#I was staring at Marion for a long time as this thought formed in my supposedly empty head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peach-the-owl · 2 years

Note

OMG I JUST HAD THE BEST ANGST IDEA! For the mighty nein (if you aren't already working on something similar) how would they react to their kid dying for the first time, like full on revivify ! Sorry this just came to my mind

I apologize in advance if some of these were bad, this was a harder one to write, but… At long last it’s finished! This has got to be the most requested thing I’ve ever gotten…… Hope you guys enjoy 😈

A Terrible Fate

Child of the Nein (Mighty Nein & Child!Reader)

Warning: child death (this is not a light matter)

Jester

Jester's never fully experienced what it’s like to lose someone she was close to, and you being a child made her believe you were near invincible. After all who would hurt a child so badly? However that false fantasy would soon be shattered right in front of her…

You had been struck down by a powerful attack from the enemy and while Jester was extremely concerned, she didn’t think too much on it when she runs over to you. She attempts to cast a quick Cure Wounds spell on you so she can focus on taking down the enemy again but when it doesn’t work her concern slowly melts into fear.

“No, nonono. Cmon, why isn’t it working? Get up, (y/n), please get up.” Her voice cracks as she gently tries shaking you awake, but you give no reaction. Her breathing gets heavier as she becomes more desperate, shaking your body just a little harder to get some form of a reaction out of you… still nothing, and now dread seeps in when she feels for your pulse or rather lack of one, that’s when it all comes crashing down.

A cry unlike any the Nein had heard left her as she clings to your broken body. Fuelled by sorrow and anger she aims an attack to the one who did this to you, vision too blurred by tears to see the image of the Traveler looming menacingly above her, face obscured to hide any expressions as the Guiding Bolt finds its mark and kills them. The rest of the Nein had made quick work finishing off the rest of the attackers, when they all look back they see Jester cradling your body close to her’s.

“It’s okay now, momma’s got you.” She whispers, voice cracking again as she knows you can’t hear her. Remembering the haversack, she quickly opens it and starts frantically rummaging around until she found a diamond. Practically ripping the jewel out of the bag she presses it against where your heart is, praying she didn’t exhaust all her magic and can still save you…

To be continued…

Veth

Everything felt like a blur, fire elementals attacking, the charge of energy, the fiery blast, Marion’s scream…

Veth ran over as soon as she could to see if her children were alright, seeing Marion holding onto Luc who was shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face. Hearing his mother’s approach he looks at her and starts crying harder.

“Mom!” He cries through hiccups. “I-I didn’t mean to…” He whimpers.

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Didn’t mean to what?” Veth tries to console her son but concern grows stronger now that she realizes you’re not sitting next to him.

“I t-t-tried to m-move but I-I-I can’t-t… th-they ju-just ju-umped in front-front of me.” He stutters out through sobs and hiccups. Veth froze when she finally saw your body laying in front of the two, badly burned and still as a statue. That’s when it all clicked in for her, tears welling in her eyes. A scream filled with sorrow and rage rips from her throat as she takes aim on the fire elemental. Her only thoughts being the sooner they finish this thing off the better chance they still have to bring you back…

To be continued…

Caleb

It happened so fast it didn’t even register in Caleb’s mind right away, finding himself walking almost mindlessly over to where you were now laying on the ground. It was a long moment of just staring, seeing the singe marks on your side, the small bit of blood dribbling out of your mouth… your lack of breathing…

It all registered at once and now Caleb was hyperaware of everything, catching the attacker out of the corner of his eye and making a dash after them without much thought, leaving the rest of the Nein to deal with the remaining enemies. They were fast but using his self made Produce Flames spell he was able to strike them and send them tumbling to the ground. When he was close enough is when he saw it, those unmistakable marks of a Volstrucker, this was done on purpose, and it makes something within him snap.

Before any words can be spoken Caleb strikes the Volstrucker with a Fire Bolt, a harrowing scream coming from them as they’re set a blaze. He unleashes another and another, over and over, vision border lining red with his fury as he continues he’s onslaught of spells (for any Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood fans, just think Roy Mustang vs Envy). It’s not until Fjord runs over and has to pin Caleb’s arms down to urge him stop.

“Let me go! They deserve this for what they’ve done!” He thrashes against his friend as he’s pulled away from the charred remains of the Volstrucker. When your motionless figure enters his vision again does some minor clarity return, rushing to your side and collapsing to the ground with a cry as he cradles your body in his arms.

“Mein Kleiner, bitte komm zurück zu mir. Bitte. Es tut mir leid Es tut mir leid Es tut mir leid…”

To be continued…

Caduceus

For one to meet their demise isn’t unusual or new to Caduceus, he’s been surrounded by death all his life, but when it’s yours that meets a sudden end he’s almost ready to rethink everything…

The sight in front of him doesn’t feel real at first, more like a terrible nightmare through hazy vision but when reality snaps into place he realizes that it isn’t hazy because of some dream, it’s hazy from tears. It’s not common for people to see him cry or angered but the rest of the Nein were in for a frightful sight when the sorrowful look on his face quickly shifts to fury.

Striking his staff to the ground Caduceus gives a silent order to his spirit guardians, the spectral beetles closing in, swarming the attacker. Screams of terror ring across the area before fading into nothing the beetles dissipating into nothing leaving a bare skeleton behind. Not even paying any mind to what just happened, Caduceus hurry’s over to where your body laid still, kneeling down and carefully cradling you in his arms.

He moved slowly and gently, as if any harsh movements might cause you to shatter to pieces in the blink of an eye. The rest of the Nein gather around, Jester quickly shuffling through her bag in search of a diamond. When she retrieves one Caduceus holds out his hand, understanding what he wants to do Jester hands him the diamond. He prays quietly to the Wildmother to as he begins the spell.

“Please… wake up. Open your eyes… it’s not your time yet.” He mutters, well, more like pleads as he starts shedding tears he tried so hard to hold back…

To be continued…

Fjord

“Darling, we have business elsewhere.” Avantica says, her eyes swaying slightly away from Fjord’s and onto you when she adds. “I told you this wasn’t over.” As if the battle wasn’t chaotic enough already, now with the Cloven Crystal rolling around and Avantica back from the dead things got even worse…

He regrets the fog cover, he really regrets putting up the fog cover, it obscured the enemies field of vision sure but it also obscured his allies vision if they weren’t close to him. You were not close to him, amongst all the chaos happening he’d lost sight of where you were. Everyone tried to surround Avantica, keep her from getting away but one quick Dimension Door and she was out of their grasp. A faint gasp caught Fjords ear, looking over the world seemed to suddenly move in slow motion when he sees you teetering near the edge of the ship, the curved blade of Avantica’s dagger plunged right through your chest. A wicked smile on her face as she pulls out the dagger and retreats, the force behind it causing your body to fall limply into the frozen waters below.

Panic, anguish, rage, sorrow, so may emotions were running through Fjords head as he runs to the edge of the ship and dives into the water without a second thought. He swims down as fast as possible reaching out to grab your arm, as your body drifts down. When he breaches the surface again he lets out the cry he was holding in, alerting the Nein to his whereabouts. After a short debate on what to do next, Caduceus agreed to stay behind and watch over you while the others went after Avantica.

“Wildmother please… bring them back to me.” Fjord mutters before he and Yasha make a dive into the water…

To be continued…

Beau (there’s like one swear word, it’s Beau I couldn’t help it)

It’s the final showdown, all or nothing and anything could go… or anyone…

The fight was tense, but Beau had to push down any exhaustion that was trying to creep up, they had to stop Lucien once and for all and with that thought in mind goes in for another attack. He laughs, she hit him hard and he laughs, it’s unnerving to say the least especially since he wasn’t even looking at her. When realization reaches her it’s already too late, she sees catches your shocked expression, eyes wide but all too quickly grow dull and lifeless as you plummet to the ground.

For a moment she feels paralyzed, staring down at your lifeless form, still staring blankly into nothingness. Her body shakes, hands balling into fists, breathing getting heavier through clenched teeth that they might just shatter from the friction. This was the last straw, sure she wanted her friend back but no one messes with her child and expects to get away with it unscathed… an eye for an eye as they say.

“You bastard! You’ll pay for this!!” A scream of pure fury erupts from Beau as she charges for Lucien with a renewed vigour for vengeance…

To be continued…

Yasha

You’ve had so many close calls before that at first it felt like this was just another one of those moments. When she drew nearer to you, seeing the large gash in your neck, your form unmoving to even try and slow the blood flow…

This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. She can’t lose another person she loves so dearly, not now, not after everything she’s done to keep you safe. Yasha easily threw herself into a rage with a scream holding so much fury, fear and sorrow behind it. Her tears blurred her vision as she recklessly swings for the one responsible for taking you away from her.

Honestly there wasn’t much of a battle after you fell, Yasha easily cut down the remaining enemies with little issue. When she sobers up again she practically throws her weapon to the side as she rushes over to where you body still laid, ignoring the blood that covers her when she scoops you into her arms.

“No no, please no… I can’t lose another… I can’t lose you too. Please… I’d give anything…” She sobs to herself as she tightly grasps your broken body, praying for a miracle…

To be continued…

Molly

First they bring to life the near unkillable Laughing Hand, then they turned Yasha against everyone, now it’s revealed that Lorenzo was still alive and kicking. Everyone thought he was dead, but it seemed the Chained Oblivion had other plans. This was not fairing well for Molly, and things were only going to get worse…

They had to retreat, there was no debate to that, but with 3 formidable foes on their tails it was not an easy task. It was a mad dash to the exit but something felt off to Molly, like something was missing. He dared himself to look back, and a terrifyingly familiar sight greeted him. You were caught in Lorenzo’s grasp, the oni laughing at your feeble attempts to break free. Skidding to a stop, Molly makes a beeline towards you. Everything feels too slow, Lorenzo shifting his gaze to stare Molly down, the wicked smirk that etches on his face… the sickening sound of breaking bones.

No, this… this was a joke, right? You’re just putting up an act to fool them… right? Your body collapses to the ground with a thud. Luckily speed was on his side, Molly snatching you up and just making it out of the room before the door finally seals itself again. His breathing was heavy as he looks down at you, wanting to ignore how cold you felt in his arms.

“Come on kiddo, get up. You’re okay… you’re-divines don’t do this to me now…” For once words failed him, fumbling over himself the more reality set in. “It’s not fair, why’d it have to…” His voice trails off as sobs racked through his body while he held your lifeless form in his arms. “IT SHOULD’VE BEEN ME!” He cries, holding your body tighter, begging whatever deities were listening to bring you back…

To be continued…

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stormiclown · 2 years

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Lila’s Reflection

After analyzing Lila’s behavior I realized that we aren’t given enough back story explaining why she is the way she is. For Chloe, we got her emotionally absent parents. It didn’t excuse her behavior but it did explain it. Secondly, Lila’s “tragic and sympathetic“ reason for hating Ladybug and joining Hawkmoth -a literal terrorist- was because she embarrassed her in front of a guy? This just solidify’s one of MLB’s themes that girls do nothing but fight over cute boys. So, instead of Volpina being caused by Ladybug only, The writers should have created other factors that build up over time that will eventually lead to her being akumatized. This will be a Lila sugar fic as well as lilanette featuring male Marinette because I stan Marion Dupain-Cheng. Enjoy!

Marion honestly knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. But on his way to the park, he spotted a familiar sight of brown sausage hair; Lila Rossi.

Normally, this wouldn’t be enough to draw the blunette’s attention. In fact, he had taken to ignoring and avoiding the Italian at all costs.

Ever since she transferred into Bustier’s class, she‘d done nothing but spread lies and deceive their classmates (Not friends. Not when they accused him of being a bully for trying to protect them from Lila’s deception).

No. What really drew his attention was the individual that was with her.

An exact replica of Lila Rossi.

The designer took in the scene that was unfolding before him. The girl, Lila’s apparent twin sister, had the same blunt cut bangs and narrow olive eyes as the sausage haired girl. Her light hunter colored princess chiffon ruffled off the shoulder dress stoped just above her knees, a golden pearled belt fastened to her waist. A fancy designer cross body purse hung carelessly on her shoulder. Instead of the atrocious triple ponytail style that Lila insisted on wearing, her sister’s brown hair was styled in a high ponytail with her side pieces being lined in place with expensive looking diamond hair clips.

All in all, she looked fabulous. As did her blonde haired and curly haired friends.

But Marion couldn’t shake the familiarity her face brought but her couldn’t put his finger on it.

He tuned into the conversation at hand. The bluenette thought he saw fear in Lila’s form. Real fear.

”Marion, don’t you remember the last time you eavesdropped on Lila? I don’t think this is a good idea…” Tikki, ever the moral guardian tried to deter the bluenette’s motives.

The addressed male turned to momentarily to look at the mini red goddess before speaking, “Look, Tikki, something about this whole situation just feels wrong. My Beetle senses are tingling. Trust me on this,” he stared at her earnestly.

Tikki sighed, “Alright”.

”Kwami knows Paris doesn’t need another Lila Rossi walking around,” he muttered quietly to himself so the red Kwami couldn’t hear him. God, he really needed another cup of coffee.

Lila did absolutely nothing to hide how dread filled her for the confrontation she knew was coming. The class became more incessant with their demands. She was used to seeing it only happening with Marion and Alya before they stepped down as class representative and deputy respectively.

Today especially had particularly been a bad day. First, Luisa Rossi, her mother, forgot to say goodbye to her on her way to school that morning as she had been too preoccupied with making sure Lea had the perfect send off for a filming shot. Hurt but unsurprised, Lila made her way too school on foot. The Italian long since realized that she was nothing but a shadow when compared to her famous older twin sister.

Second, the class had voted her in class president with Adrianne as her deputy. She tried to deny the honor, that she was too busy, but they wouldn’t hear it. All they could focus on were all the amazing opportunities, fabulous trips, and grand events that they could milk from Lila. It became even worse when Adrianne not so subtly shot her a glare while muttering an insult. The brunette had to shove the sting of their disregard for her feelings under her carefully crafted mask.

After all, she was the one who was lying to them.

”Fancy seeing you here, Lila. Your little cronies got bored of your lies?” came Lea Rossi’s mocking voice, her red lips curved into a predatory smirk. On either side of her both her friends laughed.

Lila flushed in humiliation and lifted her head to meet her sister’s gaze, so identical to her own, “What do you want Lea? Don’t you have movie you have to film?” Lila couldn’t stop sneering if she tried. She absolutely resented her sister, not because of her fame, but because she took away any semblance of happiness Lila had. Her parents love, all her friends, and any dream she ever had.

Lila always wanted to be an actress. She foolishly told her Lea, who was a model at the time, about her dream. Yet instead of encouraging her and cheering her on like a normal sibling, Lea went straight to Mrs Rossi about it and a week later, she was enrolled into an acting class, successfully ripping the sausage haired girl’s aspirations from her.

(She also ignored the heart break of the ponytailed brunette having such a fabulous life despite the cruelty she used to achieve it)

Lea, however, was unmoved by her sister’s red face and angry eyes, choosing again to use a voice full of faux adoration, “Aw, not happy to see your big sister? I thought you’d be happy about the new movie deal I landed. I’m doing this for you. It’s common knowledge that you wouldn’t have succeeded as a model or actress anyways. Be thankful you can live the life of luxury through me!” She finished with a tone of victorious triumph knowing she had hit a sensitive nerve after seeing Lila’s face.

”You ruin everything! Maybe I wouldn’t have to lie if I could have the spotlight for once!” the Italian girl retorted while balling her fists, though she sounded unsure of herself. Was the spotlight really what she wanted or was it something else entirely?

”What are you going to do about it?” Lea dropped ever pretense of faux sisterly affection, a dangerous look it her eyes told Lila that she was done playing games. It honestly scared her, “We both know how this goes. You’ll try to prove you’re better than me except that’s a lie. All you ever do is lie. It’s quite pathetic really. Despite being my sister you have to tell ridiculous lies just for people to consider you as a somebody. But you aren’t. The only reason you’ve lasted so long in that class full of losers is because they’re just using you for their own ends. The moment they find out how fake you are is the moment they’ll drop you like a worthless sack of potatoes. Just like everybody else,” she flicked Lila’s fake fox miraculous before mockingly blowing a kiss to Lila and leaving with her friends, who made snide remarks and egged Lea on the entire time.

”Ci vediamo dopo alligatore!” she called out to the Italian who looked ready to cry.

By this point, Marion had been recording the confrontation on his phone. The Red Beetle in him wanted to rush in and interrupt what ever he just witnessed. But the Marion in him, the isolated, discarded Marion couldn’t help but feel pleasure at watching Lila getting a taste of what it was like to feel worthless. His morality side, his largest side, felt sorry for her and immediate guilt began to form in his stomach in the shape of ice.

Just then, it clicked. Lea Rossi! She was a famous Italian model and currently an actress! No wonder everyone took what Lila said at face value; she was related to Lea Rossi. While he was unaware of how famous the twin truly was, when ever he researched Lila’s name nothing came up. The only way people in our class could tell of her relation with the Italian actress was her last name. And the footage he recorded could very well bring some negative attention to said Rossi.

Quickly saving the video on several clouds, he made a mental note to send them to Alya for her side blog: A Scoop of Paris. Basically a blog for any news unrelated to akuma battles and the heroes of Paris.

”With a family like that, it’s no wonder Lila ended up this way,” Tikki flew out of Marion’s miniature messenger bag. The Kwami shook her head, even after billions of years of existing, human beings treatment of their siblings still baffled her. Tikki, like Marion, had not been fond of the Italian, but now the kwami of creation just felt a little sorry for her. It didn’t excuse her behavior but it did explain it.

”Well it looks like Adrianne was right,” even though it caused him physical pain to admit it, the blonde had been correct for Lila’s reasons for lying. Despite the model’s suggestion that they extend an olive branch to her, Marion had heard the things Adrianne said about the Italian under her breath. Not to mention how she glared at the back of her head when ever she was the center of attention. The bluenette was seriously considering if he even knew the blonde at all.

”I’d prefer if you didn’t think about that right now. Why don’t you go check up on her?” Tikki said, reading his mind.

Marion hesitated. While Lila hadn’t explicitly mention that he was bullying her, she didn’t stop them when they assumed he, Alya, and Nino were mistreating her because they called her out on her lies either.

Focused on his conflicting feelings, Marion noticed Lila running away from where she had been previously standing. His eyes landed on an akuma flying high in the sky, heading for the same direction as Lila.

Without thinking, he took off after the Italian.

Running as fast as her legs could take her, Lila dodged all the ads portraying her sister’s face. Ads the should have her face.

She came to a halt in front of a massive fashion ad for a new collection the was about to drop.

With her sister modeling the clothes.

A model shoot that Lila had already booked.

She glared at the photo, the hatred and venom she had kept locked away finally came bubbling to the surface.

Why did Lea get everything when Lila had to struggle?

Why did Lila have to be eclipsed by her sister’s shadow?

For crying out loud, her classmates didn’t even know she was related to Lea. They just thought it was a coincidence that she had the same last name!

Hell, the media didn’t even know who she was until she became a Gabriel model. And even then, everybody thought that she was Lea! It was only through an interview that everybody learned about ‘the Lost Rossi Twin’.

She resented her parents. Her sister. Her classmates. Adrianne. And she just wanted it all to stop.

The akuma that had been observing Lila made a bee line for the Italian’s fox pendant.

After all, who could be a better candidate than a girl who feeds herself her own illusions?

Only, except of akumatizing her successfully, the butterfly’s efforts were intercepted when Marion arrived at the scene.

The blue haired male managed to catch up with Lila.

“Hey, Lila? A-are you….ok?” Marion asked dubiously when she saw the few tears and Lila’s angry face, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

The Italian in question, was not pleased to see Marion Dupain-Cheng. Even less so now that he had saw her crying.

Real crying, that is.

She whipped around to face the taller male, the motion causing her back loose ponytail to sway with the movement and furiously whipped away her very real tears.

She glared at the boy, but it didn’t have the intended affect on Marion. Her cheeks were puffy and her lip was trembling as she hissed, “What do you want, Maribrat?”

’Maribrat’ cringed at the painfully lame nickname before answering, “It’s just, I saw what happened….with your sister,” he made sure to breach the topic carefully as it was obviously something Lila was sensitive about.

Her eyes widened as she felt her pride shatter more than it already was. He saw that? Lila reddened in embarrassment. “So what? Your feeling high mighty now that you saw me get humiliated? Think I deserve it?” She snarled her accusations all while jabbing her finger roughly into Marion’s toned chest.

The designer didn’t flinch instead looking to the side, “Look, you may be a liar and for the longest time, I thought you enjoyed ruining friendships and treating people like servants. But now I can tell that it isn’t entirely true. You don’t have to lie just to feel better about yourself,” as soon as the words left his mouth, Marion immediately wished he could take them back when he saw Lila’s face.

The Italian wordlessly turned away, looked over her shoulder, and glared at him feeling more tears threatening to spill, “Just stay out of my way!” was what she said before running away again.

”I messed up, didn’t I, Tikki?” Marion asked the kwami tucked into his mini messenger bag.

