#love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hitlikehammers · 2 months

Text

on the radio

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness, love beyond the boundaries of what it even meant to love before the spring of ‘86 ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar!eddie, teacher!steve, rockstar husbands, tour dates coincide with summer vacation because Eddie can't sleep without his Stevie thank you for your cooperation with this policy, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day fourteen: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time (@sharpbutsoft)

more codependent rockstar!husbands of the je ne regrette rien variety, you say? oh, well, I mean: I guess ♥️

Steve can fucking taste freedom, he swears.

He looks at the list of student records he needs to close out to transfer to the high school before he can pack away the last of his office and sign the hell off for the school year—and start the summer tour cycle with his husband through the Midwest, up and down the East Coast, and then they’re fucking breaking Europe, got signed on to a couple festivals, and Steve is goddamn vibrating with excitement and shit, just: are there parts of your heart that like, fit together? Like bones where they connect and shit, or is it all just one piece?

Steve thinks is more like one piece, but he is gonna go with that it’s more like stitched together or something, just so he can fucking say exactly what he feels, which is that his whole goddamn chest—heart and ribs and lungs and all the other fucking bones and shit there—all of it’s seriously bursting at the seams just with so much fucking pride, okay, because his Eddie’s goddamn made it. This dream of his isn’t just gold records; it’s a plane across an ocean to play for tens of thousands of people who don’t even all speak their language and that’s…that’s just like…

Steve’s so goddamn proud he’s split between wanting to scream about it from the top of the school and maybe sob about it with all kinds of sappy declarations peppered in as he messy-cries, so: bursting at the seams. Heart in his chest so full it’s primed to just explode like a goddamn confetti cannon.

Though time has kind of served as testament to the fact that that sensation’s less exclusively about Eddie’s music, or his success, and more just about Eddie.

Eddie, and loving him beyond the boundaries of any understanding Steve ever had about what it meant to love before the spring of ‘86.

He’s almost through the ‘V’s at the end of his alphabet of names when he notes the time—shit, he almost missed it.

He reaches for tiny radio in the corner of his desk that literally just lives there for the purpose of Eddie and the boys doing interviews on local stations every so often, and tunes it in 93.9.

…elcome to most of the infamous lords of midwestern metal, Corroded Coffin, the DJ’s introducing and good, Steve sighs and flips through his…fifth-to-last folder—just in time, he can listen to the interview the guys are squeezing in before hitting the road, then he can get home while the band’s getting their flight to the first venue in Chicago, they’ve got a couple of days there and he and Eddie are planning to look at some houses; Erica’s out of high school they’re ready to make the leap, and Steve will take the 6:10 flight and head straight to the show like the often do, it should work perfect; it’s great to have you guys back but Jeff, I gotta ask, the maybe most…colorful?

You can say obnoxious, Lenny, if anyone knows, we do, Jeff’s shooting playfully, and Steve snickers, distracted by closer folder-number-five and flipping open number-four.

I would never, the DJ gasps theatrically to laughter, and Gareth’s muted holler almost like he’s here! and then he continues on; that does open the line of inquiry, though: where’s your notorious frontman, Mr. Munson?

Steve’s hand slips on the folder; he barely catches it before it falls to the floor.

Eddie…Eddie’s not, not there?

Steve tries to talk down the adrenaline response that’s never wholly died at the idea of the love of his fucking life gone missing, and worse, the idea of something happening to him while unaccounted for: Jeff was playful. Gareth was teasing. They have to at least have known somethingabout Eddie’s absence, Steve talks down his racing heart to something just a little anxious as he listens for clues, and doesn’t have to mine little hints or anything even, it’s clear and plain:

Eddie’s got a sore throat, so like the diva he is, he’s resting it before showtime, Dougie chiming in and yeah, two points to that: one, the only reason Eddie’d have a sore throat would have been fine by sun-up, yeah, and it was, because Eddie was all sunshine and manic energy when they parted ways that morning, and then two: Steve actually knows these guys well enough to be able to tell when they’re talking out their asses.

And Doug is maybe the worst liar of the three on-air.

Steve’s chewing hard on his Bic, trying hard to keep a level head about this: if anything drastic had happened, he’d have heard, they all have his office number, they all know where he is, it would—

Steve startles when he hears rubber squeaking down the hall outside the office; as far as he knows, though, he’s the only person here—everyone else takes at least a week free from this place after classes end, but Steve has a timeline, and a flight to catch, so y’know: sacrifices must be made and whatnot.

He barely gets to turn in his chair to consider getting up to check when the culprit and his perpetually-trashed Reeboks skids to a halt in the doorway.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie beams at him, a little breathless, hair a fucking mess but smiling so big, those dimples popped so deep: shit, if Steve’s heart hadn’t been quick already, that’d fucking do the trick.

“Eddie,” Steve stands, and meets him in the middle where Eddie’s already crossing to him, kissing him immediately and hungrier than the maybe-five-hours since the saw each other really fucking merits. “What, you, why aren’t you at the station?”

Eddie’s eyes flick to the radio as he clocks the question and of all the reactions Steve could predict from him, the fake-sheepish grin with the glimmering fucking eyes?

Probably could have guessed that one.

“I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?”

“Yeah, something important,” he nods fervently and Steve frowns.

‘Babe, you could have called, I’m meeting you at the arena, I could drop it with security if needed to,” he offers, argues: but not really, and not like it fucking matters, because here Eddie is, and the boys were planning to run straight to the airport from the interview, both of which are in the city but Steve’s not, and Eddie’s gonna have to be fucking quick, here, if he doesn’t want to be late for his goddamn flight; did he already swing by the house for whatever it is he needs, it—

“Nope,” Eddie pops the denial like a bubble; “can’t leave it with security.”

Steve squints at him, because now it’s a puzzle. Now it’s Eddie being…kind of a little shit.

And Steve doesn’t even begrudge him the momentary panic before; he’s too adorable. Steve’s too fucking in love.

And now he’s curious.

“You kissed me goodbye.”

“Oh, always,” Eddies almost offended by the suggestion he could have forgotten that. As in: ever.

“Said you loved me.”

“Bigger than the universe,” Eddie says exactly what he came up with that morning, like he does every morning, some new outlandish way to describe the scope of his affections and Steve rolls his eyes but eats it up every fucking time; “and the universe is always expanding so I love you bigger than what it’s expanded to since this morning, too.”

Steve can’t help but kiss him for that, because; well.

Because.

“What the hell else then?” Steve asks, because Eddie has a fucking timeline here and then his husband’s grin stretches slow, and sly, and then he’s drawing Steve in, and kissing him deep, licking as far as he can reach and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist tight, knocking him a little off balance by design and Steve goes with it, because he fucking loves it, and then—

“Goddamnit, Edward,” Steve growls between them into Eddie’s shit-eating fucking grin as he smacks Steve’s ass, again, and keeps his hand there to squeeze while he pecks at Steve’s lips with feeling.

“It’s good luck, baby, for the journey!” Eddie protests between kisses. “It would curse the whole shebang if I left without showing the appreciation duly accorded to a goddamn masterpiece,” and then he leans in and goes deep one more time, draws a moan out and drags it slow from Steve’s lips before breaking away to declare emphatically:

“Unthinkable.”

And Steve…Steve fucking loves this man bigger than the whole expanding fucking universe or whatever, so he kisses him back until Eddie’s the one moaning, then pushes him away, kinda hard.

“Get out of here, you fucking lunatic,” but then he’s quick to drag Eddie back for one last kiss to mouth against him: “have a safe flight, I’ll see you tonight.”

And Eddie smiles against him, and makes to actually listen, but.

Not before Steve slaps that ass as it makes its way out the door.

Turnabout’s fair play.

Or whatever.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

115 notes · View notes

frozen-fountain · 15 days

Text

Find the Word... Love Edition!

Thank you to @mothboypoison for the tag :) In return I nominate @hrh-spinach, @ourspecial, @runicmagitek, @laboradorescence, @visualheresy, @keioschaos, @wandringaesthetic, @danceswithdarkspawn! And anyone else who wants to join in.

Words for me to find: hand, familiar, embrace, yearning, dear

Words for you to find: lips, holding, present, star, simple

Hand

- from Aperture Priority

The tram left them in the shadow of the command centre, under a roof patterned with leaping dolphins in the undulating hues of the sea. Last time he stood below that waveless surface Elmyra kissed his cheek and put him on the journey home, and just the touch of her hand melted the layer of rime that still clung to his skin after months making wind power in the far north. She had pictures to show him, too, of Corel in a new spring where the sun awakened the mountain fern and things were being built again – thanks in no little part to the expertise a certain master of materia shared with them the year before. He smiled as he took Marlene's hand again and led her through wide streets bereft of road markings where no cars roved, framed by cascades of flowering vines and merry market stalls. Elmyra's green fingertips had touched every part of the city, left a little Cetra magic down every dirty alley she walked at the start of it all, and some of those sparks still danced on his skin, too. The town was lit in amber the first evening, when she took his hand and marched him through the streets she helped to shape, back to her place without a second's hesitation. Not until her clothes came off and she covered her chest with her palms, like he was meant to be surprised she didn't have the body of a twenty-year-old beauty queen under there. He stepped closer and took her hands in his and she placed them on his arm, over the rough and cratered band where skin met metal.

Familiar

- from Dulosis

Elena blinked. The lines between the sky and the trees were still there. Connecting lines. Not separation boundaries. One could not be without the other. “My parents used to say people who did drugs only had themselves to blame when they ended up selling their bodies in the gutter.” Her mouth moved on its own, shaping familiar sounds with no weight behind them. Yuffie snorted. “Kinda hard when you freaks don't use money anymore. 'Sides, what a load of horseshit. Old Man Shinra did just fine, and there's no way he wasn't powdering his nose when no-one was looking. Hell, probably when they were, too. Who was gonna stop him?” A laugh bubbled up out of Elena's nose. “I believe Sephiroth had that honour.” Yuffie was silent, then responded with a quiet, “heh. Yeah. He did. And I'm the one who stopped Sephiroth.”

Embrace

- from Into the Night Uncharted

The lights stayed with him on the long flight across the ocean. And then rose Junon, a cracked and rotten tooth jutting out of the broken ground. He would be there for the days when the seeds his friends had planted came at last to full bloom and draped the concrete bulwark all in green, when butterflies flocked about the heights and the people sang in the streets. He'd be there when the last grain of the desert beyond the mountains blew away and left only trees and flowers to tell the tale. And he'd be there, still, when the ocean returned the city's verdant embrace at last and toppled the tall tower, taking it and leaving it somewhere else as time marched on and made new.

Yearning

- from Prints

The yowl crawled in from the empty hall, long-drawn and full of yearning. Reeve put his equations to the side and rubbed the blur from his eyes. Rolling his neck and straightening his back yielded a chain reaction of cracks and crunches, and he groaned. “I'm right here, pretty girl.” Another keening wail prompted a pause in the clatter behind him. “She wants attention where she is,” said the disembodied husky voice from the kitchen. “Probably.” The rise and the run and the long strings of numbers had stopped translating into a helpful vision of ramps and pulleys about half an hour ago, anyway. Junon's first high-rise farm, the project of a lifetime and culmination of five years of the city's healing, could wait. Reeve slid from the couch onto his knees, into a patch of late afternoon dappled light. He rapped with three knuckles on the floorboard. A chirrup, a scrabble of claws, and a small clear bell sang in time with Freya's soft trot along the corridor. She stopped in the doorway, then barrelled into his open arms, ringing with every bound. Reeve laughed as she nuzzled into his shoulder, pressed her lithe body against him until the gentle rumble of her purr reverberated in his own chest. “You're so big now,” he whispered, kissing silky fur and scratching her ears. “How'd you get so big, when I wasn't looking?”

Dear

- from Fogged Windows

Terra sighed as she smoothed her skirts, tugging at the darker dampened patches. “Oh, dear. It really is obvious what we've been doing, isn't it?” “You slipped while picking the carnations and pulled me down with you. Or we had a water fight, which I would win.” Terra laughed. “You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?” She slipped her sandals back onto her feet, but it helped little. Her hair was a knotted briar and her dress, wrinkled and wet, did nothing to disguise the prominence of her still-roused nipples. Celes nodded, reaching down past the sodden patches daubed on her legs for her boots. “We could head for my chambers, if you wish. They're closer and more out of the way. We'll find you something more presentable to put on.” And I could have you screaming the night away with no-one the wiser. You'll see what I can do with a bed under us, she didn't say. Not with Terra still pale and shaken and blinking away tears. Celes would only clothe her, hold her, let her fall asleep on her shoulder or read to her until guilt, that most unwelcome of intruders, left the way it came in the night.

#froze fics

8 notes · View notes

kaizenkhaos · 1 year

Text

Billy’s Birthday Bonanza: Sunday 26th March

Day 4 for @harringroveweek’s Billy Birthday Bonanza and it’s over to Vampire Steve and Werewolf Billy for a birthday unlike any Billy has had before. World: Wolf and Bat Boy AU: Werewolf Billy and Vampire Steve (based off mine and simplydes’ AU characters) POV: Werewolf Billy Word Count: 3,003 TW: for more mature themes (such as sexual including biting kink) and language, mention of Neil Hargrove, brief werewolf shifting description, mixed species relationship Finally, a bright night. A welcome change, especially on a night like this one. The weather in Hawkins had been beyond temperamental recently and the closer it had gotten to the Full Moon, the more tense Billy had gotten. He hated wet Full Moons. The heaviness of his fur, the feel of the water just clumping it down. The way he looked like a massive shaggy carpet running around the place. No thanks. It was different when it was a choice; when he chose to throw himself into the river to bathe or swim. Yeah he still looked like a wreck of course, but a wreck with a purpose. But getting caught in downpours on the way to the meeting place? Awful. Even worse in winter when the trees were bare. No cover, no shelter and all rain focused on him, or so it always seemed. At least now it was spring. The trees had started to bud again but it would still be a while until the blanket of leaves would be reinstated. So any showers could still catch him but at least he wouldn't risk freezing to death for another few months.

Very minimal cloud cover was also what he loved to see on these nights. The moon casting its silver light down through the trees, bathing the whole place in that natural path he loved to follow. The softness of the soil underfoot, the smells of freshness all around. There was a very light breeze stirring the branches of the woods that at one time had felt so foreign. Now it felt like home and when it wasn't raining, Full Moon was a time he actually looked forward to. The tension in his bones finally lifting. The freedom to be truly himself and spend that time alone that he'd constantly be robbed of during the days spent in human form. Even in his apartment, he didn't really feel himself yet. Like the outside world still had eyes staring in. Like his father's influence had never truly left him, even though he'd never stepped foot in the place. Billy was away from him at last but in his mind, he was still very much there. Not that he'd admit any of this to the pack. There were a lot of things he'd not admit to any of those guys and girls. Like the fact that tonight was not just a night of change but of celebration for him. It was his birthday but none of them knew that. And none of them would get to know. It was a night for him, not for a bunch of strangers who were forced to give a fuck. Billy was definitely the lone wolf persona. Both in human and were form. He wasn't actually a people person, not when he didn't have to be. He could chat and groove, socialise and mingle like the best of them. The whole wolf in sheep's clothing bullshit. But given the way he chose to dress, the way he presented. The way he cruised around town with the sorta music the locals seemed to take an aversion to, he didn't really fit fit in. He was pretty so he was tolerated. He was beautiful so he was adored. His silver tongue bought him favours and girls, but recently that had grown less and less important. Like tonight. The eyes and opinions of the other pack members' meant so little to him as there was someone out there who did. And he wasn't a werewolf or a were in general. He was supposed to be his enemy, but as always Billy had found a way to cross the line. To be the person who pushed at boundaries and blurred them. Fuck it all and fuck them all. That after all was who he was on his way to see. And nothing and no one was gonna get in his way. it was that old cliched bullshit of a war. Werewolves versus Vampires. Funny how the media had gotten somethin' right for a change. Not that Billy paid all that attention to that. That kinda literature bored him, the movies even more so. An American Werewolf in London was the closest he'd gotten to somethin' he could stick, and that was because he'd been mostly polite around Steve. Okay....it was pretty decent, but this was another thing Billy didn't like to admit. Except under duress, because it was funny. And Steve was used to his attitude, seemed to like it. He didn't seem to like placid dogs, preferring the most feisty and fighting ones, so Billy was happy to comply. Happy.....in the arms of a vampire. Who'd have thought? And who'd have thought that his birthday would be spent with him. It was crazy. That that one night at the pub, that chance encounter had lead to all of this. Going back to his place, that cab ride....the nights they'd spend together afterwards. The "getting to know yous" and then that moment when he'd found out why Steve had seemed so...unnatural. He'd fallen for a damn vampire. And a Master one at that. A Protector of others in Hawkins and the surrounding area. He was the guy not to piss off and Billy felt relieved that he'd not been on that side of him. There was enough stories floating around to know some of what Steve was known for, and had done. They'd spoke about it once and Steve hadn't confirmed or denied any of it. Like him, he was sworn by oath and even sharing each others' beds didn't give either of them license to spill secrets which weren't theirs to tell. It wasn't worth their stakes in their groups or their lives, and they were risking the second by merely associating with each other anyway. Steve probably more than him. Yeah, he'd chased out of town and have to find another pack but Steve? He'd be staked for sure, seen as a traitor to the cause and used as an example. But the guy, he seemed pretty chill about anything. That smirk he gave, the cocky one, as he'd tell Billy that and whisper those sweet words in his ear as he.... Yeah best to not think about that right now. Later. Once they were somewhere safer. Once they were somewhere more private. Or not. Sometimes Steve liked to be more dangerous and chose the risky places. A public bathroom, the back alley of a bar..... Once they'd even done it on the bonnet of someone else's car. Whilst they were asleep inside of their house. Steve didn't seem to really give a shit about that sort of thing but Billy had grown to trust him despite that. He saw how careful Steve checked things. How in tune he was to his surroundings. He may look carefree but Billy knew he was still on alert, and that he was also trusting him to call out if he heard anything. Smelled anything. A combination of both their enhanced senses meant they had all bases covered. They just had to make sure they never became too distracted in them situations. At their homes though? At Billy's they had to be quieter, but at Steve's, they would really go off the chain and often did. Billy had had to shift more than one to get rid of the vampire bite marks. Cursing the bastard as he sat there and laughed. So what did he do? Bit him back of course. Steve seemed to be a dab hand with concealing wounds after all. So the bastard could do that. Until Billy realised the guy would heal too. It had taken a bit of fun out of it first, until Billy realised what it meant. Now he covered the guy in bites whenever he got a chance, and sometimes Steve wore them out. Like the risky bastard he was. Treading carefree through the woods, the only sounds being his feet hitting the floor, a sense of peace came over Billy which had been evading him in recent times. When alone, he'd always felt on edge. Like something about to snap. With Steve, he'd started to unwind. After he'd realised what was going on between them and that Steve wasn't about to hand him over to his side. Or try some vampy bullshit on him. He knew he had more tricks up his sleeve than he'd show and was potentially more powerful too. Guy didn't show all of his cards, so neither had he. But slowly they had both been opening up to one another and the more Billy did, the more he found the pain eased. He'd never really thought of himself as needing or wanting to be with another. But this felt.....maybe not right, but somethin' he couldn't really describe. Somethin' which he'd not felt since his mother had jumped ship and left him to drown. Maybe that was it.... Maybe he was stopping him from sinking so far down now. Too much to think about on his birthday though. So he focused on his surroundings. The lack of sound and the sky. And began to search it for the man who he knew would soon be here. Sometimes he forgot how small the guy could get, given that he wasn't exactly the smallest guy. He wasn't exactly the biggest either; neither of them were. Billy was a little broader and Steve was a little taller. But as a bat? Steve was freaking tiny. He wasn't one of those big bastard bats with the huge wingspan or anything, but one of those smaller fluffier bats. The type you could still see cast as a shadow over the moon and you could still spot them. But the bastard moved so darn fast that at times, he thought he'd imagined him. Thankfully though, this time he spotted him right away. Swooping through the trees and then settling on one. Doing somethin' before gliding down and fluttering in front of him. The grin on his face appeared there before he could school it. His eyes betraying the glee he felt on seeing him. Okay, little bastard bat. You got me. This. One. Time. If the bat could sass, that it would be doing. The glint in its eyes somehow cocky like the vampire underneath, as he perched onto Billy's shoulder. A bump to his neck and then a chatter as they advanced further together into the woods. Good timing as always. The pull of the Full Moon was now starting to get stronger and stronger and Billy could feel it calling to him. Pulling out his skin and bones as if they were on wires, all hooked up and being tugged. There was a few particular spots he liked to go to shed his clothes and tonight was a spot nearby. Near a small artificial lake which had been created to attract wildlife. It was one of his favourite spots and he knew also that Steve loved it. He'd be off chasing bugs as Billy changed and that was fine. He knew his full attention wasn't on that and he was doing it to blow off some steam. So once they got there and he started to strip, he watched the bat do his thing. Feeling those beady little eyes on him, as more and more skin came on show. As the bat munched and then dived to the floor. The familiar shadow and smoke being cast out as the vampire finally revealed himself. Just in time for Billy to start folding his clothes. Fancy that for timing. The bastard knew not only how to make an appearance but how to make a show of turning up. The smoke wasn't necessary, he just did it cos he could. "I see you've been working out again." "Never stopped." The goose bumps on his skin only increased as the vamp closed the gaps and took him in his arms. Soft velvet suit against his tanned skin, gleaming in the light. Steve knew what this kinda thing did to him. The sweet words, the compliments. He'd stopped pretending it didn't have an impact on him. It seemed to get the vampire off more, and the words definitely soothed his own ego. "Good. Never stop." A sweet kiss and then two hands on the side of his face. Eye to eye. The swirling ones of the vamp's and then a smile. He blinked, feeling his own shift back. Calling the Wolf again. Little bastard. Only Steve could ever get away with that. "Happy birthday my Wolf," he grinned, showing fangs as he stepped back. A hand on his tie as he started to shift it to the side. Billy's eyes trailing down as it was slowly removed. The suit jacket moved aside to show the treat underneath. Shit, he was gonna kill him.... As quick as the tie was flicked onto the pile of clothes Billy had shed, the bat was back, swooping low on the ground as Billy growled and laughed. A guttural then wolf like noise before bones cracked. Fur sprouted and the Wolf started to run. Two legged, morphing and shifting as the bat fled into the night. Low down still. A chase. Billy loved this aspect of the night. Usually packs would do this together, but Billy loved nothing more than to do this with Steve. Sometimes Steve would run beside him. Other times, it was this, and as it was Billy's special day, Steve had chosen the form he loved the most for this. It was one of the other times they could be like this together. Their true forms. Themselves, free from their human constraints. Those flesh suits they had to wear to be like everyone else. Paws next hit the floor as the Wolf finally fully shifted. Blonde fur sweeping in the breeze, shining golden in the light. A sharp contrast to the small black speck gliding over the ground. Occasionally flying around his head, teasing. Taunting in jest. A playful snap of his jaws was how he answered. Letting him land on his ears, his head as they continued their journey across the woods. Eventually they would get to their destination. To where he wanted to spend as much time as possible with Steve before that fucking sun would come and ruin their fun. Not that he really thought about that in that moment. His eyes and ears purely out for the bat. The squeaks of happiness. The location of anything and everything around them. There was no one else around; they were safe and away from anyone else. Any other pack or vamps. The night and woods was truly theirs. The lake was like a mirror that night. The moon beautifully plastered across it as the pair slowed down. Steve now perched on top of Billy's head, nestled within that soft, soft fur and tickling him. The little feet occasionally stroking before he slid down and sat on the floor. Soon replaced with the man himself. Staring up at the sky before his eyes rested back on Billy. His Vampire. His love. And the one person that he'd wanted, more than anything, to spend his day with. Lying down by his side, the Vampire soon gave him his promised gift. Or at least one of them. Slowly taking one ear then the other. Massaging them between his hands. A soft kiss on the muzzle and then belly rubs. Slow and sensuous. The Wolf stretching underneath him. Looking up at those eyes which sparkled with mischief but also adoration. Affection. Something Billy had come to realise that he did deserve. In shovel loads and Steve did certainly do that. Back on his front and the Vampire laid by his side. Let him sniff him, slowly lick up and down his neck. Huff in his hair and then snuggle up to him. One giant wolf wrapped around a smaller vampire. Reverse spooning from the usual. He was usually the smaller spoon, much to his protesting. But on nights like this, he got to be the big spoon. Steve being more submissive than he usually was. The bastard was so dominant, he practically bled it. But Billy didn't mind so much. The switch was reversed often enough that it was fun and Billy had a great time. It had taken a while for him to realise that Steve genuinely did too. That he wasn't just a number on a list to him. And tonight, it was clearer than ever that they were perfect. As they were and for each other. After a while, the pair started to star gaze. Somethin' Billy had never shown an interest in before Steve, but now he appreciated the beauty up there for what it was. That and he loved to hear Steve's voice, especially in moments like this when his own was gone. Steve sometimes made up the most bullshit stories about the stars, the various constellations, but he always told him the truth afterward. And tonight he told him about Lupus. His star constellation. The stars not for any were but for him, the birthday Wolf. More bullshit, but Billy felt the stirring of his heart, the tears which would usually pool in his eyes burn against them. He never really got all emotional, not in front of Steve, but tonight? Fuck it. It was his birthday and he could cry if he wanted to. Feeling the vampire's eyes on him, he turned to him. An unusually soft smile as Steve slowly reached out to him and swept away the wet fur from around his eyes. He'd not even realised the tears had leaked out. He didn't even know he could cry as a wolf. "Did your wish come true?" Blinking, Billy looked up at the sky. It was somethin' they'd spoken about beforehand. Whether Billy would make a wish this year. He never usually did but this year, yeah he had. And yeah. It most certainly had.

