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alfredolover119 · 3 years

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I looooove your zukka rec lists! I recently became Avatar-obsessed, never got a chance to watch it as a kid and only just got through it all! I was wondering if you'd consider doing a specifically angst rec list? I love fluffy zukka everything, but sometimes you just gotta have your heart ripped out of your chest and put back in after being thoroughly blended.

thank you! i relate heavily to “recently became Avatar-obsessed” haha. as for the angst list, i sure can try! warning: all of these have happy endings because im a crybaby who can’t read unhappy endings. also, p much all of the fics in the completed section were featured on my other lists but this is specifically the ANGSTY ones >:^)

angsty zukka wips

first, most obviously, feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe

-currently at 102k with 19/27 chapters posted; rated teen

-the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. the amnesia fic. you know. i haven’t actually read it yet because, as previously mentioned, i’m a crybaby and am waiting for it to finish up but, from my understanding, this fic will murder you in a dark alleyway with no remorse. if u like zukka angst, you’ve probably already read this, but just in case!

An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. // But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends.

Yeah, nah.

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) by @goldrushzukka

-currently 38k with 6/8 chapters posted; rated mature

-holy shit. holy SHIT. modern au based on the “my cat likes my fuckbuddy and i am falling in love” trope(?). maybe it’s just because of how the last chapter ended, but oh my god. this one made me cry. made me want to commit violence. when it’s not angsty as hell, it’s pretty funny, but holy shit. ao3 user nebulastucky please.

It’s supposed to be a one night stand. Pick up some guy at a bar, barely remember his name and never learn anything real about him, send him packing in the morning with a thanks for the ride and a cup of coffee to-go. That’s how it’s supposed to go. // But then it’s the best sex Sokka has ever had, and he thinks he’ll hate himself if he never gets to have it again.

Violet Blossoms and Celestial Objects by @hollypunkers

-currently 15k with 2/? posted. rated teen.

-this is the sequel to blue (an angsty, zukka rewrite of book 2-- go read it if u havent!)! !! this is a book 3 rewrite. only two chapters in and mrs hollypunkers is really abusing the miscommunication tag, as zukka writers seem to enjoy doing. im excited to see how the world and story develops with the changes to the story! you should be too!! its very good! obviously spoilers for blue lmao

Having sided with the Avatar in Ba Sing Se, Zuko not only must navigate his new relationship with Sokka but returning to the Fire Nation as a banished enemy. His own journey of self discovery and personal growth must now coexist alongside the personal struggles of every other member of the Gaang as together they blaze a treacherous path toward an unsure victory against Zuko's own father and nation.

breakable heaven by @fruitysokka

-currently 71k with 9/11 chapters posted. rated teen

-swt ambassador zuko! soon to be chief sokka! fake dating ur best friend to get out of an arranged marriage! what could go wrong!!! i also haven’t read this one ((see: i’m a crybaby who is being hurt by too many zukka wips already)), but it has been hanging out in my marked for later for months. from what i understand, this fic has: angst.

With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? // Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

angsty zukka fics (completed!)

(i’ll put these in wc order)

lighthouse beam by @incorrectzukka

-7k, rated g

-a modern college au!! zuko’s inner-monologue is very angsty in this fic. typical zuko. also per usual, theyre both fucking dorks. they sort themselves out in the end, but not before The Angst. zuko is semi-deaf in this fic and also he has a bit of internalized homophobia.

Sokka’s breathtakingly beautiful and he’s smart and makes other people laugh. Zuko has a half-burnt face and a deaf ear. It’s not rocket science. // Or, Zuko falls in love with the boy in his Philosophy class.

This Isn’t My Idea of Fun by @khaleeseas

-9k, explicit

-moon spirit/nwt prince!sokka, no war to be found here! admittedly this isnt THAT angsty but like. the angst IS present. zuko is still the prince. a lovely childhood friends (though they hated each other for a minute haha) to lovers story.

If you asked Zuko, he and Azula saw far too much of Chief Hakoda of the Northern Water Tribe’s children growing up. It wasn’t until they were older, and Azula pointed out that - duh - their families were trying to set them all up, that he realized why. // He was told by his mother to be polite. These people were their friends and allies, and though their nations were as different as they came, harmony between nations was the most important thing. // It wasn’t his fault the Chief’s children were so annoying.

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don’t touch) by @celestialceci

-9k, teen

-modern au! zuko and sokka are college roommates. zuko goes to spend the summer with sokka. again,, not really that angsty but-- its there!! the detail and feeling of Home in this story make me happy. zuko is insecure as hell here too. if ur into that.

Zuko hates his home. He likes college alright, but he likes Sokka even better, his assigned roommate turned best friend. Spending the summer with Sokka will be fun, a welcome change of pace he desperately wants. It probably won't awaken anything in him... right?

the thing about dancing by anodymalion

-9k, teen

-yes. this one right here officer. it makes my heart ache. also trans sokka! which is cool. but the zuko angst in this one. hurts me. not so much relationship angst as it is zuko learning he deserves happiness angst. i’m sure u know The Type.

The first time a attendant spills Zuko’s tea and doesn’t immediately fall to her knees, begging the Fire Lord’s forgiveness, it is not anger but a resounding warmth that fills his chest.

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

-10k, mature

-OUCH. OUCH OUCH OUCH. boys please learn to communicate im begging u. also zuko.. zuko, dude. as the tags of the fic say, hes “really going through it” in this one. YOUCH. post-canon.

Zuko almost said it. He almost said the words I think I’m in love with you, but he choked them back down at the last second. // Zuko would never be able to be what Sokka wanted. They might have needed each other during the summer, when two boys with too much weight on their shoulders found comfort in each other in the only way they knew how. // But now Zuko was Fire Lord, and Sokka was leaving.

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by @meliebee

-18k, teen, major character death

-i lied. THIS is the one, officer. found family.. good mai and zuko and toph friendships.. . ozai escapes prison and tries to overthrow zuko. OBVIOUSLY angst ensues. poor boy. he Does heal in this but it gets worse before it gets better. angst angst angst angst.

Ten months after Zuko is crowned at seventeen, he faces his first coup.

Anything for You by beersforqueers

-23k, explicit

-istg. this is probably one of my favorite zukka fics. its PAINFUL. modern au where theyre broken up but sokka hasnt told his family yet so zuko goes home with him for kataang wedding. a bit smutty, but the plot oh my god ohgm y fuvk. made me cry the first time i read it. (see: crybaby!me) insert that one picture of the horse with the caption PAIN.

In which Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. // Things don't go as planned.

Moving Mountains by @thefangirlingdead

-64k, mature

-so. when i read this the first time it was in one sitting. soulmate au set within canon era / the comics, to an extent. soulmates can hear each others thoughts. i will happily say this is slowburn, jesus christ. champagne without the cham.

Soulmates are chosen by the spirits and can hear each other’s thoughts. Sokka thinks it’s cheesy and dumb. Zuko thinks it’s poetic justice that he doesn’t have one because he doesn’t deserve it. Cruel irony is finding out that the prince of the Fire Nation (and the person currently hunting you) is your soulmate.

In the Soft Light by @voidcenturyscholar and @romancedawning

-83k, teen, graphic depictions of violence

-moon spirit!sokka living in the northern water tribe. zuko is sent to the northern water tribe as a cultural liaison. iroh is the fire lord but while he is away taking care of lu ten after his injury ozai steps up. i cannot express how many emotions this fic made me feel. background yuetara. i would almost say found family?? but. anyway. plenty of angst to spare here with a healthy dose of enemies to friends to lovers.

As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.

That Midnight Sky by @zukkababey

-103k, teen

-now now now. tms... modern college au where sokka agrees to tutor zuko in physics because zuko has to maintain straight a’s and physics is just not doing it for him. so. thats cool but THEN azula moves in, randomly, with zuko. to hide the fact that sokka is tutoring zuko, they fake date! what could go wrong!! the mutual pining in here combined with the angst... wonderful, tasty. everyone read it rn. also SLOWBURN

In Zuko’s strict family, needing a tutor is just about the worst thing you could do. Failing a class, however, is even worse. The only rational solution? Take up Aang on his offer to find him a physics tutor and have Sokka—beautiful, smart, handsome Sokka—tutor him in secret. // When Azula’s arrival threatens to reveal Zuko’s secret, it’s up to Sokka to convince her this definitely isn’t what it looks like. See, he’s actually… Zuko’s… boyfriend? // Hmm. There’s no way this could get complicated, right?

#zukka #zuko #sokka #angst #zukka angst #atla #avatar: the last airbender #fic recs #zukka fic recs

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that-was-anticlimactic · 2 years

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how am i supposed to choose a favorite story of yours when i literally adore everything you've written skgfkdh ummmm let's see,,,,

do this thing is definitely one of my all time favorite fics ever. it's literally absolute perfection i will not be convinced otherwise. also i know you just posted it like two days ago but. there's a whole lot of power in every single word like,, it was SO GOOD and i already know it's going to remain one of my favorites. and i don't think i'll ever be over the getting together at the kfc which on one hand. i can't believe you would do that to me. but on the other it's so poetic which fits perfectly for that fic. and then ALSO a friend is still a friend is absolutely iconic and i adore it.

anyway i could sit here for hours listing all of the things i love about all of your fics but that would be a very long ask so i will leave it at this skdhfdj ily and i hope you have a good day today 💕💗

gRACE DO NOT MAKE ME CRY UYTFDRSXFGYUHIJOUYGFT ILY

do this thing was all thanks to you, bestie, at our thursday dinners <3 wouldn't have come up with the idea without you <3 but no it warms my heart that you like that one because i wasn't sure if i could do korrasami or varrick justice and you know how i love varrick oiuhgfcghuji

uhygfghuji i'm glad you like tawlopielw (wow long title OOF) !!! i made them kiss at kfc just for you <3 no like i'm not joking i did kfc solely for you it was the first place that i thought of and it had the right amount of syllables and the angst that only we would know about oiugyftdgyhu but also this one is kind of thanks to you too because i think you were the one who was like "can't believe you made an enemy in 364" iuhgyfghuijo and then i joked about it and. then it uh. it happened iuygfgyhujiko i almost included a part in that one where jet tells zuko not to read the response and then he does and jet references the "this sign can't stop me i can't read" meme that you sent me iouhgyfhujikl

ahhhhhhhhhhhhh literally. so glad you like afisaf because i actually did Not like it when i posted it iugyfghuji i was Very Terrified to post it tbh and the fact that you like it makes me 🥺 i love the frenemy-ship potential between jet and sokka,,, so much,,,

ily i hope you're thriving bestie!!!

do this thing

there's a whole lot of power in every little word

a friend is still a friend

#mai to my sokka #this made my night ily #thank you babes #corey rambles:)

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thatsadorbsyo · 4 years

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Lucas - Threads

((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))

“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”

I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?

My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:

I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.

I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.

To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?

It felt like amputation.

If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.

Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.

No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.

Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.

“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?

Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?

Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.

I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.

Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.

Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.

I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.

It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.

Like this had been the plan all along.

“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”

I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.

Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.

The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.

Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.

More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.

Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.

I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.

For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.

“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”

Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.

She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?

But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.

I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.

The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.

I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.

I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.

I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.

“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”

I recite their names:

Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.

Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.

Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.

Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.

The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.

You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.

But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.

One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?

Who did we lose?

“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”

Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.

So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.

This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.

Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.

I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.

What am I doing here? What have I done?

Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.

I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.

But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.

I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.

“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”

#FFXIVHeartless #lucas nevin #balmung rp #ffxiv rp #IC post #castor arendt #cheche dotharl #lux lunseer #sui eclair #tieve corwell #percy d'armagnac #adian hawke #izar yunhaai #sage adhi #(and more!)#[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood

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221bshrlocked · 4 years

Text

Wanted Man (3)

Wanted Man Masterlist

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Words: 1841

Warnings: none I think

A/N:this is a filler chapter so it might be boring but I just needed to introduce the villain which is my all time favorite DC villain. And I needed to set up the next chapter which will be full of tension. Please tell me how I’m doing and comment because I need validation and I won’t even feel bad for saying it.

To his credit, Commissioner Gordon sounded more confused and surprised than him when he heard about the flowers. Bruce called Fox on his way to Gordon, not realizing that he was in for a story about a mad scientist who decided to genetically modify plants to hit the biggest players in Gotham. And when he told Gordon about it, he almost broke character and laughed at Gordon’s “poetic murder” comment.

“Do you think this is a serial killer?” Gordon asked, flipping through the different pages in his hand that he understood absolutely nothing of.

“No, this is deliberate. It’s his own way of showing justice. These roses, these plants...they mean something to him.” Gordon raised an eyebrow at Batman’s comment.

“Justice? This is murder. If anyone from the precinct catches you with that attitude, I won’t hear the end of it.” Gordon shook his head and folded the papers before placing them in his pocket.

“He’s only attacked prominent and powerful men of the city.” Batman growled his explanation, not wanting to be misunderstood in any way by Gordon.

“Well, not all of them.”

“How do you know?” The masked vigilante straightened up.

“Believe it or not, we were given a list of everyone who, sooner or later, will be attacked. I think there’ll be more but at least he’s nice enough to just keep us busy with these for now.” Gordon took out a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“The Dubelz Family, the Lucky Hand Triad, Escabedo Family, the Bertinelli Family and Br-” He hesitated for a moment, looking up at his friend before reading the last name on the list. “Bruce Wayne.”

“Yeah that threw me off too.” Gordom replied before taking back the small note.

“What did he do?”

“I asked myself that same question. We don’t know yet really. Mr. Wayne has never dabbled in anything remotely illegal or off the books but we’ll keep looking.” Bruce found the irony in that statement quite hilarious but he held back. Yeah, there was nothing illegal about large shipments of mask and cowl parts coming in from Asia.

“Tell your officers to wear masks around the bodies. The poison is an inhalant and the roses look normal but they’re not naturally occurring. Their genetic code was altered to produce the same toxins that come from numerous parasitic and toxic flowers but mostly from Rafflesia arnoldii and Nerium oleander.” He could tell Gordon understood absolutely nothing but he continued anyway. “One is found in Indonesia and the other is cultivated in many places but mostly Southwest Asia. Start looking at anyone who recently traveled there.”

“None of us have a degree in botany exactly but I’ll make sure t-” Gordon didn’t bother finishing his statement, realizing he was speaking to himself yet again. “I hate it when he does that.” He whispered to himself before returning to the precinct.

Bruce found himself distracted as he raced through the streets. He really didn’t want to think that somehow, Wayne Enterprise was compromised again. Mr. Fox was aware of every little action that took place so it had to have been something else.

He was quiet when he arrived at the penthouse and off as it may be, Alfred noticed the change in his usual demeanor. This silence was different.

“Penny for your thoughts Master Wayne?” Alfred stepped behind Bruce as he looked at the city beneath him, hoping he would receive an answer instead of the usual brooding in front of the windows.

“I don’t know anymore Alfred.” That wasn’t the response Alfred expected to hear but it was perhaps more heartbreaking. The young man hasn’t sounded this much in despair since, well, since he lost everything.

“Perhaps I can help alleviate you from your mind sir.” This time, Alfred was much closer to Bruce and the hint in his voice made Bruce shift uneasily before heading to his bed and sitting on it. He leaned down and placed his head between his hands.

“Gordon said I’m a target.”

“A target sir?” Alfred pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.

“The new string of murders. I’m on the list of eventual targets. And I can’t help but think that it must have to do with Wayne Enterprise.”

“You do not trust Lucius in his dealings?”

“Never! I trust him with my life Alfred.” Bruce was quiet for a few moments before opening his mouth and shutting it again. Alfred noticed his reluctance to say whatever it was he wanted to say and he was surprisingly more offended than the many other times Bruce intentionally insulted him.

“Master Wayne, I pride myself in caring for you ever since I heard your cries echo through the hallways of Wayne Manor. I trust that this would be enough for you to speak freely to me.”