“It’s Marion. I’m sure if you try to reach out to her, she’ll understand what you meant,” Tikki consoled her chosen.

He really hoped that was true. His emotions were warring with each other as he watched Lila’s back until she disappeared from his line of sight.

For most of the next day, Marion silently watched as his classmates constantly badgered Lila with idea, treats, and plans for their class. Something that Lila didn’t have the connections for.

Which was strange now that he thought of it. Lila was famous and everyone knew she was the illustrious twin sister of Lea Rossi. Why was it that she couldn’t fulfill her promises of the world? The Italian actor rubbed him the wrong way. Could she have something to do with Lila clearly being cut off from the world of celebrities?

“Well, don’t they look tired?” His train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when Alya spoke and Nino chuckled.

He turned to his best friends with a confused face, “Who looks tired?”

”It’s only been a week since you and Alya have been ousted as class representatives and yet Adrianne and Lila look just about ready to crash,” Nino pointed out. He and Alya stood by Marion when the class began hopping on his friend’s case about the sausage haired girl.

Looking at the front of the classroom where the blonde and brunette were jotting down idea and listening to the students, Marion could see the fatigue leaking out of Lila’s cheery facade like a faucet. Adrianne also looked like she had seen better days, though he, Alya, and Nino noticed the minuscule glares the model in question had sent the Italian each time someone mentioned an absurd idea they could do for the year.

Marion silently rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what Adrianne’s problem was. Wasn’t she the one who sweared up and down that Lila was just lonely and misunderstood. That her lies weren’t hurting anyone and that the high road was the best way to go?

It seemed the blonde had no problem following the high road nonsense when she wasn’t the one being directly affected.

What a hypocrite.

Sapphire eyes met narrow olive ones and Lila quickly turned away. They’ve been doing that for most of the day.

“I’m just glad it isn’t us for once,” Marion said and Alya huffed in agreement. He and the reporter went above and beyond for the class and nearly ran themselves ragged. All the planning, fund raising, hours of missed sleep, unhealthy amounts of caffeine, and event catering was what kept the class afloat. They had to juggle so much that Nino had to step in as an unofficial deputy because he was the only who ever helped them with anything.

Their chatter ceased when Lila daintily placed her clip board down on the teacher’s desk and beamed at the class, “Thank you everyone! You’re ideas were all amazing. I’ll strive to make sure these ideas become as fabulous as they sound!”

Bustier clapped her hands and Lila’s (false) enthusiasm and Adrianne struggled to keep the care free smile on her lips.

The class cheered and Alya and the others just shook their heads as the Italian continued to dig a grave for herself.

And that’s how things were for next few weeks. Lila and Adrianne’s exhaustion became very evident if the dark circles under their eyes were anything to go by.

Meanwhile said brunette was practically drowning in her workload. Usually, minted representatives attend a three month course where they learn to navigate through their role with little problems.

But with with all her lies, Bustier was certain that Lila could excel as class representative and thus, the red haired teacher cancelled the intermission without Lila’s consent!

And don’t even get her started with her moronic classmates. Every time she seemed close to getting anything simple, someone would swoop in and suggest that she do something more extravagant. With all her connections and experience with high ranking officials and celebrities it should be a walk in the park right?

Wrong. Despite being related to a celebrity, the sausage haired girl had no connections besides Gabriel Agreste and he firmly denied funding for any school events much to her and Adrianne’s horror. Lea Rossi made sure that Lila couldn’t climb over her on the social hour.

Her mood did not improve as she saw Marion and his friends practically glowing with the sleep they’d made up. And the blue haired male’s looks of pity made her want to scream. Now that their backs weren’t breaking from carrying the class, they actually got around to doing things for themselves.

Nino finally uploaded his first short film onto his new website, Turtle Studios, and a steady number of views began trickling in.

Alya managed to nail the internship that so many budding reporters have been fighting for and her fame as a reliable news source began to rise.

Marion released his new fashion line: animal themed clothes, jewelry, hats, and other accessories. Plus he reopened his commissions list and clients were currently battling for a spot. Jagged and Clara mentioned him as their designer and urged other celebrities to commission him as well.

Of course, the trio‘s success only caused more spite and jealousy towards them from the rest of Bustier’s students.

Lila had to resort to drinking large amounts of caffeine to push through her struggles. She had no idea how the designer, DJ, and reporter managed to deal with their ungrateful classmates, their own school work, and their other hobbies on top of it all.

She was just about ready to tear her hair out. Once again, they had proposed ridiculous ideas that they expected her to follow through on without offering any sort of help or assistance. Even the teacher was taking a back seat to the spectacle. Alix wanted a trip to a different country for a week for the spring break, Mylene and Sabrina wanted the school dance to be at an expensive luxury hotel in Versailles, and the others wanted their school events to be grand at such an unattainable level.

The stress and pressure became too much and Lila found herself ducking in solitary places around the school just to avoid anymore of her classmates demands and Bustier basically scolding her for being tired.

One day, she came across an empty room near the west wing of the school. Hardly anyone went there anymore and right then, the Italian needed the silence.

Except, it wasn’t empty. When the brunette strolled in, her eyes immediately landed on the three individuals occupying the center of the room.

”What are you guys doing here?” She pointed her finger at them and narrowed her eyes.

Nino gave her an unimpressed stare before answering, “This is we’re we go when we want to avoid the class’ drama, dudette.”

Lila‘s mouth hung agape and she couldn’t control the shocked whisper that spilled from her lips, “Were they really like this before I came?”

”Yeah girl, they are,” Alya nodded before gesturing to Lila’s person, “I mean it was always little things. How we could make a trip even better, or rescheduling an important event that took weeks to plan. They’ve always been selfish and demanding, but your arrival just magnified personalities that were already there. At first, it was just Marion and I who hid here during our free period when we needed to catch up on sleep or sooth migraines that built up from dealing the others. Then Nino joined us after he became another deputy for us,” and it was true. The three found solace in the nearly empty unused room that contained a few painting aisles from the art room, custom made bean bag chairs (Lila was sure Marion had made them), a fully functioning desk top from the library, and a few desks similar to the ones Bustier kept in her room.

Marion stepped away from where he was perched behind an aisle with a paint brush in hand and looked at Lila with apprehension, “That’s why I didn’t fight with you when they preferred you over us. You have released us. They’re your problem now. Now that we don’t have to cater their every demand, things have gotten a whole lot better; for us at least”.

Yeah, Lila had noticed. For every friend each of them lost, they gained another one. Adrianne had refused to even look at Marion when she begged him to pick up the slack and he refused, he received offers from fifteen different girls to be their date to the upcoming Spring Mingle. Turns out, the bluenette was a lot more popular than he thought.

The Italian was quick to deflect as she waved her arms about, “No! I don’t want them. It was only ever about making it to the top. They’re too…”

”Blood sucking gold diggers?” Alya provided with a roll of her eyes.

”Opinionated sychophants?” provided Marion as her entered the conversation.

”Physically and Emotionally taxing?” Nino saw the opportunity to add in his two cents.

”Utterly ridiculous?” Chloe stated, coming from literally no where. None questioned how she had found them.

”Bad friends,” Lila said simply amidst all of the other well thought out descriptions. They definitely agreed. The class’s behavior couldn’t be entirely blamed on Lila since it had been an issue even before she set foot in Paris.

“Totally adding that to the list of why our class absolutely sucks,” Nino flashed a grin at Marion, Alya, and Chloe who chuckled.

Lila allowed herself to smile a real smile. It was actually pleasant to look at, Marion thought.

“They really do suck”.

The teenagers in the room bursted into unending laughter.

They spent the rest of their free period in companionable atmosphere until it was time to head back to class. The bluenette pulled Lila away from the others to have a word with her in private.

The two of them stood in a near empty hallway near the back of the school.

”Look, about what happened a few weeks ago?” Marion started, this time determined not to screw up like last time.

”Ugh look I don’t need your pity! If this is about-“ the Italian geared up for a defensive rant before Marion cut her off.

”I’m not going to judge you, Lila, and you’re obviously going through tough times,” he took a breath before continuing, “If you need someone to talk to, I’m more than willing to lend an ear. The others will too, if you prove that you’re trust worthy,” sincere blue eyes looked at Lila with understanding. Something she hadn’t seen in a long time.

The brunette looked at the French Chinese boy with uncertainty. Did he really mean it? He had never been anything less than honest. She felt her cheeks redden with the intense way Marion‘s gaze glued onto her smaller form. ”I-I uh-,” she had no idea what to say. Thankfully she didn’t have to as the bluenette gently took the planer she had in hand with the ideas of a new field trip and other things for the year.

”I’ll help you with the planning and fundraising. Nino, Alya, and I were basically killing ourselves trying to keep up with everything. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else. Even if you did take the position.”

Lila’s eyes widened as she scrambled for an answer, “No! I didn’t want to take over. They just voted me in without my opinion” It actually sort of shocked the brunette how fast their (ex)friends could turn on someone just to suck up to Lila; a person whom they thought could give them a leg up in the world.

Marion sighed, Lila had noticed he did a lot of that recently, “How about a truce?” he propped the binder into one hand as he held out his empty one in front of the Italian, “We both know that the class is less than ideal. I won’t try to out you and you’ll leave me out of the class’ drama?”

The brunette nodded before taking Marion’s large hand, “I’ll leave you alone and you’ll leave me alone”.

The two of them left school that day feeling a little lighter than they had in months. Though they didn’t exactly follow up on the terms of their armistice.

Whenever things got too stressful, Lila would seek comfort in the presence of her four classmates. Her free periods were taken up by hang out sessions in the library, roof top, their secret classroom, and even Marion’s parents bakery. Without the fear of the blue haired male trying to expose her clouding her behavior, Lila finally allowed herself the luxury of tasting a strawberry scone and nearly melted. How had she not come by here sooner?

Soon enough, Lila became a member of their little group along with Luka and Kagami. Chloe and Alya were as guarded as a safe before they began to open up and accept the brunette and invited her to their quality girl time. Luka, Nino, and Marion warmed up to her a lot faster. The latters weren’t one too hood on to grudges (sometimes) and Luka could tell that Lila genuinely wanted to be their friend.

When Luka made a face Alya clapped back, “What? I hang around boys all the time. I need a break.”

It brought warmth to know that she had made friends, real friends who cared about her and not what she could give them.

Lila found that she, Chloe, Kagami, and Alya had a lot in common and thus spent a lot of time in each other’s company. She had girlfriends who she could bitch with over tea and lovely spas. Kagami partook in it less, but she did have her own opinions she liked to gripe about with the others.

On the off occasion when the couldn’t spend time together, Lila found herself with Marion, either baking together, talking about different fashion trends, or going out for ice cream. He also appointed her as a lead model for his fashion brand. She really was made for the spotlight. After several more weeks she could say with confidence that Marion was her best friend. Not out loud unless she wanted to face Alya’s wrath.

So, why did her heart rate increase ever time she thought about him?Now that they weren’t on hostile terms, she really took in his features. Thick hair so dark it reflected blue in the sunlight, swooped to the left to reveal his stunning blue eyes that seemed even brighter against his pale skin. He was tall, around 5’6, and he was lean with muscle (his time as Red Beetle is to blame that).

With the more time they spent together, the closer the two began to be. Until they were basically dating, though they were the only ones who didn’t even realize it. Chloe, Alya, and Kagami would give her knowing looks with Alya being the most enthusiastic, and Nino and Luka would smirk and tease Marion about it. The bluenette would blush and try to hide his embarrassment.

Then the truth finally came out, it had been well into the school year on a Wednesday in the beginning of June. Lila had forgotten her science project at home and her mother went to the school accompanied by Lea to return it to her.

Lila and Chloe’s eyes widened. Nino and Alya were panicking, and Marion just braced himself for the volcanic eruption he knew was coming. The entire class went Gaga at the arrival of the Lea Rossi. Everyone was speaking over each other, trying to get her attention. Until Rose asked how fun It must have been for Lila to meet Prince Ali.

A floodgate of lies were released like an unstoppable, violent tsunami. As Lila’s mother and Lea began ripping apart her lies. The Rossi matriarch was especially furious with all the lies her daughter had told. The only it could have been worse is if Lila had been skipping school (Lila doesn’t play truant in this take or make other people do her work).

The class was outraged. Lila had taken advantage of them, lied to them, and made them look like idiots. Never mind the fact that it was them who had pushed their demands and ideas onto Lila when Marion and Alya wouldn’t heed them anymore. The brunette had run out of the classroom, the reporter and DJ moved to go after her as Chloe scoffed down at the students with distain.

The fashion designer just looked at the class with a combination of disappointment, rage, and finally resignation. Something they had never seen before. He hadn’t agreed with Lila’s lying but he could understand why she did it. He locked eyes with Adrianne who looked relieved that Lila was finally exposed. Lea just looked on with glee as her younger sister’s kingdom of lies crumbled.

The class looked at him, apologies on their tongue, but Marion beat them to it, “You guys are just the worse,” they all reared back as if he’d slapped them, with Adrianne looking the most hurt. He glared at them mercilessly as he continued with disgust, “Sure, I agree that Lila shouldn’t have lied to you but you guys were just taking advantage of her as much as she was to you. She never mentioned that I was bullying her, but you all jumped to the opportunity to suck up to her and harassed me, excluded me from class events, and sent me horrible texts. Honestly, who do you all think you are? Lila was literally exhausting herself trying to satisfy you sycophants and this is how you repay her. You think think that you deserve everything and are willing to put the pressure of your whims onto the backs of people who already have so much on their plate. And what’s worse is that Adrianne knew Lila was lying and didn’t once step in to defend me,” this caused the blonde to blanch as Marion shamelessly threw her under the bus and dozens of hurt, outraged, and cold eyes fell on her cowering form. “To you all, I say this: You’re garbage, I never want to be friends again, and you are not special. If you want something done, get off your asses and do it yourself,” Marion turned tail and left the classroom, a stunned silence answering his tirade.

Seven different akumas came out of it, hellbent on getting revenge on Lila Rossi. Luckily, Viperion, Ryoko, Queen Bee, Carapace, Rena Rouge, and Red Beetle were on the scene. Feline Noir didn’t show, to which the other heroes didn’t bat an eye. They were used to the cat hero sitting out of battles they were involved in out of sheer spite. She was more of a nuisance and a liability anyways so the fight would proceed much quicker without her sassy quips and goofing off.

Red Beetle insisted on taking Lila to safety. Her scooped her up gently in a princess carry and laughed himself into the sky with his yo-yo, holding on to the Italian with a strong yet comforting grip.

The battle was over in about ten minutes. The heroes stood nearby, helping civilians and gaining order as Red Beetle held onto a sobbing Lila.

“Don’t listen to them Lila, you can be amazing without lying,” Marion as the spotted hero spoke soothing words to the Italian as he stroked her hair affectionately. He would never have the guts to do this as a civilian without becoming a blushing mess.

”It’s not just them. My own sister and mother think so too. It’s kind of hard to move past that when it’s your family whispering that,” she sobbed even harder and her grip on Red Beetle tightened. Burying her head in his chest, she could hear his heart beat; so similar to Marion’s own.

The temporary heroes rushed to comfort her, with Ryoko offering to run her mother and sister through with her sword. That actually got a smile out of the Italian as Red Beetle wiped her tears away. He then offered to take Lila home to which the Italian agreed. With a ‘bug out’ the hero swung himself away with the brunette in hand.

The other heroes were glad that the ladybug hero would take Lila home safely, but they were still worried.

Alya in particular.

How was she going to tell Marion that Paris’ most beloved hero was interested in his unofficial girlfriend?

#in reluctant defense of lila rossi #lila rossi sugar #lila rossi redemption #alya sugar #nino sugar #chloe being chloe #male!Marinette #adrien salt #female!adrien #class salt #oc salt #lilanette #lila deserves better #chameleon salt #because what the hell

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extremelyblackandwhite · 2 years

Text

lakes | regency!bucky

pairing: regency!bucky barnes x regency!reader

warnings: sexism, fluff, angst, regency style dialogue, 18+ ONLY, not historically accurate with writing liberties

masterlist (touch)

i bathe in cliffside pools with my calamitous love and insurmountable grief ...

James knew he should’ve not stayed the night; he knew it was tempting the luck he’d have into a scandal, but at the same time he couldn’t bear the thought of his wife waking up after their wedding night without him by her side. She’d slept through the night, her hair sprayed against the white linen pillow, naked form delicately covered by the cotton sheets embroidered with her family crest. He wondered if he should change his own crest, intertwine it with hers, with whom she was and whom she’d descended from. Perhaps she’d like it and perhaps it’d hurt less when she eventually needed to leave his family home in England to attend to her duties. He hoped that day was as further into the future as it could be; wishing for anything but his father’s demise and her unhappiness. He chose not to dwell on it, instead staring at her, how her hand laid against his pillow on his. He could certainly get used to this.

The end of Spring sun warmed his face and illuminated hers, the harsh bright light having her lids tremble before opening to reveal equally bright eyes which seemed to contain deposits of gold swirling in them whenever the sun graced them. Her expression softened as she saw him there, the constricted ache of waking up alone subsiding as well as the possibility both of them could be caught. She cuddled up next to him, the sheets long wrapped around the both of them as her fingers traced patterns on his naked chest.

- Good morning, Lady Barnes. - he kissed her forehead, lowering to her nose before delving into her sweet lips.

- You stayed. - she kissed him once more. - Thank you for staying.

- How could I not stay with my wife, specially when she is so good at her wifely duties.

- Is that all I’m good for, your Grace?

- One of your many talents, milady.

- I could argue against that.

- Of course you could, Lady Barnes. - he stole yet another kiss from her, wishing they could just remain here, careless to the outside world and their positions. Careless to everything but each other; however, a hurried knock had her raise her torso from the bed.

They remained still, hoping the lock wouldn’t give in and that her maid would merely return later thinking she was still asleep. Yet, another knock echoed around the room, followed by another and another one.

- Miss Vernillane? - her maid called out.

She mumbled something in her breathe before jumping out of the bed to grab her night silk while Bucky collected all his clothes, half putting them on. Yet another knock intensified the sense of urgency and as she opened the window to her balcony, she thanked her parents for placing them in the back of the home. The last thing she would want was for the whole ton of London to see a lazily dressed prince climb down her window. She hurried him out her bedroom and into the balcony, looking behind her as yet another knock resonated in the bedroom.

- Be careful. - she whispered as he grabbed the same vine which had helped him climb up the wall the last evening.

- I’ll call on you. - he stole yet another kiss from her before disappearing into the greenery of her garden. She closed the balcony doors, walking into her room and straightening her bed before unlocking the door for her maid to walk in.

- Miss Vernillane, we must get you dressed.

- Good morning, Marion. - she smiled as the maid cut through her to walk towards her wardrobe. - Why the rush? Is Papa in a rush for a promenade?

- My lady, the King is here. Your betrothed's father.

- The King is here?

The calm heaven she’d woken up to was shattered as her mind was filled with doubts and stress. Did he know? And if he knew was he here to cancel the marriage and if he was were was he concerned regarding his son’s whereabouts? This worries merely got louder as her maid helped her get dressed in what she was sure would look like a mess whenever she presented herself. It suddenly dawned herself the position she had acquired last night, whom she’d be serving and who she would now be. However, despite considering all those factors, she’d always thought her husband would be by her side. She was coached down into the drawing room by her maid and into the drawing room where her father and mother were accompanied by a man who simply had the posture and the appearance of a King. His traits resembled that of his son, with a perfect stance and eyes that followed her no matter where she looked. She bowed down, before folding her hands in front of her dress, her eyes pleading with her own parents to do something.

- That’s our youngest daughter. - her father clearest his throat as he walked up to her. - May I introduce you to my daughter Miss Y/N Vernillane?

- It is very pleasing to finally put a face to the name I simply cannot stop hearing about. - he spoke like any high standing man, his voice booming and authoritarian with the faintest hint of a Eastern European accent. - If it is not of any disruption to your day, would it be possible to have a private audience?

- She doesn’t have anything to do. She’d love to. - her mother hushed her father out of the drawing room, despite the pleading eyes.

The sound of the door closing had her wishing for a sudden miracle, anyone to come in a whisk away for some petty wedding details or for her opinion on everything. No miracle occurred, she was closed in a room with the father of her secretive husband, not only his father but the King of a whole country, the king of the country she was set to inherit along with her husband. Her heart beat faster against her ribcage as he took a few steps towards her, still a considerable distance between them.

- Perhaps you’d like to seat down, Miss Vernillane.

- Perhaps not. - she smiled forcefully. - I’d much rather remain on my feet, your Majesty.

- I never expected my son to be engaged to anyone, much less to a woman of lower standing, at least before I died.

- I didn’t expect to be engaged to your son either, your Majesty.

- Therefore, I hope you can understand my surprise when I discovered one of my archbishops did a wedding for my son and his very early bride.

He heart stilled, chest heavy and contracting almost in pain as she attempted to remain as still as one could. She reminded herself of what her mother would tell her when she was younger, how to remain calm and polite in all situations. Surely the archbishop would respond to his King, she just thought they’d have a bit more time, a bit more time in that blissful ignorance of theirs. Apparently, not.