#HarringroveWeek #harringrove #billy x steve #kaizen's writing kreations #werewolf billy #vampire steve #another simplydes and kaizenkhaos au

17 notes · View notes

getouswh0re · 3 years

Text

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast.

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end.

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months.

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much.

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated.

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.”

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy.

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.”

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex.

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure.

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train.

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague.

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night.

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?”

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you.

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!”

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!”

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart.

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!”

That is when he activates his domain expansion.

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way.

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms.

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...”

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love.

“In time and evermore.”

707 notes · View notes

creative-type · 3 years

Text

a still, small voice

AN: Wrote this in December when I was hit with some dark and angsties and never got around to posting here. Probably because I was annoyed that I’d forgotten pre-canon Thistle’s name would not be Thistle until after I’d finished and had to go back and edit the whole thing. Can also be found on ao3 if you prefer reading there

Violet didn’t know where she was going, but she ran anyway.

Bare feet pounded against the hard, frozen ground—there hadn’t been time to find her boots. Her shirt, half pulled over her head in a vain effort to hide her face. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes and her heart thudded in panicked rhythm.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. She was all wrong.

The only good thing was that it was dark, and her pursuers were human. With a new moon and an overcast sky, Violet was able to sprint across an open field into a thin strip of timber that acted as the boundary between one farm and the next before the mob could light its torches.

Of course, only monsters and beasts could see in the pitch black night. Even if one could look past the claws and teeth, her eyes were proof enough to show that she belonged in the shadows like some dark, creeping thing.

Violet tried to push the thought away as she gasped for breath, her back pressed against the trunk of a tree. She didn’t have to look to know it was elm, the life she felt under her clawed fingers muted in the winter cold. Even the trees had their chance to sleep. So why couldn’t she find rest?

And what have you done to earn such a luxury, you ungrateful brat?

Violet clutched her head with her hands, shrinking down as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She needed to think, needed to move. She was not safe here. She wasn’t safe anywhere, but it was especially true now. The farmer who owned the barn she’d spent the last week calling home would soon raise his neighbors. Depending on how much he hated her, he might even send a message to town. As she wiped the tears from her cheeks, Violet remembered that he’d had dogs.

Frigid air made the teartracks sting. There was no snow on the ground, but it was cold, and she’d left her shoes behind like an idiot. Without a good disguise or money she’d be forced to steal, proving once again her duplicitous, criminal nature.

But she could only do that if she lived through the night. Violet was terrified to leave the cover of the wood, but the sound of baying dogs made that choice for her.

Bending low, Violet whispered the spell that would hide her tracks and scent. Assuming the farmer and his friends didn’t have any spells of their own, it would confuse the dogs long enough for her to escape, provided that she didn’t leave behind any damning evidence. As Violet moved, branches and shrub brush instinctively pulled away, letting her pass without scratching her face or pulling at her clothes.

Too soon she was in the open again, the wind cutting through her layers. Violet didn’t dare call on her magic to warm herself—heat too often brought light, and she wasn’t practiced enough to call one without the other.

For a moment, helplessness almost swallowed her whole. Violet knew she needed shelter, but there was no safe place for her to go. Even the environment was hostile and unwelcoming, the magic of spring and growth unsuited for the barren fields and cold, unfeeling winter.

There was something almost ironic at the thought of dying of exposure to the elements after the exposure of her true nature, but Violet didn’t have time for morbid self-deprecation. She took the only path available—forward—crossing a plot of uncut pasture until she reached a small creek bed. It wasn’t quite cold enough for the water to freeze, and she followed its winding path until it ended in a small pond meant for cattle and horses.

The pond marked the end of Violet’s knowledge of the local countryside. Everything that lay behind was unknown, and therefore frightening. She paused a moment to listen, extending her magical senses.

Relief washed over Violet when she realized she was alone. That relief quickly turned into dread that settled like lead in the pit of her stomach.

There was no one she could count on but herself. And the voice whispering in the back of her mind made it very clear that she was not up to that task.

Swallowing hard, Violet ripped two pieces of cloth from her shirt to wrap around her feet and took her first step into the unknown. The nauseating buzz of apprehension and anxiety pushed her forward another step, and then another and another, until she was almost running. Violet’s lungs burned with the cold even as her face flushed hot, sweat rapidly cooling at her neck and temples.

She alternated walking with running to preserve energy. Every once in a while she would stop at a strip of timber, try to orient herself without the guidance of the moon or stars. A cave elf’s night vision wasn’t anything like how she saw during the day, and it didn’t take long for Violet to become disorientated. All she knew, all she could hope, was that she was getting away.

The fields blended with one another, some large harvested crop ground, others overgrown pasture for free range cattle. Packed dirt roads and humble homesteads were avoided like the plague, Violet moving as best she could away from any signs of civilization. Wind whispered through the grass and the trees, but beyond that was the silence of desolate emptiness. Exposed and in the open, Violet only became more aware of her own smallness.

But as the miles past and the first promise of sunrise pierced through the oppressive blackness of night, Violet knew she needed to stop. Thin cotton strips were poor protection for her aching, bleeding feet, and the cold that she’d once been able to force away was starting to seep into her bones. Everything felt heavy, from her eyelids, to her legs, to the effort it took to expand her lungs.

The acute jolt of energy that came with being discovered had long-been expelled, leaving a deeper, more primal fear that left her slow and jumpy. Hazy fog clouded the edges of her vision and thoughts dripped sluggishly from her mind like frozen syrup. Violet forced her aching knees up one, final hill, promising herself that once she reached the other side she would stop for the night.

Only that promise made her go forward, and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to set up adequate shelter after she made it that far, or lay the spells that would protect her before falling asleep. At that moment she didn’t particularly care. Anything for a blessed moment of rest.

Lazy, stupid, do you want to be found…

Violet huddled against herself as she crested the hill, unsure if she was trying to protect herself from the wind or the Echo whose voice was becoming increasingly difficult to discern from her own.

On the other side, the slope dipped gradually down to a narrow road that didn’t look like it had been used since Hym had been made a Wizard. The road, or lane, or path, or whatever it was, ended at a small, one-story building that had been white before the elements stripped it of the majority of its paint. The roof sagged inward, a young tree sprouting through the hole that might have once been a chimney.

The windows were thick with dust. From the road, no one could see in or out, and clearly no one had been inside in a long, long time.

It was the perfect hiding spot.

Violet took a moment to stare, unable to believe her own good fortune. She staggered forward, tired and hurting, not bothering to make sure that no one was coming from father up the road. Soft, predawn light edged at the horizon as Violet circled around looking for the entrance. A simple wooden door sat above two stone steps, settled under a faded sign that proclaimed the decrepit building to be Elk Chapel.

Tentatively Violet extended her magic, but there were no protections guarding the property. When she jiggled the handle it snapped in her hands, and after years of disuse the wood had swollen in the door jamb, making it stick shut.

Growling with frustration, Violet tried to shoulder it open, but it was no use. Angry tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she slammed against the door with an almost childlike, impotent helplessness. It wasn’t fair! After all she’d gone through, all that stood between her and safety was a stupid door that wouldn’t open. It wasn’t fault she was a monster. She couldn’t help that no one would let her in. She tried and tried and tried so hard to be a good person, to help people, and it was never enough.

She would never be good enough.

Violet didn’t have the strength to keep trying. Overtired and overwrought, she pressed her forehead against the door and cried. There was nothing left for anything other than the outpouring of emotion, the surrender to all the grief and pain she often ignored in the name of survival. There at that abandoned chapel deep in a forgotten wood, Violet bore her soul, not caring who might see or hear.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

A force stirred deep within her. Violet was familiar enough with her magic to know that whatever she felt, it didn’t come from her. Warmth spread through her body, embracing her with the comfort of an old, familiar blanket, or a pair of loving arms. Frightened and confused, she whipped her head around, but there was no one but the wind.

Violet was still alone when the echo of a memory whispered in the depths of her heart, mind, and soul,

Be not afraid.

Taking a half-step back, Violet pressed herself against the chapel door, willing herself to disappear. There was the groaning of wood, then a sharp crack that punctured through the peace of the morning like a rocket, and the door snapped from its hinges.

Violet stumbled backward and was unable to keep her balance before falling hard on her behind. Heart pounding she scurried as far backward as she could, but the feeling was gone, leaving only a deep, pulsing ache.

“I’m actually going insane,” Violet whispered. Without bothering to stand up, she craned her neck backward to see where the young sapling had managed to break free to the open sky. The musty smell of earth and forgotten things filled the single room of the chapel, both the walls and floor covered with hoarfrost.

As far as shelter went, Violet had had better. She’d also had much, much worse. She crawled the corner that seemed warmest and removed the wrappings from her feet, wincing as the dried blood pulled the scabs open anew.

How much had she left behind? Enough for the dogs to track her? Violet squeezed her eyes closed and tried to remember the spell that would seal the broken skin, letting her breath out in a low hiss as her magic knitted the tissue back together imperfectly. She’d need to study more, or at least not be stupid enough to leave her shoes behind when she ran.

With her feet taken care of, Violet finally turned to the matter of getting warm. Reluctantly, she left her sanctuary just long enough to find a good-sized rock and lug it back inside, before settling herself at the base of the tree. Oak, her mind uselessly supplied. As if the leaves and acorns at her feet hadn’t told her that much.

Violet laid her hands on the stone, trying to ignore the barbaric claws that extended past the edges of her fingers. Her hands shook with exhaustion as she tapped the last dregs of her endurance to call heat to the heart of the rock, enough that would last her the hours it would take her to recover from the night’s escapades.

Blue light flashed. Violet screeched in alarm and pulled her hands away, having succeeded a little too well at her spell. The stone glowed cherry red, instantly melting the frost at her feet and heating the room as well as any stove.

She let out a breath shaky with relief and buried her face in her arms. She wouldn’t cry again. Not for something as stupid as a little warmth.

As exhausted as she was, it took Violet longer than expected to drift asleep. The immediate need of shelter taken care of, she realized just how hungry and thirsty she was, and not knowing where she could find either food or water wound her tighter than a two copper watch. She was too tired to think of a plan for getting shoes and clothes and too confused by how she’d opened the door of the chapel to try to fight through her fatigue.

Probably a coincidence, Violet thought, the excuse unconvincing even in her own mind. Instinctively she reached for her bag and pulled out her journal—which she had managed to take with her—finding a stubby bit of pencil amongst the detritus of the bottom of her pack. She flipped to a familiar page, reading and rereading her entry about that night, eyes skimming the words she’d long-since memorized.

Be not afraid.

With everything that had happened, knowing the monster that she was, how could she not?

Sighing softly, Violet turned the page and scratched out another name. Maybe next time would be different. She tucked the journal away again and tried to get comfortable at the base of the tree. A cluster of acorns poked against her hip and side. Violet brushed most of them away, saving one to add to her growing seed collection.

Nearly sick with dread and exhaustion, Violet finally allowed herself to drift to sleep as the first rays of dawn crossed the horizon, the memory of a promise she still didn’t understand leading her to a deep and dreamless slumber.

#daughter of the lilies #daughter of the lilies fanfiction #thistle #someomes gotta answer those hard hitting questions #like where the heck thistle got the acorn she used to seal a pit to hell #today is reread your old fanfiction and realize it’s not as terrible as you thought day

69 notes · View notes

mimicteruyo · 3 years

Text

Dancing on This Faultline

[Touhou Ship Week Day 1: Memories. YukaYuyu, 1.3k, angst]

---

The Saigyou Ayakashi stood stark amidst the sea of spring. The remnants of its final crop of leaves lay decomposing beneath its branches, sacrifices to the passage of seasons. Yukari kept her distance as she watched where the branches met the sky. She didn't need to observe the borders to know the tree teetered between life and death, so unstable all it would take was a single push to banish it from Earth for good. An unnecessary push: it would soon topple into the Netherworld of its own accord. Already the boundaries connected to it undulated and rippled, marking the garden as belonging to two worlds at once. If anyone had been there with her and had dared to asked, Yukari would have told them this was why she did nothing. Nature would take its course without her input. Why bother? Of course, she was alone, and she didn't feel the need to deceive herself in this particular matter. She let the tree be because it was, in essence, all that remained of the one human she had truly loved. She sauntered closer, stepping lightly across the border between the blanket of fallen petals and the brown earth encircling the Saigyou Ayakashi. The seal upon the tree was tremendously strong, guaranteed to keep any further victims from succumbing to their fates, simultaneously ensuring it would never flower again. If the tree could bloom, just how bright would the blood seeping through the roots dye its blossoms? A cool breeze swept across the garden, sending petals flying and grabbing at Yukari's loose hair. It wouldn't be long till the season of cherry blossoms ended and only plain green remained in the trees. In all trees except the barren youkai tree. A youkai tree. A youkai, just like her. Hadn't she already accepted that? Who was it who had chosen to look beyond each veil she found and let what she had discovered behind them change her? It didn't matter if being able to manipulate borders also meant living with no escape from the awareness of the fragility of the world, that the boundary between meaning and nonsense was gossamer-thin. She would grow used to it. Others had. The more she thought about it, the more the tree was an eyesore. How long would it stand there, glutted on life force and lingering on without water or sunlight or freshly stolen souls before finally shuffling off to the Netherworld for good? She raised her hand to send it far beyond her senses.

"Do you think its blossoms would be even more vibrant than the rest?"

Yukari's hand remained up. She put it down very deliberately before turning to face precisely who she had expected to face.

Yuyuko had emerged by her side as quietly as a flower opens its petals. Her butterfly-like delicacy concealing a steel blade of a mind had been refined into ethereality, but had she been dressed in something other than a snowy robe, she might still have fooled a human into thinking she belonged in their fold.

Of course, there was no fooling someone who could see all the boundaries of the universe. Yuyuko had very decisively bled across the border of life and death. Even if that hadn't been obvious, the tree's blossoms remained sealed by the very being who now smiled at Yukari as though meeting an interesting stranger for the first time.

Yukari forced herself to remain calm. It had been inevitable. Where else could Yuyuko have gone, so decisively bound to the Saigyou Ayakashi, but to this awkward borderland? The only place where she could go from here was onwards to the Netherworld, where she would hopefully find the peace she had never found in life.

In other words, there was no reason for why Yukari should feel like someone had just slashed all of her veins from the inside.

"It would surely have the most magnificent blossoms of all," Yuyuko mused, continuing to smile in spite of Yukari's silence. Her voice was unchanged from life, even if the dreamy, vague tone hadn't been typical of her in the past. "What a shame. It's fortunate we have so many other trees to enjoy, at least."

Yukari found her voice. "You seem very at ease for a ghost."

"Yes, rather. I must have had many lingering regrets to remain here, but here I stand with little notion of what they may have been. Not that I mind."

With that, Yuyuko's attention returned to blossomless branches.

That could have been the end of it. Yukari could have accepted the situation for what it was and left Yuyuko behind, secure in the knowledge that what awaited her was better than a lifetime of fear and loneliness.

Instead, she found herself speaking once more. "Do you remember me?"

Yuyuko turned and tilted her head. A thin frown crested on her face just for a moment before her perfect calmness re-asserted itself. "Possibly. At least, I feel that I could hazard a guess. Perhaps after we find a suitable place to sit down we can entertain ourselves by trying to guess each other's secrets."

Yukari watched this new, breezy, strange Yuyuko and saw instead a face wet with tears, wreathed by hair clustered into clumps.

"You must go. I was selfish to ever think I could live with another person. If you don't leave, you too will..."

"Yuyuko." It was all she could think to say, only she didn't think it: the name escaped on its own, maliciously prolonging the encounter.

Yuyuko faced her, unconcerned by the lack of title or honorific, unconcerned even by Yukari's knowledge of her name. Her eyes were a marginally redder hue of brown than they had been in life. They had been entirely altered.

Yukari searched for something to say and found only further memories of a figure huddled tiny by guilt and winter's chill alike — a winter which had only just ended, but which Yukari had experienced as another person altogether.

"But I'm still selfish. I still cannot let you go." "Please, stay with me. For one last night." "Before it's too late."

She reached for the boundary between the past and the present, and Yuyuko came back into focus. The current Yuyuko, the one whose eyes were so close to those in Yukari's memories and yet weren't the same.

She looked at her in silence. The truth was that when Yuyuko had died, she had invited a part of Yukari to join her in death.

But... in doing so, perhaps Yuyuko had done her a favour.

She needed to stop thinking like a human. After all, she wasn't one. Neither of them were. And with that thought, she smiled at Yuyuko. "I'm glad you've been able to discard your past concerns."

"Thank you. I think I truly have." Yuyuko tilted her head again, precisely as she had when Yukari had first stumbled into this garden. "Perhaps you may one day tell me what those concerns were."

"Who knows?" Yukari found her smile becoming more genuine. "On my way here, I saw the perfect place to sit down and admire the remaining flowers."

"Wonderful. Will you lead the way?"

Yukari wasn't surprised when Yuyuko held out her hand. She was slightly more surprised when she herself reached out and took it.

Even so, as she interlaced her fingers with Yuyuko's, she felt like she was coming home.

There would be a time for re-introductions, re-explanations, a rekindling of passions. Or perhaps there would be none of those things and instead a new flower would sprout from the ground left bare by the cessation of humanity.

It would be a wondrous blossom regardless, Yukari knew, finally smiling in earnest as she guided Yuyuko through the land that was at once alive and dead, changing the boundaries of the scattering of light in her eyes to the shade of the most vivid cherry blossoms imaginable.

#thshipweek #yukayuyu #mimic fics

25 notes · View notes

anonthenullifier · 3 years

Note

Tommy get caught making out with his girlfriend pls

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

———

With a soft click the last light on the main floor extinguishes, leaving Vision to bask in the serenity of lumenless solitude. It’s a simple joy he gets each night after the others are in bed. Satisfied with the main floor, he rises an inch off the ground, hovering above each step instead of touching it, ostensibly to keep the wood from creaking and waking either of the boys, but truthfully he finds it soothing.

At the top of the stairs he glances to the right, checking that the doors are shut and the lights off, particularly the bathroom since Tommy has a habit of leaving everything illuminated. It is all blissfully shrouded in night. Vision’s lips curve ever so slightly up, the evening remarkably calm, no squabbles between their sons or unnecessary name calling. Even Tommy managed a mumbled Love you on his way up the stairs. It’s almost too calm.

Vision shakes away the thought, not even certain where it came from, and begins to head towards his own bedroom. That’s when he hears a pathetic whine from behind, body whipping around until he spots the culprit. “Did he shut you out?” Sparky's ears perk up at the attention, little tail giving a forlorn wag. “That is an easy fix.” Vision hovers back to Tommy’s door and goes to open it, except the handle doesn’t move. “How odd.” They don’t have a locked room policy but neither of their sons has ever locked anyone (especially Sparky) out, likely because a locked door stands little chance against any of their powers.

As if attuned to his own confusion, Sparky stares up at Vision, head cocked to the side in anticipation of his solution. He could easily phase the lock open, but privacy is a right he wishes to allow his sons. “I suppose you can sleep with us tonight,” the words are meaningless to the dog, head still held at an adorable forty seven degree tilt, one fine tuned to get treats and balls thrown. “Come along,” Vision nods towards the master bedroom, the joyful tapping of nails on the hardwoods hard not to smile at. When they get to the door, Vision sets a single cheeky ground rule, “Keep your paws off my wife, understood?”

A little sniffle and wag of his tail accepts the rule and Vision opens the door, Sparky racing in and immediately leaping into the bed, trouncing across the duvet until he is laying with his head on Wanda’s stomach and paws on her arm. “Why hello there you handsome man,” Wanda pets his head and Vision provides a good-natured glare at the rule breaker who lacks any sense of regret, or so the lolling tongue suggests, “and hello to you as well Sparky.” Vision shouldn’t feel a sense of victory over a dog, but he can’t help it, especially when Wanda’s eyes alight in flirtatious glee that draws him to sit on the bed.

“You can thank Thomas for our company.”

Her “Oh?” is cooed at the dog, who has flopped sideways for a belly rub, his back paws discourteously shoved into Vision’s pillow.

“He locked him out.”

Wanda leans down so that her nose is almost touching Sparky’s as her fingers scrunch behind his ears. “That wasn’t very nice of him.” If one were to imagine the expression of a customer being pampered at the world's most luxurious spa, it would no doubt pale in comparison the overflowing exuberance on the dog’s face. “Probably safest not to be in there anyway.”

The comment is said with an air of knowingness and a tinge of innuendo. Vision had not even thought about that possibility, truthfully he hadn’t even thought much of the door being locked but it’s likely not an unfair assumption, the boys are teens now, a time he has read is filled with raging hormones and exploration. Perhaps they’ll need to have another talk about boundaries if this becomes the norm. For now he’ll simply not think anymore about it.

“Sparky, may I,” he attempts to scoot the paws away from his pillow, but they spring back immediately, forcing Vision to lay down farther than he’d like from Wanda. “This is why he sleeps with Tommy.”

Wanda shrugs, still playing the role of world's best masseuse, “I’m comfy.”

“That is a relief.” A throw pillow is tossed at his face with a flick of her wrist, except, having been married for so long and understanding the statistical patterns of her reactions, he is able to catch it, pointedly fluffing it before sliding it behind his neck. “Thank you, darling.” What he expects to see next is the purse of her lips, a sign she is striving not to laugh. Her lips are pinched together but there is no amusement to be found on her face, even her hand stalling in petting Sparky. “Is something wrong?”

A tilt of her head to the side sends his autonomic system into action. “Did you check the perimeter?”

“Of course.” He waits for more and when it stays locked behind her lips, he presses on. “Why?”

Scarlet wavers along the blanket, her fingers rising and falling like a puppeteer until she seems to reach a conclusion. “There’s an extra mind in Tommy’s room.”

The locked door becomes menacing instead of a minor annoyance. “I will check the outside and you—“

“Inside, yep.”

Vision leans back, phasing through the bed and the wall until he is eight feet above their deck. Through controlled trial and error he knows the best density for stealth, his molecules bursting into a frenzy until he is lighter than air. Only then does he dare fly towards Tommy’s window. It is wide open, concerning and not economical since it will increase their energy costs, not that it is a concern at the moment, but for later. Window ajar.

Door still locked. Confirmed second mind in his room. Not Billy.

If Wanda recognized the mind, she would alert him. I will proceed inside. Vision breathes in, always wanting just a second to settle all raging thoughts, and then he phases into the room, Mindstone glowing faintly so as not to alert the intruder. With hushed breath, Vision inches forward, noting what appears to be Tommy on his side, pajama clad back facing him.

Nothing seems amiss, other than the open window and extra mind. It is unsettling. Vision increases his auricular and ocular sensors as he continues to investigate, hands lifting into stance #5 of Natasha’s recommended hand to hand combat defenses.

There is a quiet smacking noise, a recognizable one though he can not place it, and then there is a...giggle, not belonging to his son. It is when he notices the splay of dark hair on the pillow that it all clicks. Oh. Vision begins to back up, not desiring to intrude further even if he also has this instinctive need to interrupt, but he quells that.

I’m coming in. The three quarters of a second it takes him to process Wanda’s comment is half a second too long, his abort mission not arriving until after the door opens with a very noticeable click

This is when everything erupts into chaos.

A pillow is thrown through his face simultaneously with a, “What the fuck, dad!” and what sounds like a shriek from Tommy’s bedfellow. Then a blur of green fills the room, Tommy grabbing onto Vision’s semi-transparent waist and hauling him towards the door, just as Vision’s politeness kicks in with a cheerful, “Terribly sorry for interrupting.”

And then they are in the hallway, the door shut behind Tommy, whose face is contorted in rage and breath is uneven. Wanda stands frozen, hands raised and shimmering, her eyes bouncing between Tommy and himself. Tommy only looks at Vision, voice shaking, “What are you doing coming through my wall?”

“Was that,” Vision mentally reconstructs everything as best he can, “was Lisa in there with you?”

All at once the anger is knocked off their son’s face and replaced with a completely fake innocence, “Who’s Lisa?” It doesn’t even take the entire time for Vision’s brows to rise for Tommy to realize the misstep. “I um meant, um,”

Wanda doesn’t allow him to flounder, oddly. “Is she still in there?”

