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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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winged cupid painted blind // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: I’d really love something based on love story by Taylor Swift. The lines “We keep quite cuz we’re dead if they knew” and “take me somewhere we can be alone” stick out to me // I was thinking that the reader could be from a family that isn’t well off and her and Anthony meet at a ball somehow. They create a ruse that she’s from a well known family so that the gossips in the ton don’t attack her because Anthony has fallen in love with a “commoner.” All the Bridgertons are in on the ruse and at the end of the story Anthony proposes - @whovianwholikesgirls

A/N: Why is it that every Bridgerton fic I write, I end up writing thousands and thousands of words? This is long and I am sorry for that! As always, I hope I have done your request justice and that I hope you like!

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, class divides, pining, mutual pining, lots of fluff, dancing, kissing, happy ending, Anthony in love.

Word count: 7.7k

Madame Delacroix’s took up the central property on the most prosperous street coming just off of Grosvenor Square. The most popular modiste in London, many of society’s richest families flocked to her door in order to claim their own dress made by the talented seamstress.

Anthony sighs as he climbs down from the carriage. His mother must be in a particular benevolent mood to send him to pick up her newest dress from the modiste. Anthony would much rather be spending his day at his club, but he finds himself ringing the modiste’s bell for service.

“Monsieur Bridgerton!” Madame Delacroix smiles, delighted at the sight of the Viscount. “How can I help you?” She asks, her smile turning flirtatious.

Anthony responds with his own flirtatious smile. “I’m here to pick up a dress for my mother.”

“Of course, of course,” Madame Delacroix sings, “I have it over here. I finished it last night. It is divine!”

“My mother will surely thank you,” Anthony states earnestly, his gaze dancing around the room filled to the brim with fabrics and ribbons, models and hoops.

“No need,” Madame Delacroix, “The Bridgertons are my best customers.”

Anthony takes the offered box, marvelling at the lightness of its weight. For all the skirts, for all the numerous pieces of fabric that go into making a dress, Anthony will always remain shocked at the featherlight weight of it.

“Will Lady Bridgerton be wearing this to the Hastings’ ball tonight?” The modiste asks, her tone light as she tries her best to keep the burning curiosity out of her voice.

“Most likely,” Anthony smiles, tipping his head in goodbye.

The modiste calls out her goodbyes as Anthony walks out the door. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is going; only knowing that he needs to turn left in order to reach his carriage. The very thought has him rushing, safe in the knowledge that the quicker he got his done, the quicker he would be at his club.

It’s that self-indulgent thought that had Anthony distracted enough to walk into something hard.

“Oh!” A feminine voice gasps as Anthony catches her elbow whilst keeping a tight hold on the dress box.

“My apologies,” Anthony offers, steadying the unknown woman.

“You’re forgiven,” She murmurs dryly, turning her attention back to the seamstresses window.

“You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern, Lord Bridgerton.”

“My pleasure, Miss…”

“(Y/L/N).”

“My pleasure, Miss (Y/L/N),” Anthony repeats, adjusting the dress box in his hands. He goes to say something else but notices her slyly counting the money in her purse, watching her frown when she realises she cannot afford the prices set by Madame Delacroix.

“Have a nice day, Lord Bridgerton,” Miss (Y/L/N) remarks, stepping away from the Viscount to begin her walk home. She didn’t need a Viscount to be witness to her money troubles; she had thought she had enough, but the prices must have been increased since the last time she had wandered past the window. It would be another two weeks of saving before she could afford a new set of ribbons; it wasn’t worth it at this point, she sighed to herself.

“You too!” Anthony shouts to her retreating figure, feeling upset on her behalf that she could not afford the ribbons she was so dazedly admiring. Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, Anthony climbs into the carriage, thinking of the young woman all the way home.

-----

“Jayne!” (Y/N) laughs, “Slow down! I’m going to lose a shoe.”

“Alright, Cinderella,” Jayne snickers, slowing her pace as she climbs the winding staircase to the home of the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

“Have you ever seen such a home?” (Y/N) gasps; eyes widening as she takes in the grand structure. The brickwork is immaculate; many red bricks painted black to give the impression of a crosshatch pattern spreading across the building. This is only highlighted by the many windows; all seemingly lit by a countless number of candles and sconces.

“(Y/N)!” Jayne shouts, “Stop admiring the building! We have a dance to get to.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” (Y/N) laughs, hurrying after her friend who has already handed over their invitation.

Jayne grips (Y/N)’s hand tightly as they enter the ballroom together. The event is in full swing; the dancefloor already full with couples dancing a quadrille.

“Would you dance with me?” The handsome brunette asks of Jayne, staring at her hopefully. Jayne casts her gaze to (Y/N), not wanting to leave her friend, but wanting very much to dance with the handsome man.

(Y/N) nudges Jayne forward, answering for her. “She would be delighted.”

Jayne sends her a thankful smile as she joins more and more couples on the dancefloor.

The drinks table isn’t busy at all as (Y/N) wanders over. She makes sure to keep an eye on Jayne, watching her dance with what looks to be a Rokesby. (Y/N) shakes her head fondly at her friend; ten minutes into a ball and she’s already caught the attention of a member of one of the richest families in England.

Turning her attention away from her friend, (Y/N) reaches for a glass of lemonade when her hand brushes with a man clearly wanting the same glass. (Y/N) pulls her hand away, not wanting to cause any trouble at a ball she wasn’t even invited to.

“My apologies,” She murmurs, grabbing another glass from the many.

“You’re forgiven,” A voice drawls. (Y/N) glances upwards through her lashes to find Anthony Bridgerton watching her with a confused expression.

“Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) greets, curtseying lightly at the sight of her superior.

Anthony nods. He remains silent as he stands next to her; it’s not an awkward silence, rather, one where (Y/N) can practically hear the cogs and gears winding in Anthony’s mind, trying to figure out where he knows her from. If he knows her at all.

“I met you this morning,” Anthony recalls suddenly, snapping his fingers together when he remembers why he recognises the woman standing next to him.

“You almost knocked me over,” She states wryly, lifting her glass to her lips to take a tentative sip of the lukewarm lemonade.

“I believe I apologised for that, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Call me (Y/N). And I forgave you,” She states simply, “But It doesn’t mean I’m going to let you forget it, however.”

“I’d be disappointed in you, if you did.”

(Y/N) laughs. The very sound music to Anthony’s ears and he briefly wonders whether he could have the sound imprinted on his brain; to hear her laughter for an eternity.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony asks, taking a pull of his lemonade before wrinkling his nose. Too sweet, not sour enough. “Are you here with your parents?”

“I wasn’t technically invited,” She confesses to the Viscount in a conspiratorial whisper. Anthony’s eyes widen when her words land, “What?”

“I came to chaperone my friend, Jayne. You may know her, she’s Lord Dorchester’s daughter.”

Anthony nods; he knew the man well, drank with him a few times at his club – dreadfully dull with a fascination for military history. Much like many of the men of his father’s generation.

“Anyway,” (Y/N) continues, “Jayne wanted to go, but needed a chaperone as her mother has taken ill – nothing serious thankfully. I was the next best option so here I am.”

“Here you are,” Anthony parrots, enunciating every syllable as his eyes pour over her figure. “If you weren’t invited, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a governess for Lord and Lady Saville,” She answers proudly; a happy smile on her face as she thinks of her students.

“I hated my governess,” Anthony confesses with a laugh. “I don’t care much for Latin which she knew so she would make me do double the work.”

(Y/N) snorts. “Latin is a very useful language; it’s a good skill to have.”

“I know that now,” Anthony gripes, “I just didn’t know that at ten years old.”

Silence descends between them. Again, not uncomfortable, but a natural stopping point in their conversation. After all, titled gentleman such as the man stood beside her didn’t speak to her occupation outside of a brief conversation about their child’s progress in their education.

(Y/N) places her finished glass of lemonade back on the table before smoothing out the deep blue skirts of her borrowed dress. She clears her throat, ready to make her excuses and check on Jayne when Anthony speaks first.

“Would you care to dance?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like to dance with me?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“I’m a governess, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Call me Anthony, please.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re supposed to dance with someone of your own class, Anthony.”

“I don’t want to dance with them. I want to dance with you.”

His argument is straight to the point; no beating around the bush that (Y/N) finds it hard to find fault with it. Instead, she sighs, “One dance.”

“One dance,” Anthony promises, holding out his hand for her to grasp.

She didn’t expect to find herself the centre of the Viscount’s attention, but she cannot bring herself to mind much. Not as he holds out a hand for her to take; not as he leads to her to the dancefloor and not as he settles a palm against her lower back. The feel of his hand feeling so right that she loses the power of speech.

The music begins and (Y/N) travels to a new place entirely. The room melts away; the couples, the families. They all disappear. The only two people in the room are her and Anthony; his blue eyes fixed on her as they start to circle the room in waltz. There’s no need for conversation; all words passed by looks alone.

When the music dies and the room fades back into view, (Y/N) only wonders whether she would feel like this again, whether they would be anyone to make her feel like this again. As Anthony bows and kisses her hand, (Y/N) has her answer.

----------

He doesn’t stop thinking about her. She left soon after they finished dancing; her friend finding her and asking whether she was ready to leave. Anthony wanted to argue; wanted to reach for (Y/N) and pull her back to his embrace where they could dance the night away.

Anthony returned home and went straight to his room. He undressed mechanically; still thinking of her as he slipped between his sheets and tried to fall asleep only to find that sleep was a fickle friend that would not be granting him a visit tonight.

He remains awake; thinking of every aspect of her. He didn’t think he would see her again after the modiste; it was a shock to find her at the ball, but he took the opportunity with both hands to find that he had quickly become infatuated with her.

Could this be called love? Anthony rolls over in bed; tangling himself up in the sheets as he runs a hand up and down his bare chest, thinking the question over and over.

He felt as if he had hit by the arrow of Cupid; as if he had handed himself over voluntarily to be pricked with one of the god’s arrows. He’s never felt like this; no woman had ever kept him awake at night in such a manner.

Groaning, Anthony reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, hugging it to his chest. All the while, he dreams it was her body he was pressing close to.

The day after the Ball, Anthony strides from his study to his mother’s drawing room. There, he sits next to his beloved mother, and asks her to gather his siblings for a family meeting.

They arrive one by one. The youngest arriving first; a simple call from the bottom of the stairs has Gregory and Hyacinth rushing to the drawing room, each one adamant that they didn’t do it, but rather their sibling. Anthony shakes his head in exasperation, not wanting to know what they were referring to and instead, asks them to take a seat on the pale blue couch in front of the window.

Over the course of an hour, Anthony’s family arrive. Each one just as curious as the last, each one just as questioning as the last. “Why have you gathered us here, Anthony?” Daphne sighs, her hand resting on Simon’s knee.

“I’ve met someone,” Anthony announces. He frowns at the shocked gasps from Daphne and Eloise; was he really so incapable of finding himself a wife? He ignores the jibes from them both, turning to face his dear mother.

Violet Bridgerton sits in her favourite chair; the one next to it empty as it has been for the last decade. Edmund Bridgerton died so suddenly, and their love was so strong, Anthony knew that there was no recovery from it. “Do we know her?” She asks; her face showing the happiness she feels for her eldest son.

“No,” Anthony sighs, settling down next to his youngest sister, Hyacinth. She offers him a sweet smile as he sits; Anthony cannot help but return the smile and ruffle her hair. When the moment is over, Anthony focuses his attention back onto his family who he finds is watching him intently. “She’s a governess,” He admits, straightening in his seat.

“A respectable profession,” Eloise states with a smile. Anthony feels a rush of affection for his sister; he had always been wary for her outspokenness, but right now, he could thank her heartily.

“What’s the problem, Anthony?” Eloise continues, crossing her ankles, leaning forward in interest.

“I think she may have feelings for me as well, but she’s hesitant to act on them because of our differences.”

“Differences?” Hyacinth questions curiously; unaware of such class differences at such a young age.

“(Y/N) is a governess. I am a Viscount,” Anthony explains, “It would be the subject of gossip for years to come should anything happen between us.”

“So we come up with another story,” Francesca suggests, shrugging her shoulders as if her suggestion was always the answer.

“Another story?” Daphne wonders, eyes glancing between her husband and her family.

“We create a ruse,” Francesca explains to her elder sister. “A story for (Y/N) and Anthony to follow when out in public.”

“Do you think she would go along with this?” Benedict asks; his tone wary as he thinks of the possible implications this could have for his family.

Anthony remains silent, tapping a finger against his cheek as he thinks of whether (Y/N) would follow such a ruse. “Why don’t we ask her? I can send a summons.”

Violet, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence, nods. “Send her a message asking her to come as quick as she can. Tell her it isn’t an emergency, but that you would like to talk to her.”

Anthony nods; rushing from the drawing room to his study to pen such a message. After that, he calls on one of the footmen, handing them the letter and the strict duty of delivering this to (Y/N) personally. The footman nods; his face serious as he takes the letter from his employer’s hand, all but sprinting out of the door.

Anthony returns to the drawing room; taking his seat next to Hyacinth.

“Did you send the missive?” Violet asks. Anthony nods; doing his best to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. “I sent it with one of the footmen,” He answers, “It shouldn’t be long now.”

His family all nod, breaking off into separate conversations whilst Anthony remains stoic and silent. His leg bounces repeatedly; the only outward sign of his anxiety. Internally, he nerves were fraught. He couldn’t help but wonder whether this was all too much; he knew from their first meeting that Anthony would do anything for her, but if (Y/N) didn’t return such feelings then it was all for nothing.

Worries and thoughts continue to plague him as Anthony catches sight of Daphne leaning into Simon. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but Anthony cannot miss the devoted smile that crosses Simon’s face when he feels his wife press against him.

Longing breaks within Anthony’s chest, spreading through his body, leaving behind an ache that he doesn’t know how to heal.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” introduces the Butler, breaking Anthony’s longing in half.

He stands all too fast, appearing all too eager. Anthony shoots a glare in his brother’s direction when he hears their sniggering.

(Y/N) rushes into the room; her eyes filled with panic when she finds herself in front of the whole Bridgerton clan. “Anthony?” She whispers; her eyes finally meeting his from across the room.

“(Y/N),” He breathes, “Thank you for coming.”

“You told me not to worry, but you sounded so urgent.”

“We wanted to talk to you,” He explains, gesturing to his whole family. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

(Y/N) sits; her mind running a thousand miles a minute as she finds herself being watched by every Bridgerton/Basset in the room. The room is silent; too silent – no-one dares broach the subject first. They don’t want to anger Anthony or ruin his chances with (Y/N).

“Whatever is the matter?” (Y/N) finally asks, breaking the silence.

“We’ve come to understand that you and Anthony have feelings for each other,” Violet states quite plainly.

(Y/N) fidgets, somewhat uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “I guess you could say that,” She offers, smiling smally at the aforementioned man.

“We also know that you’re worried about the differences between Anthony and yourself,” Violet continues to which Eloise huffs, crossing her arms in anger at the state of the class differences within England.

“It’s not so much worried,” (Y/N) explains, “It’s more resigned to the fact.”

Violet nods, understanding where the young governess is coming from. “Francesca,” Violet starts, nodding to the brunette sitting by one of Anthony’s brothers, “Has come up with an idea that we would like to run by you.”

“Oh?”

“It would mean that you and Anthony would be able to begin a courtship.”

(Y/N) feels herself flush; her face heating with how open the Bridgerton family were about their emotions. Their family unit so healthy and happy that everyone felt at ease to talk about whatever was on their minds.

“What did you have in mind?” (Y/N) asks, turning to face Francesca who responds with a large smile.

“We’re going to create a backstory for you. Not something terribly complicated, but something that you and Anthony can follow whilst out in public.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) whispers hesitantly, “What’s the backstory you’ve created?”

Francesca begins to look sheepish. “I haven’t thought of that part yet… I didn’t think Anthony would go for the first part.”

(Y/N) laughs; a light and airy sound that has Anthony straightening in his seat, smiling automatically. “Why don’t we come up with it together?”

“So you’re willing to go along with it?” Anthony asks; his voice unwaveringly hopeful as he refuses to look at anyone but (Y/N).

Something in his face has her nodding. “For as long as you’ll have me,” She answers earnestly, almost breathless when Anthony smiles widely in return.

“This is what I’ve thought of so far,” Colin announces, breaking the moment between Anthony and (Y/N).

The family turn to Colin to find him sat forward on his seat, an eager look across his face as he begins to lay out his plans. Anthony smiles and nods; happy with every word leaving his brother’s mouth.

(Y/N) cannot help but feel an ounce of doubt; not so much at the plan, but for longevity of it. How long would it be before Anthony realised she was not worth it? How long would it before the class difference between them became too much? She dreaded the day but knew it would be upon her before she realised.

----------

The annual picnic in Hyde Park drew in every affable family in London. After all, it was another excuse for mother’s to parade their daughters to the many eligible gentleman. For the gentlemen, it was a free lunch with whichever gazebo they chose to throw themselves upon.

The Bridgertons had been attending this picnic for many years; their station in society meaning that they were personally invited by the monarch. Violet took pride in her set up, making sure her cook’s famous biscuits were on display and that there was plenty of tea to go around. She also ensured that her family had the perfect view of the Serpentine; not too close for her children to fall in, but not too far for it to be out of sight. It was not a sorry affair.

(Y/N) had joined the family happily; talking briefly with Colin and Eloise before Hyacinth monopolised her attention. (Y/N) didn’t mind; she had taught many young girls the same age as Hyacinth and found them all a delight to educate. Hyacinth would be no different.

It wasn’t long, however, before Anthony joined her side. His hand settled comfortably on the small of her back, liking the way that she stepped closer to him, as if wanting to be in his presence all the time.

“Did you have fun the other night?” Anthony questions, thinking back to Daphne’s ball when (Y/N) had smiled at him as he lead her across the dancefloor.

(Y/N) smiles. “I did. I had a lot of fun.”

“How are you feeling about our ruse?” Anthony queries, catching sight of Lady Featherington marching across the many blankets in the direction of the Bridgerton patch.

“Confident,” (Y/N) answers, “Why do you ask?”

Anthony smiles; shifting his position slightly so he can hear every word of the conversation about to happen. He ducks his head, his mouth close to her ear as he answers, “Because it’s about to be put to the test.”

“Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington calls; her gaudy green gown shimmering in the sunlight as she teeters her way to the matriarch of the fine family.

“Lady Featherington,” Violet greets, her voice as polite as ever. “How are you?”

Lady Featherington smiles at Violet; her gaze glancing around the colourful blankets and gazebo set out for the Bridgerton family to remain comfortable as the picnic progresses. Lady Featherington smiles when her eyes find the figure she was looking for. (Y/N) stands to the side, wrapped up in a conversation with Anthony that certainly looks to be a private one.

Lady Featherington nods towards (Y/N); the fascinator attached to her threatening to slip into her eyes. “You have a new addition to your family, Lady Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington states; no infliction of a question but one inferred all the same.

“(Y/N) is a distant friend of the family,” Violet answers breezily, “She hails from a wealthy family just outside of Leeds.”

“Leeds?”

Violet nods. “Yes, Leeds. It’s just over 20 miles outside of York, perhaps you’ve been?”

Lady Featherington smiles tightly at Violet. She smooths down the green panels of her dress. “A handful of times, Lady Bridgerton. After all, my side of the family hails from Manchester. The two aren’t so far removed.”

“Of course,” Violet appeases, “How does your family fare? I’d heard your mother was ill.”

Lady Featherington continues to smile graciously at the Dowager Viscount. Her eyes are brimming with warning and curiosity, but her smile is forced. “Mother is doing much better, she travelled to the coast. The latest journals are saying sea air helps with fragile conditions.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Featherington nods her thanks to Violet before making her excuses. Violet’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches the notorious gossip walk away from her gazebo. Lady Featherington’s shoulders are tight with displeasure as she marches back to her own plot.

Violet returns to the stitching in her lap after a brief glance towards her youngest children. Gregory and Hyacinth occupied with Benedict and Colin as the older of the set teach their younger siblings games from their youth. Violet smiles at her children; content to return to the pattern at hand, the Dutch Tulips would not stitch themselves.

“What was Lady Featherington talking to you about?” Anthony asks. His face the very picture of innocence as he breaks his mother’s concentration and grabs two biscuits – one for him, the other he hands to (Y/N).

“She was fishing for information on our dear (Y/N),” Violet comments, observing her stitching to ensure it remains straight. “She didn’t find out a thing other than what we discussed.”

(Y/N) lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.”

Violet waves away her gratitude with a dismissive hand. “You’re making my son happy; I’ll protect that and you with all that I have.”

(Y/N) flounders for a moment at the quick acceptance by Violet. She smiles at the matriarch; whispering her thanks to Violet, ducking her head as she tries to come to terms with rush of emotions coursing through her body.

Anthony returns his attention to the conversation; his mind no longer focused on way to distract Lady Featherington. He flashes a smile in (Y/N)’s direction; his heart racing when she sends her own smile back.

“(Y/N) and I are going to promenade, mother. You’ll be fine without us?”

Violet snorts. “Yes, dear. I have my seven other children to keep me company.”

Anthony rolls his eyes fondly at his mother. He presses a sweet kiss to her cheek before offering (Y/N) his arm.

They amble along the path; all the while aware of the maid sent by Violet shortly after they departed. Violet trusts (Y/N) implicitly, but she knows the reputation of her eldest son. The poor opera singer being prime evidence of his abilities to break hearts as quickly as he mends them.

“You look beautiful, by the way. In case I haven’t told you,” Anthony flirts, a handsome smile spreading across his face.

“You haven’t, but I’ll take the compliment now.”

Anthony laughs, throwing his head back in delight as they both pause their walk. “You are though,” Anthony murmurs, reaching out to brush a finger down (Y/N)’s cheek, “You’re beautiful.”

(Y/N) averts her gaze; her cheeks flushing from the unexpected compliment. Anthony glances on either side of them, catching sight of the maid only a few feet away, doing her best to nonchalantly follow them. Anthony turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, desperate for a moment alone with her. A wicked grin spreads across his face, “Follow me.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” Anthony repeats, stepping off the path and onto the grass. He gestures to a faint path; one less travelled. “Do you trust me?”

(Y/N) answers by taking his outstretched hand, letting herself be led down the lesser known path.

Their pace slows when they are certain they have lost their chaperone. (Y/N) feels a twinge of guilt as she thinks of the poor maid who was only doing what she was asked by her employer, but then she catches sight of the unbridled glee on Anthony’s face and her guilt is quickly replaced by anticipation.

“Where are we going?” She asks; her voice jostling slightly as she tries to watch Anthony and not trip over any loose twigs or stones.

“Nowhere in particular,” Anthony confesses, “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit.”

His pace slows; they’re a good distance away from the picnic party, they wouldn’t be interrupted by anyone.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Anthony wonders as he comes to a stop. His hands settle on her waist and she has do all that she can to focus on the conversation and not the fact that she can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her dress.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I like spending time with you. You make me…” Anthony trails off as he thinks of the word, “Happy. Yes, you make me happy.”

“You make me happy too.”

“If you want me to stop,” Anthony whispers, bending to press a line of kisses from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, “You need to tell me now.”

“Don’t stop,” She whispers, fisting her hands in the lapels of his jacket, tugging him forward.

Anthony kissed her carefully, as if afraid he would ruin her from the very moment their lips touched. What he didn’t realise, however, was that he had ruined her from the instant they met. He might not have realised it, but she knew. She knew that from that one conversation, that one touch to her elbow, she would be ruined for other men.

His mouth is gentle, hesitant. By the way he groans low in his throat, Anthony does not expect (Y/N) to react the way she does. Gasping against his mouth, pressing herself against him as her lips open under his. The kiss becomes hurried; oxygen becoming a distant thought of the past as (Y/N) tastes the lemon biscuits Anthony had stolen from his mother’s table.

Breaking the kiss, the couple each suck in ragged breaths. Shy smiles break out across either of their faces, not having expected such a thing to happen to between them. A short laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he keeps (Y/N) wrapped up in his embrace. Neither of them feel the need to say a word; happy to let the time pass between them in complete silence.

“We should probably get back,” (Y/N) eventually murmurs against Anthony’s cheek, the slight stubble scratching her skin.

Anthony releases a choked sound. “I don’t want to,” He confesses, “I want to stay here with you.”

(Y/N) pulls back, brushing a gloved hand against Anthony’s cheek. He leans into the touch; finding himself enraptured by the woman in front of him. “I want to stay with you too,” She whispers, “But your family will be looking for us.”

Anthony sighs, breaking the embrace entirely. He holds her hand; tangling their fingers together. If he could, he wouldn’t let go of her at all. He would keep her with him at all times; he likes to be in her presence, doesn’t want to be without it. However, society and duty calls, and he must return. However, he would be damned if he was to let go of her hand before then.

“Alright,” He concedes, beginning the walk back to the picnic.

The walk is quiet, but comfortable. Their hands remained tangled even as they arrive back to the Bridgertons. His brother’s throw Anthony a knowing glance which Anthony ignores. He knows his mother will have a strict word with him later, but he has more pressing matters on his mind – his future and the woman now sitting with his youngest siblings.

He’s found his forever; he just needs to keep it.

-----

“Miss (Y/L/N),” the Butler begins, interrupting the governess as she marks her student’s latest set of handwriting, “A Viscount Bridgerton to see you?”

“Oh!” She gasps, standing from her seat far too quickly. The inkpot on her desk spills, sapphire blue ink spreading across the multitude of papers thrown about her desk. As she watches the puddle grow, she begins to feel a deep sense of dread spread through her being.

“Shall I show him in?” The Butler asks, also watching the ink stain spread.

“Have you already made Lord and Lady Saville aware of his presence?”

“Yes, miss. They’re the ones who told me to fetch him to you.”

“Then yes, show him in please,” (Y/N) answers, staring forlornly at the ruined paper and wasted ink. The Butler makes a sympathetic noise before opening the door further for Anthony to enter.

“Darling,” Anthony greets. He goes to speak further but spies the growing blue stain. “What happened here?”

“I stood up too quickly,” (Y/N) complains. “It’s gone everywhere, and I can’t afford another bottle right now.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll get you a bottle.”

(Y/N) fixes the man with an unimpressed look. “No you won’t. I don’t want you buying things for me.”

“It won’t be bought. I have a stock of ink back at Bridgerton House due to the amount of correspondence I have. You can have a couple of pots; I will not miss it.”

“Oh… well, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Anthony smiles. “Now that’s sorted, I came here to ask you a question.”

“You have?”

“I have. Would you attend the Shakespearean ball? With me?” His voice has a note of vulnerability in it as he voices his question.

“What?” She asks, “As in arrive with you, on your arm?”

“Yes,” Anthony states slowly, “You would come with me and my family.”

She begins to pace the room; her hands wringing together as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart and mind. “Are you sure this is the path you want to go down?” She asks Anthony; her voice begging for a truthful answer.

“What do you mean?”

“This is getting very serious very fast, Anthony. This plan isn’t going to work forever; the ton will find out that I’m a governess and the ruse will be over. This could ruin your entire family, Anthony.”