- There is only one reason to rush to the altar, to conceal a scandal. Am I to believe you are with child, Miss Vernillane?

- I beg your pardon?

- I know how my son can be and as the youngest daughter of 3 sisters and 3 boys, I am guessing you are familiar with ...

- Excuse me, your Majesty, but I will not have you questioning my honour, no matter your social standing. You shall not walk in my family home and accuse me of attempting to trap your son in marriage.

- Am I to believe you and my son are so hopelessly in love that you had to be married without any of your family present? Hidden from society?

- You were madly in love with your wife enough to make her Queen despite what the ton thought of it. Is it so unthinkable, I am so unbelievable in love with your son that I would rush to marry him? Or do you believe me to want to entrance him in some sort of convenience marriage?

- How convenient he turned out to be a prince.

- I do not need his money or his status. I have mine and I have my families which, in all fairness your Highness, is much higher here than yours is. Besides, when I was offered marriage by your son I was unaware of his social position.

- You’ll have me believe that love is the reason of all this?

- Would it be so ridiculous?

The man stared at her as if she herself was the picture of power. She surely looked like any debutante, dressed in soft colours and light fabrics dazzled with jewels and flower embroidery, but lying underneath was almost chaos. Like the ocean in a storm, as if she were ready to argue and stand her position. She remained there, her arms now crossed and eyes which could burn any town until the lock opened and James stepped in.

- Father. - he curtsied as he always did. - May I know why you’re accosting my bride without my knowledge?

- I was not accosting your bride, I was accosting your wife. I believe I am free to request an audience with my daughter in law.

- Who told you?

- I am King, I know everything. Besides, you weren’t at your aunt’s this morning, may I know where my heir and son was?

- He was with me. - she replied for him. - Since you’ve questioned my honour, your Majesty. Perhaps you should know that as we got married last night, we’ve had our wedding night last night as well.

- You’ve questioned my wife’s honour?

- I believe I’ve had enough of this conversation. - she smiled, before leaving the room, foraying any curtseying or politeness.

The door shut making James close his eyes at the noise. His father sure had gotten to meet the wildest side of her; yet that didn’t make him any less angry than he already was. It wasn’t as if it was forbidden for him to request an audience with his wife, but it was frowned upon - specifically by him. He didn’t want his father near Y/N, he’d gotten cynical over the years and was no longer the man he knew years ago.

- You cannot approach my wife in that manner. It is disrespectful.

- Discovering through an archbishop that my only son has gotten secretly married in the middle of the night when the Queen of England has graciously offered to sponsor a wedding isn’t respectful either, James.

- I wanted to make her happy.

- You were sweet talked by a pretty girl. I always knew you enjoyed women but I seriously thought my only son had been raised better than to be sweet talked by a low rank debutante.

- My mother left everything in her home country for you. She was shunned by society here for you. We were shunned here because she loved you.

- Your mother and I were in love and you’d be so lucky if you ever get to feel the same way.

- I would abandon you for her. I would abandon the kingdom, I would abandon being a gentleman, I would do and I will do anything for that woman. If you won’t have any respect for her position as my wife, then at least respect her for being your princess.

James abandoned his father in the study to look for who he guessed was a very upset wife at the point. He found her not far from the drawing room, sitting by the various sitting spaces littered around the Vernillane London residency. Her entry into being a princess had sure been a baptism of fire. She looked up from her needle work to him, an expression which said everything that needed to be said.

- I’m so sorry, darling. - he sat next to her. - I did not believe he would question your impeachable honour.

- It’s not very impeachable now, is it, milord?

- It’s very impeachable still, my darling wife. You have no inkling of the things I have in store for you.

- You’re married? - her mother’s voice had her widen her eyes. She slowly turned her head towards her mother. - You’ve gotten married? Oh, Y/N, please do not tell me you’re with child already. I understand that passions, well, it’s different with love but the wedding isn’t in a month.

- I am not with child, mama. - she rose from her seat.

- I would never disrespect your daughter’s honour in such manner, Viscountess.

- When did you even wed?

- Last night, mama. It’s ... it was just an intimate ceremony, we still intend to go forward with the Queen’s intended plans.

- Oh thank god. - she sighed out of relief. - I was starting to think you were going to pull out from the wedding and I don’t think we would socially recover from that.

- Pardon me?

- You don’t look particularly excited about wedding planning, dear. I was afraid you may be slightly impulsive and quit the wedding. Luckily, you’re already wed. We must tell your father.

- No. - Y/N hushed her mother. - I can’t let father discover that he didn’t get to walk me down the aisle, mama.

- Am I meant to keep this secret?

- Only until the wedding. - she held her mother’s hands. - I can’t break papa’s heart like that.

- Well ...- she sighed. - It seems I have successfully married off all my daughters. Now the hard thing, marrying your brothers off.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #regency!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky x you #bucky/you

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4650 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 7 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Walking out through the automatic doors of Metro-General you were hit with a gust of wind so strong you had to adjust the scarf you had wrapped around your neck to make the fabric feel cozier. In your pocket you feel your phone having a near seizure as it vibrates, alerting you of all the messages you received during the day coming in all at once thanks to the lack of service on the eighth floor.

That’s where you spend most of your time, in the social work department sitting in a small cubicle with yellow fluorescent lighting hanging above and a drafty window that whistles as the wind blows. So far most of your work has been shadowing Elena as she is called down for consultations. When asked, you’ve given appropriate suggestions on what services would best suit the patients but you aren’t yet familiar with enough of them.

It was slow today, which was surprising for a Saturday she mentioned, so most of your time was spent researching the organizations within your reach and learning about the different services they provide. Staring at a screen all day made your eyes nearly close a few times but you survived. On your way home you read through all the messages received.

Ever since your celebratory get together everyone became friendlier with each other and started a group chat, declaring that on weekends you should all meet up and go to different bars.

Not everyone could always make it. Sam was usually working much to Wanda’s dismay, and another time Natasha was preparing for a large trial and needed every minute to work on her case. Bucky would show up about half the time, and you never asked why he couldn’t make it, assuming he had plans to hook up with someone whenever he wasn’t with you guys.

He still had women over on most nights. They weren’t as loud as before but you could hear them, panting his name like a sensual prayer as you scurried across your apartment to the bathroom. If he wasn’t finished by the time you were back in bed you put on your trusty headphones and hoped to fall back asleep.

When you finally exited the subway you replied back to the texts declining tonight’s invitation. You were honestly ready for a nap and even if you took one you doubt it would give you enough energy to stay up later.

A slew of sad faces sent by Steve made you feel a little guilty. He really wanted you to come out with him, especially since he started socializing again but you really needed this night off.

You: I promise I will do my absolute best to come out next weekend

Wanda: You better! Oh and we still have to talk costumes!

Halloween weekend was soon approaching and you knew you couldn’t miss that no matter how tired you were but tonight you were ready to crash.

Your heels were kicked off immediately, makeup barely wiped away as you changed into pumpkin pajama bottoms. Unhooking your bra felt heavenly and you tossed it aside, having it land somewhere in the vicinity of your living room. You slipped on a tank top and threw a comfy sweatshirt over that before plopping onto your bed and under the covers.

With your head on the pillow you stared at the phone cradled in your hand, holding it on the adjacent pillow. You weren’t actually trying to pay attention to the show you put on, just wanting something to fill the void of silence and within a few minutes you were asleep.

It was pitch black when your eyes opened. You searched for your phone on your bed, hands skimming across the mattress but you couldn’t find it. The smarter thing to do would be to turn on the lamp on your nightstand which you finally did. Your phone had fallen to the floor and upon picking it up you saw the time. It wasn’t that late, only nine-something. You could still go out and meet up with everyone but you chose not to. You were still kind of tired and now very hungry. Too lazy to make something you ordered pizza.

Hocus Pocus played in the background as you waited for your food; and finally looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror you fixed your half-assed attempt at makeup removal from before. Feeling more energized you straightened up your tossed clothes while absentmindedly singing along.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re gone, gone, gone so long. I put a spell on you and it was strong, so strong, so strong, so strong.”

You bounced around your apartment continuing to sing while tidying up. You were so excited for the prospect of pizza you practically ran to your door when there was a knock, opening it without looking through the peephole.

Instead of the pizza there was Bucky, arms crossed with a beaming smile. “Hey neighbor.”

You were surprised to see him, wondering why he would be knocking at your door and not out like you thought he would be. He also declined meeting up with everyone tonight so you assumed he had plans of his own.

“H-hey, what’re you doing here Bucky?”

His arms fell to his sides. “Oh nothing, just wanted to say thank you.”

Your face scrunched with confusion, trying to think of what reason he might need to thank you but just then Bucky answered the question you hadn’t asked.

“For the show. I put a spell on yooooou,” he mimicked, swirling his arms across his chest performatively.

“Oh no, you heard me!?”

You hid your face in your hands as Bucky chuckled, “Thin walls, remember?”

Peeking through your fingers you saw the genuine smile stretched across Bucky’s face. He may have been teasing but he wasn’t laughing at you. Thankfully he hadn’t heard anything worse, because if there was a real Disney marathon on he might have been the one putting on his headphones to block out the high notes you strained to reach in “Let It Go.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” you smirk back at him. “So, you headed out?”

His head shook before he answered. “No, staying in tonight. I was up all night composing; it threw my whole day off.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that goi– ” The loud buzzing of your doorbell made you jump. That was the pizza. “Hang on a sec.”

You stepped back into your apartment to press the bell for the front door, telling Bucky he might as well step inside as you went to get your wallet.

“Are you hungry? I got pizza from Antonio’s. Have you tried them before?”

He thought about it and shook his head.

“Well sit down then and we can cross it off our list.” You smiled, turning around as you heard the muffled ding of the elevator from down the hall and waited at your front door for the delivery.

Bucky didn’t plan on spending his evening with you but he certainly didn’t mind the sudden change. He excused himself to go back to his apartment and turn off his lights. While there he cancelled plans with a girl named Rachel who would have been over sometime after midnight. She was cute but he really wasn’t feeling anything and truthfully between the lack of sleep he doesn’t have the energy to entertain her.

When Bucky came back you had the pizza set up on the table beside some plates and napkins. “Not sure what you wanted to drink,” you stated, opening your fridge and letting him choose what he wanted.

Together you settled down on your couch, with Bucky holding onto the beer as you raced up again to grab a coaster. He chuckled to himself as you bounced back beside him, taking a sip of the soda that you splashed with a little rum.

“See, it’s like I went out tonight,” you chuckled, raising your glass.

As Hocus Pocus ended you let him flip through the channels to find something to watch. There was an abundance of Halloween movies on and Bucky gasped when he found the perfect one.

“You’ve seen Psycho, right?” He smiled when you nodded. “Okay, but you haven’t seen it with me so you’re really in for a treat.”

Bucky sat up straighter, excited for the start of one of his favorite movies. It took less than ten seconds for him to start breaking things down to you, and not in a pretentious way you’ve been accustomed to by men before. Though you didn’t know Bucky for that long you could immediately see a change in him. His eyes lit up, filled with wonder as he began to describe the score.

“Right away we’re hit with unnerving music playing over the opening title sequence, with the text literally being dissected. It’s audiovisual foreshadowing in its most beautiful form. It really sets the tone for the film.”

All throughout the film Bucky would interject facts that you loved to hear, especially since every word was laced with passion.

“Have you noticed something?”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be noticing,” you said, smiling at him while grabbing another slice.

“The score. It’s all strings. It’s beautiful. You know piano might be my favorite to play but strings…” he sighed happily, “Those are my favorite to compose.”

As the movie continued you couldn’t help but glance over at Bucky, watching the way he would sometimes shut his eyes and listen to the score alone, his mouth tugging his lips into a content smile as he appreciated the music.

When the infamous shower scene came on Bucky tapped your arm, practically scrambling to talk about the score again.

“Herrmann designed the score in a way where the shrill notes of the strings represent the blade stabbing Marion even though you don’t see it. That’s the power of music.”

Bucky turned to the screen to watch the score play out over the scene and when it was over he suddenly remembered he was with you in your apartment and not back in college where his rants on music analysis were welcome.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, you probably just wanted to watch the movie and I’m ruining it because I can’t shut my damn mouth.” Fingers ran through his long hair as Bucky let out a stressful sigh.

“No, Bucky it’s okay really. I liked learning about that, it’s not something I ever really thought of before.” Your smile washed away his worries and Bucky thanked you for letting him ramble on.

When the movie ended you and Bucky continued to lounge on your couch, finding another one to watch. Feeling a chill run down your back you grabbed the fuzzy blanket and draped it across yourself, extending the material to Bucky in case he was also cold. With the comfort of the blanket and pizza filling your sated stomachs, neither you or Bucky realized you had ended your evening by falling asleep.

You awake with a groan, reaching your hand up to your neck as it stretches uncomfortably. Blinking your eyes a few times you noticed you weren’t in bed and your couch didn’t feel normal. Sitting up and stretching you finally cocked your head and realized why; you weren’t sleeping on a cushion.

Bucky was asleep on your couch in a half sitting up, half laying down, one-hundred percent uncomfortable position. It wasn’t unusual to have a man sleeping on your couch as Steve had crashed there in the past, and occasionally you had fallen asleep on him but Bucky was not Steve. Yet somehow it didn’t seem as awkward as it should have been. Maybe it was the way Bucky bared his musical heart last night but you felt like you understood him on a new level.

Quietly you got up from the couch, gently placing cups and dishes in the sink making sure they didn’t make a sound. You threw away whatever garbage was lying around, setting the pizza box aside and then finally made your way to the bathroom. You forgot to lock the door and hoped he wouldn’t wake up. Sleeping on Bucky was one thing but you’re not ready for him to burst through the door as you’re peeing.

“Shit. Did I fall asleep here?” Bucky rasped as he woke up not long after.

“Yeah it’s alright. How’s your neck?” you asked just as his face scrunched together while stretching.

“Not the best.” Bucky looked around, seeing your bed covers thrown in the same position he recalled from the night before. “D-did you sleep here too? I mean on the couch, I know this is your place,” he chuckled somewhat nervously.

“Yeah, sorry if your arm’s a little numb. I think I slept on it.” You grimaced as he shook the pins and needles feeling away.

“I feel terrible imposing like this. Let me make it up to you. Breakfast at my place? I make the best omelettes. Five stars, I promise.”

His head tilted down to reveal big, blue eyes that begged for forgiveness. You couldn’t say no if you tried.

“Sounds good Bucky.”

You agreed to come over in a half hour as Bucky wanted to take a shower to really wake himself up first. As the warm water sprayed against his aching muscles he frowned, wondering why he was upset at the momentary loss of your scent surrounding him. This was… weird and Bucky decided not to give it further thought, figuring it comes with the territory of having new friends.

Sunday’s were the only day you had for yourself; no work, no internship, just a full day you could spend however you wanted. Breakfast with Bucky was worth spending some of that time on. Not only were his omelettes as delicious as he said they would be but you really enjoyed his company, even after spending most of the night together.

“Steve you look amazing!”

You beamed as he walked into your apartment, twirling around slowly so you could get a good look at his Robin Hood costume. He set his bow down on your table, asking to help adjust the straps of his quiver containing his plastic arrows.

“So you think you’ll find your Maid Marian tonight?” you smirked, adjusting the hood attached to his green tunic.

Steve chuckled under his breath, ignoring you and quickly changing the topic. “You look heavenly,” he said teasingly.

You raised your palm, belting out an angelic sound as you looked up towards the large silver halo hanging above your head. For your Halloween costume you were going as an angel, wearing a long pleated white dress adorned with a sequined straps and feathery white wings that stuck out a few inches past your shoulders.

“My feet are going to kill me,” you stated, slipping into a pair of glittery platform pumps you haven’t worn since attending your friend Nakia’s wedding last year. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Wanda was dressing up as a devil, probably perfecting her scarlet lips as you speak. She was going to meet up directly at the bar along with Sam who would be coming straight from work. Clint and Natasha would be traveling with you and Steve, and Bucky… well he didn’t exactly RSVP for tonight’s hang out. He said he would try to be there and you hoped he would. It’s been a while since the whole group was together and you missed the fun of that dynamic.

A knock on your door had you clacking your heels against the wood floor as you stride across the room. Steve cocks his head at the immediate burst of laughter he heard.

“S-Steve...”

You’re barely able to get his name out as you walk further into your apartment, face tight with laughter and then he sees it... Clint’s costume. Steve’s head tips backwards immediately with laughter as his hand goes to his chest, unable to contain the sight in front of him.

Clint was dressed, or rather undressed as Princess Leia in her prisoner outfit. A green bra adorned with golden accents stretched across his pale chest and the skirt was cut high on his legs, revealing they had not seen the sun in years, or maybe ever. He wore cowboy boots to complete his look, twirling the gold chain that hung from the choker around his neck, grinning widely at Steve who could not catch his breath.

Natasha strode in behind him as the sexiest Han Solo you’ve ever seen in a simple white shirt and black vest, knee high boots over slim blue pants. They looked amazing together but Clint obviously won between the two.

Locking up you looked over towards Bucky’s door, debating for a moment to knock and see if he would come out. You hadn’t heard much noise through the wall so you let it go and headed towards the elevators with everyone.

“Wanda! What the fuck?!”

You stared at your best friend wearing a costume that was not what you had planned.

“Didn’t you get my text?” She tucked a freshly colored strand of hair behind her ears, a deep cherry red that make the white hat bearing the red nursing cross symbol of her costume stand out even more.

You shrugged off your bag to grab your phone and check, muttering under your breath how mad you would be at yourself if you missed her text.

“Wait, stop.” Wanda halted your actions as you held your phone. “I didn’t text you. I’m so sorry Y/N. I didn’t want you to be mad at me but I really wanted to go as a nurse.”

“Wan, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“It’s just that Sam is coming from work and I thought it would be cute… to match him.” She tried to hide the blush that dusted her cheeks.

You teased her a bit more, asking if she and Sam are gonna actually do something other than flirt with each other.

“Well, maybe tonight we can change that.” She smiled, with a hopeful twinkle in her eye.

“I hope so. Sam would be a total ass if he didn’t make a move, just sayin’”

“Speaking of asses, Clint’s is hanging out!” She pointed towards him laughing, “I cannot believe he wore that!”

The night was fun as you danced and drank with the girls. Sam arrived later than you expected but Wanda lit up like a Christmas tree. He wore blue scrubs (a fresh pair thankfully as he began to describe a trauma that came in earlier) and he was equally surprised to see her costume.

“If you came in lookin’ like that we would have had to put a lot of people on life support!”

Wanda and Sam went to get a drink together leaving you and Natasha alone to dance. Clint was sitting in a booth and you scanned the room for Steve who you thought was with him.

“Oh my god!”

You turned Natasha around, to point at Steve in the corner talking to a beautiful Daenerys Targaryen. You had seen a few of them tonight already, some wearing the blue and gold dress from Qarth and another as Daenerys if she were a White Walker, but this one caught your eye.

She was shorter than Steve but stood tall holding her shoulders back. There was something regal about her and not just because she was dressed as the Mother of Dragons determined to finally set sail to Westeros. You couldn’t hear their conversation but you could tell that Steve was hooked on every word, captivated by the way she spoke, watching him look to the floor with embarrassment after she flashed her smile at him.

A woman with short blonde hair dressed as Cersei Lannister came up to them, handing Daenerys, who was obviously her friend, a drink. Steve politely introduced himself, though it was clear he only had eyes for his Khaleesi.

“What’re we looking at?”

The hot breath of a voice tickled your bare shoulders and you turned ever so slightly to find Bucky’s face right beside you.

“You made it!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around Bucky for a hug and he was careful of your wings as he returned the gesture.

“Hey neighbor, or uh neighbors,” he laughed at himself greeting Natasha. “Why are you staring at Steve?”

“‘Cause I think he’s actually flirting with someone for the first time in over a year!”

Bucky smiled as he saw how happy you were for Steve. You had a big heart and it was one of the reasons Bucky really liked you– your friendship, he corrected his inner thoughts.

Natasha walked back to sit beside Clint leaving you and Bucky together. You finally take a look at his costume; a black leather jacket and white t-shirt, cuffed jeans and high top Converse sneakers. His hair was slicked back and pulled into a bun, not the right length to really style as Danny Zuko but everything else made it obvious.

You followed him as he went to the bar to get a drink and got yourself another. He raised his voice over the loud music, “So how many people have asked if it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

“Surprisingly not too many. But someone did grab my hand and said they were ‘touched by an angel.’”

Bucky scowled. “Who grabbed you?” He started looking around the bar, flaring his nostrils as he scanned the room, as if he would magically be able to tell.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “It’s okay, Steve and Clint took care of it. I think Clint scared the guy more to be honest.”

A smile cracked on Bucky’s face again. “He’s pretty brave. You wouldn’t catch me in that.”

“No you look like more of a Luke to me, like literally you kind of look like a young Mark Hamill.” You smiled as Bucky laughed, protesting your claim. “No it’s true. If your hair was shorter I could totally see you pull off an awesome Luke Skywalker.”

