It’s Isagi, hm?” He reads her, not that it would be difficult to piece it together.

She doesn’t respond, but he’s right of course. In fact, the way that all of the band members look at her is arousing, like they’re all just waiting for their turn. She hasn’t brought it up to Isagi, even though he’d probably be able to get them to stop. But the truth is, she likes it. She loves that kind of attention from them, she loves how flirty they all are, she loves knowing that she could have any one of them. And Bachira- perhaps the most forward of the seven of them- y/n didn’t expect to find him so damn attractive.

He likes to touch her- whether it’s casually putting his arm around her, or coming up behind her and squeezing her shoulders, or moving a piece of hair out of her eyes. And every single time it’s like a spark is ignited in her body. Every little touch, every playful comment, it flips a switch inside her. She finds herself watching him a lot of the time, watching him direct the tech services workers on where to place equipment, watching him assign the band members to their stage positions, and watching him work with the sound engineers to equalize the four sets of vocals. Everything Bachira Meguru does, he does it with that little demon smile, the same one he’s giving her now.

“You don’t have to tell me, I know it’s about Isagi. You’re upset because he never told you you’re not exclusive, am I right?” He asks, leaning against the wall next to her.

“We have yet to have that conversation.” Y/n bites the inside of her cheek, trying to avoid looking into those enthralling golden eyes.

“Look, y/n, I’ve known Yoichi since we were 16 years old. I know how he is- all sweet on the outside and a menace on the inside. I love him to death, but someone’s gotta tell you what’s really going on- or you’ll get attached.” He sighs.

Y/n doesn’t say anything, just looks around, hoping his words don’t make her start suddenly crying. It’s not like she expected to date Isagi, but it’s also true that her feelings for him haven’t exactly lessened since their arrangement.

“Just come with me.” He continues, grabbing her hand.

Y/n hasn’t spent every single night with Isagi, not even half the nights. Since starting her job, she’s had a lot less time to hang out with him alone, but when they get a moment, Isagi’s been all over her. It really didn’t feel to her like he’d be actively wanting anyone else. But as Bachira directs her behind the door of one of the backstage dressing rooms, it becomes clear to y/n that she’s been dead wrong.

They can only catch a bit of the conversation, but Isagi stands with two extremely attractive women, discussing how they can sneak off somewhere, how they can meet him in his hotel room later, how they should come to the bar with him. Y/n can’t help but feel a lump in her throat as Bachira pulls her away from the saddening scene.

“I’m sorry y/n, you just needed to see what’s really going on.” Bachira apologizes.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?” He asks.

“Why would I talk to him?” She chuckles, feeling her sadness turning into an anger that burns in her chest. He could have at least talked to her about it. “If he can fuck who he wants so can I. I need to stop chasing his approval.”

“Atta girl, plenty of guys would kill to fuck you.” He flashes her a flirty smile.

Maybe it’s not the best decision, but right now, the only thing y/n wants is to stick it to Isagi. Show him that she doesn’t need him as anything more than a casual friend with benefits, maybe even just a colleague. Show him it doesn’t bother her at all that he’s fucking other girls behind her back. And what better way to stick it to Isagi, than to fuck his best friend?

“You included?” She asks, rocking forward onto the balls of her feet.

“I may as well be the president of the guys who’d kill to fuck you, if I’m honest.” He flirts.

“Good, let’s go.” She grabs his wrist, pulling him in the direction they came from.

“Where are we going?” Bachira giggles.

“I dunno, don’t laugh at me.” She replies, determined.

“Okay, let me lead the way then.” He takes control, his touch putting her under his spell.

It’s easy to fall into his grip, he can get in her head so easily. She hardly remembers getting back to his hotel room, by the time she snaps back to reality, she’s being led through the door and swiftly spun around.

“Shut the door.” He says with a smirk, pushing her back against the door as it closes. “Keep me from the things that I don’t know~” He hums the lyrics of the song he referenced, his voice muffled every time he places wet kisses to her neck.

“I need it, Bachira.” She whines, confidently wrapping her arms around him, her movements begging for him to keep going, to keep leaving sharp kisses on her skin. She can only hope he’ll bruise her, wanting everyone to see that she’s not Isagi’s pet- she can do whatever she wants. And right now, she wants the gorgeous stage director who’s teeth graze her skin and who’s tongue sloppily traces over the marks he leaves.

‘You need it.” He huffs. “Desperate kitty.”

“K-huh?” She feels her knees grow weaker at the pet name he chooses. Maybe she’s not Isagi’s pet, but it certainly seems like she’s become Bachira’s.

“So obedient for me, yet somehow still so cold. My little kitty.” He breathes against her neck, the pads of his fingers reaching her thigh. “Jump.” He says, holding onto her thighs as he presses her back harder into the door, holding her above his head.

And he kisses her, a much smoother, more calculated kiss than Isagi’s. His careful movements are somewhat contradictory to his eccentric personality, but the fact that he continues to make unexpected decisions is still right on brand. It’s like she’s in another world, Bachira Meguru’s world. His plump lips overpower hers in such a beautiful way, sucking her bottom lip between them like she’s a mere piece of candy for him to snack on.

“Sweet lil pretty thing~” He hums, breaking their kiss for only a moment before joining their lips together again, trapping her bottom lip between his teeth once more. This time, he bites down, just enough to force a surprised wince from the depths of her throat. And he chuckles, that same unreadable demonic chuckle.

“Don’t even wanna take y’to the bed kitty, wanna fuck y’against this door.” He murmurs, blocking any chance of her responding by shoving his tongue deep into her mouth, his fingernails digging deep into her thighs as he continues to hold her up. She doesn’t know how he intends to fuck her like this, she’s surprised he’s even still holding her up.

He quickly proves her concerns futile, as he uses only his upper body to keep her pressed into the door as one of his hands slips inside his pants, and the other slips under her skirt and panties. His hard cock pokes out from the top of his sweatpants as he grunts, finally pushing his sweatpants down enough to entirely expose himself to her.

Her breaths get heavier as he pushes her panties to the side, not even showing her the decency to take them off first.

“There y’go.” He holds his cock up with one hand, her legs wrapped tightly around him as she takes his lead, lowering her body slowly onto his tip. “That’s it kitty, there y’go, push it all the way in- ah yes~ like that~” He gasps, feeling her fully sheathe herself onto him, her legs already shaking as she tries to keep up with the unfamiliar position.

“That’s a good girl~” He grunts, holding her body against the door as he fucks up into her, thrusting into parts of her only this position could reach, parts that turn her into putty in his hands. “Be a good little kitty.” His voice is hoarse, his eyes dark as he slams into her soaked cunt, her wetness dripping down his shaft.

Her muscles are sore as she holds herself up around him, but she fucking loves it. She loves being fucked like a pet with no control over her own body. He’s so strong, and hot, and fuck. His cock feels so damn good inside her, forcing her pussy to clench around him repeatedly, practically begging for him to stay inside her forever.

It’s likely anyone walking by the hotel room is welcomed with the sounds of the door slamming over and over, but Bachira doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he loves being loud. He hopes everyone hears. “Ah~ that’s it, such a tight little pussy f’me, hm? Isagi wasn’t enough to stretch you out? Guess not~”

Her hands find his hair, gripping on his blonde highlights with a strength she didn’t know she had, biting on her own bottom lip to prevent her from screaming aloud, instead limiting herself to quieted whimpers and light moans. “Meguru~” His first name tickles her tongue like it’s a curse, like she shouldn’t be allowed to say it, like he shouldn’t be allowed to be making her feel this way.

With a few more harsh thrusts that y/n is surprised didn’t split her body in half, his grip loosens, and he quickly grabs her hips as he practically drops her on her knees below him.

“Open. G’na cum in that pretty little mouth~” He breathes in, squeezing his cock with one hand as his other makes its way into her hair, roughly positioning her head in front of him. “Look at you, a mess f’me kitty.” He slurs, tauntingly tracing over her soft cheek as her mouth falls open for him.