Perhaps it is the Young Avenger’s training on being interrogated or the fact Tommy’s thoughts are always racing away from responsibility, but he won’t even answer this question, “I don’t um know what you’re talking about.”

A deep, disappointed sigh comes from his wife before she wraps Tommy in red and drags him from the door. “I’m taking her home.” With that she disappears into the room, light peeking out from under the door and muffled words floating through the wood.

All Vision can do is stare at Tommy, lost in what exactly to say in this situation. Unfortunately, Tommy doesn’t share the same hesitation. “You know Billy does this all the time,” the door to his twin’s room opens slightly, “he just can block mom’s powers from noticing” and then it shuts with an aggrieved click. Wonderful.

“Um well,” Vision isn’t sure why he falters so gloriously, as a father he’s expected to handle these things and yet this wasn’t in the books he read while Wanda was pregnant nor in the literature on problem behaviors at school, “perhaps you help your mother take Lisa home and we will discuss this in the morning.”

-----

“I think we just ground him for a couple days,” the last word is muffled and more syllables than necessary, ending only when Wanda stifles her yawn.

This is what she suggested before leaving to take Lisa home and what he has been mulling over until she returned. “But under what rule is he being punished?”

There is not actually any rule thus far uttered in the Maximoff household concerning sneaking in significant others. An oversight, clearly, and yet Vision knows that what happened is wrong, he just cannot find a suitable reason beyond that it feels wrong. “Curfew?”

This he considered. Unless otherwise specified, the boys must be back by 9pm on a school night and 12am on the weekends. “But he was home and we never explicitly specified that curfew applies to their friends or partners.”

Wanda does not suffer this sort of agonizing rumination, “He was hiding it, he knew it was wrong.”

A truth and annoyance because it’s not like they don’t allow their sons alone time when their significant other is over. He recalls and empathizes with the thrill of young love and the need for solitude. Which brings him to the next point of scrutiny, “But does it not feel hypocritical to punish him for this when we broke international law to do the same thing?”

“I thought you said that was a false equivalency?”

It is, insofar as there are too many confounding variables for their lawbreaking tryst to be considered equal with the current indiscretion and yet…”Tommy will leverage it against us.”

“Good thing he doesn’t know how often we break compound PDA rules...”

Another hypocrisy if they hand down a harsh sentence. “Again, does it not feel incongruous to punish him when we commit the same offense? We did sully the billiard table last week…”

“That was fun.”

“It was.” The way she stretches out, head propped up on her hand and robe fluttering open along her thigh, he’d recidivate in a heartbeat. Which is why he stops his heart long enough to finish their conversation. “But how can we hold him to a higher standard than us, when we, as cognitively mature individuals act similarly? Authoritative parenting requires us to explain the logic of our punishments.”

Their eyes meet in joint contemplation, the weight of the topic forming endearing wrinkles on his wife’s brow. “You say we act similarly,” her voice is steady, distant as if it is hauling the reasoning in though isn’t sure it will make it, “but you always calculate our odds of being caught or harming someone else with our actions.”

It is a structural equation model he keeps to himself, one that even the thought of calculating sends electric thrills along his spine. “I do and we tend to have a threshold set of when it is and is not acceptable.” The billiard table, for instance, had an 87% chance of not being caught and, with proper sanitation, a relatively low impact on others.

“Do you think Tommy put much thought into tonight?” Knowing their son the extent of effortful planning was likely how to get her into the house. “He seemed surprised when Lisa’s dad was furious.”

Vision isn’t surprised at the man’s reaction but is perturbed that was not even a thought to Tommy. When entering all the variables into his model, Tommy had a dismal 10% chance of success and a rather high 87.5% chance of harming someone else. “How do we handle this alongside the accusation lobbed at Billy?”

Deviousness parts her lips, hair dancing along her shoulders as she nods, “I have a great idea.”

----

This formation, with mom and dad in the armchairs, hands linked over the chasm between the armrests, and Billy next to him on the couch is the formation of doom. The silence that lays heavy over the room is the warm up to the interrogation. Tommy braces himself for what’s to come.

“Would you like to explain your reasoning for last night’s actions?” Dad is always so damn calm, irises not even budging to betray any sign of how bad this will go.

Tommy knows there isn’t a right answer here, and honestly, he doesn’t exactly have a good reason and annoyingly Billy played dumb last night when he begged him for advice. Apparently throwing him under the bus was an asshole move. After the bad lie last night, Who’s Lisa a fantastic way to piss everyone off (especially Lisa), he defaults to short and sweet (fingers crossed) honesty. “Thought it would be fun.” It was, until dad interrupted.

There’s no immediate response, not even a blink, the entire room focused on his continued idiocy. “I see.” That’s never what he wants to hear from dad.

“You two have to understand that!” His arms sputter about, trying to drag their attention to what they all know. “At least I’m not breaking the law.”

Mom scowls. Shit. “Very different circumstances.”

“Yeah, yours was way worse.” No no no, why can he not just shut up like Billy, that Grecian statue next to him, ramrod straight and eyes dead to the world.

The shared look, one that means the infamous mind voodoo is at play, an entire conversation occurring between mom and dad that only he can’t access, assuming Billy is brave enough to tap into it. If he is, he’s not sharing with Tommy. “You are right.”

Wait…”What?”

Dad isn’t capable of something so casual as a shrug, but the leisurely blink of his eyes and dip of his chin is roughly equivalent. “We understand the reasoning. Your mother and I are intimately,” gross, “familiar with the thrill of skirting rules of affection.”

If this isn’t his punishment, heaven help him. “No details needed.”

Billy’s “Please,” is practically silent.

Mom smirks and he fears the worst, until she speaks, “Which is why we aren’t grounding you,” hallelujah, “this time,” fair enough. “But going forward you can’t do this. Either of you.”

An I hate you drops into his mind. Tommy tries to send back a No you don’t but Billy has already shuttered their connection. “Agreed, so…” Tommy stands from the couch, hands brushing away the discomfort of the meeting, “we’re good, right?”

Dad’s “No,” ties itself around his waist and yanks him back onto the cushion. “Given Lisa was not so fortunate in her punishment,” she’s been forbidden from seeing him again, but Tommy isn’t planning on abiding by that, assuming she wants to see him again, “I believe a long talk about respect for your partner and the need for consensual, in depth decision making when it comes to risk taking is in order. You both are still too young and cognitively immature to fully weigh impulsiveness and so we would like to walk through a variety of scenarios to work through this topic.”

He’d rather die. “Can I just be grounded instead?”

Scarlet outlines mom’s pupils as she stares him down, “No.”

Dad clears his throat, needlessly pulling a painfully thick packet of stapled papers from behind him. The transition into his academic voice is only the first sign that their torture will be unrelenting. “Scenario 1: you and your paramour are driving down the road when they suggest a rather risqué activity…”

Tommy accepts that today marks the loss of his soul and all ability to feel alive, all to the chorus of Billy’s reaffirmation in his mind: I hate you so much.

#wanda maximoff #vision #tommy shepherd #Billy kaplan #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #scarletvision #Wandavision #scarlet vision #mine #ask anon #the maximoffs

44 notes · View notes

why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

we are our family, even if we don’t want to be.

Titans 3.07

a bit over halfway through the season, and we still don’t have all of our main characters on the board! i love this show.

as always, typing this up as i watch. live reaction, baby! *shadowboxes*

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. i don’t think i’ve mentioned this before, but i kinda miss the old ‘dc universe’ intro. it was cool! the whole idea of it was wild and waaaaay over-ambitious, but also very very on-brand because of it.

2. this is... the third time we’ve seen dick sleeping this season? that’s a record! checking another thing off my s3 wishlist...

2.5. i guess i rag on titans all the time for its wafer-thin plotting and bad pacing, but i have to admit that this season has been a step-up from the last one in this regard. titans has very reactive rather than proactive protagonists, and a lot of the last season seemed to be: x happened, the team reacted badly, then y happened, they reacted badly, etc. this time around, it’s not a huge leap up by any means, but at least they’re doing something about it.

i do appreciate the focus on character arcs over everything else. and when i say everything else, i mean it: arcs that started two seasons ago with no big cathartic moments, intermittent payoff and multiple relapses. big bads have ranged from interdimensional demons to superpowered assassins to whatever in the world scarecrow is, but trigon’s big weapon against the titans was to... use their worst fears against them. slade’s was to... use their fears to break them up. crane’s is to... use red hood to use their fears to break them up. even the threat of gotham’s citizens being in danger doesn’t feel real: gotham is mythologised into an entity of its own, infecting our heroes like a parasite. like. this is not to say that most other superhero media aren’t big character arcs intertwined with the main plot, but titans doesn’t even make pretend that it’s anything but.

anyway. that’s my entry #2345 to ‘give a grand unifying theory for titans’. thanks. i’ll be back with more.

3. “anger is just fear in a little black dress.” god I HATE HIM

(what’s he doing with barbara’s likeness? oh... oh god. a terrible thought just occurred to me. what if they introduce hush at the very last minute for plastic surgery shenanigans? would you put it past this show?)

3.5. jason, nooooooooo

3.75. i mean, they’re making it very clear here that scarecrow is the one in control--the one who’s always been in control--and is manipulating jason and literally poisoning him, but i hope it doesn’t end up erasing nuance or jason’s autonomy. if jason’s to reckon with the issues that brought him here, then the lines of responsibility will need to be set somewhere.

(this applies to dick as well but more on that later, i guess.)

4. just--the phrase “40% loss of income” is so funny to me. like, gotham is full of these larger-than-life characters who are idiosyncratic beyond belief, colourful and dramatic and creating chaos just for the sake of chaos, and then there’s the regular criminals and their henchmen who just want to make a quick buck sitting down with pie charts and graphs, griping about the joker reducing their returns or debating high risk investments in, i don’t know, two-face’s next scheme.

“yyyyeeeeeaaah, my financial advisor is telling me that going all-in with a guy who literally makes decisions on the flip of a coin is probably not the greatest idea.”

4.5. god i hate smug!smarmy!scarecrow so much

4.85. as big plans to “control” gotham go, it’s pretty bog-standard. clearly scarecrow has some bigger plan in mind but it really feels like we’ve got no clear insight into him and he’s this generic creepy mystery-man who knows more than he lets on and springs a twist/cliffhanger every now and then. i liked the scenes with him and dick in 3.04 where it seemed like he was genuinely on the backfoot and things weren’t going as he predicted. for all of his faults, dick is at least familiar with scarecrow’s bullshit and knows not to give what he wants.

5. i mean... i see where dick is coming from with the “he’s not jason anymore; he’s red hood” because his immediate glaring concern is scarecrow’s drug and the damage it could potentially cause gotham? i do not doubt that it’s something batman drilled into him, too, but when you’re expected to take point on a situation where the lives of an entire city weigh down on your shoulders, it’s better to simplify things and prioritise. i’m not saying it’s great or healthy! gar is absolutely right to consider this facet of the situation. it’s just dick can’t.

6. hmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMMMMMM.

i don’t know that i’m super fond of this iteration of oracle???? it looks like a cross between cerebro from x-men and jarvis from iron man. it’s giving me second-hand embarrassment. somebody help me.

(at least they remembered dick’s middle name is actually “john”. i like to think bruce printed D in that contract because for a while he genuinely thought richard “dick” grayson was his full name. duck duck goose, dick dick grayson, i don’t know alfred, the kid was in a circus, maybe they thought it was funny. or maybe it was a test in anger control, who knows.)

6.5 “maybe you two would like some time alone?” even AI can’t help hitting on dick grayson in this universe.

“oh mr grayson, if i only had another eye to see you better...”

6.8. on one hand, it’s a bit disconcerting that the title of ‘oracle’ has gone from barbara herself to this gigantic machine; from my impression of the comics-verse, barbara had an extensive computing and surveillance system, true, but she was very clearly the brains behind the operation. on the other hand, i’m kind of glad that the ethical boundaries that this kind of surveillance violates is a sticking point for barbara. (tho let’s be real, the nsa would kill to have this in their arsenal).

6.9. also it’s now obvious that scarecrow’s big plan is to take control of oracle itself. it’s why he had lady vic take that picture of her eyes, or why he’s meddling around with it on his computer.

6.95. if only i could ‘command sleep’ anybody overstepping their boundaries re: personal information...

7. “you can just sit back and watch as the titans destroy themselves.” i mean... he’s not wrong

8. “dick’s parents were killed by a criminal mob; he won’t work with them.” it’s wonderful that you have this insight into dick, kory, i just wish we could’ve watched some of these conversations actually happen on-screen.

8.5. i’m glad that kom’s being treated with such nuance and understanding, though it’s obvious that she definitely has a Plan of her own. (and did i entirely imagine her ability to mimic other people flawlessly at the end of s2? or is that going to come into play at some point?) i think her story has the potential to be genuinely poignant, and in a universe where being Different, either because of mental health or physical differences or whatever else, leads a straight line to Evil, it’s important to acknowledge and then emphasise that the mere fact of your existence as a Different Person doesn’t predispose you to evil. maybe your act of destroying a system that has destroyed you and not scrambling to “fit in” is only evil as defined by that system.

8.8. “you’re trespassing, i should call the authorities, i feel unsafe.” now this is a villain lady who’s definitely aware of her privilege.

8.85. kom smirking knowingly at her sister is everything.

“oooh that’s the kory i remember”

9. conner and dick working together woo!

9.25. god i hate a villain who’s always just a step ahead, no matter what. so crane anticipated dick using oracle to track his personal communications and set him up? how did he know when exactly dick would get to do this? how long did he have that poor man tied up in that van?

(the “save me, grayson” is a nice touch, tho. send dick spiralling even further! because if there’s one thing dick will do, it’s take responsibility for every goddamn thing that goes wrong.)

9.5. ahem. i’m going to need a million gifs of conner yeeting dick across that yard, fandom, thankyouverymuch.

(i understand conner is invulnerable to explosions, but how do his clothes survive??)

9.8. oooh crane is already in oracle! i’m just sitting here laughing helplessly because they’re overpowering this goddamned guy so much. he can build a lab in arkham’s basement! he has access to lazarus puddles! he has minions working across gotham, including a fully functional chemical laboratory staffed by chemists who only answer to him! he has the crime families of gotham quailing in his very presence! he has assassins at his beck and call! he’s enough of a manipulative bastard to have red hood under his thumb! and now he has enough of a tech know-how to not only be aware of oracle, but know how to hack into it! i’m sick of exclamation marks! i’ll shut up now!

9.95. dick leaving behind that smouldering grave for a person he failed to save without taking a second to process how he feels about it and running towards his next plan to corner scarecrow: a microcosm of where his head’s at right now.

10. really hammering in the themes of this season, aren’t we.

10.25. the interesting thing is the titans repeatedly call themselves a family this season (none more so than dick) and while that found family has helped encapsulate and put away their traumatic experiences with their ‘original’ families, it’s meant that they’ve not really dealt with those issues. and dick and gar and jason come from ‘found families’ of their own: they are twice removed, traumatised two times over. they still cling to this identity however, and because of it they’re losing each other. a family isn’t static. it’s an ever-evolving dynamic and you have to put in work constantly to keep it healthy.

10.5. anyway, that’s entry #2346. i’m here aaaalll night.

11. lookit gar the detective! half-transforming and using his powers to deduce things! what a hero! i’ve said this for a long time, but gar is the bedrock of this team, and an unsung one at that.

11.25. i’m confused about him calling this room jason’s though. it seems to me that this is dick’s room that jason later used, and one that dick’s using now. so the unmade bed isn’t really jason’s fault; dick was woken by barbara that morning, and in his hurry, he left without making his bed.

(it still confounds me that bruce didn’t find jason another bedroom in that gigantic mansion of his. you really didn’t give this kid a chance, did you?)

12. oh well. so much for the oracle.

13. ... sorry, wait. you didn’t think i wasn’t going to address the bit with dick right now, did you?

12.5. i honestly don’t think it’s very complicated: dick’s been reeling from one traumatic thing to the next, and just when it seemed like at the beginning of the season, he felt happy and secure with his team and his place in the world, bruce ups and leaves gotham to him, specifically naming him a successor and calling him a ‘better batman’. he’s lost garth and jericho and donna and jason and now hank and dawn. he’s not even sure where rachel is or what she’s doing. after being told that batman was a psychopath for moulding him into a weapon, he’s also been told that his failure to be a ‘better batman’ lead to further disaster. of course he’s going to get batman-goggles. of course he’s going to be a prick.

12.8. i don’t know what to say. i feel his frustration acutely. i don’t think he should’ve said what he said to barbara (can people stop pushing her around this season????) but that pressure to step in where your parent fails? to clean up their messes and try to think like them? to fall into habits drilled into you when you developed them as coping mechanisms growing up? I FEEL THAT.

every step he’s taking he’s putting 110% of himself in it and scarecrow’s still playing mindgames with all of them: i absolutely feel his desperation to take control of that game and turn it on scarecrow, no matter what it takes.

and he did apologise almost immediately, and finally--finally--actually works with barbara.

12.9. again, not excusing him! but i get it. and i think that’s a sign of great character writing.

“did you know i just reminded emmram of all of her daddy issues? what the fuck????”

12.95. i love that dick&barbara, kory&kom, and gar are all approaching solving this mystery from different angles, each as valid as the other. also, conner is there as... emergency bomb defuser man?

13. it’s like all fancy rich people in fancy rich houses do is pour fancy rich alcohol into fancy rich glasses on pristine, untouched tabletops. i wonder what it’s like to live like that.

13.25. I KNEW IT! poor michael. it was nice knowing you.

13.5. man, kory is contending with a lot of issues that she’s successfully bottled up and compartmentalised until now. the cold reality that a child can seek out their parents as refuge and they can view the child as a piece to be moved in a greater game (never out of cruelty, though, never, and somehow that makes it worse), that truth of blackfire’s treatment on tamaran because she’s different, and her own culpability in what happened. she exchanged one family for another, after all, and left that family to die and her sister to suffer. like dick, like gar, kory’s being forced to reckon with what the titans are meant to be, the larger implications of creating their found family in their own space.

14. it’s probably because it’s one in the morning and i’ve had two glasses of wine but i did not follow that bit of exposition at all and victor freeze??? what?

anyway. look at them solving things! together! go team!

“you made a deal with the mob?” oh the sense of betrayal on his face! fuck off, dick, your issues aren’t kory’s.

15. conner is really sweet and a bit of an awestruck crush on kom is to be expected. especially after that power rangers-esque transformation (i say this as a former huge power rangers fangirl. i’ve seen every series until 2007 including the original japanese versions and written fanfic for all of them. so i love a cool costume transformation, is what i’m saying.)

also?

FUCK YEAH

16. i love the gotham crime families just chillin’ around eating ice cream. I LOVE THEM

16.5. that was a fun fight sequence, if marred slightly by that bit of awkward flirting between conner and kom. i wonder if she’s really planning to use him in a larger scheme to get kory back to tamaran, or maybe something else.

16.75. so i’m assuming that scarecrow has jason either so paralysed by fear that he can barely move, or jason’s withdrawing from the drug that he’s been sucking in every few minutes.

17. it’s nice to see them chill after a successful mission! and it can be awkward, but conner’s crush on kom and him striving to impress her is also, well, uh... cute.

17.5. i guess the dick/barbara scene was inevitable, especially given the... unresolved nature of their relationship in the flashbacks? and they’ve been through a rollercoaster together this episode, discovering and then destroying an incredible tool within a matter of hours, re-discovering just how well they work together as a team. dick’s swimming in the nostalgia. i don’t expect it to last as a long-term relationship, but i totally get why this is happening now. and hey, they’re cute!

i have a weeeirrrrd feeling that kory is going to leave to tamaran at the end of the season and that dick and kory will rekindle--or rather realise--their relationship just before that. it’s going to be devastating and beautiful and painful and i will be writing essays about it which would be me just wailing into the screen.

18. gar found molly!!!!!!! MOLLY’S BACK! \o/ gar is the BEST

19. that was a fun episode! i love this silly show, even if it does destroy me sometimes <3

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #barbara gordon #koriand'r #komand'r #garfield logan #jonathan crane #conner kent #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart

18 notes · View notes

punkpoemprose · 3 years

Text

December 14th- A Convenient Arrangement Part 6

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating:T Length: 6083 Words A/N: Dear reader, there is only one bed. And a lot of feelings before there is only one bed. More feelings about there being only one bed in the following chapter which will probably come soon?

Thanks for hanging in here with me. Everyone who reblogs, messages, leaves comments or tags gets a star sticker and a hug because the feedback keeps me writing and I love it!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Kristoff watched cautiously as Anna sat on a small stone near Pabbie’s home and listened to the old troll tell her the same information that had been shared with him earlier in the day. It had been confusing to him at first, particularly because he scarcely remembered anything about his early years with the trolls and the time of his life he spent without them. Anna had been even younger than he had been when their paths had first crossed, and she was having difficulty remembering it to the point that Kristoff wondered whether it had really happened at all.

The trolls didn’t lie, but they had also been alive for several human lifespans, and sometimes they forgot details or transposed dates, and it certainly wasn’t something that Kristoff could ever hold against them. They knew more about the history of the land than he could ever imagine learning, not to mention all the information they knew about magic and nature that he was certain no human could ever hope to understand with such mastery.

What if I just dragged her here to be confused and scared instead of comforted and informed?

He almost wanted to take her to the side and apologize when Pabbie looked at her with a serious gaze, like he wasn’t quite sure what had gone wrong. He wanted to tell her that he had only meant to comfort her the way he’d been comforted earlier in the day, and that he wanted her to feel safe with him and his family. He wanted to ask what she needed and give it to her.

I want to take care of her.

He realized in that moment that there was something he could do to that end, signaling for one of his uncles to come to his side.

“Can you bring a message to the city for me?” he asked as Anna continued, not too far off, to talk in quiet but confused tones with Pabbie.

“Of course. I just hope the Queen will remember us better than her sister.”

He sighed. He wanted to chide the troll for the tone of confusion. He wanted to tell him to cut Anna some slack for not remembering, because he wasn’t even sure it had been her at all. At least he knew that the Queen must know of the treaties between the crown and the trolls, or that at least one magic wielder might understand another.

The trolls usually tried not to leave their valley, particularly because they didn’t need to do so, but they were capable of it. He’d noticed them sometimes out of the corner of his eye, hiding in parts of the city at night when they were curious enough to explore. He knew that some of the people knew of them well enough to leave them alone, while others knew enough of them to be frightened by them, which was of course little to nothing as anyone who knew more than what to call them knew they were harmless.

“Please just tell the Queen that… well you’re my family and that her sister is safe and well. Tell her we got caught up talking and that we’ll be staying the night in the mountains and returning in the morning.”

The troll smiled, “Oh, staying the night is she? Do you want me to send some of your aunts and sisters over to make up that little cabin of yours?”

The wink the troll gave him was exaggerated, and Kristoff couldn’t help but feel grateful that Anna was too busy speaking with Pabbie to notice. He wasn’t meaning to be crass, but Kristoff couldn’t help but give him an annoyed look as she shook his head and sighed.

“No. Just let the Queen know please. I’d rather not be beheaded first thing in the morning when the palace guards get sent out in search of the Princess and think I’ve kidnapped her.”

The troll laughed, and Kristoff couldn’t tell if he understood that he was being serious or not. He hadn’t really thought much about Anna leaving the castle with him that morning. He’d always come and gone places as he liked in his life. It had never struck him to think for a moment about how his wife wasn’t allowed to do the same until they’d left the castle gates and she’d been so rapt with attention and focused on every detail of the town and the wood beyond the castle gates.

He’d shown her the places she’d never known existed before. There were natural hot springs, overlooks, waterfalls, and groves of apple trees she’d never seen. He’d stopped and slowed to let her see them as they rode along, and while they’d made good time on their trip into the mountains, he’d never wanted to avoid a stop that might interest her.

Is that what love feels like?

He shook off the thought and watched as the troll, still laughing at him and shaking his head, set off toward the edge of the clearing. Once there he started to quickly roll down the path that Kristoff knew was the quickest way to get to the capitol city from the mountains. He took comfort in the fact that as quick as the trolls could move the trip was not likely to take long, and that soon enough Anna’s sister would know that she was safe.

Hopefully she’ll take the word of a troll.

He turned his attention back to Anna and his grandfather. It seemed, as he walked back to their space, that there had not been any major breakthroughs on getting her to remember the moment that their paths crossed as children. It was odd to him that she wouldn’t remember anything that had happened to her. Though, when he thought about it a bit harder, he felt like he could remember the little red haired girl, the one that Pabbie thought was Anna, being asleep through the whole interaction.

“Pabbie?” he interrupted, wondering if perhaps the revelation might prove useful, or at least allow Anna some respite.

He could see that she was tired. It had been a long day, and having the same information thrown at him earlier in the day with a better memory of the events had been exhausting enough. He could tell she was frustrated and trying her best not to show it. It was written all over her posture, the way her fists were balled up on her knees, and the way her head was hung a little low so that she wasn’t quite making eye contact.

The old troll looked at him, but Kristoff’s focus was much more on Anna when she looked up at him. He saw that there was a shine to her eye, that she was frustrated to the point of tears.