“Cut my hair? Hmm, I don’t think so.” He shook his head quickly.

The two of you went to the table with Natasha and Clint and the four of you were soon joined by Steve, whose eyes might as well have been in the shape of hearts by the expression he couldn’t shake.

“What’s her name?” Clint cooed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his hands under his chin.

A deep smile spread across Steve’s face as he slouched into the chair, his body becoming jelly at the sound of her name leaving his lips. “Peggy. Peggy Carter. Agent Carter actually.”

Peggy was a British Intelligence Agent who worked at the Consulate in New York. Steve looked over her contact information on his phone and even though she was a few feet away from him he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had taken enough of her time away from her friends, Carol, the Cersei who he just met, and the group they were supposed to have joined though Steve and Peggy’s extended conversation kept her occupied.

“Those might as well be Cupid’s arrows huh, Robin Hood!” you teased.

Natasha smirked, “Speaking of Cupid…” She directed everyone’s attention to Sam and Wanda having a full on makeout session in the middle of the dance floor.

Clint roared loudly at them which they may not have heard over the music, but either way it didn’t seem like anything would stop their lips from separating, even the need for air. At least Sam was a doctor, he’ll know what to do.

Everyone seemed to break up into groups. Sam and Wanda were still inseparable, Clint was with Natasha posing for pictures, Steve met up with Peggy again and you couldn’t be mad about that, which left you and Bucky alone.

It was nice to catch up with him again. Between developing programs for The September Foundation and interning at the hospital and Bucky working to meet a deadline you hadn’t seen much of each other in the last week.

“Must be fun though,” he commented, while discussing your new duties at Stark Industries.

“Maybe it would be if I wasn’t so intimidated,” you half-joked, laughing before you took a sip of your drink. “I’m surrounded by– ”

“Buuuccckkkkyyyyy!”

The familiar sound of a woman whining his name interrupted you. A creepy tingle ran down your spine as you remembered where you’ve heard that exact whine before– through the walls.

A redhead wearing hardly anything runs up to Bucky and clearly they have been well acquainted before. She ignores your presence completely as she wraps her arms around him for a hug, pulling him away from you. In doing so you missed the uncomfortable look on Bucky’s face.

“Dot. I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Same. If you told me we coulda matched Buck. I’d be the Sandy to your Danny.” She lifted her chest, pushing her breasts out even more than they already were.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Bucky wondered out loud, looking up and down at the lingerie she was wearing.

Dot scoffed. “I’m the witch from Hocus Pocus.”

Bucky sort of saw it; the purple lace up corset and sheer skirt, cut specifically to show more skin, with the lacy green robe. Her red curls were sort of shaped into Winifred Sanderson’s similar hairstyle but Dot specifically let a few tresses fall beside her face.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re mine!”

She sang every note off key and Bucky tried to stop his face from looking like he was going to throw up. It was nothing like the way you sounded that night you were singing carefree in your apartment. Bucky turned around to plead with you and help him get rid of this girl but you were nowhere to be found.

With Bucky’s attention clearly taken you decided to get another drink and there you ran into Bruce. You knew him from work as one of Tony Stark’s top scientists. You had run into during the R&D meetings you attended with Maria but tonight he looked great as Doc Brown from Back to the Future.

“Some of us science bros wanted to dress up accordingly,” he chuckled softly, pointing out his friends dressed as other famous fictional scientists, Dr. Frankenstein and a mashup of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

“That’s amazing!” you laughed, beaming a wide smile that caught Bucky’s attention from across the bar.

You looked really happy while talking to that guy and Bucky didn’t want to interrupt. Just like Steve, he knew you hadn’t given yourself much time in the past to meet someone so if this was your night to get lucky he didn’t want to take that away from you, even if he would much prefer to continue hanging out. Dot grinded against him and Bucky let her, leaving shortly after as she made some bad comment about “riding his broom.”

After speaking with Bruce you caught up with everyone who seemed ready to go home.

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked, looking around for him.

“I think he left with some girl,” Sam said, half paying attention, giggling as Wanda wiped some of her lipstick off of him.

“Oh,” you said, deflated.

Walking out of the bar you draped your jacket across your shoulders and protruding wings, wondering why you felt so hurt that Bucky hadn’t said goodbye. It was rude but you don’t know what you expected.

Before you even knew Bucky you knew this is what he was like, sleeping with half of New York so you shouldn’t be surprised. Yet when you got home, just before getting into bed you stared silently at the wall you shared, feeling a single tear slip down your cheek.

PART 9

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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laequiem · 3 years

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What did I miss? [ONESHOT]

/ Vaughan goes to Terrasen after the war. Third person POV fluffy Elorcan

Lorcan turned around and immediately walked towards where the voice— female, young—came from. He was so disciplined that I almost thought it was a blood-oath order. But Fenrys had told me the three of them were blood-sworn to Aelin, and she was up in her chambers until the start of the festivities. This order was coming from someone else, someone Lorcan just ... obeyed without complaint.

Read it on ao3

The castle of Orynth had been decorated in garlands and lights for Yulemas. Little orbs of fire speckled the opalescent towers, glistening like the falling snow. While the castle wasn't in any way back to its former glory, it looked better than it did last year when I soared across the sky, following Maeve's order to find and kill Lorcan.

The war was over for more than a year now. With the blood oath broken, I had nowhere to go. All that freedom, for the first time in centuries, felt so foreign. I traveled all across the continents, picking up random mercenary jobs until I made my way back to Doranelle to empty my coffers.

In the city that was my home for centuries, I found Fenrys Moonbeam, one of my former colleagues. He explained over a pint of ale that, as emissary to Terrasen, he came to Doranelle to discuss trades with Queen Sellene Whitethorn. He was leaving the next day to get back to his new kingdom in time for Yulemas, and offered me to tag along.

With our fae speed, and my ability to scout ahead in my osprey form, the trip to Orynth went well. When we stopped to sleep, Fenrys told me about the war. I had heard rumours, but nothing concrete. He told me about Gavriel and Connall. About Rowan being king of Terrasen, reigning with his mate. Only straight facts, nothing ever too personal. I could tell it still haunted him and kept him awake some nights.

Yet, as we stood in front of the royal palace, I felt like I wasn't ready for whatever else I would learn.

Fenrys led me inside the stone keep, down the main hallway until we reached a room full of couches and low tables. In the back corners, more private seating arrangements seemed to be hidden behind thick forest green curtains.

The white wolf sighed as he beheld the only person in the room, lounging on a large couch, reading. And as I recognized him, I couldn't hide my excitement. "Salvaterre!"

Lorcan looked up, surprised. He stalked up to us and clasped arms with me. Our usual greeting: impersonal, yet familiar.

"Lorcan. I don't use my birth name anymore. It's nice to see you again, Vaughan. "

"He's a LORD now", Fenrys drawled from behind me, earning an eye-roll from the demi-fae, "can you believe that? A lord, and—"

Fenrys was cut off by a voice coming from one of the curtained-off corners.

"Lorcan! She's done eating."

Lorcan turned around and immediately walked towards where the voice - female, young - came from. He was so disciplined that I almost thought it was a blood-oath order. But Fenrys had told me the three of them were blood-sworn to Aelin, and she was up in her chambers until the start of the festivities. This order was coming from someone else, someone Lorcan just... obeyed without complaint.

As he moved aside the curtains, I saw the source of the voice. A dark-haired female was adjusting her dress over her breast, looking down at a bundle of blankets before handing it to Lorcan. He picked it up carefully and kissed the woman's forehead before holding out his arm for her.

The female got up and followed him out of the alcove. This is when I saw what he was holding—a dark-skinned baby with a full head of black hair. No doubt about it, he had to be the father.

When the couple got close enough, I noticed the baby's rounded ears. I looked Lorcan's wife up and down. Fenrys hadn't said anything about Lorcan having a child, or a wife - a HUMAN wife. As if Lorcan's presence here was as much a surprise as my own.

I must have been staring too long, because Lorcan cleared his throat. I started.

"She's taken, Vaughan."

His wife elbowed him in the ribs. He chuckled - CHUCKLED, Gods damn us all - and motioned to the woman. "My wife, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth. The little one is Marion."

I bowed to the lady, who curtsied. I was about to motion for us to sit down to talk when we heard the bells ring for dinner.

---------------------

The meal went well. After the second serving of dessert, the younger court members left—baby Marion with the teenager who sat next to Gavriel's son and his wife—and the booze started flowing.

"For fuck's sake Fenrys, can you bark any louder?"

From spending centuries with them, I already knew how they acted drunk. Lorcan's outburst was no surprise: he always got grumpier and hornier than usual. Somehow, those two traits seemed to work in his favour, attracting a specific type of females. Fenrys, like his brother Connall, got loud and flirty. He talked to everyone, he called for shots and made everyone participate in drinking games. Gavriel and Rowan were more quiet - the former was the bummer-drunk while the Hawk had a tendency to fall asleep.

"Majesty, I thought HE wouldn't be invited to holidays! HE RUINS EVERYTHING! " Fenrys exclaimed, equally as loud as before.

Aelin laughed, but it was Lady Elide who answered. "He wasn't. I needed a nanny for Marion."

Everyone exploded in laughter, except Lorcan who frowned but had a hint of a grin. When the laughter died down, the dark-haired lady got up and motioned her husband to do the same.

"Come on, Grandpa. It's bedtime. Good night, everyone."

Lorcan got up with an exaggerated grunt, making his wife chuckle. He followed her towards the door.

"Elide," Fenrys exclaimed with a wink, "Once the old man is asleep, come knock on my door!"

Dark power started to rise around Lorcan as he made to turn around, but the Lady of Perranth put a hand on his back. As if under a spell, Lorcan's shoulders relaxed and his power crawled back inside him as they left the kitchen.

There was no denying it. This woman isn't human. She's a witch.

#throneofglass #elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan #elide #lordlorcanlochan #sjmaas #sarahjmaas #fanfic #fanfiction #laequiem #tog #throne of glass #queen of shadows #empire of storms #kingdom of ash

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one-boring-person · 3 years

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A Game Of Numbers. (Part Five)

Marion "Cobra" Cobretti x reader

Warnings: swearing (in German and English), mention of death, mention of injury, mention of homophobia, gun use

Context: When a string of seemingly connected murders and kidnappings break out in LA, Cobretti is called in to figure out what is going on. He is, however, not alone in his investigation. Lieutenant "Hawk" (Y/l/n) is deployed to help him, though it quickly becomes clear that the crimes taking place are not as random as they first thought, but rather a little more personal than either of them would hope.

A/n: somehow, I'm starting to think this is gonna fail massively

Masterlist

Once again, Hawk jerks awake, body covered in a thin layer of sweat, each breath rattling painfully out of her chest, her eyes wide as they instinctively scan the interior of her bedroom, looking for the danger her body is expecting. Upon finding nothing out of place, she sighs, slumping over from her upright position, cupping her face in her hand to steady herself, trying to regain control of her racing thoughts. A dull light filters in through the thin blinds, casting the room in a cold light that throws harsh shadows against the walls.

Trembling a little, Hawk glances over at her bedside clock, glad to see the time is near enough her usual get-up. Rubbing her eyes briefly, she pulls back the tangled sheets as swings her legs out of the bed, placing her hands on her knees to gain some form of stability as her head reels, flashes of her plaguing past coming unbidden to her head, each memory vivid thanks to the disturbing nightmares hounding her sleep. Shaking them away, she climbs to her feet, stretching out her back until it cracks, before she shuffles into the hallway, to the bathroom, where she quickly gets changed.

Having splashed cold water on her face, she feels a little better, the brisk temperature helping to clear any remaining haze from her mind, allowing her to think more clearly. Staring at herself in the mirror, she steels herself against her memories, knowing that what has happened is in the past, and shouldn't be dwelt on for too long.

Leaving the bathroom, Hawk gets dressed, donning her usual long coat as she grabs an apple, taking it for her breakfast before she drops an orange into her pocket for later. Taking her keys, the lieutenant goes to exit the apartment, having made sure everything she needs for the day is present, until her eyes land on a dresser, a little way away. She swallows as she catches sight of the photograph pinned to the stained wood, the case file tucked in between the books behind it instilling a sense of dread in her she's come to recognise in the past few days. Everything she does seems to come back to the battered grey folder, though she has not touched it since she was given it, a year or so ago.

Sighing, she leaves the apartment, locking it firmly behind her.

Moving swiftly down the corridor, she turns the corner, only to feel an odd chill go up her spine, making her stop in her tracks. Slowly, she looks round, back the way she came, eyes narrowed in unease. There is nothing there, and nothing ahead of her as she turns back, though the sensation doesn't leave her, her skin prickling uncomfortably as she hurriedly goes to leave, her survival instinct screaming at her to do so as quickly as possible.

The feeling doesn't leave even as she steps out onto the street, her eyes flicking around the deserted space nervously, her hand staying to her waist, ready to creep round and take hold of her handgun, should the need for it arise. Tucked into her belt, the weapon's familiar weight is almost comforting, though it does little to soothe her nerves as she edges along the street, body tense. Around this time of the day, there is little traffic, both road or sidewalk, meaning the stretch is left feeling eerie and strangely empty - usually, it doesn't feel so odd, but this morning it instills a cool sensation into her chest. In the distance, she can hear some cars driving past, the lieutenant hoping that one of them is her partner come to pick her up, the presence of the rough cop somehow having proved itself a measure of safety for her, after some time of feeling outcast and at risk.

Over the last week since the last body had been found, Cobretti and Hawk had grown a little closer, settling into a routine as they worked to solve the murders and locate the next two victims, utilising each other's different interrogation tactics and contacts efficiently. Very little progress has been made, with the killer's movements totally unpredictable and painstakingly difficult to track, and with none of the information gathered from interviews actually helping at all. There had been one lead, which they intend to follow up on in the coming days, hoping it will actually take them somewhere, given its promising nature; an apparent witness had come forward, requesting to speak with Cobra and Hawk in person, seemingly willing to give up any knowledge they have. Despite all this, however, Hawk still feels unsettled by the last murder, that one sprig of heather not sitting right with her, stirring up memories she'd rather forget.

Startled from her thoughts by the sudden sound of a door slamming, Hawk instinctively spins on her heel, hand grabbing for the grip of the handgun, though she doesn't pull it out yet, eyes wide. A brief shot of adrenaline goes through her, her gaze instantly landing on a figure at the end of the street, the silhouette average in height but somehow incredibly intimidating in build, despite the slender set to them.

They appear to be staring at her, face obscured by the distance, hands resting loosely in their pockets, head tilted to the side curiously. Frowning, Hawk faces them properly, waiting for a reaction, glancing around her in case there's someone else there, noticing no one at all. Tense, she gazes at the man, I'm moving but alert, until he suddenly looks round to the end of the road closest to him, where a familiar car has pulled in.

As usual, Cobra does not take the road at a slower pace, going relatively quickly towards Hawk as the figure at the end of the street ducks out of sight, leaving her tense and uncomfortable. She stays stock still, waiting for Cobretti to reach her; hand still on her pistol, eyes fixed on the spot where the figure was.

He pulls the car up alongside her, turning to look at her out the window as she waits a few more seconds, before slowly moving to the vehicle. Quietly, she climbs in, closing the door softly behind her. They are silent for a moment, Cobra watching Hawk closely as she composes herself again.

"Morgen." She says, good-naturedly, reverting back to her own language momentarily, a habit Cobretti has noticed she does quite often.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He replies jokingly, knowing full well what she means.

Rolling her eyes playfully, she gives him a look as he pulls out from the kerb, heading towards the station, where the witness is set to meet them. He chuckles, but can't help noticing the tense set to her face, her unease still evident in her body.

"What happened back there? You had your hand on your gun." He probes, turning onto a busier road.

Hawk glances at him for a second, before turning back to the window.

"I think someone was following me." She says evenly, sounding sure of herself, "I got a bad feeling when I left my apartment, and then I saw the guy at the end of the road just now."

"Guy? What guy?"

"There was a guy standing at the end of the road. You must've seen him, you drove right past him!" Hawk clarifies, lifting an eyebrow.

Cobra only shrugs, rolling the matchstick between his lips.

Hawk remains quiet, rubbing her eyes tiredly, stifling a yawn as she leans back in the seat, hoping she won't fall asleep right there.

"Tired?" Cobretti asks, trying to fill the silence.

Startled, Hawk sits straighter, trying to sort herself out, only to realise he's already noticed and won't let it go no matter what she does.

"A bit, yeah." She admits, embarrassment flushing her face as she looks down, drawing a hand through her hair.

"Why?"

She shrugs, hesitant to answer, though she feels he should know, given that he's her partner for now.

"Haven't been sleeping well." She responds eventually, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I noticed." Cobretti confesses, shooting her an apologetic look, "You don't look so good."

"That bad? Scheiße." She curses, kicking herself for not realising that her lack of sleep has become apparent.

"What the hell does that mean?" He asks, changing the subject, clearly noticing how it's making her a little uncomfortable.

"Scheiße? Means shit." Hawk states, watching out the window as Cobra pulls up outside the police station.

"Ah. Good to know." He tries to fight back a smirk - her little words and phrases had grown on him, their meanings generally lost on him but still amusing.

Laughing, Hawk waits for him to pull into a parking space before she climbs out, standing to the side as he follows suit.

"So when are we talking to this witness?" She asks him, pulling her apple from her pocket, as well as the pocket knife she always has on her. Deftly, she uses the knife to slice pieces of the fruit off, eating them off the blade as she walks.

"At eight." Cobra replies after shooting her his usual exasperated glance.

"That's an hour off, which gives us some time to reconvene, I guess."

"Yeah. Might go to the firing range."

"The firing range? Wirklich? It's seven in the morning, isn't that too early for you?" Hawk questions, lifting an eyebrow.

"Nah. Got nothing better to do." He shrugs, leading the way into the building, heading for their shared office for the moment.

"Apart from solving the case?" His partner grins, following him in.

"Oh, yeah, of course. I'll be thinking about it whilst I shoot." He explains, dropping off his coat as he heads over the corridor to the shooting range, leaving Hawk alone in the office.

Shaking her head, she settles down at the large table, taking the case files in front of her and opening them, laying out all the necessary sheets of paper, before she finds her eyes wandering upwards. They swiftly find the lean figure of Cobra standing at the end of a range, his arms outstretched, Colt held in hand, face set in concentration. With each shot, his muscles tense and contract, the movements fluid and holding her attention, sweat beading on his bare arms from the heat in the building. Even from this distance, however, with or without the distraction of his well-built physique, it's obvious that his thoughts are elsewhere, his brow furrowed slightly as he thinks over the case notes in his head.

Keeping that in mind, Hawk starts to toil over the words in front of her, frowning at the information she's read over and over again, still unable to find a connection between the two victims, apart from their relationship with each other. They'd been through all the possible explanations: homophobia (the newest victims aren't openly homosexual, so the theory doesn't hold up), preference over women (one of the newest victims is male), ease of abduction (none of the victim's have been seen together with the suspect that's been described), with many other reasons appearing. None of them fit.

The hour goes by slowly, by which time Cobra has rejoined Hawk, sitting back in his seat as he thinks through possible motives, patterns and killers. Once it is time to go to the interview room, the two are relieved to leave the office, having made no progress at all.

Walking on to the interview room, neither of them say much, not expecting too much from this lead except a hopeful civilian looking to get involved in something "interesting". Upon reaching the door, they stop, waiting for their interviewee to be brought to them. It doesn't take long, a younger officer leading a confident woman along the corridor towards them, his face saying it all as she struts along behind him. Hawk has to suppress a sigh, knowing this won't be easy.

"Lieutenants, this is Hailey Lloyd. Ms Lloyd, this is lieutenant Cobretti and Lieutenant (Y/l/n). They will be taking the interview." The officer informs the witness, sounding tired.

"Nice to meet you." Hawk forces a smile, putting out a hand to shake, though Ms Lloyd already has her eyes fixed on Cobra.

"And you, and you." She replies, tone sharp as she ignores the outstretched hand in favour of shaking Cobretti's.

"Shall we go in?" He says, keeping his voice flat as he gestures to the room.

"Yes, yes, let's do that." Ms Lloyd nods, moving to go into the room as Cobra opens the door for her.

Over her shoulder, the two lieutenants exchange a glance.

Part Six

#cobra #cobra 1986 #marion cobretti #Marion cobretti x reader #sylvester stallone #sly stallone

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Text

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter two)

Huge thanks as always to my lovely friends @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Please reblog and use this link to leave a comment on the chapter over at ao3!

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Caleb has to figure out where he fits in the prince's life, all while grappling with memories and emotions he's supposed to have forgotten...

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Caleb had been warned how hard it would be.

Things were the same but they weren’t. He knew the people they passed in the walkways by nothing but their footfalls but couldn’t recall their names. He knew the way through the endless corridors but had forgotten where they would end. He could place the smells of old paper, cool stone, dust on gold, oak and the rich smells from the kitchen, but he couldn’t connect them to memories.

He was home but he wasn’t.

Every moment spoke of a different piece of himself that had been clipped away, different parts of his brain that had been worked free and thrown out, a patchwork blanket of missing pieces. Every other step deeper into the castle brought another ghost to the edges of his vision, but none that he could fully bring into focus and confront directly. The place was the same but he was different and it was knowing that which hurt the most.