“Hey,” Anthony hushes, interrupting her pacing. He reaches for her hand with one hand whilst the other cups her cheek. She automatically leans into the touch, sending a thrill through Anthony’s aching soul. “Nothing’s going to happen,” He reassures with a gentle tone, “Should anything happen, we can do damage control.”

“I don’t want to be the ruin of your family, Anthony,” (Y/N) whispers, her eyes lined with unshed tears. She could never forgive herself if the Bridgertons were socially injured by her lack of money relating to her lack of status. (Y/N) could not help the hand of cards she was dealt at birth, but society dictates her station, and hers was so far below Anthony’s it was any wonder that he noticed her in the first place. It was a dream to be accepted by his family; she didn’t want to be the cause of their ruination.

“You aren’t going to be the ruin of my family,” Anthony assures, brushing under her eyes with his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have fallen. “You’re going to be the making of it. I want you in my life, (Y/N). I want to see where this goes.”

“You do?”

“I do. I haven’t felt like this for a long time, I want to see where this feeling takes me.”

“Okay,” She concedes, doing her best to stop the tears falling, “I’ll go to the ball with you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

The smile that spreads across Anthony’s face makes it all worth it. He presses a kiss to her forehead, then another to her nose, to her cheek before finally kissing her in earnest. She hums against his mouth; getting lost in the feel of him.

“It’ll be worth it,” Anthony whispers. “All of this is worth it.”

“You’re worth it,” (Y/N) states quietly, pulling him back in for another kiss.

----

Lady Danbury was one of two women in London that could throw a memorable ball. The other being Violet Bridgerton. For her theme this year, Lady Danbury had chosen the works of the Elizabethan bard, William Shakespeare. For what could be more romantic than dressing as characters immortalised in his plays and sonnets?

Anthony would not tell (Y/N) one whisper of his costume; kept it a secret from her despite her barrage of questions. As revenge, she kept quiet about her costume, refusing to tell the man the colour of her dress.

The two walk into the ballroom with (Y/N)’s hand resting on Anthony’s forearm; her nerves rattle as she walks further into the room. She knew she had no reason to be nervous; Anthony and his family would protect her from whatever form of gossip falls her way, but she could not help the turning of her stomach as she walked passed many disappointed mothers who had hoped Anthony would pay their daughters the slightest bit of attention.

The music is loud; the laughter lightening the atmosphere and the dancers in full swing as (Y/N) begins to feel comfortable. Having taught many a child Shakespeare, (Y/N) spent a lot of time trying to decipher the characters in attendance tonight. She had already seen three Violas, four Benedicks, and six Olivias.

“I have to go talk to someone,” Anthony says apologetically, interrupting her guessing game, “I won’t be long. Will you be okay without me?”

(Y/N) nods. “Go. I’m sure I’ll find someone to talk to.”

Anthony presses a lingering kiss to her cheek, whispering as he does so, “A marvel amongst women.”

“You’re nothing but a flirt,” She laughs, batting the love of her life away. “Go talk business.”

“As you wish,” Anthony laughs, mock-bowing before leaving (Y/N) to wander the ball alone. Moments pass before she finds someone she recognises. “Colin,” She greets happily, “Who have you come as?”

“Romeo Montague,” Colin answers, stretching his arms wide to show off his rather fetching garb.

“How wonderful,” She laughs, watching the Bridgerton strike a pose in his costume.

“Who knows,” Colin teases, “Maybe tonight I’ll find my Juliet.”

(Y/N) laughs once more, batting the man away when he wiggles his eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner. “Off with you,” She snorts, “I’m sure there are plenty of ladies for you to dance with.”

Colin departs with a bow of his head. (Y/N) rolls her eyes at the antics of the younger man; Colin knew full well of the line of ladies waiting for his signature of their dance cards, but something warms in (Y/N)’s chest when she watches Colin walk straight to Penelope Featherington.

“They’d make a fine pair if he would pull his head out,” A voice full of humour sounds from behind her.

(Y/N) startles. She turns to find Anthony watching her; his lips curled in a manner that suggested he was holding back the laughter he so desperately wanted to let out.

“You made me jump,” She hisses, batting his outstretched hand away.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Anthony coos, pulling (Y/N) into his embrace by pulling on one of the many skirts about her waist. (Y/N) flushes at the term of endearment, but also at the many pairs of eyes now watching the young couple.

“You’re forgiven,” She sighs. “Who have you dressed as?” She asks, changing the subject.

“Ferdinand,” Anthony answers, “From The Tempest.”

“How odd,” (Y/N) muses, “I’ve dressed as Miranda from The Tempest.”

“‘Admired Miranda!/ Indeed the top of admiration, worth/ What’s dearest to the world!’”

“Only you could quote Shakespeare from the heart,” (Y/N) states wryly.

Anthony preens, puffing out his chest slightly. “All the Bridgertons can. We would do dramatizations of the plays.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughs, picturing Anthony as a young boy, dressed in breeches with a make-do ruff around his neck. The very image brings a fond smile to her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Anthony questions, wanting to be privy to the thoughts running through her mind.

“You,” She flirts, hooking her arm through Anthony’s as they start to take a turn about the room.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Anthony states pompously though his heart races at her words.

Her laughter chimes as Anthony steers (Y/N) around the room, pausing only to grab two glasses of lemonade from the drinks table. She sips at it delicately, not risking a spill of a single drop on her outfit.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Anthony murmurs into her ear. “Truly. I would have been lost without you.”

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” (Y/N) teases, enjoying the blush that begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. She briefly touches a gloved hand to his cheek, smiling fondly at the brunette. “I’m glad I came too.”

Anthony clears his throat; clearing his throat of the emotion clogging it up. He takes her drink from her, placing it on a nearby table. As ever the gentleman he was raised to be, Anthony bows towards the women he vows is the love of his life and offers his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Always,” She answers with a breathtaking smile, taking his hand to be led onto the dancefloor for the start of the new song. Couples on the floor take up the position of the quadrille as upbeat music sounds through the hall.

It’s hard not to smile as Anthony takes her hand to begin the first steps of the lead couple. The first dance figure is performed before copied by the other couples in their square.

Anthony keeps a tight hold on her as he begins the next set of dance figures; spinning (Y/N) out before drawing her back in. Laughter falls from her mouth, setting his heart alight with the love he feels for her.

She catches the eye of Lady Featherington through one of many of Anthony’s spins. The Lady smiles knowingly, raising her glass to the young woman spinning in the arms of the Viscount.

(Y/N)’s breath freezes in her chest; she makes a choked sound and her steps falter. Luckily, no-one but Anthony seems to notice, but he recovers his hold on (Y/N) fairly quickly. It’s the end of the song; couples slowing on the floor, the audience beginning to clap their approvals.

“Darling?” Anthony calls quietly, breaking her out of her reverie. His hand remains in her hold; refusing to let him take even a step without her.

“Take me somewhere we can be alone,” She pleads, suddenly overcome by the sheer amount of people milling about the hall.

Anthony doesn’t need to be told twice, leading (Y/N) away from the dancefloor with a guiding hand on the small of her back. Anthony catches Benedict’s eye as he leaves the hall; his brother offers him a single nod to which Anthony relaxes – Benedict would make sure no-one would follow or interrupt, there was something important Anthony had to do.

The night air is cold against her heated skin as she inhales hurried breaths. The stone of the railing is cool under her fingers as she grips the stone tight; needing something to tether her to this place. It feels like a dream; a total dream that she would find herself costumed as a character from a Shakespeare play brushing elbows with some of the most powerful people in the country.

At this time of night, the gardens are dark, but she can still make out their heavenly fragrance perfuming the air, providing the perfect backdrop for this night.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks, removing his jacket and settling it over her shoulders.

(Y/N) pulls his jacket tighter around her; inhaling the comforting scent of musk and sweet orange washing over her. “I’m fine now, it got to be a bit too much in there.”

“That’s an understatement,” Anthony murmurs, “I saw Lady Featherington.”

(Y/N) cringes internally. Her face is a mask of polite interest as she murmurs, “Oh? You saw that did you?”

“She only acts as if she knows everything, darling,” Anthony reassures, settling his hands on (Y/N)’s waist, desperate to be touching her.

“I know,” She murmurs, but his words do nothing to settle the panic tying her chest into knots.

“We’re fine,” Anthony promises; hands rubbing up and down the sides of her bodice. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know,” She repeats, sighing heavily, leaning back into his embrace. His chest is strong against her back, but she doesn’t get long to admire his strength. He turns her in his arms, peering down at the expression on her face.

“You’re who I love. I couldn’t give a damn what the rest of London society thinks.”

“I love you as well,” She answers, a small smile on her face, letting his words wash away any and all of her worries. “You do have a way with words.”

“Flatterer,” He teases, dipping his head to kiss her.

(Y/N) gasps at the first press of Anthony’s lips against hers. She had kissed him before; a hurried meeting of mouths before their chaperone caught up to them. This kiss differed from that; languid, unhurried. Anthony took his time to memorise the feel of her lips against his; the small whimpers sounding at the back of her throat.

Each brush of his lips against hers spoke of what he found it hard to put into words. He had never been a wordsmith; could never write poetry or recite the romances of the past, but with every butterfly kiss placed on her lips in time to the shuddering of her heartbeat could Anthony translate the sheer scale of what he feels for her.

She reaches up to cup the back of his neck, fingers carding through the dark brown locks. Anthony’s grip on her waist remains firm as he presses her further into the railing. The gentleness of Anthony’s kiss soon turns to a burning passion as his hands splay across the small of (Y/N)’s back, pressing her to him.

As Anthony’s kisses begin to travel the expanse of her jawline, (Y/N) is suddenly grateful for the railing behind her. If he was to let her go now, not only would she feel the keen absence of his touch, but she would surely sink to the floor. The feel of his mouth, pressed hot against her, has her knees feeling unsteady.

“(Y/N),” Anthony whispers, nuzzling the side of her neck, “(Y/N)…”

“You keep whispering my name,” She murmurs into the night air; her ragged breath leaving behind white plumes.

“Marry me,” Anthony all but pleads, pulling back from (Y/N)’s neck to gaze into her eyes. “Marry me and always be mine.”

It seemed that time had stopped and lost all of its meaning; there was no party, no gardens, no laughter of lifelong friends. No. In this moment there was only Anthony.

“Yes,” She whispers, laughter beginning to fall from her mouth as fresh as a morning rainfall. Once it starts, she cannot find it in herself to stop. Tears soon join the laughter as a smile breaks across Anthony’s handsome face. “Yes,” She repeats, “I will marry you.”

********

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#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton imagines #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagines

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years

Text

Not Going Anywhere

Pair: Hermione Granger x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You’ve kept a pretty big secret from your bird for a while, but what happens when you end up revealing it on one fate filled night where she sees it first hand?

Warnings: Blood mentions, fluffy!

Notes: Requested! Hope you enjoy! Lowkey cringey but-

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

Red.

All you saw was blood red.

Red and shadows of moving figures. You couldn’t make out what body belonged to what name or remember your own to be fair. You growled, snarled, hissed, everything under the sun yet the figures stepped closer. You just wanted to be alone. It was so cold.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your ears were ringing. Everything hurt, everything was throbbing. You felt lost, confused and in pain. You were hurt. You were bleeding and vulnerable and that leads to more bleeding and more vulnerable. All and all, you were scared and running purely off instinct at this point.

“It’s ok.” A distorted female voice whispered. It was vaguely familiar but so far away. The idea of familiarity left as quickly as it came. You bared your teeth once more before taking off, leaving a trail of red behind you.

Hermione stepped forward carefully. She reached out slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements. She knew deep down you weren’t going to recognize her and it broke her heart a little. She didn’t flinch when your ears rolled back and your sharp teeth made themselves known.

“It’s ok.” She spoke up gently. The young witch wanted to believe you wouldn’t hurt her, but you already had. You’d slashed across her arm, not too deep, but deep enough to cause it to throb and bleed.

Why didn’t you tell her? She could’ve helped, they all could have, instead you hit it from everyone. Why did she have to find you like this? Covered in blood, cuts and mud, howling at the full moon. Hermione almost ran after you when you darted off into the woods, instead she just glanced down at the ground, shifting her weight. She glanced back up, her eyes glistening with tears in the moonlight as she watched you retreat into the forbidden forest.

“He’ll come back, Mione.” Ron spoke softly, resting a hand against her shoulder. She didn’t try to stop him when he pulled her into a hug. Harry rubbed her back while she hid in her friend's chest. She didn’t want to look at the red anymore. She held her arm tightly into her chest, hoping the bleeding would stop. It was throbbing again.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the hospital wing.” Harry gently guided the crying girl back to the castle while Ron lagged, keeping a watchful eye out for you. They were all hoping their friend would be ok.

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing patches of green and brown. The morning air was crisp and sharp against your bare skin, causing you to curl up to try to gain warmth. You knew what happened, of course you did. It happens anywhere from one to three times a month, it was almost always the same. You didn’t want to look at the damage.

You pulled yourself up, looking down at your bare frame. Your eyes focused on the bruises, the blood covering your body. You must’ve fought something, something big and won. There was so much red though, you looked like a beast. You felt like a beast.

“(Y/n)?” A soft voice called out, echoing in the nearly empty woods. You jumped, trying your best to find some piece of clothing to use to cover yourself. The voice was familiar. Was that Harry?

“Mr.(Y/n)?” A slightly louder voice called out. It sounded like Professor Lupin.

“I’m over here!” you called out weakly, your voice cracking in the middle. You stayed seated on the ground, covering your lap with your ripped up shirt. It did the job.

Soon, Lupin and Harry pushed through the foliage in front of you. Harry smiled and hurried over to you, quickly kneeling beside you to drape his school rone over your bare shoulders. Lupin sighed in relief when he noticed you were only covered in bruises and no major cuts.

“Merlin’s beard, (Y/n)! We were scared you were gone for good! We’ve been looking for you all morning!” Harry spoke out. “Mione’s been freaking out since last night!”

The mention of your girlfriends name made fuzzy images flash across your eyes, but nothing was clear. You furrowed your eyebrows, your hands grasping the edges of the robe to pull it closer around you.

“What happened?” You looked at Harry before turning to Lupin, then the grass in shame. If there was anyone you should’ve told, it was Lupin. He would’ve understood and helped all without judgement.

“You went werewolf in the middle of the dining hall.” Harry spoke slowly, but was quick to clarify when your head snapped up and looked at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t hurt anyone! Everyone was ok. Well kinda..”

“Kinda?” Your expression shifted into a deeper version of worry.

“While almost everyone was ok, Miss. Grange-”

“Oh, Godric! I killed her, didn’t I?!” You covered your face with the hood of the robe. You felt tears welling up in your eyes before you could process anything else. You felt like a monster. “What? No! She’s-”

“Paralzied? Decapitated? Half eaten? What? What did I do to her?!” Your heart ached at the mere idea of laying a finger let alone a claw on her. She didn’t deserve whatever you put her through. She was alway beside you, even if you kept this huge secret from you… Wait, would she wanna be with you?

Lupin could tell from how your breathing was picking up that you were spiraling down a dark path. He sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out what was left of his chocolate bar. “I’m gonna start asking Dumbledore to give you guys more chocolate. This is running me dry.” Lupin tried to joke as he rested a hand on your shoulder. “Listen,” Lupin shoved the chocolate into your hands while Harry rubbed your back. “Are you listening?” He didn’t continue until you nodded your head and were nibbling on the chocolate. “She’s ok. It was just a scratch. She didn’t even need stitches.”

You felt relief flutter through you. You leaned back against the tree, a hand coming to rest over your heart.

“Oh, thank Merlin. I was so scared..” Suddenly you sat up again, looking between them. “Wait, where is she?” You pulled the robe around you tighter before you stood up, making sure it covered you.

“She’s in the dorms-” Harry motioned back toward the castle with his thumb.

“Then that’s where I’m going.” You stepped between them and began heading the direction they came from.

“I don’t think so, Mr. (L/n). You’ve been out all night doing who knows what. First, you’re going to the hospital wing to get checked out.” Lupin stepped in front of you, effectively blocking your path. “She can wait.”

“But-”

“No buts. You’re going whether I have to escort you or carry you there.” The ex-marauder crossed his arms over his chest. With a sigh and a nod, you followed the student and the teacher through the forbidden forest and to the castle. Once the three of you entered the giant school, Harry separated to bring you clothes from the dorm while Lupin all but dragged you to the hospital wing.

Lupin pushed open the thick wooden door, respectfully calling out for the nurse in the empty room. He wondered about, looking for the women to get you checked out while you picked a bed. Most of them were empty anyway and Lupin trusted you wouldn’t run off.

You sat down on one of the many neatly made hospital beds, still covering yourself in Harry’s robe. Your eyes traced along the bricks created the towering walls and the wooden beams holding the ceiling together. You jumped when Madam Pomfry spoke up.

“Do you remember anything, love?” She asked as she walked over to you, slowly pulling the curtain across the room, separating you from anyone you may be coming or going while you’re here.

“No, ma’am. Only vague shapes. Did uh- Did Profe-”

“Yes. He told me. I wish I’d known sooner, I’d made sure Snape gave you wolfsbane.” She sighed. “Any bleeding? Intense pain?” She asked as she went to the little table beside the bed, pulling out a few potions while checking labels. “Just some bruising, no bleeding I think.” You kinda patted yourself down, checking your dirt covered hands for any hints of the red substance.

“Alright. I’ll give you a potion for the bruises, dear, but I expect you to take it easy until they have all faded.” She pushed a potion viel into your shaky hand, a soft smile across her face.

“Yes, ma’am. Do I have to take it easy in here or can I do it in my dorm?”

“I know you're eager to see your bird, so just take the veil, get dressed, catch your bearings and you may leave.”

You took the potion before she even finished speaking. A simple yes would’ve done it. You handed her the veil back, smiling and showing you truly swallowed the connotation before she left the room, pulling the curtain shut once more. You kicked your dangling feet in a random pattern as you waited for your clothes and the potion to kick in. It wasn’t long before Harry came rushing into the room, Ron and Hermione behind him of course.

“(Y/n)! I brought your uniform!” Harry’s arm shot through the separation of the curtains, showing your neatly folded uniform laying in his palm. You laughed a little before taking it.

“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” You sighed out, wiping off Harry’s now dirty robe and throwing it haphazardly over the curtain, laughing a little louder when Ron let out a squeaky ‘bloody hell!’. You guessed it landed on him. “Sorry, Ron!”

You didn’t even get to pull your shirt on properly before Hermione busted through the curtains and into your arms. You hugged her tightly, your arms wrapped around her waist as she leaned into you. She let out a sigh as you burrowed your nose into her messy hair, relaxing when the scent of her shampoo hit you.

“Godric, I thought you were dead.” She whispered before looking up at you. Her honey brown eyes shimmered up at you, leaving you almost breathless. What actually left you breathless was how those eyes suddenly hardened. “I thought you were dead, you idiot!” She shoved you back onto the bed, her hands going through her messy locks. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?! I could’ve helped!”

You didn’t notice Lupin walk by the curtain and immediately turn around. He was not here for the teenage drama. Ron and Harry winced at her yelling. Everyone in the castle knew how scary the muggle born can be when she’s pissed.

“I’m sorry, doll!” You spoke up, hands up in defense when Hermione grabbed the pillow and raised it above her head before hitting you with it.

“Do you not trust me enough to tell me?” She hit you with the fluffy feathered fiend before continuing. “Is that it?” The pillow hit you a third time.

“What?! No, of course I trust you!”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” She rarely swore like that, so you knew it was serious. You swiped the pillow before she could hit you a fourth time.

“I was scared!” Your shout echoed in the empty hall. You pulled the pillow into your chest before looking down at the floor. “I was scared I’d lose my friends. I was scared I’d lose you. I didn’t want you to see me the way I see me..” You set the pillow down on your lap. You could feel your friends staring at you.

“A.. And how, exactly, do you see yourself?” Hermione's voice was soft, like she already knew the answer. Hell, she probably already did. No one would be surprised.

“Like a monster..” You felt the bed sink down next to you. You didn’t need to look over to know your girl was sitting next to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just.. I couldn’t lose you.” You cringed down at the pillow when your voice cracked. You sounded so weak and pathetic and- The thoughts stopped when Hermione grabbed your chin and directed your gaze to her soft eyes again.

“You are anything but a monster. You can’t control this, (Y/n). We’ll work around this, I mean, come on. We work around Snape everyday, don’t we?” She gave you a hope filled smile as she scooted closer, her hand now coming to rest against your cheek. You leaned into the touch, your eyes closing.

“Yeah, yeah we do.” You let out a soft chuckle, the sound barely audible compared to the pin drop silence.

“And besides, Harry and Ron would be nothing without us.”

“Hey!” The two boys in question shouted.

“Hush, you know it’s true.” Hermione giggled, leaning into your side. You kissed her head as your arm wrapped around her waist, trying to pull her as close as possible.

“I love you.” You whispered into her hair while Harry and Ron were arguing over who was the most helpful in the group of four.

“I love you more.” The brunette whispered back, her hand landing on yours. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

#hermione granger x male reader #hermione granger imagine #hermione granger #hp imagine #hp x male reader #male reader #harry potter #ron weasley #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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acraftedmistake · 3 years

Text

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 15

CHP 15!!!!! Some good times and bad times lie ahead......

Enjoy!

“Everything okay?” Jess asked. Aiden was about to leave the house but had stopped halfway out the door, turned back around, and scanned the first floor while Jess and Olivia waited for him.

“Yeah.” Aiden said slowly as he began to close the door, twisting the knob to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally lock the three of them out, “Just thought I heard something.” He walked away from the house and patted his hair down. “You two ready to go?”

“Mhm!” Olivia finished zipping up the olive green jacket Stella had lent her. She was hiding her face with the hood of the gray sweatshirt Cassie gave her the day before as well. She knew there weren’t too many people out at this hour, but better safe than sorry.

Jess was wearing the leather jacket and beanie again, but he wasn’t too concerned about hiding his face this time. Earlier, he made a minor complaint that his clothes felt rather stiff after wearing them for a few days straight, to which Aiden promised that once they got back home he would throw their clothes in the washer.

“Let’s get going!” Jess said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Originally, Jess wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of going out at this hour. Knowing there might be Awakening members roaming around, or his alternate self--who had no problem beating Radar in broad daylight--made Jess uncertain over the safety of Obsidian Town’s streets. Aiden assured him that they’d be alright, it’d be three against one, and--in his words--he ‘Wants to do somethin’ nice for Olivia after last night’.

Jess appreciated the thoughtfulness, and in the end, visiting Olivia’s grave was up to… Well, Olivia, but he’d still be ready in case a creep tried to pull something.

Jess couldn’t really blame Olivia for wanting to check out her grave. It’s her place of death. When would you ever get an opportunity to visit a place like that again? Not to mention, Jess had been wanting to get a better look at Obsidian Town rather than getting glimpses or constantly staring at the ground.

The three walked to the left and started their journey to the cemetery. Aiden and Olivia were making small talk, so Jess took this time to absorb his surroundings.

Up ahead, he could spot a tall, crooked, ivory colored tower in the distance. That must’ve been the library Olivia mentioned before. Even from all the way over here Jess could see how ruined the place was. Cracks stretched across it, it was riddled with holes, and it looked moments away from collapsing.

Jess scanned the streets. The long, thin black lamp posts on each side had thin string-lights tied to their tops that stretched across the streets in a zig-zag like manner. It’s a shame they weren’t on at the moment, they must’ve been wonderful when lit.

There were empty stalls they’d pass by occasionally. Colorful, patterned tents protected the bare tables, empty boxes, and scraps sitting underneath. Jess noticed each stall had string lights, small lanterns, or candles for light. He’d catch quick glimpses at folded signs tucked away and papers taped onto poles advertising items and prices. Seeing all of this reminded him of the farmer markets Beacon Town. Jess would always act so crabby when he woke up early for them, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get hyped up and dashing around the place until closing time.

The stalls and all were nice, but Jess couldn’t help but find Obsidian Town’s buildings to be… Underwhelming.

Many of the buildings, from what he could see, were constructed with the same materials: stone, wood, bricks, concrete, the occasional polished granite and diorite, and the rare terracotta. There were variations with the colors, but seeing the same materials got real tiring real fast.

And most structures here were just shapes. That’s all that could really be said. Squared, rectangled, plain shapes to fit the equally-plain materials. Even the sizes of the buildings felt plain. Many were one to two stories, a large handful reached three, and hardly any were four.

Jess was so used to Beacon Town’s monstrous structures, giant jungle trees sprouting from windows, walls of colored glass creating magnificent designs, and bridges stretching from roof to roof that connected the town together. The fun types of builds! It might sound chaotic but that’s what made Beacon Town feel like home. Obsidian Town was just that. A town.

‘Don’t think the people here can risk being experimental, to be fair.’ Jess told himself as he remembered how often quakes struck. He thought back to his town again. He thought about how so many homes would quickly collapse the moment a strong-enough quake would hit. Beacon Town was fun, but it wasn’t built with ‘sturdiness’ in mind, unlike Obsidian Town.

While the construction and sizes of these buildings were on the more ‘basic’ side, the way the citizens decorated the exteriors of their homes and stores was magnificent. Oh, how he loved their decorations. From markets using barrels, wagons, and carefully stacked crates to advertise their fresh fruit and flowers, to cafes that’d have their furniture with their own color schemes and accessories to make them stand out from one another. Some places had porches decorated with flowers and swinging benches, while others had balconies with tiny lights.

Jess would get a second to peer into windows they’d pass by, catching glimpses of interiors that’d tempt him to come closer and press his face against the glass to get a better look. Actually, he hadn’t noticed it right away, but so many windows in Obsidian Town were colored. They didn’t have any intricate designs--a majority of them were one solid color--unlike the stained glass back at the Order Hall, but they were still charming. He pictured in his head how vibrant the streets must be when night comes… The lights from the inside mixing with the colors of the glass must be magnificent.

One place that REALLY caught Jess’ attention was a stone gray building tucked between two larger ones. It had a simple square base, but had a noticeable tilt to it. It had a staircase that wrapped around it’s walls and led to the roof, where a smaller room sat atop, equally slanted. A wooden sign hung from above the door and had the words “Glass Art” on it. Purple, pink, and blue glass shards and chimes were held by opaque strings from the overhang; there was a large, round, beautiful stained glass window with the same colors beside the door.

The glass art reminded Jess of Ivor and his potions. Man… How is Ivor? Is he doing alright? Is he worried? Hopefully he’s not working himself to the bone trying to find a way to save him and Olivia. Jess couldn’t wait to get back home and give that old man a big ol’ hug.

Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned anything about potions while they’ve been here? He doesn’t remember Olivia’s book talking about them, nor any of Aiden’s friends bringing them up… Are there no potions here? Or maybe there’s a lack of materials? They couldn’t go to the Nether or mine without a license--which STILL boggles Jess’ mind--so that probably made gathering resources hard. How would Ivor react to this? He’d probably say: ‘Pah! A universe without potions is a miserable one. Back in my day, we’d travel hundreds of miles to find the finest ingredients for our--’

“Jess!” He heard Olivia call his name. He spun around and saw her and Aiden standing under a stone arch. Olivia had her hands on her hips.

“You done dreamin’?” Aiden asked.

Jess didn’t realize how far he had strayed from the two. He hurried over and joined them at the arch.