Bruce hated the way Alfred noticed the smallest details around him.

“You’ll be honest with me when you see I’m doing something wrong.” It was a moment of vulnerability from Bruce, one Alfred hadn’t seen in a long time. Normally, he would sarcastically respond to him but Alfred sensed it wouldn’t do him any good.

“Of course sir.”

A few moments of silence passed the two of them before Alfred felt the need to interrupt Bruce’s thoughts.

“However, I highly doubt my words will change your mind when it is set. Although, it might do you good to listen to what I have to say about young Ms. Y/N, I do believe-”

“Not this again,” Bruce sighed and couldn’t help but smile when he turned to the old man and saw him laugh at his reaction. Good. It was a short-lived moment but it helped him nonetheless.

“I must say I wouldn’t mind it if you were to-”

“Good night Alfred.” Bruce rolled under his covers to avoid where this conversation was heading.

“But it is earlier than your bedtime?” Alfred loved getting on his very last nerve and didn’t budge until he knew for sure that Bruce wasn’t as worried as earlier.

“It’s one in the morning!” Bruce half-yelled from under the covers, hoping by some miracle that Alfred would leave.

“Hence my remark on your bedtime sir. However, you do have an important meeting tomorrow.” Alfred stood to leave when he heard shuffling from under the covers.

“What meeting?”

“Lucius asked to sit down with Ms. Y/N and yourself to discuss some goals and plans before the young miss gets to work. I do believe that is one meeting you will attend with much enthusiasm sir.” Alfred immediately headed out of the room and made his way downstairs before Bruce could defend himself.

But truth be told, Bruce couldn’t have come up with anything to defend himself. He was guilty as charged. The only thing that took his mind off of you for a few hours were the surprising news he heard both from Fox and Gordon. For the first time in a while, Bruce wished he wasn’t so busy with his other job just so he could spend more time around you. But that’s the weird thing though, he didn’t care if he was around you or not. He just wanted to spend more time thinking about you. The way you walked, the snarky attitude you gave him when you didn’t like something. And my god the defensive spirit that took over when you felt nervous. It all enamored him. And he did notice it, the nervousness. It was his job to read body language and he felt proud that you gawked at him hours ago not fifty feet away from where he was now laying. To think simple attire would get you to finally look his way.

If only he could wear that on his daily outings around you. Perhaps one day he would, but he didn’t think it would be any time soon. He was raised as a gentleman. To some extent at least. He would never admit to anyone how much it sort of turned him on knowing how much younger you were. Not only was it inappropriate to think this way about one of his employees but it was also incredibly stupid. He could never put you in such a position.

No stop, don’t think about any positions. Don’t think about her in any position.

Bruce groaned before slamming his head in the pillow, sighing heavily before he finally allowed himself to sleep.

Unbeknownst to him, you were pacing back and forth anxiously in your new place. You didn’t like the set-up you had with him. He wasn’t just your employer anymore, he was the goddamn owner of the place where you lived. You were fully at his mercy and one wrong decision, one out-of-line remark, and you would be living in the street. But something told you that he wasn’t that kind of man. Call it intuition or your normally spot-on reading of people, but he didn’t seem like the type of man that would be so unkind.

That wasn’t the problem you were facing now. Far from it.

Your main issue could get you in serious trouble. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the man ever since you spilled coffee on him and that was going to get in the way of things. Hopefully not your job though because that could be a whole other ordeal.

So busy taking books out of the boxes, you hadn’t noticed the light shining in the sky until seconds before it was turned off.

Oh.

How could you forget about that? How could you completely disregard the talk of this city?

Even in New York people talked about him constantly. You sat down for a few moments to think over the life-altering decisions you made in the last twenty four hours.

No, there was no way you’d ever run into him.

Definitely not.

A loud siren snapped you out of your haze and you decided to stop unpacking for the day and write down a few things you wanted to discuss during the meeting tomorrow. He still didn’t have an idea of where he wanted this new project so you couldn’t possibly look at previous surveys or public records of the place so you opted to just study the current building that stood at the center of Gotham. You didn’t want to design something too similar or different from what was already an impressive structure but you could get an idea of what he preferred.

And you hated how much you really wanted to impress him with this. It would've been fine if it was just for the sake of the job but you knew that was a mask for why you really wanted him to be happy with your choices.

You visibly had to shake your head to focus on the task at hand because you were still, to some degree, a professional. Tomorrow needed to go well so neither of them would regret choosing you.

“God, what the hell did I get myself into?”

#wanted man #bruce wayne x reader #bruce waynexreader #bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batmanxreader #batman fanfiction #batman #DC comics #DC comics fanfiction #christopher nolan #christopher nolan batman #the dark knight #the dark knight rises #batman begins #the dark knight trilogy

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astonishingmanes · 4 years

Text

fighting love and other lost causes

This is my part 2 of this (post-season 1, non season 2 compliant)

tw// temporary death, blood, sadness

I’m not really happy with how this chapter turned out but I can’t stare at it anymore so I’ll just post it

Kyle was going to kill Michael. He was going to grab him by the neck and strangle him to death.

“Do you really think I would’ve called you unless I thought something was really wrong?” Alex hadn’t answered his calls or texts in two weeks, two weeks, which was totally unusual because since he had moved away from Roswell and started working on dismantling Project Shepard and working on “other alien related stuff”, as Alex called them, he had always kept in contact with Kyle, weather via text or call and once they even face timed.

“He only calls Liz when he thinks he has found something important, he probably hasn’t found anything and that’s why he hasn’t called” Michael answered dismissively, which made Kyle even angrier than before. He decided that strangling him wasn’t a bad enough fate, he was going to grab him by his golden locks and dunk him in the water until he drowned.

“That may be true about Liz, but he always answers when I text him and if he doesn’t answer my calls he usually calls me back. I know this may seem strange to you, but I’m his friend, not his coworker. We talk and text almost every day.”

“It’s a three hours drive to Albuquerque and I don’t want to get there just to find out that Alex is doing perfectly fine and it’s just ignoring you, which knowing Alex wouldn’t be a surprise” that’s it, maybe Kyle should just burn him alive.

“But that’s what I’m telling you! He always answers my calls and texts but hasn’t in two fucking weeks, which is not normal. I’m telling you that he could be in danger and you don’t even care!” he knew that things between Michael, Alex and Maria had ended badly, he knew that was one of the reasons why Alex had left, but there is a difference between a bad break up and not caring whether you ex boyfriend is in grave danger or not.

“Okay, okay” conceded Michael “ I can free my schedule for the day after tomorrow and go and check out if he’s fine, which he probably is. Just text me the address” and then he left.

Michael did care about Alex, you can’t stop loving someone just because it’s painful. Love doesn’t just disappear when you don’t want to feel it anymore. Maybe one day in the distant future he will look at Alex and feel nothing but a little nostalgia, a pale echo of what he used to feel for the man. But for now, Michael was happy simply not thinking about Alex, not talking about Alex and especially not looking at Alex. He and Maria were doing fine. It had been almost seven months since they kissed in the bar after Caulfield and 3 months since they had actually started dating seriously. He didn’t need Alex to ruin it for him. Kyle was new to all of that, to Alex. But Michael knew Alex very well. When Alex told you that he would keep in touch he meant that he would keep in touch for maybe the first month, Kyle got lucky and got three, but then he would disappear off the face of the earth and leave you wondering whether he was alive or dead in a ditch somewhere on the other side of the world. And then he would resurface a year later acting as if absolutely nothing had happened.

Well Michael was tired of spending his life wondering whether Alex was dead or alive.

Regardless of what Michael was tired or not tired of doing at dawn he got in his truck and started driving anyway, because while he could tell himself that Alex was perfectly fine again and again and again a part of him kept telling him that maybe something was really wrong, that he should’ve gone as soon as Kyle had told him, that maybe Alex was in danger, that maybe it was too late.

He stepped on the gas.

When Michael finally understood what had happened to Alex it was already midday. He couldn’t believe Alex had been so stupid to go undercover alone, without support, without extraction, without telling anyone where he was or what he was doing. If it hadn’t been for Kyle no one would’ve discovered that something was wrong, that he had gone missing. That Alex had been kidnapped. Captured.

So Michael did the best thing that he could, he did what was best and smart. He went to rescue Alex alone. With no plan, no backup, no rescue team and without anyone knowing where he was or what he was doing. Because that’s just what one does.

He had wanted to call the others, to tell them that Kyle had been right all along, that Michael had wasted time for nothing, that Alex was in danger. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t wait one more second, he couldn’t leave Alex alone and scared more than he already did. The others would tell him to wait. To wait for them to get off their jobs. To wait for them to arrive in Albuquerque. To wait and make up a plan. To wait because no one would agree on the plan. And Michael couldn’t wait anymore, he had already waited two days before going to Albuquerque himself, he wasn’t going to waste anymore time while Alex was suffering.

He knew he was being irrational, he knew he was being stupid and riddiculous and insane and if someone had been there and pointed out to him all of the reasons why he shouldn’t rush into anything he wouldn’t have gone because the risks outnumbered the benifets. But no one was there, so Michael went.

The first time he laid eyes on Alex inside of that cell he was furious and scared and relieved all at the same time.

Nothing would ever compare to the joy that filled his heart the moment he realized that he hadn’t been too late, that Alex was still alive, that he would be able to see his pretty face again, hear his lovely voice, admire his dazzling smile.

Just the possibility of never seeing Alex alive again was devastating; the thought of a world where Alex was gone was something that Michael couldn’t even fathom.

He wanted to scream and cry and laugh, because Alex was there, alive, but he was so impossibly thin and pale and helpless. He looked so fragile. It was like he wasn’t even there, like he couldn’t understand what Michael was saying, what Michael was doing.

But he was alive.

He would get better, Michael told himself, it was only a matter of time, the only important thing was getting him out, everything else could wait just a little longer.

The first time Michael failed he cried and begged Alex for forgiveness because he couldn’t save him. Because Michael was always failing him, always letting him down and hurting him. And this once he had failed him for the last time.

And Alex’s face, Alex’s beautiful face, looked so confused, as if he couldn’t understand why Michael was sobbing. Like he couldn’t understand that they were both about to die.

At least Alex wasn’t scared, he told himself selfishly, at least the last time he laid eyes on Alex’s face it wouldn’t be distorted by fear and pain, at least he wouldn’t have to see Alex’s eyes filled with terror.

He wanted to hug him for the last time, he wanted to feel Alex’s soft skin against his, he wanted to feel Alex’s strong arms holding him close, the warmth of his cheek against his neck, soft breaths tickling him. But he couldn’t. Nothing hurt more than knowing that he would never hold Alex again, he would never hear his lovely laugh or see his blinding smile, that this was it, the end, and that there was nothing poetic about it. Everything was just ending, with no joy or justice or closure. It was just the end, cruel and sad and pointless.

Bullet after bullet hitting his body, piercing his flesh, a pain so loud it was deafening. And still that pain couldn't come close as the pain of losing Alex for the last time.

And then he woke up on Alex’s dusty floor, face wet but clothes clean.

He felt numb and dazed. Empty. He kept looking at his surroundings without actually taking anything in. He laid there, paralized, and all that he could see was Alex’s confused face, all that he could feel were the bullets hitting his chest, and in the distance, far far away, he could hear Alex screaming.

But Alex wasn’t screaming, there were no bullets inside his chest, blood wasn’t pooling out of his body. He wasn’t dead and, most importantly, Alex wasn’t there.

2:48 pm the clock read, and that too was impossible because it had taken him more than ten minutes to storm the compound, to wander its halls, to find Alex inside his cell, to be killed.

But here he was, inside Alex’s apartment staring at a clock that didn’t make sense, without a scratch on him. Was it a dream, he wondered. Maybe after finding out where Alex was being kept he had simply fallen asleep and dreamt the whole rescue mission.

And still the desolation of losing Alex didn’t seem like a dream, didn’t seem like something that his mind would conjure up. It felt real, it felt like something tangible, almost like he could touch the pain and grief and guilt that he had felt in those last moments.

He knew it must have been real, whether it had been magic or alien technology or God himself, Michael knew it had been real. The only question was whether Alex was safe and sound inside his cell or if Michael was the only one who had been saved and Alex’s body was still lying on the ground where Michael had died.

Six hours the others said, wait six hours until we get there and then we’ll figure it out together. Michael knew they were right, knew he needed a plan. But anguish was surrounding him, pain was flowing through his heart, grief drowning him. He couldn’t sit and wait and let the darkness fester him, eat him alive from the inside out.

At 3:07 he entered the compound, this time he didn’t have to look inside their minds to find out where Alex was, this time he didn’t care about who he hurt or killed, this time he released his fury on those who had killed him, who had killed Alex.

This time Alex was like the time before, thin and pale and fragile. And so utterly out of it.

“Do you remember?” he asked, “Has this happened to you before?” but Alex didn’t answer, he just stared at his lips as if he couldn’t understand what was coming out of them.

Maybe I’m the only one who remembers, he thought.

He caressed his cheek, so impossibly pale and cold and couldn’t believe his eyes. Alex was alive in front of him and even if he was pale like snow, with big dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks, Michael couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful because he was Alex and Alex was always breathtaking.

Alex’s arms around his neck, Alex’s head gently resting upon his shoulder, Alex’s eyes looking at his face, as if he couldn’t really believe that Michael was there, his hand coming up to Michael’s cheek, soft and delicate, as if to make sure that Michael was really there, that it wasn't only and illusion.

At 3:28 the shots rang out, Michael’s body hitting the ground.

At 3:07 he woke up again on Alex’s dusty floor, face dry and clothes clean. Darkness still engulfing his heart, grief still fresh on his mind. But Alex was still alive, still lying in his cold dark cell, still waiting to be saved.

So he went there again and again and again. Everytime he would shiver at Alex’s touch, everytime he would marvel at his face, everytime he would hold him close, afraid of letting him go. And every time he would fail him, everytime he would die in front of Alex’s eyes.

At 7:09 he woke up on Alex’s dusty floor, face wet but clothes clean and then he screamed and cried and wailed because he couldn’t do this anymore, because he needed Alex to be alive. So he stopped. Because he had been willing to die time and time again if it meant saving Alex, but the reality was that he wasn’t saving Alex, he was bringing him to the slaughter.

So he waited for the others, he waited for their plan and their ideas because he needed Alex to be safe, he needed Alex to keep breathing, to keep living.

He knew how irrational he had been, what if their “resurrections” were limited, what if in his hurry and need to save Alex he had been the one that had brought him to his death just because he couldn’t wait a few more hours, just because he had been too desperate to save Alex, just because he had lost his mind at the thought of Alex being gone?

He couldn’t risk it again, he couldn’t risk Alex’s life ever again.

He took Alex’s blanket, which still smelled like him, and curled up on his bed, which still smelled like him, and pretended that Alex was there between his arms, safe and sound and happy, and if sobbs escaped his mouth and tears fell from his eyes, no one was there to see it.

Burnt orange worry was scorching Maria from the inside, copper guilt corroding her heart

and bright red anger burning inside her stomach. Those were at least the emotions that she could bear, the ones that she understood, the ones that while painful and scary were at least acceptable.

But there were other emotions there too, emotions that she didn’t want to acknowledge, that she refused to think about. They weren’t as strong and clear as the other ones, but entangled with one another so completely that she couldn’t even tell one from the next.

Michael had died. Time and time again Michael had died without a care in the world, without even thinking how it would affect her. Without thinking that his death would mean never seeing her again, never touching her again. She hadn’t even been on his mind, he had been willing to leave her forever, to never see her again, without even saying goodbye. And now he couldn’t even touch her, he wouldn’t even look at her, as if she wasn’t there, as if they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, as if they weren’t supposed to be there for each other, comfort one another, hold each other up when they couldn't on their own. Instead every time she tried to touch him he would pull away as if it burned him, as if he couldn’t bear to be near her. She just wanted to feel his arms around her and hold him in return, she wanted to hear his voice whispering in her ear that everything would be fine, a sweet kiss tenderly placed upon her temple, the roughness of his hand gently caressing her. She wanted to be there for him and for him to be there for her, but he felt far away even if he was only mere feet away and she felt alone even if surrounded by people.