Except it didn’t hurt. Because it wasn’t allowed to hurt.

Caleb closed his eyes as a whip cracked in the back of his mind.

But if it wasn’t allowed to hurt, what other words were there to describe how it felt to have the prince’s eyes on him? They had gone straight from the audience chamber to the open court that would take up the majority of the day, his highness seeming completely unsure what else to do. So now Caleb stood behind his gilded seat, a smaller, more subtle version of the king’s expansive throne, and watched as the prince heard not a word of anyone around him.

And watched as the courtiers stared at and whispered about him. The wayward companion returned to the prince’s side with no warning, no fanfare, rekindling all the rumours that had surrounded his swift departure from the palace. Caleb had been warned there would be attention, something that made him uncomfortable as a Volstruker, but he would have to endure it and repeat the same story, that he’d been away under specialised training to better protect the future king.

He was to consider it a further punishment for his past failures.

The court passed without incident, the room was clear of any threat save the angry muttering that accompanied any decisions the king made that were taken poorly by the supplicants. Which did happen to be most of them. It was quickly cured by the guardsmen inching closer, some needing to clear a few inches of steel from their scabbards to silence the dissent. Caleb didn’t so much as twitch. Some jobs were for common guardsmen, some were for Volstruker.

So it passed without incident. But it did pass. And that left him alone with the prince again.

As the throne room cleared, Caleb felt the king’s blue eyes settle on him and quickly dart away again. Nor could he look at his son for very long. It was as if Caleb’s presence was a rotten tooth, drawing their attention against both of their wills, reopening that old ache between them. Reminding them of ten years ago.

He remembered his highness sobbing, holding the blankets up to his chin, trembling beneath them. Caleb meanwhile has nothing to cover himself with, not even his own hands, with his arm in Sorah’s cruelly hard grip. Molly begs her not to hurt him, rages at her to release him, pleads to his father in between sobs but Babenon turns his back and tells Sorah in tones of cold iron to take Caleb to the dungeons and inform Ikithon. Molly lurches, at his father or for Caleb, it is hard to say, but a sudden back hand sends him crumbling to the torn bedclothes and Caleb doesn’t even get to see Molly’s face one last time before the door to the bedchamber slams closed.

A whip crack lanced painfully across the memory, ending it sharply. Caleb shook himself, digging his fingernails into his palm for some focus and followed his highness out of the side door into the royal family’s private apartments.

Here the hangings were much less severe, the carpets softer and torches a much more mellow gold. Here the tapestries didn’t depict bloody victories in war, they were scenes of beautiful Xorhasian wilderness, and accompanied by royal portraits where they were actually allowed to smile. Music echoed from somewhere, Queen Marion always had a spell ready in her chambers that she could call upon when the mood took her. He had resummoned it a few times, at his prince’s request, when he was younger.

Of course, he was bound to do all his highness asked of him.

The prince paused at a junction between hallways, shoulders tight, not turning. His voice was awkward, wavering, like it could snap at any moment.

“Jester...she’d prepared a welcome home party for you. All of our friends, Beau and Yasha, Fjord and Cad...Veth. They were going to surprise you. Do you...do you remember them?”

The breath in Caleb’s throat seemed to freeze. He remembered a laugh that always makes him feel like he belongs, hugs given freely that he at first tenses up to but then begins to accept and then to need. Snarky, smirking eyes, blows traded back and forth in the practise yard and out of it, the feeling he’d been so unfamiliar with but then realises it for what it is- having a sibling. A kind, low voice, light teasing, at first worrying that they were competing for Mollymauk’s affection but then quickly realising how wrong he is, glad to see her there every day. The smell of salt, tales of far off places he’d never seen but wanted to, a crooked smile that sparks an embarrassing crush in him early on, before he even dares hope that Molly’s heart might be heading in the same direction as his own. The smell of wet earth, soft fur, strange turns of phrase that make him smile, somehow effortlessly soothing the anxiety he always feels around medicine.

And Veth. Gods, Veth. The first face he sees when he arrives at the castle, still raw and terrified though he can’t show it. A gentle voice and kind eyes, clever hands. Sweetness when he needs it most. A piece of Blumenthal in this strange land, when he thought it had all been ripped away from him. The gods somehow deciding he deserved another chance at having a mother, after everything he’d-

The whip crack again, the throb of agony, the sharp inhalation. He managed not to stagger but clearly couldn’t control his face as well. The prince’s eyes grew tight in profile, the side of his mouth he could see turned down in something that, of not outright grief, was still in the same family.

“I’ll take you straight to my chambers. You can take some time to yourself and I...I’ll explain things to them,” he murmured.

And when it turned to full blown grief, Caleb would know the prince had given up on him completely. There would be no returning to what they had ten years ago.

Which was the idea. Of course.

“As you say, your highness,” Caleb nodded stiffly, feeling a spark of relief with guilt on it’s heels. He quashed them both swiftly.

The prince’s bedchamber brought more memories he had to fight off, both good and bad. Keeping one half at bay while trying to bring the other close to be the salt in his wound, his painful reminder, was hard enough that for a moment he didn’t realise his highness was even speaking to him.

Of course the castle’s decor couldn’t be changed at its core, the black, almost obsidian stone would stand long after any of them were gone. But somehow, as the prince stood in the centre of his chambers, he’d managed to make himself fit. The hangings were all the plum purples and bright golds that he loved, his jewellery hung on racks on the expansive dressing table, a stick of incense burned on the windowsill to fill the space with scents of amber and musk. His many swords were hanging from the walls, each hilt and scabbard more elaborate and jewel encrusted than the last, moon and star charts done on black vellum were stuck up around the window so he could look out and know what he was seeing. The light was warm, low and inviting.

And there were books. Not many but a few, one on the table open by the bedside, a few piled on the dressing table, one on the windowsill.

Caleb remembered, his prince, his Mollymauk, smiling across the table from him, confessing in a gentle voice that he’d never liked reading until he met Caleb and oh gods, Caleb fell in love so hard and so fast. He remembered mouthing the words along with Molly, watching his lips form the words, watching his brow wrinkle as he concentrated and did what so many tutors had told him he’d never be able to do just because Caleb had taken the time to teach him with some gentleness. He remembered Mollymauk excitedly recounting plots and characters to him, hands moving in the air to form the twists in the tales he enjoyed so much. And he remembered having to pull a book out of Molly’s hands to kiss him...

It was worse this time, the crack and snap in his head. It was getting worse every time. He was supposed to be better than this.

“Caleb?” the prince’s voice was full of panic, “Caleb, what hurts?”

There were hands on him, holding his arms tightly, and when he managed to open his eyes, the prince’s face was inches from his own. He could smell his perfume, he could see the red rims around the eyes where he’d wept, the edges of his tattoos. He felt every inch of worry and care in his prince’s eyes and he remembered, he remembered.

Caleb wrenched backwards out of the prince’s grip to the snap of a whip, so hard and fast that his back hit the far wall and a dull ache went up his spine. He heard a pained moan from the other man, looked up in time to see him retract his hands as quickly as if they’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the adornments in his horns ringing softly as he trembled, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It is not for you to apologise, your highness,” Caleb’s words were level, even as he panted and broke out in a sweat just from standing upright, “The fault is mine. The training I underwent may take some time to fully sink in but I assure you, I am cured of the madness that possessed me as a child. I am...I am ready to be your Volstruker. Wholly and completely.”

He had thought that would please the prince but found himself feeling no disappointment when it didn’t. His highness only gave a shaky sigh, pressed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes tight.

“I...I need you to know I’m not angry with you, Caleb,” he said after a long few moments of silence, “This is not your fault, none of it. And I will do everything I can to help you. It may just take me some time to work out what helps and what...what hurts.”

“Help me?” Caleb didn’t understand, “Your highness, I have been helped. My master and the other members of my order removed any trace of the degeneracy that poisoned me.”

“That made you love me,” the prince added, his voice twisted by pain as his eyes opened and fixed on Caleb’s face.

He swallowed hard, his training’s words suddenly difficult to bring forth, “It is not my role to...that is not my purpose. My purpose is to protect you, your highness. To serve you, to see you take the throne. To die for you.”

“You used to live for me, Caleb,” his prince whispered sorrowfully.

His mouth opened, his jaw worked soundlessly. He tried to summon the proper response, the words he’d been taught but he didn’t understand why his throat was closing to them.

Finally, he simply said, “My eyes were opened.”

The fight went out of the prince, his shoulders slumped and his eyes turned away, “I think I need to...rest. I will go speak to my friends and then turn in. I suggest you do the same.”

The sun had barely cleared it’s noon position but Caleb knew better than to question the prince. He was, of course, long past the age where his days were filled with lessons and tutors and instructors, he could do what he wished with his hours now.

He had grown into a fine heir these past ten years. And now Caleb was here to see him become a great king.

“As you wish, your highness. If I may ask, are my chambers still where they were when I left?”

“Your chambers?” the prince blinked at him uncomprehendingly, “You...you haven’t used those since you were ten. You always…”

This time, he was strong enough to fight the memories off. He did not think of a handful of cold, lonely nights in his own sparse, stone room that were peppered with nightmares. He did not think of the one night where Mollymauk- the prince- took his hand as he was about to retire and confessed shyly that he could hear him crying out in the night, that he had nightmares sometimes too since he’d had to move out of his mama’s apartments, and asked if he would like to share his bed instead. So they could be there for each other. He did not think of years and years worth of another warm body in silk sheets beside him, arms around him when the nightmares came, though much more infrequently. He did not think of the blankets pulled up over his head so he and his best friend could whisper and giggle and gossip until the dawn. And he did not think of shy glances, blushes that began to rise on his face for reasons he wasn’t sure of yet, he did not think of hundreds of nights that were spent in perfect innocence until they weren’t.

He did not think of the first and last time they made love in that bed, on Mollymauk’s eighteenth birthday, thinking they had made themselves their own little world within its silken hangings, a world where they could have everything they wanted even if everyone else said no.

Caleb did not think of any of it. He felt the pinch of someone else’s satisfaction.

“It is my place, your highness,” he said simply.

The prince swallowed hard and lifted a limp hand to indicate the door Caleb remembered, concealed behind a tapestry and a veil of magic to hide its existence from any potential thieves or assassins coming to threaten his charge.

“Many thanks,” Caleb dipped into a low bow, “Please call on me should you require anything.”

He had little memories of the room itself but there was a strong sense of familiarity to it, he’d slept on spare stone bunks like this at the Volstruker training grounds and the Soltryce Academy as a very young boy. It reminded him again who he was and what he was here to do, as he set down his small bag of belongings and hung his knives up on the wall rack, alongside his belt of magical ingredients.

He was here to protect the prince. And now he was cured, that was precisely what he intended to do.

The next weeks were difficult, it would be impossible for Caleb to admit otherwise, though he did all he could to not show it on his face.

It was rather like being at a funeral where he was the corpse.

It was impossible to avoid the prince’s friends. Not when they consisted of the princess, the master at arms, a captain in the royal fleet, the palace healer and the head of the household staff. And when one was second only to himself in hours spent at the prince’s side. They didn’t spend time as a group, like they would as children, and Caleb knew with a strong guilty kind of sadness that it was because of him, the ghost at the feast. But the prince had dealings with them all, of course, and in these stiff, awkward times they would glance at Caleb helplessly, like he was a drowning man just off shore and they had no idea how to save him.

They would eventually realise that he didn’t require it. They would. Jester’s eyes would stop spilling over every time she came to see her brother, Beau would stop nearly snapping her staff to splinters as she watched him spar alone while the prince trained at blades, Caduceus would stop murmuring prayers at his back. And Veth...well, Veth was avoiding him altogether.

Caleb expected it to grow easier over time, that was what he’d been told. That the memories which assaulted him and tried to drag him away from his purpose would fade over time, as he grew used to their temptations and overcoming them. And if asked, he would insist, stone faced, that they were.

They were just also growing more frequent.

He did expect to be asked. His master was in the castle, though they didn’t see each other much in the fast running currents of royal life. Currents that the prince did his level best to steer away from the former archmage, not difficult to do when his master spent nearly all his days in the lab he’d constructed in one of the far towers. That certainly hadn’t changed in the intervening ten years, something that Caleb found himself rather glad of, though he quickly admonished himself for that. He just couldn’t have those harsh, yellow eyes on him, whether it was from across the main hall at a banquet or in the close council chambers whenever his master was called on, without remembering that his most shameful, weakest moments were stored behind them.

But Caleb wasn’t fool enough to think that just because he so rarely saw his master, he wasn’t under scrutiny. More times than he wanted to think about, he felt Sorah’s blank, empty gaze on him and he would feel the throb of an old bruise on the top of his arm, one he didn’t think would fade with time.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. Of course.

Every day became much the same. He would wake before the prince, usually after a night of difficult dreams, and spend the intervening time going through his war mage’s books, storing several powerful spells that would best serve him in protecting the prince that day. Ones to turn back dangerous beasts if they were going hunting, ones to effortlessly memorise any information if there was to be a council meeting, ones to walk on water if they were going sailing. And always the usual ones, for driving back poisons, quickening his reflexes, allowing him to pass unnoticed.

He’d always excelled at the magical side of his calling, right from when he was young, only really needing to work hard at the pure weapon aspect of it. Which was why, once his spells were stored, he would spend the rest of the pre dawn hours practising with his knives in his room, using spells to summon ghostly foes to fight against.

By the time he had killed hundreds of times over, it would be a simple matter of washing in cold water, dressing in his uniform and slipping into the prince’s bed chamber to be ready for when he awoke.

The rest of the day would depend on the prince’s schedule. It would seem the duties of a crown prince had piled up somewhat in the space of ten years, there was very little free time to be found in their days. Public events, councils, open courts, banquets and hunts and expeditions held by courtiers wishing to curry favour, they would often be part of the king’s retinue or else dispatched to stand in his place for all those invitations he didn’t have the time to answer but couldn’t afford to ignore. It would seem the king was keeping his heir close, quite deliberately putting him on display.

And Caleb could all too easily read the effect that was having on the prince. Though he kept on a carefully constructed mask of joviality and charm, helped by all the silks and low cut samites and dripping gemstones, Caleb saw him in his moments out of the performance too.

He saw how he’d shift uncomfortably at some of his father’s decisions in the open court, how his shoulders would tense when the king would dismiss the diplomats from other kingdoms with words sharper and more offensive than necessary. He felt the waves of distrust coming off the prince when one of the king’s financiers would wave away any questions he asked about the state of royal coffers. He heard the tense exchanges between him and King Babenon, in hallways and anterooms and side chambers, when they could be certain they were heard only by their Volstruker, conversations that ended in angry curses from both father and son, neither of them happy when the prince inevitably flinched first.

Sometimes it was enough that Caleb would hear the echoed crack of a fierce backhanded slap, a decade old now. Judging by the prince and king’s expressions at the end of these tense, clipped exchanges, he didn’t think he was the only one to hear it.

And he took note of how the prince would steal snatches of time alone where he could, purposefully wandering away from the group on a hunt to take a moment’s breath of silent forest air from the tree’s edge or stepping right up to the end of the jetty as they’d load off the royal barge so he could close his eyes and hear nothing but the crash of the waves for just a minute. These moments would always be fleeting but Caleb got the sense that they were all that got the prince through the day.

And once or twice, Caleb would feel those red eyes on him as if he was going to reach out to him, to share his momentary peace with him, but it would only ever be a few seconds before he remembered and the eyes would flit away, to focus again on whatever the prince was looking at out in the wilderness.

The days were much the same. But they weren’t getting any easier.

Caleb thought that with a bitter touch of frustration that he’d admonished himself for before it was even fully formed. The door to his chamber closed with its usual hiss of reforming magic, closing him off from the prince if not from the gulf between them. He disrobed quickly, letting the heavy, black material pool on the floor without much care. The runes woven into the fabric repelled stains and creases about as well as they repelled the points of knives and antagonistic spells.

Once down to his undershorts, he allowed himself a selfish moment just to sit and feel the full weight of things, sinking down onto his, honestly, hideously uncomfortable bed. The only thing preventing him from cracking under that same weight every day was telling himself that it would get better. That he’d get stronger, better, that he’d shake off the weaknesses he’d been cursed with.

But each day was exactly like the other, the same memories trying to drag him to places he wasn’t allowed to go, the same sad eyes on him from his former friends who wanted him to be a person he wasn’t allowed to be.

And the prince, his sad, lonely, frightened prince, hiding everything behind a mask.

Caleb wasn’t sure how many more days like this he could take.

He cleaned his weaponry to take his mind off things, neatly labelling and shelving his host of fears and anxieties and closing the doors on them through the easy, regular pass of the whetstone over the blades of one knife after the other. It was mindless and repetitive, giving him some kind of reprieve, even if sleep was and would remain a long way off. Sometimes it was better for him to just skip it entirely, to just let his brain switch off like this until the new day began. Certainly some of the dreams he’d been having lately made him very anxious to limit the amount of time he was at their mercy.

Volstruker don’t need sleep the same way mortal men do, he told himself though it didn’t really sound like his voice in his mind, because we are not mortal men. We are more and we are less. We are beings of magic. Does magic need sleep? Does magic need jealousy, hate, does magic need love, Caleb Widogast? Because if you would like to argue that point then get up off the floor, cease that pathetic crying and make your case for the Volstruker inviting this weakness into our ranks. No? I thought not. Then do your best to remember your manhood and remember the vows you made in exchange for your life, what little value it has.

Or are you not one of us?

Caleb’s grip on the knife hilt tightened, his knuckles white.

The candle was a few inches shorter than it had been before. There was a growing pool of pale wax threatening to gutter it, to drown it within itself, giving Caleb an odd sense of kinship with the thing. When he managed to unclench his fist from around his knife and push back his hair, he found himself sweating slightly, his shoulders hitching with breaths deeper than they had any right to be. To his shame, his cheeks were wet and it was all he could do to hold back further sobs.

Are you not one of us?

The sobs hadn’t ceased and a bitter fury at himself rose in his chest. Until he realised the sounds weren’t his own. They were coming from behind the door that separated his and the prince’s chambers.

Instincts flared to life with an audible crackle. Caleb swept up the knife he’d been holding, lurching to grab the next closest one that was at its fullest, most wicked sharpness. Not even needing to speak aloud, he let his magic run down each of them like hot lava, igniting the poison in one and the ghostly flame on the other. He didn’t pause for his cloak or to raise any kind of shield spell. There wasn’t time for such luxuries when something was threatening his prince.

He chose stealth over an all out assault, he was no Eadwulf and knew his strengths. But it was hard, so hard, when another sob found it’s way from his prince’s throat to his ears, when images of him being hurt, being threatened surged up like vomit, consuming him with a kind of bloodlust and fury he knew he was supposed to feel as a war mage but had never been able to truly summon. Only when someone hurt Mollymauk.

But as he slipped through the magical barrier between their rooms, feeling it’s power stick to his skin like a veil of honey, and sank into the room’s thick shadows, he could see no assailant. His mind flicked through other possibilities- invisible wraiths, malicious dreamwalkers, a deadly poison only not taking hold- but after a few seconds lurking in the dark, like a snake, he could sense no kind of murderous presence, visible or invisible, flesh or magic.

Only his prince, curled in on himself in the middle of his expansive bed, the sheets wrapped tight around him like strangling bonds. Only his soft sobs, his face contorted in misery as his chest rose and fell harshly, his eyes tight shut. Instantly, he recognised it for what it was.

Caleb didn’t think. He didn’t allow himself to question his choice, to filter it through other people’s voices. He just let his knives drop to the carpet, where they made twin, muffled thuds, and moved swiftly to his prince’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and gently pushed the hair back from his damp forehead, shushing him as softly as the whisper of a candle flame. A split second’s thought and the candles closest to the bed leapt to life, cutting through the thick black of the night and bathing them in warm gold. So he could see with perfect clarity as Mollymauk’s eyes opened slowly, at first seeing only whatever had been terrifying him, but then gradually focusing and letting the nightmare turn to smoke.

“It’s alright, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured, hand still cupping his face, “It was just a bad dream.”

“Caleb…” Molly’s voice was weak and raspy with hours of sleep, he tried to rise, “You’re okay. Thank the gods, I saw...I heard…”

He shook himself, deliberately breathing slowly and deeply. He’d taught Caleb the same trick, years ago, for when he began to panic.

“You’re right. It was just a bad dream.”

He sighed then, leaning into Caleb’s touch, bringing one hand up to settle over the wizard’s and twin their fingers together. His lips pursed slightly, turned to the scarred fingers he held so tightly…

And then they both realised when they were.

The two of them froze, guilt leaping onto both faces, frantic apologies rising to both lips. But neither quite managed to give them voice, seeing their expression mirrored back at them.

“Your highness…” Caleb spoke first, shakily, unable to make his hand withdraw.

“You...you called me Mollymauk just now,” his prince- the prince- breathed, hope dawning in his tired eyes.