“Sorry, sorry, I was busy thinking.” He skidded to a halt and fixed his beanie.

“Just glad nobody saw you.” Aiden said, “I almost stopped her from calling you cause I wanted to see how far you’d walk off.”

“Could you imagine if he got caught like that?” Olivia asked, “One moment he’s strolling through the streets, and the next he’s being pounced on by guards all because he was too busy sightseeing.” Her and Aiden chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to appreciate a town now?” Jess dramatically placed his hands on his hips, mimicking Olivia’s posture.

“It's illegal for you.” Aiden said, “Now come on, there’s a shortcut through the park.”

Aiden walked through the moss-covered stone arch. On each side of the arch were thick, green hedges that boxed in the park. Olivia noticed that, unlike the buildings in this town, the hedges didn’t form an actual shape; it would jut in and out at random, creating odd angles and corners. It was strange but charming.

A path that started under the arch and looped around the area, creating a horseshoe-like shape. Aiden ignored the path and continued walking straight through the grass. Olivia saw the usual things most parks had: Benches, lampposts, a sign telling people not to litter. She also noticed leftover chalk on the sidewalk, laying right beside children’s drawings of stick figures and hopscotch.

Obsidian Town’s park was small, nice, simple, and… Honestly a little dark. The thick clouds were already blocking most of the sun’s light, but the few, tall, thick trees had branches that hid nearly every inch of the sky. Despite how dim it was, Olivia could still spot wild flowers sprinkled around the grass, along with the bugs buzzing around them.

Honestly--and Olivia felt bad thinking this--she preferred this sort of park over whatever the heck Beacon Town had going on. Yes, Beacon Town was great in it’s own way. People could build whatever they wanted, and that’s wonderful, but sometimes she’d just like to take a walk without a constant ruckus surrounding her. Sometimes she just wanted peace and quiet--

“That guy’s missing his entire head!” Jess suddenly whisper-shouted as he lightly shook Olivia. Her heart started beating frantically as she hurriedly spun her head around. Her mind was going all over the place. Was it a decapitated corpse? A strange, alternate-universe monster? Or--or--

It was a statue.

“Jess, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She sighed with relief.

“Sorry,” He took his hands off of her and pointed, “check it out though!”

Both Olivia and Aiden were looking at the statue now. It was a man frozen midrun, an axe held back--stuck in a swinging motion--while the other hand held up his battered shield, which covered his face. If he had a face, that is. It had to be The Impossible Man. Olivia wasn’t sure who else it could’ve been.

“He’s definitely seen better days.” She said under her breath. Besides his entire head missing, a majority of his body was covered in dirt, children’s chalk, and other strange stains. Cracks started from his broken neck and traveled to his chest, his armor was chipped and scratched, and a good portion of his axe had broken off as well.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple more statues around here?” Aiden mentioned as they continued walking, “They’re all in pretty bad shape. The kids like to mess with them.”

Aiden scanned the park. “There’s one,” He pointed to the upper corner on the left side of the park. A statue was placed on a podium right in front of a tree. Despite the fact one of his legs was missing, he appeared to be sitting comfortably, gazing at the tree tops peacefully.

“Annnndddd…” Aiden kept turning his head in different directions, “I’m pretty sure there was a head somewhere… Oh!” He spun around, walking backwards now as he pointed to the direction of the entrance. Jess and Olivia followed his finger, their eyes landed on a wooden bench--and right beside it was a small column with a broken bust of the man on top. Olivia couldn’t make out much of the man’s face from here, but she kept getting the eerie feeling that his fractured eyes were somehow watching her. Constantly. Unblinking. She shuddered.

“You think the quakes are the reason they’re missing some parts?” She heard Jess ask aloud.

“I find it really hard to believe they somehow stood through all of those quakes and just lost a head or a leg. They might've been stolen.” Olivia theorized.

Jess put his hand on his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, “I think I remember seeing Hadrian have a couple of statue parts at his place…”

“What? You think old people just like to steal random body parts during their free time?” She grinned.

“That’s what I’d like to do when I retire!” He chuckled. Olivia rolled her eyes playfully.

The three came to a stop in front of a wall of hedge that stood a couple inches taller than Aiden. Unlike the rest of the hedges, this one probably hasn’t been trimmed in months. The surface was extremely uneven; hundreds of tiny branches and leaves stuck out and got tangled with one another. This hedge was also covered in flowers. Tons of them. Clusters of fluffy-looking, light pink flowers were scattered throughout, and were nearly as big as Olivia’s face. The ground was covered in old petals.

Olivia made sure that every strand of hair was tucked inside her hood. There was no way she wanted to spend the rest of the day picking out the twigs, leaves, and petals that’d get stuck in there.

Aiden walked to the right, staring into the bush and running his hand over it as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where the shortcut was. Olivia and Jess awkwardly shuffled along. Aiden soon stopped, crouched down, then put his hand into the bush. He then took it out, huffed, scooched over a couple more inches, and repeated the process.

After a minute of searching, Aiden started talking to himself. “Maybe it’s on the left side? I could’ve sworn we--!” Aiden suddenly fell forward and into a large hole in the hedge.

Man, if Aiden hadn’t fell through, Olivia would’ve also thought he’d forgotten where the entrance was. The branches hid the hole well.

Jess helped Aiden to his feet. Aiden thanked him as he moved aside, motioning towards the hole.

“You guys go ahead.” Aiden said, “I’ll wait for you to go through.”

Jess and Olivia glanced at each other before Jess gave her a little bow, “After you.”

“How kind.” Olivia curtsied. She crouched and crawled through. The dirt was already making her pants a little damp.

Luckily, despite a few scratches, the crawl only lasted a few seconds.

She got up, cleaned herself off, and waited for the boys.

Jess’ head soon popped out from the hole. Leaves and tiny branches were caught in his hair. He wriggled himself out and brushed off his clothes.

“Here, let me help with your hair.” Olivia started plucking the sticks out.

“Thanks!” Jess said happily as he took off and shook the leaves off his beanie.

It was quiet for a couple of moments as they cleaned themselves up. Olivia felt her smile twitch.

“Hey, Jess,” She started slowly, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jess put his hat back on, “What for?”

“I know you don’t have the best feelings towards Aiden right now,” She stared at her feet, “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging you along.”

“What? No, no, no!” Jess exclaimed, “Look, I was real mad last night, but I wanted to go with you!”

Olivia brought her head back up to Jess, a tiny smile of relief on her face.

“And I’m sticking to my word. We’ll stick together no matter what.” Jess shoved his hands into his pockets. “And uh… We don’t really have a choice when it comes to trusting Aiden and his friends, but things aren’t gonna get better if I keep blowing up like I did yesterday--” A sudden grunt interrupted Jess and caused both of them to jump.

They turned to see Aiden struggling to get out of the bush. How much did he hear? Hopefully not too much. Hopefully.

Aiden tries to use his free arm to pull the rest of his body out, but after a few more seconds he stopped fighting and let his face fall to the ground.

“... I’m stuck again.” He could hear Olivia and Jess snicker as they grabbed his hand and began to pull. They were able to pull him out in no time.

“Thanks.” Aiden said as he shook off the dirt--and the embarrassment. “The memorials are on the other side of the cemetery. Should only take a minute to get there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When they entered the cemetery, Jess kept his eyes peeled for any familiar names on the gravestones. A few graves had rather unusual colors to them. There was a dusty red one, an uncommon shade, but not odd. Then he’d walk by a blue one; he’s never seen a grave that color before--well, Reuben’s memorial had bits of blue in it, does that count?--Then he walked by a purple grave, a green one, an orange one?

“This is… The happiest looking cemetery I’ve ever seen.” Olivia said as she beheld the rest of the graveyard.

“Is that a compliment?” Aiden asked.

Olivia kept staring at tombstones until she finally said “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen a place for the dead look so… Lively.”

Taking in the rest of the graveyard, Jess had to agree . What was usually a dark, gloomy, dreary place was so, so vibrant. Even under this cloudy, dull weather, the many colors still popped. This was more like a miniature festival than a cemetery! Many tombstone tops looked like roofs with their pointed tops and little overhangs. Their heights and widths would range from short and broad to tall and scrawny. Heck, Jess could spot a couple of graves as tall as him.

“What the heck are your cemeteries like?” Aiden glanced back at them.

“Plainer colors, I guess?” Jess shrugged, “You know, blacks, grays, browns, nothing too flashy.” The only exception Jess could think of was, once again, Reuben's memorial.

“Really?” Aiden sounded genuinely baffled by this. “We hardly got any of those. What do they mean?”

Olivia and Jess exchanged confused expressions with each other before Jess faced Aiden again, “Sadness? Loss? I don’t think there’s any real meaning behind those colors, honestly.”

“Right, we don’t typically associate bright colors with the dead.” Olivia added in, viewing the cemetery again. Scrawny trees and tiny flowers with stems that reached her knees that were peppered around the area; most were in between the graves. She thought about Aiden’s question, “I’m assuming the colors here represent something specific?”

“Yeah, buncha things. Too many for me to keep track of, but I remember the important ones.” Aiden started as they continued walking down the damp dirt path. “When a person dies, their friends and family can choose the color of their grave. It’s usually… Like… Hm. It’s supposed to show what the person was like when they were alive, ya know? Yellow for the happy people,” He explained while pointing to a shorter grave of said-color, “orange for determination, that sorta stuff. Stella’s memorized ‘em all. If you ever wanna know more, she’s the person to ask.”

As Aiden kept talking, Olivia and Jess kept taking in their surroundings. Jess had noticed something. Every single grave they passed was decorated with gems. The gems were placed close by the names and dates of those who passed, and seeing so many of them in various shapes, colors, and sizes made him curious…

“Hey, uh, what’s with the gems?” Jess spoke up, “Are they real?” He was wondering if maybe they were regular stones that were carved and painted. There was no way Obsidian Town could have an overabundance of minerals, especially since the citizens needed a mining license.

“Nah, they’re glass.” Aiden replied, “I thought they were real myself until we had to choose some gems for Lukas--” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jess and Olivia peered over and saw a lit redstone torch placed in front of a grave. Aiden plucked the torch from its place, a scowl on his face as he blew out the flame then chucked the burnt wood across the cemetery.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’?” He began walking again, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

‘What was that about?’ Jess thought to himself. It must’ve been linked to the cult, right? Why else would Aiden have done that?

“Right!” He snapped his fingers,” So the gems are basically like the colors of the graves. We had to go to this special place where the people there pulled out huge chests filled with those things. Took us forever to pick ‘em out.”

“Each color chosen means something for the person that passed…” Jess whispered to himself as Aiden’s words from earlier echoed through his mind. He was rather fond of how Obsidian Town remembered their dead. It was more uplifting than what he was used to. Maybe he could make some changes to the graveyards once they get back to Beacon Town.

Aiden was quiet for a minute before he added, “Gill took the longest. He was real worried his gem wouldn’t be good enough.” He paused. “He… he ended up crying.”

His voice got quieter, “I hated seeing him like that.”

Jess and Olivia both tried to think of what to say, what ‘s the next best thing to do, but Aiden immediately changed the subject.

“What do you guys put on your graves?” Aiden asked, he sounded ‘normal’ again, but kept facing away from the two.

Jess hesitated, “Names. Dates.”

“A description of the person who passed.” Olivia added.

“Just words? Doesn’t that get a little… Depressing?” Aiden narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you think that’s sad? We once wrote out an entire dictionary on a guy’s grave back in our universe.” Jess answered jokingly. Olivia let out a little giggle, and they even heard a chuckle out of Aiden.

That small chuckle was all Jess needed to hear to continue telling quips and share short, funny stories at Aiden’s way to try and lighten the mood. Aiden was soon sharing his own experiences mixed in with his own humor. Aiden and Jess were bouncing off of each other, making fun of their own universes while Olivia would throw in her commentary every now and then.

‘This is so weird…’ Olivia thought to herself. The three of them laughing while walking through a cemetery… it’s something that’d usually feel inappropriate to do, but here she wasn’t all that bothered.

This whole experience has been surreal. Entering a rainbow of a cemetery through a bush felt like something that’d only happen in her dreams, yet here she was. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace to not feel worried for her and her friend’s life for a moment.

She had nearly forgotten the dread she felt when she originally suggested coming here.

And then Aiden spoke up.

“Okay, okay, we’re finally--” Aiden stopped. “Here.” All happiness in his tone had left.

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. Olivia grabbed onto the string of her hoodie and began to pull on it as she slowly peered over Aiden. Standing before him were two graves. Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the shorter one. She trailed down the grave, the coral color fading into a deep shade of red until she stopped at the flowers laying beside a lit, redstone torch.

Olivia held her breath. Jess got close to her as Aiden approached the torch. He grabbed it by it’s barely-scorched base and brought it to his face to blow out the flame. Instead of throwing it away like the last one, he just placed it to the side, only a few feet away from the grave. He wore an expression neither of them have ever seen on him before. Fear? Heartache? Pain.

“We’re here.” He said again. His voice completely devoid of energy. His body was stiff as he walked to the side of the grave, with his hands curled into tight fists and placed at his sides. There was another redstone torch placed in front of the grave to the right, but Aiden didn’t say anything. Olivia took a few small steps forward and gave him a small nod.

As she knelt down in front of the grave--in front of her grave--she heard Aiden tell Jess ‘Come on’, followed by the sound of footsteps growing distant.

She sat alone at her grave.

She didn’t want to read the text. She really didn’t. Isn’t that funny? That was one of the main reasons she wanted to come here. To see if there was a chance she could read about her death, what happened to her, but now that she was here, she was terrified. She looked everywhere else but the epitaph before her. She stared at the small bouquet of flowers on the dirt--the dirt… She noticed it seemed… Messier compared to the other graves. Like someone tried digging through it. The bouquet, though! There was a mix of flowers held together by a red ribbon. Clusters of tiny, magenta flowers, a few pointed, white flowers with many petals, and a type of flower she actually knew the name of: Lilys.

She then brought her gaze up, catching a quick glimpse of her name written in gold, to observe the gems placed into the tombstone. Two orange gems, one yellow, one gold, another maroon, and the gem in the center was amber. They formed an arch around the words in the center.

‘Stop avoiding it.’ She told herself, but she didn’t listen. She turned to Lukas’ grave. She had to see his. She had to. It was right here and--and he’s her friend.

His grave was turquoise and had thin, white stripes that stretched across the top, and seven gems instead of six. Three on each side, and the last gem placed above his epitaph. He was given flowers as well.

The words engraved in the stone read: “LUKAS: Courageous and loyal. An inspiring leader and a brilliant friend.”

Short but wonderful. It was perfect. Reading it over and over again, she thought about just how lucky she and Jess were with having their friend still around. He’s done so much for them. Constantly helping Jess run Beacon Town, aiding the citizens, always visiting her and Axel whenever he got the chance… He could’ve left them during that Witherstorm. He could’ve ditched them at any moment when things got too rough, but he never did.

‘I need to give Lukas a hug when I get back.’ Olivia thought to herself. Lukas could still leave them one day without warning. He could finally get sick of them, die in a brutal fight, or--or end up being kidnapped like this Lukas--Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to get those awful thoughts out. Don’t think about that. He’s still alive. He still cares about them. He loves them.

Olivia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before finally bringing her attention back to her own grave. She forced herself to read the words written for her; “OLIVIA: An intelligent, creative, and hardworking engineer. A bright spark of joy even during the darkest of days.”

Olivia stared at her words. A weird sense of reassurance was arising. She’s never thought highly of herself. She’d sometimes convince herself that others couldn’t tolerate her, and that she was one mistake away from ruining everything. She wondered if this Olivia ever felt a similar way. Was she constantly trying to make sure she said and did the right things? Try to fix any issue immediately so her friends didn’t think she was useless? Always second guessing her own thoughts?

Did this Olivia know her friends always loved her? Or was she riddled with fears and doubts until her sudden end?

‘She died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?’ Olivia tried to recall any mention of her death from Aiden. She wasn’t certain, but whether it was a few years ago, or a few months ago, didn’t change the fact that she died so soon.

She was young.

Younger than her.

To have her life end on an abrupt note… It scared her. It scared her so much. Everything could be taken away one day.

As she sat over her body, she felt her fingers begin to dig into the dirt, like they were trying to reach in and find the other Olivia’s hand. A sick form of curiosity made her want to know more. More about this Olivia. Her life. Her mind. To have a connection with her. It was her body she was sitting over, afterall. Her corpse. Her--

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on.” Aiden gave Jess a light tap with his hand. He started walking away from Olivia. Jess hesitated. He looked at his friend for a second more before leaving with Aiden.

“We just needa give her some space.” Aiden said.

“Right, totally understand.” Jess wanted to stick around for a few minutes longer to study his friends’ graves, but that could wait. He didn’t want to make Olivia feel like he was breathing down her neck.

Jess thought back to the many instances where his friends’ lives were in danger, when they were so close to being taken away from him. He hated seeing his friends’ lives at stake more than anything; he’d go through Hell and back to protect them, and to be in a place where their deaths became a reality was so hard to wrap his head around.

Lukas left without a trace. No familiar faces to comfort him during his last moments, only enemies looming over him while he was in an unknown place. Just thinking about his fate made Jess worry sick about his Lukas back at home.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only their footsteps filled the void.

“So…” Jess started, wanting to make small talk, “What do the colors for Olivia and Lukas’ graves mean?”

“Olivia’s creativity.” Aiden replied, sounding short. “And Lukas’--” He paused and scanned the cemetery. He took a left turn and continued walking between the graves. “He’s…Don’t make fun of us, but his color stands for friendship.”

“Friendship?” Jess perked up at the word.

“I know, it’s probably super cheesy or whatever, but it fits him. It really does.” Aiden said.

“No, no, I completely agree! He’s a great friend--one of the best! If I had to recount all the times he’s been there for me, we’d be here all day.”

“Right. Same here.” They stopped at another grave with another redstone torch in front of it. This grave was short and purple, with many cool-colored gems placed in it. Jess didn’t recognize the name.

Aiden grabbed the torch and blew out the flame. Jess decided to ask another question.

“Any idea why The Awakening puts those torches there?”

“Probably for no good reason.” Aiden answered through gritted teeth as he chucked the wood as hard as he could across the cemetery.

There was something unnerving about the torches left at the grave. Their red glow would take over the colors of the graves, and their light under a thick, cloudy sky would claim your attention and make it hard to pull away. Their soft crackling would fill in the silence whenever he and Aiden didn’t talk; the occasional loud snaps from the flames would make Jess believe there was a threat following them.

Jess stopped at a tombstone and picked up a vase of flowers that had fallen aside. “The gems on their graves, what do they mean? Do you remember ‘em?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember what the gems on my own friends’ graves would mean!” Aiden snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jess held the vase tighter. “I was just--I wanted to know more about them.” Great. Now they’re both feeling terrible.

Aiden’s demeanor softened when he saw Jess’ reaction. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve been--” He hesitated, “I’ve just been thinking about someone is all.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Jess carefully placed the small vase back upright. He folded his arms and joined Aiden’s side.

“I’m uh, still interested to hear bout those gems if you’re wanting to share.” He said.

“Yeah. I can do that for ya.” Aiden answered.

“For Lukas,” Aiden began, walking through the grass. “Gill chose blue. I remember that one’s loyalty. Gold for compassion. White for safety--he’d always double check our belongings every time to make sure we were prepared.”

Aiden stopped and grabbed a torch, “It was kinda annoying, but I miss it now.” He blew it out and threw the wood.

They kept moving.

“Rose picked pink.” Aiden started running his fingers over the grave tops, “She was real embarrassed when she chose it. Kept refusing to show us cause she thought we’d laugh at her.”

“I’m guessing pink’s for love?” Jess said, trying to make sure he wouldn’t trample any flowers.

“Yeah, and--” Aiden chuckled, “Rose wanted his description to be: Pretty blond dork with a decent sense of style. All of us were actually on board with it.”

“Did you end up pulling through with it?” Jess asked.

“Nah, the guys making the grave wouldn’t allow it.” Aiden spotted a couple of gravestones with torches by them. They were already burnt out. He grabbed two of the torches while Jess grabbed the last.

“What a bunch of killjoys.” Jess joked. Aiden laughed as he prepared to throw the burnt wood. Jess mimicked each step of Aiden’s. Hold, aim, then throw. Once they lost sight of the rubbish, they followed the dirt path to the entrance of the cemetery.

The cemetery wasn’t boxed in by hedges like the park, instead, it had a stone wall.

Aiden leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like the most comfortable surface--the rocks were jagged and would probably fall apart in moments--but he seemed unaffected by it. Jess stood nearby and took a peek through the gate beside them. Unlike the rough, uneven walls, the black fence was tall, sturdy, and had a huge, elegantly curved arch.

“Olivia’s got a few similar gems,” Aiden started, putting his hands in his pocket, “Two golds, yellow… She’s got amber--Man, I always mix those three up. They sound different enough but when they’re placed by each other, they all look the same. Amber’s slightly darker than yellow, but not as dark as gold. Amber’s positivity.”

“Lotta happy ones for her.” Jess commented. He’d been staring at the decorated buildings through the gate’s bars as he listened. He could spot bits of pots filled with flowers on the other side of the wall, their colors as eye-catching as the cemetery.

“Always made us happy.” Aiden said with a shrug. “She also had… Ah…” He pressed his lips together, “Orange! She had that one too. And then there’s…” He had to stop to think again.

“It’s not… Well, it looks like red, but it’s darker… Ah, shoot.” Aiden cursed to himself.

“Carmine? Maroon?” Jess tilted his head.

Aiden snapped his fingers, “Maroon! Right! Creativity; same thing as her grave. Picked it myself.” He said rather proudly.

“You guys really cared about her.” Jess mumbled. He tilted his head towards Aiden, “And I’m sure Olivia loved you guys all the same.”

Aiden stared back at him.

A small smile spread across his face, “Thanks.”

The two became quiet and looked over the array of colorful graves before them. The clouds slowly began to part; gems glistened as the rays of sun shone down on them.

“Should we check on Olivia now?” Jess asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aiden got off the stone wall and stretched his back, “Yeah, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When the two returned to Olivia, the last thing they wanted to see was to see her in distress. The tips of her fingers were shoved into the dirt below, her eyes were stuck on the golden words in front of her, her mouth was parted--barely moving--with no voice to match. Jess couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not, but she was scared. Very scared.

Jess bit his lip and approached his friend. Aiden was right behind.

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

Olivia jumped and jerked her hands out of the dirt.

“Yes--! Yeah, no, no don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks--thank you for checking on me.” She replied frantically. She took deep breaths.

Before Jess could question anything, Olivia spoke up.

“Aiden, this uh--the substance mixed into the stone,” Her fingers trailed down the tombstone, “is it redstone dust?”

Her voice was shaky.

Aiden glanced at Jess, who was equally nervous as him, then said, “Actually, it is.”

He took a step closer to Olivia, “They don’t usually allow people to mix stuff like redstone or glowstone dust with the colors--especially cause they’re hard to find--but they made an exception for us.”

Olivia nodded along, blinking back tears.

Jess read her epitaph, “Guess all Olivia’s are just the greatest engineers out there, huh?”

“Damn right. She didn’t have a bunch of dust to work with, but she’d still crank out machine after machine like no tomorrow.” Aiden said, “Man, I remember every year for her birthday that’d be all she’d ever ask for. Not weapons, not new journals, not even a dang cake, just redstone dust. Course, the only places you could find ‘em were in caves or old shrines, right?” He asked while facing Lukas’ grave and grabbing the lit redstone torch below.

“Yup, we found a bunch of it yesterday.” Jess said, sitting besides Olivia.

“Right, and since it was so dangerous, she told us to not worry bout gettin’ it because ‘It’d be stupid to risk your life for some red powder’.” Aiden gestured with the torch, the flame getting frighteningly close to his hair.

“Well, I’d always lose track of dates and forget to get her a gift, so one of the other guys would back me up and tell Olivia we bought a gift ‘together’, and I felt so bad.” He thankfully blew out the fire after saying that.

“So then guess what I did one day?” Aiden said.

“Walked out and found a bag of redstone on the ground?” Jess asked sarcastically.

Aiden laughed, “I wish.”

Aiden began pacing, the trail of smoke whirling around him, “But I decided I’d bust into one of those dumb shrine and find some dust for her, and I didn’t tell anyone bout it besides Jesse. He was on board with the plan, he was great at findin’ stuff, plus two people finding dust was much easier than one.” Aiden fiddled with the burnt wood, “We headed off to the nearest shrine and actually found enough dust to fill up a bag and a half, but cause of the state of that dump, some rooms would collapse after you opened the door!”

“You two ended up getting hurt, didn’t you?” Olivia had her hand on her head, already concerned over the direction of this story.

“Course we did!” Aiden threw his arms up. “I swear anytime the two of us were together, things would fall apart or we’d break a bone--” Aiden stopped his talking to quickly chuck the wood away. “Anyways, anyways, we got back home right on time for Olivia’s birthday and man did we look awful. Clothes were all dirty, got some real bad scrapes on my knees, Jesse grabbed so much dust it looked like his fingers were covered in blood, and I somehow got a black eye? I think the top of a chest smacked me...”

Olivia rubbed her temples, “You two really shouldn’t have risked your lives over a birthday present--”

“That’s exactly what she said!” Aiden exclaimed, “Went through all that trouble, and you know how she reacted?”

“Panicked?” Olivia asked.

“Bet she loved it.” Jess said, giving Olivia a nudge.

“She did--but Hero did she freak out! Dropped her cake and rushed over to get us cleaned up. Olivia was wrapping up one of Jesse’s arms--” Aiden thought to himself for a second, “--I think a big rock landed on it? But she was going off on us. Raising her voice and lecturing us like she was our mom, telling us it’s a miracle we were still in one piece, and why in Hero’s name we did something so stupid.”

“I mean, it wasn’t stupid if things worked out for you.” Jess pointed out.

“Yeah, but still.” Aiden chuckled, “It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. But after that, she loved our present. I’d never seen her smile so much. She was working on her machinery, telling me and Jesse how everything worked while we pretended to understand.”

Aiden carefully leaned on Olivia’s grave, “Hero knows I didn’t understand a single thing she was sayin’, but seeing her so happy…” His smile grew as his voice softened, “It was great.”

“That’s all so sweet…” Olivia spoke softly. “I love it.”

She was shaking again.

Jess turned to his friend to mention something, but stopped when he saw Olivia staring at the ground, fingers picking at the dirt just like she was when they came back. That same, terrified expression on her face.

“Liv--?” Jess mumbled, but Olivia started rambling nonsense.

“I don’t know if my words mean much to you--I know I’m not her--but you’re a good friend, Aiden.” Her nails started to dig into the ground, “All of this, all that you’ve done for Olivia--you--you--Even when I just--” She kept stumbling over her words, “Even when she died one day you kept being so kind to me--”

The more she kept talking, the more concerned--the more scared--Aiden and Jess became.

“Hey, hey are you alright?” Jess reached out to hold her, but Olivia shot her head back up.

“I’m under here.” She whispered. Her voice was so unsteady.

Jess was taken aback, “What?”

“I’m under here.” She said again. “I’m so close.”