She felt selfish and vile everytime those thoughts crossed her mind because Alex was more important, because Alex was in danger and he should be her only focus, her only worry. But still the hurt and jealousy would nag at her..

Hours they sat inside Alex’s living room questioning Michael again and again, prodding him for every detail. She had to listen to Michael talking about all the ways he had died as if it wasn’t tearing her apart from the inside. His heart had stopped beating, his lungs had stopped breathing, he had been gone from this world. The knowledge that he had been dead was too much to bear. He had died and she wouldn’t have been able to see him again, to hear his teasing voice and warm laugh, to feel his rough hands upon her skin, his soft kisses on her lips. Michael had died time and time again and here they were, talking as if that hadn’t happened, as if meant nothing, as if it wasn't a big deal. She wanted to scream at them, all of them, what were they thinking! Michael had died for god sake, she had lost him forever and no one cared. They just kept making their plan and then, after what seemed like a second, they were already ready to go.

Maria wanted to stop them, to tell Michael that he didn’t have to go, that Jenna, Isobel and Max were enough, that they could do it on their own, that they were good enough, that she couldn’t stand the idea of Michael dying again.

But she didn’t.

She wanted to hug Michael, to kiss him again, to wish him good luck and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that they would bring Alex back, safe and sound. But Michael was distant, he wouldn’t even look at her, so she stood back, she didn’t hug him and she didn’t kiss him, only letting a soft “good luck” leave her lips.

At 10:39 pm they walked out of the door and at 10:50 they appeared on the living floor, Michael’s face wet with tears that wouldn’t stop falling and Maria’s heart broke for the millionth time that day because Michael had died again.

She ran at his side, tears already streaming down her cheeks, and hugged Michael like she had never hugged him before, her arms holding him as tight as she could, afraid of letting him go, afraid that he would disappear, afraid that he would die and stay that way.

But when Maria pulled away and looked him in the eyes she realized that she had lost him anyway, that regardless of the outcome of this mission Michael was never going to be hers again and what hurt the most was the suspicion that maybe Michael had never been hers in the first place, at least not totally, not completely, not truly.

“He remembers everything” Michael whispered, “he said he'd been there for months.” and then he broke.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #michael guering #malex fic #fanfiction #malex #I'm also really down because of the last disguting episode #thank my story took place after season 1 and doesn't have touch season 2

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fandom-queenliness · 5 years

Text

The Best Friend

Shoutout to @gajer-1226 for some awesome ideas and @phoenixia97 for double checking my shitting spelling.

Also, apologies for the late update, been busy as heck my good dudes.

For those that are new, this is part.... uh??? Like seven (????) of my Burning Series/Adrien Affair AU, again shoutout to the anon that came up with that. You can read the rest here.

This is Alya, and ooooooh baby, is it a doozy.

Anyway, onto the pain!

The Best Friend

Alya watched her husband and friends get in Chloe’s limo, trying not to scream. She kept seeing Marinette’s face, devastated, tearful, broken. It brought a fire to her heart, and she itched to go to Adrien and make him hurt right then, but she had a plan.

She closed the door to Marinette’s house—Marinette’s, not Adrien’s, to Alya he owned nothing Marinette had ever touched or love—and walked up the stairs, finding her best friend sitting on her bed, staring at the wall.

“Marinette?” She called softly, staying in the doorway. She didn’t know what to do, how to help Mari. What could she do in the face of Adrien’s betrayal?

“Alya,” her friend murmured, red-rimmed eyes finding her own. “Are they—?” Her voice cut off, but Alya knew what she meant.

“Your parents picked up Emma and Hugo,” she confirmed. “They were worried for you, they wanted to see you, but they took the kids to the bakery. Nino, Chloe and Kagami just left.”

Some of the tension left Marinette, but new tears rolled down her face. She heaved, pressing two hands to her stomach, as if she was going to be sick. Alya ran forward, hugging her friend tightly, begging the universe for something—anything, to ease her pain.

“How could he do this?” Marinette cried, sounding for all the world as if she was dying. “Am I not enough? Was our family not enough? Is he ever satisfied?”

Alya didn’t answer, just pulled Marinette closer, trying to keep her own tears back. She would not lie, Adrien’s betrayal hurt, it hurt to know one of her best friends was not who she thought him to be, but it hurt more to see her near sister so broken hearted. It burned, making a hole in her heart were Adrien used to be held.

Eventually Marinette stopped crying and slumped against Alya, asleep. Gently, she laid the bluenette down on the bed, though she hated doing so. This was the bed Adrien had brought his mistress to, on the many occasions he had met her. That Ketch girl. Alya would hunt her down and make her pay, but not as much as Adrien.

Slipping out of the room, Alya leaned against the hallway wall, pressing a hand to her mouth to stop her sobs from waking Marinette. Dear gods, it was like physical pain, what Adrien had done. Like a deep cut in her gut. It hurt even more to know Marinette felt a thousand times worse than this. She never should have had to suffer, and yet she was, on a scale unimaginable to Alya.

She took a bitter moment to wish she had objected to the marriage, that she had seen how truly selfish and blind Adrien was. That Marinette had married Felix instead. This never would have happened if Felix had been her husband, but they had all been blinded by Adrien’s sweetness, by his golden light.

And now they were left burning, and they had no one to blame but themselves.

She left Marinette where she was, instead using her time to clean up the house. She didn’t know what else to do. She hated housework, only did it when absolutely necessary, but she felt so absolutely helpless that doing dishes was better than just standing around waiting for Marinette to wake up.

She washed the dishes, moped the flaws, tidied the living room and cleaned the entire first floor, but she was really just removing toys and books. The house was already spotless, it made her feel useless.

Then she went into Emma and Hugo’s room and packed two bags with their clothes and toys, knowing that Marinette was in no state to be looking after them. They would stay with Sabine and Tom until this mess was sorted out, or Alya and Nino would take care of them. She was sure any of the others were more than willing to help too.

When she had packed and repacked the bags twice, Alya started to cook. The perks of having a world-famous chef for a mother was that even Alya could whip up something. She raided the kitchen and made red beans and rice, then the family chicken and vegetable dish from back home. Then she cleaned the kitchen again. She looked at the clock and realised she had only passed an hour.

She spent the next twenty minutes miserably eating beans and rice, crying her eyes out or planning how exactly she was going to kill Adrien, resisting the urge to go see her best friend. It would only make her cry more to see her friend laid out like a broken china doll.

Then she heard a scream from upstairs, and her heart stopped.

Alya ran into the bedroom and saw Marinette on the floor, curled into a fetal position, her hair spread out around her like a fan. She was screaming, beating one fist into the ground while the other—her left hand, the one with her wedding ring—stayed curled against her chest.

“Marinette!” She rushed forward, fear and panic battering at her ribs, pulling her friend up and holding her face, checking to see if she was hurt. Marinette just cried, the only thing holding her up was Alya’s arms.

“What happened?” She asked, trying to breathe through her panic. Was she having a breakdown? Was this normal? Please for the love of god let this be normal, don’t let her friend fall apart—

“Felix,” Marinette gasped, like she was drowning, like she was dying. “Please, please Alya I need Felix, I can’t brea—I can’t breathe.” She dissolved into more sobbing, falling against Alya.

She shut her eyes tight, holding onto Marinette for dear life. She just needed a moment, just a moment to calm herself.

“Okay Marinette,” she said softly. “I’ll call him, I promise. But will you please get on the bed? I just need to make sure you’re okay.”

The other woman didn’t say anything, but she stopped shaking a little and her breathing evened out. Alya managed to stand up, holding onto Marinette’s hands, and lead her to her bed.

She sat Mari down, promised to be back, and then went to call Felix downstairs.

Now that she was sure Marinette was safe, that she wasn’t going to go insane—at least for the moment—she felt her rage build back up. Fucking Adrien his fault, his fault, his fault.

She pressed call, knowing Felix would share the feeling of utter resentment.

He answered. “Yes?”

“Felix,” she said, and told him what to do.

Felix arrived in a rage, burning the way he always had ice cold, like a star but now it was different, like he was falling apart. He was a black hole, ready to destroy anything close to him. He looked ready to commit a murder.

Yet that anger softened in an instant when he saw Marinette, love plain as day on his face. It broke Alya’s heart all over again. She had to turn away for a moment. If only he had not been so selfless and told Marinette he loved her. Maybe this would have all been avoided.

She left them together, then texted Nino to let him know Felix was here. Then she spent the next twenty minutes thinking over the next stage of her plan. She could not fix everything in a snap, but she could make Adrien pay in more than one way.

Felix came downstairs, looking drained and upset, but burning with fury. He walked to towards the door and she followed.

“I’ll be back.”

She crossed her arms. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see Adrien.”

Alya shook her head. “No.”

He snapped his eyes to her in surprise. “What?”

She lifted her chin, clutching her anger close. “I’m seeing him first. Nino, Chloe, Kagami, they are having their turns right now. It’s mine next. You get the last one before Marinette.” She grinned, but not out of joy. “It will hurt more, and I intend to make him hurt. His brother and his wife will be the final ones to show him just how he fucked up.”

She saw Felix hesitate, his need to go punch Adrien clearly urging him to leave, but she knew he was a planner, and he loved poetic justice.

He nodded. “I’ll watch over her.”

Alya could not help but think of all the times he watched Adrien and Marinette from a distance, loving her in secret. But that was not what mattered, not now. The only thing that mattered was making sure Adrien hurt.

She turned and opened the door. “I’ll text you when it’s over.” She walked out, trusting him to protect the woman they both loved.

She found Nino, Chloe, and Kagami just as they were leaving the building. All of them looked rightfully angry, but Chloe and Nino also looked beaten down.

She felt pity for them. They loved Adrien so very much, it must have been horrible to confront him, to see all his faults and finally call him out on them.

“Hey,” she murmured. And that was all it took before Nino slumped into her; his eyes wet.

“It hurts,” he whimpered into her hair, voice thin and brittle. Her hands curled into fists, but she still held him up. He needed her right now, Adrien could wait.

Her husband shuddered. “I looked at him and all I saw was the hurt he caused Marinette but…” he voice broke. “When I think of him, I still wish he was my friend.”

“I know love,” she said, meeting Chloe and Kagami’s eyes over his shoulder, speaking to all three of them. “But no matter what, remember that he lied to all of us. That no matter how many good years we had together, they do not excuse the hurt he has caused all of us, and Mari.” She took a sharp breath in. “We cannot undo the past—to stop Adrien or save Marinette, but we can secure a future where he can never hurt us again.”

Her voice turned bitter. “We all could have done better. We no longer have excuses. We are grown and should have seen the damage he had done. I knew Marinette felt insignificant, she told me about all the times Adrien ditched her at galas. I saw how distant he was during that time he was with that woman.” She snarled, and Nino stood straight, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You couldn’t have known,” he said. “None of us did.”

“But I should have!” she cried, tears welling up and blurring her vision. “I saw all the signs, but I was so fucking blind and so fucking stupid—”

“Stop blaming yourself,” Chloe snapped. Her blue eyes were frosty. “We are all at fault for not seeing all his faults sooner, but Adrien is the only one who should be blamed for this mess. He was the one who hurt Marinette.”

Kagami squared her jaw and nodded, on hesitation in her eyes. “He will pay for his dishonour.”

The blonde’s face was pale but certain. “Kagami is right. I love Adrien, and yet all the things over the years… it turns out he wasn’t who we thought he was, and he needs to suffer for his mistakes.”

Wiping away his tears, Nino voiced his agreement. “Sometimes, I would have my doubts, but I always brushed them away… we shouldn’t have done it, we should have stopped him.”

Alya brushed a hand against his cheek, her insides aching at the conflict he was facing. “We cannot undo what has been done, but we can make Adrien hurt.” She pointed to Chloe. “Call your car, get back to Marinette… or, actually…” She paused, thinking. “Wait a bit. Go to your hotel or the bakery. Give her and Felix a moment together, they both need it.”

Her husbands and friends nodded. Chloe murmured, “Poor Felix…”

“He’s with her,” Nino told her. “It’s the best place he could be.”

Kagami nodded, then looked to Alya with steady dark eyes. “Make him hurt.” The three then left, with hugs and kisses and reassurances.

Alya watched them go, a heavy feeling settling around her heart. An iron wall, so she could face what she was about to do.

She looked up the Gabriel building, imagining a blond idiot she was about to confront.

For Emma. For Hugo. For Us. For Marinette.

She saw the fear in Adrien’s face when she walked into his office. He clearly had at least some intelligence. Immediately, he stood, hand reaching for the phone.

She lunged forward and threw it at the wall, smiling at him with all her teeth. “None of that Adrien, I want to have a nice private chat.”

“Alya,” he said, but his voice shook. “Please, you know I had my reasons, you know I would never hurt Marinette—”

She blinked at him, an inescapable fury building up inside her blood. “You are an idiot.”

Adrien flinched at the poison in her voice. “Alya please—”

“What reasons could you have to cheat?!” She growled. “And now you have the audacity to tell me you would never hurt Marinette?”

He glared at her, but his eyes betrayed his fear. “I never meant to; I love her. She is my wife.”

Alya slammed her fist into the desk. “You don’t deserve to call her that!”

“She is my WIFE; I have never willing hurt her!”

“Oh really?” Alya asked venomously. “I have been her best friend since College, I have been witness to all the times you made her feel like shit.”

He leaned forward, a growl building up inside his throat. “I never—”

“Let’s see.” She crossed her arms and stared him down, trying to keep the pure animal rage locked up inside herself. She held up a hand and started ticking fingers off. “You never gave her a second thought in school. You thought the scarf she made for you was from your father, that made her cry. That date you asked her to join between you and Kagami—that made her cry. That time you abandoned her to just let Lila lie and lie and lie to all of us—that nearly akumatized her multiple times.”

Adrien flushed. “But—”

She cut him off. “Let’s not forget what you did as Chat Noir. All those confessions, all those roses, all those tantrums and times you disrespected her decisions to reject you.” Oh god, Alya thought, how had I ever thought he was good enough for her? She shook off that guilt for a later date.

“You chased Ladybug as Chat Noir, not even sparing a glance at Marinette—oh that messed her head up so much after she found out your identity. It made her feel like Marinette wasn’t good enough.” Alya fought the urge to grab a pen and stab him at the memory and forced herself to keep speaking. “It didn’t help that you only started liking her once you found out she was Ladybug.”

“I can’t—”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled until he was nearly across the desk. “I’m. not. Finished,” she hissed.

His mouth went slack, and she dropped him, relishing the thud he made against the floor.

“Now where was I… oh yes. Everything after.” She bared her teeth and he scrambled back, eyeing her like she was a wild animal, and oh, how she felt like one.

“I can remember every time you made Marinette feel inferior,” she spat at him. “All those times you disregarded her feelings—how you kept in contact with Lila, after everything that bitch did to Mari. It hurt her so much when she came back into our lives in university and then you let her. And even after university, all those times you convinced Mari to go to coffee meet ups with you, to see Lila.”

“It was once a year!” Adrien snapped.

“It hurt her,” Alya bit back. “It hurt her so much and I was so busy avoiding Lila myself that I never thought to listen to what Felix and Kagami and Chloe and Nino was saying, about how it was shameful for you to do what you were doing.

“And it just got worse and worse, like when we started to overhear models gossip about how you were so kind, how they thought you had flirted with them. I always had to comfort Mari; I was the one who convinced her you were just being polite. Then it was how you had so little time for her, how you were so busy trying to please your father she felt she would always come second, or third, or fourth. I was the one to convince her it was just for a little while.”