You shouldn’t have brought her here.

He stepped closer and kneeled down at her side, offering her his hand. He felt relieved when she took it, and then warm when she used it to beckon him closer, leaning on him a bit when he complied to the physical request. They’d broken more unspoken cautionary boundaries today than they had on the wedding night.

Even their wedding kiss didn’t feel as intimate as her seeking his touch and support felt. He could almost fool himself into believing that what she felt for him was growing from partner in a bad situation to friend, to maybe something more like an actual spouse. He wanted to be that for her.

“I was just thinking… the girl… Anna, if it was her. She was asleep the whole time. How could she remember if her eyes weren’t open.”

The old troll looked thoughtful for a moment, and then Kristoff watched as he started piecing together the memories of the night that had been the subject of Kristoff’s thoughts for the entire evening. It was the day that the trolls had adopted him as their own, the day he’d followed a trail of ice to their valley and watched what he’d been told was the royal family meet with his grandfather.

He supposed that it had to have been them, unless of course ice powers and looking like the royal family were much more common traits than he had been lead to believe. It was what he rationalized bringing her to the trolls with. Somehow their whole situation felt a little bit better if the trolls were right and the early events of her life were tied to his.

Fate might be real, or it might be a load of crap, but either way it’s something to believe in and that feels good.

“You might be onto something Kristoff,” the old troll said, and then after another moment of silence he added, “Of course… Anna, do you remember your sister having powers when you were young?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment as Kristoff turned his head to look at her where she was leaned against his side. Her brow scrunched and she squeezed his fingers where they were interlaced with hers. She looked off into the distance, and he watched her space out as she thought about her younger years.

He was worried that they’d hit another roadblock when she shook her head.

“No, I was surprised as anyone when she froze the fountain… I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything but just the two of us playing.”

“I did a good job then,” the old troll said with a smile.

He made a broad gesture then with his hands, sweeping them through the air like something hung in it that only he could see. He swirled his hands in it, gathering something that Kristoff realized was becoming visible, glowing and glittering along his fingertips.

With an abrupt shift, that made them both jump, the old troll leaned forward and settled his hand on Anna’s forehead, the light settling into her skin as he eyes fluttered shut.

***

She was small and she was building a snowman. His name was olaf, and he was very cold, but he loved warm hugs. She hugged him, her little arms unable to span his snow body, but the love she felt for him was bigger than she was. Elsa giggled from behind the snowman, carefree, in a way she hadn’t seen her in years.

Then Elsa was with her again, this time making a sled of ice for them to slip down an icy hill on. Anna hadn’t recalled it not being a wooden sled before, but it made sense. No wooden sled wooshed the way they did on the ice. No wooden sled felt so cool under her.

She saw them again, Elsa making little snow dolls for her to play with, even though it was bedtime. Anna made them smooch because she always liked it when her toys were in a story about true love and marriage. It made her sad, for a moment, to remember that.

Then, she felt a knot grow in her stomach as she recalled a night long since forgotten. Elsa was building her little snow hills, and she was jumping quickly from one to another. She was jumping higher and higher and higher, but then there wasn’t another column below her, and she started to fall. She saw Elsa try to help, saw the flash of her sister’s ice come towards her, and then everything after was dark and cold.

She tried to push through it, to remember more, but not more memories would come, because they had never been formed.

I was asleep.

She felt a warmth at her side, and she let herself take a deep breath before opening her eyes. The old troll had been right of course. The night she couldn’t remember had likely been the very same night Kristoff came to the valley, following the ice from her wound and from Elsa’s anxious inability to control her powers.

When she opened her eyes Kristoff was staring down at her. She’d been pulled into his lap, and she thought, for a moment, about closing her eyes and staying there for a moment.

Her head hurt. There was a sort of congested soreness behind her eyes that radiated out to her temples as more memories, little ones about snowball fights and flurries and ice skating filtered back into her thoughts. Kristoff put his hand against her forehead, as if he were checking her temperature, and Anna noticed some of the pain fall away.

It was no magic that helped her feel better of course, just the warmth of his hand and the gentleness of the gesture that made her feel like all of this truly had been fate.

She looked up at him, and then above him, to the clear and cloudless night that had come on as she talked to Pabbie. She wondered if she looked hard enough, whether she could see herself and Kristoff written in the stars like any of the other constellations.

She’d had a tutor once who’d told her that constellations were just stars, a million miles away, that weren’t rigid structures so much that they were interpolated shapes, lines that humans drew in the ocean of stars above to tell themselves a story. She stared up at them, past Kristoff’s concerned features, and picked a handful that she thought looked a bit like interlocking circles, give or take a few stars.

That’s us.

Two circles crossing over each other, linked by fate. And by a wedding. And maybe by more.

The stars twinkled as she gazed upon them, and she thought that maybe they too were a sign. She hoped that they were telling her that everything would be alright.

Kristoff’s thumb moved a bit of hair away from her eyes, swiping it away easily as he held her in his lap, against him, against his arm. The almost brain freeze-like pain faded away the longer his hand rested against her forehead, and she let her eyes drift back closed.

***

Kristoff had been worried that she had been injured. He trusted Pabbie of course, but when she’d slumped a bit at his side and had stayed weak and slumped for a while after her memories had been returned, he had been afraid that something had gone wrong.

She’d come out of the shock of it a few short minutes later though, and he’d held her in his lap for a long while before she’d sat up on her own. They’d talked to Pabbie a bit more after, about how Kristoff had only found his family because of her family’s accident. It felt strange to think that they’d met before, her and the trolls, and that Kristoff had seen her that night.

She hadn’t remembered it because she’d been asleep, and she hadn’t remembered anything before that because the memories had been taken from her. That hurt to think about, that there were all these wonderful memories of her sister being her authentic self that were gone to her for so long.

The old troll had explained the need to remove the memories, the fact that with her being so young, Elsa’s magic might have done worse than just changed her hair if the memory of it had been left there. She knew that of course, having been struck again with her sister’s cold fairly recently and almost dying because of it. It had only been her own urge to protect Elsa that had saved her life.

She looked over to Kristoff, as they broke into the clearing where his small home sat. He had a thoughtful look on his face that she could scarcely read in the dim light provided by the moon and stars above them. He’d wrapped his arm around her for the walk back, steadying her on the path as they walked through shadows and she thought that maybe he was also trying to warm her.

The summer night was not particularly cold per say, but still she shivered.

She wondered what he would do when she told him about being struck with her sister’s ice for a second time. She wasn’t sure if he would understand, and she didn’t want his pity. She didn’t think she needed to warn him about it either. It was just something she thought he might like to know.

I just want someone to know.

Plenty of people knew, really. The royal council, Elsa, some of the staff, but no one had talked with her about it. No one asked how it had felt, how she’d felt her life ending and knew that she was powerless to stop anything but the end for her sister as well. It had been a miracle that they’d both survived, but there had been no time to breathe after.

“I sent someone to tell your sister you’d be staying,” he said quietly, “Hopefully she wasn’t too worried about how long we’ve been gone.”

Anna flushed. She’d forgotten about making sure Elsa knew they were alright. She still wasn’t sure if her sister had even gotten the note that she’d left for her.

In hindsight she could have probably handled the whole situation better, but she had just wanted to leave the castle, to be alone with her new husband for a while. Elsa, she knew, was still uncomfortable and fearful about the whole situation. Anna was as well, but she’d spent at least a little time with Kristoff and knew that he was the sort of person who would close off around others. If she really wanted to get to know him, it wasn’t something that could be done with the trailing guards Elsa would have insisted on.

She could already imagine the speech she was going to get from her sister when she arrived home. The air around her felt colder even thinking about it.

“Anna?”

He’d said something while she was thinking, but she hadn’t heard him. She still couldn’t completely see his face due to the dimness of the light around them, but she thought that maybe he was smiling. He probably realized she had spaced out, and she appreciated that he didn’t seem to get annoyed or upset with her when she did so.

If he did it would be a long and frustrating marriage.

She hoped that it would, of course, be a long one.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something.”

He nodded and extended a hand to her, offering her assistance to enter the cabin. She took the offered hand, but didn’t move, awaiting a repeat of what he’d just said.

“It’s alright, I was just letting you know there’s a tinderbox and a lantern inside. I already brought in the food you packed earlier. I suppose it’s a good thing we brought along extra. I had food here, but you probably wouldn’t have cared for it.”

Her heart started to pound. He made it sound like he was leaving her alone, and that was the last thing she wanted. Their walk back from the valley where the trolls resided had been a quiet one, and she felt like there was so much to say.

I don’t like to be alone.

She couldn’t say that though.

“Aren’t you coming in?”

He shrugged, “I thought I’d stay the night in the stable. You’d be more comfortable without me I’m sure.”

“I would not. You will not,” she said, the response instant and a bit rude, but she couldn’t help it.

She’d spoken the words like a command, but really she didn’t want to put him out. She would never expect him to be put into an uncomfortable position for her, especially not at his own home. More than that, she wanted him to stay with her. They’d been together all day and he hadn’t stepped even a toe out of the line they’d made together on their wedding night. He’d kept her safe, and he’d introduced her to his family. It was more than she’d ever dreamed their trip would be, and he’d, in a roundabout way, given her back her memories. She couldn’t possibly ever thank him enough for that. The least she could do was ensure he spent the night in his own bed.

“Please,” she said, this time a bit more controlled, “Stay.”

His jaw clenched, and she could feel the tension in him, even with the darkness between them she knew he was uncomfortable. She’d put him into a situation where he needed to make a choice, and while she took comfort in the fact that this time she had, in fact, afforded him the option of choice, she still felt a bit bad about acting as if she had any right to demand anything of him.

Her free hand raised up slowly, and before she could talk herself out of it, she cupped his cheek in her palm. The light stubble there scratched at her palm, and she wondered, for a moment, how it might feel to press a kiss there.

She flushed at the thought, grateful for the cover of darkness.

She felt his head tip, ever so slightly, into the touch. Her fingers tingled at the encouragement of the contact, and she let her thumb run across the top of his cheekbone, watching as he closed his eyes.

He sighed. It was a soft and quiet thing. She thought maybe even a relenting sound.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll stay here with you tonight.”

***

He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to her demand that he stay the night with her. Really it wasn’t a demand per say. It had seemed like one at first, but then she’d pleaded, and touched him so gently, and he couldn’t say no. It had been hard to see her expression in the dark, but he had been able to feel the need heavy in the air between them.

He never really knew what was proper. She was his wife, but she was in many ways, still a stranger. Spending the night in the same space as her didn’t feel right to his conscious.

You did stay the night with her on your wedding night.

He tried to tell himself that it was different, because they’d fallen asleep together by accident, and this was an act with intention. He tried to sooth his concerns with the promise that he’d sleep on the floor and leave the bed to her, but he already had the feeling that she wouldn’t stand for it.

His bed was so small though. He wasn’t sure that they would both fit in it without being so tight together that she would surely be uncomfortable.

She wasn’t uncomfortable touching your cheek. She wasn’t uncomfortable in your lap.

He closed the door of the stable behind him, thinking of it as the point of no return as he walked back towards his home. The light from the lantern in his hand flickered gently in a light breeze that buffeted the dark grass below his feet. In the window of the cabin he saw the outline of Anna, his wife, watching him return.

A nearly identical lamp sat in the windowsill before her, and he watched as it danced in return. Her hair looked even redder than normal, lit only by firelight.

He’d never thought about the type of woman he’d marry, but now that he was wedded to Anna, he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. She had bright eyes and a soft smile. Her personality was pure sunshine, dulled only by moments of deep melancholy that he was unsure if he could yet ask her about. He wanted to know her better, in a variety of ways. But seeing her now, waiting for him in just her underclothes, red hair like flames loose around her shoulders, he thought that he might want to know her in one very specific way.

He hoped that she couldn’t see his flush as he tried to think about anything but how easy it would be to slip her chemise from her shoulders. She’d already rid herself of her corset.

You’ve barely known her three days.

He huffed a sigh and tried to regain control of his thoughts.

She’s three years younger than you. She’s young and beautiful and stuck with you. Don’t think of impossible things.

Instead he forced himself to walk towards the front door with no intentions beyond maybe some conversation if she’d like, and sleeping.

And maybe hugging her goodnight.

He thought that maybe she’d like that.

***

Anna’s heart raced as he returned indoors and quietly and quickly removed his boots, his vest, his socks, and then nothing else. He grabbed a spare quilt from the end of his bed, passing her as he went, but saying nothing as he set it on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at her, and she noticed that he was flushed. She wasn’t certain of why, but she assumed that it was because she’d caught him in the act of something she wouldn’t approve of. She wouldn’t disapprove of much at the moment, save for him trying to sleep in the stables again, or perhaps on the floor.

“Getting ready for bed.”

The answer was a quiet one, simple. He gave her no more information than she asked for. It made her want to stomp over to him and drag him across the room, to the bed and keep him there all night.

“On the floor?”

He shrugged and she frowned. She could feel a wall building between them, one that hadn’t been there before dinner or before he’d gone out to take care of Sven for the night. It was frustrating, the feeling that they’d finally come to some kind of middle ground, where they were opening up to each other and then to watch it slip out of reach again.

“The bed’s not big enough for the both of us.”

“I think you might be surprised,” she said, glancing between him and the bed, “You’ll find I can take up very little space if the situation requires.”

I spent my whole childhood virtually invisible. You’ll see how small I can be.

“You won’t be comfortable with me there… I’m just trying to do the right thing Anna.”

“Don’t I get a say in what the right thing is?”

She felt something in her stomach tangle into knots. It had been a long day, and now she was fighting with him over something that shouldn’t matter at all. It was just that she wasn’t ready to be alone yet, even if it was just a few feet away. She wanted him closer.

I just want to pretend, just for tonight, that this is a real marriage.

I just want to be wanted.

Hot tears stung at her eyes, not for the first time that day. She did her best to hold them back, but she was feeling conflicted and frustrated and embarrassed. They were strangers, and she wanted him in bed with her. She knew that she should feel worse about it, that she should stop arguing and just go to sleep because he was being a good man to her and she couldn’t demand that he change his views on their union, but she couldn’t tell herself that her feelings weren’t real and she couldn’t pretend anymore that she wasn’t feeling something for him, even three days into their marriage of convenience.

He stared at her, and she thought that she saw a flare of frustration in his eyes. She couldn’t call it anger though. He was still a stranger, but he was her husband and as much as she knew of him, she already understood that he wasn’t going to be angry with her. Not over being upset after a long day, so for the first time in a long time she decided just to let loose.

“Do you know when the last time anyone asked me what I thought was right for me? The last time that anyone asked me to make any decisions about my life that mattered? Because the answer is never. I can see that clearly now that I have all my early memories back, which, you know, my parents consented to having removed and never replaced until now when, thankfully, I ended up married to the one man in the world that had a connection that let me get them back. No one has ever let me decide what was right for me a day in my life Kristoff and fighting back against that nearly got me and my sister killed. It’s the reason why we’re married, because I tried to make a choice, screwed up my one and only shot at it, and people I barely know convinced my sister they knew what was best for me. You don’t have to change your decisions because I want to be free to make mine, but I would appreciate it if I could be included in the conversation over whether something involving me is right or wrong.”

She was shouting, but her throat felt tight. She knew that the heat on her cheeks was from tears, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

You sound like a petulant child.

It was true. She did, but she refused to feel bad about it. She’d been unable to throw a good fit since she was very small, and somehow despite probably alienating her husband in the process, it felt good to just let some of the frustration and rage escape. Of course she still knew that her memories being taken from her was a necessity, but it was just another broken straw in the wake of how her parents had raised her, how her family had paved the road to her current hell with nothing but good intentions and no willingness to see past the end of their noses to ask her what she needed.

“I’m…”

She couldn’t say she was sorry.

I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I’m lonely and confused and I need someone.

She heard him approaching her, but she couldn’t look up to meet his eye. She still wasn’t sorry, but she was embarrassed.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, warm and solid.

She wrapped her arms around him in return, bringing herself into his space as much as possible until she was crying into his shirt and melting into his frame while his hands ran up and down her back. There was a nervousness and uncertainty to the slow and stuttering way he touched her, as if he was afraid of letting his hands move too quickly, or too low.

It was comforting nevertheless, and she let herself breathe through it. When one hand found her hair, she squeezed him a bit tighter, encouraging the touch. No one had ever just touched her hair before. Or at least not since she was very young.

When he carded his fingers through it gently, fingertips smoothing over the ripples her braids had left, she focused on the feeling of the strands being lifted and shifted. It was easier to breathe when she made him her focus. Every time she’d broken down over the last three days, he’d been there to help her through it. While there were people in her life that loved her dearly, she’d never had anyone care so much about how she was feeling minute by minute.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently when her hiccupping breaths had evened out, “You’re right. I should have asked you what you wanted, or at least told you why I didn’t want to share the bed with you. I’m not used to my decisions affecting other people.”

She let herself lean away from his now dampened shirt front, but his arms didn’t lift from her, his hand shifting from her hair back down to the center of her back where the other hand already rested. She didn’t let him go either but loosened her grip slightly so that they could create enough space between them for her to see his face.

He looked worried, but the frustration in his features was gone, replaced again by a softness she was beginning to regard as a look he reserved for her. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but imagining that he was warming up to her, that their closeness today meant as much to him as it meant to her. Imagining it brought her some comfort.

“I didn’t mean to unload on you,” she said, sniffling a bit as she regained control over her breathing fully and worked to dislodge the feeling of tightness in her throat.

“I think that’s part of what being married is,” he replied, “Listening to the other person when they need to get something off their chest.”

As much as she’d thought about weddings and being married as a kid, she’d never really thought much about what it meant to be married. She liked the idea that he would listen to her when she needed to vent, and she thought that maybe she could do that for him too.

“Do you have anything you need to say to me… I think I’m a good listener.”

As long as I’m not distracted.

He pulled her back into the hug a little tighter and she squeezed him in return.

“Sure, but it’s not urgent.” He replied, his voice low and warm. Calming.

“I think you might have some more to say first? I’m not going to pry, but I didn’t know what was going to happen with my family, and I think that if what just happened to you happened to me, I’d need to talk about it. You don’t have to. I just thought you might want to.”

She nodded. She had five years’ worth of memories to unpack, to disentangle from lies she’d believed for thirteen years. Having someone to listen sounded nice.

“But maybe bed first?” he asked, sounding uncertain.

***

He’d done his best to explain to her why he’d tried to take up residence on the floor without her, leaving her in the bed. He hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable in either the physical or mental sense. He hadn’t wanted to assume that being married promised him a spot at her side, even if it was in his bed. He hadn’t wanted her to sleep on the floor either.

Now though he was starting to realize that Anna’s idea of what was right for their relationship was certainly feeling right to him.

He was shirtless, her tears had soaked his shirt and it had been her insistence that he’d removed it. At the time he’d thought that he’d seen her eyes linger on his bare torso, and while it was probably just his overactive imagination, he thought that she’d appeared to be enjoying what she was seeing.

I want my wife to be attracted to me. I think I do at least. I know I’m attracted to her.

She was sleeping, her head rested on his bare chest like a pillow, curled up at his side in a way that he was certain would cause a crick in her neck in the morning. He didn’t want to move an inch, his arm was draped over her, a thin quilt and her chemise all that separated them.

She’d told him so much about her life, what it was like to grow up in the castle. Even with her memories returned to her, which she’d described as uncomfortable but not the worst thing she’d ever been through, she couldn’t recall much of what life had been like before the gates had been closed. It made sense to him, as he couldn’t remember much about his life before the trolls took him in, and he’d been eight at the time.

She’d exhausted herself describing the details of what it was like to grow up the way she had, and he hadn’t argued when she’d pulled him to bed with her. He understood that she didn’t want to be alone, and he couldn’t deny how good it felt to hold her in his arms.

He already liked her, and as she nuzzled into his chest and let out a little snore, he realized, with a barely contained chuckle, that he was looking forward to loving her.

He closed his eyes and tried his best to fall asleep as she had, holding her tight to his side.

#kristannaadvent2020 #A Convenient Arrangement #Kristanna #Frozen Fanfiction #arranged marriage au

50 notes · View notes

churchkey · 3 years

Note

How does Nix's first Christmas with Dick's family go? 😊

(I was going to answer this like a normal person and then it turned into a ficlet, hope you don't mind)

In a word? Terrible.

He didn’t want to go in the first place but he didn’t want to be alone. For Lew, Christmas has never been about hope or nostalgia or seeing the good in people or being welcomed back into the arms of those who love you most. As a child, it meant being left home with an au pair while his parents made the social rounds. As an adult, it meant getting drunk, walking a constantly shifting line between merry and pathetic. As a veteran, it’s a time of missing people he never really even knew that well, a vague, reverberating sorrow echoing through the hollow spaces inside of him. As a spouse, it’s a goddamn minefield.

When Dick asked him what he wanted for Christmas, Lew laughed as though Dick had just told him about the bizarre rituals of some ancient civilization. He didn’t realize he was serious until he saw the blush rise in Dick’s cheeks as he looked down, hurt, into his coffee and told Lew to nevermind, it didn’t matter. The next day he went out and bought things Dick probably wouldn’t like and certainly didn’t need, things that were not even in the ballpark of his style. A stranger probably could have done better, and that was what Lew began to feel like by the end of his little spree. When it was just the two of them, he knew exactly who he was to Dick and what they were to each other. What they’d promised with their hearts and words and bodies. But out in a world that denied their existence, it was a different story. Out there, it was hard to remember sometimes.

So when Dick told Lew he’d like to go home for Christmas and he’d like Lew to come with him, Lew thought of the neckties and golf clubs and driving gloves still in their boxes in the trunk of his car, and he said yes because here was something he could give Dick, something he actually wanted. He said yes, even though he would have much rather stayed home (and how much it hurt that Dick still called Lancaster ‘home’, would he ever find the courage to tell him?); even though he suspected (was afraid - he’ll admit it, how much of his reluctance came down to simple, humbling fear) that Dick’s feelings toward him would change when he saw the version of Lew reflected in their eyes. He said yes because the world said no.

There were moments when he forgot about the charade they awkwardly performed and Dick’s family awkwardly believed, the touch of Dick’s hand between his shoulder blades as they walked to the car or a stolen kiss as they brushed by each other in the bathroom doorway before going to bed. The rest of the time, Lew was pretty much miserable.

It was the fact that none of them drank, and glanced warily at Lew when he did, like he was holding them hostage, the ransom their peace of mind.

The fact that they’d always nurtured a healthy resentment toward the upper class, and Lew was the wealthiest person they’d ever met.

The fact that Dick had left them for New Jersey.

That he’d left them for Lew.

Or at least the job Lew had offered, and that was suspicious too.

The fact that it was the first Christmas without Dick’s dad, and Lew felt all the time like he was trespassing on their grief, as though he hadn’t propped Dick up and kept him standing and held him through the deepest fathoms of his own grief.

The fact that he didn’t go to church.

The fact that the guest room shared a wall with Dick’s bedroom and in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, Lew almost convinced himself that it was better that way, keeping Dick on the other side of a wall. Keeping their feelings safely contained within boundaries they’d managed to ignore for a few years, but had only grown thicker and harder while they were away.

On Christmas Day, after the family got home from church, he and Dick went for a walk around the neighborhood. Dick showed him his high school, the fields where he used to play football, and Lew tried to picture him, a skinny kid in a varsity uniform, but he couldn’t. It seemed impossible that Dick had ever been that young. They reached the end of a street and kept walking into the vacant field beyond, hands stuffed into their pockets against the cold, eyes on the horizon.

“I’m sorry you’re not having a good time,” Dick said finally. They stopped walking.

“It’s not that.”

Dick took a small step closer and turned to face him. “What, then?”

Lew sighed. “I feel -” He looked up into the gray dome of the sky. “Far away.”

Dick nodded like he understood, even though Lew wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“It’s like the more we’re with other people, the less I’m with you.”

Lew looked back at Dick. One corner of his mouth lifted in sad sympathy. He felt Dick’s fingers wrap around the back of his wrist inside the cuff of his sleeve.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” was all Dick said, but somehow it was the right thing. The true thing. Lew turned his hand over and slid his palm up Dick’s arm, wrist to wrist, and for a moment he thought he felt Dick’s pulse against his own, and he couldn’t tell which heartbeat was his. They shared it, the blood and oxygen. They shared what gave them life.

That night, as he again lay sleepless on the other side of the wall, he listened to the whine of mattress springs as Dick turned and shifted. The moan of floorboards under his steps. The creak of the door and then footsteps again. The cool draft of night air as he lifted the blankets and then the warmth of Dick’s chest against his back.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Dick’s breath, hot and damp against his ear. “It’s alright. I’m not gonna try anything funny.”

“Better not. I’m a married man.”

He rolled onto his back, into Dick’s waiting arms. Dick’s eyes floated over his face; he smiled.

“That’s right,” he said softly. “Even if we’re the only ones who know it.”