Her hand began to claw at the dirt, “I’m so close. My body’s all mangled up in that box below, and--and my hair’s so long now.” She felt sick talking about this, she felt sick thinking about it. “It’d be so easy to just dig myself up. For Aiden to see her again. Jesse--Jess, we’re so close. I could look at myself. Look at my body. I’m--”

“Olivia!” Jess shook her, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Aiden wanted to offer his support, but Olivia instantly got on her feet.

“Yes. Yes I want to leave. I want to go home.” She kept repeating that last sentence while she hugged herself, breathing heavily. She was freezing.

“Right, we need to head back anyways.” Aiden’s stomach was in knots seeing Olivia like this. His hands turned to fists, “I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken you here. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t.” Olivia cut in. “I wanted to go. You took me. I saw--I saw what I needed to. I appreciate it. Thank you.” She was stiff as a board.

Olivia took one last deep breath, “Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Damn them.

Damn them all.

Locked every damn door and window in this house. They’re hiding her, he knows they’re hiding her.

Did they really think locking themselves in would stop him? He used to live in this Hero forsaken house; he knows every nail, screw, and plank that makes up this despicable place.

He still remembers that trapdoor on the roof. He knows how to claw his way up there. He’ll pry it open with his own bare hands.

He’ll find her.

He will.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm olivia #THANK U ENORMOUS THIC THANK U TO FRIEND IVY!!!#for reading this over and helping...... appreciate it all VERY much....#HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!#will add more tags in later!!!!! in rush right now dhfgnfdgfngd

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stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, everchanginginks

For @everchanginginks. I hope you enjoy this gift!

Read On AO3

*****

Just down the hall from the quiet studying of history students in Room 17-B lies classroom 17-A which, contrasting its quieter neighbor, is filled with sugar-fueled enthusiasm as adolescent students gleefully tear into their candy atom diagrams. Only after getting the go ahead from their awesome chemistry teacher wearing a colorful periodic table tie over a blue dress shirt with rolled up sleeves, of course.

Said awesome teacher places the end of a blue raspberry sour punch straw in the corner of his mouth and chews with an unabashed grin. As he’s halfway through the straw the bell rings and he breaks into his parting spiel for his students, the straw sticking from the corner of his mouth like a cowboy.

“Okay class, please make sure to turn your worksheets into the tray on your way out and please take your candy diagrams with you. You’re not gonna break my heart if you don’t eat them, I just don’t want next period to deal with this period’s mess. Tonight’s homework is on the board and on the syllabus, and don’t forget to submit your vote for Teacher of the Year during lunch if you have not already. Have a good rest of your day everyone, and as always come to me with any questions...and that means any ."

Scattered responses of “Okay” and “Thanks Mr. Stilinski” and “Bye” fill the room as the students start to file out the classroom.

“You’re about as subtle as a brick to the teeth.” Says a mildly amused female voice from over his shoulder.

Stiles finishes the candy and turns around to look exasperatedly at the strawberry blonde speaker sitting behind his desk, "And you’re underestimating how important this is. My reclaiming of the throne is in danger!"

"Uh huh..." MIT grad and certified genius Lydia Martin nods in mock understanding as she sips from her floral patterned ceramic travel coffee cup.

"Thanks again for agreeing to come in and lecture for my AP Chem students on such short notice by the way.” Stiles scratches at the tousled mess on his head and offers the open package of sour punch straws from his desk, “You are a literal God send."

She grimaces and waves the proffered sugary confection away, "For someone in the sciences, your improper use of the word 'literal' is rather concerning. Perhaps your throne is in more danger than previously thought."

“Don’t say that, you’re gonna jinx it!” He reaches over and raps his knuckles against his wooden desk three times while speaking a mile a minute, “I need to win, I can’t have mister ‘look at me bringing my history and polisci students on the coolest field trips in the history of this school because I can somehow pull strings to make these trips a reality despite there being like no funding--seriously how does he do it--and my students adore me even though I constantly look like I probably lure people into the woods with my beautiful eyes and murder them in my free time’ beat me at my own game, again !”

He huffs at the end of his tirade and looks to Lydia for understanding, but she avoids his gaze and poorly suppresses snickers under her breath.

“C’mon it’s not that funny. I know he can ‘smolder’ his way into the heart of even the most introverted student,” Stiles gesticulates with each emphasis, “but I have charm , I’m approachable , I understand these students. I love my job and I do everything in my ability to give these students every opportunity they deserve . If that’s not ‘Teacher of the Year’ material, then I don’t know what is.”

Stiles stops, taps his chin thoughtfully and sighs, “Though I totally understand that the title is purely for bragging rights, and it ultimately comes down to just continuing to be the best teacher I can be. Derek is a great teacher that also deserves the title and I can respect that, but gosh darn does he get my competitive side riled up.”

“Uh huh…” Lydia hums and taps her fingers against her cup as she pointedly looks past Stiles, “Mr. Stilinski, I do believe there’s someone that needs your help?”

“Oh!” Stiles quickly straightens himself and his tie, and turns around with a wide grin, “What can I do for--YOU!” Stiles quickly twists his expression into a frown and throws a finger up accusingly after registering who was darkening his doorway.

Standing in the doorway with a glare that could send a lesser man running for the hills is the previously mentioned competitor and last year’s winner for ‘Teacher of the Year’, mister ‘coolest history teacher’ Derek Hale in all his annoyingly gorgeous, stubbly, glory. He side-eyes Stiles’ organized chaos in the chemistry lab from behind thick framed hipster looking glasses and grimaces, “Am I interrupting something?”

Stiles grits his teeth, he can practically feel the judgement over his classroom’s state radiating off of the (not even tenured!) history teacher and no amount of soft looking cable knit sweaters could lessen that blow. “As a matter of fact--”

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all Derek.” Lydia places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as she walks past him, “I was just about to go say hi to Kira.”

Derek moves aside to let Lydia pass, she turns to smile at Stiles from the doorway, “I’ll come back by 6th period for your second AP Chem class. I think I’ll also grab some lunch from Whole Foods.”

“Uh...Bye?” Stiles weakly waves at Lydia’s parting back. He refocuses his attention on the offending history teacher and crosses his arms across his chest petulantly, “Alrighty, what d’ya need Mr. Hale?”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek holds up a handful of papers, steps forward, and emphatically places them in Stiles' inbox, “Your mail. I know your TA usually grabs it for you, but he’s out sick today. And I was already in the mailroom.”

“Whoa, wait wait, how do you know that my TA is out sick today, have you been stalking my classes? Are you trying to find a way to one up me? Steal some of my stellar teaching techniques because you know that you’ll lose otherwise?” Stiles narrows his eyes as his lowers voice into a conspiratorial tone while leaning forward to scrutinize Derek’s expression, “What’s your game here Mr. Hale ?”

Derek hazel eyes widen incredulously as he scoffs, “I don't need to stalk your classes, Liam's one of my students too. And please remind me, what did I do to make you so hostile again?”

“Playing dumb isn’t cute. You know full well what you did.” Stiles pokes at Derek’s chest and--oh that’s a soft sweater--puffs his own out, “But no matter what, I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine .”

His competitor’s face reddens in anger and Stiles feels a thrum of excitement at his ability to break Derek’s usual expression of ‘sourpuss lumberjack murderer’. A sly grin works its way across Stiles’ face as he shrugs coyly, “What can I say, I’m a man who knows what he wants.”

Stiles’ wrist is suddenly grabbed by a warm, slightly calloused palm--there may be something to that murderer in the woods theory--and wrenched away from the soft sweater. “And what would that be, Stiles?” Derek growls--who the hell growls --while leaning in way too close for comfort.

“What would that be? Um...I want to win? Obviously?” Stiles splutters as his face reddens, offended that Derek would suggest that there would be anything else . “I’m gonna own you, Derek. I’m gonna own you so hard, you won’t know what hit you.”

“How about you take me to dinner first, before you ‘own’ me?” Derek says matter-of-factly.

“Uh no, how about you take me to dinner to celebrate my overwhelming victory over your grumpy ass? Doesn’t that make a little more sense than going to dinner before either of us win?” Stiles rolls his eyes, laughing at Derek’s lack of logic. But his laughter sputters out and he stills once his brain processes what just happened. “Wait… wait wait… was that some sort of sad attempt at asking me out in the most backwards, reverse engineered manner possible?”

Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, who nods patiently, as if Stiles was one of their students that needs tutoring.

“Oh my God. Oh my GOD !” Stiles backs away and into his desk, voice rising in panic, “What even? What’s happening here? Are you trying to throw me off my game? Cause that’s a dirty tactic, even for you. Because there’s no way someone like you would legitimately ask out someone like me . That just doesn’t make sense. You’re like a sexy lumberjack murderer historian, and I’m like a young Bill Nye. I'm in the sciences , and you're in the humanities . And you don’t even like me. You haven’t liked me since your first day!”

“Hold on.” Derek holds his palms up defensively, “What are you talking about? You were the one glaring at me like there was no tomorrow.”

Stiles inspects Derek’s expression for any sign of deception, seeing none he sighs. “Fine, I guess it was just so unimportant to mister bigshot Hale to remember measly Mr. Stilinski. Do you remember moving into your classroom?”

He nods, urging Stiles to continue.

“So I didn’t know that the new teacher was moving in that day , so when I saw a big package outside of your soon to be classroom, I assumed that it was my delivery of graduated cylinders that was dropped off to the wrong room since it was early in the morning and people make mistakes sometimes, y’know?” Stiles gives Derek no opportunity to say anything and continues at full speed. “I went over and got ready to take the package, only to have you open the door and give me the scariest look in my entire life . Do you remember what you said to me, Derek?”

“You said,” Stiles changes his voice to imitate Derek’s, “‘That is my private property. If you value your time at this school, you will leave it alone. If I see this behavior again I will bring it up with Principal Yukimura’. So, yeah! Something about that kinda exchange can make a guy think you hate them!”

Derek groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh my God...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, so you do remember? Or did you conveniently forget threatening me?” Stiles grabs another sour punch straw and chews it angrily, “Because I sure as hell didn’t!”

“Stiles…” Derek laughs breathily, “I thought you were a student . I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was dark . Oh my god . I thought the first time we met was in the teachers' lounge, and by that point I already unknowingly made a terrible first impression on you. No wonder you looked at me with such hatred. Oh my goodness.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah, oh…”

Stiles chews the straw thoughtfully and rocks on the balls of his feet. “So… about that backwards dinner invitation…”

“Yeah?” Derek perks up slightly, looking almost adorable , though Stiles would never say that outloud.

“How about whoever wins ‘Teacher of the Year’ gets treated to dinner, hm?” Stiles holds out a hand for a handshake.

With a goofy grin revealing adorable (there’s that word again!) bunny teeth that brighten up Derek’s entire face, much better than the usual murderous look, he enthusiastically takes Stiles hand and shakes it.

“Deal.”

Epilogue

“I still can’t believe it!”

“I know.” Derek hums as he reaches over to refill Stiles’ glass.

“Honestly, who saw this coming?”

“Certainly not me,” Derek swirls some pasta around his fork and fondly watches Stiles throw back the wine as if it was jungle juice rather than a nice glass of Chardonnay.

Stiles’ honey-brown eyes glimmer with the same kind of mischievous enthusiasm that Derek remembered seeing for the first time at the first assembly of the school year. He gave some sort of spiel about the importance of working together and not being afraid to ask for help, which ended with a demonstration of elephant toothpaste. Derek is embarrassed to say how much he grew to admire the gawky chemistry teacher after that assembly.

“I absolutely kicked your ass dude.” Stiles leans across the table to grab the dessert menu. “Since it’s your treat, I think I’ll indulge in some dessert.” He worries his bottom lip, which makes Derek have to cough and turn his attention away.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek weakly responds.

“Ooh, this one is topped with bourbon vanilla bean chantilly cream, which is basically bougie whipped cream. How do you feel about bread pudding by the way?” Stiles looks up from the menu through his eyelashes--and there is no way he doesn’t know how he looks--and flutters them exaggeratedly. “Or are you too sour over losing to wittle ol’ me?”

Derek snorts and reaches over to clasp Stiles’ free hand, “On the contrary, I’d be happy to lose to you again.”

Stiles returns the gesture and leans forward, eyes glimmering, his face mere inches away from Derek’s, “Promise?”

Derek is suddenly very glad that they are sitting because he can feel himself go weak in the knees. He nods thoughtfully, “Yeah, I promise.” And leans forward to close the gap.

Their first kiss tastes like garlic bread, which is a little unconventional, but Derek wouldn’t have it any other way.

#everchanginginks #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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plutodexay · 4 years

Text

For the first time in years (10) movie night

Ao3 link will be added later cause this app hates me and I’m too tired to fight with it

Having flowers shoved into my face as soon as I opened the door wasn’t what I expected, but it's exactly what happened.

As soon as the door opened all I saw was a flash of red and green, granted, the color combination is not my favorite, I wasn’t scared. As quickly as they showed up, they disappeared.

And there he was, at first I just saw his hair.

“You got a haircut” What used to be long and flowing hair was now cut short, almost resembling what he wore the last year at Hogwarts. Only it was still different, then it was flat and styled so not a single strand was out of place. Now it looked sorta, well, messy. It was obvious he had run his hand through it countless times, yet it still looked intact. Standing up looking like it had, what was it? Volume! It had volume, so it doesn’t look flat against his head now.

“Um-I well,” His hand reached up to comb through it for probably the millionth time tonight. “Yes, I did.” Looking away from his hair I noticed he wasn’t looking at me, rather he was looking at the ground, cheeks flushed.

His hands had a tight hold on the flowers previously shoved into my face, fingers rhythmically tapping against the tightly packed stems. Looking at them closer I could see they were roses, some in the bold red you normally see on the muggle romance holiday, while others held the green that Draco himself dawned every day back at school. They were seemingly placed together carefully, almost showing a pattern within the petals.

Realizing I was lost in thought I look back up at him, his head still looking at the concrete. Nervousness obvious on his face as his hand not gripping the flowers reaches up to his hair once again.

“Oh!” I say quickly as I remembered I didn’t respond. “It looks nice!” I could feel my face heating up as he glances up at me, the nervous smile changing to something more genuine, those little wrinkles around the eyes showing through. His cheeks gaining more color as his fingers grip on the stems even harder than before.

“Thank you” Draco mumbled before quickly pushing the flowers out towards me, his arms straight out and slightly shaking. Almost pushing the bouquet straight into my nose. “I got these for you.” His voice cracked towards the end of the sentence, using a very fake cough to cover it up as he held the flowers there, waiting for me to take them.

Very slowly I reached out to grab them, our hands just slightly brushing beside one another before he quickly pulled his hands away. Running them through his hair once again before putting them by his sides. The rings on his right shining bright as my porch light reflect off of them just right.

“Would you like to come in?” I finally spit out as I remember how to talk, moving to the side as to leave the entry open. He nods before walking past me rather quickly, the flowers blowing slightly in the wind his movement caused.

Following behind him I close the door with my free hand. Without looking I almost run into him, seeing as he is just awkwardly standing just in front of the doorway. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoes close together as he just looks at me.

I back away from him to go head over to the kitchen in an attempt to get something to put the flowers into. His eyes following me as he stands there.

“You can sit down wherever you want.” I yell to him as I start opening cupboards looking for a vase or something. “I’m just trying to find something for these and I’ll be right there.” As no response came I looked back towards the living room to find him sitting down, finally. His choice being on the far end of the couch.

After a few moments, I realize I don’t own anything to put these in. So I head over to the parchment I have waiting by the window to write a letter to Neville, asking if I can borrow one of his pots whenever he gets it.

“Who are you writing to?” Draco finally speaks up, his voice soft and faint.

“Oh, I-um, Neville” I stutter out, speaking and writing at the same time not a talent of mine.

“Why?”

“I need something to put the flowers in seeing as I don’t own one of those glass things.” I hear him chuckle as I say that, not much, but it is something. “Thank you for them, by the way.” Looking back at him I see the light pink from earlier returning to his face, along with those slight wrinkles around his eyes.

“Figured it was only right to bring something since it is your home after all Potter.” Now was my turn to laugh, enunciating ‘Potter’ to replicate how he used to say it back at school. His laugh echoing mine for a sheer moment. “Besides, the shop was on the way. Was far too nice to pass up.”

“So let me guess, marble floors and chandeliers?” The sarcasm evident in my voice, finishing up the letter as I whistle to Hedwig to come down from her perch.

“Quite the opposite actually.” He chuckled out. “Small and rustic, exposed brick in random places. Definitely not up to Malfoy standards.” I watch as he unfolds his legs, putting both feet on the ground as he slightly lays back onto the couch. Almost like he was becoming comfortable. “So of course I had to stop in.”

“Well obviously.” Hedwig landing by me, nipping me in the finger. Draco suppresses a laugh as I retract my hand and shake it as if it would get the bite off.

“You would have liked it, or rather the person running it says she just opened last week.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Reminded me of Lovegood, only she made more sense, most of the time.” Tying the paper to Hedwig I nod at him to continue. “She also had a small muggle flag in the shop, one of those Pride things I believe they’re called? It read very open-mindedly, you’d be comfortable there I feel.”

“Seems like you were too,” I respond as Hedwig flies off.

“Well, there weren’t too many people there. Just me, a lone girl, and this couple off to the corner, who seemed to be playfully arguing about whether or not the shorter really needed this big bouquet of yellow daisies.” Stretching his arms rather quickly he continues. “The lone girl had been constantly picking up different sets of flowers. Going between these colorful lilies and sunflowers the size of her head. Believe she left with both if I’m not mistaken." He stops talking abruptly as I head back to the kitchen, not without running into a chair in the process.

“Ignore me, continue” His laugh rings out as I roughly push the chair out of my way without remembering he was watching.

“Easy.” The words were barely audible through his laugh. I shoot him a glare and he sarcastically throws his hands in the air. “Basically the smaller one didn’t think she needed flowers, while the taller one disagreed, obviously wanting to buy her the flowers. Went on practically the entire time I was there, swear the shorter of the two was planning on hexing her partner by the end of it. The shopkeep told me they were friends of hers, so the flowers were being bought regardless.”

He tails off as he sees me walking towards the couch, sitting on the opposite end as him. Quickly fixing his posture he looks at me, his hand impulsively going to fix his hair again. Silence filled the room as we just sat looking at one another.

“So I figured we could watch a movie?” Shock went over his face for a moment before he nodded, quickly looking at the muggle television as my eyes locked onto his.

“I told you to plan this so that would be fine.” Draco spits out, rather fast. Hands clenched at his sides once again. The loose shirt he was wearing showed his breathing had quickened.

“Did you want to do something else?” He shook his head no as he looked back at me. As he did his chest began to rise slower, hands unclenching, muttering something as he crossed his legs. “Sorry I didn’t hear that.”

"I don’t know what a ‘movie’ is, so I don’t know what to expect” Oh, I guessed I had figured he had gone into the muggle world when he left. Pink turned red as he looked back to the television. Remembering how I explained it to Neville when he’d first been asked to go to one by that girl. Now that I think of it, he had been quite scared too, maybe it wasn’t because it was his first date since the yule ball.

“Well they're basically just moving pictures but with noise and anywhere from an hour to 3 hours long, not much.” He seemed to let out a breath of relief at that, a smile creeping onto his face. Almost as if he was nodding to himself, he let himself relax into the couch before looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

Swiftly I went over to start the movie, having already put it in earlier to make sure it worked. Pressing play I heard the ads start playing on the speakings, startling Draco as he jumped, making sure I kept my mouth shut.

Walking back to the kitchen I grabbed the snacks I had gotten, along with the tea kettle and every type of tea I could find at the muggle shop. Laying it all down on the coffee table, Draco looked up at me bewildered before looking back at all of it. Running back over to the bar, I grabbed a mug for him to use and placed it in front of him, nodding at the kettle.

He seemed to pick up what I was saying as he started looking through the assortment of teas. After a few moments picking one up and putting it into the kettle. Finally calm, I decide to start watching the television ads just about to end.

As Draco pours himself a cup of the tea I spell the lights to dim so there's no glare on the screen, he only jumps for a moment this time. Most of his focus on the movie, wonder spread across his face as he tries to focus on every little detail that passes by.

--------

“Can we watch another?” Draco said, the first thing he's spoke the entire film. His eyes wide and a small smile stretched across his face. Both hands wrapped around the mug I had given him the hour before. Rubbing my eyes I notice that the sun had completely gone down outside, the stars shining clear and bright.

Not unlike how Draco's eyes had looked staring into mine. Filled with something I’d never quite seen before. Yet, something I never wanted to stop seeing.

“If you’re okay with staying late then sure” I speak up, still staring into his eyes. They fill with more wonder as he starts to get excited before quickie catching himself and just smiling. His eyes though, they show the sheer happiness he feels at that news. Nodding to me he resumes his spot, only this time I notice, is a bit closer to me than last.

As not to ruin this closeness, I spell the movie out and replace it with a random one Neville had lent me when I flooed him in a panic the night before. He’d laughed at me while handing me a box of the things and saying “Any of them will be fine, nothing too over the top”

Pressing play on the remote I was luckily able to skip through the ads on this one. This particular movie played quite loud so I turned the volume down as I sunk into the couch. Spelling the lights even darker as to match the time, I decided to close my eyes, not expecting to be as tired as I was.

Dracos laughter at some joke on the screen was the last thing I heard before I let sleep overcome me.

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

“Mate for the last time you're going to be late” Came shouted from outside the front door, followed by constant pounding. Reaching my hand up to rub my eyes, I felt them brush against something soft. Looking down I instantly noticed

Draco Malfoy was asleep. On my chest. In my living room.

“Honestly Harry we need to get going if we plan on making it to the game at all.” Rang Hermione's voice as what I’m now guessing was Ron's first upon my door.

I felt Draco stir as they kept banging on the door, quickly I reached for my wand and cast a silencing charm on the door. Their voices fell quiet as I saw the magic work, Draco's head lying still again upon my shoulder, his hand reaching to my other one as his breathing slowed.

Deciding instantly that while I don’t know how this happened, I couldn’t stop it. I cast a Patronus telling Ron and ‘Mione I was feeling ill and couldn't make it.

Throwing my wand onto the ground I lay my head back down, slowly wrapping my hands around Draco. As I do so, he burrows his head further into my chest.

This is going to be one hell of a conversation when he wakes up.

#original writing #for the first time in years #drarry writing #drarry art #drarry fandom #drarry fanfic #harry and draco #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction

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manage-mischief · 4 years

Text

The Negative

Part 2: Useful Words

Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Two-shot inspired by the song from “Waitress.” In which Tonks knows something’s wrong—she just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. Good thing Molly and Fleur are there to offer some support (Chapter 2 is AU: Everyone lives)

Tonks hadn’t moved from the Burrow’s long kitchen table. She remained seated, hoping that the two black lines on the stick in front of her would magically become one. It was no use. The two persistent little symbols remained as clear as ever.

Molly and Fleur had been wrong. Knowing was so, so much worse. She’d rather have lived in denial, blissfully ignorant. “Merlin, I need a drink.” She stood up, her knees bumping into the kitchen table. The sudden movement seemed to snap the other women out of their shock.

Molly got up quickly and hurried over to her. “Dear,” she said gently, placing her hands upon Tonks’s tense shoulders, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea right now.”

Tonks blinked. “Oh. Erm. Right.”

Goddammit. As if this day could get any worse. Panic rose from her core, threatening to bubble over…Oh wait…that wasn’t just panic…

She barely made it to the kitchen sink before the spilling the contents of her stomach.

“Oh, poppet,” Molly cooed and rubbed her back as Tonks continued to vomit, her hands gripping the counter like a vice. “Here, let’s get you some nice warm peppermint tea. It always helped me when I was pregnant.”

It hit her like a ton of bricks. Pregnant. She was pregnant. There was a human being growing inside of her. Eating all that she ate. Feeling all that she felt. She remembered hearing other women talk about the sensation as magical, beautiful, awe-inspiring. But right now, all she could think about was that Muggle movie Alien—when that creature burst out of that guy’s chest. The thought did nothing to mitigate her queasiness.

Closing her eyes and steadying her breath, she slowly composed herself. There was no going back. Only forward. And there was obviously one path forward that she knew she was going to have to take.

“I need to talk to Remus. Warn him that our lives are over…”

This time, it was Fleur who offered words of comfort. “Do not think that way. You love Remus, correct?”

“More than anything.”

“And ‘e loves you. It is clear to anyone who knows you both,” her voice was soft and gentle.

“I know,” Tonks sighed. “Being with him, it really has been incredible. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love Remus. I sometimes think I’ve imagined everything. That I’ll wake up and this will all have been a dream and Remus will still be refusing to be with me and I’ll still be alone. I guess that’s why I’m terrified. I don’t want anything to change. Especially now. Especially with what’s going on.”

“But you know, you will not be alone. Whatever ‘appens, we shall be there for you. Right, Molly?”

Molly took Tonks’s hand in both of hers. “You know, Arthur and I got married during the first war. We were both young and in love and, like you and Remus, decided to allow ourselves to be happy, despite not knowing what the future held. We didn’t exactly expect to have children right away, and when we found out Bill was coming, we were both scared out of our bloody minds!”

Tonks had forgotten about that. “How did you cope?”

“Well, after the news had sunk in, we decided that we weren’t going to let fear stop us from living our dreams. People makes plans all the time. But life rarely allows us to follow them. Often, the universe comes up with funny ways of bringing us to where we want to be. It’s not the path that matters, it’s the destination.” Molly inhaled deeply before continuing.

“You know, I lost my two brothers in the first war. Gideon and Fabian. They were my best friends, my protectors. I always believed that they were invincible. When I found out they had died…I thought my life was over. I was pregnant with Ron, caring for my other boys, and trying to scrape by paycheck to paycheck with Arthur. I couldn’t bear the thought of raising my children in a world that was so cruel that it had taken away the kindest, most wonderful people I knew. But, out of my grief, I realized: happiness is the best revenge. If we can allow ourselves to experience joy, despite all of the suffering—if we allow ourselves to keep living—we show our oppressors that they have no power. That they can’t snuff out our light.” There were tears in the older woman’s eyes, yet she was smiling.

Tonks was speechless. She had never heard Mrs. Weasley speak so freely about the war, or about her brothers. She was always under the impression that Molly was a “carer,” not a fighter. But now, she realized that caring—that love—was Molly’s own way of fighting back. To Tonks, that was a beautiful thought.

…..

“Oi, Teddy, get down here! They’ll be arriving any minute!” Tonks yelled up to her son. A few moments later, she heard a loud crash followed by a pair of feet stomping down the stairs. Laughing to herself, she turned just in time to see her eleven-year-old son slide into view, knocking over a vase in the process.

“Sorry, Mum!” He glanced around the kitchen. “Did you do the cooking?” he asked, apprehensively.

“Merlin’s balls, of course not! You think I want to kill our guests?”

“Dora, language!” Remus’s voice chided as he walked in from the garden. Teddy gave a small “oooooh,” delighted to see his Mum get scolded by his father.

Tonks smiled lovingly at her husband. “Sorry, dear. Good thing I have you here or else Teddy’d be a heathen!”

“Mum! I would not!” Her son indignantly replied. Remus chuckled.

“Don’t be offended, son. It runs in the family.” Remus dodged Tonks’s playful attempt to smack him with the dish towel.