Gods, anything but that. Anything but hope. Caleb knew exactly how hope could be turned into the most painful weapon, a poison you’d gladly gulp down only to have it burn worse than anything.

“I...I wasn’t thinking,” he confessed, “I only wanted to help you, when I saw you in such distress…”

The prince sighed, shoulders slumping. He let go of Caleb’s hand, hugging his knees to his chest and suddenly looking all of his mere twenty eight years and not very much like a crown prince at all. Was ten years really as great a distance as all that? Hadn’t they just been boys, when Caleb had last blinked?

“I won’t put you through any more pain, Caleb, I swear that to you,” he told his knees, unable to lift his head until the moment he whispered, “But...is there any hope for us? Is there anything of the man I loved left in you?”

Yes, a bruised and broken and bleeding part of Caleb groaned, straining towards the touch of that warm skin again. But there was also the crack of the whip, echoing through the dark spaces. And from here, the voice sounded so, so small and frail in comparison.

“I am yours,” he finally said, voice low, “Here, as I am now, I can be yours, my prince. The man I was, he was taken away from you and always would have been. They would never have let us be. But now…any life with you in it is better than one without.”

That was the truth at least. Close enough to the right words that there was no sound of any whip crack.

“A life where your mind is not your own,” there was bitterness in his prince’s voice, “A life where you can be hurt at one vile man’s whims. A life where you can’t be yourself and live as you will.”

Caleb met his prince’s eyes, “A life not so dissimilar from yours?”

His mouth fell open and Caleb winced, certain for a moment that he’d overstepped himself, that he was about to feel a fury worthy of Babenon’s heir. But then a rueful sigh escaped and his prince only sat back against the headboard, eyes sad.

“I suppose it isn’t...but that does not make it right. And it does not mean I’m giving up on you, Caleb.”

He did not trust himself to answer right away. Carefully, carefully, like dodging traps that would spring if he moved too fast, finding the right balance between what he wanted to say and what he was permitted to say.

“You never did, my prince.”

That made him smile, a tired smile but a true one, no mask between them. Each of them knew the other was telling the truth. It felt good, being truthful.

“Would you permit me to stay here for the rest of the night, your highness? I don’t feel right leaving you alone, if you were to have another nightmare I want to be here for you,” Caleb asked gently.

The prince’s lip curled up on one side, “Here? In my bed?”

“It’s the best place for me to protect you, your highness,” Caleb nodded firmly, face straight though something inside him thrilled.

“Very well,” he chuckled, sinking back down into the expanse of the feather mattress, resting back into the same curled ball he’d always slept in, “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Sleep well, Mollymauk,” he replied, voice soft, unable to parse the feelings that rose up in him when his words sent the prince to sleep with a smile on his face. For now, he just allowed himself to enjoy them. He was allowed to take pride in his work after all.

Volstruker did not need sleep the way mortal men did. And that night, as Caleb spent the long, dark hours watching as his prince slept peacefully, untouched by any more nightmares, he was so glad of that fact.

#widomauk #royal au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #tw: physical abuse #angst #please reblog and leave a comment!

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seafleece · 4 years

Text

(a hanahaki au, sort of)

here’s the thing, right, there are illnesses you can only get if you’ve had a different form of them before.

they sit in you, after you deal with them the first time, after you crest that hill. your fever breaks, you get up again, and you take solace in the funny knack bodies have for surviving, for healing.

then, a couple years down the line— a couple decades, if you’re lucky— something happens. you have a bad week, a bad month, and it’s like it never left you.

—

“beauregard.”

she doesn’t move.

“beauregard.”

doesn’t need to— she’ll open it herself, in a moment or two— just more efficient, really.

“i’m coming in.”

mom opens the door and just stands there for a long moment. she doesn’t turn around, even, just keeps staring at the wall like she’s actually been sulking this whole time. she’s learning how to hold it over her.

“i’m sorry.”

she says nothing.

“do you have anything to say to me?”

the floorboards press down as mom approaches the bed, sits on the edge.

“it’s rude not to look at someone while they’re talking to you, beauregard.”

she starts crying before she turns around, hot silent tears, knows it’ll throw mom off. she’s learning that mom doesn’t prepare for her to actually feel something when she speaks to her— at least, not anything she doesn’t want her to feel.

“i— i said i was sorry, beauregard—“ panic twists on her face, panic and fear. she reaches out and thinks better of it. “but it’s not all my fault. if you’d have just been ready in time, i wouldn’t have to yell. you know i just want you to be ready so you don’t make your father angry, you know that. i don’t want him to be angry at you.”

then why don’t you do anything when he is, she doesn’t say.

(he said he wanted a son. don’t you care?)

“can you say you’re sorry?” mom asks, voice gentle for the first time.

“‘m sorry.” it feels torn from her before it’s fully grown. before she has a chance to feel it.

“there we go. may i have a hug?”

she buries her face in mom’s shirt, tears fast and hot.

this is the worst part, she thinks. because it means they’re done talking about it.

—

“i knew this was all you would ever do,” thoreau lionett says. “we tried so hard with you, and you still did this to us.”

she stares at him as the crownsguard goes and gets the keys for her manacles. she can feel a bead of blood tracking down her forehead, cool, and soaks in the sensation of it like it has any of the catharsis of crying.

i wanted to travel, she thinks, for you. i wanted to take some bottles from that good year to zadash, where they have the big harvest close market. maybe i’d even make it to rexxentrum. i’m not the one who said no.

didn’t you give up trying, she thinks, when i wasn’t a boy? didn’t you give up before i could even try?

“yeah,” she says instead. “looks like you were right.”

the crownsguard takes her manacles off with the glassy sound of grainy metal on grainy metal. she bends her hands at the wrist one way, and then the other, the crack of joints orphic and loud in the quiet hall.

“get your things,” dad says, almost spits. “we’re going home,” and he says home like the definition doesn’t quite reach all the way to her.

he’s always said it like that, she thinks, like she’s the one who made it that way.

i wanted to make you rich. i wanted to make you proud.

her chest hurts.

—

“wow, you really let him get to you, huh?”

the sand pit monitor bends down to look her in the eyes, squinting. there’s a smirk curling at the edge of her mouth, like it’s funny.

“no,” she says, because her tone makes it sound like she shouldn’t have.

“kid, he’s gone. it’s just you, now, just you and me. doesn’t matter why you’re here. you have the chance to make something out of it, if you let it go.”

it sounds nice when she says it. like it’s something she could do.

“alright—” and the monitor cracks her neck. blocks her face with her forearms. “let’s go again.”

let go, she thinks, and doesn’t.

she sees her moment coming like it’s brought to her by the gods, sweeps the monitor’s leg and sends her flat on her back in the sand.

she struggles to her feet. “see, there you go. just gotta let go.”

“yup,” beau says, and gives the monitor a hand, and doesn’t tell her that she can taste blood because she bit down on her tongue.

—

“jeez,” fjord says. “so sensitive,” and she wants to fucking punch him.

he’s still smiling like it doesn’t mean anything, like the sound of it isn’t like teeth in her.

she can feel it in her, the urge to cry. tries to think about making her mind go blank— it doesn’t matter what it is, they always say, your response can always be controlled. it doesn’t matter why you’re upset, because you can choose not to be.

(fjord and jester, they think she’s a monk. she’s a monk, right? did all the training, and stuff, but that’s, like, one of their whole things. how making your mind go blank is supposed to let you see more clearly, how it can heal you, and she’s never felt that, not once. it’s just something wrong with her, right, it’s gotta be?)

then, something funny happens. the lump in her throat, that tickly herald of angry tears, it turns into a rasp, and she starts to cough.

“beau?” jester asks, from up ahead. “you okay?”

she doubles back and rubs her hands together until they glow, round face scrunched with worry, and the itch in her throat subsides, leaving only the ghost of an ache.

“yup,” she says. “just fine, jessie. don’t waste your spells.”

fjord looks worried, too, when she glances over at him, but then jester bumps into her with a shoulder.

“beau,” she says, like it’s obvious. “it wouldn’t be a waste.”

no? she almost says, almost lets it slip that she really isn’t sure it wouldn’t be, and doesn’t.

—

“i’m sorry, beau.”

“pretty sure i should be sayin’ that to you, jes.”

they’re curled in the belly of the cart together, towards the back. further up, caleb and nott are dozing, totally spent, and fjord’s sharing the driver’s seat with mr. clay, their words blurred together in a low, gravelly buzz.

“it’s not your fault, beau,” jester says, even though tears are sliding down her face sideways, getting lost in her hair and falling into her mouth. “it’s not anyone’s fault.”

“yeah,” she says, and reaches for jester’s hands. “i’m still sorry, though. how come you’re sorry?”

jester looks right in her eyes. “molly loved you a lot.”

“oh—” and her throat winds shut. “you think so?”

“i know so, beau.”

she doesn’t speak for a moment. doesn’t want to speak badly of the dead, but she’s the least afraid of saying it to jester:

“maybe he should’ve said it once or twice.”

jester’s eyebrows scrunch further together— not really a frown, just concern.

“i think he thought you’d see it.”

“yeah,” and she’s crying, too, now. “i wish i did.”

“it’s not your fault you didn’t— he could be pretty mean. people don’t always know how to show it so other people can see it, you know? but he did.”

she doesn’t say anything, just pulls jester’s hands a little closer to herself.

“it’s not your fault you don’t think it’s love when someone’s mean to you, beau.”

“i—”

“i can tell, you know. i wish fjord could. he wouldn’t give you such a hard time if he knew it hurt you like that.”

jester wriggles closer so she can wrap her arms around beau.

“i won’t ever do that, i promise.”

“okay,” she says into the crown of jester’s head, and falls asleep like that.

—

she has a wicked coughing fit that night, goes and sticks her head outside of the dome to try and keep from waking anyone else up.

she thinks about it, about fjord making the horses go so she has to run to catch up, molly laughing when he’d successfully pissed her off.

that’s love, she thinks, that’s what love looks like. just gotta learn to see it, and then she coughs up blood.

and if jester does that, too, forgets, well, she won’t blame her.

—

she gets used to it.

maybe it’s because she didn’t have siblings, you know? from what caduceus says, she thinks, that’s just how siblings are. they love each other without saying it. maybe if she’d had one— if her parents had had the son they wanted earlier, when she was still around, maybe she’d get it.

fjord lets up, a little. she hopes jester didn’t talk to him about it— doesn’t want to miss out on any of it— if this is the kind of love fjord wants to give, then she wants to soak it in like flowers in summer, wants to know that it’s all around her, that it’s for her, even if it aches at first. she didn’t get the chance with molly, so she’ll take it now.

he calls her his first mate and she knows she’s doing better.

caleb is easier— she thinks they might be the same way. they can practice with each other. she hauls him up after a nasty fight, while flames are still licking up the grass where bodies have fallen, and thinks of the little boy in the lionett manor, thinks of holding him up, over her head, where mom and dad can’t reach.

(nott, though, is gonna take some time. she still can’t really tell if nott thinks she’s good for anything other than watching out for caleb. and, well, maybe she isn’t, but at least she’ll be damn good at that.)

and jester hasn’t broken her promise, yet. she even tells nott off, calls beau pretty and smiles like it’s easy, like she believes it, like she knows how it makes her feel.

if she’d had to place bets on which would stop, jester wanting to be her roommate or jester talking about fjord, beau never would have bet on herself, but somehow that’s sort of just how it turns out— jester says she loves her, on the deck, in the rain, and asks her about nott and yeza and blushes furiously, and tusk love never comes back out of her haversack. the first time they meet marion lavorre she eyes fjord up and down so fiercely beau wonders just how many messages jester’s sent to her about him, but the second time they visit it almost feels like she turns that gaze on beau.

wishful thinking, she chalks it, shakes off the thought and heads down the hall to jester’s room.

—

she gets sick when they go to kamordah.

she wants mom and dad to be like she remembered— it’d be easy, right, then, to just give up on them. to throw herself the rest of the way into these new people, and learning how to learn how they love her.

mom’s what she expects, at first— she holds it like a shield, dad being awful, like it’s a burden only she’s got to carry, like she doesn’t have another entire person to care for. she’s so surprised they’d even told tj about her that she starts crying when he runs to her.

she plans what she’ll say to mom on their way out— she’ll turn to mom and say that she had better do more to make sure tj’s okay than she had with beau, because maybe she’s not what they wanted, but he is, and they should at least care for the things they wanted.

but then dad goes and says all the shit he never seemed to be able to when she needed it. says he’s proud of her like she’d gone off to school, like it had been her choice. like that’s what she meant to do, to make him proud.

for a moment, she almost wonders if maybe it was.

he says she wouldn’t come home just to see them like it’s funny, like it’s something mutually understood. like she’d chosen to leave— and she only pauses because the way he says it almost, almost reminds her of fjord, saying something that he knows will get to her because it’s a sign that he knows her, and there’s another moment where she wonders, again, if she’s been wrong. if that’s what it was.

but then jester pulls her aside.

—

she loves jester— don’t tell nott, she’s sunk on her so far the fishhook feels like just another part of her mouth— and she knows jester’s right, but it’s funny, she tells her almost exactly what the cobalt soul used to, and it’s like ice water down her spine.

(beauregard, dairon tells her, i think the soul has taught you that anger is wrong.

isn’t it, though, she says, and ducks both of dairon’s fists, makes you sloppy and all that?

anger can make you sloppy, yes. it can be fleeting, and can lead you astray when you mistake it for strength. but anger is not wrong.

they catch beau’s fists, one in each hand, easy because beau feels the fight, the fire draining out of her.

anger is what you feel, beau, she says. no one can tell you that what you feel is wrong.

beau cries in the makeshift training pit and dairon lets her.)

“yeah,” she says to jester, “okay,” and for the first time in months, feels the urge to cough.

—

it gets worse all the way to the witch’s hut, this feeling of something growing. like when caduceus casts that funny spell he has and mushrooms sprout in seconds, not days— natural, but unnatural, that’s what it’s like.

she thinks isharnai can see it in her, whatever it is— her eyes from under the snarly curtains of hair glitter like nott’s used to, like she’s seized on something precious.

and, well, whatever’s precious to her can’t be good for beau.

when she thinks jester gave her something in kind, it crawls up almost to her throat and she starts wheezing— she should have done it, she thinks, should’ve protected jester, should’ve protected all of them.

but jester’s so fucking smart, always, and instead she just cries in front of everyone and tastes blood and knows that something is wrong.

jester gets angry with her, and she’s trying to decide whether to say hey, i finally got to see it or are you breaking your promise when she falls backwards.

—

she wakes up in rosohna, in their bed.

there’s a faint strain of caduceus’s artificial sunlight that almost makes her think she can gauge what time it might be by looking out the window, but then she remembers.

or, rather, she tries to roll out of bed to look out the window, fails miserably, and remembers as she takes ragged, gasping breaths into a pillow that it wouldn’t matter anyway.

she passes out again.

—

“—just don’t understand why she didn’t tell us she was sick! they said it’s really dangerous, and it was all this time, how could she not tell us? how could she not tell me?”

she wonders if jester’s trying to wake her up by yelling. she can hear tears in her voice, shakes and tries not to open her eyes.

“jester,” caduceus says. “i don’t think she knew.”

—

“beau.”

she doesn’t move.

“beau? i know you’re awake, i can tell. your breathing’s different. i know by now, you know.”

both of jester’s hands are around one of hers. she doesn’t open her eyes, just squeezes, and jester squeezes back immediately.

jester takes a deep breath. “okay, i— we brought you back to see a doctor here, and they said you have, like, plants in your lungs. caduceus hasn’t even heard of it, that’s how i knew it was bad, but apparently you can get it if—”

a sob tears through her voice and she stops completely. beau can feel her shaking right down to where she’s still holding her hand, and opens her eyes.

jester looks fucking miserable— she doesn’t think she’s seen her cry this much since she scried on yasha, cheeks dark, eyes wild.

“you get it when people don’t love you enough.”

oh.

she opens her mouth— to apologize, for being selfish, for all their love not being enough— but nothing really comes out.

right.

plants.

jester would have cut her off anyway, she lets go of beau’s hand and leans forward, gripping the sheets— “and i told fjord, i told him and nott that they shouldn’t be so mean to you, and i said if yasha doesn’t love you like you love her then she’s stupid and missing out because you’re perfect, beau, really, everyone should love you. i hate that they don’t, i don’t— i wish i could be enough.”

she keeps leaning forward, and beau can see just how long she must have been crying— there are tears beading together under her chin, and soaking into the front and lap of her dress.

“they said it only happens like this if you’ve had it before, and i hate that it must have been your mom and dad, i’m so sorry, i wish i’d just told you they didn’t deserve you instead of that you should forgive them, that’s what i meant, they don’t deserve you and they shouldn’t be allowed to have a kid at all if they did this to you, we’ll go back and get tj as soon as you’re better and he can live with momma and yeza and luc in the chateau—” she finally pauses to breathe, wet things, gasping and desperate. “people should have loved you your whole life, beau. i love you so much, you know, but i shouldn’t be the first one.”

she feels like she could say something, then, opens her mouth and almost immediately spits blood down the length of the bed.

“oh, gods, oh gods, beau, hang on,” and jester runs out of the room, comes back in with a thin metal dish of some kind— “here, it’s gonna be okay,” and she cries and rubs beau’s back while she coughs, blood first, then leaves, petals, until she’s retching entire plants into the basin.

when she’s done, her chest feels empty, hollow like her lungs had been somewhere in there. she smiles at jester, bloody and tired, and falls back against the pillows.

—

that night, jester carries her into the bathroom down the hall and runs a bath.

(“i know it looks bad, jester,” caduceus says, tilting the basin and peering into it, “but this is actually a very good sign.”)

she knows it’s late because everyone’s in bed— they all ducked in, briefly, to smile watery smiles at the two of them and say they love beau. it’s the first time for some of them but she doesn’t mind— but are asleep now, and the house is quiet except for the faucet and jester humming.

jester pulls a stool right up next to the big clawfoot tub while beau gets in, sinks down and tips her head against the lip.

she watches beau for a minute with big, dark eyes.

“it’s okay if you don’t know why— i know you didn’t even know you had this— but was it because i said i loved you? why all the plants came loose?”

“yeah,” she says, head still tilted back. she feels drowsy, still, heavy and warm, and jester looks hopeful more than anything. “i think so.”

“oh.”

jester looks into her lap for a long moment, purple spreading across her face like wine on fabric. so pretty, always so pretty, beau thinks, and when jester just blushes deeper she realizes she must have said it out loud.

then, she looks up.

“can i kiss you?”

“yeah.”

jester cries a little when she kisses her, shakes like she’s cold, except beau know she doesn’t get cold. after a long moment, she pulls away and swipes at her eyes, strips down to just her smallclothes and climbs in and just holds beau against her.

water gets everywhere, but she doesn’t really think anyone will mind. beau’s knees knock the sides of the tub when she sits up to crawl further into jester’s lap, and they stay there for a long time.

#HEYO #wrote this in like 3 hours what's up #my writing #critical role #beaujester #beaujes #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #long post #blood mention #ask to tag #sickness mention #the mighty nein #hanahaki au

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lucarioisinthevoid · 4 years

Note

both puppets, Scraptrap, Scrap baby, music man, normal chica, mr. hippo, and finally nightmare fredbear. we need a good mix, you know?

(Thanks for the request, I will get jumpscared SO bad and I’m excited to find out by who. Edit: No longer excited, hated it, I needed to pay attention to the audio because of Chica and Marion, hope the chapter will be more fun for it. Full disclosure, in my first run I died ten seconds in due to Nightmarionne, so- I did a second one that escalated just as badly. I’m an idiot, RIP Henry. Warning for a tiny bit of torture at the end, not TOO prolonged, but it’s gonna be there!)