Lew’s smile faded and he felt that old familiar ache in his heart, a desire he couldn’t quite place. A longing for another world. Another time. But there was nothing he could do about it now, except to wrap his arms tighter around Dick and never let him go.

#winnix #ficlet #merry angsty christmas #band of brothers #lewis nixon #dick winters

44 notes · View notes

beca-mitchell · 4 years

Link

Summary: When Beca and Jesse get married, the second last thing anybody expects is for them to separate soon after. The actual last thing anybody expects is for Beca to move in with Chloe. Set after PP2.

Notes: i told myself i would fucking finish this and mark my words i will even if this ends up being the most horrible thing in the world. fic title from "Cornelia Street" by Taylor Swift

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * *

Beca looks beautiful, all clad in white. The bodice of her dress is snug and fitted. Sleeveless and strapless, baring her delicate shoulders. Her hair, so carefully styled and pinned by Chloe's own hands.

Beautiful, Chloe repeats in her mind. She tries not to stare, but it is too difficult not to marvel at the way Beca just seems to glow. It is reminiscent of so many memories Chloe previously held close to her chest (radiant smiles from across the room, hoisting championship trophies, graduation, smiles from across a flickering campfire), yet here Beca is in front of all their friends.

For all the world to see.

A tinge of joy sparks in Chloe’s chest before spreading into a flame that sends the most pleasant of aches through her body.

She is so indescribably happy for Beca’s happiness...and yet—

It’s just that now, in this moment, there is a kind of impossibleness about Beca that rattles Chloe’s heart. She looks beautiful with a nervous - but unmistakably radiant and happy - smile adorning her face. It’s the kind of smile that art only hopes to capture - the kind of happiness that makes people envious.

Chloe remembers that her brother once told her that a person’s perspective and emotions could change completely by way of simply tilting their head. He had then taken the opportunity to push her into the pool while she had observed an adorable bird flapping its wings in the cool spring air. It had all been a ploy of course, but for some reason, Chloe knew that she would not have seen that bird if not for a change of perspective. A change of heart, maybe.

She wonders if she can tilt her head now if only to right all the wrongs in her life. Her world is already bent and skewed and she navigates through it on shaky legs. She has navigated and navigated and brought herself here. To this moment.

To Beca’s wedding day.

It makes Chloe sigh with how breathtaking Beca looks. She clutches her bouquet a little tighter, watching Beca practically glide down the aisle while holding on to her father’s arm.

Beca is a force in Chloe’s life. She perpetuates this constant push and pull somewhere deep within Chloe’s chest, like she is pulling Chloe to shore, but Chloe resists because she knows Beca isn’t hers - not really. It’s a little akin to self-preservation, but she’s resisting the one thing she knows will make her happy beyond reason.

It’s why Chloe is here today; it’s why Chloe is trying to stop herself from crying, lest she break down very publicly and very inappropriately.

It’s because today isn’t about her, not one bit.

It’s about Beca marrying her college sweetheart.

Or rather, in other words:

Beca chose Jesse.

Beca chose Jesse all those years ago and now Chloe pays the price for never having spoken out; she’s paying the price by watching the love of her life marry somebody else, while she smiles and pretends she’s okay with it all.

And she is - she’s okay, really. She knows that Beca is happy - from what she can tell - and she knows that Jesse will take care of Beca.

But she would absolutely be lying if she said “being okay” meant that it didn’t hurt at all, because it does hurt. It hurts like a bitch, and that’s putting it lightly if Chloe’s being honest.

So Chloe lets her heart bleed out, not caring that she leaves remnants of her love for Beca along this path they’ve walked together: she’ll accept whatever fate comes to her, even if it means just being Beca’s friend because it’s better than not having her in her life at all.

They’ve all known each other for years at this point.

Chloe’s world has been spinning slowly from the moment Beca told her she was engaged and now...watching Beca kiss Jesse softly—tenderly—Chloe’s world slows so much that she thinks she stops breathing for a moment.

Though all eyes are on the happy couple, Chloe’s world slows and blurs until she’s the only one there, witnessing this unfold before her eyes. She feels an unreal sense of nothingness well up inside her while happiness struggles to fill the void, a happiness she struggled to find for as long as she can remember.

And here, Jesse and Beca are, having found that happiness for themselves.

So she borrows some of that - thrives tragically off the love her life being happy because it’s what she deserves. It’s what they all deserve.

Then, when Chloe comes back into herself, her world is bent and twisted - tilted on its axis in all the wrong directions.

Beca is smiling at her with tears in her eyes, holding on to her husband’s hand and there’s nothing Chloe can really do about it.

Beca turns with Jesse and hand in hand, they float back down the aisle. Chloe watches them as they go—float seems like the only apt word because they seem to drift, like they are simultaneously fading from her own conscience.

She marvels at how quickly they became Jesse and Beca. No longer Jesse-comma-Beca.

Chloe’s hands are numb from clapping, watching from her own perch as the maid of honor, though she finds little honor in her position, considering she is kind of sort of very much in love with the bride herself.

Still. Clapping. She plasters a smile on her face even as her heart thrums uncomfortably, like a warning sign. The only real physical reminder that she’s present; that she’s there.

* * * * *

It wasn’t even that long ago—

“Are you happy?” Chloe had asked. Well before the wedding. Well before the preparations for the wedding. Something that Chloe had always enjoyed about her relationship with Beca was their ability to communicate with each other, mostly because of all the struggle they had endured to get to this point. They talked often and sometimes for hours at a time. It brought—continues to bring—joy to Chloe whenever they managed to steal away into their own world for a few moments. The distance between them, distance which only grew with time, was a buffer, but nothing permanent.

Chloe was and still isn’t good with boundaries.

The distance was somewhat of a buffer, but Chloe was never good with boundaries. She had allowed herself to be sucked in by Beca and consumed by Beca's wants and needs, even if Beca hadn't wanted her. It hadn't mattered. Didn't matter, especially not then as the precious minutes ticked on by.

Even less than an hour ago, when Chloe had been staring at the back of Beca’s head for an entirely different reason, hair brush in her hand, ready to help Beca become the bride she wanted to be.

“Are you happy?” Chloe had asked, once again.

She was Beca's maid of honor. She had duties to fulfill. Hair to comb and brush. A smiling and happy bride to please.

It was a special kind of hell, waiting for Beca to respond. It felt like a stupid question, in retrospect.

So. Hell. A special kind of hell for those who inappropriately fall in love with their best friends.

As for Beca—

Beca’s eyes had lifted to catch Chloe’s in the mirror and for a moment, their breaths had stilled. Beca always prided herself on knowing Chloe well. Probably better than she knew herself at times. Still, the question had jarred her - but not because of the context. It had been the way Chloe asked: trepidation and emotion bleeding through the three simple words, like another set of three words that set people's hearts aflame.

(There had been times where Beca found herself instinctively wanting to respond with another three words. Equally simple, but equally capable of setting people's hearts aflame, much like her own. How natural that would have felt.)

A range of possible answers flooded through Chloe's mind as the silence stretched. She imagined and imagined, combing through Beca's hair with slow, gentle fingers. Then, Beca finally turned to face her and the imagery changed. Chloe imagined all kinds of things that Beca could say – all the ways Beca could have broken her heart.

The happiest, Beca could say.

Or-

I love him with all my heart.

He’s everything I want and more.

Instead, all Beca managed to do was hesitate; all Beca managed to do was say a soft - the softest - “yes” and that had been the end of that conversation.

Chloe hadn't been sure if she should have breathed a sigh of relief or if she should have sucked in a breath of despair.

* * * * *

Shockingly, at a wedding reception for two of her friends (Jesse is a friend, Chloe tells herself), Chloe finds it difficult to pick out a familiar face.

She is seated between Benji and one of Beca’s cousins. It’s one of the odder tables she’s ever been a part of, but Chloe can’t complain, being a part of Beca’s life.

“Hey,” Benji says quietly.

“Where’s Emily?” Chloe asks, equally quiet as they watch Beca and Jesse share their first dance as husband and wife. Something heavy rests on her shoulders.

Benji laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “We’ve been over for a while now.”

Chloe thinks she could facepalm at that exact moment if she weren’t cradling her wine glass precariously. “I...I’m so sorry. Yes, I knew that,” Chloe murmurs, embarrassed. “I totally knew that and I just…” her gaze flickers, practically automatically, back to Beca and Jesse.

Now, somehow, her eyes lock on directly to Beca’s eyes. Beca’s eyes which are glistening as clear as day.

Beca’s voice rings in her head, suddenly drowning out all other sounds.

“I...I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats. “Got caught up in memories, I guess.”

She misses Benji’s sympathetic expression. He pauses before speaking. “I totally get it if you don’t want to do the song.”

And there’s that.

(Also, it figures that Jesse’s best friend is as intuitive as ever. Chloe thinks that her and Benji must make a fine pair.)

“No,” Chloe murmurs. “We’ve practiced it enough and it’s on the itinerary. Aubrey will kill me if I don’t sing the song.”

Benji grins, as boyishly handsome as ever. “Weren’t you the maid of honour?”

Chloe cuts him a playful glance. “You think Aubrey Posen would pass up an opportunity to plan something? Especially for a fellow Bella?” She clears her throat. “And...it was probably for the best that she ended up taking control of the whole thing.” At Benji’s inquisitive expression, she falters. “I’ve been busy with work. New school year and all.”

He nods, but doesn’t push. Instead, he rises to his feet and holds out a hand. “Dance?” he asks. “Just to get the pre-performance jitters out.” His smile is genuine. “I know it’s…” he lowers his voice. “...it’s been a while since you’ve performed.”

Chloe snorts, already feeling something unclench from around her heart. “And who won Nationals three times in a row?” She accepts Benji’s hand nonetheless.

“Okay, super senior. Win any awards for that?”

The laugh she lets out is one of the easiest ones she’s let out in a while.

* * * * *

Watching Beca and Jesse grow together was in itself a long and tumultuous road. As with most college relationships, they had their ups and downs, had their moments apart, but somehow - always somehow - Beca would talk herself (and Chloe) back into the idea that her and Jesse were meant to be together.

If Chloe had to pinpoint important moments from her college experience, she’d use the markers of Jesse and Beca’s relationship to pinpoint specific moments where she felt like her and Beca were something more. The way Beca’s eyes would flash or change whenever she looked at Chloe - or even the way Beca’s body always somehow angled towards her, attentive and caring and confusing all at once.

As for Jesse and Beca, there were many times where Chloe believed they would separate permanently, but they somehow always forced themselves back together. Forced. Not found. What that meant was that Beca would find herself distressed and huffing and pacing in Chloe’s room, nearly rubbing a hole into her floor with how frequently she did that.

Chloe privately thought—feelings shared by Aubrey and Amy from time to time—that Jesse and Beca were better off as friends, but there was something a little romantic, she supposed, about marrying your significant other from college and building that idyllic life together. There was something a little picturesque about that - about growing together to the point that they were ready to spend the rest of their lives together.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Jesse and Beca were that couple: they were both successful and talented and both agreed to live together in Los Angeles. It was almost annoying how well they worked together, but even Beca, on a drunken whim at Barden during her junior year, had confided that she sometimes had felt that something had never really clicked between them.

Chloe never pursued that line of thought because Beca had still been happy.

So they graduated, won the Worlds, and everybody went their separate ways.

That’s the short story.

The slightly longer story is that Chloe planned and planned until she grew so terribly weary of seeing her career advisor between classes. She grew weary of dragging half-eaten sandwiches into her equally exasperated career advisor’s office. She studied until she saw black spots in the corner of her vision.

By the end of her senior year, she had plans to leave Barden and never look back.

She contemplated moving home. She contemplated Portland and her parents’ comfortable home. She contemplated the fair weather, the nice trails, and the free meals.

She thought of stability and mediocrity and everything that came with the idea of settling - not even settling down.

Just, settling.

So, instead, she called her brother and asked whether she could stay with him in San Francisco. She called her brother because she barely talked to her sister. She called her brother because he was where she wanted to be.

(California. She wanted to be in California. Beca’s determination and drive bleed into Chloe, as expected when two bodies exist in such close proximity. Chloe is helpless to stop the ebb and flow of Beca’s spirit and drive into her own body.

She craves it.

It makes her better—makes all of them better.)

Despite Aubrey’s insistence that she take up a position at Fallen Leaves with all associated perks and benefits, Chloe declined that offer and finally settled on working towards being a teacher.

(“In California?” Aubrey asks, trepidation in her tone. Disapproval, maybe. Chloe doesn’t want to get into that now.

“Yes. Eventually.” Chloe responds because what else is she supposed to say?)

* * * * *

“You’ve always been weirdly good with kids,” Beca says lightly. They’re folding their blankets while the last embers of the fading campfire flicker away.

It surprises Chloe because Beca had been oddly quiet while the rest of the Bellas made their way back to the tent for their final night. Taking pause, Chloe watches Beca’s face for any clues as to why she’s bringing this up now or if Beca’s going to continue her train of thought.

“I guess,” Chloe says slowly. “I mean, I don’t really think that I could find a steady job teaching underprivileged children how to sing.” A small smile works its way across her face. “That’d be nice though.”

“Not just that,” Beca says quickly. “I just...think you’d make a really good teacher. Of the general sort. Like, teaching kids...how to read. Or do math.” Beca seems to grow more embarrassed as more words flow from her mouth. “You know what I mean. You’ve always had the most ridiculous patience with the Bellas and you’ve also always managed to…” Beca’s voice grows quieter. “You’ve always helped me believe in myself. So, that’s...yeah.”

That little monologue is surprising enough that it’s Beca who is rambling nervously in front of Chloe. But it’s the added touch of Beca being bashful - shy almost - as if she’s revealing something intimate about herself that really makes Chloe’s cheeks warm.

“And maybe,” Beca suggests casually, evening her tone out like she’s talking about the weather, but Chloe knows better. “Maybe that’s a job you could do in California.”

And there it is. The blurry lines and deep-seated emotions finally rising to the surface.

Chloe adores this side of Beca. It’s rare to see such vulnerability shine through. Chloe thinks she can count on two hands the amount of times Beca’s walls crumbled in front of her, enough so for her to seek comfort in Chloe’s room in the dead of the night, or to find Chloe at her favorite spot in the library.

“Yeah?” Chloe asks, almost too afraid to break the silence.

Somehow, Beca looks younger, standing in front of her. Like she's standing in front of Chloe in her freshman year, asking for a chance somehow.

“Yeah,” is Beca’s equally soft reply.

Chloe gently tugs the half-folded blanket from Beca’s hands. She smiles and helps Beca refold it without saying another word.

There really isn’t much more Chloe can say.

* * * * *

And even since then – since that fateful evening, sitting around the campfire without a care in the world – she says nothing and does nothing. The memory of one of their last nights together as college students and as Bellas is seared into Chloe's mind.

It’s not like she can do or say anything, really. For all intents and purposes, Beca is happy and Jesse is sweet. They work together and Chloe isn’t in the business of breaking up solid couples.

So she throws herself into work after Jesse proposes. She buries herself in work after the wedding. Buries and buries like an ostrich with its head in the sand because it is easier to pretend than face the reality.

Chloe is terrible at coping mechanisms. A product of how she grew up, she supposes.

Amidst all this – amidst the hurt, the separation, and the desperate bid for happiness, she completes her teaching certification. Even worse, she moves to L.A.—fully moves, boxes and all—and she goes out to dinners with Jesse and Beca like some hapless third wheel, pretending everything is fine and she is completely and totally okay with seeing Beca and Jesse hold hands like they’ve done so a million times before.

Chloe is nothing but resilient and maybe a bit of a masochist. She wills her crush away (prays for some kind of reprieve for sinners like her) but she learns the hard way that it is useless because she can’t will away something that doesn’t exist.

Because she doesn’t have a crush.

It’s not a crush and never was. She’s just hopelessly in love with Beca Mitchell and she’ll have to spend the rest of her life figuring out how to deal with that.

* * * * *

Regardless, it doesn’t take long for things to go to shit.

* * * * *

It starts with Beca moving in with Chloe. The irony is that Chloe had assumed the end of Jesse and Beca's wedding meant the beginning of their life together—a new life without Chloe, all things considered. It ends up being the beginning of something, just not quite the life that Jesse likely envisioned. Chloe had prepared herself to be completely boxed out because a married couple, she assumed, typically didn't have time for a tragically single woman who were in love with one half of said married couple.

Or maybe it starts with Beca and Jesse’s relationship souring entirely, prompting them to split hastily and messily. It sends Beca right to Chloe and her new Los Angeles apartment, having finally found her footing in the teaching department.

Or maybe it starts with the beginning of Jesse and Beca’s relationship, all those years ago.

Chloe isn’t sure, but she thinks maybe—just maybe—she isn't remiss in thinking that the story starts and ends with her and Beca somehow. She just has difficulty figuring out how the pieces fall.

* * * * *

Beca is only living with her for about two weeks when it happens.

When Chloe comes home one Friday afternoon, she isn’t expecting to see a mess in her living room. The rumpled blanket, headphones haphazardly scattered across the floor. Beca's laptop perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table as if its owner couldn't be bothered to put it away neatly.

She knows Beca and this isn't Beca's usual behaviour.

Panicking, Chloe darts around the corner, calling for Beca’s name. She is worried that Beca hurt herself somehow. Her brain immediately conjures up the worst possible scenarios - all of them worse than the previous ones.

She stops in each bedroom before she realizes there’s a quiet sort of sniffling happening behind the door to the guest bathroom.

“Beca?” she calls softly, not wanting to startle Beca.

She hopes it’s Beca. The thought that Beca might have been harmed makes her heart pound and it spurs her into action again. She reaches into her purse, resting her fingers on the small canister of mace (a gift from Aubrey) and tries to still her racing heart.

The crying becomes more apparent as Chloe nears firmly-shut door. "Beca?" she calls quietly. The sniffling stops for a moment before it starts again. Chloe is both relieved and upset: relieved that Beca is safe, but upset that Beca is hurting for whatever reason. She rests a palm against the wooden door, her heart aching at the sound of Beca’s quiet crying.

“Bec,” she tries. "I'm coming in, okay?" She waits, listening for protest. Upon hearing none, she finally pushes open the door. “I – what’s going on?” she asks, trying to stay calm when she sees Beca huddled in the furthest corner of the room, hastily wiping away her tears. Even after years of knowing each other, Beca Mitchell is still self-conscious of her own tears in front of Chloe Beale – Chloe, who is an avid crier herself. It would be cute if not for the fact that Beca doesn't look like she's about to calm down anytime soon. Chloe bites her lip, unsure as to what she can say. “What…happened to the living room?” Chloe finally asks tentatively. “I-I’m not mad. I’m just concerned,” Chloe says hastily. “We can clean it up later, I’m just…” Chloe trails off, gesturing vaguely with her hands.

This moment is rare. She’s not sure whether Beca wants her to approach or not.

Beca finally makes a sound other than a sniffle or a sob. She laughs, but it’s dry and void of emotion. Not quite the sound Chloe is expecting. The sound is jarring and echoes in the space around them. It alarms Chloe because Beca has generally either been sad or happy since moving in with her. The two solid emotions are at least something that Chloe can deal with. This Beca is scared – terrified, maybe – and a little hollow. It makes Chloe’s chest feel tight, as if she’s about to have some kind of bomb dropped on her.

“Beca,” Chloe says softly. She finally kneels in front of Beca and puts her hand on her shoulder in an attempt to get her to look up. “What’s wrong? Did...Did Jesse say something to you? Say something about you?” It's the only thing that Chloe can think of as the most recent trauma in Beca's life – her separation and subsequent divorce proceedings from Jesse. She lets the question hang in the air, hopes it doesn't upset Beca too terribly, and waits.

Chloe doesn’t have to wait long. It feels as if time stops for a moment when Beca’s eyes flick up to hers, but they’re filled with pain and sadness and a kind of longing that Chloe doesn’t know what to do with. She can’t dwell, however, because Beca’s mouth is opening and she takes a deep, pained breath-

“I-I’m pregnant, Chlo.”

Chloe’s world tilts all over again.

tbc.

#mine #bechloe #bechloe fic #my fanfic #pitch perfect

76 notes · View notes

littleghostlyrose · 3 years

Text

Because I'm really proud of this fic, here read it if you want if though though you all probably have no idea who da fuq is Amaya unless your my friend Bri (@lesbunnian) and what the hell is going on here fully or what the hell Amaya's past isor anything just DEAL WITH IT PLS it's a long story about the explanation.

But anyways this takes place in me and Bri's AU of the Drakengard universe and NieR universe so yeah this is technically AU stuff even if things aren't THAT immensely different. Uh. Kinda. So yeah.

Warning to all, if you do not like Grimoire Weiss x [Brother] Nier, I suggest you do not read! Even if it's mainly Nier x Amaya (my OC) there's still a tiny bit of Weiss x Nier in there so yeah.

I'll probably come back and fix the formatting a bit on my computer later so ye

Word Count: 3,026

He felt unworthy of even looking her in the eyes. Those beautiful ice blue eyes of hers that shone so brightly so often with so much happiness and kindness which he admired so much he felt unworthy of looking into. He felt unworthy of even being near her.

Why was this, you may ask?

Because he had failed her. He couldn't protect her or Kainé for that matter. He promised to protect them and yet in the end he ended up injured and bleeding on the ground in front of them as they huddled up together in front of a door trying to keep a ballistic Shade from escaping the room they were keeping it trapped in and which they eventually began being unable to keep contained to which they asked Emil to petrify them both so that the damned Shade wouldn't be able to escape and which Emil reluctantly did. Leaving Nier with only Weiss; a motherfucking sentient talking book; to keep him company whilst he drowned in his regret and grief.

As much as Emil wished he could, he couldn't stay with Nier; he had a home to return to and he had to find a way where he could unpetrify Kainé and Amaya both. For five long years, Nier was practically all alone, blaming himself for not being strong enough to protect Yonah or Kainé or Amaya. And for those five years, he trained hard and rigorously so that he would be strong enough when Kainé and Amaya were unpetrified and he resumed his quest to defeat the Shadowlord.

He swore he would not fail them again. He could not and would not if he could help it.

Then finally, the day came where Amaya and Kainé could finally be unpetrified. It was the first day of Spring; What a good way to start off the season, right? To defeat a jackass Shade that was the reason the two women you loved were petrified in front of a door and to tightly hug said two women once their unpetrified because you're terrified you'd lose them again!

Except that's not what happened.

What happened was Nier brutally murdered the Shade- the Jack of Hearts or whatever it was called, Nier didn't give two fucks- and avoided touching Kainé or Amaya except when Amaya practically leaped into his embrace and Nier flinched an avoided hugging her back despite nuzzling and leaning into the hug. Which he could tell caused her to be slightly shocked and worried, as Nier used to always return her hugs five years ago after he got used to her hugging him out of the blue.

But he just...didn't feel deserving of her embrace. He failed to protect her. Why should he be allowed to even be touched by her? To receive even the smallest of physically affectionate gestures? This was why he wore clothes that covered every inch of him but his face; he was punishing himself, practically. And trying to convince everybody else to punish him by using his clothing as a boundary to keep everybody from actually touching him.

To add to that, besides believing he didn't deserve affection, he also believed that he'd taint anybody he touched. He believed he was dirty, disgusting- someone who only tarnished anybody he touched and made them disgusting too. And because Amaya was beautiful, kind, sweet, and who Nier was completely infatuated with, he believed he should try his damndest to not touch her lest he tainted her.

And Amaya wasn't having any of it. But she couldn't do much of anything about it, until the incident that prompted Kainé to act like she was angry and kiss him, Amaya, and Weiss...somehow, and say that they're all dating now in her own Kainé way occurred. Long story short, Nier and Kainé had ended up in an argument about how much Nier had changed over the last five years, it resulted in Amaya and Emil both breaking down crying from the stress of not being able to do anything about it, Nier leaving the house intending to not drag his friends into his own failings anymore because he thought he only hurt them, then he got into a battle with a giant ass Shade and got pretty badly injured until Kainé saved his ass, and then he and Kainé apologized to each other and then they all got together after Kainé's roundabout angry confession.

Nier is still in disbelief even two weeks after the four of them got together.

A knock on the door roused Nier from his thoughts.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Amaya."

He wanted to tell her to leave, to not come in; not because he didn't want her coming in, quite the opposite, actually- he wanted her to come in and cuddle with him for as long as possible while running her hands gently through his hair and so much more- he just...he didn't feel worthy of being in her presence, still.

But after a moment of trying to figure out whether to tell her to leave or come in, Amaya came in on her own, startling Nier from his thoughts by so, so gently tapping his shoulder.

"You ok?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Do you need something?"

Nier doubted there was anything Amaya could possibly need from him, but he had no idea what else he was meant to say; thank god Weiss was asleep at the moment, he'd probably expose Nier's tongue-tied-ness and scold him for screwing up when around their girlfriend.

Girlfriend...the word felt so foreign to him, especially in reference to Amaya.

"I just wanted to see my boyfriend, that's all." Amaya smiled so brightly as she said that and Nier swore he felt his heart skip a beat and his face begin to heat up already.