She laughed humourlessly, guilt burning her throat. “I hate myself for it, for excusing what a terrible person you were, but I cannot be blamed for what a terrible husband you have been.”

He opened his mouth, but she beat him too it, rage in every word.

“You were never there for her.” She snarled. “Always gone on modelling trips, or business trips. Anything to keep your father happy, but at some point, he stopped telling you where to go, and you just went on your own. It was one of the hardest parts of Marinette’s life, trying to convince herself you would be back, that you had to leave her, and I played along.” It was one of her biggest regrets, not seeing what was oh so clear now.

“I was there!” Adrien protested. “I was there, you know I was—”

“Oh you were there when Emma was born,” Alya agreed. “To be a father, to fix all your daddy issues. Marinette didn’t mind, she was just so glad you were home. But then you started to drift away, and she was left alone more and more to raise your daughter. She had to take a week off of work when Emma got sick, but you were in another city and didn’t bother to come home and help your fucking wife and child.”

“It was an important trip…” Adrien whispered, but even he seemed to doubt his words.

“And it didn’t get better after Hugo, you were so distant that he had trouble remembering you.”

Resentment grew across his face. “He is an infant; he can’t be expected—”

“Then the murmurs got louder,” she said over him, words imbued disgust. Oh, this part was one of the worse. “How those intimate photoshoots were getting a little too intimate. And then you started to abandon Mari at those parties more and more, or just straight up ignored her.

“Then you have an AFFAIR, and then tell the whole fucking world, expecting everything to end up just fine.” Alya smiled at him viciously. “That’s pretty fucking stupid.”

Adrien shook his head. “I regret my actions, I regret them so, so much, I wish I could take it all back. I promise I will—"

“Oh no, no, no, you are not going to have that chance,” Alya interrupted, fists clenched as she took a step and shoved her face in front of his. “You broke her heart; you broke all our hearts. You cheated on her, you treated her like shit. You hurt her in ways you can’t begin to understand!”

He took a step back. “I didn’t want to-”

“Didn’t want to?” Alya snarled. “You had an affair for SIXTEEN FUCKING MONTHS, how was that an accident?” She stabbed his chest with her finger, making him stumble back. “Congratulations!” She shouted. “You fucked up big time, Adrien!”

“I never meant for this to happen,” He said desperately. “I was stupid—”

“We suffered through years of seeing Marinette being hurt again and again by you,” Alya said. “We had to go through seeing her cry and break down and then lie to herself, and then we lied to ourselves too because it was better than accepting what a horrible person you were. Marinette is in pieces, I am in pieces, Nino is in pieces, Chloe and Kagami and Felix and all of our friends are broken into shatters because of you!” Alya shouted, voice thick with anger. Tears welled up in her eyes. “And it was all because of you, you were our friend and you broke us!”

“I am hurting too,” He said, voice growing in anger. His green eyes were no longer filled with apology, but with fury and defensiveness. “What about me?”

“I am not here for you,” Alya spat. “I am here for my friends, who are hurting, who you broke. What you did to Marinette is unforgivable.” She took a shuddering breath and Adrien took the opportunity to move back several steps.

“I know Marinette like I know my own heart,” she said. “There is no one as sweet or as kind, who trusts so completely, so loves so totally, and you broke her! You destroyed her into a shadow of nothing! You broke her heart!” She glared at him and balled her hands into fists. “YOU BROKE HER!”

“I LOVE HER!” Adrien screamed back, more animal than human.

Tears fell from Alya’s hazel eyes, but her glare was so intense Adrien took a step back.

“Did you know,” Alya said softly, wiping away her tears, “what seems a million years ago, she said to me that she loved you, and I worried, for just a day. I was scared you would break her heart, but I stood by and let myself be blinded but your false sweetness. I let her fall in love so deeply in love with you and forgot my worry.” She moved forward so fast Adrien could barely see her, grabbing his tie and pulling him forward. “Do you know why?” She asked in a dangerous whisper.

Adrien swallowed nervously, staring down at her. “Why?”

She let him go and moved back a step, hands coming up and wrapping around herself as if to keep her rage in. “I love Marinette more than anything in this world, I will choose her over everyone else, I will choose her happiness and safety over everything. And being in love with you made her happy, so I let her, even though I knew you would break her heart from that very first day.”

Adrien shook his head in disbelief. “I-”

“Marinette is the best thing in our lives! She is the kindest, most considerate, most loving person you will ever meet! So never forget you have had the best wife and then you BROKE HER HEART.” Alya let go his tie, pushing him until his back was pushed against the glass windows, her arm beneath his throat, not enough to choke, but to at least hurt.

“Congratulations!” Alya yelled, shoving her face into his, eyes burning dangerously. “You had the chance to be with the best person on this earth, and you broke her!” She moved back, and he fell forward, clutching his throat. “You lost your chance with her, so never lose sight of the fact that any sacrifices you make, anything you try, will never make up for what did before. You could do anything and everything, but it will never be enough.”

Adrien tried to speak; eyes wide. “But I-”

“I want you to know this is not the end,” Alya told him softly, but it was a mask because she was still burning up inside with the need to make him hurt. “I will personally make sure that everything you ever loved is taken away from you. No one will trust you again. You will lose everything. For every tear Marinette will sheds because of this, I punish you.”

He flinched back, and she knew he was taking her seriously. He had no reason to doubt her. It was Marinette. No one survived hurting her, not when Alya was involved.

She turned away from him and walked to the door, then spinning around to glare at him. “I hope that you know what you’ve done,” She snarled. “We will never forgive you. Don’t ever think we will ever let you back into our lives and trust you again. You broke that, I hope you’re happy now. I hope you’re finally happy now that you’ve hurt everyone who loved you forever. I hope you’re proud.” She turned around, but this was not enough, it would never be enough to show him how badly he had messed up.

“You are alone,” She snarled, and then she left, leaving Adrien in his office.

Yeah... that happened.

Anyway, the next thing I’m writing is Felix and a look into his past and how he came to fall in love with Marinette.

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writings-of-the-otherworld · 4 years

Text

Happy Gracesversary!

{To celebrate, here's what I've been working on!}

The strong wintry sun was peeking out above the windmills by the time the lord of Lhant clambered out of his bed. Wandering over to the window, Asbel took a quick glance at the calendar. He stopped. "No way…" He mumbled, surprised. That was far sooner than he thought.

"Huh..?" A mess of red hair appeared from under the blankets, blinking at him.

"There are only six days!"

"Of course there are, do you even pay attention to the date?" Cheria sighed, shaking her head and sitting up. Asbel smiled at her.

"Maybe I haven't been paying any attent- Ah." He stopped mid-sentence, looking sheepishly down at her. "I haven't sent the invitations…"

"Asbel!" She chided, springing out of bed. "That's it! I've been telling you for weeks!" He winced under her glare, although she had a point.

"Okay, I know, I forgot- but I'll do them today!"

"Good." Satisfied, Cheria got out of bed and started getting dressed. Smiling to himself, Asbel sat on the windowsill and looked out. Sophie was watering her flowers, drifting around the garden. Her determination to keep them alive during winter was admirable, and really rather adorable. She looked up and waved. Asbel waved back. Unlike the rest of them, Sophie's appearance hasn't changed since their last adventure. Asbel thought back on it happily, trying to pat down his unruly hair. Cheria snickered at his attempt, and he laughed too.

After finally getting ready for the day, Asbel sat at the end of his long office. The chairs along the sides of the room were old, dusty, and useless, but the lord kept them anyway. The room had barely changed in the ten years he had been lord, and neither had his schedule. Working all morning, lunch, yet more work, then you guessed it, work. It kept him out of trouble, and it wasn't unpleasant. The noise of a quill scratching against paper filled the space as Asbel tried working out the draft. "Friends, I extend an invite from Lhant to celebrate- that's way too formal!" He huffed and crossed that one out. Invitations were surprisingly difficult. He tried another draft. And another. And even more. The sun had risen to noon by the time he settled on something. "Old friends, Cheria, Sophie and I want to know if you'll come to celebrate with us in Lhant in six days? Hey, that works!"

"Asbel?" Sophie blinked, leaning through the open window. "What's that?"

"Morning Sophie." He leaned over and patted her. "I'm inviting everyone to visit."

"Oh..!" Sophie smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Yay. We haven't seen them in ages!"

"I know, everyone's been really busy lately." Abel shook his head, typing the message into Pascal's wonderful creation of a messenger. "I mean, Richard's king, for a start… Hubert's really important in Strata, Pascal's running around both planets at full steam, and who knows what captain Malik is doing…" He laughed thinking about them. "And of course, we're busy here as well."

"Mmm." Sophie nodded, looking up at the sky. "I like this busy. It's nicer than the other busy, I think."

"Oh, I definitely agree. There's no better busy than a peaceful busy."

✿

One again in the town of Lhant, the sun raised late and bright. Large, fluffy, grey clouds filled the sky, and frost coated each house's roof. The first risers were out and about, wrapped up in thick coats. The day promised to be cold, freezing even, but that did nothing to dampen the young lord's spirits. The Lhant family were flitting about their house, each making sure everything would be just perfect for when the others arrived. Despite the weather, the manor was filled with pure excitement. Gossip ran rampant, ranging from benign topics to utter ridiculousness. All the chaos could, in an odd way, be described as organised. Everyone knew what they were supposed to do. Today was the day.

"Asbel, Cheria!" Sophie sprinted into the house, smiling wide.

"Yes, dear?" Cheria poked her head out of the guest room she was setting up, as Asbel leaned over the banister and looked down at Sophie.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"Richard's ship is docking now." Her grin spread as she looked between her parents.

"Really? How can you tell?"

"I saw Richard surrounded by guards." Sophie blinked. "I'm going to go look for the captain now."

"Aaand there she goes." Asbel chuckled, watching Sophie run back outside. Descending quickly down the stairs, he went over to Cheria, who was smiling softly.

"She's definitely excited to see everyone again."

"So am I! I mean, it's been ages since a full group reunion." Asbel thought about it. It really had been. Sure, Hubert and occasionally Pascal came over for family dinners; they used 'official lord business' trips to visit Richard; and Malik would show up sometimes; but never all at once. It made him smile. He missed them.

"It really has. Come on, now we know King Richard's almost here, we've got to work on everything!" Cheria patted his shoulder, a warm grin on her face. She went back to work, so Asbel wandered the town, making sure it was all in order.

A small commotion could be heard over by the apple tree. Huh, Richard was going to enter from the other gate. Unless? Asbel made his way over, the crowd parting for him. The mop of blue hair was unmistakable. "Hubert!" Asbel grinned widely as he looked at his little brother. The man clad entirely in blue put a hand up in greeting, giving a small smile.

"I'm home." He said as Asbel stood next to him.

"Yes, you are! Come on, we've missed you." The crowd moved out of the way, and the boys took their familiar path home, one they had walked together thousands of times. The same familiar person ran out to greet them, hugging both brothers.

"Oh Hubert, you're early!" Cheria let go, clasped her hands together and looked back at the manor. "Come on in then."

"It's nice to see you again, Cheria. How've you been?" Hubert asked politely, heading into his old house and letting the actual residents follow him.

"Oh, you know, we've been fine and stuff-"

"Thanks you for asking, it's been great over here. How're things with you?"

"Oh, nothing much has happened lately."

The three of them wandered into the office, sitting at Asbel's table.

"Really? How are you and Pascal getting along?" Cheria asked sweetly, although there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. Hubert immediately looked down at the floor, and Asbel had to forcibly stop himself from laughing at his younger brother. He was just so easy to fluster, just so proper, he was hilarious. But he was Hubert, and the trio that grew up together wouldn't have him, have any of them another way. Almost thirty years, full of ups, downs, and more loops than a rollercoaster, yet still the three of them were thick as thieves.

They could have spent all day laughing amongst themselves. It was in the middle of an animated conversation about their old adventures that they were interrupted by a knock at the window. There stood Asbel's blank-faced child, staring at them. "Oh, Sophie." Hubert smiled over at her, and Sophie smiled back, then gestured for someone to open the window. Asbel obliged, stepping over and pulling it open.

"Is someone blocking the door? Come and join us." Cheria called from her seat as Asbel went back to his. Nimbly Sophie hopped into the room, although she didn't move from her spot just in front of the window.

"Hello Sophie, it's nice to see you."

"Hello Hubert..!" Sophie nodded with a soft smile. "I'm glad you came." Finally, she wandered over and sat down next to Asbel.

"Good morning." Smiled the king, sitting on the windowsill. Asbel froze, then burst into spluttering laughter.

"Richard, you made it!"

"Oh my-" Hubert mumbled, a shocked grin on his face. Cheria looked from Asbel to Richard, at a complete loss for words. It was… Hilarious. With a smug smile on his face, Richard stood up and walked over to the group.

"I take it I'm early, then?"

"Your- Richard-" Cheria spluttered, "We do have a door, you know."

"Well, me and Sophie thought this would be fun."

"It was!" Sophie chirped up, flashing a grin at Richard.

"It was definitely- something-" The lord of Lhant snickered, trying to calm his laughter, ineffectively. His brother wasn't doing much better.

"Well, um, uh… Richard, I don't think kings should be sliding through windows."

"I couldn't resist the chance. Anyway, you four did it first." A joyful glint filled his eyes, and that's when Asbel saw the poetic justice of it all. He laughed, and this time the others joined in.

"We've missed you, Richard."

"Same here. You should visit more."

Asbel's feet crunched against the remnants of frosty fallen leaves as he sped down the Northern path. With the promise of being back soon, he and Sophie were headed to the border. They had to collect their final guests, the rest of their group. He'd really missed the captain, and it was very easy to notice when Pascal wasn't around. He smiled; Sophie definitely missed them both. Malik was always helping her out, and Pascal absolutely adored Sophie. The looming wall came into view as the two of them crested a hill, and Asbel sighed. Lhant and Fendel had not fought for years and years, but bad memories came to him regardless. Clearing his head, he powered on. His two favourite Fendolians were waiting for him, after all.

"Sir!" A guard stood to attention, saluting the two Lhants. "What's your request?"

"We're here to meet our friends. Thanks, lieutenant." Asbel smiled at him, and he relaxed.

"Oh, we couldn't miss the arrival of those two if we tried." The guard smiled at his lord. "I'm sure they'll be here soon."

"Ah, we'll wait around then." Asbel nodded, then stood by Sophie, who was staring at the frostbitten Sopherias. "Those poor flowers, huh? It must be cold for them."

"It is cold this week. All of the plants have been like this." The young woman nodded, sighing. She cared about the flowers more than anyone else did. With a nod, Asbel tried to explain.

"I've heard it's because the wind is blowing weather from Fendel here. It's cold, but it might snow."

"Really?" Sophie tilted her head, and a gruff voice from behind them answered.

"Yup."

"Captain-!" Asbel spun around with a grin, seeing Malik standing there. Before either of them could move, there was a thud as Sophie dodged a hug and her 'aunt' went flying to the floor.

"Owowow!" Huffed the chest woman, standing back up. "Not even a hello?" Sophie stuck her tongue out in response, to which Malik laughed.

"As you can see, we made it."

"It's nice to see you again! Uh, you too, Pascal. Everyone else is already at home."

"Really?" Malik thought. "Then I guess we're later than I thought."

"Oh well, let's go?" Pascal clapped her hands together, already setting off with Sophie. Asbel laughed; now the party could really get started. The two men shared a merry look, before walking next to one another, following the other two.

"Shall we, Asbel?"

"Yes sir."

✿

Asbel was right when he thought this would be a party, it really could only be described as chaotic. When the entire group reunited there was yelling, hugging, and most importantly, smiles all round. Even though they were all busy, had their own lives, the things they'd done together would stick with them for life. And, as Asbel remembered, certain people would live very long ones indeed. All cares forgot, the seven of them crowded around a circular table, having finally settled down, kind of. Asbel was content to smile fondly at his friends, until his wife nudged him under the table. Oh, right. He had to say something. Standing up, he didn't even have to cough to get their attention. They all respected one another so much.