He slides his pink tip between her lips, letting her clamp them down around him as she laps at his leaking hole with her tongue. And he pushes it in further, holding her head in place so she can’t pull away as he challenges her abilities. Y/n was confident, but she’s never sucked a dick this big. Before he’s even half way, her eyes are brimming with tears.

“Y’can take it y/n, pretty kitty, I know y’can take it.” His voice is tight as he manages quick, fast breaths. The sight of her is immaculate. The girl Isagi Yoichi thought he had tied down, with her mascara streaming down her face as his cock is buried in her throat, her dazed eyes peering up at him. And he’s gonna make a mess of her.

“Hmm~” She hums, doing her best to hollow her throat to fit more of him.

He twitches, thrusting into her dirty mouth with his grip tightened around her hair, forcing it down her throat regardless of whether she can take it or not.

“That’s good~ mhm~ g’na cum~” He hums, nearly bottoming out before shooting his thick load directly into the back of her throat.

She swallows quickly, doing everything she can to take every single drop of what he gives her. His grip loosens on her hair as he slides his cock out from between her lips, finally letting her take in a deep breath.

“S’ry a little rough kitty? My bad, pretty girl~” He grabs her hips, pulling her to her shaky feet. “Such a good job swallowing f’me huh, you got every last drop.”

“Mhm.” She nods, trying to regain her composure.

“I’ll make it up to you, pretty. Lay down.” He pulls her toward the unused hotel bed, watching her collapse backward, her legs hanging off the edge.

“Was good, was so good.” She manages through her breathless, fucked-out state.

Bachira chuckles. “Boutta be better, though.” He kneels on the side of the bed, hooking a finger under her panties that never managed to make it off when he fucked her, finally pulling them down her smooth legs. “Sit back and feel good now, sweetheart. Kitty deserves a reward. Good girl.” He praises, spreading her thighs apart as he presses his lips to her dripping cunt.

He eats her like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, his tongue lapping up every bit of her he can get a taste of, fucking it into her used hole like he’s trying to clear every drop. He alternates between fucking her with his tongue and flicking her clit, licking short wet stripes across the sensitive bud of fleshy ecstasy.

His nails loosen on her thighs, letting her clench them around his head as if he wants her to crush him. And maybe he does.

He hums into her pussy like he’s singing it to sleep, hungrily drinking her up like it’s just as good for him as it is for her. Her body shakes around his tongue, the clit stimulation sending mini electric pulses up and down her body, forcing her brain into a fucked-out overdrive.

“Meguru~ Ah- close~” She manages through breathy moans, the pulses firing too fast for her to keep up. It’s a different feeling than usual, a more complicated feeling, like she can’t control her body anymore. There’s something else there besides just her orgasm, but it’s too intense for her to figure it out before she releases. “C-cumming-” She stutters.

Bachira plunges his tongue inside her to catch her orgasm, surprised when she squirts around him, the liquid spilling out and soaking the sheets below her.

“Oh fuck-” She breathes, not expecting him to make her squirt like that. She’s definitely never done that before. “S-sorry- I-”

“Mmm kitty~” He comes up for air, his eyes half lidded. “That was the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She can only nod and catch her breath as he attaches his lips to her inner thigh, bringing her down from her high by biting and sucking on her sensitive skin.

“Bet Isagi couldn’t make you do that.” He smirks.

#blue lock #anime #fanfic #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock smut #bllk smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bachira meguru #bachira x reader #bachira meguru smut #bachira smut #fanfiction #anime fanfic #anime smut #band au #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

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undiscovered-horizon · 2 years

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Bestie- u didn’t just deliver u served and I’m the greedy gremlin who’s eating this up, that was amazing, he’s so skrunkly I love him 😔Ur gonna kill me here but bestie I need them to meet I can’t 😩

This is the effect of me doing sudokus and crosswords in the ethics lecture... Was listening to Jasmine Thompson's cover of 'Rather Be' while writing this and honestly?? A whole mood

Imagine the Riddler being your secret admirer. - Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4] [Part 5]

That day felt weirdly long as if hours were stretching out as much as the universe would allow them to. You haven't felt that tired and fed up in quite a while, dreaming about the soft comfort of your own bed during your commute back home.

Home, however, had another surprise in store for you:

"Perfect timing, Eddie," you said to yourself as you tore the envelope off your front door. "Could use a little pick-me-up."

You opened the letter and couldn't help the surprise at the front of the card you were given. For some reason, it said "Invitation" in fancy, glittery writing. Inside, on the left side was another torn-out page from a poetry collection.

Underneath an apple-tree Sat a maiden and her lover; And the thoughts within her he Yearned, in silence, to discover.

Under the piece of a poem were written only two words: "Meet me". Your gaze followed the vague message to the right side of the card where a small map was drawn. It looked like a bird's view of a restaurant or a bar with a question mark drawn over one of the, as you had assumed, tables like the little map was the continuation of the unfinished sentence. On top of the drawing was scribbled an address, a date and an hour. You were supposed to meet him in a week's time.

From that moment on, you could hardly think about anything else and, little did you know, so did he. It was going to be a fateful Wednesday evening.

"That's the place," you whispered to yourself as you checked the GPS on your phone again.

You found yourself standing before a desolate diner that looked like it was taken straight out of Quentin Tarantino's movie. But you had to admit that the Pulp Fiction feel to the locale was charming in some way as if gracefully continuing your dilemma whether you were now the main character of a rom-com or a slash horror film.

"Here goes nothing," you said with a sigh. With each step towards the front door of the diner, your restlessness was only increasing.

The bell near the door chimed cheerfully as you hesitantly entered the building. At first, you couldn't see a soul inside - even the waitress was more of a cryptid as you could only hear her quiet chatter with the cooks coming from the kitchen. They left the door slightly ajar. According to the drawing, the marked table should be the one under the vintage-style graffiti with a pin-up girl holding a tray of apple pie. Your heart stopped for a moment, seeing that the booth was occupied.

Ever since he sat down in that booth, he'd been eyeing the door, waiting for the fateful moment you enter. The muffled laughter of the waitress rung in his ears and Eddie was half-convinced that she was laughing at him. After all, who was he to ever believe that you were actually going to show up? That you would be anything but disgusted with him?

He watched as you checked his little drawing once more. You turned your head towards him and Ed could swear the time actually slowed down if not entirely stopped when your gaze met his. The moment you realized that it was him, a bright smile appeared on your face, making Eddie's palms even sweatier than they already were. He just knew he was going to mess things up - there was no way in Hell that he could impress you. That much was obvious to Eddie.

You were just so... unreal to him. There he was: the loser, the loner, the butt of the joke and there were you, the epitome of grace approaching the table he was sitting at. He couldn't believe his own senses, some anxious beast still gnawing at his thoughts, that you didn't immediately turn around and left once you saw him.

"Hey," you said softly as you sat down across from him.

"H-hi," he nervously stuttered out.

Eddie looked more or less as you expected him to: a quiet, kind of awkward and easy-to-overlook guy who had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Your friends always found it very amusing that you had a thing for underdogs. No matter how strange it might sound to anyone else, you thought there was a certain charm to his awkwardness like an adorable deer caught in headlights.

"You have great taste." You waved the "invitation" card before putting it back into your purse.

"In what?" Eddie asked sheepishly. His mind was fluctuating between blankness and intrusive thoughts, so coherence and reason weren't something he could count on at the moment.

You shrugged. That bright, showstopping smile was still on your face and Eddie felt he wouldn't be able to look away from you even if he wanted to. "Poetry. Flowers," you counted. "Girls."

His chubby cheeks turned crimson red at your words. Your confidence made him even more aware of his incapacitating insecurity. Eddie believed his intrusive thoughts: there was nothing he could delight you with.

"I loved your riddles," you confessed. "You're really good at it."

A flutter of his heart and a ray of lovesick hope.