“In any case, no, your mother didn’t do the cooking, I did. We don’t need to worry about our guests being poisoned tonight.”

“Hey, I take offense to that! I make a mean tomato soup!”

“Yes, very mean. I do believe the last batch tried to bite off my nose when I leaned over the pot.” Remus wrapped his arms around her from behind and planted a kiss on her nose for effect. Tonks attempted to pout, betrayed by her grin. She planted a kiss on Remus’s lips.

“Ew, Mum, Dad!” Teddy groaned. “Get a room!”

“Be careful what you wish for, Ted,” Tonks teased. “That’s how we ended up with you!”

Her son’s face and hair both flushed a deep crimson.

Remus saved him from more of his mother’s teasing. “Alright, alright. Enough of that. Teddy, go wash your hands before dinner. They should be arriving at any moment.”

As if on cue, the Lupin fireplace lit up with green flames. Seconds later, four figures came tumbling out.

“Uncle Harry!” Teddy cried and launched himself at the young man.

“Teddy! Good to see you, mate!” Harry grinned at his godson and slipped him a chocolate frog. “Remus, Tonks,” he regarded the couple, brushing the soot off of his robes.

“I’m so glad you all could come,” Remus embraced his best friend’s son. Ginny hugged Tonks tightly with one arm, the other holding her one-year old baby girl.

“Aw, look at Lil’, she’s getting so big!” Tonks praised. “She’s gonna be a Quidditch star, just like her Mum and Auntie!” Ginny beamed.

As the Potter boys gained their bearings, all hell broke loose. Five-year-old James and three-year-old Albus squealed in delight at the sight of their older cousin. Tonks laughed as Teddy turned his nose into a pig snout for their amusement. Teddy’s metamorphmagus abilities made him a hit with the younger kids. She knew Teddy loved every second of their adoration.

“Boys,” Ginny said. “Go wash your hands before dinner!”

“Ok, Mum,” the Potters obeyed. Teddy followed them to the bathroom, leaving the four adults (and baby) alone.

“I can’t believe Teddy’s starts at Hogwarts tomorrow!” Ginny cried. “It seems like yesterday he was just a blue-haired little baby!”

“Excuse me, he still is a baby, thank you very much” Tonks said, matter-of-factly. Remus smiled as he put an arm around her.

“I can’t believe it. Time goes by so fast. I remember when you first told me you were pregnant,” Remus shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, and you ran for the hills?” Tonks slapped him playfully.

Harry and Ginny laughed. “Never going to let him live that one down, huh?” Ginny asked.

“Would you?” Tonks replied.

“Good point.”

Just then, the fireplace crackled to life once again, and four more figures emerged.

“Tonks! I am so ‘appy to see you!” Fleur embraced the metamorphmagus and planted kisses on both of her cheeks. Bill waved sheepishly next to her, holding the hand of their nine-year-old daughter, Victoire. Tonks squeezed Fleur’s hand in greeting, but was soon engulfed by another hug.

“Oh, Tonks, dear, I’m so happy you’ve invited us! It’s been far too long. Arthur and Ron have been so busy at the shop, they’re sorry they couldn’t make it!” Molly Weasley gushed. “I brought us a treacle tart for dessert!”

“Gran!” James and Albus had returned with Teddy from the bathroom, and all three of them excitedly greeted Mrs. Weasley. Molly insisted on acting as pseudo-grandmother to Teddy, since she treated him as part of the family. She patted the boys’ cheeks affectionately. “There are my handsome lads!”

After Molly had finished doting on him, Teddy turn to Victoire. “Hi Teddy,” the little girl blushed. “I like your blue hair!”

Her son smiled proudly. “Thanks! Wanna see what else I can do?” Teddy scrunched up his face and caused his hair to flicker nauseatingly in multicolored patterns. Victoire laughed.

Tonks eyed her husband. “What a charmer,” she whispered.

“Indeed,” Remus replied. “He gets it from his mother.” He planted another quick kiss on Tonks’s lips, then turned to the crowd in the Lupin living room. “Now that everyone’s here, we can move this party to the dining room! I’m starved!”

The family crowded around the small dining room table, eating and chattering away about their lives.

“Is your mother joining us, Tonks?” Fleur asked.

“No, she couldn’t make it tonight. She’s been traveling for work. But, she’s coming over tomorrow to help see Teddy off.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Molly replied.

At the other end of the table, the kids were having an extremely animated discussion about Hogwarts.

“I can’t believe you get to go tomorrow! You’re so lucky!” James remarked in awe.

“What House do you wanna be in?” Albus asked excitedly.

Teddy puffed out his chest. “Hufflepuff. Loyal, Brave, and True. Like Mum!”

“That’s my boy!” Tonks beamed with pride, then stuck her tongue out at Remus. “Take that!”

“I know better than to argue with you,” he conceded.

“Do you have a wand?” Victoire asked.

“Yep! It’s right upstairs with the rest of my things!”

“Oh, can we see, can we see?” James pleaded. Teddy glanced hopefully at the adults.

“Have you all finished eating?” ask Ginny.

The four heads nodded.

“Alright then. Take you plates to the kitchen and then you can go see Teddy’s new school things.”

In a flash, the four children raced from the table and thundered upstairs—Teddy in the lead, followed by James and Victoire, with little Albus toddling along as fast as he could behind them.

The adults moved back into the living room to enjoy their after-dinner tea. Tonks leaned comfortably against her husband’s chest, their fingers intertwined.

Molly and Fleur looked at each other, and then at the couple, smiling knowingly.

“Teddy’s a wonderful boy, you two. He’s going to make a fine wizard,” Molly said, tears in her eyes.

“He really is, isn’t he?” Tonks remarked. Remus nodded.

“We did alright, I’d say. I just hope he enjoys school as much as we all did.” Remus mused.

“Well,” Fleur said, “Let’s send some good vibes with ‘im! We shall keep our focus on the positive.”

“Yes,” Tonks grinned, looking around the room at all of the people she loved so deeply. “We shall.”

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 3 years

Text

Director’s Cut Chapter 8: The Town

Director’s cut chapter 7

In the third week of Virgil being there, Thomas sought him out in the library. If he had come at any other time it might have been hard to find him. As Logan was focused on the pirate situation, he had abandoned his personal studies and, consequently, Virgil. As a result, Virgil had found a small, out of the way nook and had managed to wedge himself into it in a comfortable position. It was nice to have constant pressure after all. It made him feel like he was underwater again. He just so happened to have finished his book before Thomas came in. Consistent pressure is proven to help with ADHD.

So, instead of finding the mer curled in a corner that would have taken Thomas ages to find as Virgil tuned the world out, he found him half-way up a ladder with a large book in his hands. “Virgil?” Thomas asked, trying not to startle him. Read: Hyperfocused.

Luckily, Virgil’d wrapped a leg around the ladder and had a tight grip with one hand. He looked down and smiled brightly. “Thomas! What can I do for you?”

Thomas waited until both of Virgil’s feet were firmly on the ground again before speaking. “I was heading into town and wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

Virgil nodded. “You were thinking I might remember something or someone might spot me that would recognize me, right?” Because all that mattered was to find his memory and get out of their gills.

Thomas laughed and scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I actually thought it would do you good to get out of the castle grounds and get some exercise in.”

Virgil smiled. “Is anyone else going or will it just be the two of us?”

“Logan’s coming too.”

Virgil nodded. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready and I’ll meet you by the front door.” Thomas nodded and left with a smile.

Virgil put the book he’d just grabbed down on a desk, putting a note on it to make sure the librarians don’t put it away. He grabbed the discarded beanie from the nook and ran up to his room to grab the slip of paper with the description of the crystal on it. He quickly made his way back downstairs to see that the two brothers were waiting at the door for him.

“Sorry for taking so long.” Virgil said as he approached.

Logan smiled. “It wasn’t that long.” He gave him a once over. “You got everything you need?”

“Yep.” He held up the scrap of paper. “I’ve got everything.”

“What’s that?” Thomas asked as he led the way around to the storage area for the vehicles. From what Virgil managed to learn from Logan, they were taking a car instead of the land kelpie that Logan called a motorcycle.

“It’s a piece of paper I had in my hand when I woke up. I think it might help me remember something.”

Logan smiled, leaning to put a hand on his shoulder. “Thomas only has some errands to run. While he’s doing that, we can look for whatever’s on the paper.”

Virgil was suddenly aware of the pit that was in his stomach lessening, his breathing getting a bit easier. He might be back in the ocean before the third tide came in and that thought made him almost giddy. He had a hard time staying still during the car ride, looking out the window for even a glimpse of the water, of home. He didn’t like the seatbelt he had to put on when he got in but he didn’t mind it all that much if it meant that he got to travel.

Soon enough, they were at the town and they were spilling out of the car. Virgil tried to stick close to Logan at first while Thomas went off to get his things, a guard trailing after each group, but his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to look at everything that caught his attention so he was wandering from storefront to storefront, just looking in the windows. At one point, he found a store that really held his attention and he had to stop himself from pressing his whole face into the glass. Here we are at the beginning of the physical hyperactivity that will persist until close to the end of the chapter when he’s worn himself out. This is also an instance of the short attention span as he flits from window to window.

The whole store was filled with candy the likes of which Virgil had never seen. There were large bricks of brown candy sitting on slabs of wood, paper in between the bricks. Behind them, Virgil could see cases of candy of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. He was sure that if he simply focused on his reflection, he would have looked like a love struck guppy.

Behind him, Logan laughed. “I see you found the candy store.”

Virgil turned to him, hands still pressed against the window. “Is that what this is?” His voice was filled with wonder at the new experience.

Logan nodded, his eyes crinkling at the sight of Virgil’s excitement. “Yes, that’s a candy shop.” He shook his head, smile still in place. “I forget you don’t have all your memories sometimes.”

Virgil nodded, finally stepping away from it. “Maybe we can get some candy on our way back. I think we should keep looking for this gem right now.”

Logan nodded, moving to walk beside Virgil rather than trail behind him. Walking along the street, they ducked into every jewelry store they saw, Virgil questioning the store clerks about the description. Every one of them turned up empty. They even tried the rockhound shop they found along the way but that turned out to be a dried riverbed as well.

Eventually, they came across an art store. Logan got excited and dragged Virgil in to look at all the canvases and the paint selection. Virgil got distracted by the bookmarks at the front desk, putting the paper down to look at them. Some had patterns on them similar to the star shapes he saw in the night sky, others looked like the nebulas that were visible from sea, still others were patterned to look like waves but were iridescent when moved. The ones that truly stood out to him were iridescent ones that looked like scales, reminding him of his own shimmering purple tail. Short attention span is actually useful for once!

He was startled back into reality when the attendant at the front desk picked up the piece of paper he’d set down, glancing over it. “Are you looking for this?” They asked.

Virgil looked up, seeing the paper in their hands. “Yes, I’m looking for a stone that matches that description. Do you happen to know where I can find one?”

“You could try the costume store on the other side of the city. Or there’s the jewelry store in that same area that might do it for you. It depends on how good quality you want out of it.”

Virgil smiled, the excitement building in his chest as he thought about being back home soon. Strangely, a bittersweet sadness mixed with the joy, as he knew he would miss the humans he was staying with. Thinking of which, Logan came back behind him with a few tubes of paint in his hands and a smile on his face. Trouble with self-regulation of emotions.

Virgil laughed, seeing the way he almost dropped the items as he approached. “You got that?”

Logan nodded, dropping the objects on the counter. “Virgil, they’ve got so much stuff here, we’ve gotta come back soon!”

Virgil smiled, his hand reaching out to graze against one of the tail bookmarks. Logan noticed and quietly nudged him as the attendant rang up the paints. “Pick one and I’ll pay for it.”

Virgil looked at him, awe invading his gaze. “Really?”

Logan nodded and Virgil shyly picked up a bookmark that was almost the exact shade of his tail, the scale pattern shimmering as it was moved. Logan smiled and added it to the pile as Virgil slipped his paper back into his pocket. Soon, they were exiting the store. Logan glanced at Virgil. “Does anything seem familiar?” His voice held a tone of hope.

Virgil shrugged, hands in his pockets. “The store clerk said we might be able to find the stone on the other side of the city.” He thought back to the bookmarks. “I recognized some of the constellations on the bookmarks, as well as some of the patterns seemed familiar.”

Logan smiled. “That’s good news, Virgil!” He nudged him with his shoulder, causing the mer to be off balance and stumble to the side. Catching on quickly, Virgil shoved him back. They continued their game for a few more paces before Logan’s pocket dinged.

Pulling out the same box from all those weeks ago, a phone, Logan read over and responded to a text before turning around. “Come on, Thomas is done with his errands and agreed to meet at the candy store you found earlier.”

Virgil frowned. “But what about the store across the city?”

Logan smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, bookworm. We’ll come back in a week and we can go then, is that okay?”

Virgil nodded even as his eyes stung. He knew it couldn’t be helped but it still hurt. “Yeah,” he choked out, “that works.” He tried to hide his disappointment the best he could.

Logan held the door open as they entered. “How about you pick out a candy for yourself and Roman, hmm? I want to talk to Thomas about something real quick but I’ll join you soon.”

Virgil made a noise of understanding and pasted on a fake smile, pushing the thought of the crystal to the back of his mind as he looked through the overwhelming amount of candy in front of him. The smells swirling around the building were almost too much to bear all at once. Even so, he watched Logan walk away before turning to scan the merchandise. He felt vulnerable without the familiar figure of Logan by his side but he knew the bodyguard that followed him would keep him safe. Soon, that fake smile became real as he lost himself in the sweets.

It took him longer than he thought it would, Thomas and Logan having already picked out their treats. They’d even stayed in a group so the bodyguards could pick out treats as well but Virgil still wasn’t done. When he finally was, he settled on a mix of sour and sweet shark shaped gummies for Roman and a stick of rock candy for himself. It reminded him of the coral that populated the area around his home, the bright blue being a nice contrast to everything around them. ADHDers have a harder time making quick decisions.

As they were exiting, Virgil wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, to protect them from the too bright lights, and lay his head on Logan’s shoulder in the hopes of sleeping, even for a few minutes. He knew that when they got back to the castle, he’d disappear into his little alcove that no one but he knew of, and just sit by himself for a while. It had been a good trip, but it had also been an exhausting trip. Slight sensory overload combined with crashing from the physical hyperactivity. I get very tired after having physical hyperactivity as the hyperactivity usually presents itself as talking quickly or mental hyperactivity.

✴ ✴ ✴

He watched as they exited the building, Logan laughing at something Thomas said and the other with them strangely subdued from what he’d been watching the rest of the trip. Ducking back, he stayed out of sight as the trio climbed into their car, the tall one in the middle between the royals. Cursing, he slunk away, his left eye starting to glow as he crept into the dark of the alley behind him. He had hoped to get him this time but knew another opportunity would present itself. He just had to be patient. Patience was a virtue he’d learned a long time ago. He could wait as long as it took. One day, he would have him in his grasp.

Director’s cut chapter 9

#jots #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #janus sanders #c!thomas #adhd!virgil #mer!virgil #the little mermaid au #ace writes #director's cut #jots bonus features

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kill-for-cookies · 4 years

Text

Promise is a beautiful lie (pt. 2)

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Words: 3194

Warning: angst and some fluff

Note: um, guys, when I finished writing this chapter today, I didn’t think it would be this long. Oh, and just wanted to say, the first two parts are like prologue. But I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Previous parts: 1

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"Hands up!" obviously, it wasn't for you, because your hands were still up.

"Or what?" you may have had your back to him, but you could feel his daring grin.

"She'll die" wait, do they want to arrest you or kill you? Or both? Honestly, none of this is particularly encouraging.

Actually the only thing you could think about was what the Master would do. Return to the TARDIS or kill them or... Well, no, that option was definitely not possible. He definitely wouldn't give up on them. Although recently he treated you differently, friendly and nicely. But he wouldn't do it for you anyway. The Master isn’t one to give up. After all, give up means to lose, and he'll do anything to prevent it from happening. But something inside you said the opposite. Even though you were willing to kill him yourself for setting you up. But why would he get out of the TARDIS if he planned it all?

His deep sigh brought you out of your thoughts. You could feel him slowly raising his hands behind your back. If there weren't the spears few inches away from your throat, your jaw would fall. He did what? He? The Master? Gave up? Is it the same person we are talking about? Honestly, the more time you spent with him, the more you doubted it.

"Come on. Let's not make them more angry" the Master whispered in your ear when he lined up with you. You wanted to argue with him because how can you move when you have spears pointed at you. But you realized they were long gone and you had something heavy on your wrists. Handcuffs. Best day in your life. First the Master gave you hope of the Doctor's return and now the guards on some unknown planet had arrested you for something you didn't do. And unlikely you would. They must get something wrong and take you by mistake. You would never steal anything, right? And especially not with the Master... That's crazy... Or... No, definitely crazy. And that's out of the question!

You were in thoughts again and this time you paid for it. The guard standing behind you (how did he manage to move there?) strongly pushed you with obtuse end of spear so you almost met with a stone (is there any soil on this planet?). You were going to fall, but the Master's hand stopped you (for the second time in a short period. What's wrong with the Universe today?). And for God sake, he was smiling at you, like he's been in your head and seen you worried about how you behaved in front of him. You wanted to damn him, but something stopped you. You could feel his imperious gaze inside your mind. Okay, that's creepy.

You were going down the corridors, the luxurious corridors. The walls were ochre, and the columns, which there were many, were made of crystal with golden patterns. Outside the Palace wasn't very big. High, but not big. But inside, it looked like a whole city. City in the city. But you didn't admire it very long, because you were taken to the lower levels. And also you kept thinking, trying to understand the situation in which you found yourself. Ugh, but why you? And why with him? If you were traveling with the Doctor, this would never happen... Because she would never let you do this... Although, one day the Doctor mentioned that she stole the TARDIS... In any case, the situation would have been very different!

"Y/N, I wanted to tell you..."

"Shut. Up" you just hissed back at him. Your face was stony, coldly calm. The Master could swear that he felt goosebumps all over his body. But he wasn't going to show it to you.

"But..." The Master tried to continue, but when he met your eyes, he immediately forgot what he wanted to say. There was fire in your eyes (maybe it was the lighting, but who cares?). The fire was brighter than on Gallifrey when the entire great civilization of the Time lords turned to ashes. It was fucking threatening but God, he'd lie to himself if he said they weren't driving him crazy. Oh, if you only knew what power you had over him at this moment. Maybe one day...

You still continued to go down these countless corridors resembling a maze. You should remember the road you took to get to the Master's TARDIS. But you were distracted, still trying to understand your mixed feelings. At this moment you came to a spiral staircase seemed endless.

'Brilliant. Is there any way to escape from here?' you whined to yourself. 'Stop, he... giggled? I'll kill him for it!'

'Come on, sweetheart, we both know this isn't going to happen. You like me too much. I can see it in your mind' you almost gasped when you heard it. It was so strange. Yes, the Master was in your head before, even when there was a encounter with the Kasaavins, but he never communicated with you telepathically. This was so unusual for you.

'Get out from my head!'

'Well, if that's what you want...' after that, you felt a stone fell from your shoulders. It was so much easier to feel, to think.

Surely, the guards seemed a little suspicious when you two looked at each other changing expressions, but didn't say anything out loud, but honestly they didn't care.

Finally, you were taken to a prison cell and roughly pushed there after removing the handcuffs. There was a loud turn of the key and retreating footsteps. Now you were alone with the Master. Not to say that you were particularly against it, but you certainly weren't jumping up with delight. You both stayed quiet, but honestly you just wanted to get back on your fucking couch and look up at the night sky. What the hell got you out of your comfy flat? You went to the cold brick wall and slowly rolled down it sitting on the damp floor of the prison cell and taking a deep breath. It was almost midnight when you ran away from home. Why don't you go to bed early?

"Why? Why I'm trapped again when I really believed you? And I really believed you. Now what? In prison and hell knows how to get out of here..." you paused, as if trying to come up with a plan, which you didn't do. "Ugh, I don't even know who I'm mad at more: you for bringing me here or myself for being so naive" actually, it was more like thinking out loud than addressing to the Master.

"Y/N, listen, I wasn't going to bring you here" you turned head to him. He joined you on the floor, but he took off his coat and put it on the bench to not get it dirty. "Well, I wanted to, but not you from April 2020" you were willing to believe him. You really were. Besides, it sounded very convincing. But hell, it was like last time. And how did it all end? Oh, yes, your friends and you almost crashed on a plane.

"Oh, really?"

"I'm not lying. I swear by my hearts I didn't. You are here by accident. And I have no idea why they took us. Well, maybe I do, but I haven't done it yet."

Something deep down believed him... This was so strange. Aren't you supposed to be enemies? Well, he's the Doctor's enemy and you're the Doctor's companion, so he's your enemy. It makes sense, doesn't it?

"Let's say I believe you. But why are you acting like this?"

"What?"

"Don't you want me dead? We're on opposite sides of the fence" he really seemed confused. Or at least he was a very good actor, which you were willing to believe.

"What? No! It's just a long time to explain..."

"Oh, don't worry, I have lots of time now!" there was a twinkle in your eyes again. He was just glad to have cut off telepathic connection, or...

"And this is quite difficult..."

"I can handle it, thank you" you interrupted, giving him a sham smile and glaring at him.

"Well, where should I start?.. I'm from future. From your relatively near future, where we are together...." you didn't want to know if that was the end of the sentence or he didn't finish it. You could no longer hold your anger and maybe you would regret it later. You didn't care.

"Together? With you? Go to hell! This will never happen!" rage flowed out of you like a fountain.

"Never say never, love" he purred with a smug smile. You didn't notice the two of you were gradually getting closer to each other. Now his face was so closer to yours that you could feel his warn breath.

"Shut up!"

"You're so beautiful when you're angry" his hand stroked your hair and moved to your chin, causing you to awe. "Just like me" you wanted to complain, as you usually do, but his hand tightened on your chin. "Shh, don't argue, it's true, and you know it" all your displeasure disappeared and something pricked you right in the heart.

"You two, stop talking!" the guard's voice was rude. Oh, so you weren't exactly alone. It seemed you really were dangerous criminals so they decided not to leave you alone.

"Don't you want to get out of here?" not even a few seconds passed after the guard's phrase. Either he didn't hear it, or he just ignored it which seemed true.

"Do you have a plan?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Don't I have always?" he winked. Damn it, he was unsufferable! It pissed you off. But for some reason.... No, that was crazy. But you enjoyed it. Maybe it's just new feelings (after all, you have never quarreled and argued with Fam and Doctor) or... No, this is completely crazy! Yes, he was attractive, but no more. Right?

"So what's the plan?" you got up from the floor and brushed the dust from your clothes.

The Master didn't answer you. Of course, he didn't. You're just a human, a stupid human who won't understand his super-elaborate plan. Okay, you need to calm down and put all these unpleasant thoughts behind you. Arguing wouldn't help. You needed to get out of here, not talking. You went to your cell door to look through the small window where the guards were. Just needed to figure out how to open the door and distract the guards. It was simple. You had a couple of ideas in your head when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Oh, no, we're not going to escape from the cell" his voice was a little quieter and lower than usual, but there was glee in it. You frowned and tilted your head.

"What do you mean we're not going to escape from the cell? We want to get out of here, don't we?" oh, he was definitely amused. Honestly, you really wanted to slap him, but again this unpleasant feeling in your head... It's like he was back in your head. Damn, isn't he tired of it?

"Yes, it is. But I have this" he waved a device at you. Well, it was obvious to you right away. It explained so much. Just because you see something for the first time doesn't mean you don't know what it is, does it?

"I think I should feel better, but what is it?"

"It's TCE. Tissue Compression Eliminator. It's very useful. Is someone pissing you off? Press the button once and BAM! Now he's a miniature figure!" he was very excited when he told you this. Yes, maybe he was a little different, seemed that all this madness and anger had become much less, but this didn't mean it had disappeared. Perhaps, then it wouldn't be the Master. "But it has a couple of other functions. Like this one!"

A few seconds after pressing the button nothing happened. You were beginning to think his brilliant plan didn't work again, but at this moment you realized that you were wrong. You heard the sound of the materializing TARDIS. Oh, God, how you missed this sound! It was definitely the best in the Universe. You couldn't help but smile, and your eyes were a little wet with joy. Your eyes met Master's. He looked at you so tenderly, as if he hadn't seen you for a long time. It was a little disturbing, but the thought quickly faded from your mind. You would deal with it later.

"How... How did you do that?" you were so overwhelmed with happiness that you could barely speak. "Did you summon the TARDIS?"

"Well, roughly speaking, yes. Remote control. Useful thing for these situations" the Master gave you the widest smile you've ever seen. He was obviously proud of himself.

But you two didn't enjoy it for long. Apparently, the guards heard the sounds of the TARDIS appearing and unlocked the door of your cell. You didn't have much time to think when the Master's hand grabbed yours and dragged you into... A column? Ah, yes! Camouflage device. It's so unusual to see it in action when you travel with a Doctor. You were lucky. Very lucky. Just as the Master closed the door behind you, a spear flew in your direction and got right into the door. Not into you fortunately. Leaning against the door, you both took a deep breath and burst into a laugh. Yeah! You had made a great couple.

When you both finished laughing, the Master went to the console. You were even a little sad that you were both distant. Honestly, you liked his company... Well, he was more relaxed and it suited him very well. During last time you didn't think he could be like this. But now... Now you saw a different side of him and he was attractive in that way. A little arrogance and dominance, of course, but you could stand it at least. You didn't even realise you were still standing at the door and watching him running, jumping and dancing around the console. Damn, you really liked it and didn't want it to end.

"And you're home!" he exclaimed as he turned around and quickly approached you.

"Are you sure?” you crossed your arms over your chest and raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but your voice was playful.

"Well, if you insist, I can go first."

After that he ran out of the TARDIS. He must be several thousand years old and was acting like a child. It was actually nice and made you smile. Lucky for you he got out of the time machine and didn't see it. Coming out of the door you saw your house, the street where you lived. You were home. Oh, you missed so much the good old London. There were tears in your eyes. Who would have thought you were going to be so homesick in a few hours?

"Thank you" your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I said I'll drive you" he turned his head toward you as you lined up with him. Fortunately, you managed to wipe tears so he didn't notice.

"I think it's time for us to say goodbye. It was nice talking to you. I hope you do, too. Although I don't think you'll admit it" it was as if he was reading you like an open book, though it wasn't so hard to guess.

"Bye" your voice sounded unsure, but sincere. You were already moving away from him when you felt the Master grabbed your wrist. You quickly turned to him trying to understand what was wrong.

"Before you leave, promise me something..." The Master said this a little timidly and uncertainly. You just tilted your head and waited for him to continue. "Promise me you won't lose faith in me."

"Excuse me what?"

"Promise me you won't lose faith in me. I know I can be irritable and insufferable, but please promise me."

It doesn't bother you at all. Not a bit. The Master, the scourge of the Universe, asked you not to be prejudiced against him. This is completely normal. It happens to you every day. From other side, he hadn't killed anyone this time and was calmer. You couldn't say it was friendlier, because It was the Master, but at least it was calmer, and that meant a lot. Brilliant! What would you do? And also he looked at you. Why the hell he was looking at you? Those damn eyes!