"My friends," He began, but laughed and tried again. "Guys! Thanks for all showing up today."

"As if we wouldn't." Hubert scoffed, shaking his head.

"Anyway, it's our anniversary - the anniversary of us saving things!" Asbel looked proud, and the group cheered, although he couldn't help but notice Richard sigh. "Ten years ago we saved the world and a misguided boy, but most importantly, we, well, saved each other. So, um, thank you. Thank you, everyone." He sat down, a little embarrassed, but the entire table went up in applause.

"Mhm! Thank you, all of you."

"Of course. Someone needs to help out their brother."

"I've had fun!"

Everyone called out their own responses, then raised their glasses.

"To us?"

"To us!"

Many delicious meals, drinks, and laughs later, someone else stood up to make a speech. The king stood with a warm smile down at his best friend, before beginning. "Like Asbel said, thank you. Thank each and every one of you here. Ten years ago, you… As well as saving everyone on the planet, all of you, from my childhood friends to people who barely knew me, you saved me. And for that, I'm grateful. Really." He bowed, quietly sitting down.

"Oh Richard, it's no problem! I'd never let you down."

"Mmm, like Asbel said, we're your friends. We'll always save each other."

"Don't worry Richard. Nothing would stop us from doing it again and again."

"Hu's right! We're always free for a good spot of world-saving!"

"You shouldn't worry about it. Everyone here's far too noble to let you down."

"We're friends, Richard." Sophie smiled, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you… You're all right. Now, onto the desert?" Richard smiled, and they all agreed, tucking into a cake almost as big as the table.

Wandering his home, Asbel came across a few quiet conversations that made him smile. Outside, Sophie was trying to explain the art of gardening to the clueless but curious Richard and the amused Malik. While making sure everything was alright, it was in their old room he saw his little brother and Pascal, so of course he watched what he could. It was a big sibling sort of thing, he figured.

"This is your old room? Wow, I didn't know you liked boats so much!" Pascal flitted around the place, curiously poking at the room that hadn't changed in seventeen long years.

"As a child I had a fascination with them. Me and Asbel used to watch them all the time. It was one of our favourite places to 'adventure'" Hubert muttered, smiling softly at the memories. It warmed Asbel's heart to think that after all he'd been through, Hubert fondly remembered those days. Good.

"Awwe." Pascal laughed, sitting on his bed. "How'd you keep it so neat?"

"Unlike everyone else, I tidy up after myself." Hubert shook his head, smiling. He had a point, no-one around here was naturally tidy.

"Oh, then you can help me clean, it's a pain."

"That's not how it works!"

Silently laughing, Asbel stepped away. He was glad everyone around here had found happiness.

"I know, they're all so happy." Cheria's voice came from behind him, and he jumped. "Yes, I was checking on our Hubert too."

"Woah-! I guess it's not just me then." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "He's not the only one who's happy, you know. I think we've done just fine." Asbel spoke with a grin, and Cheria blushed.

"You're not wrong there. We're very, very happy."

The two of them laughed as they linked arms and went to join Sophie's cheerful discussion.

✿

It was as the sun started to set, casting an orange glow on the ocean below, that our protagonist stood against a tree, watching the waves lap against the shore. Something in him figured the others would feel the need to come here too, so be waited. Occasionally the voice in his head muttered things he replied or laughed too, and the scene was filled with calm.

"I figured you'd be here." Spoke the calm voice of his best friend, standing in the field of flowers. "It feels like a lifetime ago…" Richard soft footsteps approached, and he traced the faded names on the tree. "Eternal friendship, huh? You know, I think it really does work." He nodded, and the two of them sat down on the clifftop.

"Of course it does. I will treasure you both forever." Added the other voice he was expecting, the soft voice of Sophie. The two of them turned their heads, waving at her.

"And we'll protect you for as long as we can!" Asbel smiled, as did Sophie. Sitting on the other side of Asbel, she spoke.

"I know you will. Thank you."

"No thanks needed." Richard leaned over Asbel and softly smiled. Linking arms with the both of them, Asbel looked up at the bare branches.

"Right. No thanks are needed, because we'll always be this close. Always and forever."

"Richard? Sophie?" Asbel began, distracted by the sun slipping away.

"Yes?" Richard turned to him, Sophie tilted her head.

"Lambda's sorry. He told me to apologize on his behalf."

"Huh?" Sophie looked at him blankly, and Richard frowned.

"What's he apologizing for? Without him I would've died. Yes, we made some bad decisions, but I forgive him."

"Me too. Just because I was… I was made to destroy him, doesn't mean I can't deviate."

"Yeah. You hear that, Lambda? No-one blames you." Asbel smiled, his purple eye twinkling as he stared up at Fodra in the sky. Each member of the trio fell into a companionable silence.

Shining purple petals, their tips coated with silver frost, started to blow through the air. "Asbel, Richard! Look!" A blossomgale. The mythical event of beauty started to happen while the three of them sat there.

"It's beautiful… Is this..?"

"Yep. This is it."

"Wow… Asbel, you were right. It's prettier in winter." Sophie nodded, her smile soft as she stared at the petals of the flower she was named after.

"Woah… I've always wanted to see this. Now I get to watch it with you." Richard muttered, looking up. Asbel held onto his two friends, his smile as bright as the moon above.

"Mmm…"

And in the morning, the three friends would be found holding onto each other, blanketed in petals as pure and soft as snow.

~Fin~

#tales of #tales of graces #tales of graces pascal #tales of graces f #tales of graces lambda #tales of graces asbel #tales of graces hubert #tales of graces cheria #tales of graces Sophie #tales of graces Richard #tales of graces malik #asbel lhant #cheria barnes #hubert oswell #sophie lhant #richard windor #malik caesar #Gracesversary!#long post

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liminal-storage · 5 years

Text

Mea Culpa

Companion to Ambrosia. Wanted to get them both posted together and I’m a little proud I got two things done in one night. Wee!

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

If my mum could see me now, she’d be rolling in her grave, I’m sure of it.

Mum was always a firm believer in Nophica, saying shite like “The Matron sees all, she knows all your sins and generosities, and she’ll deliver unto you what you deserve.”

Thing is (and too bad for mum), I stopped believing that drivel the day they arrested dad. I’d always been a good kid, you know? Because I was a good kid, I’d actually had things pretty easy despite being mixed blood. I believed in the Matron, believed my family and I would be rewarded for being overall good people. Hells, I even went with mum twice a sennight to visit this little church devoted to Nophica. It had these pretty little green flowers that grew out front, green like her robes. I really, really thought she’d deliver justice for what’d been done.

So when no such divine justice came, of course I stopped believing. I stopped praying for peace that I’d never see, absolution I’d never feel. Heard the little church burned down, too. Gone up in smoke one day and crumbled to ash in less than a bell.

And no, before you ask, I didn’t have anything to do with that. Arson isn’t my style, even if the thing burning up did feel almost poetic, some kind of protest against Nophica at the hands of some other member of The Twelve.

If that’s the case, and I ever figure out which one might’ve done it, I’ll have myself a drink in their honor. Maybe it was Rhalgr, the Destroyer. Or would that be the obvious choice? Anyway, the point is, Nophica never did a damn thing for me then, and she sure as hell isn’t watching over me now.

If she was, she’d have done something about all the shite I’ve done to Rausten, to the woods, to myself. No divinity in their right mind could forgive someone for that shite.

Now, it’s not like I ever intended for things to get so tits-up, you know? All I really wanted was to see how the guy could take one of my little “special” drinks. Him becoming my guinea pig for new mixtures didn’t even enter into the plan at any point. It’s just sort of one of those things that happened.

Oh, it’s been fun, don’t get me wrong. I always wanted to see what sorts of faces Rausten could make, other than that flat “shite on your shoe” look. And I’ve seen them all now, from his weepy pained face to his orgasm face. Never had anyone so eager for me to hurt them before, either. I didn’t want to, not at first, not in that way. Oh, I wanted him to suffer alright, but it was only gonna be some brief thing before he reported me or up and left.

I don’t know, okay? I didn’t have a plan at all when I sat him down that first time. You ever just get a whim you gotta follow no matter what, some call to the dark, some all-consuming itch? That’s what this was.

I guess it doesn’t matter though. The fact of the matter is that I like it. I like hurting him in the littlest ways, micro-cuts that eat away at him until he breaks down, needing my mercy and comfort to soothe away the nightmares I summoned. I like it when he sits at my feet like some good little pup, looking up at me with both fear and adoration. It’s so delectable, so sweet…

It’s so wrong.

It’s so beyond wrong that I have no words for it. How did it come to this? How did I get so deluded into thinking I’m justified in playing around with someone’s life like I’m one of them gods I hate so much? Where do I of all people get off thinking that I can keep it up without punishment?

But that’s just it. Whoever’s really responsible for ruining my life got off scott-free. Why shouldn’t I? I haven’t killed anyone. And the things I do to Rausten are all part of a mutual agreement. I never forced him into anything, and he can leave any time he wants. In fact, he is leaving, two sennights from now. He told me he’s packing up and joining the Maelstrom, getting himself as far from Gridania as he can. Says things about needing a fresh start, and that he has me to thank for opening his eyes to what he needed most.

(He really shouldn’t thank me. His last few days with me are going to be a living hell. I’m going to make him realize how much I really hate him, so he’ll never, ever come back here.)

Rausten’s lucky, really. So few of us in the world know what our purpose is, but he thinks he’s found his. He’s lucky too that I can’t follow him. Unlike him, I haven’t found my purpose, but whatever it is will be tied to this place. That much I can almost guarantee.

Do you think the Twelve ever wanted to be worshiped the way they are? Did Nophica find herself with a man prostrated at her feet, think about what she should do, and ultimately find that really, it wasn’t what she wanted...but it filled a need she’d never known she had? Did she, like me, feel bad for what she did, but drown in the intoxication?

Best wishes, little pup. Fortune willing, you’ll find a better life far away from here. You’re free from me now. But you want to hear the scary part?

I don’t think you’ll be the last.

#my writing #Eva Ballard

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taeken-my-heart · 6 years

Text

Independent Chapter 10

Summary: Your mom calls you stubborn, your friends call you wild, and the boys you’ve left in your wake call you a frigid bitch. You’ve built a life of independence and you like it that way. Kim Taehyung, however; seems to be able to change your mind.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Light fluff, mild angst

Word Count: 4831

“Isn’t the library meant to be quieter?” You mumbled angrily to Sarah as you continued outlining some of your notes from class earlier in the day. You’d been in the library for about an hour by now but there was a couple giggling and kissing two tables over, a study group laughing about their upcoming project, and a guy ruffling through his paper bag dinner at the table next to you. It made for a very distracting experience.

Sarah sighed, sending a glare at the paper bag guy as he sheepishly apologized and put his bag back in his backpack. “That’s what I’ve heard, but honestly it seems like just a rumor these days.”

You pouted in frustration at the kissing couple but they didn’t even look at you, too busy sucking face to notice that they were gross. “Kids these days, no manners, I swear.” You grumbled, highlighting a line about ISO invariance in bubblegum pink.

“You sound like an old lady.” Sarah chuckled.

“Maybe I am,” you griped, “you don’t know me.”

“I mean…I think I know you a little.” Sarah teased and you smirked up at her. Sighing, you sat back in your chair, capping your highlighter and dropping it on the table in favor of rubbing your face tiredly.

“Maybe we should call it a night.” She offered. “Besides, I’m so hungry I’m pretty sure my stomach has started eating itself.”

“Well who’s the one that didn’t bring a snack to the library?” You shrugged. “I did warn you.”

“Um, how dare you? You know I have Anna’s lasagna waiting for me at home. Honestly, a snack would just be disrespectful to that glorious bounty.”

You scoffed, “wow, waxing poetic here. Fine, fine, let’s go. Not like I can get anything done with all the noise and swapping of bodily fluids anyway.”

“Ew,” Sarah frowned, packing her bags and standing, “you make kissing sound so nasty.”

“To be fair, it kind of is.” You shrugged, swinging your backpack over your shoulder and pushing your chair in.

You shivered as you stepped into the evening, the wind whipping through your coat and knit sweater, deep into your bones. “Honestly, if the winter could end, that would be terrific.” You whined and Sarah chuckled.

“I don’t know, there’s something so charming about this time of year. Hot chocolate, sweaters and boots, warm fires, the holidays.”

“Pretty much all of those things are meant to combat the ickyness that is winter, though I am especially appreciative of the hot chocolate so I’ll give you that one.”

Sarah smirked, rolling her eyes. “How gracious of you. Plus, because it’s so cold it gives people a good excuse to partner up, you know, some good old fashioned body heat.”

You scoffed as she rubbed her shoulder against yours and swatted her away. “Calm down, you dirty old man.”

“I resent that comment.”

“You resent all my comments this evening, it seems.”

“Only the dumb ones.” She pouted and you laughed, linking your arm with hers. “So hey, I don’t know if I mentioned it or not but tomorrow Jin may or may not be coming over to hang out with me…and by that I mean Jin is coming over to hang out with me.”

You looked at your friend, stopping suddenly in your tracks and suddenly the two of you were squealing as though you were 17 again. “Oh my gosh, when did this new development happen?”

“Last night we ran into each other in the cafeteria. I was sitting down eating and he asked if he could join and we ended up just talking for hours. I asked if he wanted to come over to watch a movie sometime and things just kind of fell into place.”

“I’m so happy for you.” You smiled as the two of you resumed walking. “Seriously, I could tell you guys were really hitting it off. Well, don’t worry about me, I’ll make myself scarce for the evening. I’ll watch a sappy romcom in my room or go to the library and study.”

“Absolutely not.” She scolded, “You cannot spend your Friday evening by yourself studying or watching Bridget Jones’ Diary. Come on, Y/N, why don’t you call Taehyung and you can hang out? You haven’t seen him in like a week.”

“It’s OK, really. We’re both so busy getting ready for finals, I don’t think either one of us has thought about it.”

Sarah frowned, unlocking the front door to your house and stepping inside. “I’m positive that’s not true. You should text him, see if he has any plans. Don’t spend your Friday night alone, I’m serious.”

“Sure, OK. I’ll try and make some plans. Look, I’m pretty tired, I’m gonna go start getting ready for bed.”

“It’s 8:30.” Sarah frowned down at her watch.

“Nothing wrong with an early night.” You shrugged.

The truth was you really just wanted to put on your fuzzy pajamas and watch a movie alone, but Sarah was extremely social and didn’t like to do things alone if she didn’t have to. While you loved your friend, sometimes you just wanted to do something to unwind without the pressures of keeping up conversation.

Besides, episodes of The Rain and a bag of popcorn were calling your name. You’d managed to make it through the entire bag of popcorn and 3 episodes before realizing you needed to go to bed, dreading the regret you’d feel in the morning when you would have to wake up early and curse yourself for staying up too late…again.

The next morning was sunny and beautiful, albeit cold. You walked quickly, bundling your coat tight around yourself to keep out the wind that was already chaffing your cheeks. You wouldn’t be surprised if you showed up to History as an actual Popsicle.

“Y/N!” Someone shouted from behind you and you paused to look over your shoulder, watching as Taehyung jogged up behind you, hat pulled snuggly over his ears and his jacket zipped to his chin. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold and you were embarrassed to admit that you found it adorable. “Hey.” He smiled breathlessly once he’d reached your side.

“Hey.” You returned, resuming your walk with him directly beside you.

“I haven’t seen you around recently, I think you're ignoring me. I'm very offended." Taehyung pouted and you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"Finals are coming up, you loser, I'm not ignoring you. I'm just busy."

Taehyung grinned, bumping your shoulder with his. "I know. I want to hang out, though. Make some time for me? We can watch a movie and just hang out."