"R-right…" God damn it, Nier wanted to kick himself for stuttering like that so badly, but he couldn't.

Amaya seemingly gave him a very faint worried look before she gently grabbed his hand, or at least tried considering Nier immediately recoiled as soon as she did that, pulling his hand from hers.

"...Actually, I came to ask about that," Amaya confessed, pointing at his hand which she had just to grab which had recoiled from her grasp.

"A-about what?"

She gave him this unimpressed look. "The recoiling and the flinching and trying to escape from most acts of affection I do with you, that's what. If you just didn't want to be hugged or touched for now, then why-"

"T-That's not it!" Nier says immediately, before mentally slapping himself for it as soon as the words left his mouth.

Amaya tilts her head and looks up at him with this expression of only confusion and some hints of worry.

"Then what is it? Why do you recoil and flinch? Five years ago, after getting used to my hugs, you rarely flinched unless I took you by surprise, but now you do it at even the slightest contact. What happened, Nier? Is it perhaps you not being used to me being back?"

Nier wants to agree with that, he wants to say "yes, that's it", because confessing he was afraid of tainting her and felt unworthy of even being in her presence let alone touched by her he believed was a waste of time because it'd just make her worry about a dirty, tainted idiot like him, but lying to her felt so wrong. He tried to go along with what she had said about him just not being used to her being her, but the words didn't leave his mouth and he just gulped and looked at his feet, kicking himself internally for how pathetic he was.

"Nier?"

"...It's not that."

"It's not?"

"...I…" Nier inhales deeply, trying to decide whether he really wanted to tell her the truth. "I'm...afraid of tarnishing you."

"...What?"

"You're beautiful, sweet, nice...the kindest person I've ever met. I'm afraid that if I touch you...that I'll only taint you."

Amaya went silent, before giving him this serious look.

"I'm already tainted. Not because of you," she quickly clarified before he would begin worrying that he had already tainted her, "I'm tainted beyond repair. There's not much you can really do that can taint me more than I already am."

Her unflinching expression and clear telling of the truth made Nier look at her in shock. This woman, who had been nothing but nice, considerate, gentle, and every other synonym for kind in the book to him, was…'tainted'?

...he didn't want to believe it. He felt his stomach turn and whilst he had not even asked how she was tainted yet, he just...knew it was in the same way he was tainted.

The mere idea that Amaya had been hurt like that made Nier angry. Whoever the hell hurt her, Nier at this moment wanted to kill them so, so badly. If they weren't already dead. But even then he'd find some way to punish them for having done the unthinkable to Amaya.

After hearing Amaya say that, Nier shakily then took off his gauntlet and glove on one of his hands, and hesitantly grasped Amaya's right hand, then putting his other, still covered hand on top of her hand which he was gripping quite tightly now.

Nier took notice of the light green nail polish that was painted onto her medium-long nails; it was a very pretty color, and Amaya had even painted a few little lighter green dots onto them too. A classic Amaya move.

As Nier gripped Amaya's hand, it was only now that he truly realized how small her hand was compared to his. So fragile. Delicate...it was a bit hard to believe that with these hands she had fought off and killed tens to hundreds of Shades with her sword and had punched several people in the face to protect Kainé with them as well.

As Nier stared at their hands, Amaya looked at him with a slightly shocked expression before making a very hard-to-spot smile as she put her other hand on top of his gloved hand.

"...I'll protect you. I-I'll promise I'll protect you, and I-I promise that I won't fail you again…! I won't fail any of you again…!" Nier shakily says determinedly, to which Amaya sighs.

"You never failed me or anyone in the first place, Nier."

"I did! If I had been stronger, smarter, better, then...then you have had to-"

"Shut up. Shut up, please." Amaya cuts Nier off suddenly, rarely ever saying such words to anybody, let alone him. She never was one for swearing like her comrade and now girlfriend Kainé; in fact, the two women were fundamentally so different Nier was shocked they were even friends let alone now lovers. Though given how Amaya is, it's also somehow unsurprising too. But either way, Amaya saying shut up is a rare thing that certainly made Nier go quiet as soon as he heard her say that.

"You didn't fail me. Or Kainé. Or Yonah. Or anybody. Because for me and Kainé, we chose to allow Emil to petrify us to hold that Shade at bay. It was us or the village. And you were injured, nearly fatally, and you don't have future vision. You couldn't have predicted that any of this would happen. And you were a child. A barely 16-year-old child. Doesn't matter if you're the resident Shade slayer of this village, you were still a kid. You shouldn't even be having to go on this journey in the first place, though for that matter none of us should've been considering all of us were kids, even me, even if I was 18 and legally an adult. But...nonetheless, please, please don't blame yourself for not being omnipotent and being a child and because of that unable to predict the Shadowlord would attack the village so suddenly and that you got so heavily wounded and just...it's not your fault and it will never be, ok?"

Nier went silent at Amaya's words, just staring at their hands, shaking before he let the tears he had been trying to hold back as Amaya had spoken fall. Upon seeing a few tears fall from his face, Amaya immediately wrapped her arms around Nier, and for the first time in years, Nier hugged her back, gripping the back of her beautiful blueish-green sundress tightly as he cried into her shoulder and she tightened her grip on him, even shedding a few tears as well, which Nier realized when he felt some sort of liquid fall onto his shirt.

The two of them stood there crying and hugging each other for who knows how long, and eventually their tears dried up, but even when they did, the two didn't separate from the hug. They elongated the moment for as long as they could, relishing in it and their love for each other,

"My word, I did not expect to see this when I awoke from my slumber!"

Until inevitably a certain white book would rudely awaken and interrupt the moment.

"Weiss!" Amaya and Nier said in surprise when they suddenly heard the Grimoire's voice, immediately separating from the hug to look over at him, although holding hands still, their faces red from both crying and embarrassment.

"We didn't wake you up, right?" Amaya asks, worried that she had disturbed Weiss's slumber.

"Worry not, for I woke up on my own, dear." The use of a pet name, even one as simple as dear, made Amaya blush more than she already had been, causing her to look away.

"Well, that's good," Nier states, making a small smile at Weiss.

"...have you two been to sleep at all?" Weiss asks, and if he had an actual face, Nier swore he'd be making some sort of unimpressed suspicious expression at the two of them. Although Nier couldn't really imagine what Weiss's face would have looked like if he were human; maybe something like the face Weiss has on his cover?

"I...no," Nier admits sheepishly, looking away, and Amaya shook her head as well, confirming Weiss's suspicions. Weiss sighs in frustration before he floats off the bed he was sleeping on and summons two black hands and gently pushes Nier and Amaya towards the bed.

"Then hurry along! Come on! You two need sleep!"

"Weiss, we planned to go to sleep soon!"

"Uh-huh, I don't exactly believe that, knowing you, Nier. Maybe Amaya planned to, but you tend to stay up until unholy hours even when you're tired beyond comparison. To bed with you!" Nier sighed in defeat at that until a realization dawned on him.

"W-wait, do you intend for me and Amaya to sleep in the same bed?" Nier asks, he and Amaya having been pushed over to the foot of the bed when Weiss finally stopped pushing them and the black hands he had summoned had disappeared.

"Well, we are in a relationship now. Why not? Though if you two are not ready for that I won't force you." Weiss says, surprisingly without any hint of his prideful arrogant tone for once.

"...I'm fine with it if you're fine with it," Amaya says, although she was quite clearly blushing bright red at the prospect of sharing a bed with Nier.

"...A-Alright. L-Let's try it," Nier says quietly, but before he can utter another word, Weiss once again opens his large mouth...or rather, his lack of one.

"Not in those clothes, you will! Go get changed into your nightclothes!" Weiss declares, making Nier and Amaya giggle slightly. Weiss somehow managed to be hilarious without even trying, perhaps because of his tone? Who knows, but either way Nier and Amaya finally let go of each other's hands and looked away from each other as they went to get changed. Weiss also of course looked away, although he'd be lying if he said he wasn't embarrassed when he realized they were changing in the same room...but then again where else were they meant to change? Why go through the effort of going downstairs to do it?

It only took a few minutes for the two of them to change into their nightclothes, Amaya of course wearing a pretty pink nightdress that was ruffly and cute just as she liked it, and Nier just threw on some random shirt and pair of pants that were comfortable to sleep in rather than wear some designated for the specific purpose of being slept in.

"...so…uh...er…"

"...uhm…"

"...oh for the love of all that is holy…" Weiss sighs at his partners' hesitance before once again summoning the same black hands as before and gently pulling them onto the bed, surprising the two as they fall face forward onto the mattress. They stare at each other for a moment before quietly adjusting their positions so they're properly laying on the bed next to each other. They stare at each other, blushing red once again, before Amaya notices Weiss laying on the other side of the bed and goes to pick him up.

"What the- why are you picking me up?"

"Because you're our lover too and even while you may be a book you can still sleep here with us too?"

"...very well." Weiss says, though it wasn't like he was putting up a fight against Amaya anyways.

Amaya smiles before she gives Weiss a small hug and then lays him down in between her and Nier, laying her hand on top of him before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as she tries to sleep. Nier does the same, laying his hand on top of Amaya's own hand, before he closes his eyes as well and begins drifting to sleep. Weiss just looks between the two of them and while he cannot physically smile, he still would be if he could.

All three of them slept well that night.

(And Weiss definitely did not just want this exact result to happen and that's why he suggested Nier and Amaya sleep in the same bed. Nuh-uh, no way)

Fin

3 notes · View notes

recallingrealities · 4 years

Text

Aligned, Chapter 5 (Zelda x Reader - NSFW)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

Chapter 5: Revision

(Warning: NSFW)

“As you are aware, the Academy of Unseen Arts has experienced sweeping change this past year. Our practice as a Coven, the source of our power, and the direction of our influence has changed drastically. We have had the blessing of our magics' resurgence, and I believe with the start of a new perspective, this comes a time where change is in great alignment - like the faces and phases of our Mother Goddess. It is time to begin new practice in our teachings. New ways of mending old are the only preparation for what is to come. I have been reminded in tidings with the Goddess that our students at the Academy are not only being molded as the witches of our future, but also the foundation of our Coven in times to come.

Myself, like many of you attended the Academy yourself in peak age, and here we stand, the building blocks of a new Era. We are tasked to prepare them to surpass us, in every way. In the past, yearning for personal power has been detrimental and cast shadow over our students when it was our sole duty to guide and enlighten them. In my time here as Directrix, I find myself remembering not only my own schooling, but the memories of our interactions over the years. I believe it is safe to say a lot has changed since then. Remarkably, a lot has also remained the same.”

Her voice was genuine, a small smile imparted her lips momentarily before fading to neutrality, upon the exposure of her last sentence. Though the woman stood strong and charismatic in her words. Her breath fell, tender. She was speaking to us as if to a dear friend she was confiding in; unearthing a new season like a fresh break of dawn. A frozen meadow finally melting in glistening dew with the sunrise of the first spring. The radiant blue of the awakening sky, but also the surge of openness and radiance of her throat chakra - speaking her truth. It always felt enlightening to see visions of nature aligning with her human experience, it was intimate and honest in that way.

The closure of her enunciated words sent a whir of images to your mind; Faustus Blackwood. You weren’t sure why him specifically out of her centuries of life, but you knew better than to ever question the wisdom of the sight. You had never even met him, and yet somehow you had a sturdy certainty it was him who you saw in the energy he carried. His sour demeanor pressed the young woman, urging her to follow his every command. In the libraries and halls, over her shoulder in classes, and guiding in the way she splayed her hands. You felt his snaking energy intertwining even in the ways she prepared her tinctures, feeling his constant gaze on her. He played on her whiley independence and fondness for him during her time at the academy. He was making sure there was never too much space between them, that she was always within his sight if he willed to regain control of someone that had never belonged to him.

You were an invisible bistander, witnessing moments of her childhood as if you had been there then - in touch with her twining regrets as she released them, and somehow through her projection, you could sense his will and desires as well.

You witnessed the cruelty of Zelda’s youth - ferociousness, influenced by his eager suggestions and lustful teasing. He expressed to her the pleasure that arose in him, witnessing her engage in ‘vengent’ cruelty. He was excited by playing on her smallest resentments and projections of insecurity. He felt himself as if his own Dark Lord, enabling unprecedented harshness, like that of Zelda’s sister’s harrowing. The things she had regretted most, even to this day. She was pushed beyond boundaries of extremity. Faustus got high off the power he held over her, how easy it had felt for him to ignite small fires. Even pushing her to ease worry of her sister's possible death at her own hands It was as if he meant to tempt her despite his words. He was amazed he held such power over her, and never let her forget they were her decisions, not his. Despite his suggestions and blatant gaslighting, she had still found twinges of desire in him. You could not sense her reason why. Dancing in the twisted pleasures between guilt and need for validation, perhaps, he had become untouchable to her, or so he thought, in his moments of narcissism. Especially once he knew he could command her over someone she truly loved, her closest friend reputably, and blood.

The vision then, flashed forward. A wave of enchantment contorted the movements of her body, in polluting idiosyncrasy. She was in Rome, on her honeymoon and you watched as his mouth formed the words, as to summon her approach down the hall of some sect of the Vatican, ‘Lady Blackwood’. ‘They were married..?’ you thought to yourself, surprised that she hadn’t seen the toxicity in him, even after centuries had passed. You would have thought she would’ve become aware by now, at least before the curdling idea of engagement. Arguably she would have justified she was looking for power, but you could feel in her deepest desires, she still yearned for his affection and approval. The same controlling boy, narcissistic, and power hungry had her dance to his whim in ways she would never - not even to appease him in preference or liking. He willed her to do so, if only to revel in his own ability to control her, or indulge pleasurably in her humiliation. You had no idea she had been married to the previous High Priest, let alone that he had enchanted her into the floral delusion of an obedient housewife, doing his bidding and curtsying coyly towards his every desire. The way he seemed so similar in pompous boyhood, how nothing had changed, sent a surge of disgust through you, a simmering rage - watching her look longingly at him through visions that seemed to span years. The few moments where you witnessed her blinks of genuine affection for him, you felt as if they dragged begrudgingly slow and painful, in their mere seconds of resonance. As your sight began to retreat to the present, you were granted one last vision; watching her unfurl with fiery anger in final acknowledgement of his lifetime of mistreatment and control over her. It surprised you that such a strong cunning woman such as Zelda Spellman had been fooled by the lustful promises of such an ass for so long, but even in that you pitied her softness and desire.

You understood now why she had built such a strong exterior, even to those she loved. You had never met Father Blackwood. From the little you had heard, you felt yourself unable to cast an honest judgement until now, able to witness his actions for yourself. The only general consensus had seemed to be a relief that he was exiled by Lucifer, long before even Lilith was actively reigning. In this moment, you were just grateful to watch how much more grounded she seemed apart from him. Time and self confidence: independent of anyone else. She had grown, severing from the monster she had been close to. She had moved on from the time when she would accept comfort in manipulation.

“I believe we can do better. Not only for our students, but to enhance ourselves as the ancestors of our Coven - as the capable casters we have grown to be in these passing centuries. This semester, we will not only begin the personal mastery of each professor's subjects, but encourage the students to find their paths in co-consciousness; weighing teachings and skills from each subject to help further engross their studies. This is a time to hone our own power - to push ourselves beyond the boundaries we think ourselves capable - so that the students of the future will too surpass expectations and go beyond the capabilities of magic as we know it; ascending in strength and tactility as we have come to expect it from them. Amongst our faculty we will be prolific in each other's specialties, challenging ourselves in expertise beyond our own areas of concentration. We will use each other, the best in our fields, to make ourselves unhindered masters of all they will come to learn. We will give them a strong Coven to come home to. Not one shaken and scrambled by the projection of an uncertain future. We are strong Warlocks and witches alike, but we have grown strongest in our times together despite the aid of our individual origins. Teaching one another through our range of perspectives, we will show our students that they too can do the same, and be no longer bridled by the fears of the unknown. Before this semester begins, we will have already created a new, stronger curriculum to teach alongside one another. It has been no easy task altering history but we have already begun doing it by surviving Hell-on-Earth together. As we have seen in this chaotic, unexpected year, anything has become possible.”

She couldn’t help but let a small smile purse her lips, Sabrina had seemed to be the impetus of so much. One young Spellman had tipped the scales in altering all of their futures, changing the expected value of bloodlines and witch traditions forever. One young, unstoppable woman had done this, and Zelda knew with all of their combined power and intention, they could bring so much greatness, so much honor to their Coven. The group seemed to nod in humming agreement as she spoke.

“By being taught to limit ourselves, we have limited ourselves - all this time bridled and bound by the will of the Dark Lord, our tutors, the Council. So much has been accomplished and so much has changed in such a short time. This change has brought us a new beginning. The death of an old way to bring life to a new one. We will challenge our old beliefs, our boundaries, and push ourselves, willingly - and this way of life will bring us to new heights and expectations. We will embody every element, every source of possibility in a mixed application of powerful, fearless magic. By our own experience we will fortify our Coven, and best serve its potential with both our dedications to self, and the preparation of our students towards the foundations of the future."

The consensus erupted in applause. The charismatic revelations of their Directrix and High Priestess cementing them in certainty that she would be the guiding hand towards a greater future. It was that moment after, we had spent days in frequent seminars, practicing the magics many were familiar with, but had never mastered to the levels of personal preference. You were mixing magics and experimenting with ideas never thought of before; honing gnosis to divination, expanding transfiguration with projection, and creating new blooms of alchemizing tactics - beyond anything you had attempted before. Though you hadn’t truly known the other professors before now, you were witnessing the bonds between them rekindling - the sight showing their younger selves overlapping their present bodies. Smiling, they pushed one another to expand, to think and act creatively with each exercise. The seminars were ending with note taking and collaborations, scrying plans for updates to the coursework to come, to be finalized with the Directrix in private critiques.

Your private sessions with Zelda, like the other professors, were happening almost daily. As the days counted down, the finalizations of your class plans were solidifying, what felt like effortlessly. Though you were forming a natural rapport with her separate from professionalism, the way you connected through teaching was brilliant. Like a composer and a cellist, the collaborations of ideas and notes constructed a course forged through veritable passion. Though your original plans had required significantly less changes than you’d expected, you had both managed to contribute some substantial improvements in applying "Intuitive application" to the other core subjects. You could hardly believe this woman, this insatiably beautiful woman, that you now realized you were staring at. She was standing bent over the desk beside you, scribbling notes intently. She had just finished informing you of her plans to make your course on Intuitive Application, one of the core subjects to be taught at the Academy, henceforth. Your heart fluttered in your chest at her certainty and passion towards the lectures you’d written with her. It was as if she had the sight, to have such certainty in your ability to guide the students on interpreting their instincts, in applying their magic. She could practically feel you ready to protest questionably, when she said:

"I have no doubt that this is the final shift needed to connect so much valuable ancient knowledge to the new. There has been too much important study to be left drawl and dusted in the confines of a history course. All that I’ve read is far more relevant than that and there has been so much that deserves revibrance in modern application. The blank space between the old ways and what is considered modern knowledge has been deafening, and a great split in the community of witches and warlocks alike. Intuitive application is the consistency of what can be carried from the old and into the new, and always seems to have room for improvement. Your course is going to close the gap of wandering that has been left between the old books and present study. You should be incredibly proud"

She looked up at you, peering over her glasses as is to question your silence or coyness.

"I've read your journals, Y/N. I've read every lesson plan you’ve ever written, down to the draft and I am certain this course is going to change everything. It has shaken up so much in me - and my studies here at the Academy were a long time ago."

She had spoken so openly; about her experiences growing up at the Academy, the culture of witchcraft she had been born into, and been exposed to her entire - and how you would change in history forever. She made these statements with no flattery, but firm earnestness. She now meant for you to be at the forefront of it all, when she could have easily claimed your teachings for herself. You were in wonder of her. A new 'Foundations' class hadn't been added in over half a millenia, but between the urging will of the Goddess and your prolific ability to apply her teachings to any scenario, the Directrix felt it would benefit everyone significantly to have ‘Intuitive applications’ as a prioritized mastery.

You couldn’t believe her, as a single tear welled in the corner of your eye. You could barely hear what she was talking to you about right now, only able to watch her lips as they moved, the fuzziness of gratitude clouding your present perspective. You tried not to be fearful, but you knew it was truly excitement that guided you and humility as you watched everything coming together so perfectly. Even with it so, the purposeful intent of everything, you found yourself surprised at Zelda. By this point, there was certainty that you were beginning to know her, or at least how she presented towards you, but when her mask came down, even just for a fleeting moment, you were always surprised. She was continually impressed with your work, in fact even in your zoning. She was expressing it now behind the poise and professionalism of your critique. But you noticed how hard of a time she seemed to have hiding it, her growing opinions of you. They hadn't been clear to you beyond what the sight explained, but you always felt as if you were being eluded, that there was more to her mind.

You had witnessed Zelda's poker-face often during the faculty sermons, when you would flash her a wink or genuine smiles in reassurance. Once you had swept your hair over your shoulder, and you witnessed her maintain her composure, you hadn’t realized it did in fact affect her, when you realized she was avoiding gazing upon your exposed neck. You hadn't noticed it the first few times - the quirk hadn’t been purposeful on your part, not even realizing your mannerisms spoke to her. However, you were always able to find her, witness her true reactions through the spirit of her eyes. Her stone expression was bulletproof until you spoke in sections of Ancient Magics and wisdoms aligned with the history of Ancient Mesopotamians or Druidic peoples. It was your knowledge that seemed to affect her the most, in private. When your eyes would meet hers, effortlessly sharing your years of meditative work, and it was then she was in awe of you.

To you, this wasn't necessarily impressive, it was honorable. In resonance of truth and vulnerability you strove to embrace every moment of your life. With that being said, you often shared moments like this. Where Zelda was breathlessly enchanted, and held structurally sound by the quiet of her listening to you. With her active critiques and your witting ability to adapt with instinct, or connect intention she had not noted, you had finished tweaking your course structure with a quickness. As she set down her glasses, taking a step back to allow you to observe the final draft, you were surprised that she had not altered anything, only adding areas she wanted to hear more from you. It had been a martyr despite your clear attraction for one another. Both lustful and innocent, that you were able to keep the relationship so professional. Especially in the timing for how much you both could accomplish in the span of an hour. In fact, the last time you two had met, you'd gotten into such a deep conversation regarding intuition and intuitive desire, that she had almost lost complete track of time, making her late to her ‘Spellman family dinner’. She had been begging Hilda to make it a necessity, hopefully long enough for it to stick before Sabrina caught herself up in her next whirlwind of an idea. Luckily for teleportation, this was nothing that couldn't be explained. Before her fingers had grazed yours on her desk tenderly, she had leaned next to your ear and let out a lustful threat you had not expected.

"I am not finished with you yet"

She had managed to tempt you before quickly swifting away, with the blink of a transportation spell.

However tonight, you had finished in the first few minutes of your meeting. You had only smiled before when she left you with such taunting words. But now, as your fingers traced over her final notes, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. Aligning each page's corners to match, you placed them in the main drawer of your desk. As if all at once, Zelda pressed on your back firmly, with strong force. Pushing you down so your face and chest touched the desk. You had not expected this kind of strength let alone action from the woman. ‘What was she… doing?’ With a swift slam she had pinned you forward over your desk, supported against the cold hardwood frame, her touch direct with purposeful intensity. The surprise of the action revoked your breath, a surge of heat stringing through you like sudden fingers striking a harp. Your mind jumped immediately to the thought of her fingers, and you knew she had turned on something in you that you never had felt in this way before. It was almost primal. You let out a guttural moan in response to the impact, hardly believing what had just slipped from the back of your throat. She pressed her hips up against yours with a harsh, quick movement.

You could feel her strong hip bones digging into the flesh of your ass. Her movements we're so powerful and reactive. You weren't sure if it was the sudden lust that had blurred your thinking, or the quick change in events, but you felt yourself hardly able to distinguish what was happening in this moment. Only now, that you were terribly aroused. You couldn’t help but sway your hips against hers, not even thinking about how much you were teasing her. Her loins were pressed to you and when you moved against her it was like that electricity from before was shooting off from the impact, through your body, and into hers at the points of touch.

“You dirty little little thing..."

Zelda tutted. She had hardly expected this from you, and that only seemed to drive her with more certainty. Her voice was low and satiating, you found yourself lingering on every crescendo in her tone. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, a melodic hum vibrating from your chest as you continued to grind against her. She slipped a hand up from your back to caress your scalp with her tender fingers.

“I’ve been meaning to reward you… for all of the dedication you’ve shown recently. It is not often I find myself expressing gratitude for such risk taking behavior”

She hummed, a hoarse lusting in her throat as she was reminded of your insistence in meeting with her for a position at the Academy. It has been the Goddessend that had kickstarted a wave of successes for her as High Priestess, and she meant to show you how grateful she was to your boundless attentiveness to her wishes.