"I... I don't know" you just wanted to sink through the ground. Wait... Did the Master make you puppy eyes? Would he use it in the future? Damn it! "Fine."

"What?" apparently, he didn't think for a second that you might agree.

"I promise you" oh, you would probably regret it later. Maybe not. The Universe is so unpredictable, miracles happen. Maybe this is one of them, who knows?

The Master didn't say anything to you, although it was clear that he was happy. He jumped up and down, clapping his hands. Nah, he was definitely a child. Hell, you'd be lying if you said you didn't like seeing him like this. He even looked normal and you could even get used to it.

"Thank you" the Master said tenderly, taking your hands. His eyes were sincere and happy. You really wanted to see this more often. And it would remain in your memory.

He kissed your hand like a true gentleman and it made you smile. You just nodded, pulled away from him and walked slowly toward the house without taking your eyes off him. Somehow you managed to get to your bed, changed clothes and just passed out. This was a really hard day (or evening?).

A knock on the door. What was happening again? You started damn this person. Your eyes barely opened and looked at the clock. 5 am. 5 fucking am. Seriously? What normal human would knock at this hour? You rolled over and put a pillow over your ears so you wouldn't hear it again. But as soon as you started to go back to sleep, you heard the knock on the door again. Damn, even the pillow didn't help.

You slowly and lazily got up from your lovely and most comfortable (especially at this moment) bed and went to the front door. You almost opened the door when you realised. You asked yourself this question. What normal human would knock at this hour? That was it. And now you were fully awake. It lasted a few minutes until you heard a loud sigh and some rustling. You couldn't think of anything better to do than hide behind the door. When it opened, you wouldn't be visible. And you did it just in time because a second later the door opened. Your heart was pounding. Now what?

#The Master #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #the master x reader #doctor who #dw #dw imagine #the master imagine #dhawan!master imagine

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weapon13whitefang · 3 years

Text

First Line Tag Game

Tagged by @neversleepingever

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Well let’s go...

1.] Kimi No Na Wa (Your Name) | Erasermight AU

There was a faint, persistent buzzing somewhere in the room. It was persistent and annoying as it dragged Toshinori Yagi from his sleep. He wanted to ignore it, but it was just too consistent and annoying! The pillow he dragged over his head did little to stop it too.

2.] Talking In Your Sleep

“You talk. In your sleep… Did you know that?”

The question was asked with curiosity and hesitation on Lydia’s part. She was always curious about him. He was still a sort of stranger to her, shared trauma or not…. But she was also always very hesitant. As if expecting him to lash out at her with violence. Couldn’t blame her. Not like their first meetings were fucking sunshine and kittens. Or with her having a mother like Alpha… Will Dixon looked almost saintly compared to how that woman and her brick wall of a bastard, Beta, treated her

3.] My whole existence is flawed

When Beth Greene was twelve years old, a worldwide epidemic struck, taking out more than half the human population and then some.

At first, it had seemed like just a regular flu. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Fever, weakness and fatigue. Dizziness. Dehydration… Normal stuff you’d see from a heavy case of the flu.

4.] Gotta Get Underground

The humid heat of summer had passed to make way for the colder winds. Although Georgia was often saved from the terrible cold of other states, for those of warm nature and years of comfortable heat, the drop to forty degrees could seem as cold as negative ten or worse... Especially when one was hungry.

5.] Safe

Shota Aizawa was in pain. A lot of pain… More pain than he’s been in for a long time, really. Not since he was a rookier Pro Hero and he’d ended up in more than one rough battle with Joke or Hizashi or Nemuri (or all of them depending on the situation) in some dirty alley at night. Back when he had to patch himself up more than once without aid because who the hell had money to go to the clinic every time you got a scrape or haul ass across the city to get all the way to see Recovery Girl at UA

6.] Haircut

For as long as Beth could recall, she had been growing out her hair. By the time she was seven it was down past her shoulder. It would never be any longer than to her waist but it would never be cut above her shoulder blades.

7.] once bitten, twice shy

The Georgia night air was humid, making clothes stick and sweat drip. It had to be the hotest day of summer and Beth had spent all day helping her daddy corral the cows because the bull had broken a weak part of the fence and they all came barreling out to the patch of road that lead to her farm. Her cousin Arnold had been coming to help out for the morning and had almost hit a calf. He’d had to call everyone down with his cellphone, Otis and Patricia coming up behind to help.

8.] I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

When Beth was only five years old, she’d seen her first death. It had been her grandma Lewis – mama’s own mother – and she had been slowly slipping away. Beth had been brought to her grandma’s house with the rest of her family to see her one last time. Something Beth hadn’t really understood back then, being so young. She had just understood that grandma Lewis hadn’t greeted them with warm hugs and kisses, but had been hooked up to machines in her own bedroom with mama and her mama’s brothers – her uncles – standing around the room.

9.] But, Oh, Those Summer Nights

Beth didn't cry anymore. She hadn't cried since she was little and her daddy had almost died from drinking and driving. He'd lost his leg and had sworn off alcohol the day Beth declared - at six years old - she wasn't ever gonna cry anymore.

10.] Once Upon A Story Book

“Once upon a time, the sun came up-“

“As it does every damn day-“

“Daryl!”

Princess Beth bit her lip to keep from smiling, staring up at the sky. It wasn’t a sky like what would probably be considered normal, but instead was a sky with letters forming sentences with lines of quotations and actions.

11.] Baby, I Want You Back

Crash!

All of Nova Diner went silent. Heads whipped around or took a peak over their menus. Some of the elders tsk’s. A few of the waitresses shook their heads in understanding.

12.] No Such Kiss

Justin's hands twitch on the steering wheel of his Jeep Wrangler, head lulling back slightly as he sucked in a deep breath, releasing from his nostril along with a mild groan. He rolled his head on his shoulders, pulling and releasing at the muscles in his neck as the hand not flexing on the steering wheel was digging into bleach blonde locks at the crown of the skull of the bitch working him over.

13.] The Mark

She is sitting on the porch swing when she see's the dust blowing and hears the rumble of his motorcycle as he comes down the driveway. She fight's back the urge to groan and bang her head against the metal chain of the swing, eyes narrowing as he stops just in front of the house before he's parking and cutting off the engine.

14.] destined to be wedded

For as long as Beth could remember, she'd been told that she'd someday be wedded.

Her horse-drawn carriage careened down the loosely built dirt road at full speed, Button and Flame panting as Otis steered them further to Beth's uncertain future. From being stuffed into the cramped cab of the carriage with her father and mother, to getting sick with every rough patch that bounced them around nauseatingly, and for every trot of hooves that took her further from home, Beth was no very impressed with this future.

15.] Dizzy With A Canary

“Hey, all you fine and in-line listeners! Jumpin Johnny’s got the goods all day every day! Oh yeah, that’s right! JJ's got the hook-up for all you listeners! And JJ invites all you dolls and studs to come down to my man Zack and his Hop happening at Atlanta’s little hot spot on Cherry St! Come and join us! But until then, enjoy some Hoagy Carmichael, Y'all!

16.] In The Air

Mating.

The word brings a sour taste to Daryl’s mouth, making his skin or fur stand up and his nose wrinkle like he’s smelled something foul.

17.] Of Angel’s & Crusaders

"Shawn, those are breakable! Please be careful!"

Beth Greene bit her lip as she heard Shawn curse up a storm as he carried in a rather heavy box of silverware, glass, and other breakables – antique breakables – through the door of her new studio one-bedroom and bathroom apartment room on the fifth floor.

18.] God Love Her

A fast road to nowhere. That's what he'd been told his whole damn life. That he was on fast road to nowhere real quick. And everybody was waiting for the day Merle Dixon crashed on that road. Hell they all watched to see him slip and fuck up. Waited for the moment he couldn't worm his way outta jail or worse.

19.] Audience

Merle had always known he was going to hell. After all the shit he did, all the stuff he's said, all the blood he's stained his hands and feet with, he knew. He knew damn well and he knew others saw it to. Knew they looked at him as just some fuck up, a monster... Well they weren't to far off, so who could blame em?

20.] The AFterlife Entertainment

Merle rolls his head on his shoulder almost impulsively. He doesn’t feel any kinks or pains. Doesn't even really need to pop his neck. He just does. Cause it's a habit now. Habits die hard. Dead or not. And he was fucking dead. His little brother stabbed the fuck outta him. Fucked up his pretty face and all... Ah well. He wasn't looking so hot as a biter.

There’s a pattern that I’m terrible with naming my fics and being bad at finishing, but that’s not new... Have to see if you all notice one.

Tagging: Whoever wants to... I’m terrible at tagging people, honestly.

#tagged #fanfiction #my writing #tag game

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 4 years

Note

Could I ask for Mountain Tim with #9 (The first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body)? I love me my cowboys- would absolutely wed him on the spot if I met him irl!!

Yee to the haw! I would totally marry him too! I'm so glad you requested! Also I just managed to finish this on my lunch break.

The night watch (Yandere Mountain Tim X Female Reader)

You had been sitting in a train carriage for maybe two to three days. You couldn't help but be struck in awe, so much had changed in America since you were sent away to France nineteen years ago, slavery had been abolished and the county was slowly gaining momentum as an upper nation and another presidential campaign had began.

You couldn't read a newspaper without seeing Funny Valentine's name on almost every page and you could understand why he was a man of the nation and had the patriotism that a president needed.

As the train grinded to a halt the dust flew up in the hot summer wind. You stood up, grabbed your bags and made your exit. You walked calmly out of the train and saw only one unfamiliar male standing at the station. A blonde haired male who had the indistinguishable look of a cowboy. He tipped his hat up as he noticed your presence and you caught the gleam of his sheriff's badge as he approached you. You let out a hiss of annoyance, he was most likely sent by Mayor Harold Jones to have you locked up for the crime you never committed.

"Are you here to arrest me sheriff because if you are then please do so later, I have to visit my mother urgently" you said as you tried to walked past him but he grabbed your arm to stop you. For a split second you could see a gleam of shock in his eyes.

"No I wasn't aware of any pending arrest against you, I'm I'm hear with a heavy heart to tell you that your mother passed away yesterday morning" he responded as he gave you an empathetic expression. You looked back at him once more and let out a sigh. You knew one day this day would come. The prophecy was tattoed in your skin. To you it was a horrible foreshadowing of what the future had in store and now it had finally happened.

It was an uncanny birthmark that went from a simple blob to actual words, you never knew why or how this happened but you did know that a sign like that would never lie.

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am" he said. You didn't respond to him, you had no words to say.

"Do you need some help with your bags?" He asked.

"No I'm perfectly fine" you said as you shook his hand away and began to walk off to the small town which you once called home.

As you walked down the long street you saw everyone watched you, their eyes all filled with hate. The town was almost dead silent until a gunshot erupted, you could feel the bullet just brush past you.

You looked to your left to see a gruff male with a rifle in hand.

"McGavin... Couldn't even fire a sling shot properly, now look at you, can't even fire a gun... If you want to blow my brains out then I'd suggest moving to the right a little" you said in a cocky tone.

"You bitch-!" He yelled before a lady exited the house. You remembered her as a skinny blondie but the years of being married had obviously gotten to her.

"Oh Mary Ann, you really let yourself go" you commented about the fuller figured woman causing her to let out a gasp.

The town was now filled with howls and hollering, all of there mean comments directed at you but you didn't care, you'd dish out a full banquet of revenge upon them all at some stage.

As you walked down the street you noticed the blonde male following you, he only spoke after you left the chaos of the main street.

"I'd suggest you not to stir the pot if this town hates you, you were nearly shot" he said, a small amount of worry coated his calm voice and you laughed in response.

"Nobody told you?" You asked.

"About what?" He replied.

"I was forced to leave this town at the age of eight after I murdered the mayor's son Jimmy Jones..." Yo said as you turn to face the sheriff.

He looked at you in shock as he heard such a confession come from such a young and refined woman.

"You don't think I could have done such a thing do you?" You asked him.

"No ma'am, it doesn't seem like something a young girl would do" he replied.

"My point exactly, now I must head to the house, I need to start unpacking so the house is pristine when my husband comes" you said before walking to a decent brick house at the end of the street.

👗👗👗

Those bitter first words were undeniably the same as the words over his chest, right on-top of his heart. It was a sigh of fate that you two were meant to meet.

A few weeks had passed since then and no matter where he'd go he'd always find you in some way. From what he had learnt, your name was (Y/n) (L/n) and you were an opulent dress maker that lived in France with your aunt and uncle and that you had moved back to your small hometown to start up a small business.

Everyone in town would talk about you like you were a monster in human form, a creature that brought pain and misfortune, a woman with a heart of stone or ice but when he looked in your eyes he could see a poor soul who seeked a peaceful life, a poor girl wearing a mask to hide away her emotions to all those who seeked to destroy her. It's like he had known her for all his life. Like he had watched all the times you had been kicked down and thrown around as a child.

Now he stood at the front door of your home. He knocked on the door.

"(Y/n) are you home?" He asked.

"Yes come in, if your here because June told you I stole from her shop then she's lying!" You yelled.

"I know, I saw the stolen goods at the back" he said as he walked in

"My Mama would do such a thing?" He heard another female exclaim before gasping. He walked into the living room to see you sitting at the coffee table with a younger female that held your sketch book in hand.

"You want me to wear that!" She nearly yelled at shock.

"Of course, do you think I would have gone to all the effort to sketch something I'd tell you not to" you calmly replied as you took the book back before looking towards him.

"Then what brings you here?" You asked him.

"I just wanted to see you, is there anything wrong with that?" He replied.

"Well you've chosen the right time, my husband is preparing some afternoon tea as we speak. so take a seat" you said and he complied, sitting on the chair beside both you and the ginger haired female.

"Honey we have another guest so could you please grab another plate and cup" you called out.

"I'm not that hungry so there's no need to spoil me with your hospitality" he replied.

"Nonsense, it would be impolite to not let you eat" you insisted before focusing on your first customer, Betty Marshalls.

"I'm sorry, where were we?" You asked her.

"Could you maybe-" she was about to speak before you cut her off.

"Oh that's right, I haven't shown you the fabric yet" you said as you pulled out a basket with various snippets of different fabrics. You hands dove in with absolute determination to find the right one before pulling it out.

"Now this one, it screams elegance" you said as you showed her a piece of black silk with red oriental patterns.

"Um isn't this outfit getting a little risque..." She shuttered which caused you to give her a stern glare.

"You asked me for something eye catching, so that is what I'm going to give you" you growled.

"But if my mama saw-" she was going to say before you stood from your chair and leaned towards here and gave her a harsh poke on her chest.

"You are twenty years old for Christ sake, your Mama is a delusional, psychotic mess that wants you to suck on her teat for the rest of your life! I'm sure as hell that she's only keeping ya because she lost her son in the Civil war! So if you want to have at least a speck of a chance to marry Harry Conners and live your own life I suggest you let me do the designing and keep ya big mouth shut!" You yelled out in a banshee like screech, causing the poor girl on the receiving end to sink into her chair with a horrified expression on her face.

"Bit harsh don't you think?" Tim piped in. You let out a sigh as you slumped back into your chair and rubbed your face with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I just get a little too revved up sometimes" you sighed to the two.

"It's... It's alright" Betty squeaked out like a little mouse.

"I know how much you love your Mama Betty... I'm still a little emotional about my mother but what I'm saying is true, your mother is a two faced bitch... You may see a wonderful lady who wants to protect you but she's doing more harm then good... I know because I saw how she manipulated your older brother" you explained to the poor girl.

"Honestly the only good thing about her I can point out is her chilli con carne..." You continued as you remembered how good the hot pot mixture was whenever you managed to steal a little at various town gatherings.

"Actually... You could pay me by telling me her recipe... I've been trying to cook it for my husband for years but I just can't seem to make it the way she does" you said as you leaned in towards her.

"No... I can't just tell you!" she exclaimed.

"O come on... No one will know, I'm only going to make it for me and my husband" you said.

"No"

"Fine then the initial price of sixty dollars it is" you sighed as you grabbed your sketch book and began to rework the design before handing it to her again.

"I've just made it a little more subtle but I'll let you choose the fabric this time, ok?" You asked.

"Yes, but are you sure your going to make this before the fair?" She asked.

"Of course four days will be a breeze" you said before looking to the blonde male.

"Sheriff Mountain Tim, this will be a secret amongst us, I can't have anyone knowing about this... Especially June" you said as you twirled your slender finger in a circular motion before placing it over your lips.

"Of course ma'am" he replied as a smile appeared on his lips, despite your cold exterior he knew you were a compassionate woman deep down. He just couldn't help but fall hopelessly in love.

"Oh honey what took you so long?" You asked as a man approached the coffee table with a large tray of savouries and sweets. He had dark hair and eyes that were typically associated with Asian descent but his skin and the way his features were contoured were more European.

"I was just making sure that the food was suitable for our guests darling" he said as he put the tray down before kissing you. Tim couldn't help but feel the jealousy stab into him like a knife. He knew that you were the wife of another man but he couldn't help feel that I should be him.

The rest of the afternoon you all sat down and ate and drank. You talked about your years in France and how you had met you husband Han Cresswell during a family vacation to Vietnam at the age of sixteen and that you both married a eighteen. Mountain Tim couldn't help but feel jealousy stir inside of him, threatening to boil over. He just couldn't help but feel that he was more deserving of your love.

👗👗👗

"Honey I'll stay home with you if your really that ill" you said as you sat beside your husband on the bed.

"No I'll be fine, I just need to rest up... You go out and enjoy yourself at the fair" he replied before letting out a horrible cough.

"Are you sure... I'll stay if you aren't feeling well" you replied before a knock on the bedroom door alerted you to see the ginger hair girl who had appeared without much warning.

"God don't scare me like that Betty" you exclaimed in shock as you held your chest.

"Sorry..." She muttered.

"How hard was it to shake your mother off?" You asked, she only gave you a disgusted expression as she showed you a crinkled and yellowing dress that had enough frills to suffocate anyone in a three foot radius.

"Oh god, I'm guessing that was her tacky old dress" you nearly choked out in disgust and she nodded a yes in response.

"I'm sorry honey but I need to help this poor girl out..." You said before kissing his forehead and standing up.

"No it's fine" he said as he gave you a smile before you guided her to your dressroom.

Betty's eyes were filled with wonder as she saw the mannequins and fabrics, mirrors and draws as well as everything in-between. You were like the fairy godmother that would make her a Cinderella.

You pulled out at dress for her and showed it to her. It was a stunning black of the shoulder dress with silver detailing, the bottom of the dress went down to her ankle and had a slit up one side that would allow her to move freely while keeping the slim figured design.

It took forever to get her out of the tacky dress but once she had the new dress on she couldn't help but look at herself in suprise. It's like it was the first time she had seen herself with administration of her form. You quickly grabbed a brush and undid the horrible twin braids and brushed her hair before draping her hair over her right shoulder and pinning it on the left to hold it in place. Her natural wavy hair gave it the bounce it needed.

Now she was a completely different person. She looked like a starlet.

"Such little changes can make a big difference" you sighed, you could even say she looked more beautiful then you. She opened her mouth but no words could escape, she was speechless.

"Now you wait down stairs, I'll be ready to go soon" you said as you shooed her as you grabbed one of your dresses.

👗👗👗

Throughout the afternoon you sat smugly as you watched all the ladies look at her and feel like shit comparison. Of course you had June confront you and go absolutely mad. Screaming on how you turned her daughter into a witch, which made you laugh before responding with a few simple words

"You'll see the real witch in the mirror... You daughter wants to live her own life now"

As night fell you sat and watched couples dance away and Betty was not dancing with Harry Conners but instead with dashing stranger who's charm couldn't be compared, it reminded you of when you first met Han all those years ago.

You were finally pulled out of your thoughts by a familiar voice.

"What are you doing sitting here all by yourself tonight?" The blonde asked. You looked at him, staring deep into his blue eyes.

"I just wanted to see how everyone reacted to Betty's dress, my husband would of come but he got sick" you explained.

"What about you?" You asked him.

"A sheriff's duties are never over, I've been patrolling the town all afternoon, everyone seems to be here but who knows if some thieves were to show up" he replied.

"So what brought you to this place in the first place?" You asked.

"I've been wondering through America for most of my life, one day I found this little struggling town and I decided to help out, I don't consider this place a home but I'll stay as long as the town needs me" he explained and you gave him a nod as you continued to watch everyone dance with their partners. Mountain Tim noticed this and extended his hand.

"I know it's wrong to ask a married woman this without her husband's permission but would you care to dance with me?" He asked and a smile appeared on your face as you took his hand.

"I'd be delighted, I'm sure my husband would be fine with it" you replied as you stood up.

👗👗👗

"I really appreciate your offer but I think I'll be fine walking home myself" you insisted to Mountain Tim.

"Are you sure? I couldn't bare the thought of you getting hurt" he replied.

"I'll be fine, my move isn't that far away, but thank you for the offer" you said.

"No need to thank me"

"Then can I tell you at least that I appreciated your company tonight, I'll admit it was daunting to be somewhere full of people that hate me..." You confessed.

"I'm glad I was, I don't see why the town could hate a beautiful woman such as yourself" he commented causing your face to turn a light shade of pink.

"I hope you have a safe trip home" he said.

"You too" you said as you began to walk.

Mountain Tim watched you fade into the distance and let out a sigh before lifting his shirt to reveal the bandaged wound he had, his blood slowly seeping through the layers of cotton gauze pads and bandages. He wished you had taken him up on the offer, he could of just followed you anyway but that would only draw suspension. He knew what he had done will add fuel to the town's fiery hatred towards you but after all, love makes a man a fool. Love makes a man do crazy things.

You felt sick as you felt your guys turning, something was off but you simply thought it might be your suprise to his compliment. You walked through the dark town that was only illuminated by the moon. When you got closer to your home you notice something was hanging from the large tree out the front.

With each step closer fear began to solidify until you realised what was hanging from it was a body, your husband's body. You ran quickly and screamed in horror. You tried to untie the end of the rope that suspended your husband's body but you couldn't.

You looked around for something and found his small dagger on the ground near his body. You picked it up and noticed the crimson liquid that stained the blade before you desperately sawed at the rope for what seemed like minutes. You cried out in fear and pain as you desperately hoped that you could save him. You occasionally ran the blade over your hands by accident as you tried you hardest to cut the rope.

Eventually the rope gave in and his body fell with a thud. You ran over and screamed out his name and cradled him in your arms as you prayed for him to still be alive, but it was no use... Had been dead long before you had arrived.

👗👗👗

"So... Everyone thinks I killed him" you sobbed into your hankerchief.

"I'm afraid so (Y/n)..." Mountain Tim responded.

"But... I loved him" you cried.

"I know, I don't think you did it but I'm investigating, I have to set my thoughts of you aside and look at the facts" he explained as he leaned forward and wiped the tears on your cheek with his thumb. Your attention caught was quickly caught by the blood dyed bandages you could only just see as the front of his shirt slightly draped as well as a tattoo over the left side of his chest, they seemed to form words but you couldn't make them out in that particular angle. For some reason your intuition was telling you something was up with whatever lied underneath the bandages.

"Why are you in bandages?" You asked.

"You shouldn't try to get involved with my personal matters, besides you need to tell me what you know" he replied in a stern tone.

"No, I'm not going to tell you anything until you show me what your hiding under those wraps" you responded in a peeved tone.

"You seem eager to avoid the subject" he responded.

"And so do you... You know I don't have the drive to commit murder" you replied.

"I never said I believed you did it, nor that it was a murder..." He replied.

"It was... As a matter of fact I found my husband's dagger at the crime scene with someone else's blood on it..." You explained. Then it clicked in your mind. The bloody dagger, Tim's injury and the time frame. He was the only one that hadn't been at the fair for the entire afternoon.

But rather then burst into tears or go rampant you sat quietly and looked at him straight in the eyes.

"What would bring a man such as yourself to take another's life in such a slow and painful way?" You asked him in a monotone voice. He simply slipped further into the lounge and let out a sigh as he shook his head.

"I'd be lying if I told you that I suspected you would figure it out" he sighed.

"I learnt a lot more in France then just sewing sheriff" you hissed.

"So what drove you to murder my husband?" You asked as you folded your arms.

"(Y/n), jealousy can drive a man to do crazy things" he explained as he took his hat off.

"So what did you want? Was it money?" You asked and he simply let out a chuckle in response.

"No, nothing materialistic ma'am" he said before you were pulled in towards him with a rope.

"Just a lonesome man such as myself would kill to have a passionate woman such as yourself to call their own" he cooed before planting a soft peck on your lips.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere jjba #mountain tim #jojo bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure #jojos #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo part 7 #steel ball run #spacy works

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jaydcstories · 4 years

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Chapter 10

Sam kept on running. It was all he could do. The horse’s hooves were thundering behind him. He knew that he only had to get through to the other side of the lake and he would be free. But the ground was giving way. He couldn’t get a grip with his bare feet. He was slowly sinking into the mud.

Someone was calling his name. It was a new name. He’d never heard it before — but he knew it was his. And there was a light in the doorway of a house. A young slave, dressed in white was holding out his hand. But the distance between them was too great and Sam was sinking lower and lower into the mud. There was nothing he could do to save himself.

He opened his eyes and realised that he was falling. He cried out. The cold stone floor was rushing towards him. He tried to protect himself but he couldn’t move his wrists or his ankles. Then with a jolt he remembered. The stone floor stopped moving and the agonising pain in his arms came rushing back.

“Hold still and drink this.”

It was the boy in white. Paul’s boy. He spoke softly but his voice was firm and caring and edged with the kind of melancholy that belonged to a lonely eighteen year old slave. He was standing in front of Sam holding a wet cloth. He’d been using it to wipe Sam’s body down, cleaning up some of the mess left by the electrodes and the whip. As soon as Sam’s eyes opened he pressed the soaking cloth to his lips.

“Drink it. Before they come back.”

As Sam moistened his lips (there was hardly enough water left in the cloth to drink) the awareness sank in that nothing had changed. He was still hanging by his wrists and ankles face down over the stone floor of the old cottage. His muscles were still sore and his back still ached — but at least those fearful metal electrodes had gone.

How long had he been unconscious? He wanted to ask the boy but his throat was too dry and he couldn’t even manage a hoarse whisper. In any case the boy was already edging away with his head bowed as the two young Masters made their way back after their short break.

They’d finished playing with the electricity once Sam had fallen unconscious. There wasn’t much pleasure to be had in watching a limp slave bouncing around without any reaction, so they’d taken the opportunity to get some fresh air while Paul’s boy cleared things away and cleaned Sam up.

While they walked, Paul told Jack more about his work with the Baron and how much he owed his benefactor.

“Until I met him, I had never really appreciated the true value of owning a slave. It’s easy to take them for granted. Mostly they’re just nameless drudges doing the work that needs to be done, disposable, exploitable and, fortunately these days, in plentiful supply. But for the private owner they can become a rich source of enjoyment and a lasting pleasure. It takes discipline and hard work on the part of the owner to bring out the full potential of a slave, to transform him into a possession that’s unique and precious, but it can be deeply rewarding — on a financial as well as a personal level. You should always keep your eye on the market and be ready to trade your slave for something newer and maybe more challenging. That’s how the Baron’s stable has grown over the years into one of the most admired slave collections in the whole of the Reich.”

