#more like random rambles barely stitched together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lune-hime · 3 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 1

https://lune-hime.tumblr.com/masterlist

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tulipa Estella Rijnveld ~ A tulip whose soft white petals are stained with a crimson pigment.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

The putrid sounds of screaming and bones cracking were gradually soaked up by the trees and replaced by the stillness of the evening. The newfound silence of the countryside left an eerie calm over the two scouts but only amplified the ringing in Levi’s ears. The thumping of the horse’s muddy hooves against the hardened spring ground made his head throb as they rode further and further away from the massacre. Any sound was better than nothing, though, otherwise the silence would make him hear their foul cries.

Your pained shrieks.

In his arms you laid limp, the only sign of life was your slight breaths that just barely caressed the bottom of his chin. Whenever it became uneven the ringing in his ears sharpened. He would squeeze your side instinctively, something he would usually do to wake you up when you slept in too late. Only this time instead of your hand in his it was your blood staining his palm. He applied constant pressure to your bleeding side with one hand while the other, white-knuckled and bruised, held the reins. His grip was the only thing that kept him from floating off that damned horse. He was grateful he had lost his horse in the chaos instead of you; you loved the animal too much for Levi’s liking and he knew how devastated you would be when you woke up and it wasn’t there.

Once we get there you better fucking wake up, Y/N.

Levi had somehow managed to stop your bleeding with the piece of his cloak tightly wrapped around your waist combined with the pressure of his hand. This gave him minor peace of mind as you galloped through forest after forest. Emerging from the thicket, the last obstacle blocking your path to safety materialized on the horizon. The towering structure of Wall Rose was baked pale in the waning rays of light, it's untouched bricks proudly protecting those who resided inside. Levi wasted no time in grabbing the guards’ attention the moment he reached the barred gate.

“LET ME IN.” He screamed, his voice scattering the crows that rested on the railing of the wooden lookout post. Though he was extremely winded, his command was firm. There were some muffled curses and the sound of glass shattering before one guard peaked his heads over the edge, making eye contact with Levi’s impatient form below. To say he was startled was an understatement.

“C-captain Levi?” He called out in disbelief. The guard looked from the captain to the limp body in his arms, eyes widening in shock when he saw the remnants of your profuse bleeding.

“Captain Levi is here?” Another voice slurred from behind the first guard. A second soldier appeared, rushing over to lean heavily on the railing and gawk in awe.

“Hey, Captain! What are you doing all the way here at Krolva? What an honor, do you have a minute? My niece is a big fan and if I could get your autograph I’m sure she would really appreci-” He rambled excitedly before being cut off by a brisk slap from his comrade. He stumbled from the railing with a groan, clutching the back of his head in pain.

“Are yer eyes still workin’? Can’t you see he’s a little busy for that. He’s riding with a wounded soldier, idiot.” His more sober counter part scolded. They soon got into a drunken argument about how to address superior officers, especially ones with pressing issues. The more their pointless conversation droned on the more Levi’s anxiety level rose. If he was delayed any longer he felt like he was going to shatter like the soldiers’ discarded beer bottle.

“I don’t have time for your shit!” He exclaimed. Your horse had begun to sense Levi’s urgency and started pawing at the ground and pacing restlessly in front of the gate.

The guards immediately halted their chatter and turned their full attention to him once again, looking like scolded children. There was a brief silence, broken by a single hiccup.

“Just. Let. Me. In. The. Damned. Gate.” Levi seethed, voice dangerously low. The guards exchanged nervous glances before scrambling to make the call that would raise the iron bars. The second the gate creaked upward, your horse was ready and anxiously bouncing on its hooves. When the opening was just large enough to fit through, your horse bolted through.

When the soldiers stationed at the guard tower would later tell the story to their comrades, and eventually Commander Pixis, they would swear that they saw the devil himself within Levi’s eyes.