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evegwood · 10 months

Note

how do you atually write a script for a comic fhhhdhdhdh like do you write it the same as a movie script idk how to start

My basic system is using bulletpoints inside a table. Each table cell is a page, which is handy for planning page spreads, and each bulletpoint is a panel. This script also divvies up the scenes by colour so I can block out how long each scene is:

Because I'm the sole artist, I don't include any information that is obvious to me; that means expressions, poses, or individual panel sizes don't usually make it into the script. If there's something really dramatic and important I'll include it, but otherwise I tend to work out character poses when I'm thumbnailing or pencilling. I'm already kind of laying out the page in my mind when I'm writing so when I go back to actually draw it I'm like yeah I know exactly what face Vic is pulling here.

I do also have @spiremint on board now as colourist but because I don't really think in colour I don't have any notes for that in the script. Instead, I make notes on the inked/pencilled version of the page when I'm sending it to Spire for the colour script. Those notes will say stuff like the mood I'm going for, the weather, what happens in the scene so he can give me some cool alternate background colours. Spire never sees the script, it really is just for me when I'm pencilling/lettering, and then I discard it and work from what I have in front of me. It's a stepping stone tool, not a strict guideline of what the page should look like.

That's how I write a script, but you can write your script literally however you want! If it's just for you to read, you only need to include as much information as you find important. For some people that's everything because they either can't envision the scene without a description or because they want to make sure they don't miss anything important out, and for some people it's the most barebones thing imaginable. If it works for you, just do it!! You don't need to write a script like you would for a movie unless you really want to, or it's for someone else to see. Do you want to see the entirety of my script for the Chapter 5 lasertag scene?

Now here's a more helpful answer. I always start with an outline of what exactly needs to happen on each page so I don't need to work too hard figuring out how many panels should pass before I need a page break. Example:

You will probably want to think about three main things when putting your script together: dialogue, environment, and character. Each panel is an individual moment in time. That means you shouldn't have too many things happening in a single panel, and one panel should generally only have one dialogue moment, one environment note, and one character action. Someone can't jump up in alarm and then look relieved all in one panel, because that's two character actions (and would also be pretty difficult to draw but shh). A character shouldn't (can, but shouldn't) say they want to leave, then change their mind and ask for another drink all in one panel, because that's two dialogue moments. For environment notes, you really shouldn't have an explosion and the hidden treasure revealed all in one panel, because that's two environment notes. You don't need to stretch everything out into its own panel, but make sure you watch for too many things of the same category happening in one panel.

That's a lot of info, but I hope it helps!

I'm doing a little Q&A right now to celebrate the launch of the Inhibit: Book Two Kickstarter! If you have a question about Inhibit, comics in general, or anything else, shoot me an ask 🔥

#asks #ama #anonymous

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fanaticsnail · 1 month

Text

Daughter of the Sea: Chapter 3

Masterlist Here, Header Masterlist Here

Word Count: 4,500+

Synopsis: Being called to a small island in the east blue, you enjoy a day out with your five-year-old niece. Her line of questioning has you question some moments yourself, your checkered past revealed to her in no uncertain terms.

Themes: Unrequited requited love, slow burn, long fic, long distance relationship, friends to lovers, found family dynamics, love over time, (smut, mdni 18+, NSFW - chapters will be marked accordingly), love-making, angst, hurt, gendered terms used, swearing, adult language.

Notes: Benn Beckman x f!reader, platonic!Mihawk x f!reader, platonic!Shanks x f!reader, slight mention of MiShanks ship, Beginning: Shanks is 19, Mihawk is 23, Beckman is 30, f!reader is 22, Uta is 2 months old for the sake of the plot (canonically she's 2 years old). The f!reader is suggested to be native to Kuraigana with her mannerisms and language.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @indydonuts

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The next three years flew by, each of you experiencing the time catching up with you. Uta was now a small five-year-old, Shanks was no longer a teenager, and you were rapidly approaching your thirties.

Each time you were called to get an update on your niece, you smiled at the information given to you. Benn Beckman was always on the other end of the transponder, his yearning and longing from afar only growing in fondness for each moment that stretched between you.

He had begun sending you trinkets alongside his letters: a shell from the Red-Force's new birth port, a small bottle of rum he purchased to drink with you of an evening over the shell. He'd send you pressed flowers, sweet-smelling perfumes, and he'd even begun sending you jewelry.

He would never explain the gifts to you, just uttering a simple: “Uta said you needed it,” or “Uta wanted to buy it for her ‘Pretty Aunty'.” You had an inkling that Beckman was using Uta as an excuse to buy you pretty things, but chose to remain silent. Considering Beckman had never lied to you, you couldn't quite gauge how he was able to do so now.

Mihawk had also opened up over the years, sending several gifts here and there for Uta, all symbolic of Kuraigana and who he was to her: her favorite uncle from the land of gloom.

It was well past ten o’clock in the evening when your personal shell shook with a lively bounce, prompting you to get out of your settled position in your bed suite and gather it. After placing it in your ear, you were not expecting to hear soft sobs falling into the receiver end of the call.

“Pretty Aunty?” a small voice whimpered from the other end. You immediately sat upright in your bed, glaring at your wall as you answered.

“Uta, is that you my love?” you asked her. She responded with a soft sniffle, biting back a sob as she continued to talk into your shell.

“C-Can we have girl time?” her soft song called on your heartstrings, prompting you to begin readying yourself to flee from Kuraigana to come to her aid.

“Sweetheart, where are you?” you asked her, slipping out of your nightdress and pulling on your traveling clothes.

“It's in the east-blue,” she whimpered into the mouthpiece, “Dawn Island, Foosha Village in Goa Kingdom.”

You began gathering a satchel bag, hurriedly placing a few of your essentials within the canvas and slinging it over your shoulder, “Talk to me, Uta. Tell me what's going on so I can get ready to see you.”

“I just miss my favorite pretty aunty,” she wailed, “And I want you to be here with my favorite uncle. I want you both together.” You hesitated, looking at your clock face to read the time and current date.

“Oh, sweety. I don't think Mihawk will be back-,” you attempted to relay while fastening your shoe, but Uta never gave you the chance to finish that sentence.

“-Not Uncle Mihawk,” she sniffed, hardening her resolve, “I want you with Uncle Beckman. He misses you so much, and it's really hard to watch.”

You dropped your shoe, your foot falling onto the floor as you adjusted your earpiece. Hastily recovering, you slung your satchel over your shoulder.

“Gorgeous girl, I don't know what you-,” you began, again halted by Uta's hardened determination.

“-He misses you so much, Pretty Aunty,” she hurriedly spat. Taking a moment to collect her thoughts, she inhaled through her nose and continued, “He thinks about you all the time. He always asks me what I think you'll like, and makes me choose things to buy you.”

You smile at this knowledge, shaking your head before collecting your thoughts and relaying your words.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you hummed at her, sighing and shaking your head, “Uncle Becks and I are very good friends. I miss him too, sometimes.”

“Then why don't you come with us?” She whined, “Why do you always stay with Uncle Hawk all the time? Are you and Uncle Hawk married? Captain Shanks says the only way a pirate makes a home on land is sometimes when they find someone they like enough to marry.”

You bit back the urge to laugh, struggling to contain a few escaped snickers.

“Sweet pea,” you inhaled a deep breath, “Uncle Hawk is the world's greatest swordsman. He stays here at Kuraigana to hold that title, and because it's his home.”

“Did you marry Uncle Hawk, Pretty Aunty?” she asked sternly. You could tangibly feel the holes she was burning into you through the transmitter, the rage of the five year old physically scorching you.

“Uta, I work for Uncle Hawk,” you informed her, calmly, “I live in Kuraigana with him to make sure he's safe. Also, between us girls,” you draw the mouthpiece in closer, “Uncle Hawk gets very lonely.”

“But I’m lonely,” she uttered with somber defeat, “There's only men here, and I need girl time!”

You giggled, taking out a piece of parchment from your desk drawer, and hastily scribbled on tanned note paper.

“Okay, sweetheart,” you finally inform her, “If I sail for two full days, without any sleep,” you smiled into the snail, “I’ll be in Goa Kingdom before you know it.”

“Yes!” She exclaimed gleefully, “I'll tell Captain Shanks! I'll tell the crew! Uncle Becks will finally stop being so sad all the time!”