“So what’s next?” asked Jack, running his hands enthusiastically over the body of his freshly woken slave, taking a moment to enjoy its naked vulnerability. “We still have an hour or so before lunch.”

The sudden touch of his Owner’s fingers triggered a shock of anguish in Sam and he began to sob uncontrollably, tugging at the chains that held his wrists and ankles and spluttering out an incoherent plea begging to be let down because he couldn’t take any more and he was sorry for being such a feeble and disappointing slave — but his tongue got caught in his mouth and he couldn’t get the words out.

Jack looked down at him and smiled. He was beginning to understand now everything that Paul had been saying and with a growing sense of confidence in himself he quietly stroked the slave’s neck and playfully ruffled his hair to calm him.

“I thought we could try some hot wax,” suggested Paul. “It’s not quite as dramatic as pumping the slave with electricity but you can get some surprising and colourful effects.”

The black leather bag Paul’s boy had brought in from the Baron’s car was fetched. It contained a quantity of large brightly coloured beeswax candles with heavy wicks that were designed to keep a healthy flame burning for long periods. Paul lit four of them and lined them up on some bricks directly underneath Sam, causing the boy to squeal and jerk his body as the flames brushed against his stomach.

For a while they played with the position of the candles, adding more and raising the height of the bricks so that the slave had to go into even greater contortions to stop his stomach getting scorched and his balls getting roasted. Jack relished the display of muscle as the restless body rolled and twisted — like a hunk of live meat on a spit, he thought — and when he put his hands on the slave’s rib cage he could feel the frantic heart beat and the panic coursing through the boy’s veins. With the help of his new friend, Jack was discovering ever fresh joys in the ownership of this fine, muscular young slave.

For Sam, this was worse than the electric shock treatment. At least then he’d been paralysed by the current and there had been nothing he could have done to fight against it. Now he was constantly having to twist and heave his body into contortions to avoid getting burned and it was putting an intolerable strain on his arms and stomach and leaving him breathless.

There was a moment’s relief when they took the candles away, and he was able to relax his stomach and ease himself down a little — but it was only a tiny moment because that’s when the first drops of wax landed on the back of his neck. Hot caressing blisters of heat clawing down between his shoulder blades and creeping along the length of his spine. It came in slow isolated drips at first, like pin pricks, and though not as painful or powerful or terrifying as the electric shocks, it set his nerves on edge, crawling and spreading in patterns of growing intensity, gathering in hot pools and solidifying in thick layers across his back and trickling down between his thighs.

“Help twist him over,” said Paul, “so we can play on his chest and stomach.”

This shift in his body position came as a momentary relief to Sam. Facing upwards, there was less strain on his back and he was at least able to watch the hot wax as it dribbled across his torso, making his flesh curl and quiver and, in spite of his hopeless misery, teasing his senses and stoking his blood till his cock ached and he wanted to scream and punch the air with it’s thick hammer-head — which his Master saw and began to play with, trailing the hot wax along the broad shaft and over the spreading balls.

He loved watching the lusty young slave’s involuntary arousal and the way in which the powerfully restrained body was being systematically encased in a richly colourful lava of cooling wax, like the skin of some rare and exotic animal, and he thought about all the other new and exciting games he was going to be able to play with this boy in the weeks and months to come.

Over and over they rolled him until there was hardly an inch of bare flesh left untouched.

“And now for the bit I love,” said Paul as he produced a small steel hand roller studded with spikes. “Use this to break up the wax and watch him squirm as you roll it over his sensitive spots. It won’t do any damage, but it’ll probably hurt like hell.”

Here was yet another new game. Jack took it slowly, beginning with the slave positioned face upwards so that he could enjoy the reaction as the spikes dug into the chest and stomach, cracking through the hardened wax and leaving a neat pattern of shallow pit marks in the exposed flesh as it moved along. Then he flipped the slave over and attacked the stiff contours of the back and the more satisfying pliable region of the buttocks.

Sam was sobbing through all this. He was dazed and confused by so many conflicting assaults on his senses — aching limbs, sore muscles, scorched skin all giving way to uncontrollable waves of sensuality and deep arousal. As the tight covering of wax broke away from his skin and the steel spikes dug into him, he writhed and twisted in a futile effort to break free of it all. His sobs became spasms rippling down into his belly, feeding his already hungry cock until it was twitching and bursting to come.

Jack grabbed at the chance to see his slave come while he was still bound hand and foot and swinging in mid air. Pulling him round face upwards once more, he teased the angry cock until, with a mighty yell and a force that nearly knocked Jack’s hand away, Sam threw himself into the wildest and heaviest orgasm he’d ever known. It came in so many waves that Jack had difficulty maintaining his grip and by the end of it was having to clean himself up with a towel that Paul’s boy had been carrying ready for that purpose.

He spent a moment or two gazing at the exhausted slave who was gasping for breath and struggling to find some comfort in his twisted bonds, then put his arm around Paul’s shoulder and said cheerfully, “Right then, let’s go and have some lunch.”

And so they returned to the house to discuss the morning’s events over beer and sandwiches while Paul’s boy was left to clear up the mess and tend to the drained and exhausted body of Sam.

JOHN DEE COOPER’S ALL-MALE SLAVE STORIES OBEDIENT SERVICE GOOGLE GROUP

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soyforramen · 4 years

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Breakfast at Tiffany’s - Jeronica

If asked he’d have to say this wasn’t a relationship. There was no love lost here. No, this was more like a mutual parasitism so they didn’t have to feel so alone. He supposed it was a relationship in the barest sense of the word. They were connected, sure. But it wasn’t as if either of them sought the other out, nor did they actively like one another.

Perhaps that was better in the end. If he’d learned anything about real relationships it was that they never ended on a good note, if they ever ended at all. This wasn’t the Ninth Circle of Hell his own parents had created with their cold war, an on-going fight as to who could pretend their spouse didn’t exist the longest. Nor was it the war torn field Veronica’s parents reveled in that more often than not ended in murder, verbal sparring, turf wards, and an explosive reconciliation.

No. This was some sort of purgatory. A holding place of sorts, for both of them. It wasn’t a relationship; it never would be. If he had to categorize it as anything it was just business as usual, like all their other encounters.

They had nothing in common. He read classic literature and pulp fictions; she read off of the NY Measures Book List and biographies. She listened to the latest drivel on the Top 40 lists; he stuck to the oldies. And then there were their views on everything else in the world.

The only thing that did tie them together was her father’s crime syndicate. Jughead’s father had worked for hers just as his father and his father before him. And when he’d come of age, Jughead worked for Veronica. It was how things had always worked with the Jones and the Lodges.

Somehow they’d taken their working relationship this far though.

“Why are we doing this?” he asked one early Sunday morning when she had other obligations and he wasn’t supposed to be in her bed.

She hummed a questioning noise, not even bothering to look over at him from her seat at the vanity.

“Why shouldn’t we?”

He stared at the white tin ceiling he knew cost more than what most people made in a year, his eyes tracing well worn patterns. Any answer he could give her - he worked for her, she hated his taste in just about everything, they didn’t even like each other most of the time - none of those reasons felt right.

They were free to do as they pleased. As long as they were discreet, they were two consenting adults with no ties to be broken on either side.

“We have nothing in common.”

Veronica titled her head and looked right through him as she plastered on a thick layer of makeup.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she said after a few moments. “The movie. We both liked it.”

He sat up on his elbows to look at her. She cut a striking figure outlined against the large bay window, her ever present pearls gleaming in the early morning light. If it had been anyone else, her remembrance would have been tender. Touching, even. That she had remembered a movie they’d watched when they were young, a moment so small and insignificant.

But this was Veronica Lodge, the self-proclaimed queen of ice, and he knew it was nothing more than a memory. Because it wasn’t for him. Her actions, her presence, her memories were always for someone else.

Jughead lay back down and shut his eyes to grab another ten minutes of sleep before he be kicked out of the apartment and back into the real world.

Years later, he finds himself head first in a toilet, the remnants of everything he’d wanted out of life flushed to live with the alligators and rats. The same place all his dreams ended up. After all, he hadn’t done much with his life before.

He’d tried to go straight for her, and it all came crashing down. Jughead had left it all behind for the green eyed, blonde beauty that had captured his heart at the bar. He’d left behind his family, left behind the only people who gave a rat’s ass about him, and for what?

For a blonde that in a Hitchcockian twist had turned out to be an FBI plant.

All he wanted to do was spend his life with her, to be better for her, to lay his sins at her feet and beg for forgiveness and she’d repaid him with heartbreak.

They’d moved in together. He’d bought a ring with legitimate money. And then her cover was blown. The world knew who she was and, more dangerously, so did Hiram Lodge.

All she’d left behind was an empty apartment and a two word note.

Jughead had no choice but to come back to the Wyrm, his tail tucked between his legs. He knew it was suicide to go back. He didn’t think he cared.

The bar was silent when he’d walked in. He’d offered no apologies and no one asked him for one. Veronica stepped out of her office and with one gesture, Jughead would be dead. She appraised him, a long searching look. It wasn’t until she gave a nod of approval that he was accepted back into the fold.

The same people he’d turned his back on now welcomed him home with open arms and open bottles. They had questions, but those were saved for another time. Now they only wanted to celebrate the return of the prodigal son.

Jughead didn’t remember much of last night outside of snippets of conversations and flashes of people. They meant nothing without context. He didn’t want context.

He did remember this black and white bathroom and Veronica’s instructions to finish the entire mug of coffee that sat steaming on the counter. While she didn’t usually dirty her hands - that was left for Sweet Pea and Fangs - it occurred to Jughead that she might be planning on killing himself for the traitorous year and a half he’d stolen for himself.

Jughead reached for the mug and gagged down the strange taste that mixed with the bitter brew, poisoned or not.

Death would be a fitting end to a heartbreak like this.

It felt like hours later before Veronica came to check on him, still dressed in her nightgown. Her face was clean of makeup, a strangely vulnerable sight.

His head lolled to one side to get a better look at her. The movement caused him to gag and he was clinging to the porcelain once more.

“I’d ask what happened, but Adams already gave me a copy of your file,” Veronica said without any pity or concern.

Jughead groaned and flushed the toilet.

Of course Veronica had already gotten the file that detailed every move, every action, every word of his ill-begotten relationship. Betty was overly-meticulous and the Lodge information network ran deep. Which meant Veronica and her father knew, beat for beat, every embarrassing moment of his life over the past year from the first caress to the last kiss.

Veronica let him stew in the misery of his own making a few moments longer.

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s is on. I’ll have Smithers make you some toast.”

Her perfume lingered, an expensive, musky scent. One more reminder that even when she wasn’t with him, Veronica Lodge held large parts of his life between her manicured fingers.

Jughead retched up the last of the coffee and dragged himself into the tub.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at home with dear hubby?” he greeted as his breath fogs up the air around him. It dissipated just as quickly and he reached into his pocket for another stick of gum he knows won’t do anything to curb his need for a smoke.

Veronica leaned up against the wall next to him and pulled her furs tighter against the wet chill. The light of the Wyte Wyrm’s sign cast a strange halo around her, the neon glow an aposematic signal that should warn away any potential suitors. Instead it only drew their attention towards her and Jughead scowled at anyone who tried to move closer.

“If I was I’d have to make a statement to the police tonight and you know how I hate doing paperwork during the holidays,” she said blithely.

He chuckled, half amused, half indifferent. Leave it to the Lodge’s to ring in the New Year with one more corpse to add to the mountain they’ve staked their fortune on.

“Pity. His overbearing love of football and beer was starting to grow on me,” he deadpanned. Fuck it, he thought as he pulled a clove cigarette out of his pocket and lit it in honor of Veronica’s latest husband. Edgy, or Chevy. Whoever he was Jughead didn’t care enough to learn his name. “Is this one going to be a speed bump or a curb?”

Veronica let out a noise too delicate to be a snicker. His shoulders relaxed despite the press of people around them. She hasn’t laughed like that since that ring was put around her finger.

“I left that up to Malachi’s imagination. A late Christmas present of sorts from the ghost of Christmas Future.”

“Hate to see your version of Marley’s ghost,” he muttered.

The late night crowd, rowdy and drunk, swarmed past them on the busy city streets. This close to midnight people were making their way towards the square to see the ball drop and he crowded closer to Veronica. It’s his job, after all, to keep anyone from getting this close.

“The Bijou’s playing Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she said casually. She reached for his cigarette and obligingly he handed it over.

“It wasn’t on the marquee this afternoon.”

The movie is a peace offering, he knew, but it didn't lessen the sting of knowing that she thought it was this easy to worm her way back into his life. What’s worse is knowing she’s right. This tenuous relationship they’d built over their years together was flimsy and insubstantial and odd. And yet it was still theirs.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the brick behind him.

“If I recall, we both kind of liked it.”

It’s a small olive branch, but it’s enough.

Veronica blended into the crowd with the ease of a native of the city, slipping through the people even as she moves up the current. Jughead shoved his way in, following a few feet behind, her shadow always.

#riverdale #riverdaleevents #jeronica #jughead jones #veronica lodge #february music challenge #event 1 #oddly i do love me some jeronica so long as it's done right

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sunagitsunee · 5 years

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Achilles Heel

Hurt / Comfort, Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoe

POST 115 FIC

ALSO IN AO3

The patterns of the exposed beams of the ceiling were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Levi had been past his major self-loathing stage, one that immediately kicked in after his stupor post the explosion. He’d been through despondency and helplessness after realizing the mishap took out parts of him that were necessary for battle. Denial was there, too, with the fact that he was a diminished version if himself after the accident—that he might not be the strongest one anymore.

What was eating him away was the guilt: survivor’s guilt. Or more so, having to bide his time until he could fully recover just so he could return to the battlefield.

Basically, he had to stay put, bathe in peace, while their allies were dying by the minute.

To him, it was an indirect murder by his hands, because he failed.

Once more he was unsuccessful in fulfilling his promise to his previous commander, just because he was being uncharacteristically reckless. And to make it worse, his current commander was stuck nursing him back to health instead of watching over the poor kids left to finish what they had started.

It was all fucked up.

No—scratch that. It was beyond fucked up.

Levi had already faced all kinds of defeat ever since his memory had afforded to remember. And he thought losing his mother, his dearest friends, his own squad, and even Erwin, were already the peak of the damnation of his existence. He was clearly mistaken.

Because this time, he had lost a little more than himself, and gained back one thing he had forsaken a long time ago.

Well, he had spent the last decade redeeming himself from the clutches of the underground. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, that was what everyone called him. He walked and talked the reputation. He devoted himself to his host and to the cause of saving humanity that the supposed burden became his second skin, to the point that his emotions got in the way—so he got rid of it.

As they say, they had to become what they wanted to kill. And he, including several other members of the original Survey Corps, became monsters to eradicate other monsters. Living with the armor of ferociousness for so long made him forget what it was like to feel despair. People had died left and right and tears came out reservedly, away from a mere human being’s gaze. No big deal.

Before the accident that rendered him catatonic for days, he had the impression that he would outlive everyone, so he had no problems of thinking about who would die next. Normally, his soul would be crushed and be forced to move on the next second because everyone counted on him to carry on the will of the dead.

However, the brush with good old death had changed things drastically.

He can die, alone and powerless. The truth was cold and unforgiving. It hit him like a brick wall. And he hated it.

Years and years of bravado and confidence had led up to this point. And the biggest problem was, who will carry on his will and those who died before him once he is gone? Who was strong enough to bear all the weight he carried in his back? All the lives which were sacrificed, if he couldn’t let them live on through someone else, would they have been wasted all for naught?

Who would care to remember him if he was to suddenly disappear, and no one else was around?

That was not even the worst.

The most fucked up thing that ever happened in that incident was being in the brink of oblivion, almost fading out, but then meeting the gaze of someone else that was filled with terror and sadness over the fact that he was, in fact, perishing.

It stung so bad, that it made him cower at the thought of biting the dust just like that.

He had never thought about it before, to be honest. But back then during his last breaths, when he had the sliver of chances to look upon the face of the person who was calling him back to reality: he saw that expression. Anguished was not even enough to describe what he witnessed. Fear, confusion, resolve, despair, longing… hundred more waves broke through his savior’s—Hanji's—facade while they held him gently, while he clung to that warmth as if it was his lifeline.

Which was stupid. Because they aren’t normally like that. They’d laugh and shout but not once did they throw those sentiments at him without holding back. They were strong like him. They’d lost people too, but they stood up and fought on.

So why, why did the glimpse of their face in sorrow made his wounds ache a thousand times more than they should?

Pathetic. Levi had convinced himself over these past few days that it should be the last time that he’d let them go through that. He wouldn’t go out like that. He’d never want to see Hanji’s eyes, the most vibrant pair he’d ever met, be clouded again in his dying moments.

He would have to make do of what’s left of him to push through, no matter how lamentable the outlook seemed.

“Knock, knock.”

As if on cue, his rumination was disrupted with the voice that retrieved him from the underworld. The door revealed Hanji’s resigned frame, and light steps against the wood followed after as they approached his rigid figure in the tub.

Levi slowly turned his head towards them and took note of their sullenness behind the pretentious but affable smile.

“What? Don’t tell me you wanna take a bath with me?”

“Maybe. But I suck at doing it. You blasting me with water is still the best way to do it.”

Scoff. “It’ll be a different experience since I have less fingers to blast you with.”

He watched how they winced for a split second, probably a knee-jerk reaction after being reminded of his current setbacks. Hanji finally let out a sigh after holding their breath for several seconds before setting by the floor, absentmindedly playing with his bath water by dipping an entire arm.

“I talked with our hosts. The Azumabitos are displeased with how we are doing. Understandably so. But they are willing to hide us until you’re fully on your feet. Thanks to them, I’ve sent a coded message to Mikasa for our current status.”

“Yeah. And are they still all alive?”

“Presumably. Eren was dead for some time, but as expected of shifters, they can transfer consciousness and heal.”

“Fuck those shifters.” Good thing the kids were still kicking, but man, fuck Zeke and his existence. He spearheaded all this fuckery. And he’s still out there thanks to him.

“Our forces have withdrawn for the meantime… They have control over our new recruits, and most of our leaders have been transformed to…titans… I’ve instructed Jean to gather our remaining allies and rummage for whatever is salvageable. I'm—”

Hanji paused and bit their lip before punching the edge of the tub with their other hand, so hard that he felt the tremors from the impact. Levi knew them all too well, they were frustrated, more so with themselves rather than anything else.

“Damn… We’ve lost so much. I was never suited to be this. I’m such a fucking mess. Erwin would have pulled a miracle out of our asses by now. You know that. I’m sure you think the same way.”

NO! Obviously! Erwin was gone, right? And Levi chose it to be that way. He still doesn’t regret the choice of letting him rest, keeping him safe from this abhorrent world. Except that seeing Hanji at the end of their wits was every bit of torturous for him, too. But still…

“You said it before, Hanji. Outcomes aren’t determined by a single choice. Don’t take all the blame.”

Another fist hit the keg. “But I am at fault. I failed to draw a good gamble, and I got you injured by a flaw in the weapon that I made. I’m… I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not even sure if that amounts to anything anymore….”

Jeez.

Hanji was at it again. His guilt was already a thing, but theirs were like a second punch in the gut. They needed to be coherent as soon as possible for all their sakes, and Levi was one of the handful who could knock some sense into them.

“That’s the fiftieth goddamn apology you’ve managed to spew, and as far as I know, you aren’t supposed to be a deprecatory ass.” He spoke a little louder, making sure to emphasize every word. “Maybe if you stopped gambling and living in Erwin’s shadow and be precise like you used to be, those words would actually bear something.”

They went silent for a while, with only the drops from the faucet accentuating the stillness. Hanji was crouched away from his sight, probably pondering on their shortcomings, wallowing on the hurt from his statements, or perhaps repeating his harsh preaching like a mantra until they were consequential.

In the first place, they were the only person who could read between the lines no matter what foul words he spat out.

What he meant, anyway: Hanji had always been the better person, and if there was anyone who could get their stride back, it was them. They just had to get out of their slump, and they need to be back to their usual self. That he trusted them, and that he would do anything for them.

His speech seemed fruitful, much to his relief. When they straightened up, there were less shadows on their face, albeit the weeks of sleep deprivation and stress made the frown lines seem permanent.

Hanji tapped the surface of the water, purposefully splashing on his body, and some, hitting his face.

“Asshole,” they said. Levi kicked lightly and the ripples overflowed until they got into their clothes, too. He got a stifled gasp as a response.

“That’s the shitty glasses that I know.”

They chuckled but stopped abruptly to move closer until their faces were the same level. Their chin rested against the tub and their fingers hovered on the new scar that adorned his visage.

Caressing without touching, that is. For some reason it relaxed Levi; it was as if they were accepting his impairments instead of intruding upon him. It was their usual dynamic, one that went off-track when the war had started.

A thorn got dislodged from his heart knowing their thing was finally back.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Just this once, I say not as your commander. I truly am sorry.”

He shifted fully to his side so their good eyes could meet. There was something thick building up in his throat; he could have ignored it but decided against it. If he didn’t say it on the spot, he may never have the chance to do so.

“Thank you. And this is personal. You could’ve left me there. A dead man served no purpose to your goals, but you ended up putting your life on the line as well. You’re that dumb, but you saved me. I owe you. Everything.”

Hanji smiled and let their touch graze his jaw, right where the gash ended.

“I will admit, I was being selfish in that one. I could have let you rest, but I was scared. I… couldn’t let you go in the end.”

His chest drummed at their words and how they rolled off from their tongue.

“Scared, huh.“

He was, as well. Openly. For the first time. And if the situations were reversed, he’d risk his life to save them, too. Maybe the fear of losing them was a big part of his weakness now, but it’s a weakness he’d have to live with moving forward. "Maybe we are humans after all…”

“Yeah, you monster… I… just realized I needed you. Only humans do that kind of thing, I guess…?”

Needed. By the way the russet in their eye glinted, he knew they meant it in every sense of the word, and he too, felt the same way. More than they could both comprehend. More than the bonds of the dying breed that they share.

It was needing in a much, much, intimate level. And it took that recent trip to demise to bring those feelings bursting to the surface.

Levi’s hand met theirs, and he immediately appreciated the familiar warmth in contrast with the cold water. He held it down by his neck and rested against their palm. Hanji lightly squeezed on his skin.

“Hey… Don’t die alone, Levi. Don’t die before me. Get our freedom in my stead if I go. Promise me.”

He could feel their breath grazing in his face, and it nearly wanted him to breach the small distance that kept them apart and catch their lips. But no, this was not the time for it. It was unfair. War had no space for such ties.

He decided he would do it when they’re finally free, only then, since they deserved the whole of him. They’d start a new life together, that was his new resolve.

Instead, Levi smiled and brought his handicapped grip to nestle on their cheek.

“Don’t be stupid. If you go down, I go down. If you live, I live. So do your damned best to survive, and I would keep at it too. That’s what I can promise.”

Hanji turned their head to press their lips longingly to his palm before speaking.

“Of course… that seems fair to me.”

#levihan #levi #hanji zoe #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #levi ackerman #mine #i couldn't get this out of my head ugh #anyway

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curiosity-killed · 5 years

Text

a hard night

@synergetic-prose ahhh okay i LOVE this prompt and also am sorry that this got....somewhat sidetracked and only sort of followed said prompt orz

Pairing: Shiro/Allura/Ulaz Word count: 2045 Warnings: Major character death (fake), PTSD, nightmares

They all have their own ways of handling their scars. In the middle of the night, Shiro will slip out on silent feet to train against the gladiator until his legs quiver from exhaustion and his arms can no longer lift his bayard. Allura will hole up in the command center, monitoring the surveillance both within and without of Atlas — making sure no one attacks and no one disappears. There are nights where Shiro can’t stand the softness, the openness, of a bed and tucks himself into a corner of the room where he can keep an eye on both them and the door. A chair is his only concession to comfort those nights. Nightmares wake them all. But tonight — tonight is a good night. It’s been a long day, filled from the first moment to the last. Ulaz’s shoulders ache with the strain of having been well-used, and the soft pads of his fingertips sport the tender rawness that comes before callouses have had a chance to form. The bricks they used and the tall beams were still rough, and he probably should have worn gloves. Still, it’s his favorite kind of fatigue: one born of rebuilding instead of fighting, hope instead of fear. The industrial showers of Atlas had washed away the dirt and dust of reconstructing from his fur, and Allura had insisted on braiding back his crest till only the very tip was loose to tickle the back of his neck.