She took a fistful of your hair before letting her fingertips trace there for a moment. Her left hand began hand slipping between the light space between her stern hips and your grinding body, roaming teasingly past the hem of your skirt. Wandering across your thigh, she didn’t stop you, but instead smirked, your rear now grinding wantonly against her curious hand. She paused for a moment as you stopped your movement, before connecting her manicured nails to your warming, sensitive thigh - dragging upward with a light twisting, stinged pleasure. Your eyes shot open, in realization that this had been like your vision; infectiously more desirable, even more now than the lustful moment you’d first experienced it. It was then you realized, not even consciously, you were feeling her thoughts, you were reading her mind.

She was incredibly aroused by you, mouth agape as she stared lustfully at your arched back, pressed towards her with desire. She now realized how badly you’d wanted her, and that her level of desire had finally been met. She had had her fair share of tangles in sex and yet the desire she felt from you now in your amplifying and prominent energy, spoke to her like nothing she had ever experienced. It felt like you were catering to her every desire. Though you were feeling her waves of emotion, you did not know what it was she was craving, exactly. You felt as though you were acting completely on instinct, leaning into waves of craving movement.

You felt her amusement to your sounds, as her awareness came to the lack of protection on your door. She wanted to wait just a while longer before locking it, or soundproofing the walls. She was enjoying the thought of someone questioningly hearing you, knowing she had been there for your critique. At your quiet gasp, she took a moment to adore the heat arising from your quivering thighs. She rolled her hips into you before leaning teasingly in your ear.

“You wouldn’t happen to be lusting, would you little minx?”

Her left index and middle fingers tips, swiped over the front of your panties, amused as they touched the damp silken fabric. A low chuckle warmed your ear, as one of her manicured nails played with its hem below.

“To be lusting for your Directrix, and High Priestess during a meeting of utmost formality would be highly inappropriate.”

You felt yourself holding back a wine, your eyes were squeezing shut as your teeth gripped your cheek with a coppering tension. It was then, you felt her thumb, pull your panties aside with expert ease, her sweeping fingers slipping between the folds of your aching cunt. She had stopped, allowing her fingertips to lightly pass over your buzzing clitoris, feeling your quiet whine sing through your body with such a high frequency - that she could feel it through your harping body. It was as her nails ghosted, pressing you vulnerably at the heat of your core: your eyes shot open, realizing the dangerousness of no enchantment on the door. You quickly felt the urge to squirm beneath her, scrambling to regain enough composure to cast a spell. You felt your heart begin to patter quickly with erratic intensity.

“Zelda- I-..” Your voice caught, interrupted by a squeaking break in your sentence, unable to finish your statement as her middle finger, swept over your clit, dipping ever so teasingly over your entrance.

“Yes, little mouse?”

She questioned, knowing exactly what you were likely to bring up.

“I- euhhh…”

You moaned, unable to speak properly between the melting relief you felt and the teasing tension of her touch

“t-the door…”

“The door?”

She repeated back tauntingly, almost mocking you with sinister affection. Her hand gripping your hair, she pulled back to raise your face, having you stare at the door. You knew full well that at any moment you were at risk of it opening, a passing professor perhaps having heard your desperate moans - or even worse a student. You knew exactly how it would look too, unexplainable. Sprawled upon your desk, your hair tangled tightly between her fingers. Her hand, though behind the view of the desk, dipping slow and now deep into your cunt. You closed your eyes again, holding back another escaping moan, this time relieving a seeping sigh, as your abdomen began to tighten with desperation. “Zelda… please...”

“Whom?”

She was fully aware you were not in a position with the strength to cast.

“D-Directrix...”

She ghosted another sweeping finger over your clit, before snaking painfully slow, leaving another finger to tease at your warm, dampening entrance.

“High Priestess..!” you begged, with a pressing urgency, as you attempted to move against the grasp of your hair, her hips quickly moving to jolt against her hand, sending another wave of shock and pleasure as her fingers entered you, with a curling tenderness, slowly pulling out only to leave you whimpering and unable to move.

She took another moment, to tease inward and outward, growing used to the slickness of your warm, aching cunt before whispering a quick cantrip, two fingers from her tangled hand, twisting against the back of your neck as she enchanted the door to lock, and the sound to be confined to this very room.It was after that she praised you

“Good girl…”

with a lusting tone, as she plunged her fingers deep inside of you. Thrusting herself into you with dexterous fingers, moving out just far enough to graze your clit with her palm between each stroking thrust. She began pounding you hard against the desk, your moans unwaveringly loud, as your shoulders arched towards her hot breath, now tender on your neck between powerful, talented thrusts. As your body flooded with waves of ecstasy, you began to feel her wet lips on your neck, leaving hot, entrancing kisses as if she was savoring the shivers of your desperate flesh, your galloping heartbeat.

“Zelds…” you sighed relievingly as you opened your neck to her, your hips able to move back just enough to rock against her powerful hips. Her entire body, surging forward to fuck you with powerful ferociousness. You felt as if you were being conquered, and willingly allowed your hungry core to flex in pleasuring pulses at each thrust. You couldn’t explain how desperately you wanted to touch her, despite being fucked with such veracity, except only to think of how much pleasure you were wading in, realizing only now how badly you had wanted her up until this point. She curved her touches upward, her palm shifting in tight motions against her own gyrating hips. She began feeling you draw nearer, beginning to feel you come undone against her. Waves of pleasure cascaded your body in convulsive surges, wrapped your tired form slack against her. Her fingers slowing, she snaked from between your sopping thighs before breaking from your neck, realizing the tenderness she had left there. Her humming mouth kissed the edge of your ear before leaning back up to take her fingers in her mouth. She released her grip from your hair, catching your chest as she felt you begin to fall forward towards the desk. She caught you, before turning your hips, to have you face her. Your shaking breath, and shy expression now forced to look upon her, pulling her sweetened fingers from her mouth. She didn’t break eye contact for a second, looking at you with lusting affection. Her pupils were immensely dilated as she scanned your face, and the pulsing beat of your chest as it rose and fell with your returning breath. You felt your face flushed under her gaze. You knew you had come completely apart beneath her. You could barely stand, luckily having the sturdy desk and her structured touch to hold you upwards by the small of your back. You moved to straighten your posture, realizing you couldn’t yet stand as you fell into her arms, your shaking body pressed to her breast, as your erratic breath struggled to form words.

She couldn’t help but smile as your forehead pressed to the crook of her neck, her touch lightly encircling tenderly across the span of your back, and up between our shoulder blades. It was there you two held in silence, the same tenderness as the night you had last spent together in your office. A sense of security in the shared intimacy, and embrace of your quiet breathing.

#zelda spellman x reader #caos fanfaction #zelda spellman #zelda spellman fanfiction #the chilling adventures of sabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina #self insert #fem reader #reader insert #miranda otto #aligned fic #mine #chapter 5

73 notes · View notes

laur-rants · 3 years

Text

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 2

Fandom: Dishonored

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. The story centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: Graphic depiction of nasty injury. AO3 link Previous :: Next

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

Dunwall, Gristol

Month of Clans -- 1820

He woke with a gasp that burned and seared and lit his body on fire. He drew breath with a cough so painful it cracked his ribs and pulled him apart, fighting every aching inhale. Moving was an agony. His face and throat screamed at him as he rolled over, his fists clenching and teeth gnashing to try and quell the cry that threatened to burst out of him.

He settled for a muffled, tortured groan. His arms were bruised to the Void and back, but he pulled himself up, heaved an empty stomach, then lurched, willing his unresponsive body upright against a cold and slime-covered wall.

Daud breathed, in and out. He opened an eye only to find the world spinning dangerously, vertigo threatening his senses. He winced, shutting his eyes and trying to simply calm the rushing in his ears and head. Every pulse of his heart throbbed into his aching face, the sear of it blinding. Slowly, he lifted a shaking, gloved hand to delicately grace his features. The touch was tiny, as gingerly as he could manage, and still the pain screamed through him, sending shockwaves all the way down his spine and chest. The huge divot in his skin turned his stomach and his fingers pulled away, feeling sticky. Infection was setting in; not a good sign. He cracked his good eye open again, trying to focus on his hand in the gloom. He could feel shock setting into his limbs and he squeezed his fist, open and closed. He breathed, swallowed his nausea, and clung to the wall for dear life.

He should be dead. The wound on his face was beyond standard repair. He could practically feel his pulse jumping out of his neck; there was no reason that his jugular shouldn't be spilling his blood everywhere. He shuddered and coughed and tasted iron. Sweat beaded up on his forehead and his grip on reality loosened. It was too much, all too much. The fever and bile hit him hard and all at once. His eyes rolled back and Daud crumpled to the floor again, swiftly slipping into unconsciousness.

------

He jerked violently out of his second bout of sleep. Or could it be called sleep? He hadn't dreamt of anything, he had no idea how long he'd been out, and he remembered nothing of what he had been doing…

But the smell. Oh Void, the smell.

It smashed into his face like a sucker punch, the offense of it causing his brain to derail into survival mode. His nose wrinkled and a hiss escaped him, the odor assaulting him like an enemy. The pull on his features renewed the pain lancing all down the right of his face -- and the memory of his wound struck him like a crossbow bolt. He checked his hand -- still gloved -- before more tenderly touching fingertips to throat; the wound was, somehow, healing, but in the most festering way possible. The masses of gouged skin were scabbed, but he could feel the flesh at the edges, angry and red and swollen. He cursed under his breath; oh yes, definitely infected. He could feel the heat of the fever on his skin and when he tried to stand, his head swam. Still, he willed his feet to remain steady; he needed a proper assessment on what in the Void he was dealing with here. The world tilted as he stood, but at least his legs were relatively injury-free. Despite his swollen shut eye, Daud collected himself, sneered through the gloom, and what he saw nearly sent him reeling again.

He was in a sewer. It was dark as sin; here and there, the light of the upper world managed to gently filter through. Not that it mattered. He didn't need to see in the dark to know the place was full of death; at the edge of his gloomy vision, the humps of discarded bodies festered and bloated. He felt carefully for the wall and shimmied away from the offensive odor of rot and decay, forcing his brain to play catch up, to try and remember why he was even here in the first place.

Only flashes came to the forefront; tiny, disjointed moments that meant nothing to him without any context. Something large and furred had clawed his face, but there was no way a wolfhound could have inflicted this kind of damage. Perhaps he was misremembering; maybe it had grabbed his neck with its teeth. Silently, fingertips brushed three, four long marks, the longest slash dancing from right forehead to throat, right through his eye-- no tooth would have made lines like that. He worked his jaw and immediately regretted the action, his whole head throbbing in protest.

It didn't matter what had attacked him, he decided, just that it had. And if he didn't get the wound cleaned as soon as possible, the infection could still kill him yet.

His whole body shuddered. He didn't stick around to identify any bodies.

As he left his tunnel for another, the smell of death made way for the smell of sewage -- which frankly, wasn't much better. Blood and grime clung to him like a shroud and he tried desperately to recall why. He counted his knives; he was missing two of them, realizing belatedly they were probably back from where he had come. After some deliberation, he decided it would be easier to just replace them than collect them, but it wouldn't come cheap. The bigger hit, though, was his whaler blade. He missed the weight of it at his side, grimacing at ever considering it to be good luck. A blade was a blade, and now that needed replacing too.

Missing knives, missing blade, dead bodies. With this in mind, he could surmise he was on a job and with a job came a contract. Did he have the information on him? He padded down his jacket, the crinkle of paper faint in his ears.

He reached a spot where enough readable daylight filtered down and decided to pause, searching his pockets. He procured sleep darts, three trap mines, and the contract details. Daud's eyes unfolded the pages, smoothing creases as he skimmed the words, digesting them carefully.

Brimsley. Fink. Dog ring hit. A sizable bounty… Rulfio was supposed to have a cut. But where was he? A flash of memory tells him Rulfio backed out, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd have hated going back to that blood-torn room just to look for Rulfio's rotting body.

Reading over the details, more and more memories fell into place. Daud had followed the men and their hounds, had watched the dog fight a monster that couldn't die, had fled to kill Fink and collect the bounty, and then…

Blind eyes. An inhuman scream. Claws rending his entire face to ribbons.

He remembered all of that, the holes in his recollection filling like a puzzle. But anything following confronting Fink and getting attacked by a monster was gone. Nothing to pull from.

By all accounts, he should be dead. Very dead. Daud massaged his jaw on instinct, surprised to find it still whole. He was sure it had broken, his jugular bursting, his face shattered. He had been bleeding out. Nothing could've fixed that bad of a wound.

His mind's eye supplied him the vision of a giant monster's throat bubbling, gurgling, then somehow repairing. He felt his scratches, remembering the hot blood that should've been pouring from them, his own blood leaving far too quickly to be replaced… and yet…

And yet.

His heart rate quickened and his head and throat throbbed. He did his best to still the rising panic in his bones and let his mind rationalize. His neck was different from some monster who used magic to come back to life, to heal completely. He didn't use black magic. Maybe he was just damned lucky, not that he was out of the woods yet. Daud was alive, but still in considerable pain. He was wounded. His head spun dangerously with every stray thought. He needed to get looked at, to make sure he didn't die of infection.

But first, he needed to get paid.

He tucked the contract safely away and gathered himself the best he could. He was near the surface now; he could hear the people passing by, the shouts of guards and teachers and sellers alike. He wandered the tunnels, looking for a maintenance shaft, some way out before he was unceremoniously swept away into the Wrenhaven. He was actually near an exit when something caught his eye, glinting in the light by a blocked off drainage pipe.

It was his sword. Nearly washed away, stopped by a grate. The opening wasn't large enough for him to crawl out of, but through it, Dunwall Tower was visible, where the Kaldwins and their servants sat cushy and protected.

Daud grunted, holding no love lost for nobles and their affairs. He pulled the blade free, feeling for the notch. It caught in the thumb of his glove, nearly drawing blood, and Daud smiled.

“Lucky,” he muttered, sheathing the blade. His voice rasped painfully but he paid it no mind, just happy he still had a voice in the first place.

------

The Brimsley estate was huge and conspicuous and easy to infiltrate. Daud had few issues finding it and even fewer issues scaling the wall, even in his injured state. He was a mess; he didn't care. He didn't care that he stank of death, that his clothes were soaked black-red from a stranger's blood. He didn't care that half of his face was ripped open, raw and ragged and showing every swollen edge. A part of him revelled in it, couldn't wait to feed off the look on his contractor's face when Brimsley eventually found the assassin relaxing on the balcony, enjoying the warm, late spring evening.

His blade sat on his leg, the whetstone running cleanly across it. Every pass caused the metal to sing and smile in the dying light of the day. He felt the wind shift and heard a door close; he didn't pause his easy movement. There were two muffled voices chatting amicably, but they paused as Daud's stone ran along steel and interrupted all conversation.

Voices hushed to whispers that seemed to shout in Daud's all-too-sensitive ears. He grinned, adjusted his hood, then looked up as footsteps approached.

Brimsley screamed.

He recoiled from Daud so hard he nearly fell over; actually, he would have, if his assistant hadn't been there, gripping his arm and keeping him upright. A tray of tea spilled across the floor but nobody paid it any heed, not when Daud sat across on the balcony, looking like death warmed over.

His smile was easy, if not pained. Brimsley swiftly pissed himself.

"Brimsley." He pulled the contract from his pocket, and put his blade back into its sheath. His eyes flicked to the assistant and he stood, pulling at the edges of his hood. He walked over to Brimsley and the man, realizing that Daud was real, stammered into speaking.

"D-Daud…" he forced out, and Daud's eyes flashed, watching Brimsley carefully. "What happened? We all thought you died--"

His eyebrow quirked. "We?"

"It's been five days, Daud."

Something in his brain halted. He hadn't seen a calendar, a paper, nothing. He just came here and planned on dealing with all of the other important matters after he had the money to pay for it. But five days? He stiffened, alarms in his head blaring.

"The contract is fulfilled, just like you wanted, Brimsley." He shoved the paper with the man's signature on it into his chest. "My partner and I. The full payment. Now, if you know what's good for you."

"You completed the contract? Then--"

"The Beast is dead. So is Fink. Which means you won't be putting out dangerous contracts trapping assassins into a death ring anymore, now, will you?"

Brimsley blanched. Daud's scowl grew severe, and something in his stare unhinged the noble. He was sweating, breaking eye contact, before waving at his assistant to go get the promised sum. He tried looking at Daud, but could not manage it without retching.

"Y-your face… how did you survive?"

"What's wrong? Disappointed?" Daud growled, his throat burning from the effort. "Sad I didn't turn into dog food, too? How convenient it would have been for me to die like the others. You can be sure I won't forget about this bullshit any time soon, Brimsley."

"You can't kill me... I'm your employer!"

"Maybe today you are," Daud said, eyes tracking the return of the assistant, now carrying a hefty purse. "But tomorrow… a different client, and different contract. You never know if you'll be in the list." He aggressively pulled the purse from the assistant, then silently counted the coin. Everything was there -- everything but Rulfio's cut. Daud snarled.

"My partner is still alive. You'll give me his cut too, if you enjoy your head still existing between your shoulders."

Brimsley nodded, and the assistant was pushed away again. Daud tossed the purse in his hand before pocketing it, his face starting to burn and itch in the most unpleasant of fashions. When he next looked at Brimsley, he caught the man staring at the wounds and he bared his teeth involuntarily.

"Get Sokolov to paint me, if you want the memory to last longer." He sneered, tempted to put a hand over the wound. He doesn't; Daud never showed such weakness in front of a client. It was easier to get what he needed from contractors when he was as intimidating as possible, with or without having to resort to his blade. But something in Brimsley's gaze made him uncomfortable, the hair prickling along his neck, his hand twitching at his side before curling into a fist. He held Brimsley's stare until the man grew too uncomfortable to keep the contact, the noble's shivering frame growing sweaty.

"How did he look?" Brimsley asked, his voice hushed and breathy. "Was he wonderful? The Outsider's beast in that basement?" He then looked back to Daud. "You're one now too, aren't you?"

Daud's whaler sword was at Brimsley's neck in an instant. Brimsley flinched, but there was a smile lingering there that was vile and Daud wanted nothing more than to wipe it from his face permanently. He almost did, but the assistant returned, carrying the purse of coin slated for Rulfio. This time, Daud didn't stay to count the coin; he simply took the pouch, secured it, and left Brimsley's office as silently and stealthily as he came, his anger roaring in his ears.

------

It was late evening by the time Daud neared his current hideout: a small apartment outside of Slaughterhouse Row. The smell of whale oil was never pungent enough to scare him off like it had other residents, but now, as he pushed his way in through the door, closing it heavily with a shoulder, it was so offensive that it burned his nose and caused his head to throb. Not that it wasn't already stabbing him with pain; every movement and exertion pulled at his wounds and he could feel the blood and puss seeping unpleasantly. Nauseous and fevered, he pushed himself to the bathroom, testing to see if the water was running clean today.

It was; he thanked the Void and immediately began stripping down. His clothes were black for a reason; the stains of blood and dirt wouldn't be so noticeable, but the stench was cloying at his nostrils like never before. Since when did he become so sensitive to such things? He grimaced at the rancid smell before filling the sink with water and throwing his shirt in, letting it soak in the lye while he pulled off his remaining articles and started a shower. As the room began to steam, he forgot himself for a moment, reflexively looking towards his movement in the mirror.

And finally, he was face to face with the reality of his injury.

Daud paled, the color draining from his cheeks in real time. He would have vomited if there was anything actually in his stomach besides some nicked bread and an apple. Instead, he swallowed on the bile, taking a careful, shaking step towards the mirror.

His right eye was near swollen shut, black and purple from the bruising all around the socket. The shiner was green on the edges, before getting lost in the infected red surrounding the nasty slices in his skin. And what slices they were; they were actually thinner than he expected them to be, but deep and vicious all the same. The longest and most painful one was the one bifurcating the whole of his right face; he traced it gingerly down from forehead to neck, his pulse fluttering where the scratch fell over his jaw, his jugular…

Daud swallowed again and the wounds visibly protested. He shut his eyes, trying not to let his head swim from the scent and sight of his own skin. He uncoiled his hands, flexing, before rooting through the cabinet behind the mirror. He quickly pulled out some peroxide, some disinfecting ointment, some fancy Sokolov concoction he got after an old contract was paid, and a soft sponge. He carefully poured the peroxide on the sponge first; he hissed and snarled as the sponge hit the wounds, the sound rippling through him dangerously. He slowed; the second growl was more of a suppressed groan as he eased into the pain. He then wrung out the sponge, letting the blood and infection wash away. He then got into the shower, reveling in the scalding water and trying not to pay attention to all of the blood and grime and stink washing away from his weary body.

In the steam and under the pounding drops of water, he finally let his mind relax and wander. It wasn't long before his thoughts became intrusive; five days was a lot of days to be laying half dead in a sewer with nobody to find him. What if he had died? He supposed Rulfio would be the only one to go looking, and who's to say he actually would? Maybe to make a point, win the bet, maybe piss on Daud's corpse. He wouldn't blame him.

No. It wasn't like Rulfio to be that petty, and even if they were just business partners, they were still partners. For the past year or so, they had come to work well together and as it turns out, two assassins are better than one. Not many in their profession were willing to let others in on their trade secrets-- plus, stealth work was traditionally best done alone. But with Rulfio, he and Daud had been able to double their output. He never had such good contracts. Even if they just did business together, it was lucrative; he would still be hiding in abandoned buildings like a homeless rat instead of in an old apartment that was heated and even had hot, running water. Blessings like that were few and far between in Dunwall, with exception given to the military and noble houses.

Nobles. Daud spat in the shower, watching bloody phlegm swim around the drain. They paid well, but Daud hated every single one he's ever met. What good did they bring the world? Hoarded coins like dragons, partied while children starved and died. Commissioned bridges in their name instead of paying their workers fair wages. His face ached from the rage simmering just under his skin. His teeth itched, and he rolled a tongue over them, wondering what other unexpected side effects his gnarly wound was going to give him.

The water ran cold all too soon and Daud shivered as he pulled himself out, hardly toweling off as his tired body stumbled over itself. He had half a mind still to pull the Sokolov elixir out; he downed it in one full swig, then turned to the ointment as some strength returned to him. He dressed the wounds in a half haze, his vision beginning to blur from fever and tiredness. It was a messy job, but he was far too gone to care. As long as he slept on his back, he'd be fine. He was sure of it.

What he wasn't sure of after that was how he even made it to the rickety mattress on the other side of the apartment, throwing himself heavily onto it, swiftly letting the Void take him. ------

He tried to get through the days as normal. He really did. But every day passing was another day that the wound didn't heal right, or at all, until all Daud knew was the searing, itching heat of his wounded skin. It dominated his days, his nights; everything in between was fevered and sensitive. He heard whales crying, but not like the keening from the slaughterhouse he's used to; these cries were screams of torture, of whales falling into the Void where their bodies were destined to be desecrated for the whims of a bottomless city.

He tried to conduct business, but it was no use; his scabs were too much of a deterrent. He couldn't chance bandaging the wounds so he left them exposed, and if anyone saw him, they were terrified into vacating his premise. His self-consciousness, usually non-existent, bubbled up in his chest until finally, in a fevered state, body shaking and his breath ragged, he entered the slaughterhouse and stole a whaler mask. The smell of it was pungent and unforgettable; he resisted the urge to regurgitate (everything smelled ten times worse, everything was too much and he still didn't have the piece of mind to wonder why) and placed the mask cleanly over his face, hiding the worst of his facial offenses. Later that same night he couldn't help but notice how, even in the mirror, the long muzzle of the whaler mask suited him in a way he couldn't place. It satisfied something primal in his chest, unlocking a door that he never knew was closed. His chest swelled. He wrestled with the urge to sing.

He sneered. He never sang.

The mirror suddenly disturbed him, those glass eyes too empty, too all-knowing. He snarled, a sound that now caught in his throat and rumbled through his whole being violently, but he saw it as nothing more than his ruined vocal cords yelling at him for even attempting to make a sound.

It wasn't long after that he started looking for Rulfio. It was slow going-- over a week now and his fever still hadn't broken, he still felt weaker than he ever had-- but Daud also had a heavy purse full of a noble's blood money that he owed another assassin. However, with their last contract so far behind them (and as far as Rulfio knew, Daud was dead), tracking his partner across Dunwall was becoming an annoying chore.

Rulfio didn't have a lot of haunts. He had a few regular places, but even when Daud patrolled them, Rulfio never showed up. It made him itch, his whole body full of agitation. It was unlike the assassin; Rulfio was a man of routine. It's what made him so excellent at his job; he could count down the seconds to a kill, a literal metronome, patient and meditative. Every kill was perfectly timed, perfectly planned. So, to see him being something akin to unpunctual was too much to bear. Daud jumped off to a different roof, trying not to fear the worst for Rulfio's safety.

There was one haunt he had been avoiding; their old meetup spot. Something in Daud had nagged at him to visit sooner, but it felt redundant; Daud was a no-show to a meeting, and if an assassin was a no-show, it's best to assume they're face down in a rat-filled ditch. So what was the point in stalking that particular part of Dunwall? The city was huge -- miles across, even -- and Rulfio could choose to be anywhere. So why would he be on a familiar rooftop, waiting for a ghost to appear?