"Sure. How about tonight? We'd have to do it at your place, though. Jin and Sarah are going to be dominating my living room."

"Yeah, that works great, actually. Most of my roommates will be out so it will be quiet enough for a movie."

"Great, so I'll come over around 6 or something?"

"Yeah, let's aim for 6:30. I can order pizza if you want."

"Careful now, you may make me fall in love with you with those dangerous words of yours." You laughed and he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's the goal."

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “anyway, how have you been?”

“Good,” he smiled, “just been studying; finishing some papers and presentations. Finished my nightmare 15 page essay last night, actually, so you should definitely congratulate me.”

“Congratulations,” you laughed.

“What about you?” Taehyung asked, “Take any good pictures lately?”

“I always take good pictures.” You scoffed, “but since you asked, yes. I actually went out two nights ago to get some pictures in the park. There was this incredible snow drift right by this clump of trees. The wind was blowing and I was pretty sure my fingers were going to need to be amputated, but the pictures I got were worth it. Kind of like watching magic happen.”

“I love listening to you talk about pictures.” Taehyung said and you turned to glance at him. “It’s so satisfying hearing you talk about something you’re passionate about. These days I feel like no one really knows what they want anymore but you do.”

“Well,” you coughed nervously, “I’ve always been like that. I’m the type of person that if I want something, I go out and get it.”

“I admire that.” He smiled. “I want to be like that someday.”

“You already are!” You insisted, “You act like you’re born for it and you dance like a maniac.”

You could only see half of his face, but the sides of his eyes crinkling was enough to know he appreciated your words and you chuckled.

“So, are you sitting in on this class again?”

“Of course,” Taehyung grinned, “I’ve got to make sure to clear the cobwebs from my memory, got a few people who need some help after class. Pre finals freak outs.”

“Fair enough.”

After classes you retreated back to your apartment to grab your camera and supplies. You had a portfolio due in your photography class and even though Sarah and Anna had insisted you had more than enough to do the assignment justice, you just really felt like it could use a couple more examples.

It was nearly golden hour and you wanted to take a few shots down by the lake. The park was completely deserted by the time you got there and you had just barely enough time to find a good spot and set up before the light hit its peak. The water had completely frozen over and the bridge had staggeringly beautiful icicles hanging from its edges that made you feel like magic must have occurred; there was no other explanation for the plunging, jagged edges and the dimming light bouncing off the crystal.

You knelt down in the snow, knees sinking into the frozen ground as you tried not to shiver, aiming your lens towards the lake as the mist began to seep across its top and through your bones. Twisting the lens into focus and slowly letting out a breath you began to take pictures.

It was therapeutic, capturing the beauty of the evening, the pristine snow that no one had bothered to disturb in the chill of the winter season. You felt like you’d been let in on some secret that no one else seemed to know about and it was at moments like these that you wondered if you were really willing to expose it.

But the answer was always yes. Your dad had talked about the world like it was a secret he was sharing with you. It was magical, it was beautiful, and it was meant to be seen. You wanted to continue that tradition, even if you couldn’t share it with him.

After spending 20 more minutes in the snow and waiting until you were positive you would get frost bite if you stayed out any longer, you packed up your supplies and made the trek back to your apartment, taking off all your layers and bundling up in a blanket in the living room with Sarah as she started painting her toes the most obnoxiously bright pink you’d ever seen.

“What time is Jin coming over, again?” You asked, making sure your blanket was stuffed completely under your feet in an effort to become a full-fledged burrito.

“He won’t be here until around 7:30. He has a study group until 7:00 and then he said he’s gonna grab some Chinese takeout and bring it over.”

“Ooo,” you smirked, “romantic.”

“You sure are feisty these days.” She grumbled, zoning in on a spot where the nail polish had run slightly onto her skin.

“When have I ever not been feisty? Let’s be honest.”

“Well anyway.” She waved you away. “Did you make any plans tonight?”

“Yeah, actually I’m gonna watch a movie at Tae’s place so you and Jin can be alone. Dun dun dun!” You sang dramatically and she rolled her eyes at you, smirking. “Don’t you make me regret my decision to give you some freedom, young lady.”

“Wow, mom, thanks for the generosity. I didn’t realize I needed a reminder to ‘be safe.’ We’re not gonna have a birds and the bees talk, are we?”

"Look," you sighed, "all I'm saying is don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Sarah laughed, "We both know how you are, if I follow that reasoning things will never go anywhere with Jin!"

"Hey!" you scoffed, incensed, "I'll have you know that I'm sort of, kind of opening up to Taehyung so don't go crowing too loud yet, you wench."

Chuckling, Sarah pulled her hair up into a bun and put one final stroke of her nail polish to her big toe. "Ok, Ok, calm down. I'll be good tonight. But hey, I could say the same for you. Don't go doing something crazy like kissing the guy. Wouldn't that be a scandal?"

You rolled your eyes, "trust me, that's not going to happen."

Sarah grinned, "You should try it; you might like it."

You rolled your eyes at your friend when suddenly there was a knock on the door. You looked at Sarah and she frowned, "I don't think that's Jin, he's super early if it is. I don't even have my top coat done!"

"I'll go check."

Standing on the other side of the door wasn't Jin, however. Though his hood was up and most of his face was covered by a scarf, you'd known those brown eyes anywhere. Which was horrifying to admit.

"Taehyung?" You murmured. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to pick you up!" Was his muffled reply. His eyes crinkled together with a smile and you couldn't help but smile back.

"Let me just grab my coat." After calling out a quick goodbye to Sarah, you closed the door behind you and started making your way with Taehyung by your side." You really didn't have to pick me up," you blushed. The wind nipped at your cheeks and you pulled your scarf tighter around your neck.

"What kind of guy would I be if I didn't? This is a date, after all, I'm not gonna let you walk to meet me at my place. You deserve to be picked up for a date...even if it is just casual hangout style."

"Oh." You murmured, blushing harder. You blamed the wind. "Well thank you, it is nice to have the company right now."

Once you reached the safety of his apartment he closed the door behind him and you slid your coat from your shoulders, pulling your scarf off and sitting them on the back of one of the dining room chairs. "It's surprisingly clean in here." You remarked casually, looking around.

"Ah yeah, I cleaned a little bit earlier." Taehyung smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Anyway, come here, let's choose a movie."

You both bent down to flip through the case of movies laying on the floor, stopping here and there to ponder over one or the other. "Oh!" He called suddenly, stopping and pointing to one movie in particular. "Have you ever seen this movie?"

"Amelie?" You queried, pausing, "no, I've never heard of it."

"It's really good, it's a French movie with subtitles so I don't know if you'd be into that type of thing, but it's a really feel good, warm kind of movie that I think you'd like. Maybe."

You smiled as he looked down at the movie self-consciously. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say it's your favorite?"

He chuckled and nodded, looking back up at you. "What gave it away?" He teased.

You shrugged with a smile, "OK, I'm down to watch something new. It better be good though, Mr. Kim, or I'm gonna be disappointed."

Taehyung laughed, taking the DVD from the case as you made your way to the couch and waited for him to start the movie. "Well I think it's great. I'll be waiting with baited breath for your opinion once the movie ends."

Taehyung turned off the living room lights before settling beside you on the couch with a blanket, offering you half and you greedily took it. The evening chill had gone straight to your bones and you still didn't feel like you'd fully thawed out.

The movie was rich with beautiful imagery. Set in a beautiful country you yearned to visit and filled with such brilliant colors you were convinced needed to be etched into the film of your camera.

The main character was quirky and charming, much like Taehyung and you supposed that's why he liked the film so much. She had a sweet disposition, dark eyes, and she spoke like she was filled to the brim with an innocence you wished you still had.

She was relatable, in the loss of a parent. She chose to live her life making others happy when she herself felt so much isolation. It was admirable. She sought to heal by healing others and you sought to heal by locking beauty in photographs meant for only you.

A movement at your side caught your eye and you glanced down to find the side of Taehyung's hand against the side of your own and you swore your heart actually leapt into your throat. How long had your fingers been this close? We're you supposed to hold his hand? No, that would be presumptuous, his hand was just sitting there; unassuming. Did you even want to hold his hand? Maybe. Probably. Yes.

But no! Oh no, that was too much pressure and the thought made you feel a little bit sick...but not necessarily bad sick. Were those butterflies in your stomach? At this point you weren't even watching the movie anymore, just having a silent panic attack over basically nothing. What was wrong with you? A boys hand is slightly close to yours and you have a mental break down.

This was extremely embarrassing. Thank the high heavens Taehyung wasn't privy to your thoughts; you'd probably drown in a pool of your own sweat and tears. Is this what an existential crisis felt like? This was more stressful than your algebra final last year.

In the middle of your own personal crisis you didn't notice at first, the twitching of fingers, the subtle touch until suddenly your heart stilled completely and you held your breath. His finger was most definitely moving against yours. And not in the 'oops, I was just moving my hand' way, but the 'I'm definitely stroking your pinky with my pinky' way.

Was it possible to die from nervous heart palpitations? You would like to submit yourself for testing because, honestly, this was more anxiety inducing than it really should be. Despite how tense you felt, you were surprised when your fingers grew a mind of their own and started twitching closer to his.

His fingers slowly lacing with yours was surprising...but you didn't blow up, so that's good. His hand was warm, but then so was yours. Frankly, yours was probably clammy which made you want to shrivel up in embarrassment, but he said nothing and began to stroke his thumb across the back of your hand.

Your mouth was dry. Actually, maybe it wasn't? No, no it definitely was. It was like the Sahara desert in there and you tried not to clear your throat in discomfort. There was no need to draw attention to your predicament. Why were you so bad at this? He was just holding your hand! People did this all the time, even with just friends...though this felt a lot less "friend" and a lot more "boyfriend," but still.

Also, why was your body leaning into his? You blamed it on a draft from the windows, which was bogus because they were well insulated. This was fine, it was all fine. You were a little cold, you needed some body heat. The blanket across your legs wasn't nearly enough. That's really the only thing you could think to explain why your head was now leaning on his shoulder.

You glanced up at him from the corner of your eye. His body said calm but his eyebrows couldn't lie. He was nervous too. It was endearing, actually, to know you weren't the only one a little on edge, although he was probably not a wreck like you were.

You tried to pay attention to the movie, really you did, but his hand in yours and the steady breath making is chest rise and fall was distracting. "This is my favorite part." He mumbled softly as the main character invited her romantic interest inside. You couldn't help yourself, glancing up at him instead and he looked down at you in surprise.

He was mesmerizing. So handsome it hurt a little. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks softly as he blinked down at you and you tried not to bite your lip. That seemed like the wrong thing to do right now. Or maybe it was the right thing? Your brain had stopped working the second his finger had touched yours.

A small puff of air hovered on your cheeks, his face only inches from yours when suddenly the dam was broken. His mouth was like fire, his lips, his fingers moving across your cheek, like electricity shooting through live wires. His lips were so soft. Were lips supposed to be that soft? Weren't they supposed to be a little chapped? What kind of Chap Stick did he use? They were so soft.

The tip of his tongue pressing to the seam of your lips was like a spark and you breathed him in deeply, fingers threading into his dark hair and taking hold of the strands at the back of his neck. He tasted sweet and slightly musky, like a mix of coffee and vanilla. Pulling you straight into his lap, your hips settled against his own, knees firmly planted in the cushions of the sofa as you kissed him with abandon.

His fingers were hot, his tongue was hot; his mouth was like fire. You could feel the evidence of his attraction in the seat of his jeans. Your blood was boiling. You were flying way too close to the sun. It was blinding you. It's too much, too much, too much! Suddenly you ripped yourself away, staring at his wide eyes and swollen lips in shock before launching yourself from his lap and racing to your coat.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go. I forgot...something, I forgot. I gotta go." You fumbled awkwardly with your coat and charged at the front door, giving one final look at the way Taehyung's expression shuddered from confusion to hurt before flinging yourself out the door and back into the night.

You ran home blindly, lungs burning from the strain of breathing in the mid-winter air. Barreling through the door you found Jin and Sarah sitting on the couch talking and they looked up at you in surprise.

"Y/N." Sarah said and you grabbed her arm, pulling her towards her bedroom.

"I need to talk to you real quick." You spluttered.

Once the two of you were safely behind closed doors Sarah looked at you, hands coming to hold your shoulders and eyebrows furrowing. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I-we-oh my gosh, it's just too much. I can't- I don't even know how to process anything."

"Slow down, start at the beginning."

Taking a deep breath you held your face in your hands and pushed the words as fast as you could through your lips. "We were watching a movie, right? Some French movie with subtitles that was honestly very Taehyung and it was beautiful and I was super invested and then suddenly we were holding hands and the movie was starting to get kind of romantic and then all of a sudden we were making out and I was in his lap and I got so freaked out, I didn't know what to do so I-"

“Wait, he kissed you?” Sarah squealed and you frowned.

“Yes.”

"But then you left and came here?!" Sarah gasped. You bit your bottom lip, nodding and staring down at the carpet. "Oh my gosh, why? If Jin kissed me and then ran out I’d be devastated. Y/N, I know this kind of stuff is hard for you and I’m really proud of you for opening up and being willing to try, but this is not the right way to handle something that scares you. He’s probably really confused and hurt.”

"I didn't know what to do." You whispered, your heart shriveling in shame. You hadn't really thought about how he'd feel in the moment, you'd felt so overwhelmed and just reacted.

"You need to go back and talk to him. If he's a good guy he'll respect your desire to move a little slower, but running out on him was really not the right way to handle that situation. I can't believe you just ran out." She frowned and you wanted to cry. Why couldn't you just be like everyone else, why did you always have to shut people out?

You really did like, Taehyung, too. Were you just on a bullet train to watching this whole thing with him crash and burn? Why couldn't you just be normal?

"OK," you murmured, "you're right. I'll go back and talk to him."

Sarah pulled you into a hug, "I love you, hun, I hope you remember that. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad or anything, I was just really shocked. I think talking to him is the best thing to do right now. Even if you end up breaking things off with him, at least he'll know where he stands."

You shook your head, tears welling behind your eyes, "I don't want to break things off with him." You whispered, "I just feel confused."

"Well, go tell him what's on your mind. He might be able to help clear up any confusion."

You shivered, stepping back into the brisk night air, pulling your gloves and coat tighter around you and moving quickly towards Taehyung's apartment. This was a conversation you felt like you’d been dreading your whole life. What good was it building walls if someone knew how to climb them?

Knocking on the door with frost bitten knuckles, you waited apprehensively. There was a moment in time that you genuinely contemplated running, this was so far from what you wanted to be doing right now; but you steeled your nervous and waited.

The door opened slowly, Taehyung looking out at you carefully. “Hey,” you murmured, “can I come in?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and you thought he might tell you to buzz the hell right off, but then he was opening the door a little wider with a quiet, “sure” to greet you. Stepping back into the kitchen you noticed he’d turned the living room lights back on and the TV had been switched off, but everything else was the same as you’d left it 20 minutes ago.

“Did you want to sit down or something?” He asked gently and you shook your head, turning to look at him.

“Actually, I want to apologize. I’m so sorry I just…you know, ran out like that. I got really overwhelmed and went into panic mode.”

“Oh.” He mumbled.

“I told you that I’m willing to try and I am, that hasn’t changed,” you replied carefully, “but I need to move a little slower. I’m a really nervous person about this sort of thing and I’m just not ready yet.”

Taehyung sat down at the kitchen table, hands twisting together as he focused his eyes down on the table cloth. “I understand,” he replied, looking up at you, “I’m sorry if I took things too far tonight, I didn’t even think about it, it just felt like we were having a moment, but I should have thought about how you felt.”

You sighed, coming to sit beside him at the table, hands still bunched in your coat pockets. “We were having a moment.” You admitted softly, “But I’m not good at these sorts of things. I’ve put up walls to protect myself for a really long time and I’m not really sure how to take them down. I just need a little time.”