Now, curled around Shiro with his ankles tangled in Allura’s, Ulaz has only enough energy to seep into the honey-warm contentment that has settled deep in his chest. Already, Allura’s chest rises and falls with easy long breaths, and Shiro gives him a sleepy smile from where his face is smushed into the pillow, half-hidden. Lifting a hand, Ulaz combs gently through his bangs, brushing them sideways out of Shiro’s eyes. His smile broadens and he closes his eyes, nestling deeper into the mattress and pillow. Taking a deep breath and letting it out easy, Ulaz does likewise and lets sleep slip blanket-like over him. The grass is soft, flattening beneath his boots rather than crunching and breaking off. The fire hasn’t reached here — yet. Already the air has turned thick and grey, smoke a living thing that coils against his suit, forms feeble hands around his neck. If he peers hard enough, he can make out the shapes of the buildings, half-ruined, crumbling in silhouette through the smog. He can’t be that far away. He has to make it. Urging his limbs to move faster, he finds them heavy, sluggish. Silence rings in his ears, the echoes of an explosion he wasn’t there to witness. There’s a kind of pressure deep in his skull that buzzes in the curves of his inner ears, and the edges of his vision are blurry, smudged like fingerprints on a visor. He trips on the long arms of the smoke still rising from the ashes of these strangers’ homes. Kolivan is first. His eyes are still open, dulled and paled against the stark scarlet dried over his throat and jaw. White bone gleams through the ruin of his cheek. Ulaz’s stomach lurches but he stumbles on. There’s no saving his leader, but the cause has always been greater than one soldier, greater than any of them put together. It must go on. He must go on. More bodies follow soon after, some he knows, some he only saw in passing. Some wear masks but others are bared and their faces look so young, too young, barely older than kits. He cannot stop to grieve for them. The time for helping the dead is long past. All he can do now is search for the living. He doesn’t find them. One by one, the broken bodies of the paladins appear through the rubble. Garish red streaks across the white of their armor. Hand prints pattern Hunk’s cuirass and finish at his cheek, too small to belong to his own hand. Beside him, Pidge is crumpled with her face hidden in the rocks. Lance is a little further off, facing away. Ulaz can’t bring himself to walk to the other side, to see the aftermath of the helmet fractured and dripping red just beside the paladin’s lean body. He doesn’t find Keith at all, only the red bayard and the shards of a luxite blade. His hand flexes, curls tight on empty air instead of his own saber’s handle. Rare and terrible is the force that can shatter a Blade. Swallowing, he forces himself to go on. The urgency of before has drained away, replaced with a heavy despair. Desperation is the only thing that keeps his steps from halting completely. He hasn’t seen Shiro or Allura yet. They could still — they might not be — he could — He finds them together — and alive. Shiro’s grey eyes burn violet, quintessence a toxic blood crackling through him with the acrid taste of Haggar’s touch. His left hand wraps around the black bayard’s handle, curled over Allura’s fist. The tip of the blade juts scarlet and wrong from his back, a perfect line to Allura’s arm. His right hand is pressed to her belly, knuckles kissing her skin where the blade of his prosthesis has burnt through armor and undersuit. The scent of burning flesh clogs the air, chokes Ulaz where the smoke hadn’t succeeded. Rigor alone seems to hold them in place, bodies using the last of their fight to make sure that this gruesome sacrifice is complete. When Allura turns to him, it is with jerky motions, mechanical. Her blue eyes burn. “You,” she hisses. Blood trickles dark down her lip, sluggish. “You were supposed to stop this. This is your fault.” He knows enough about Altean anatomy now to know where her injuries must fall, know the source of the thick black-burgundy blood staining her teeth. His mind, inconsiderate beast, turns to that with a kind of detachment, cataloguing the damage done to her as if he were still performing research in Haggar’s torture chambers. A punctured lung, internal bleeding, potential rupture of digestive organs — by rote, it notes them down as if in black-and-white text on a report. “Why didn’t you do anything,” Allura snarls, voice rising in a hoarse call. “Why didn’t you save us?” His feet are planted to the spot, staked into the grass as if they’ve grown roots. Even if he could move, he doesn’t know what he’d do. To touch her would be an insult, a disgrace. She’s right. Her words deserve more than his faltering comfort, his insufficient justification. He should have fought harder, should’ve done more, sacrificed himself before accepting the death of a thousand others. “You failed us,” Allura cries. Beneath his feet, the planet shudders and groans, giving way at last. When he falls among the rubble, the darkness is almost a relief from the hatred in Allura’s eyes. He wakes to the soft hush of Atlas’ air cycle kicking on. Their room smells of soft things, clean fabric, a hint of juniberries, but the smell of death clings to his fur and mind. Swallowing, he unfolds his fists to lay flat over his belly and forces himself to breathe. Long, slow inhales and matching exhales expand his chest, press the warm fur up against his palms. His heart beats a frenetic rhythm in his neck, ragged with remembered fear and adrenaline. He remembers that planet, that mission, that failure. He’d been so much younger then — in heart more than years — and still heady with the arrogance of the newly initiated. Back then, he’d still believed that their sacrifices meant that no one else had to sacrifice, that their deaths meant that no others had to die. And then Kijala Four had happened. His fingers tighten, claws scraping through his fur, and he forces them to relax once more. He taught himself this practice back when he was working under Haggar. Any discrepancies, any odd behaviors, would jeopardize the mission, and so he could not afford to get up and walk the ship’s cold corridors or commandeer a training room until his body was too exhausted for dreams. Any comfort he sought, he found alone and in stillness. The witch’s eyes were ever-present and rarely inhibited by wall or closed door. Like a small creature, he holed up in the darkness and stilled his trembling limbs to keep away from the hunter’s gaze. The mattress dips and there’s a rustle to his left. “‘Laz?” Allura mumbles, his name a mush of sound. “Apologies,” he murmurs, “I did not mean to wake you.” “Didn’t,” Allura says before a yawn splits her words, squeaking on the end. She lifts a hand to sweep back the great tide of white hair tumbling over her forehead. “Atlas thought you were in distress.” Despite himself, Ulaz’s lips twist in displeasure. He should be used to it by now: Allura and Atlas are nearly a single whole, divisible only with effort and never completely, and though Shiro’s connection to Atlas is dwarfed next to his with the Black Lion, his time nestled in Allura’s soul left them bound. By extension, occasionally, Ulaz benefits from a strange sort of benevolence from the ship that offers him rooms at a preferred temperature or pathways opening up to speed his trips around the many levels. Still, he cannot quite accustom himself to the invasiveness of the ship’s sentience and omniscience. “It is nothing,” Ulaz says, stiff. Propping her cheek up on one fist, Allura eyes him in silence for a moment. There’s a keenness, a knowing, to her gaze that tiredness doesn’t abate. “Was it a nightmare?” she asks. He hums, reluctant to give much answer. It was a nightmare in the most basic sense, a terrible dream wrought of his own fears — but it was not only fantasy, was grounded in true failings, in sense memories that linger in his hands and ribcage. He doesn’t want to burden her with the phantasms his mind concocts or the terrible truths from which they’re born. “Would touch make it worse?” Allura asks. That gives him pause, and he hitches up his shoulders in an uncertain shrug. “Not worse,” he offers. It’s enough for Allura to give a firm nod and turn around to swing her legs off the edge of the bed. The motion seems to rouse Shiro, who lifts his head to squint blearily first at her and then at Ulaz. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “Nothing,” Ulaz answers. “Just a bad dream.” Shiro’s forehead scrunches up in a frown. It doesn’t ease as Allura steps around the foot of the bed to clamber up on the other side. Ulaz has to shift inwards to make room, and in doing so, realizes that something’s changed about their relative proportions. He twists around to look at Allura and finds her his same height, tall enough to curve around him from back to toes and reach over him to Shiro. “How is that?” Allura asks. Her voice comes out in a warm breath against his shoulder, and he can feel the steady thump of her heart against his back. Swallowing, he gives a little nod. “Good,” he says. She hums and nestles a little closer, tucking her feet between his ankles and her face into the curve of his neck. On his other side, Shiro watches the proceedings with a solemn, confused frown before it eases into a gentle smile. Smallest of their trio, he folds himself into Ulaz’s chest so that his head fits under his chin and his left arm curls around his side. If they stay like this, that arm’s bound to go numb, but Shiro shows no sign of discomfort, and Ulaz makes no move to dissuade him. The weight of their bodies on either side seems to form a kind of gravity, a grounding force that tethers him here and now. He sinks into it, lets his lungs follow the steady rise and fall of their chests, lets his heart settle into a matching rhythm. The nightmares will return someday, will crawl back on broken, bloodied feet. For now, though, his princess and paladin will keep him safe.

#shalluraz #shiro #allura #ulaz #voltron #vld #voltron ficlet #my writing #ot3: asterism

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groundzerobakugo · 5 years

Text

not as it seems // k. bakugou

gender in this imagine will be female. if you wish for me to create this with male or genderneutral pronouns please feel free to send a message my way! i would be happy to help!

also, i’m kinda getting like, film noir detective kinda vibes??? so imma write half of this as like, journal entries and the other half as actual scenes. i changed a few things around to allow myself better wiggle room, i hope you don’t mind! you may have just broken my writers block w this prompt!

((words or phrases with an asterisk* will have their definitions written at the end))

...

23 february // tokyo

it’s late and the rain’s coming down hard, but i can’t sleep. i’ve been hired by local police because there’s been talk of a strange beast that lurks at night, leaving victims with little to no blood left. civilians are passing it off as animal attacks, but i have reason to suspect this is the work of a vampire. however, i haven’t seen a vampire move like this in a long time. not since nagoya five years ago, back when i was still an apprentice. this vampire doesn’t seem to hunt often, about once every other week, never the same day. they switch it up, too, there’s no link with any victims that i’ve uncovered yet. victim one; twenty-something male. brown eyes. blond hair. a college graduate about to take over for his father’s law firm. described as a likable and easy-going guy engaged to the daughter of another larger firm. no known motive. found in marunouchi. victim two; forty-two female. blue eyes. dark hair. single mother with three kids. worked at a menial convenience store as a clerk. kids have gone into government care and don’t want to talk to visitors. found in tsukiji. victim three; thirty-six year old male. green eyes. dark hair. ex-convict, charged with third-degree murder and vehicular manslaughter. no living relatives. found in shinjuku. victim four; a seventy-eight year old male. dark eyes. dark hair. grandfather with three grandchildren, one from each daughter. described as gentle and a humorous soul. found in roppongi. this case is already giving me a headache. no links aside from each body found in a separate district of tokyo, no pattern found between locations. this vampire may be the smartest i’ve encountered. my only wish is to have my predecessor to help me. i’ve sent word, but with him training another potential hunter, i’m left to solve this case on my own.

(last name, first name).

07 march // tokyo

the vampire has claimed yet another victim. a twenty-two year old female; dark eyes. blond hair. a wannabe fashion blogger in harajuku. her friends said she was finishing up some side work at her job and they called authorities after victim hadn’t posted to social media in two days. i thought i could solve this case without the help of intense magic, but with the way things are progressing, i have to use all necessary skills to save the innocent lives being slaughtered. i hate cases with so much blood, it makes me uneasy. may the gods help me solve this quickly so my eyes don’t have to see another gruesome crime scene photo for another few months. to think something that used to be human could do such actions against something they’d once been. does vampirism isolate the mind so far that you’re okay with cutting up and draining innocent souls? it’s revolting to think about. i will be visiting the past scenes tomorrow, do some magic canvassing, see if i can get a picture of this vampire to track him down. looks like more sleepless nights ahead.

(last name, first name).

you moved quietly down the alley, fingertips brushing against the brick walls as a low blue glow followed your touch. the glow spread throughout the alley, and you stopped just before where the body had been found. you gagged at the dried blood that caked the pavement, but you swallowed and took a deep breath.

“in oculis de mortuus.”*

the scene before you changed as you made contact with the dried substance, a blue glow swirling and changing the scene into a dark alley, lit faintly only by street lights and the waning moon. your stomach flipped as you felt yourself fly through the air. the first victim was thrown down the alley from the sidewalk. you cried out, the world around you turning black. though, he wasn’t dead yet, he still had a faint pulse. you were still in his last moments.

“please, please, it wasn’t what it looked like!” you heard his voice echo, your mouth moving in time.

“that’s what they all say,” a gravelly voice replied. you turned, vision hazy as you saw the tall silhouette of your killer.

“no! i promise i won’t do it again, please, don’t kill me!”

“promises, promises. you humans love to fucking lie through your teeth, calling it promises. tried that shit once, asshole didn’t last a week. now, quit fucking begging, it won’t help.”

you screamed, feeling as through your body had been lit aflame as the vampire’s teeth entered your neck, claws digging deep into your skin.

your legs jellied underneath you, and you collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard as the scenery returned to normal. every inch of your body ached, screamed at you, with every movement. you could feel the slight trickle of blood slip down your lip, and you wiped it away.

as much as you wanted to go home, you couldn’t. there were four other scenes to see, four other victims’ last moments to search through.

you limped your way down the street, body aching and bruises; you were covered in fresh scars, and the bloody nose had yet to stop since the third victim. the sun had long since dipped behind the horizon, the full moon illuminating your path along with the street lights. people no longer ignored you, as the blood soaking your shirt and jeans caused many to stare in horror.

every gentle breeze felt like ice-hot fire burning your skin, and you could feel the few burns on your arms and chest ache under your shirt. you’d never encountered such horrid and painful last moments before you began your hunt for the vampire. most were emotionally calm, having been elders who made their peace, but the few painful ones were small children victims of hit-and-runs or freak accidents.

your neighbor shot you a worried glance, eyes widening at the sight of you.

“(last name), are you alright?” kirishima eijirou asked.

but upon seeing the ruby red eyes, your breath hitched in your throat, and you flinched away from his touch. “sorry, kiri-kun, just... rough day at work.”

his face showed no hurt, and instead he gave you a soft smile. “i know how that is. rest easy, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“thank you,” you mumbled, returning the smile, though only partially.

he stayed in the hall just long enough to make sure you could get into your apartment, and then he gave you a wave before heading back into his own place. you two shared an odd neighborly relationship, often times only seeing one another in passing. he was some sort of detective for another district’s force, you knew that much, but as you wouldn’t want him knowing your line of work, you never asked specifics of his.

as much as your tired limbs had wanted to just clamber into bed, you pulled up a chair at your desk and flipped open your notebook.

08 march // tokyo

i have never experienced so much pain and regret reliving a victim’s last moments as i have today. i may have overdone it; there are so many physical wounds it feels as though i lived through each one personally. being thrown into an alley, shoved through glass, dropped from a twenty story building, slammed against a wall, twice might i add, and sliced open what feels like a million and one times. i’ll need to recover for a few days before continuing to collect evidence and tracking down the killer. however, the pain wasn’t for nothing. i finally found a recurring pattern. it’s not much to go off of, but every victim was begging for their life and saying they’ll never do it again. what ‘it’ is, i still don’t know. perhaps this is a beast come to take revenge on a group of people who did something. though, two young adults, two middle-aged people, and an elderly person? something doesn’t add up. what would such a strange group beg for their lives for? what did they promise to never do again? in a few days, i’ll interview the ones who had family members, see if they had any contact with any other of the victims. my predecessor has finally replied. he didn’t say much, but he said this case was chosen specifically for me; maybe there’s something in this case i’m missing, but so far it seems unsolvable. i’m missing something, and while i need another, i don’t wish for another victim to give me that needed piece to my puzzle. he sent his regards, as well as the newbie. he seems sweet, but maybe too sweet to get into this line of work. now to make a special brew of restituo and hope i can be up and about before this vampire claims a sixth victim.

(last name, first name).

you closed your journal and looked out the window, into the night. you had about eight days until you calculated your vampire striking once again. eight days to solve this puzzle and save a life.

you walked with a slight limp, a crutch under one arm. five days later, not even your restituo serum could heal all the wounds inflicted. there was always a price with magic; and it looked as though the fates were having you ride out your twisted ankle like a mortal to punish you for peering into so many painful last moments. it was to be expected, but you hated the limited mobility.

it was the thirteenth of march, only a few days left until you suspected the vampire would hunt down another innocent. they knew of one thing in their miserable immortal lives: to hunt down humans and drain them of blood.

at least, that was what your predecessor had told you. that was the first line in the vampirism textbook you read back in middle school, when he’d first taken you under his wing. that was what you remembered when a vampire had claimed your parents’ lives.

you huffed to yourself and leaned up against a brick wall, elevating your foot slightly off the ground.

maybe that was why your predecessor had given you every vampire case that had filtered into the agency. you’d been hunting them since before you graduated high school; taking revenge on the single vampire that had murdered your kindhearted parents for no reason, by killing everyone you came across.

an itch crawled across your skin, and you looked up, making eye contact with hard, crimson eyes. they stared at you from across the street, cars passing in between the collision of crimson and (eye color). you stood straight and adjusted your crutch back under your arm. he stared you up and down, only the faintest of smirks stretching across his face.

a large bus flew down the street, and when it had passed, the man was gone.

your brow furrowed, and you blinked. there was something familiar about that smirk, those crimson eyes. you pulled out your small notebook and jotted down the description of the man.

tall. medium build. red eyes. light hair. wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and black boots. handsome.

you looked back across the street, the itch still there and the healed burns aflame once more. a haunting through crossed your mind, and you thought back to the vampire you’d seen in each final moment.

that man had to be your vampire.

16 march // tokyo

if all of my calculations are correct, that bloodsucker's on the hunt once more. there are several districts i've yet to comb through, but i believe i've tracked its next spot in kanda. i've placed several charms throughout the district to alert me when its on the prowl, but i've got a bad feeling about tonight. i'm going to head down to the station, see if there's been any sightings of the vampire recently, see if i can narrow his location down in the district. if not, i may have to use more magic to track down the son of a bitch, however it may prove daunting. since using the spell to see the final moments of the vampire's victims, i've yet to be able to reach my full capability again. after this is all over, i'll have to recharge myself, take a vacation some place. it's almost dark and i have to get ready. may the fates help me tonight.

(last name, first name).

you strolled around the bustling city streets with your hands in your pockets. there was still a slight limp, but you no longer needed the help of crutches to get around. even without magical help, you still healed faster than the average human mortal--perks of being a witch. though, it still hurt to walk on.

the temperature had dropped considerably since the sun had hidden itself away until the next day; the city lights turning on and illuminating the streets and neon signs coloring the buildings you passed with reds and blues and greens.

if this had been a different night, one where you weren't hunting down a murderous vampire, you might have found yourself enjoying the quiet walk. you'd have brought the small camera gifted to you and taken a few scenery shots. perhaps you'd find a small ramen shop and people-watched from the window, striking up conversation with the owners. but it wasn't that kind of night. you'd have to return another day to do that.

an itch you felt a few days before crawled across your skin once more, and you looked up. it was hard to tell in the dark, but you scanned the crowd for any sign of your suspect; tall, blond, most likely in a hoodie and jeans. but you kept walking, the itch never leaving you as you continued in the same direction.

you moved passed business men and the odd twenty-something year old couples, none shifting their gaze your way, and to those who did, you offered a small smile and continued on with your hunt. you walked by a small ramen shop, one that smelled of fresh pork broth and sizzling chashu. nothing special about it, but there was an itch; one that made your skin feel as though you'd lit yourself aflame.

you stopped and peered into the shop. nothing out of the ordinary stood out to you, you couldn't even see anyone who somewhat resembled your vampire. you stepped into the shop, maybe there was someone you missed.

"irasshaimase!" someone called from the kitchen.

you flashed them a polite smile and scanned the restaurant once again. however, while you hadn't seen the blond you were tracking, you recognized a familiar redhead sat at the bar.

"kiri-kun?" you called out.

the redhead looked up and looked at you. "(name)? i didn't know you came here."

"uh, first time," you said, taking another look around. "actually kind of, well, working right now."

"oh, nice! you on break?" he asked.

"not really," you replied, still checking out the patrons of the shop. "uh, have you by chance seen a blond guy, decently tall, red eyes?"

kirishima hesitated. "uh, n-no? why?"

you turned to him. "veritatum dicere," your hand made contact with his shoulder, and you watched the blue glow travel across his skin. "i'll ask again, have you seen him?"

"bakugou, he-he's grabbing his meal, just out back." you let go of his shoulder and watched as kirishima's face fell. "(n-name), it's not what you think."

you gave him a sympathetic smile. "sorry, kiri-kun, but it's my job. subsisto." and with that, you hurried out the front door and slipped into the alleyway that led to the back of the ramen shop. but just as you hit the back alley, a body crashed into yours.

a girl, no older than fifteen, stared up at you with frightened eyes. there were fresh bruises lining her uncovered shoulders, shirt torn to smithereens and one shoe missing from her feet. your blood ran cold.

"are you alright?" you asked, gripping her by the shoulders to steady her. "who did this to you?"

tears formed at her waterline, and she looked over her shoulder. you followed her gaze into the darkness and nodded.

"go home, get some rest, file a police report in the morning," you said, looking into her eyes. "you'll be okay."

she didn't reply; she only nodded and then left the alleyway, stumbling over her feet as she rushed away from the scene. that vampire would pay for his crimes.

you looked back to the darkness, your jaw set. "fata protegas me." the glow encompassed your body and you stepped further into the alley.

"let go of me!" a man shouted. "it wasn't what it looked like!"

you stopped. that... that didn't sound like your vampire.

"right," a familiar voice scoffed. "i just so fucking happened to come across what looked like a fifty year old pervert fucking raping a fifteen year old girl. now, you can either beg for your life and prolong this shit, or you can keep your shit quiet and die quickly."

what?

"wa-wait! don't kill me! i'll do anything!"

you crept alongside the wall, peaking from the cover of a dumpster.

there he was; your blond vampire in his hooded jacket. he was holding a rather large man against the wall, while said man struggled against his hold. your eyes widened. wait, what...? did... did the vampire save the human girl?

the blond sneered at the man. "it's your kind of people that makes me glad i'm no longer fucking human. you're the scum of this shitty earth."

no, vampires had no humanity. the moment a human's mind changed from mortal to immortal, they lost their moral compass to the fever. it was impossible for a bloodsucker to think like a human. your teachings, your experiences, your cases; you'd never encountered a killer who was able to decipher who was good and who was bad. it was all a gray area, a free for all.

"no! no, please!" the man pleaded. "i-i'll change!"

the blond tsked. "no. you won't. maybe you'll be better in another damn life, but this one's over."

you cringed upon hearing the man's cries and the sound of teeth shredding skin, a faint metallic scent permeating the air. he... that vampire... saved that girl? it couldn't be.

you stood shakily from behind the dumpster, eyes hesitantly turning to face the vampire. his teeth were embedded into the man's neck, claws deep into his chest as he drank greedily. you stepped out of the shadows, head feeling foggy as you saw the blood.

the blond noticed you from the corner of his vision and momentarily stopped.

“i don’t understand,” you muttered. “you had an easy target, hell, two easy targets. and you went for this one?”

he rolled his eyes. “i don’t kill innocents.”

“you don’t... what? but-but you’re a bloodsucker,” you argued. “vampires... vampires don’t have the rationality for that.”

he stepped away from his victim, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe off some of the blood from his chin. “would you rather me a fucking mindless killer? would that make this shit better or something?”

your eyes widened. “no! no, i... i’m just so confused. you-you’re supposed to be the monster, vampires are always the monsters.”

his boots echoed as he walked up to you, the crimson seeming even more vibrant than you remembered. “not this time, dumbass. like i said, i don’t kill innocents.”

you took a step back, nose wrinkling at the stench of human blood coming from his mouth. “but the others? what did they do?”

“they were damn criminals. extortion, robbery, homicide,” the blond said. “now, if you don’t fucking mind, i was kind of in the middle of something.”

you looked at his victim, mind spinning slightly as you remembered the final moments you witnessed, the pain you felt time and time again as you suffered firsthand at the hands of the vampire. every bone in your body felt as though it was breaking once more.

(eye color) met with crimson, glassed over with pain. “i thought you were the worst kind of monster. how you could just end an innocent human life with so much suffering on their part. i was ready to obliterate you the moment i saw you. i thought you were a villain.”

he scoffed. “well, i fucking ain’t. sorry to burst your damn bubble.”

“i--”

“bakugou!” someone shouted. “bakugou! dude, are you okay?!”

you turned on your heel, surprised to see kirishima running up to you two.

“i’m fine, shitty hair,” the blond, bakugou, grumbled.

the redhead slowed in his step as he neared. “i... i thought she was going to kill you, bro.”

you nodded. “i was, but then i realized he wasn’t who i thought.”

bakugou scoffed. “you couldn’t kill me even if you tried. you’re a mortal.”

“i’m a witch, actually,” you replied. “near mortal, but still strong enough to kill you and others like you.”

kirishima’s eyes widened. “that’s why i told you where he was? why i couldn’t move after you left?”

“you fucking what?!” bakugou growled at the redhead.

you placed a hand on bakugou’s shoulder. “caput frigus.” the muscles under your hand relaxed into the blue glow, and bakugou’s glare lessened some. “it wasn’t his fault.”

the blond grumbled a bit. “fine, whatever. now, if you’ll fucking excuse me, i’ve got something to finish up.” he cast another red-eyed glare your way before stomping to the bloody victim.

“he’s not as rough if you get to know him,” kirishima said. “he can be kinda nice, when he wants to be.”

you spared a glance at the vampire, sucking out the last few drops of blood from the victim. “i’m sure. i, uh, i should actually get going. i need to wrap up my case.”

“are you sure? we could give you a ride?”

“that won’t be necessary,” you replied. “but thank you.”

17 march // tokyo

it turns out nothing was as it seemed. the vampire, who i thought was the villain the whole time, the monster, he was actually the savior. all those people he killed were actually criminals. still not too sure what the did, but for some reason i believed him, like i had no reason to distrust his judgement. after all, i saw him save a fifteen year old girl today from being raped. i don’t have much time left in tokyo. all might wants me back home in a few days, which hardly leaves me anytime to explore the city as i wish. but at least i was able to wrap up the case without any innocent lives lost. i’m just thankful i was wrong for once, that a vampire had some decency left in him to target a certain group of people. though, it doesn’t excuse he was still killing human beings, i feel there should be some exception to my code. that being said, i still need to stay sharp out there. knowing so many human beings could be so monstrous to their own kind, it makes me want to change my profession from supernatural work to entering the human justice system. perhaps be like the vampire anti-hero. bakugou. i wonder if i’ll ever see him again while i’m out hunting. maybe someday. after all, he was kinda cute, if i do say so myself. however, until then, i still have a job to do.

(last name, first name).

you looked out the window, the sun just beginning to set once again. after hunting vampires for so many years, your sleeping habits adjusted to their own nightlife hours. you hadn’t seen a rising sun in quite some time.

you stood from your desk and stretched for a moment, hearing your bones crack and pop from the movement. you padded your way into the kitchen and pulled out a noodle cup from the cupboard. it wasn’t much, but you very seldom had the time to create an actual dish.

with the kettle on, you turned towards the living room, oblivious to the crimson eyes watching you from your patio.

bakugou watched as you moved about your tiny apartment; his eyes were calculating, trained on every little movement you made within the space. it wasn’t long until he noticed the small limp to your left leg, or how if you stretched your arm too far your face scrunched up ever so slightly. and he didn’t miss the faint marks on your neck--the same spot he bit into with every victim, the right side, just below the jawline where it gave him perfect access to the jugular vein.

he’d heard of witches and wizards with powerful magic, ones who took on the jobs as supernatural hunters in the modern age; hearts set on keeping humanity safe within its modern times. witches were the clean up crew of the supernatural realm. set to keep humanity blind to all they could never understand.

he’d heard of such powerful magic that witches and wizards could relive the past moments of the dead, though not without sacrifice. he’d witnessed them give their lives just to see the past, unable to come back to their physical selves if the situation was too agonizing. and upon seeing your wounds, bakugou realized you were one of those witches.

hesitant, but only for just a moment, he knocked on the glass door, hiding in the shadows.

your brow furrowed upon hearing the knock. was there someone on your patio? had all might sent for someone to grab you already? was deku there to take you back home?

you peeled back the curtain, jumping when you noticed crimson eyes staring back at you, and you slid open the door.

“what the hell are you doing on my patio, bloodsucker?!” you hissed, mostly from the fear of finding the blond rather than someone from your home.

his eyes narrowed. “oi, i’m the only one giving out fucking nicknames, shitty witch.”

you glared. “i’ll ask again, what are you even doing here?”

“that’s none of your damn business,” he replied.

“so you just thought it would be fun to scare the shit out of me?” you asked. “how kind of you, bakugou.”

he scoffed but was interrupted by the screaming kettle before he could reply.

you hurried back inside and poured the boiling water into the cup, carefully setting the hot kettle back onto the stove. when you turned around, bakugou was glaring at the noodles from the entryway of your patio.

“what? did you want one or something?” you asked, eyeing him eyeing your cup.

he glared. “as fucking if. that shit’s disgusting.”

“it’s all i’ve got,” you shrugged. “i can’t cook, and i don’t have money to go out and buy dinner every night.”

“you can track down shitty vampires day in and day out and learn and memorize advanced spells and shit, but you can’t fucking cook?” the blond asked, skeptical. “fuck it. i’m gonna have to teach you then.”

you laughed. “not too sure how you’re gonna do that in two days.”

he looked at you. “you’re leaving tokyo?”

“well yeah, case solved. i get to go home and begin another one,” you replied. “i travel all over japan to solve supernatural crimes, it’s my job, and while tokyo has some pretty bad ones, my predecessor is who choses them for us.”

“oh.”

you looked over at the blond. “i’ll probably be back someday though, maybe even this year. you could teach me then?”

“as long as you don’t come back to kill me.”

you laughed aloud. “then it’s official then. i come back, you teach me how to cook. deal?”

“fucking deal,” the vampire replied.

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