“Uta, please,” you hurriedly attempt to snuff out the growing embers of her joy, “You can tell Captain Shanks, but can we try to keep it a surprise?”

“Oh, like a secret?” Uta asked you, her curiosity ticking up in her cadence.

“No, sweety,” you giggled, “Secrets are to be held forever, surprises are to be revealed later.” She hummed at that explanation, opting to instead elevate her spirit once more.

“Okay, okay, Pretty Aunty,” her voice began buzzing once again in excitement, “We’ll be in Goa for maybe another week. I am so happy you're coming!”

Making your way to the front door, you hung your note depicting your absence from Kuraigana to Mihawk should he arrive back to the high-keep before you. Exiting the castle, you readied your personal sailboat and began the tireless journey of traveling, sleeplessly, for two full days.

In those two full days, Uta had never been so excited. The entirety of the Red-Hair crew noticed the subtle jump in her step, the hum in her voice and the smile on her lips. By the time midday managed to hit its peak, she rushed down to the docks with a thundering pace.

“Oi, Uta!” Hongo called after the child, immediately turning from his reclined position and racing after her. It was his turn to watch over the child, and this was a job he took absolutely seriously considering her tendency to sprint.

It was no use calling after her, Uta picking up her pace and propelling her body like a cannonball fired from a barrel. Hongo was breathless when he reached the peer, his eyes widening when Uta jumped into the arms of a crouching woman, hooded and cloaked.

“Pretty Aunty!” Uta cried, burying her face in the crook of your shoulder and sobbing loudly.

“Gorgeous Girl,” you hummed down at her, your eyes closed and lifting her to your standing height, “You're getting so big now, but I can still lift you like this.”

Uta continued sobbing into your shoulder, her smile burried against your neck as you soaked in her embrace. Fighting back a release of emotion yourself, you gulped back your sob and opened your eyes to see the shocked face of the Red-Hair Pirate, Hongo.

“Doctor,” you hummed at him, your sultry voice smiling at him.

“Secretary,” he blinked back his surprise with a small smirk, “Captain know you were coming?”

“I'm not certain,” you admitted, looking down at the emotional child in your arms, “Sweetheart, did you tell your Captain I was coming?”

“Mm-mmm,” she shook her head in denial, “A surprise.” You sighed an “Ah,” in response, smiling back up at Hongo.

“Evidently not, Doctor,” you nodded with a soft shrug, “Why don't we go and tell him all together, hm?” Uta nodded into your chest, kicking her legs lightly and wriggling in your arms.

“Let's go!” She squealed, grabbing at your hand and prompting you to hurry after her. Hongo huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head and trailing behind you.

As you approached the tavern at the top of the hill, laughter and clinking of glasses reverberating within the wooden walls. Uta released your hand, rushing in towards her red-headed adoptive father and tugging at his white shirt.

Shanks lay leaning on the bar, laughing at a joke told by Yassop and clapping him on the shoulder. He turned down to the child, who clutched at the base of his shirt and yanked for him to stoop to her level.

You took a moment to look around the tavern, noticing a green haired hostess scuttling around the room and tending to collecting tankards and empty bottles. You turned to see Lucky Roux diving into a large smoked lamb leg, Hongo tapping him on the shoulder and informing him to slow down to ease digestion.

Several of the red-hair crew were scattered, all men entertaining a coupling counterpart aside from both Yassop and Shanks who remained conversing with Uta. Your gaze scanned over the room, finally halting on the burly figure of the man you had conversed with for the past five years.

Beckman hunched his body against the wall, his arm extended over his head as his eyes twinkled with flirtatious mischief. A woman coyly batted her eyelashes, hiding her giggle behind her hand at Beckman's words. He reached forward, tucking her hair behind her ear, an act that the woman playfully swatted away with her lips pursed in mischief.

You shook your head with a soft smile, looking to your toes before turning your attention towards your adoptive niece and approaching her father in a slow and steady step.

“Captain Shanks,” you uttered in a low voice, his head immediately spring up from Uta with his left hand clutching Yassop’s shirt.

“P-Pretty lady,” he stuttered out, his body lunging forward. He staggered in his movements, collecting your left cheek in his right hand with his calloused thumb tracing a soft circle over your jaw, “Y-You’re here? Why are you here? Did something happen to Hawk-Eyes? Is he okay-?”

“-He’s fine, Captain,” you hushed him, raising your left hand to collect his right, “He's away from Kuraigana presently, off collecting some easy bounties to add to his hoard of treasures and to keep his skills sharp,” you removed his hand from your cheek, continuing to clutch it within your own, “And he's doing remarkably well.”

“Oh,” Shanks sighed in relief, before furrowing his brows in confusion, “But if he's thriving, why are you here?” Understanding his chain of reasoning, you smiled with tight lips before leaning in towards his face.

“Uta called me on my personal transponder,” you uttered, pressing your lips against his cheek in a chase kiss, “Said she needed ‘girl time’ with her favorite aunty-.”

“-That’s not what I said!” Uta cried in frustration, breaking you both away from your trance and glancing down at the pearl and ruby-haired child.

You softened your smile, pulling away from Shanks' cheek and crouching down in a low stoop to greet Uta. You claimed the young girl’s hands within your own, nodding to her for clarification. She gulps back her courage, hardening her features and grimacing.

“I said I needed my Pretty Aunty to have girl time,” she pouted, glancing between your eyes and Shanks’ hazelnut orbs, “And that she needs to see Uncle Beckman because he's lonely and sad.”

Both you, Shanks and Yassop drew your eyes over to Benn Beckman as he stooped down to whisper into his companion’s ear. The three of you raised your eyebrows, all exchanging knowing glances between you as you watched his descent.

As Beckman collected the woman's lips beneath his, her willing lips smiling against his as the kiss lingered on. Eyes widening at witnessing Beckman’s flirtatious advances collect it's due reward, you looked down at your niece who was glaring at him with utter anger.

You shook your head at Uta, darting your eyes between hers and softened your expression further, turning her chin to meet her gaze. She continued to pout, frowning deeply at you.

“Seems Uncle Beckman is not as lonely as you thought, sweet pea,” you giggled at her while scrunching your nose, “What would you like first?” Uta, her orbs looking up at you through thick red and white eyelashes, looked hopefully up into your eyes.

“He told me he missed you!” Uta growled, looking to her dad, “Did Uncle Beckman lie to me? I thought he liked Pretty Aunty! He told me-.” You waved your hands, regaining your niece's attention with your genuine smile.

“-What do you like to do on this island?” you asked her, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a playful dab on the nose, “I haven't been here before, and I would love to see some of the sights.” Uta lost her train of thought, eyes now filling with hope.

“Can we go to the salon?” she squeaked out rapidly, “Do nails and hair? Maybe some makeup? Can we go shopping, get snacks and clothes? Can we-?”

“-Uta, please!” Shanks huffed out a loud laugh, “Your pretty aunty has only just arrived, let her rest a bit before shooting questions at her.” You laughed alongside him.

“Truthfully, Captain,” you rose from your crouch to meet your smile with his own at eye level, “I came here knowing what I was in for. With your permission, may I take my niece for the remainder of the day?”

“By all means,” he smiled at you, gesturing to the door with his right hand, “Enjoy what's left of the sun. And you,” he snapped his head over at Hongo, “You owe the lady your gratitude for getting out of uncle-duty, Hongo.”

Hongo closed the gap between you, collecting your right hand in his right and stopping down to place his lips on your knuckles. You felt his gratitude from the lengthy kiss he pressed against you, finishing the first kiss with three rapid kisses to follow in its stead.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against your knuckles, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Go and have a drink, doctor,” you suggested, “You've earned it after that quick sprint.” He rose from his stoop, eyes meeting yours with a soft smile as he released your hand. You quickly turned to see Shanks and Uta in a soft embrace before she ran to your side.

Reaching out your hand to her, you quickly wave to Shanks, Yassop and Hongo before leaving the bar; just as Beckman and the woman on his arm approach to get another round of drinks.