“Ok,” Taehyung smiled softly, “I can give you time.”

“Thank you.” You smiled. “You know, we never ordered that pizza.”

He chuckled softly, standing up to grab a menu from the fridge door and dropping it onto the table in front of you. “Take your pick, I’m pretty happy with anything.”

The rest of the evening was spent with a stuffed crust margarita and comfortable conversation, enough to lull you back into a quiet sense of security before he dropped you back off at your house with a quick hug and a good night.

…but sleep would not be coming easy tonight.

I’m so sorry this took me so long to update! I was in the process of moving and then I got so unbelievably busy along with being in a slump and things started off REALLY rough at my job but it’s finally here. I hope it was worth the wait and that the angst isn’t too bad, haha. I’m a poor judge of how angsty something is, truly. As always, please let me know what you think!

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

#kpoptrashtag #sfwbangtan #btscreatorsnet #taehyungfluff #taehyung angst #bts v #bts

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girlwsoftsound · 7 years

Text

Selfish || Matty Healy Oneshot

Word Count: 2,302 Warnings: Smut! And a touch of angst. Summary: “I know you have loads of prompts, but I saw this photo of Matty wearing a simple white tee with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks and he looked so pretty and made me imagine his girl seeing him and thinking he looks so good and healthy and she goes up to him and wraps her arms around him to hug him and they share a kiss which turns into her rubbing his stomach and going lower and slipping her hand inside his boxers, and of course that leads to some v nice intimate slow sex! I'm trash.” Authors Note: So this turned out slightly more angsty than I think the requester imagined, but I hope you still enjoy it! Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

Matty had always been a stunner.

Something about him effortlessly screamed that on a daily basis. His jet black hair that curled and swirled soft as a cloud, his chocolate brown eyes that bore deeply into opposing eyes and searched for meaning and emotion - they chiseled this thin boy into an attractive man, one that girls hardly could keep their eyes off of. You were one of those girls.

A friend from the past, a fuckbuddy that kept in touch over the years, you had come to know Matty well in time. You knew his favorite food, what he liked to watch on the telly when his days grew boring, how he loved his head scratched. You heard his deepest secrets, mostly because you were that third party he could always rely to be there when things came up for him. You provided him with someone separate from the band, not swept up in his life yet still informed enough to act like a decision maker for when his hazy mind grew too clouded up to properly choose the path to lead him down. You appreciated him, and he appreciated you with sex. That was simply how your relationship worked. It was very inherently selfish on Matty’s side, but you did not care. You knew some day, when the time came fit, Matty would not be opposed to you indulging yourself in a bit of selfishness with him.

The time had come.

Meeting up with him at an old club for old time’s sake, you were shocked to see that the stunner you knew and came to admire for his looks and mind was absolutely handsome that night. The man you were used to seeing in all black and grungy looked positively dashing and incredibly healthy in a white tee with his sleeves rolled up and black slacks, his face flushed pink and lips as pink as ever. As he went to the bar and asked for a drink, probably some form of tequila if you knew him well enough, you felt your heart skip a beat. You knew that in this night, in this light, you were going to take your turn in the selfish game you both played. You knew that, by the time the two of you left that club, your lips would have touched and clothing would have been wrinkled from being discarded carelessly on the ground. Tonight, it was your turn. As you approached him, you tapped his shoulder. His face lit up as it met yours, not fully registering yet your intentions.

“{Y/N}! I was wondering when you’d show up. Fancy sitting down for a drink with me?”

“Actually,” you said after toting a smile in greeting, “I have something else I’d fancy doing.”

He still looked oblivious. Probably the tequila. “Oh?”

“Hug me, Matty.”

He did it without further instruction. Hugs were easy, platonic even. He hugged everyone, guy or gal, as if it were a handshake or a simple hello. Even in his tipsy state, he still saw them as such. It was only when you pulled back and then closed the distance between your mouths that Matty realized your intentions were not of the same nature. He could feel the power grab between the both of you switch, with him on the losing side for once. It tantalized him, bringing him to the conclusion that the only way this would go down would be with him inside you, getting absolutely trashed by the shape of your body and the movements of your hips against his. You were needy, and this time, he had to be the one to give himself up to that need. Poetic justice, he thought to himself.

What started as a kiss turned full make-out as more and more of Matty’s restraint crumbled around him. Hands in hair, arms around necks, breathy moans slipping off tongues - it was a wonder no one told you two to get a room by the time you both decided on getting one yourselves. Thankfully, this club had the foresight in design to plan ones out for couples like you, if you could really call yourselves a couple. Couples do not usually fuck each other selfishly. But perhaps you could exist as a selfish couple. No, not then anyway. Not when you were seeking a private room to fuck in the middle of a club. Perhaps later, when the thrill of sex dimmed off and Matty no longer was in that incredibly flattering outfit, if you still held the same feelings you did with it on. Perhaps then, you might consider it.

Matty locked the door behind you.

Your hands flew to him, clung to him like a magnet. They were familiar, knowing the general routine, knowing what Matty likes best. He held you, tight to his body and firm at your neck, instructing you to give into whatever selfish nature you were being compelled by. Your lips crash to his, slowing only so that your mind could work as your hands dipped ever so slyly down his abs, to his stomach, and finally beneath the hem of those slacks and the red boxers that sat underneath them. The breath Matty took in reflex of the touch thrilled you. You met it with a squeeze, which only amplified it more.

“One hell of a ‘long time, no see’ this is,” he gasped, your hand slicked up briefly by your tongue now starting to pump along his sensitive skin. “Not that I’m c-complaining, but what’s gotten into you?”

“You look fit,” you replied, teasing your thumb over his slit, making him moan against you, “and frankly I’m a bit lonely at the moment.” A lie. You had been chatting up this one boy who worked at the restaurant nearby you, with flowing blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. But Matty didn’t need to know that. You wanted to feel like you were taking from him as much as he was used to taking from you. You needed that. Lying was the only way you felt that you could. “I was going to simply chat with you to get over it, but seeing you look so handsome sort of took my mind elsewhere.”

Your hand working on his cock, Matty simply took your word for it. Your hand continued its pace, pumping and causing him to writhe against the wall, moans being drowned out by the muffled music outside the walls of the room. As he grew more desperate, your free hand trailed down to undo his zipper and free him of his slacks. They fell to his ankles before being stepped out of and discarded. His boxers went much the same way. Frazzled now only in a white, rolled-up shirt, Matty was gorgeous. A man you wished to take you and never let you go. You bit against his neck. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said sparks flew at the sound of Matty nearing his release. Wishing to keep your power, you took your hand away from him just when you thought he was done for, when he thought he was done for. He whined, painfully so, but you met him with a kiss, slow, passionate.

“Not yet,” was what you told him, though every fiber of his being screamed no, now. You stepped aside to dispose of your dress, which quickly took to the growing pile of closing Matty had begun on the floor. Your bra and underwear met that pile soon, leaving you completely exposed. Matty’s hands reached to slip off his shirt, but you halted them, shaking your head.

“Keep it on.”

His hands fell to the side. You smiled.

Though you were being selfish, you were not completely devoid of mercy. You could see, could feel that Matty was incredibly close. You saw that he needed you, ached to be in you, and as much as you wanted to draw out the time, making him cum simply felt right. Getting down on your knees before him, you looked into his eyes and took him into your mouth, stunning the boy. If the breath he had taken when your hand met his cock before was a sound, the noise he made from your mouth was like the angels singing. You hummed around him, causing him to jerk his hips. Wow, he is close. He did not even seem embarrassed as he came only a mere minute into having your mouth on him, your tongue swirling around his head, the pressure feeling so good. You hardly chided him for it. It felt good to know he finally had his release. Popping off of him, you stood up and began to walk over to your dress. Matty, even still recovering, called out to you to stop. You were met with pleading eyes upon turning to face him.

“Stay.”

“But Matty-”

“Let me fuck you,” he pleaded. “You always make me feel better. I-I want to make you feel better.”

The words were like music to your ears. Nodding, you allowed yourself to rejoin Matty. His hands once again on your neck, he backed you up until you were against the wall, flush against so that your body felt the cool chill of it starkly against the dark heat of his body. You noticed, as his mouth went to work against you, that his shirt was ever so slightly hanging off his shoulder now. This disheveled man, this beautiful and caring man, was trying to fuck you better again. You could hardly believe it. Your lips pressed to that empty skin on his neck, making him leave yours momentarily, and you were met by him guiding you away.

“It’s your turn to feel good, not mine.”

Perhaps you would put more thought into a selfish relationship with him after this was done.

His hands roamed down you, shaping your figure at every curve, taking in what he had to work with. They remain at your breasts for a moment, steady and firm, until they are suddenly rubbing at your clit, leaving you writhing and pounding at the wall. Hopefully no one thought you were in any trouble. You wished for the moment never to stop, especially prematurely due to a worried bystander. Thankfully, the interruption never came. Instead, Matty forged on until you were slick against his touch and ready for him to enter. He paused only to go grab a condom from his slacks’ pocket. Then, once it was on, he was all over you, kissing, nipping, touching. He slid into you with ease, holding one leg up with his arm, pressing you against the wall firmly with his thrust. It left you a gasping mess, which was music to his ears.

Sex rarely was slow for the two of you. Often, you were trying to fuck the bad feelings away, and those best fled with a quick release. However, Matty seemed intent on making this fuck not his average fuck. He trained his eyes on you, and pressed into you to a rhythm more soothing than electrifying, yet pleasing all the same. There was a quality of intimacy to his actions that you had never felt from him before. He looked almost yearning to make you feel something, rather than focus on the fact his dick was inside you and you would cum soon. He wanted it to be more. Even when his hand fell back into making motions on your clit, you still could tell he had more behind his touch than he was leading on.

Your orgasm spiked in you without warning. Head thrown back, you could barely get out a moan to Matty to let him know before you shook against him, clawing at his back and sides, toes curling at the sensation. It was a wild feeling, so wild you barely noticed Matty cumming again as well, stuttering even from his slow pace. Something about you simply got him back to that place of pleasure. Perhaps you were that enticing. When you came to again, you caught him watching you instead of pulling out and acting nonchalant as usual. You nervously laughed, blushing under his gaze.

“So...that was a thing.”

“Did I make you feel better?”

“Hmm?”

“About being lonely,” he mentioned, and suddenly a pool of guilt filled where the heat had once been. “Did I help with that?”

You sighed. You had to tell him. “I..I…”

“Because I wanted to make sure you felt the way you always make me feel,” he replied, his eyes soft. “You always make me feel better and I always take from you and well...I suppose I wanted to give back the favor and let you see how nice it is. How much I appreciate it. Did I do a good job?”

It was an aching feeling. Of course he made you feel good. It was amazing, hot as hell given how he looked. But this...this had been unexpected. You had conned him into being emotionally invested in you. It made your heart hurt to think that he ever felt the same sinking feeling you did. Then again, he probably had not lied to get you in bed like this before. But you couldn’t tell him that. It would break your heart to. Instead, you plastered on a fake smile, put your hand on his shoulder, and nodded.

“You did well. Thank you.”

His smile ached you at your core. One day you would tell him. One day it would come out. For now? You would let him have his happiness. He could continue to have it, at least until you decided on if you would indulge in your dream for a selfish relationship with him. He could have it, until the greed ate you up alive.

#matty healy #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy preference #matty healy writing #matty healy oneshot #oneshot #The 1975 Oneshot #The 1975 writing #the 1975 fanfiction #The 1975 fic #The 1975 imagine #matthew healy imagine #matthew healy fanfic #The 1975 #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #Selfish

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timesorceror · 7 years

Text

Fenhanders Week 2017 #6

Saturday, April 8th - Let’s Grow Old Together

What does the end look like? Where did the trio end up? This is a time for some angst and goodbyes. Tissues suggested.

Question of the Day: Did they have/adopt children? If so, what did they leave behind?

The trio spent their early years after Kirkwall in the isolation of the Amaranthine Forest, merely a few days’ ride from either Vigil’s Keep or Amaranthine itself. All were content in that isolation until it was disrupted by news from Varric about the Inquisition and the Wardens’ false Calling, and that was when they left that isolation for the first time.

Surviving Adamant and the Fade had been like going to the Void and back; with Anders and Fenris having to drag Hayden behind them as Stroud remained behind to hold off the Nightmare. But afterwards, seeing all of the devastation wrought by the Venatori and the Wardens still under their control, they could not bear to leave it. Alistair and Rashia elected to head to Wiesshaupt instead to seek answers from their higher ups, and of course Anders and Fenris remained with Hayden, helping the Inquisition where they could.

Fenris mostly helped on missions, though he rarely left without either of his healers. When not out with Fenris, Anders and Hayden tended to patients and refugees still displaced from the explosion at the Conclave, adult and child alike. Sometimes these children had parents, sometimes they did not.

Hayden’s heart went out to all of the children without, because they knew the pain of losing a parent in their youth. However, it wasn’t until Fenris brought back a pair of nearly infant twins from an excursion to a dragon-ravaged home that Hayden was struck with a desire to do more than keep them warm and healthy until a place could be found for them.

So, after many long discussions and several battles fraught with danger, the trio returned home when Corypheus was defeated… with two small children in tow.

Anders breathed deeply of the still winter air, and then exhaled slowly, watching as his breath misted and danced before him, mesmerizing. His gaze wandered across the line of trees several yards away from the porch where he sat, seemingly fixed on a point in the distance through the gentle evening snowfall. The wooden chair beneath him creaked slightly as he rocked, but the sound was muffled by the great white expanse that surrounded the area.

“Papa?” A voice called from inside the cabin, making him turn to cock his head in the direction of the sound.

“Yes darling?” He answered, and coughed once, twice. Wetness rattled in his chest, and he sighed, leaning back in the chair. Distant footsteps grew louder until the visage of an elven woman with dark hair and amber eyes came into view, brows pinched in concern. She held two steaming cups in her hands, offering one to him.

“You’ve been out here for awhile,” she said as he gingerly took one of the cups, and relishing the taste of warm liquid chocolate on his tongue. He hummed noncommittally. “Yes, I know,” he replied in a chiding tone, smirking softly. “Can’t an old man enjoy the peace and quiet of a winter’s evening once in awhile?” He flashed her a slight grin, but was interrupted when a series of small coughs escaped him, threatening to develop into a full fit.

“We’d let you be,” said a man’s voice from the doorway, equal parts teasing and stern, “if not for you being so quiet. Your cough’s getting worse, and when we hadn’t heard anything from you in awhile we feared that you’d just… well.” The man was elven, like the woman, and it was obvious they were related. His hair was dark, like hers, but his eyes were a bright jewel green instead of amber.

Anders smiled sadly at the man. “I’m sorry I can’t put your fears to rest, son. An illness like this can’t be cured with magic or potions, and I’m… not as young as I used to be.”

“We know, papa,” said the woman as she reached out to take his free hand into her own from her place in one of the other two rocking chairs. “People don’t live forever. We’re not meant to. I just… I want to be there for you.” There were tears swimming in the woman’s eyes, and Anders set his drink aside to reach up and brush a few from here cheeks.

“You are here for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “and I’m grateful, I am. Both of you came all this way to be with your old man, and you didn’t have to.”

“Course we did,” the man grunted. “I mean, we know you’re never really alone, but with Hayden gone and Father having passed last Harvestmere… Liesel and I figured someone should be here, to keep you comfortable at the very least.”

Liesel snorted. “Faron’s being too humble, as usual. He said to me while we were on our way here actually, “Sister, it’s more than a duty to care for a parent in their last days; it’s an honor.” I mean, really. He spends too much time with Uncle Varric, I think.”

Anders chuckled. “Varric’s still kicking? Huh. What’s he got you doing, that he’s keeping you around for so long, Faron?”