“Alright.” Henry sat there with Helpy in front of a giant spreadsheet, showing little portrays of all the animatronics. “Am I actually supposed to believe that Foxy can throw in all of his parts one by one? And then repair himself to attack me?” “Yep!” The little bear happily confirmed. “… I do not have a choice aside from accepting it, do I?” “Yep!” “And how do I tell that he is here?” “A little figure on your desk! If it’s Bonnie, Bonnie is out, if there is Foxy, Foxy is out!” “Why… is Bonnie in Foxy’s cove?” Helpy shrugged. “Funtime Foxy doesn’t share, so there’s only one cove.” MY GOD. THERE WAS ONLY ONE COVE- Irritated Henry frowned, but he chose to ignore it. “… is there a way for me to tell who is there in general? I feel like having to check every single place on the camera is somewhat difficult and rather unfair.” Before he could say anything, the sheet turned grey, only leaving a selected few of them bright and colorful. His eyes went from one portray of the Marionette to the other. “… why thank you.” Helpy looked at the selection, frowning a little. “Oh… that’s… that’s not good. Uhm, Mr. Miller?” The man had stood up by now, making his way towards the door. “… yes?” “… you should keep the global music box on for tonight. B-but not too loud!” “… thanks you for the advice.” With that he exited the room, the weirdly cold main area greeting him instead. Making his way right towards the office, his mind was buzzing with a few questions to himself. These questions were only amplified when he entered the now more normal seeming office, seeing a rather familiar face. “You.” “Me!” Cheerfully Scrap Baby responded. “Good to see you again, bitchass.” “Excuse me-“ “Apology accepted.” She put her skaters on the table, waiting for Henry to sit down on the other side- which he did, seeing as he hardly had another choice. “Look at you. MISERABLE. I love it!” “… and I enjoy seeing you all scrapped up, made out of trash and metal scraps. However, I have the satisfaction of knowing that you are in this condition because of me. You, however, do not.” Leaning over, the girl let her claw snap. “… you are a brave boy, Miller… let’s see how brave you’ll be when I test how easily I can behead you with my claw!” Henry’s hand was hovering over the button for the electronic shock and she noted, leaning back again. He had the shock, she had her claw… it was only a matter of time to see who could react quicker. A raspy, broken voice sounded from the back. “Wow… look at you two… getting along like a house on fire… I almost don’t want to interrupt… a l m o s t.” Instantly Henry looked down, flipping up the monitor to activate the global music box and reset the ventilation, as well as spotting the animatronic in the duct system and quickly placing a lure. The nightmarish animatronic chuckled. “Oh, Henry… don’t you want to look at me…?” “Seeing as it will take me life… no.” Despite his words, he sneaked a short glance at the creature- it was hard to ignore, so giant and unnatural, his curiosity was begging him to take a look. “… as much as I hate to be rude.” His head felt feverish, there was something wrong. Baby was from his old home. She referred to the things they had gone through together. Not that it was much, but it was there. And then there was the monstrous creature, one he knew could exist, but never came to fruition. This place of course wasn’t tied to time and space, but it seemed this place wasn’t even tied to a single-strained reality. It would also explain why everyone seemed to know him. That threw up a few more questions though, for example, if the souls roaming were actually- He could hear the global music box playing, as well as Chica’s rummaging in the back. When he lowered the camera again, he stared to the side, trying his hardest to not look at the creature, while keeping an eye on Baby and her position. “… you will look. Eventually. I know. You know. Why are you drawing out the inevitable, Henry? I thought you hated that.” “It is not inevitable.” Henry said, his voice full of confidence, but his eyes remained on the corner to the side. If he just kept the routine up, then- … dear god. The power was draining a little bit too quickly for his liking. Was the music box this much of a strain? It wasn’t too bad yet, if he kept things going it might would be tight, but not impossible- Out of nowhere an obnoxious voice sounded. "Uh-oh! How unfortunate! Uh-oh! How unfortunate! I know how much you like to fight, so I'll add a new problem to your night!" Snapping around, Henry spotted a girl- ANOTHER DAMN BALLOON CHILD- stand in a corner, snickering to herself, watching him with glee. “Wh-what!? Who are you?” But as he asked that, the entire screen started to rumble and quake, something was coming from the left, it was coming FAST, it must have been something INCREDIBLE RAGEFUL and in a blind panic he smashed all the doors to that side close. The lights flickered off for a second and the Balloon Girl disappeared- the creature however had been locked out. It felt like it was too close- his brain wasn’t supposed to react that panicked! Had that been Dave? Really? It sounded like- His mind was a mess. The Nightmarionette chuckled, now lounging at the right side of the office. For some reason Baby snickered too. “What is so funny?!” He hissed, quickly flipping through the cameras, checking the vents and airduct cameras, trying desperately to find who this creature had added- Then his eyes lowered down to the energy that was being wasted. Rapidly it decreased. No, no, the global music box couldn’t be draining THIS much power, right?! Was it even possible to keep the global music box playing all night? Twenty-four percent at two AM. No way he could do it. Frustrated he looked to the side, wondering who exactly would come for him once the lights were out. Would the puppet or Chica come into the office? Taking revenge for being deprived of their other form of entertainment? He hadn’t seen the Nightmare Fredbear for the entirety of the night, something that slightly disappointed him. The only nightmarish creature he was allowed to see was the one he wasn’t allowed to look at. Now it was actually inevitable to die- and the machines in front of him enjoyed it, obviously. The way they looked at each other made it clear they were deciding on who would get the honors. With a headache Henry glanced at his deactivated tablet. … if they were unlucky, then the newly arrived stranger would be the one getting to strike first. “Why are you so quiet, Henry? Bear got your tongue?” “… was there anything left to talk about?” Baby snickered. “Maybe you should cut that attitude. Or I’ll cut your tongue out… both would fix it!” “That is not a conversation worth having, at least in my eyes. I am open for a counterpoints, but us talking about it will not aid either of us. Correct?” Ten percent. It was still draining quickly, instantly down to double digits, and it just had turned to three AM. “Any last words?” Baby asked. Henry just tsked, closing all the doors and glancing at her. “Get it over already. Boasting is not a polite thing to do.” She clacked her claw. “You just want to get me shocked before going down.” “If that is what you think.” A few heartbeats now- Then the lights went down. … what a familiar noise indeed… Slowly it went darker and darker, the afterglow of the lamps fading fast. Henry breathed slowly, listening in, trying to guess who was approaching to kill him. From the side, the Nightmarionnette moved closer, putting a heavy claw on his shoulder, leaning down. Its bright white eyes and shining teeth were the only thing still seeing- aside from the stripes, vaguely. Henry stared inside them, without showing fear. “Henry…” “Yes, Charlie?” “… you left the right door locked up until now.” For a moment Henry was frozen, then he slapped his own face. “I am such an idiot.” “Now, now, do not damage the goods… that is my job!” Picking him up carefully, like a little doll, the Nightmarion let one of his claws move over Henry’s stomach- Henry just hanging in the grasp, stubbornly refusing to fight back. “… will I go to actual hell after this?” The machine laughed, it sounded a bit like a circular saw, a far distance away. “Henry! This IS your hell! And… the nightmare is just beginning.” With that he dug his claws inside of his body, right at the chest. It was a horrible crushing feeling, the pressure on his skin, of his lungs growing stronger and stronger until it broke open, blinding white pain, opening up- One claw peeled off the skin, the other aimed right for the heart, pulling it out until separating it with and abrupt RIP- … how was he still conscious, this was far too much pain, far too much damage, how was he- how was he still conscious... Fascinated the machine looked at the heart. “You have one! What a surprise. Now… to the real test.” It took it to his maw, shoving it against his teeth, opening it up, tearing it to pieces, as a long tongue slipped out, catching a few bloody drops, while another few dropped on the ground, joining the pool from where Henry was being held. “… I do like the taste…” With that it reached out again, reaching in- And that was thankfully the last thing he experienced before fading away. He woke back up on the couch, coughing abruptly, feeling close to dry heaving- Stumbling over, he got himself a glass of water. Then he sat down next to the sink, trying to breathe more regularly. … it would get better. He would get better.

#henry miller #Henry in hell #you guys really seemed to like that last one it made me very happy!#To everyone leaving notes and giving feedback:#thank you so much

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jackadler · 4 years

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TITLE: FUNNY, BUT IT SEEMS I ALWAYS WIND UP HERE WITH YOU. SETTING: Early morning, around 6AM. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, depression, and drug mentions.

Fate is a cruel mistress. Who said that? Jack can’t remember. He thinks he might have heard it in a movie after a lover was scorned. That notion alone seemed fitting without the quote.

Marion Stewart was a needle to Jack Adler’s emotions that came in the shape of balloons. Blue eyes stare blank and uncertain at a gas station across the way, one where a woman with a roundish face and long blonde hair trickles down her back, pumps gas into her car. Another balloon bursts and Jack focuses on something else as the contents of this balloon clamber to the ground inside his mind. Her car is blue, dark blue, and the windows were tinted. His own car is black and the windows were also tinted. The pavement is cracked and so is Jack’s beating heart.

A neon sign beside him blinks and blinks, all bright colors. Blue and red. OPEN, it says in large letters, across the front window. Jack looks to his right, hands still white-knuckling the steering wheel. The sign says open and it’s all so daunting, the little liquor store besides him holding the contents of every ailment come and gone. But had it really gone? Perhaps not as his troubles bring him here, itching to indulge in every horrible desire that festers within the pit of his belly.

One drink. Maybe two. What’s the harm? I want to settle down.

These are the excuses he musters as he steps out of his car and heads to the front. He’s clad in his usual attire, though this time he places a baseball cap on his head. A rather lackluster attempt at keeping a low profile. Somehow, it usually does the trick. The little ding from the overhead bell sounds through the air like a siren once Jack opens the front door and steps inside. A warm smile is sent his way from the cashier working this morning. Jack examines every detail just as he did before. He’s a man, pointy face, and a mouth full of teeth that look like they’re trying to escape his head. His hair is dark and receding though it suits him somehow.

Jack was blessed with amazing hair, is what his stepmother used to say, a manicured hand running through his brown strands of hair. It was blond when he was born, which his biological mother always points out, though she loves his darker hair. He does too.

This all weaves through his mind and he almost forgets he’s standing before rows and rows of alcohol. It all seems to slip his mind, Jack drowning in a certain dissociative state. He could have just been overly tired but the whole situation feels like a dream. The corners of his vision haze a tad, his movements sluggish but frantic at the same time. How was that possible? Jack questions mentally, looking down at himself from above. He was floating above his body but somehow present too.

Jack grabs two large bottles of wine. Red. He brings them to the front, resting them carefully onto the counter before him. The cashier with the pointy face was still smiling as he begins to ring up Jack’s poison of choice. They’re placed inside two brown paper bags. Then the cashier states the price and nothing feels real. Even as Jack reaches into his pocket and plucks out his leather wallet, paying with cash. He thinks he mutters a thank you as he’s leaving the store but the second the moment passes, Jack can’t quite recall if he did or not.

The bags are placed on the passenger seat before he starts his car. The blonde woman pumping her gas was gone and so was her car. Something about that makes Jack feel empty inside. People come and go, Jack, what’s the big deal? You didn’t know her. But he cried regardless, the kind of quiet cry where nothing comes out of it but tears and silence. He can feel them sliding down his face, beard, and neck but he does nothing to wipe them away.

The singer arrives at his home in no time and Jack sits in his driveway for what feels like hours. Really, it was probably only fifteen minutes but within this hazy state, time has a way of wrapping itself around him strangely.

There’s also an itch all over his body. You’d think he’s broken out into a rash by the way he suddenly squirms uncomfortably inside his own skin and scratches at his arms and neck. But, really, it’s an internal itch, one he can’t quite reach. Only booze can ease it or a bump of cocaine or a couple pills. He can’t get those here, aside from alcohol. Not yet, anyway. Jack always finds a link somehow and maybe he will after downing these bottles.

Wait, are you going to down these bottles? Jack, why? The little angel on his shoulder asks, coming in the shape of himself but with a pair of white wings. They look tattered though and somehow bruised. His face too, worn down and tired. He feels bad for the tiny angel version of himself. He was trying so hard but to no prevail. Oh, can it, you stupid piece of shit. Look at him, he deserves a drink. You deserve a drink, Jack. Drink. Now the devil version of him is quite the opposite, scorned in a different way. He’s hurt too but comes in the shape of a beast. He still has Jack’s face but he’s nuzzled inside the body of a large bear. His face isn’t tired, not like the angel version. Devil Jack just seems angry and defeated. He looks for any excuse to indulge in poor behavior, that much was obvious too.

Jack spends the next ten minutes like this, going back and forth, before he reaches for the paper bags of wine and heads inside.

Before he knows it, he’s sitting in his living room, both bottles of wine uncovered and placed before him. Blue eyes stare at them as if he’s waiting for them to speak. Maybe they will, who knows. Nothing can quite shock him anymore especially when it comes to the state of his fragile mind. He’s still crying, his bottom lip quivering every once in a while. This time it’s not as silent and comes in the form of quiet sighs, sniffs, and huffs. He can’t bring himself to wail and sob, though that might help him currently.

He’s not sure why but he can feel eyes on him from all over.

Or maybe that’s just the shame and guilt that pools through him. Shame that stems from more than just being a recovering alcoholic who plans to get to drunk and pass out on his couch. No, this shame also comes from the fact that he’s allowed himself to be lead on by someone he loves. At thirty-eight years old, you’d think these things would have come and gone already. You’d think he’s already endured enough heartbreak to last a lifetime. Yet, here he was, trapped in the same heartbreak he’s been tending to since he was a teenager.

He hates that he still thinks of her even now, right as he’s about to spiral completely. Flashes of the night before clutter his mind. Jack thinks of when everything was just blonde hair, warmth, and a bed beneath them. Bliss. But was it bliss or denial? Perhaps they were the same thing in hindsight.

It’s then he realizes his nails have been digging into his own palms, earning crescent moon-like shapes to form on the delicate skin of his hands. The pigment there has begun to fade too, just as it does around his fingers. It’s a pale white compared to his natural complexion which was a tad more neutral-toned and darker. Jack found a little vitiligo spot on his neck a little while ago too that wasn’t there before.

God, why was he thinking about this? He might have his little angel to blame, that version of himself doing everything in his power to distract Jack from what was really about to happen.

But even that wasn’t enough to scratch the itch. With that, he reaches out and begins to frantically peel away the wrapping around the top of the first bottle of wine. Then he unscrews the cap and brings the opening to his mouth before...

RING RING RING RING RING.

His phone vibrates and makes noise from inside his pocket. For a moment, Jack listens to it, finding comfort in the sound before removing it from where it resides. Mom is the name staring back at him now. He freezes, eyes wide and afraid.

Jack sets the bottle down and answers, “Hello?” The brunette says quietly into his phone now pressed to his ear, “Oh, baby, you’re up? Did I wake you? I’m sorry for calling so early I just wanted to check-in. I had a weird feeling in my stomach and I thought I’d call. How’s everything out there?”

It’s then he realizes it’s Monday and Julia, his mother, always calls on Monday.

Now the two bottles stare at him this time, mocking him. He feels like they were shaking their heads at him even though they didn’t have heads. They were fucking bottles of wine.

“I’m — I’m okay. I, um, I was awake. I haven’t slept yet actually.” At least he’s telling the truth. Not entirely but it was still something. “You see, that might be it. I always know when you’re not sleeping well. I feel it in my belly as if you were still in there. You never slept well in my stomach, you were too excited to get out!” Julia laughs on the other end and Jack does too, faintly. He can hear sizzling in the background. Samantha, his stepmother, was probably making breakfast.

Jack was really crying now. A silent sob. He has to muffle it so his mother doesn’t hear. His hand is clasped over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to her. “Baby, you still there?” She says, her voice gentler this time. “I’m here. I’m really tired, sorry. I’ve been um, working on a lot of things. Music. For the new album and everything. You know how I get.”

“Listen, honey, get some sleep and I’ll call you later on, okay? Me and mama love you very much. Get some rest or I’m coming down there and tucking you in myself, alright?” Jack can only nod, even though Julia couldn't see him. Though he feels like she’s there somehow. He sniffs before speaking, “Okay. I love you too. Very much. Bye.”

So, he hangs up and transports right back to where he was before. Though this time the sun is peering through his windows, casting lines of light onto the hardwood. Birds chirp signaling the start of a new day and newfound tiredness blankets Jack. He looks to the bottles and almost gags from shame. Suddenly his entire body is heavy and the lump in his throat grows and grows. He grabs them and heads for the kitchen, almost stumbling on the way there but he somehow stands his ground. With all his might, he turns them upside down and dumps them into the sink, aggressively shaking them to remove every ounce of booze inside each.

Blue eyes watch as the crimson liquid glides through the sink and down the drain until there was nothing left. The bottles are dropped into his trashcan located inside a nearby cabinet. Jack turns the faucet on and removes any excess wine before shutting it off once again.

Again, he stands there longer than he should before padding over to his bedroom. Along the way, he removes his pants and his shirt, clad in nothing but his boxers, and crawls into bed. His bed. Alone. Jack smells the familiar scent of himself embedded within his pillows and sheets. It’s nice, better than he remembered. He feels like he’s lived six thousand lives before settling back into his original skin, his original existence.

Usually, he detested himself, this stemming from deeprooted insecurity. But now he doesn’t mind it. He was too exhausted to be insecure or impulsive or sad. Even though he knows it’ll come back, it always comes back.

But, for now, new morning light leaking through his bedroom, he’s okay being his only one.

#drabble.#tw alcoholism #tw alcohol #tw addiction #tw drug mention #tw depression #WELL..........................................YEAH

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bandzrus · 5 years

Text

French Toast (Part 1)

The Dirt! Nikki Sixx x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // requested by @brooklyn-antiques – “I’ve been super into the idea of either Nikki or Tommy getting with a girl who is their complete opposite, and never in a million years could anyone see them together, their development with each other and the shock of the people around them because what?? These two people together make no sense!! Idk I’m a huge fan of unexpected pairings”

NOTE // this is my first request I hope I did okay.

WORDS // 3379

TAGLIST // @brooklyn-antiques @shamelessobsessions @mainly-me @broken-pieces

***

You had always been the oddball of your friend group. Raised in a very conservative neighbourhood in LA, your family was the textbook definition of perfect. Your mother was a stay-at-home mom, your dad worked in an office, you were a straight-A student in university, and your younger brother was the quarterback of his high school football team. Your friends on the other hand were heavily involved in the music scene and spent all their free time prowling record stores and the Sunset Strip. While they dressed in leather, wore stripper heels, heavy makeup, and teased their hair, you were the total opposite. It wasn’t that you had anything against how your friends looked or the stuff they were into, it just wasn’t your scene. Or so you thought up until the night you met Nikki Sixx.

It had been a surprisingly cold night in LA and your parents were out of town for the weekend visiting your grandparents in Oregon. Knowing you had nothing better to do, your friends convinced you to come with them to a Motley Crue show at The Rainbow, and you reluctantly agreed. Foolishly leaving your jacket at home thinking the weather was better than it was, it started out as a miserable night. In your favourite little yellow dress, you were freezing and stuck out like a sore thumb. Rubbing your arms and shivering, you and your two friends waited in line outside.

“This is gonna be freaking awesome!” one of your friends, Donna, said gleefully, bouncing up and down in excitement and to keep warm.

“I heard during their last show one of them punched a guy and knocked his teeth out!” your other friend Marion remarked as if it was the coolest thing in the world.

“They sound like real stand-up guys,” you muttered, shuffling your feet and avoiding the awkward stares of everyone around you. The line was moving, but not fast enough. Looking up at the night sky, it looked very likely that it was going to rain. You really should have brought a jacket, but instead you were stuck huddling close to your friends with only your purse as comfort.

“Trust me, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve been missing,” promised Donna, patting you on the back right before the three of you got to the door. Flashing the bouncer your IDs, the three of you entered The Rainbow.

It was much warmer inside, though you were sure it was because of the mass amount of people radiating body heat, not the actual heating system. You were thankful anyway, even though it wreaked of BO and booze. Grabbing your hand, Marion started leading you through the crowd towards the bar.

“Can I get a beer please?” she asked, batting long eyelashes at the bartender. Donna flanked you on your other side, leaning her back against the counter and ordered the same.

“Marion, if you see the singer let me know,” she said.

“You want his autograph or something?” you asked, tapping your finger anxiously on the counter.

“Oh I want more than an autograph,” Donna winked. She and Marion just laughed as the bartender handed them both their drinks. Pushing into the crowd, your friends dragged you by the hand until you were much closer to the stage. It took a lot of wiggling, some use of elbows, and a lot of sorry’s and excuse me’s, but you made it. The lights on stage were dim at the moment, but drums and mic stands were set up. You’d never really been to a concert before, especially not one like this. There was a big hairy guy standing next to you and behind you were a bunch of ditsy bleach-blondes jostling to be at the front. Spotting the anxious look on your face, Marion leaned over to you.

“Don’t worry Y/N, just stick with us and you’ll be fine.”

“It’s gonna be a night you’ll never forget,” promised Donna, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You didn’t know then how right she was. Just as the pack of blondes elbowed their way in beside you, the shadowy forms of four people could be seen on stage right before the lights came on.

“ALRIGHT! WE ARE MOTLEY CRUE!”

The crowd erupted and you almost threw your hands over your ears it was so loud. The blond on stage who had announced the band was obviously the singer and the one Donna had been talking about earlier. He was definitely Donna’s type; she was all over cute rock star blonds. You were about to say something to your friend about it when the band started playing.

“Don't you know, know, know

It's a violation

I still hear you saying

Such a perfect, perfect night

No, no, no fight all temptation

Well, in a black-hearted alley fight

I'm screaming

Take me to the heights tonight

Take me to the top

Take me to the top!”

Everyone in the whole club was screaming ‘take me to the top’ and by the second verse you almost were too. There was something about the band that just made you want to chant right along with them. People had their fists in the air, girls were swooning, and you were coming to the realization that perhaps you had been missing out. The energy wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before. You had just started shouting along with the band and the crowd when you felt something tug on your shoulder. As you turned around to see what it was, you felt the weight of your purse leave your shoulder and the shape of a greasy haired dude disappear behind the big hairy guy.

“Hey, give that back!” you cried, voice almost completely unheard over the music and the crowd. Pushing past the big hairy guy you attempted to chase after the thief, but your path was blocked and he had disappeared from your sight.