Beckman ordered his usual beverage, and something similar for the companion who said she could handle it. Relinquishing a small wad of Berry, he reached for the drinks and clinked the rim against hers. While she looked towards her friend, who was currently seated on the lap of Limejuice, he noticed Hongo drinking a shot of tequila with Yassop and Shanks.

“Hongo,” his gruff voice called over to them before turning to the lady at his side, “Sorry, doll. Would you excuse me for a moment?” She shrugged him off, enjoying a sip of the drink and feeling the subtle burn in her throat.

He immediately marched over to the doctor, his hand cupping his shoulder and turning Hongo to face him.

“Steady on, Beckman,” Hongo frowned, shrugging off his arm and raising the short glass to his lips, “What's gotten into you?”

“Where's Uta?” he barked lowly, his gaze pointed and accusatory, “You were on next rotation, where is our niece?” Shanks placed his right arm over Beckman's forearm, drawing his attention to the redhead instead of the doctor.

“She's safe, big guy,” Shanks smirked, gesturing for another round for the three of them, “She's in very capable, and extremely attentive hands.”

“If you've palmed her off to the woman in Mount Colubo for the day-,” Beckman threatened, Shanks laughing into his shot-glass, downing the drink in a single gulp.

“-Absolutely not, Becks,” Shanks finished his drink, ordering another with salt and lemon this time, “Someone made the trip especially to see her here. Someone you affectionately refer to as ‘Darlin’,’ when you call her.”

Beckman dropped his glass, the container shattering at his boots as his mind raced with several questions. The ones eclipsing the more mundane: ‘how did you get here?’ and ‘is everything okay with Mihawk?’ were of ‘did you see him flirt with another woman?' and ‘did you see him kiss her?’.

“She saw, Becks,” Shanks broke him from his trance, prompting him to look up as his captain began sweeping at the glass by his feet with a wicker broom, “You've spoken of your conquests in the past with her, why should seeing it in action be any different?”

“Because I don’t want her to think less of me-...” he quickly stifled his words, wincing as his captain's grin spread up his lips as fast as lightning.

“Oh, Becks,” Shanks taunted him with a slow mock, “I thought you had a little crush, but come on man. It's been years!” Beckman chose to remain silent in lieu of spilling more of his heart.

“Is it a curiosity, a small infatuation?” Shanks prompted, placing a replacement beverage in Beckman's hand once the glass was cleared, “Or are you in love with her?”

Beckman looked at the glass, his lip quipping up in gratitude for the replacement and the clean up before he carefully responded.

“I am in love with her.”

Shanks lulled his head on his shoulders, his elbows anchoring on the bar top as he slunk back into his rounded seat.

“And what are you going to do about it, Becks?” Shanks asked again, leaning his head on Yassop’s shoulder, “Wanna take a vow of celibacy at sea like our sharpshooter here?” Yassop shook his head, smiling with his mind swimming with thoughts of his wife in Syrup Village.

Beckman was perplexed. He was bewildered. Some could go so far as to say he was disorientated. The rush of admitting this unrequited love aloud to anyone other than Uta had him discombobulated, especially due to the fact that Shanks had not said a word against his confession.

“Still with us, Becks?” Shanks asked, waving his hand in front of Beckman to regain a sense of attention back. Snapping back to his present tense, he shook his head at his captain and downed his drink in a single gulp.

“She's with Uta, havin’ girl time?” Beckman asked, Shanks nodded in response. Taking a moment to pay a handful of Berry to the bar, Beckman purchased a round of drinks for his date, her friend, Limejuice and Shanks.

“Her name is Belmira, the friend with Limejuice is Dahlia,” Beckman informed Shanks, placing the tray of drinks in his hand and ushering him over to her, “Give her a drink with my apologies, Captain. I'm gonna do somethin’ about it.”

“That's my first-mate,” Shanks smiled, accepting the drinks and gleefully approaching the table with Dahlia, Limejuice and Belmira. As Shanks began offering the woman Beckman's apologies, Beckman was already out the door and walking into town.

Enjoying the salon first: hot combs, scalp massages, aromatherapy and waterfall conditioning were offered to both yours and Uta's scalps. You both relaxed into the experience, enjoying catching up on times lost between you. Your hands were always clasped tightly around one another's, your seats pushed flush together so you could talk closer.

Next was stopping for a small snack, both enjoying a quick sample of local fruits with ice cream before gathering some chicken smoked on skewers. You informed Uta you would both be eating something a little heartier later in the evening, but you enjoyed indulging your niece on her impulses.

Dresses, skirts, pants, socks, shoes and jewelry was next: all catered to Uta's unique taste. She picked out a few items for you to try on, her small hands raking at your freshly dried hair to style it up before releasing it with a nod.

Walking hand in hand, you approached a small vendor selling books with sheet music, all easy to decipher and follow. You purchased a small collection of them for Uta to take back to the Red-Force, adding it to the growing number of items you'd purchased for her.

Uta arched her back and stumbled in her footing briefly, her eyes drooping from the sheer amount of walking you did together, always hand in hand. You approached the docks, both your ship and the Red-Force remained rocking lightly with the tide.

“Pretty Aunty?” she asked suddenly, her voice slow and cautious. She gave your hand a gentle squeeze to halt your approach.

“Yes gorgeous girl?” you replied, scrunching your nose and looking down at the young girl at your side. Her eyes held curiosity, but also an air of precaution.

“Do you like Uncle Hawk?” she asked in a low tone, “Is that why you stay in Kuraigana and not come with us? Do you kiss him sometimes?”

“Uta!” you shook your head with a small laugh, “Absolutely not, sweet girl. While I do love Uncle Hawk, our love is not the way you think,” you confessed to her.

“I don't understand,” she shrugged with a soft pout. You rolled your shoulders back, huffing out a breath before leading her down to sit just before boarding her home at sea. You crouched in front of her, holding her gaze at eye level.

Attempting to commence your history, easy enough for a child to comprehend, and condense several brutal steps and details, you pursed your lips.

“Uncle Hawk and I fought each other a few times,” you admitted, gauging her comprehension by carefully looking in her eyes, “I won once, he won once. One day after that; we fought so hard, I ended up needing to see a special doctor to fix me up.” She nodded, waiting for more of your history to be shared with her.

“Uncle Hawk took me to the doctor, and waited for me to wake up to talk with me,” you continued. “He offered me a choice to leave a very, very bad person who had me do very, very bad things.” You shuddered at the memory that still caused your blood to run cold. You shook off the feeling, continuing to relay your explanation to the young child.

“I love him for that,” you admit to her, “Uncle Hawk showed me mercy where he had every right to make my heart stop. I have been living in my home in Kuraigana ever since, and I truly enjoy helping him remain as the World's Greatest Swordsman.”

She hummed, taking in the information like a dry sponge soaking up warm water. She allowed several moments to pass before she asked a pointed question.

“Do you kiss him like Uncle Beckman kissed that lady?” Uta narrowed her eyes, your comprehension of exactly what she was asking finally dawning on you.

“No, gorgeous girl,” you shook your head, “Uncle Hawk and I do not kiss. I make his coffee, I prepare his schedule, he cooks for me, and he shares wine with me. We do not kiss, we do not hold hands. We are both very good friends.”

“But aren't you very good friends with Uncle Beckman? Don't you love him too?” Uta said quickly, her line of reasoning quickly turning into an interrogation. You rolled your head on your shoulders, eyes closing and lips smiling.

“Uncle Beckman and I are excellent friends,” you nodded, lowering your head below her eyeline and collecting the bags beside her, “I have known him for longer than I knew Uncle Hawk-.”

“-Do you want him to kiss you like he kissed that lady in the bar? Do you love him?” Uta hurriedly spat, weaseling the truth from you in a similar way you managed to do so in your own childhood. You laughed joyfully, shaking your head at her question and taking a moment to think about it.

Teetering off your laughter, you looked down at the pouting child. Uta's hands were folded over her chest, her brows in a deep frown. Whispering in the native Kuraigana tongue, you tucked her hair behind her ear, “I love Beckman more than he's fully aware. He's had my heart the moment he placed you in my arms, beautiful girl.”