His boots landed heavy on the old concrete, muscle memory catching him before he stumbled. The potted plant overlooking a blood red sunset looked no better than it had two weeks ago, and unswept leaves scattered about his feet as he walked. Everything was untouched from his last visit-- and yet, the hair of his neck prickled, sensing immediately that he was not alone. A dark figure in the corner shifted and Daud's vision bee-lined on it, his fist clenching in apprehension.

"Come on out, then," he growled out, the words muffled behind the thick respirator the mask offered. Even so, the individual jerked and twisted at the sound of his voice. They stood up, spinning on him with a wild, desperate expression.

"Daud? That better be you, you bastard, and not Jordan playing another prank on me--"

Daud's breath hitched and he relaxed, straightening out of the predatory stance he'd taken. Rulfio scrambled forward, then slowed, eyeing the mask critically. "It is you, isn't it? Daud-- Spirits--..." The man hesitated, then grasped at Daud's arm, as if to make sure he was real, and not some smoke-induced mirage. Daud huffed.

"Of course it's me, Rulfio, I'm the only other person who would even think to look for you here." That seemed to ease all of Rulfio's remaining fears. He looked Daud over and stepped back, his nose curling at the mask.

"Outsider's ass, Daud, you crazy bastard. What the fuck happened? It's been weeks."

Daud turned his head away, not bearing to look Rulfio straight on even through the heavy whaler mask. In response, he pushed the coin purse into Rulfio's hand.

"Contract's done. Fink is dead. And I made sure Brimsley coughed up your respective pay." Rulfio looked at the money in disbelief; mouth agape, he counted through the coin. Daud tilted his head, triumphant. "Told you I'd win our bet."

Rulfio huffed a laugh, the edges of his beard crinkling in a smile. "You really are a son of the Outsider, you know that, Daud? Shit." He then gave the mask a more critical eye, his eyes flicking to Daud's visible sliver of neck. Daud stiffened, and a very strong part of his brain wished to flee as far and fast as his body could take him.

He stayed, fist clenched.

"So, what's up with the mask? Not like you to hide your face."

Daud shifted, and the mask jerked as he looked around. "My face has been bad for business."

"Bad for business?" Rulfio laughed, unbelieving. "Get better lies, Daud. You're always the face of our contracts, as if you wanna be the most famous assassin in Dunwall."

Daud huffed, his breath hot on the leather.

"Just-- look. You'll see what I mean." He unlatched the mask, unraveling the sizing band and pulling the article off his face.

Rulfio's expression dropped. His eyes darted away, then he covered his mouth, muffling a curse. Daud's stomach turned at the reaction.

"Daud? What the fuck? What the fuck?"

"The cheater in the contract had a souped up dog, or something." A monster, an abomination of flesh and fur. "It hit me, but I was able to walk away alive."

"Are you sure?" Rulfio's voice painfully broke on the question. His fists curled, quivering at his sides. "Daud, have you seen yourself?"

Daud sneered, the skin of face pulling and itching unpleasantly. He smothered the urge to claw the wounds open. "You asked why I'm wearing a mask, and then you ask if I've seen my own reflection lately? Are you an idiot, Rulfio? Of course I know how bad this looks!" His hand gestured to his face, his neck, his pulse suddenly throbbing against the wounds. "I'm not dead yet, and besides, I still owed you your cut of the profits!"

"You should have died," Rulfio said softly, his voice barely a whisper but ringing all too loudly in Daud's ears. "That wound… there's no way it hit your neck and didn't sever your jugular. How are you still alive?"

Daud's ears filled with rushing wind. He snarled, showing his teeth. Rulfio stepped back, his eyes on Daud's expression. Daud caught the movement; he exhaled, deflating.

"Lucky, I guess."

Rulfio's face was unconvinced, his eyes dark under heavy brows.

"There's something you're not telling me, Daud."

In his brain, Daud replayed the memory of that giant whale of a wolf, that disgusting, shredded monster and it's neck, sizzling and smoking and knitting itself back together. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to his neck, stopping just short of ripping at his wounds, at giving in to that bone-deep ache and gouging new, fresh lines into his skin. Rulfio watched the movement, his eyes holding too much concern, and Daud hated it. He was an assassin, for fuck's sake. He wasn't some child, and even when he was, he was already killing, shoving sharp bits of metal into his assailant's eyes. He didn't need the pity resting in Rulfio's black eyes.

He growled, anger boiling hot under his skin, but Daud didn't give in to his urges. His hand dropped, his breathing hard and his ears ringing.

"It's nothing you need to worry about Rulf. I dealt with it weeks ago."

Had he? Something told him yes, you did, but he had no memory, nothing to say that the giant dog was actually dead and buried.

Just… an instinct. An unreliable, unnecessary, instinct.

"Yeah, and I'm looking at the blood money result of that, right?" Rulfio huffed, turning from Daud to look at the setting sun. "So, picked up any other contracts since then?"

Sensing the conversation shifting but also feeling his limbs buzzing unpleasantly, Daud pushed the mask back up over his face. There was a comfort in hiding behind it, though Rulfio didn't seem to share his sentiment. He watched the mask slip back on with disdain.

"It doesn't suit you."

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Daud shot back, defensive.

Rulfio shrugged. Daud sighed, the air hissing out the respirator.

"I have not picked up any contracts," Daud supplied, answering Rulfio's earlier question. "I wanted to get you your payment first, that and…" he trailed off, his shrug trying to hide his unease. "These scratches have been a liability for clients. Believe it or not, my face really is bad for business, right now."

"Can't imagine why," Rulfio needled him, and Daud prickled in response. Rulfio seemed to sense his annoyance and just smirked. He walked back over to Daud, pulling a stack of papers out of his pockets. "Got a few that I picked up, seemed like they might be good for--well, for me, at least." He passes the paper to Daud. "Most of these are enough for a singular assassin to accomplish, no problem. If you need work, you could probably take one of these off me."

Daud nodded, looking through each contract. One was for offing a sex offender, another of just stealing a gem from a noble for a noble, another was a hit for killing-- Daud growled and balled that piece of paper up, throwing it over the roof. Rulfio looked at him, protesting, but Daus held up a hand.

"I don't murder kids, you know that," he murmured, dangerously. Rulfio stiffened, then looked at where the crumpled paper had fallen, three stories down. Rulfio murmured out an apology, an 'I must've misread that one in the pile," but Daud shoved him off before finally taking a contract out of the stack.

"It's fine. I got my hit." Rulfio looked at him curiously, but Daud pointed to the fine print.

Seeking a headhunter for con man Eustace Fink, who led my sons to what I can only assume was a drowning under the Hound Pits Pub. Will be willing to part with 200 silver for anyone who can find and apprehend this criminal for me!!

The post mark was two weeks ago. Rulfio wrinkled his nose in clear disgust.

"200 silver? No wonder nobody has taken that job, it's not paying nearly enough."

"That's fine; it's my hit anyway."

"What? Daud, you're worth double that in gold, it's not like you to sell yourself short."

"I'm not-- this is-- do you not recognize the name?" Every syllable dripped with more hatred; Daud could nearly feel his body ripple with the anger. "This is the brother of the man I nearly died killing." And he knows shit I don't, Daud all but growled out. Rulfio raised an eyebrow.

"Revenge, huh? Suits you as much as that mask does," Rulfio murmured. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay, Daud?"

He folded the contract into his jacket, pulling his hood up. His movements were jerky, pained.

"I'll be fine, Rulf. Don't follow me on this one. I'll handle it on my own and see you here when it's finished."

"You can keep the 200 silver, Daud," he laughed, but Daud was already hopping from the rooftop, leaving Rulfio and his words behind.

Eustace Fink would have answers, he reasoned to himself. He knew what his brother had been up to, was complicit in the act. So when Daud found him, he'd be sure wring every dirty little secret out of him before slicing his neck open like a disgraced lover.

8 notes · View notes

thisiswhatwereupagainst · 3 years

Photo

We come from the land of the ice and snow From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow This is Snowbird aka Narya aka Anne MacKenzie, a founding member of Marvel’s Alpha Flight and one of my faves. Here’s a post all about her!

Snowbird is the daughter of a moral man, Richard Easton, and the Inua goddess Nelvanna. The Inua are the gods of the Canadian north in Marvel canon. While their name is clearly from the term “Inuit” they are not a pantheon (originally a trinity but then expanded) from any real-world culture, but they are drawn in such a way to suggest they are meant to reflect Indigenuous Canadian peoples, and when they are expanded from a trinity to a true pantheon, real-world Inuit deities like Kadlu and Sedna are added to their number. This raises some problematic issues all around, but it is what it is, so moving on--- Nelvanna is the only female member of the original trinity as they appear, and thus was tasked with conceiving a half-human child with Richard Easton when he stumbled into their realm after finding an ancient artifact at a Canadian archeological dig near the Arctic Circle, since Richard was a man. The reason they needed a half-human child was to combat The Great Beasts, immensely powerful entities. They had been trapped thousands of years ago in a prison realm by the Inua, but in modern times the magicks holding them began to weaken. Knowing the Great Beasts would break free soon, the Inua wished to produce a champion, a demi-goddess child born of both man and god, belonging to both worlds, who could fight them on this plane. Nelvanna successfully conceived a child with Richard, but he was driven mad by the experience of consort with the divine, and he lived out the rest of his life as a hermit until he attempted a ritual to summon one of the Great Beasts. This succeeded, but his life force was consumed in the process, and his remains settled on the bottom of the salt lake where the Great Beast called Tundra once stood. Richard’s spirit would live on as an evil entity, which Snowbird eventually faced and put to peaceful rest at last. But back to Snowbird---obviously, the baby that Nelvanna conceived was Narya, who became Snowbird. As Nelvanna was about to give birth, she summoned Native Canadian shaman Dr. Michael Twoyoungmen to a place of power to assist her. The being she gave birth to was unstable, a transmorph, lacking real form, and Michael knew that he had to mystically bind it to Earth or else it would have never been able to possess a human form. He did so, and the baby at last assumed a human form, that of a little blonde girl with alien features who was already a year old. Having been bound to the land of Canada itself at her birth gave Snowbird her greatest weakness----she could not leave the boundaries of Canada without weakening and, if she did not return soon enough, death. Michael raised Narya alone in a cabin in Banff National Park, where she began to learn the customs of Earth and how to use her fantastic powers---specifically, she could shapeshift into a snow-white version of any animal native to the Canadian Arctic lands. She notably preferred to eat what she hunted in her animal form, not joining Michael or his guests, the Hudsons, at dinner. But she had stranger qualities still---at only three or four chronological years, she already looked like a young woman, albeit a strange elfen one. After Michael explained to the Hudsons that Narya was not only a metamorph but a demigoddess, James Hudson invited them both to join Alpha Flight. They agreed, and were given the codenames Shaman and Snowbird. While her primary goal was always to battle the Great Beasts as she had been born for, Snowbird also dutifully served the interests of Department H and the Canadian government, and to this end took on a human identity, that of Corporal Anne MacKenzie. She used her shapeshifting power to adopt a more fully human appearance, and worked at an RCMP post somewhere in the North West Territories of Canada. However, she had the ability to sense whenever one of her enemies, the Great Beasts, awakened, and would leave whatever she was doing immediately to do battle with these monsters. This ended up costing her her job, though she likely cared little. Snowbird had a cold, distant, aloof persona, almost alien, and at one of her teammates expressed that she gave him “the heebie jeebies” to which her foster father Michael said he was not alone in, suggesting that others were regularly unnerved by her. Indeed, Narya was very much as inhuman mentally as she was physically. Alpha Flight (1983) #3 describes her as such: "Her innermost memories dwell beyond human comprehension, and she remembers the oldest snows." She seems to innately know all her own powers, even those she never used before---such as the ability to compel others to aid her against the Great Beasts should she wish--and to know that her destiny is to fight The Great Beasts, which she will automatically do despite any fear she might have. While it is possible Michael taught her the latter, it is just as likely that she simply was born knowing it. Other powers she displayed were: - Flight - Resistance to extreme cold - She's able to sense magical energies, disturbances to the land she's tied to, and the proximity of her teammates - If her teammates invoke the Great Spirit, she senses that and will come to their aid. - Post-cognitive vision, being able to see what happened in the past in a place. For instance, she looked at a plane crash and was able to basically play it back before her eyes as she looks at the wreckage in order for her to figure out what caused it. It seems there's a limit though, as in another issue she can't do it because whatever happened was 12 hours or more ago, which she can tell by tracks, showing she has tracking skills, likely from her wildnerness upbringing by Shaman and animal-like abilities - As mentioned, she can magically/psychically compel others to help her fight the Great Beasts against their wills While Snowbird originally hoped that once she vanquished all the Great Beasts, her time on Earth would be done and she could ascend to the paradise where the other Inua dwelled, her path changed when Doug Thompson, a colleague from when she had been Anne McKenzie, professed his love for her. Though she originally denied him, she eventually revealed her real self, Snowbird, to hi. She tried to tell him that she could not return his affections, but Doug simply grabbed and kissed her – the first kiss Narya ever received. Taken by surprise and filled with human emotions she had suppressed to this point, Snowbird could no longer deny that she was attracted to Doug too, however, she wanted him to fully know what he would get involved in and showed him her so True Fires, her godly form, a strange and terrifying sight to behold. Yet Doug loved her still, and so once all the Great Beasts were slain, she returned to him and wed him, asking him to teach her to be human. But in doing so, she bound herself to a mortal man, and thus the Inua, whom she had longed to join, cast her out for this sin. Eventually she became pregnant, and just as she had grown up rapidly, so too did her pregnancy rapidly advance. The birth was dramatic, with Snowbird rapidly shifting out of control, displaying her True Fires in her agony. The Inua appeared and offered Snowbird one last chance to join them in Paradise; ridding herself of the stench of mortality. They warned her that after the child was born they would have nothing to do with her. Afraid and suffering unbearable pain, Narya almost agreed – except that she was afraid of losing the people she loved and who loved her back. Snowbird told her mother that she couldn’t leave what she had found on Earth and with that, the Gods left. Narya still needed to reach sacred ground before she could give birth, just as she too had been born in a sacred place. Due to her own resentment of her father, Talisman aka Elizabeth Twoyoungmen, Michael’s daughter, tricked her. Dr. Strange had brought her to a place of power, yes, but it was a place of power because there was an ancient sorcerer buried beneath the frozen wasteland. Strange did not know this, but Talisman did---and said nothing. Soon the birth was set in motion, and almost instantly, Pestilence, spirit of the ancient sorcerer, possessed and corrupted the child. Talisman knew this would happen; her plan was to watch her father try and fail to save the day, and then step in to do so herself. Yet she found herself unable to best Pestilence either, and he beat Alpha Flight, including his own “mother”, and fled, taking his new body, that of Narya’s unnamed son, with him. As horrible as this was, Nary considered this might be a blessing in disguise. She thought that perhaps if she abandoned her child and husband, then the Inua might reconsider rejecting her, and welcome her back into their fold. Understandably, her husband was upset by this, and angrily stormed off, vowing to find their son himself. He said he now realized that not being human, he could not expect Snowbird to know what motherly love meant. And yet, it turned out, she did---though it saved neither her nor her son. While the rest of Alpha Flight were busy with another mission, Shaman and Snowbird located Pestilence in the mining town of Burial Butte. Once they got there, the pair learned that Douglas, Snowbird’s husband, had gotten there before, and had been infected with a fatal disease by Pestilence. Pestilence had realized that the baby’s pure spirit was slowly overcoming his influence. Only by it being killed could Pestilence could roam free and possess someone else again. To this end, he controlled Snowbird, and forced her to kill him, releasing his spirit, while the body of the child, her child, perished at the claws of its own mother. Snowbird died too, shot down by Heather Hudson in a too-late attempt to stop her from killing her “son” and releasing the sorcerer. Pestilence escaped, but mother, father, and child were all dead. Alpha Flight laid the family to rest in beautiful glass coffins, and, at their funeral, the Inua appeared, offering the dead Snowbird one last chance to join them in their Paradise. Snowbird’s soul, however, demanded that her husband and child must be allowed to come with her as well, or she would not come at all. Though no mortal had ever been allowed in the Inua Paradise before, her divine family made an exception for the first time, and allowed her mortal one, and all their souls went to dwell there in happiness together for eternity. As with many Marvel characters, death was not the end for Snowbird. Pestilence possessed her soulless body briefly, before being forced out by Shaman, at which point the soul of Walter Langkowski aka Sasquatch, another deceased member of Alpha Flight, took it over. No longer housing a divine spirit, Snowbird’s body became that of a human-looking woman---but still a woman, with Walter’s soul inside. So for about two years, Walter went by Wanda. Yeah, he was walking about in the dead body of his teammate, don’t think about it too hard. Perhaps also due to her divine nature now being absent from her body, “Wanda” Langowski did not get any of Snowbird’s powers with her body, but instead retained his--er, her?--own, that of shifting into a Sasquatch, albeit a white one now. Wanda became Walter again eventually, and years later, Snowbird was discovered alive in an A.I.M. laboratory. Alpha Flight and Wolverine freed her and took her along to Department H, where excessive tests revealed her to be indeed really Snowbird. What A.I. M was doing with her and how she came back to life has yet to be revealed. The canon explanation is that she has regenerative powers that went to work while she was buried, but this doesn’t track at all because, again, her body didn’t stay buried, Walter was running around in it. Apparently the writers just...forgot this, and for extra irony had WALTER of all people be the person who came up with this explanation. Seriously. I just go with the idea the Inua brought her back for God Reasons and she doesn’t know why yet and then A.I.M. got ahold of her before she could rejoin her team. She also lacks being bound to the Canadian lands anymore, and I miss that limit, I thought it was cool. I like a lot of things about Snowbird. Firstly, I think the fact she can turn into animals, that’s really cool, and the limits of them always being Canadian helps temper it, and I think them always being white is a neat touch. I like that she’s WEIRD and INHUMAN and unnerves people, I like that her design is meant to be CREEPY INSTEAD OF PRETTY and I like that she actually FALTERED in being a good mother in a really HORRIBLE way that women (at least heroic/good women) don’t usually get written as even considering without becoming villains for it, I like that when she does show humanity it’s not just compassion or maternal love, it’s also BEING A DICK LIKE HUMANS CAN BE . She’s a pretty cool character and I’d like to RP as her one day. I also have some thoughts about why I think she, as a character who is literally meant as the embodiment of Canada itself, should be rewritten/re-designed as a Native Canadian woman, but those are for another post---this is just about who she is as it is. Which is a neat character with a pretty design! Fun fact: In the Ultimates universe, it’s Danielle Moonstar who is a member of Alpha Flight bearing the codename Snowbird. Instead of the powers of 616 Dani or Snowbird, she wields the ability to create and control blizzards, which she uses to overpower that universe’s Storm.

#snowbird #alpha flight #narya #anne mckenzie #marvel

17 notes · View notes

zoryany · 4 years

Text

Starry Gets Personal

hello, friends and followers! this blog is primarily for fandom, writing, and the odd miscellaneous sort of post, and I don’t get super personal here very often, but recent events have spurred me to open up about a couple aspects of my mental health, specifically my experiences as someone who has been diagnosed with both Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar II.

I will go into a bit more detail, below the cut, because this is very personal and I know not everybody wants to read a big long post about mental health, but my tl;dr version is basically that... my mental illnesses have caused me to do and say some pretty awful shit. they’ve caused me to make some decisions that I absolutely regret. and these things that I’ve said and done have had very real and very harmful consequences for myself and others. but I am a person who is capable of growth. of recognizing when I might be slipping up. and sometimes things go sour anyways. but I do not wish to be defined by my mental illness. nobody should be.

now, if you wish to keep scrolling, by all means, I hope your day is wonderful. if you’re interested in some more details, click on... potential cw for discussion of self-harm, suicidality, abuse and substance use (all fairly mild, no explicit details)

now, I’m not interested in publicly airing dirty laundry. there are certain boundaries I will not cross in the telling of this tale. I have permission to share things about myself, but I have no interest in smearing anyone else, so details will be omitted or altered where possible, and vague when not.

I’ve had some difficulties with friendships before. some have been because of petty, young girl “pal” bullying, some because we’ve just fallen out of touch, and some because there’s a perception that I’ve somehow changed. it can take me some time to open up and be more vulnerable with people. while I try to be open, I’m much more likely to offer up a shoulder to cry on than to ask for one myself. then, as I get more comfortable with people, I will ask for a bit more support. and often, all I really need is a bit of reassurance, a sign that there is care, and I’m pretty good at self-soothing from there. I can have incredibly violent mood swings, at times, but they die down fairly easily, as is common in borderline. in addition, I have never self-harmed. I have never been actively suicidal, beyond the odd time of “wow, not existing right now would be really rad, wouldn’t it?” I am incredibly lucky, in this regard, because the statistics regarding borderline, bipolar, self-harm, hospitalization and suicide are incredibly grim. but that is not me, and because I am taking medication and regularly seeing my therapist, I am actively making sure it will never be me.

in addition to BPD and bipolar, I have ADHD. these things combined mean rejection and abandonment sting real bad. to the point of a straight up meltdown / tantrum bad. and I am willing to call some of my episodes meltdowns or tantrums. this is not true for all people with these conditions, but for me, that’s kinda what it feels like. these intense feelings just need to flare up and burn themselves out for a bit and then I’m usually fine within a few minutes, hours or, in the most extreme cases, days. these emotional episodes are not always related to abandonment or rejection, but they can be, and they can lead to some pretty nasty things. I can dissociate. I can enter a state where I genuinely don’t recognize what I’m saying. and I like to compare them to fire that has been inadvertently fueled far more than expected. the fire cannot help that it flares. it cannot help that it lashed out and was stronger than anyone meant it to be. that does not heal the burns it caused, though.

earlier this year, I had a pretty... rough falling out with a friend. for the duration of our friendship, both my borderline and bipolar were undiagnosed. I had received a depression diagnosis before and borderline was suspected at a couple of points, but neither diagnosis was confirmed or treated until after the friendship ended. while I was able to make do when things were generally good, the lack of a diagnosis or treatment for either borderline or bipolar made things extremely difficult when things got bad.

the two of us were online friends for nearly two years, and we had gotten really close. spoke every day, hung out most nights, shared a lot of very personal things with one another. it felt really good to have that kind of connection with someone. because it felt so good in these early stages, and because I was undiagnosed at the time, the friendship developed into one that didn’t really have clear boundaries.

it is important in a relationship with a person who has BPD to establish boundaries. I have been determined to be much more careful about these boundaries since receiving my diagnosis, because I cannot place that responsibility solely on the other person in any sort of relationship. I have also seen the consequences of carrying forth with a relationship that does not have boundaries, and I do not wish to subject myself or anyone else to that level of pain.

now, again, I will not go into a great level of detail, but I would like to discuss the last week or so of this friendship.

I began to feel that this friend was pulling away from me. I also just so happened to be PMSing, which can amplify symptoms of my mental illnesses. this friend wished to take a bit of a break. I have never had a friend who has actively asked for a break before. it felt like confirmation that they were pulling away. I did not react well. I cannot recall all of the details. I dissociated through a lot of it. but I do remember that I said some horrendous things both over text chat and voice call. things that were manipulative. things that were abusive. I lashed out, I hurt, sought to make my pain felt, was angry...

these things really hurt this former friend. so much so that they did end up leading to them calling it quits. they no longer felt safe in the relationship. that led to even more lashing out on my end, even more hurt, and it was all around unpleasant, to put it mildly. there is a very real pain that can spring up with BPD, and it doesn’t always isolate itself to the person who has the disorder.

I have not spoken to this friend since we called it quits. one week later, to the day, I saw a psychiatrist and received my diagnoses: Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar II, ADHD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I am taking medication. I am seeing a therapist. I have grown as a person since this experience and gained new tools to handle extreme emotional situations.

there are still times when impulsivity will flare up and I’ll spend more money than I should on things I don’t need or over-indulge in substances at a gathering. there are still times when my emotions get the best of me. I still occasionally fall into hypomanic episodes and become someone who may not quite be myself. these are things that have placed strain on me, my family and my friends. but I am working on them. continually.

I do not think that people with mental illness, disorders or disabilities should be exempt from critique of their actions. I know that my actions have consequences, and I have seen them multiple times. what I refuse to believe, however, is that I am a fundamentally terrible, awful, abusive person because of these actions. coming to terms with my diagnoses and my symptoms has been a journey, and while I do regret a lot of things I have done or said over the years and wish I could change countless outcomes, all I can do is to continue to press forward and strive to be the best me I can be.

thank you for making it this far. I hope that if any of this resonated with you, whether you share a diagnosis with me or have other similar experiences, then you may feel some level of reassurance. and I hope you all understand me just a little bit better. all love to you!

Starry

#starry things #I feel it's important to be open about mental health #so I'm going to share this #and I understand if this is a bit heavy #i just wanted to share my story #borderline personality disorder #bipolar #bipolar ii #adhd #bpd #mental health #mental health things #mental illness #personal

17 notes · View notes