“Dictating a memoir,” Faron grumbled. “The pain in his joints’d made it hard for him to write for years, so I’ve been transcribing everything for him.” He shrugged. “He wasn’t nearly so poetic when we were working on the last installment of Hard in Hightown. I think that thinking about the past has made him wistful. He even said he might tell me the story of Bianca if I ask him at the right time.”

“Bianca? As in the crossbow?”

“Nah, the woman. I mean, I’m pretty sure the crossbow’s involved, but he meant the woman. I’m sure of it.”

“I still say he’s gonna leave you hanging,” Liesel teased. Faron huffed, shurgging as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Never said he wouldn’t. Anyway, his way of speaking gets stuck in my head sometimes and I say stuff weird.” Liesel grinned.

“You meant what you said though. I could tell.”

Anders smiled, picking up his cup and sipping it as he watched his adult children bicker with one another like they were small again. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the memories of raising them with Hayden and Fenris in this very cabin. He was glad to have them here with him during what could potentially be his last days. Hayden had been sick like this a few times before they’d eventually passed. Losing Hayden had hurt deeply, but at least he’d still had Fenris for several more years after that.

This past year on his own had been harder still, and he’d leaned heavily on Justice to keep him motivated to get out of bed each morning. He’d been so caught up in grief that he hadn’t noticed the onset of illness until nearly too late. He couldn’t bear to leave the home he’d built with his lovers, so he’d written to their children in Kirkwall instead, asking them to come if they could spare the time away from their own spouses and children to keep him company.

“Alright you two,” he chided them gently. “You know your father absolutely detested when you bickered without purpose. Why don’t you tell me how my grandchildren are doing? Liesel, isn’t your eldest getting married soon?”

“She is,” Liesel grumbled. “I feel so old, papa.”

Anders chuffed. “But she’s marrying a good man, yes? Or lady?”

Liesel nodded, her features softening. “A fine young man. I was surprised to learn he has an apprenticeship with the Hightown surgeon, with him being elven like us. I hadn’t thought it possible.”

“Varric’s done some good in that city, it seems,” Anders sighed, contentedly. “I mean, I doubt he’s erased elven prejudice entirely, but I know things are better there now, for a lot of people. Having all of those terrible Tevinter ruins cleansed of blood magic traces seemed to help a lot too, as I recall.”

“The Circle’s not in the Gallows anymore either,” Faron added. “And it’s not called a Circle. My two boys go there, and they tell me that their classes are quite pleasant. Just last month, Tamaris was showing me this thing he could do with these things he called fairy lights. It looked like the night sky was plastered all around us, without needing to go outside.”

“I used to do that, when I was young,” Anders remembered with fondness. “My first love, Karl, once charmed some to appear in the shapes of red carnations and crystal grace on my bed when I threw back the covers. I used to make some for your father when he would wake in the dark from his nightmares. They helped ground him.”

Anders chucked, and added, “Hayden liked them too, but they were more like Karl. They’d take your father and I out into the forest during autumn in evenings and we’d watch a magic light show while sharing a picnic by the water.”

“I remember those,” Faron mumbled, lost in thought. Liesel sighed contentedly. “I do too. They were lovely. I had no idea they were Hayden’s way of being romantic.” Anders nodded, laughing. “Well, with small children in the house, the three of us had to get creative with how we flirted. There was a lot of suggestive eyebrows waggling and slightly not so innocent dancing and hugging that went on when you were young.”

“And then it all went out the window that one time I walked in on you and Father having sex,” Faron snorted, and Liesel burst in a fit of giggles. “Hayden was mortified, but they set you and I down while Father and Papa were… finishing up, and we had the sex talk right then and there.”

A few more snickers escaped her as she held a hand to her mouth and wrapped the other around her side, clutching at her clothes while she tried to laugh silently.

Anders was laughing too, but he had to be careful not to laugh too hard in case he started to descend into a coughing fit instead. Everything ached these days, but the laughter his children brought him made him feel lighter than he had in months, and the ache was easier to ignore.

Eventually the twins coaxed him to come back inside to sit by the fire, and later that evening the three of them shared a hearty meal of steaming noodle broth with fresh vegetables and chunks of butter soft chicken. Shortly before Anders retired for bed, Liesel dug around in her packs, presenting him something wrapped in cheap brown parchment and tied with string.

“I’d almost forgotten this,” she muttered as he began meticulously opening the package. “We found this for you in the estate library before we left–Varric told Faron that it was one of your favorite trashy romance novels and that it was quite important to you.”

Anders gasped when he finished opening the package, pulling the parchment away to find a copy of Fang of the Dragonlord sitting inside. This was the same one that Hayden and Fenris had purchased for him when they’d still lived in Kirkwall, and several of the pages had been dog-eared in honor of the parts that had been Karl’s favorites from the copy he’d kept in the Circle.

“Thank you for being so thoughtful, dear,” he murmured as he pulled Liesel close and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “This will be such lovely bedtime reading, for certain.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Faron snickered, and Anders just fixed his son with a dead-eyed stare.

“Boy, I’m a widower well into my twilight years. I am more interested in keeping my plants pruned and my cat fed than getting it up. Besides, the story in this one’s actually good.”

“Compared to Swords and Shields?”

“Anything’s better than that. The position he describes in the second installment on page 69 is physically impossible, unless you’re a contortionist, and even then it still sounds vastly uncomfortable.” Faron snorted. “True. Still, you know, it couldn’t hurt. Don’t orgasms help… something when you’re sick?”

“That’s headaches, son,” Anders chortled, “and that doesn’t always work.”

“Whatever. Go get some rest, ok? And call for us, if… if you need us.”

“I will. I love you.” “We love you too, Papa.”

Anders leaned over and pressed a kiss to Faron’s forehead and slowly made his way to the bedroom he’d once shared with Hayden and Fenris.

It no longer smelled like them, but the room itself was full of several books and trinkets that they’d collected, gifts from their children and their friends. A drawer in the desk by the window was ajar, and inside it Anders knew was a box full of letters from their friends and each other, detailing much of their lives together from their time in Kirkwall onward. Some of Hayden’s old robes still hung in the closet, and in the dresser, tucked behind a sachet of elfroot and rosemary were a few pairs of worn black leggings.

Anders lit a candle and set it on one of the nightstands, laying the book on the bed. He moved to dress for sleep, but was struck with the sudden desire to wear one of the silk robes Hayden had gifted him, along with a pair of woolen socks that Fenris had knitted for him a long, long time ago.

He paused in front of the small mirror that had been hung on a nearby wall, reaching back to pull out his hair tie. His hair had gone full white in the last year, and a pang of sadness beat deep in his chest at the thought Fenris hadn’t been around to see it.

“We match now,” he whispered, sighing.

He would’ve laughed, Justice muttered quietly over their shared connection.

Anders chuffed as he brushed his hair and got into bed, skipping straight to the bits that he preferred, instead of the steamy scenes. “He would have, yes. He had teased me about it when we first found those early white strands. I wish… I, I wish…” He sniffed, tears forming in his eyes.

Hush now, Justice soothed. It’ll be alright.

Anders felt the spirit’s comfort in the core of him, and it helped as he breathed deeply, for once uninhibited by his illness. As his reading came to a close and exhaustion began creeping in, Anders found himself pausing at the last page, unwilling to turn it and close the book.

“Justice, I’m… I’m scared. Are you scared?”

Of what?

“Dying.”

Anders could practically feel the wheels of Justice’s mind turn as he thought, but the spirit’s answer surprised him when it finally came.

Strangely, I am not. In the Fade, there is no life and death. Spirits and demons simply… are. And while I know you hope that your death will return me to that state of existence, I have long hoped that it would not. Should I return as I am now, I would want. I would desire. These are dangerous things for a spirit.

But, in death, in whatever it means to fade from this existence into the next, I would not be a danger. In death, I could keep you company until we are separate beings once more. Our memories combined span more than your lifetime, a life that is well-lived at that. I would be content to retire my existence with you, knowing that good came from our being in this world.

So… no. I am not afraid. But do not feel shame that you are. It is normal, as I understand. Our children understand it.

Anders felt his breath leave him in a rush as a kind of peace stole over him.

“Thank you, Justice.”

The response that filled him was not words, per se, but Anders knew it to be a gesture of gratitude nonetheless. He shifted in bed, glancing out the window to see a glimpse of the clear, starry sky. It filled him with nostalgia as he thought on the many nights he’d spent staring at those stars with his lovers, and he wondered if, wherever they were, they missed him as much as he missed them.

After a few more moments, he closed the book and set it aside. He blew out the candle and settled under the covers, feeling the aches and pains from earlier return. Strangely, he welcomed the deep weariness in his bones, one of the signs of that life well lived.

The call of the Fade swelled, and he noted with some amusement that it was different tonight. He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

When next he opened them, it was to a familiar voice, saying, “So, mage. We did get to match after all,” while a peal of long forgotten laughter filled the air around them.

A distance away, a shimmering knight smiled, still unafraid as they winked out of existence.

#anders #fenris #hawke #non binary hawke #hayden hawke #fenhanders #papa!anders #papa!fenris #cw: death #justice #timesorcerorwrites #fenhanders week 2017

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bublp0pr · 7 years

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I get these ideas for stories that sound great in my head but would take ages to make properly. *shrug* let’s just dump one here with every else and see what happens.

One of my fav His Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XI3T3G9GJRw

So Frisk gets to listen to the same soundtrack we do when they enter fights right? Let’s say that the reason they keep resetting is so that they can hear the songs because let’s face it, they’re awesome. But it’s not enough for them. Having to go through hours of gameplay for the particular song they feel like is frustrating. They’re stuck in this loop where they don’t want the nostalgia to end - ever.

One day they’re having the date with Undyne and they notice her piano. They know that she plays, but they had never really asked her more than that. It’s such a pretty looking instrument. So they get her to play for them. And she looks a little startled like, why would they want to listen to her play?

So she sits on the stool and starts fingering a bit of His Theme casually, first with one or two fingers, looking up at Frisk and then slowly easing into proper form. “I heard this playing from a statue one day, coming back from Alphys’ lab.” She says distantly, becoming lost in the sound. The music is flowing quite prettily and peacefully i’m imagining. It’s not complicated, just a very simple piece, but she slowly builds it with harmony.

Tears fall down Frisk’s face. Undyne stops mid-note when she hears the quiet sobs and looks up. Frisk is smiling through the small drops and tells them to continue. She pauses though, a little awkward.

“Uhhh. How about i play a different one?” Then she turns back and suddenly starts playing the powerhouse of Ngahhhh! When all else fails, Undyne always falls back on her passion haha. The atmosphere changes again. It’s a wonder the keys aren’t flying off the piano with how hard she presses them.

Rubbing away their tears Frisk thinks about the implications of this. Being able to play the songs from battles whenever they like, however they want. After the song is done, they silently ask “Can you teach me?”

^Woah that sounds like a really poetic place to end it. But i’ve still got more to the story... sigh. I don’t have any sense of story writing lol

Undyne sees this as her chance to reach Papyrus’ challenge and become besties with Frisk. So she starts teaching them. And when she stops and starts making pasta instead, Frisk waits out the timeline until she sets fire to the house (and that poor grand piano) then reloads. They repeat the process, tweaking variables to get to the piano teaching faster. (There’s a similar thing that happens in Groundhog day which is where i got the idea from lol)

But learning piano isn’t enough. Once they get the hang of it they need to figure out playing by ear. They become obsessive over it, playing keys again and again until sound can instinctively be translated into the language of music. They figure out the timeline that gives them the most access to Undyne’s piano and play anything and everything they can recall hearing from the surface.

Then it’s finally time to learn the music of the Underground. Each soundtrack becomes it’s own project. One by one Frisk chooses a battle to learn and then repeats this process: saving next to Undyne’s house, walking all the way to the encounter and then quitting halfway through the battle to practice the section of music until they can play the whole thing through. Then they play the song over and over again until it becomes long term memory (because sheet music doesn’t last between timelines) and the method is repeated with another monster.

Once they finish all the pacifist music they of course have to complete genocide. In my headcanon this Frisk did genocide, refused to delete the world and doesn’t trust themselves to be able to make the same choice twice and fight off Chara. So instead they always quit just after judgement hall (I mean, there isn’t much music after that point anyway). The good thing about genocide is that no one gets suspicious of you going to Undyne’s house and playing her piano for hours on end because they’re all dead haha.

--- --- ---

So finally they do it. They learn every song in the game, and they’re so proud of themselves. A sentimental part of them drives them to go through a true pacifist run and go back to the date with Undyne.

They walk up to the piano slowly, a small smile on their face and press the old familiar keys of His Theme once again. It starts so softly, it takes Undyne a few seconds to recognise the tune, the memory returning like an old friend. Once she realises what it is she walks up to the kid but whatever she has to say gets trapped in her tongue when she looks at them. Their eyes are closed, with this absolute look of peace on their face as they play. Without a word from either of them, she takes a seat next to Frisk and joins the sound, forming a duet.

With Undyne taking over the main melody, Frisk slowly starts adding in the other monsters’ themes, naturally melding them into the flow of chords. This confuses Undyne at first, she lifts up her head, but when she hears soft bonetrousle and spears of justice, she realises what they’re doing and just goes with it. The whole song becomes this epic medley summarising everything that still means something to Frisk about their journey- all their friends, all their memories, all the things that even after hundreds of resets are still precious to them

and... and... ahhhhh it’s all just so beautiful! I don’t know what to write! Even now i think i’m being too flowery v.v

this is where i’d end it if i wanted to be nice, Frisk and Undyne in this unbroken melody of beautifulness... but of course i have extra because i don’t know when to stop lol

Without even thinking about it, at one point Frisk shifts into Battle Against a True Hero. The presence next to them stiffens and suddenly the lower parts of Undyne fade out. They keep playing for a bit after, not realising at first. It gets slower the more confused they become and they look up. Undyne is staring at the piano trembling, gripping the piano seat.

“Where... where did you hear that punk?” they whisper. Frisk looks back down at the piano in silence. The lack of noise in the room becomes palpable. In a pathetic attempt to ease the tension, Frisk lightly fingers Dating Tension to give their hands something to do.

“Frisk.” This makes them look up. No one ever says their name. There is a sharpness to Undyne’s tone, it makes them nervous. She starts talking louder a quiver in her voice. “I-I have never played that song in front of anyone ever.”

“Just, just who are you?” There’s small tears in her eyes that she’s trying very hard to blink away.

...

“WHY WON’T YOU ANSWER ME!” Undyne is standing up now, clenching her fists. Frisk looks scrunches their eyes shut. Glowing flashes of spears light up their memory. Echoes of Undyne’s voice, the anger, the sorrow, the desperation, the conviction. Her figure slowly melting in front of them burns behind their eye lids. Undyne can’t take this... this... flat face from the human any longer. “LOOK AT ME!” The words are screeched with emotion. Frisk too starts trembling. She can’t hold the tough act anymore, it’s becoming too much. The next words are s plea. “Kid... please... look at me.”

Frisk lifts up their head in one sharp motion, looking directly at Undyne. The look on their face says a thousand words. Guilt. Sadness. Pity. Emptiness. Rage. Fear. Desperation. Shame. Resignation. They look like someone that has accepted they are, in the true sick human interpretation of the word that insults this race, a monster.

It’s enough to deter even Undyne from her focus. She forgets for a moment what she was even going to say, looking at that face in fear, disgust, shock, horror... whatever word you could think of she was looking at Frisk with it.

aaaand that’s all i’ve got. Bet you were expecting resolution? Pfft hahah nope. If i could come up with that this’d be a proper fanfic. Maybe one day i will figure that out. Then i’d upload it to AO3 [insert self promo to my fics, bubbLp0ppR :P]

#fanfic idea #undertale #i've been forgetting to use hashtags lately #do i even need to include these?#whatever why not #really long post again #were you expecting anything less at this point?

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