“I don't understand when you speak that language, pretty aunty,” she grumbled, swatting your hands away from her face, “Can you tell me what you said?”

“Of course I love him, Uta,” you shook your head, “I love all of the Red-Hair crew, including their little musician. Now, let's put your clothes, toys and makeup away before we go back to see them, okay?” You ensured there was no air for misinterpretation, looking at Uta's large eyes as she took in the information.

After taking a small breath, Uta stood on her feet and let you lead her and her items to the Red-Force and down into her room to put it all away.

Unbeknownst to you, Benn Beckman hurried back to the Red-Force immediately after bidding Shanks a hasty farewell. He bathed himself, washed his hair, sifted through his wardrobe to find his best clothes, and began shaving his face out on the deck with his shirt folded neatly beside him.

When hearing your chatter and approach, he hastily wiped the suds away from his face, checking himself over in the deck mirror for any scruff he missed. He scowled when he noticed a small tuft of hair on his jaw, hastily drawing up his barbering blade to scrape away the coarse fuzz.

He heard every word spoken, every soft giggle from you, and every pointed word from Uta. The interaction drew a smile up his lips, all grins and soft laughs, until the mention of love and kisses caused his heart to stumble.

The thought of you and Mihawk together romantically had never crossed his mind until now, truly ignorant to the reason you remained in Kuraigana. He knew you had been injured badly in a large fight with Mihawk, but never truly knew the reason you followed him.

When Uta asked you if you wanted him, if you loved him, he was frozen in place. He wanted to give you privacy to answer, but his heart was screaming at him to hone in on your response. Ears straining, he barely caught your voice whisper to Uta in Kuraiganian. He could admit to himself, his Kuraiganian was seriously lacking, but he did manage to pick up just the smallest phrase. This phrase had his shoulders fall in relief, his breath stolen from his lungs and his eyes clench tightly shut in bliss.

“I love Beckman,” you said, his mind repeating your soft whisper to Uta as a musician would repeat a favored section of their skillful melody. He translated that one phrase as he placed a cigarette between his lips.

“I love Beckman.”

#one piece #x reader #benn beckman #op benn beckman #op beckman #beckman x reader #f!reader #one piece x reader

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mimisempai · 28 days

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I'll find you at the end of the road - Chap 2/8

Chapter summary

The mystery thickens, then becomes clearer... a mysterious correspondence is being born...

On Ao3

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4 - Chap 5 - Chap 6 - Chap 7 - Last chapter

Alone in the teachers' lounge, Crowley tried to pour himself a cup of coffee despite his shaking hands, but had to put the cup down and take several deep breaths to calm himself.

He didn't hear the headmistress enter and jumped at the sound of her voice.

"Ah, you're here."

Mrs Tracy had grabbed the coffee pot and filled Crowley's cup before handing it to him, "I know about the accident near St James Park. I had to go there because a class from our academy was on the bus. Luckily none of them were hurt. The paramedics, who knew you were a teacher here, told us you fought really hard for that man."

Crowley sighed, "And yet, everything I've done hasn't been enough. No matter how well I know first aid, no matter how regularly I take refresher courses, it hasn't been enough."

He paused, took a sip of coffee, and continued, "I have to get back to class. There's nothing like work to take your mind off things."

He emptied his cup in one gulp before heading for the door.

"Crowley?"

Crowley stopped and turned to find himself face to face with the headmistress who had followed in his footsteps. Mrs. Tracy placed her hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Do me a favor. On your day off, get as far away from here as you can. Will you? Go somewhere you feel good...a place that brings you peace."

Throat tightening, Crowley nodded before continuing on his way.

Aziraphale left the lake house and walked to his Beetle parked by the mailbox. Before getting into his car, he placed a letter in the box, raised the flag, and drove to his store.

At the same time, Crowley decided to follow Mrs. Tracy's advice and took his car to Ditchling. The lake had always given him a sense of serenity, so he drove north of the small village.

The day was clear and bright, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees.

Before reaching the lake, he stopped at the small local grocery store, whose owners he knew well, to buy his lunch and a drink.

He greeted them as he entered the store: "Hello Frank, hello Bill!"

Frank walked over to him and, after giving him a hug, exclaimed, "We haven't seen you in a while. How are things in the city?"

Crowley shrugged and replied in a neutral tone, "Fine. I'm getting used to it."

Bill, who had joined them, hugged him in turn before asking inquisitively, "What are you doing here?"

Crowley swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat whenever he thought of the tragedy in St. James Park, then replied quietly, "I just had to get out of the city. I needed some fresh air and I missed the peaceful life here."

Bill nodded vigorously, "I hear you, for nothing in the world would I want to go back to city life."

Suddenly, Frank bent his head to the ground and said quietly, "What's the matter, sweetie?"

Crowley followed his gaze and saw a little boy hiding behind Frank's leg, then exclaimed, "Hey, Joel, how you've grown! How old are you now?"

"Two." Frank replied as the little boy raised his hand and showed two fingers. "Say hello to Crowley, Joel, you like him, don't you?"

"Hi Cwoly!"

The little boy, all shyness gone, stretched out his arms to Crowley, who took him in his arms and planted a loud kiss on his forehead, making Joel giggle.

They chatted for a few moments, then Crowley, already in a better mood after spending time with this kind family, left with his sandwich and drink, heading for the lake house, hoping there was no new occupant yet.

Arriving at the lake house, Crowley first checked to make sure no one was there, then got out of the car and walked along the house and down to the edge of the lake, where he found a rock large enough for him to sit on. He sat there for a long time, admiring the lake, whose surface was so smooth he could see the sky reflected in it. After eating his sandwich, he closed his eyes and threw his head back, enjoying the gentle breeze that seemed to sweep away his dark thoughts. Much later, as the sun began to set over the horizon and the temperature cooled, he told himself it was time to go home, but he wasn't in any hurry.

As he was getting into his car, he noticed the flag raised on the mailbox. Wondering if his letter was still in the box, he opened it out of curiosity. Inside was a plain envelope, different from the one he'd put there. He took it, and to his surprise, it was addressed to him.

Crowley sat down in the car parked in front of the house and began to read the letter.

I got your letter. Is this some kind of joke?

Because if it's not, I don't get it.

Crowley frowned at the tone of the letter and continued reading.

I am not the "next tenant" for the simple reason that there was no previous tenant.

The lake house has been unoccupied for over twenty years.

At first I thought maybe you'd come to the wrong place.

But then, how would you know about the paw prints?

Crowley was now completely confused. He thought for a moment, then fumbled in his satchel for a pen and paper and began to write.

Aziraphale parked the Beetle, happy to have finally finished his day's work, and saw that the mailbox flag had been raised. Slightly excited, he opened the box and saw that there was a letter inside, immediately recognizing the handwriting of Crowley, the so-called former tenant. He looked at it as he walked up to the house and saw that it came from the same address Crowley had given him to forward his letter to, 33 Great Marlborough Street, London.

Once inside, Aziraphale jumped as he felt something pass between his legs, nearly knocking him over. It was the rabbit that had left the paw prints. Apparently, it had decided to live here and had figured out how to get in.

Great, now he'd have to figure out what a rabbit would need.

But leaving that aside for now, he opened Crowley's letter and began to read.

The next day, after closing the store, Aziraphale waited beside the Beetle in front of a huge building that exuded opulence and majesty and dominated by the two familiar letters HH, Heavenly Home. Brand of luxury furnishings.

His eyes were fixed on the people coming out of it, and he smiled as soon as he saw the familiar slender figure with the even more familiar brown curl coming out of the main swinging door.

"Muriel!"

As soon as they saw him, Muriel exclaimed, "Aziraphale! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be busy in your little shop, surrounded by all those old things you love so much."

He didn't take it badly, for his friend and former colleague had said this in an affectionate tone, and Aziraphale replied gently, "I'm never too busy to look up an old friend and offer them a drink, or even dinner."

Muriel replied with a broad smile, "That makes me so happy."