“That guy just stole my purse!” you tried, hoping someone would hear you and help. You turned back to your friends, about to ask for help when suddenly there was a shout from on stage and the bass cut out.

“Hey asshole!”

The guy who stole your purse froze as the bass player pointed at him. Tossing his bass off his shoulder, he jumped into the crowd after the guy. The room erupted into even more chaos as people moved out of his way. Black hair flying, he threw a punch at the thief that clocking him right in the ear and knocked him to the ground. Grabbing the thief by the hair, the bass player hit him again, this time full in the face. There was a crack sound as you heard the thief’s nose break and blood started to pour from it. Then security arrived and yanked the raven-haired bassist off him, still kicking and holding your purse. One of the other security guys grabbed the thief by his collar and you watched as he was thrown out holding his nose.

“Don’t fucking come back!” the bass player shouted as the guy left, brushing the security guard off. Then his eyes landed on you. Your two friends had come up behind you during the brawl and gave you a little push forward. The band had stopped playing and the room had gone quiet.

“Oh my god are you hurt?” you asked, spotting the blood on his hand.

“Nah,” he said, wiping it on his torn up shirt.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

The bassist just chuckled and scratched his nose with his thumb.

“You look a little lost, I figured you could use some help,” he shrugged. You made to take your purse from him, but he lifted it over your head.

“Hey!” you pouted. If you were about to have your purse stolen a second time this was going to be an awful night. Your parents would kill you if you lost your ID and your credit card.

“I’ll give this back if you promise to have a drink with me after the show,” he smirked, looking down at you.

“I don’t drink.”

“Pffft what?”

“You heard me,” you huffed, trying to snatch your purse from him again to no avail.

“Fine, then what about dinner?”

“Dinner?” you squeaked. You could overhear a bunch of the ditsy blondes from before making rude comments. “Fine.”

Smiling, the bass player gave you back your purse.

“It’s a date,” he said with a wink before clambering back onstage. Picking up his base and patting his mates on the shoulder, they resumed the show. You were quickly pulled back into the crowd by your two friends.

“Holy shit, Y/N do you know what just happened?!” Marion screamed, shaking you by the shoulders and grinning ear to ear.

“I almost had my purse stolen – twice!” you snapped, hugging the bag in question tight to your chest.

“Nikki fucking Sixx just asked you on a date!”

“Do you know how many girls in here will probably try to kill you during the next hour?”

“I’d rather not think about that,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find the pack of blondes shooting daggers at you and muttering. You almost finished your sentence by saying you didn’t really want to go anyway, but stopped yourself because it wasn’t true. At the very least you owed Nikki a shot because he had gotten your purse back, but another little part of you was excited. You’d been on a few dates before with guys in high school and one or two from college, but all with stand-up guys from sports teams or future lawyers and nothing ever stuck. Nikki was completely different and you were intrigued. You’d never understood your friends’ fascination with the music scene until about fifteen minutes ago and you now you wanted more.

“You’re telling us everything after!” Donna insisted, grabbing your arm and bringing you back between her and Marion. Holding your purse tightly you rejoined the crowd in cheering for Motley Crue.

Their set went for a bit over an hour, and you spent the whole time staring at Nikki. The more you watched him the more you started to realize your friends weren’t as crazy as you’d thought for liking all these guys. He was pretty cute, you had to admit. So, so, so not your type, and so not a person you ever thought you’d bring home to your parents, but you couldn’t help but love the way he moved on stage and the way he was so wrapped up in the music. You could tell he really cared about it and what they were doing.

When the show came to an end, you watched carefully which direction they went offstage. As the crowd slowly trickled back out into the street or swarmed the bar for one last drink, you waited with your friends until there was a clear shot to the backstage area. There were a bunch of other girls already there leaning against the wall in the hallway waiting for the band too. If they weren’t giving you dirty looks, they were raising their eyebrows at you. You felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves. That was until you spotted Nikki coming out of one of the dressing rooms. Thankfully he spotted you too and motioned for the security guard to let you through. Turning back to your friends to give them a nervous smile, you ducked under the security guard’s arm to meet Nikki.

“Kinda surprised you didn’t just leave,” he remarked as the two of you made for the back door of The Rainbow. “You don’t look like the type of girl who hangs out around here.”

“I thought about it,” you confessed, looking down at your feet.

“What changed your mind?”

“I figured I owed you one for getting my purse back.”

“I still can’t believe you don’t drink,” he muttered, shooting you a smile.

“My friends do it’s just… not for me. Sorry to disappoint you. Like you said, I’m not the type of girl who hangs out around here.”

“That just makes you more interesting.”

Holding open the door for you, it was then that you realized it had started to rain.

“Crap,” you muttered, slinging your purse over your shoulder and rubbing your arms.

“The restaurant’s not far,” Nikki promised. Nodding, the two of you dashed across the street and around the corner to a Denny’s. Dripping rainwater on the doormat, you looked up at Nikki. His makeup was heavily smudged and the rain had deflated his hair a bit, but he still looked good. A waitress offered you both menus and you slid onto a booth by the window. You kept glancing at him over your menu as you pretended to read. This was by far the craziest thing you’d ever done and you were unbelievably glad your parents were gone for the weekend so you wouldn’t have to explain why you were out so late with no jacket.

“You’re staring at me – I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” the bass player chuckled, putting his menu down.

“S-sorry,” you stammered. “This is just… the most insane night of my life.”

“You need to get out more.”

“You’re probably right,” you admitted, smiling at him. “What are you getting?”

“Jack n’ coke, probably a burger.”

“I was thinking waffles.”

“So you’re a waffles over pancakes girl.”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “I guess so. They’re both alright though. What about you?”

“French toast actually.”

“They have that,” you said, pointing to it on the menu.

“Maybe I’ll get that instead.”

“I liked the show.”

“I was afraid to ask you about that,” confessed Nikki, watching as the waitress came over to your table.

“What can I get for the two of you?” she asked, ready to scribble down your order on her notepad. You let Nikki go first.

“Can I get a Jack n’ coke and the French toast?”

“Sure, hun. And what about the young lady?”

“Just the waffles please,” you answered, folding your menu up and handing it to her. Nikki did the same and then she left. You actually were pretty hungry, so you were glad your evening plans had changed.

“You guys really look like you love being up there,” you told him, resting an elbow on the table and finally letting go of your purse.

“Yeah,” Nikki said. “It’s the best goddamn feeling in the whole world. Seeing all the people who are there just for you, and hearing them sing our lyrics back to us, it’s pretty fuckin’ cool.”

“I can imagine,” you smiled.

“What kind of shit do you do?”

“I’m going to university right now, but still living at home,” you frowned.

“You’re just the walking definition of a goody-two-shoes.”

“And you’re the walking definition of a dysfunctional rock star,” you shot back. “Jumping offstage, punching a guy in the face, and ordering booze from a Denny’s.”

There was a pause and then both of you burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe we’re going on a date,” Nikki chuckled. “You don’t seem to like me very much, maybe I should just get you a cab and you can go home and never think about me again.”

“You know what’s funny?” you said. “I do actually like you.”

�� “Really? You’re not just saying that to let me off easy?”

“No, you’re actually pretty interesting. Most of the guys I’ve been out with are football players or soon-to-be-lawyers.”

“Is your neighbour Mr. Rogers?”

“No, I’m serious! This is… actually kinda fun,” you admitted, smiling at Nikki. He gave you a grin right back, drumming his fingers on the table top.

“You are so not my type,” he said.

“You’re not mine either.”

“Don’t we make a pair.”

“Oh we definitely do,” you chuckled as the waitress came back with your meals.

“French toast for the gentleman, and waffles for the young lady,” she announced, sliding the plates onto the table before handing Nikki his Jack n’ coke.

“Thank you Dorris,” grinned Nikki, taking the Jack bottle and tipping it’s entire contents down his throat in one go. You just shook your head. Dorris rolled her eyes and left the two of you alone again.

“A real tough guy I see,” you chided.

“I prefer bad-ass.”

“You would.”

Digging into your meals, you were surprised just how hungry you were. Nikki was hungry too because both of you barely spoke a word to each other as you shoveled breakfast food into your mouths. Wiping your mouth delicately with a napkin, you finally leaned back in the booth again and sighed. Nikki polished off his coke and did the same.

“That was really good,” you said. “I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”

“Glad I went with the French toast over the burger.”

“That good, huh? I should get you to try my mom’s recipe, it’s to die for.”

“Only on our first date and we’re already talking about meeting parents, wow. I didn’t realize you were that serious,” joked Nikki, stacking your plates one on top of the other.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then what, you’re going to bring it to me at my house?”

“I-“

“I’m just kidding.”

“My parents would probably kill me and then you if I ever brought you over,” you confessed, running a hand through your damp hair.

“You could always bring the French toast to one of our gigs,” suggested the bass player. “We’re at the Troubador in a couple of days, you should come.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’ll come to one, but not another?”

“My friends dragged me to this one.”

“Come to our show on Monday, I promise it’ll be fun.”

You mulled the idea over in your head. Your parents would be back by Monday, but you figured you could always brush off your late night with a lie about helping someone study. Your friends were probably going on Monday to Motley Crue’s show anyway, so you could get a ride from them again.

“Okay fine, I’ll come,” you agreed.

“It’s a date then,” grinned Nikki, holding out his hand to shake on it. You took his calloused hand in yours and made the deal. Dorris the waitress came back to your table just as you started rummaging through your purse for change.

“I’ll take these,” she said, loading the dishes into her arms. “And I’ll be back with the bill in just a second.”

Nikki’s hand stopped your rummaging.

“I’ve got this one,” he said, unfolding a couple bills and leaving them on the table. “This should cover it. Keep the change.”

The waitress thanked him, and the two of you made towards the door.

“Thanks for paying for me, you didn’t have to,” you said, turning to look up at Nikki.

“A guy’s supposed to pay for his girl.”

“I’m your girl now? It’s only our first date, I didn’t know you were that serious,” you remarked, using Nikki’s line against him.

“I’d like you to be,” you said. “You’re so much different than all the other girls I’ve been with.”

“Likewise.”

“So that’s a yes then?”

“That’s a yes,” you said, giving him a smile. You were probably biting off more than you could chew by dating Nikki, but tonight had been the most fun and excitement you’d experienced in a long, long time and you weren’t about to let that go.

“I’m calling you a cab,” Nikki said, popping a couple coins into the slot of the machine. You waited patiently for him to finish, hugging your purse to your chest again and praying it wasn’t still raining outside. It probably was.

“Can we wait in here? I didn’t bring a jacket.”

Nikki nodded and you two spent the next five minutes waiting by the door of the Denny’s in comfortable silence. When the yellow vehicle finally pulled up outside, you bid the bass player farewell and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. You were blushing pretty hard yourself, but couldn’t help but notice him turn a few shades pinker under his smudged makeup too. The whole ride home you couldn’t get him out of your head. You were already dreaming about Monday.

***

So I’m probably going to write a part 2 to this because I didn’t quiet get as far into the relationship as I wanted, so be on the lookout for that!

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vexing-imogen · 5 years

Text

hide your face (so the world will never find you)

Masquerade! Paper faces on parade Masquerade!

They’re the guests of honor tonight.

Fjord guesses that’s what’s supposed to happen when you’ve saved the world about half a dozen times and counting. It is a bit surreal though. Looking down at the sea of people crowding the Lavish Chateau and knowing they’re there for you, because of you.

He hasn’t joined the party yet, choosing instead to watch the revelry below from one of Jester’s childhood hiding places. He observes the masquerade through a simple face mask; a deep forest green, dappled with lighter greens, decorated with kelp and colorful sea glass, and held in place with a piece of the red cord he’s carried with him since his time on the Tide’s Breath. Jester had insisted that they all keep their masks and costumes a secret until the party, so Fjord makes a game out of searching the crowd for his friends.

Nott (Veth he has to remind himself. Not Nott anymore. Veth) er, Veth is easy enough to spot, leading Yeza around the buffet table. She’s wearing a pretty yellow dress, embroidered with delicate flowers. Her dark hair is braided into an elaborate updo, dark eyes sparkling with excitement above her broken porcelain mask.

He picks Caduceus out next, his firbolg form towering over most of the guests, but especially the white-haired gnome he’s conversing with. The beetle mask he’s wearing should be creepy as fuck, but his soft, floppy ears and long waterfall of hair soften the edges and make him look only mildly disconcerting.

Yasha would be hard to miss in a crowd, even without the large white wings that sprout from her shoulders. Her dress is midnight blue, embroidered with silver thread in patterns reminiscent of a lightning strike. Fjord thinks her white avian mask might be an eagle of some kind, but it’s hard to tell with her head ducked as it is, eyes on her dance partner.

Her dance partner being Beau. Beau, who Fjord wouldn’t recognize if he didn’t already know what her mask looked like. They’d gone shopping for masks together (Jester had pouted for hours when she found out), and he’d been the one to find the elaborate owl mask that looked a little too much like Professor Thaddeus. She’s dressed in a charcoal grey suit trimmed with blue. It has sleeves. Beauregard Lionett is willingly wearing sleeves and dancing and isn’t trying to start a brawl with the goliath from Vox Machina. He’s so proud he could cry.

It takes him a while to find Caleb. He’s sequestered himself in a dark corner (another one of Jester’s favored hiding spots), like Fjord, keeping himself separate from all of the attention and praise that none of them are quite sure they deserve. His cat mask is pushed up so he can better focus on his conversation partner. Essek, Fjord realizes with no small amount of shock. They’d invited him of course, at a banquet in Rosohna celebrating the end of the war, but none of them had expected him to actually show, Caleb especially.

Fjord searches the room for Jester fruitlessly. She isn’t by the stage, where a family of gnomes called the Shorthalt Seven play song after song. She isn’t sitting down with Allura Vysoren and her wife, Kima, who have abandoned their masks (a golden swan and a silver dragon, respectively) in favor of wine and ale. Nor is she at her mother’s side as Marion flirts with both Lord and Lady de Rolo. The Lady’s bronze dragon mask does little to muffle her laughter as her husband flushes a brilliant crimson behind a raven. She isn’t pestering Taryon Darrington, who is wearing a garish mask that can only be his construct, Doty. (the construct is wearing a mask, too. A truly horrifying thing that Fjord can only guess is supposed to be a likeness of Taryon.) In all of the music, laughter, dancing, drinking, mischief, and general chaos of the evening, Jester is nowhere to be found.

“Looking for someone?”

Fjord nearly cracks his head on a low beam jumping at the soft voice beside him. He’s halfway to summoning the Star Razor before he thinks that it might not be the best idea to run a random party guest through with a sword. He does spin towards the voice, and comes face to face with Keyleth of the Air Ashari and Vox Machina. The Voice of the Tempest. The powerful as fuck archdruid that could level the Chateau if she really wanted to.

Her rabbit mask is pushed up between her antlers, so he can see her wince and blush. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He waves off her apologies. “It’s fine, really,” he says, taking a breath and willing his heart to stop racing. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here, that’s all.”

Keyleth nods, her mask slipping a little with the movement. “I get it,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong, I love getting dressed up, and the free drinks are always a plus, but the whole socializing part of events like these have never been my forte.”

“It’s not the socializing I mind,” he says, searching for the right words. “It’s being the center of attention that bothers me, I suppose. Especially when-”

“You feel like you don’t deserve any of it, and you’re terrified that everyone will realize all at once how much of a fuck-up you truly are and throw you out on your ass?” Keyleth finishes, giving him a wry grin.

Fjord laughs. “Um, yes. To all of that.”

“Unfortunately, that feeling never really goes away,” she says, shrugging. “Sorry.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Having friends helps,” she says eventually. “Getting to see the positive impact of something that you did? That helps, too.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I think it also helps knowing that you aren’t alone in what you’re feeling.”

Keyleth grins. “Don’t mention it. Now, did you need help finding someone?” Her fingertips spark with magic as she wiggles them at him. “I probably have a spell that can help.”

Fjord shakes his head. “Thank you, but sometimes it’s just nice to sit back and watch the crowd.”

She likely sees through the lie, but she doesn’t push it. “Okay,” she says awkwardly. “Well, I should probably get back before my friends send a search party after me. They can get kind of paranoid sometimes.”

He nods. “It was nice talking with you, Miss Keyleth.”

He’s turning back to search for Jester when Keyleth calls his name. He turns back to her, about halfway down the stairs, an unreadable expression on her face. “Yes?”

“One last piece of advice?” He nods. She takes a deep breath. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to tell someone how you really feel about them. It works out for some,” she adds, eyes darting to Lord and Lady de Rolo, now dancing close, lost to everyone else but each other. “But, the more time you get with someone you love, the better.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

What he doesn’t say is that he was already almost too late. They’d lost Jester during one of their recent battles. She’d gone down and Caduceus was too far away, too focused on keeping Caleb and Beau alive. Fjord and Yasha’s meager healing abilities hadn’t been enough, and, for twelve agonizing hours, Jester was lost to them. Cad was able to bring her back with Beau and Nott’s help. Fjord’s too. He’ll be damned if he can remember everything he said, but he knows he’d whispered his love to her, for only her to hear.

Keyleth is long gone when Jester’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Fjo-ord, where are you? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The party got too stuffy, so I went to my momma’s balcony for some fresh-”

He chuckles as her message cuts off. “Message received, loud and clear. Stay where you are, Jessie, I’ll be right up.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fjord finds Jester right where she said she’d be; in her mother’s room, out on the balcony, staring up at the night sky, the ocean breeze gently ruffling her hair. He stops to examine the mask that she’s left on the table before going out to join her. It’s a full face mask, styled after old theatre masks. One side laughing, one side crying; comedy and tragedy in one. The laughing side is a deep emerald green, the crying a jewel-bright pink, all accented with gold.

As he sets the mask aside and moves to join her on the balcony, he sees that the colors perfectly match her dress. The sleeveless bodice is patterned with harlequin diamonds, green, pink, and gold. Her skirt flares out, layer upon layer of emerald green tulle. She looks like a princess, and Fjord, in his simple mask and pirate costume, feels every inch a pauper.

The moment he sets foot on the balcony, she turns to him, and the smile she gives him wipes away any momentary insecurities.

“There you are, Fjord,” she teases. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever.”

He grins, moves to lean against the railing. “Please accept my deepest apologies,” he says. “How ever can I make up for such a grievous error?”

Jester giggles. “Wellll, for starters, as cool as it is, you can take your mask off. This balcony has officially been declared a “no mask zone”.”

“Is that so?” he asks, smirking when she nods seriously. “I suppose I should comply, then. I wouldn’t want to break official rules.”

He unties his mask and hands it to Jester, watching as she runs her fingers over the sea glass. “This is really cool, Fjord,” she says, rubbing her thumb across a piece of kelp.

He blushes a bit, ducking his head. “Thanks, Jes. Yours is...gorgeous,” he says. “The wh-whole ensemble, really. I mean, gods, Jester, there’s rarely a day you don’t take my breath away, but tonight...gods, tonight...”

Her eyes are wide when he finally dares to look up at her, mouth hanging open just a little, a purple flush coloring her cheeks and chest. “Fjord...” She laughs a little, breathless. “Fjord, I...”

She’s speechless, searching for words, but she isn’t panicking. There are tears starting to gather at the corners of her eyes, but she’s smiling, and not the sad, pitying kind of smile she’d given Freddie de Rolo when he’d tried to kiss her, and she had to turn him down. He steps a little closer, gives her time to retreat if she wants. She doesn’t move.

He reaches up to stroke her cheek, and she leans into his touch, eyelashes fluttering. “We never did have that talk about the day you died,” he says softly. “Or about the day we brought you back.”

“No, we didn’t,” she says. She bites her lip. “What...what did you want to talk about?”

He has to close his eyes, can’t watch her face as he says what he’s about to say. “I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t been able to bring you back, Jester.” His head drops until his forehead meets hers. “Losing you would have destroyed all of us, certainly, but you can ask anyone, Jester. I was useless. It was only twelve hours, but it felt like a lifetime.”

She lets out a shaky breath that he can feel wash across his cheek. “And all of that stuff you said during the ritual?”

He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes. “I meant every word.”

Tears are flowing freely down her face. “Even the part where...”

“Especially the part where,” he says. “I’m in love with you, Jester Lavorre, and it shouldn’t have taken you dying for me to admit it.”

Her answering smile knocks all the breath from his lungs. Or maybe that’s her jumping to kiss him, throwing him off balance with her enthusiasm. He ends up on his back on the floor, Jester sprawled on top of him, both of them laughing hysterically.

“Oh gosh, Fjord,” Jester manages between giggles. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jes, don’t you worry.” He pushes himself to sitting, giving her the chance to climb off of him. Instead, she settles more fully in his lap. “And you don’t ever have to apologize for trying to kiss me, alright?”

She grins, leaning in to kiss him. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m going to want to kiss you a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. I’m talking an obscene amount of kissing here, Fjord.”

He laughs, winds an arm around her waist. “I think I can live with that, darlin’.”

She rests her forehead against his. “Will you say it again, Fjord?”

He kisses her again. “I love you, Jester.”

“I love you, too, Fjord.”

#critical role #critfic #fjorester #fjord #jester lavorre #long post

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