Then Aziraphale sheepishly added, "I had something to do not far from here, and I thought why not combine the pleasant with the useful."

Muriel hugged him and then said softly, "I am so happy to see you. I miss you so much, you know. It's not the same without you here."

Over his shoulder, Aziraphale froze as he saw another familiar figure leave the building.

Their eyes met over Muriel's shoulder and Aziraphale murmured, "The Almighty.

As the woman walked at a brisk pace, Muriel put a hand on Aziraphale's arm and said in a slightly reproachful tone, "She is your mother, after all."

Aziraphale took a deep breath and said calmly, "Come on, let's go."

A short time later, they were both sitting in a small restaurant, chatting animatedly about the latest news, happy to catch up.

Muriel asked, "So how's life as an antiquarian?"

Aziraphale smiled before answering, "Well, it's been a challenge starting out on my own, it's one thing to do it as a hobby, sometimes it's frustrating depending on the clientele, but basically I..."

Muriel interrupted with a smile, "Say no more, you're having fun. I can see that. You seem to be blossoming."

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "It's true, I'm my own boss too, and on the whole it works out pretty well."

Muriel clinked her wine glass against their friend's and said gently, "I'm so happy for you."

"By the way, I bought a house..."

Muriel's eyes widened and she exclaimed, "So your business is doing really well!"

Aziraphale chuckled.

"I have mortgaged to my underwear, but I don't regret it."

"You never regretted leaving HH?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied, "As much as I know you love working there, that big, cold, sterile corporation just isn't for me. When Mother set it up after my father died, she promised there would be an antique furniture restoration department for me, but she got lost in the race for power and never kept her promise." He swallowed a sip of wine before continuing, "Does she ever ask about me?"

Muriel shook their head, "She's too busy getting new contracts and I don't think she likes me very much, I guess she thinks I'm dim. I even thought she was going to fire me today because I didn't make enough sales."

Aziraphale put his hand on theirs and said gently, "Don't worry, you know her tantrums, she'll be her old self tomorrow."

They dropped the subject of his mother and continued to chat happily the rest of the evening, neither of them noticing the passing of time.

As they left the restaurant, Aziraphale offered to drop Muriel off at their place before heading back to the lake house.

As he started, he said to his friend, "If you don't mind, I'd like to mail a letter before I go, which is what I came for in the first place."

Muriel nodded and five minutes later he parked the Beetle on a street corner and walked around looking for the address on Crowley's letter.

He muttered to himself, "33 Great Marlborough St."

Muriel, who had followed him, asked, "What is it?"

Aziraphale looked around in confusion and replied, "I'm not sure."

His friend insisted, "Who lives there?"

He shook his head and replied, "I don't really know."

Aziraphale triple-checked, but he was in the right place, no doubt about it. The problem was that at this address there was only a recently dug foundation, a sign announcing a new building soon, but no habitable structure.

He checked the address one last time, and then he noticed something strange.

It was dated March 27, 2024.

Crowley walked the school hallways, examining the last letter from Aziraphale he'd found in the box. He read it for the fourth time and still didn't understand it.

There must be some mistake, I tried to deliver the letter personally, to the address you gave me, but there is no property at 33 Great Marlborough St, it's just a pile of rubble.

By the way, the date isn't right either.

Crowley scribbled a note and as soon as the class was over, he went to put the letter in the box.

At the lake house, Aziraphale leaned against the kitchen counter, reading the latest letter he'd received.

I got your last letter.

I don't know if you'll get my answer, but I want to get to the bottom of it.

By the way, for some reason the mail isn't coming to my address in London. I still have to pick it up by car. Anyway, all this is to say that I didn't make a mistake with the address.

I know where I live, thanks! Okay, it's ugly, but it's not a pile of rubble either. I live on the fourth floor of a rather new building.

And last but not least, I'm not stupid, I live in 2024.

Aziraphale laughed darkly at what seemed to be a silly joke and continued reading.

Just out of curiosity, what year do you think it is?

A few days later, sitting on his sofa with a glass of wine in his hand, Crowley studied the latest note from Aziraphale.

I'm living in 2022

SO PLEASE STOP BULLSHITTING ME.

Crowley laughed in disbelief and Harry looked at him before jumping up on the sofa and cuddling up to him.

He stroked the rabbit and thought before getting up and walking over to his dresser where he pulled out a shoebox full of photos.

He began to look through the photos. He came across one he'd forgotten, of himself when he was younger with his then-boyfriend, Furfur. They were in each other's arms, laughing, looking very much in love.

He looked at it for a second, then put it away and continued his search.

Finally, he found the photo he was looking for. It showed Crowley and a group of people out at night, wearing t-shirts and jeans as snow fell around them.

He turned it over and on the back was a date printed by the developer, APRIL 3, 2022.

The wind was blowing hard as Aziraphale arrived home to find the flag on the mailbox raised. Inside was a new letter from Crowley, which he grabbed before running up the path to the house as the sky began to darken.

After being greeted by the rabbit that had nearly knocked him down again, he read the letter while preparing his meal.

Since you don't believe me, I'll give you a little warning.

There was a bad flu in the spring of 2022.

I remember because it suddenly snowed at the beginning of April and for a long time.

After that, everyone got sick.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Then he looked at the calendar to see that today was April 3rd and continued reading.

So, my mysterious pen pal, if you really are where... or when... you say you are... I hope you're getting plenty of rest, drinking lots of herbal tea, and eating fruit to store vitamins.

Warm milk with honey is also effective.

And above all, wear warm clothes.

Aziraphale laughed and said aloud in a mocking tone, "Snow, right."

Having had more than enough of this oddity, he crumpled up the letter wanting to throw it away, took a few steps, and suddenly had to stop to sneeze.

There was a bad flu in the spring of 2022.

He froze, thinking about the contents of the letter, and instinctively walked over to the bay window.

There, he couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise. Not at the beauty of the landscape, but because he was shocked.

Outside it was snowing heavily.

He looked at the falling snow for a long time, and only when he felt a chill run through his body did he stop thinking. Feeling the cold coming, he made himself a cup of tea and decided to go to bed, as he was no longer hungry and just wanted to sleep.

The next morning, bundled up in a heavy waistcoat, he went to the mailbox, which was covered with the snow that had fallen during the night, and after struggling with the flap, he quickly slipped a letter inside and closed the box. He looked at it, almost afraid it would bite him, and then raised the little red flag.

The Lake House - April 4 - 2024

Crowley opened the box, removed the letter from Aziraphale, and lowered the flag.

He unfolded it and saw that it consisted of a single line.

IS THAT POSSIBLE?

Crowley, his hands shaking, picked up a pen and replied before placing the letter back in the box and raising the flag.

The Lake House - April 4 - 2022

Aziraphale stared at the snow-covered mailbox from the house and was shocked to see the flag lowering by itself, and this began to frighten him a little. He got out and went to the mailbox, but when he got there he was shaken by a sneeze that made him bend over. When he looked up he saw that the flag had come back up.

"What the hell?!"

Although this really scared him, curiosity got the better of him and he opened the mailbox with a trembling hand to take out what seemed to be the same paper he'd mailed. Slightly disappointed, but also reassured that the flag thing was probably just the wind, he sighed and relaxed.

But as he unfolded the note, his heart leapt into his chest.

IS THAT POSSIBLE?

YES.

April 5, 2024

Crowley returned to his apartment in a daze. Sensing that something was wrong with his owner, Harry didn't run this to him this time and followed him into the living room.

Crowley took him in his arms and set the rabbit next to him on the sofa. Harry rested his head on Crowley's knee as Crowley absentmindedly scratched his head.

After a few moments, the professor picked up a piece of paper and began to write.

April 5, 2022

Aziraphale lay on his bed, surrounded by used tissues, still unable to believe the words on the letter from Crowley that had just arrived in the box. The rabbit that had truly made his home with him lay at the foot of his bed.

I don't know about you, but I don't even know what questions to ask.

Can you tell me something that might shed some light?

Aziraphale shook his head, then got up and walked around the house, thinking, trying to find a connection, when he arrived at the front door and saw the rabbit's paw prints outside.

He grabbed a piece of paper near his phone and scribbled quickly.

I think we have the same pet.

Let's do a little test so we don't always have to wait for the other one to answer. Let's meet on April 7th at 10 a.m. in front of the mailbox at the Lake House.

He put the letter in the mailbox, raised the flag, and went home to crawl under his comforter, exhausted from cold and excitement.

April 6, 2024

Crowley rose early to drive to the lake house, hoping his mysterious pen pal had responded. His heart pounding, he saw that the flag was raised. He ran to the box, opened it, and grasped the small piece of paper with trembling fingers.

He replied and put the note back in the mailbox.

Is it a white rabbit?

"See" you tomorrow then ;-)

Thus began, two years apart, an extraordinary exchange of letters, punctuated by the movement of a small flag on a mailbox.

April 7, 2022/2024 - 10:00 a.m.

A: Good morning, and yes, it is a rabbit.

C: Does it rub against your legs when you come in and follow you until it's fed?

A: Yes.

C: I named it Harry.

Aziraphale looked at the rabbit at his feet and said, "Nice to meet you, Harry."

The little rabbit rubbed against him as if it understood.

C: Perhaps we could introduce ourselves properly.

I'm Crowley, you know, and I've just arrived as a professor of astronomy at an institute for special students.

A: My name is Aziraphale. I'm an antiquarian and a collector. I have a little shop called A.Z. Fell & Co.

I'm still trying to figure it out. If in two years you are living in a building at 33 Great Marlborough St... which doesn't exist yet... where are you, uh, "now", my now, in 2022?

C: I'm studying for my doctorate in astrology at Westminster School.

Crowley stopped writing and looked around before continuing.

C: And now I'm corresponding in an extremely weird way with someone I've never met. Too, too, too weird!!!

A: What's it like in 2024?

C: It's great. Everyone is driving around in flying cars. We all wear metal colored suits and we all have super powers.

Aziraphale smiled at the joke before reading on.

C: Nothing has really changed. No. We have 5G, Twitter has become Xitter since Musk bought it. No, there has been no big change.

I have to go, I have a class this afternoon. I won't be able to be there for another three days, my next day off.

But... one thing worries me. What if by sending these letters, by communicating in this way, we inadvertently change the course of time itself, change the history of mankind forever?

Aziraphale thought for a moment before answering.

A: You're right. Let's not do that.

Aziraphale posted the letter and entered the house, Harry rubbing his feet as usual and beginning to follow him.

The antiquarian exclaimed, "Harry! That's enough!"

He took the rabbit in his arms and placed it next to where it usually ate and ordered it, "You wait here and stop following me."

For three days he repeated the same trick several times until Harry did indeed wait quietly by his bowl. He gave the rabbit a small piece of carrot to congratulate him and said softly, "Good boy."

Then, despite what they seemed to have decided, he wrote a short note and went to put it in the mailbox, raising the flag.

He only hoped that Crowley would still come and check.

April 10, 2024

Crowley reread the letter as he entered his apartment, understanding absolutely nothing.

Sorry, I took the liberty of altering the future and changed one little thing.

Crowley closed the door and while he expected to be nearly knocked down by Harry, who always ran between his legs, nothing happened.

He walked into the kitchen and was surprised to see teh rabbit bravely waiting for him next to its food bowl.

No need to thank me.

Crowley laughed out loud in a way he hadn't in a long time.

The next day, as he sat in class waiting for the next students to arrive, he was still wondering how he could thank Aziraphale, when Pepper suddenly appeared shyly on the doorstep.

Which was strange, because the bubbly girl was anything but shy, especially around him.

Surprisingly, since Crowley had told the students that he wanted them to ask him questions, to discuss his classes, it wasn't unusual for her to linger at the end of a class to discuss with him a contrary or not so contrary view of the class topics.

Crowley's colleagues had told him that it was the first time since Pepper's arrival at the Academy that anyone had managed to captivate her like that.

"Ahem, Professor... Crowley?"

"Crowley will suffice as always, Pepper," Crowley replied quietly before inviting her in with a gesture.

She reached over and placed something on his desk as she said, "Um... I wanted to thank you for always taking the time to answer me whenever I come in and whatever my question is, so I prepared this little something for you myself."

Crowley, touched, unwrapped the small package and took out a pretty bookmark in a shade of blue, adorned with stars; he looked at it more closely and gasped, "But it's..."

"You told us about your rabbit, so I put the rabbit constellation on it."

He looked up and said in a soft, emotional voice, "Thank you, Pepper, that's very thoughtful of you."

"You're welcome! See you later."

She turned and walked away, her usual lively stride.

Crowley looked at the bookmark for a long time; it had been ages since anyone had made such a thoughtful gesture for him, especially for something he'd done.

"Congratulations, Professor."

He looked up at the owner of the voice that had torn him from his thoughts, Anathema.

"What?"

"You are one of the chosen few who have the privilege of being among the people Pepper respects the most. She only gives this kind of personal gift to people she holds in high esteem."

"Oh..."

Anathema leaned against the doorframe and continued, "I came to invite you tonight. We're having a movie night with a small group of colleagues, the ones you know, in the video room. Are you interested?"

A while back, Crowley would have declined, but tonight, perhaps because of Aziraphale or thanks to him, he decided to accept and replied, "I'll come, thanks for thinking of me. What movie?"

“You've got mail.”

Crowley exclaimed, “One of my favorite film along with Richard Curtis' romcoms!”

Anathema chuckled softly and continued, "We'll meet there after class, and as soon as everyone's there, we'll get started. Newt will bring food and drinks."

A few hours later, they were discussing the movie over beers and burgers. There was Eric, Anathema, Newt, and even Mrs. Tracy, the principal.

At the end, Anathema laughed about the main characters, "Honestly, it's so stupid, I wouldn't have waited, I would have gone to see her as soon as I knew who she was. Why wait when you know she's your soul mate?"

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale's last letter in his pocket before saying quietly, "I think there's something pure about it. A correspondence with no social barriers, no looks, no pretense... no need to worry about details. There's something exciting about it."

Crowley didn't realize they were all looking at him, surprised to see him show so much passion, and Anathema nudged him, "You got someone in your life, Crowleyyyy?"

"Hm?"

Mrs. Tracy gave him a knowing look and insisted, "It's hard not to notice you writing or reading letters all the time."

Crowley blushed slightly before replying, "It's not that kind of relationship, though it's true I've never met him."

Anathema asked, curious, "Why?"

"Let's just say it's... complicated."

Seeing that Crowley had no desire to dwell on the subject, the others changed the subject and, discussing the movie, continued to enjoy a pleasant evening.

Later, on his way home, Crowley felt a pleasant warmth.

For the first time in a long time, he did not feel lonely.

He felt in his pocket the bookmark Pepper had given him and suddenly knew what he could do for Aziraphale.

The next morning, he went to a clothing stores in search of what he had in mind.

Three hours later, at the lake house, he dropped a letter with a small package in the mailbox. He raised the flag and headed back to town.

April 12, 2022

Aziraphale had just gotten up, and as he had every morning since this strange correspondence began, he went to check the mail and was pleasantly surprised to see the little flag up. He returned to the house a little later with a letter and a small package.

He opened the package and took out a beautiful tartan scarf. He wrapped it around his neck, sat down in his chair with a cup of tea and began to read the letter.

Thank you for educating my little Harry. Here's a little gift to show my appreciation.

Put it on and don't take it off for the rest of the month. It will be cold until the end of April.

Aziraphale tightened the scarf around his neck and smiled softly.

Aziraphale, I don't know if what we are doing will change the course of time, but what I am sure of is that it is having a positive impact on my life, so I don't want to stop.

This connection I have with you has allowed me to reach out to others and for the first time in a long time I don't feel alone.

I don't want to stop.

But if you want me to, I'll do it, you just have to let me know.

April 15th, 7:00 a.m., I'll come and get your answer.

Sincerely, Crowley.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #human au #alternate universe

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