Time had no meaning anymore as he weaved between stalled carts and yelping pedestrians. His eyes were on the prominent steeple that jutted out like a sunflower among dandelions from the jagged edges of the residential buildings. After rounding corner after corner and navigating the winding side streets he applied pressure to the reins at the front of the aged church. The grim sight that befell him festered at his already bleeding heart.

Sickness hung so thickly in the air that Levi felt it seeping into the pores of his skin. Hoards of ill residents congregated outside of the newly deemed hospital. Ymir’s stoney outstretched arms beckoned them to be herded like sheep into the eglise by their shepherds donned in nurses uniforms. So slowly were they being admitted that Levi could ascertain that the establishment, as grand as it looked on the outside, would not be able to harbor all of them. The mob groaned, wretched, sputtered and seemed to move as one undulating blob of disease.

Levi’s face contorted as the stench of bile singed the inside of his nose. Every one of his brain cells was scolding him for even contemplating the idea of having you treated at a place with such levels of contamination, but by the fucking walls he had no other foreseeable option. He kicked your horse briskly in the gut, abruptly trotting away to confront one of the nurses.

“You have to let me in. She’s bleeding out and needs stitches now.” Levi ordered with the remaining level-headedness he had hanging by his pinkie. His sanity was flowing out of him at the same rate blood was leaving your body. But he would not let his emotion influence his body and mind. The nurse’s eyes widened to the size of eggs, obviously overwhelmed by the sheer ghastliness of the situation.

“Captain Levi?!” She exclaimed in disbelief, first at the sight of the infamous soldier and then to the limp body clutched in his arms. Levi was aware of his so-called “popularity” but he swore he was going to explode if one more person acknowledged his name before the critical state of the soldier in his embrace. The nurse’s eyes darted to Levi’s bloodstained palm and she let out a small gasp barely audible through the cloth. Her eyebrows furrowed and Levi could infer she was frowning deeply.

“Sir, I’m sorry but we are at full capacity.” Her smooth voice was muffled by her mask. “A recent outbreak in the eastern district has us overwhelmed.”

Her excuse passed through one of Levi’s ears and right out the other. Every minute he sat here idly was another precious minute of life drained from you.

“You absolutely don’t have anyone that could treat her? Or- just give me some goddamn stitches and I’ll do it myself!” Levi demanded, tone flaring at the latter half of his proposal. The nurse gulped and shook her head somberly.

“The capital has been limiting the export of medical supplies to selected districts, including Krolva. We are maxed out now due to the illness...I’m afraid we can’t offer you anything.”

Levi dug his hand into the reins and tugged at them in frustration, making your horse skitter sideways. The scouts prided him in being one of the most rational members of its legions, which was a gift he was honing into as his head spun so quickly with what little options he had left. Uncharacteristically irrational thoughts tempted him, however when a splash of floral color caught his eye just behind the nurse’s shoulder it clicked.

He was in Krolva.

Krolva was your hometown.

You had family here.

Family with a distinct profession.

He stared at the ornamental tulips in the church yard for a moment before whipping his head towards the nurse.

“Where is the tulip farm.” Levi’s simple inquiry held the esteem of a military order of the utmost importance. Anticipation bubbled up within him as the nurse sputtered at his seemingly random change of subject.

“Um-The Vogel Estate is located slightly out of the district. If you go through the gates of Wall Rose its about a half an hour off the main road. There are signs for it you can’t miss.” The nurse instructed, pointing in the direction of the gates. Levi nodded once and was about to turn your horse around when the nurse let out a sound of protest.

“Wait!” She said hurriedly. She looked around nervously before reaching into her dress pocket, pulling out an ivory handkerchief and a small vile. Her gloved hands reached out to you looking at Levi for permission to remove his crimson caked hand.

“This saline won’t do much, but it will minimize infection.” She instructed, carefully lifting Levi’s hand. Sticky blood attempted to reconnect his limb to your side, however the nurse blotted the most recent stream away with a steady hand. Her breath hitched at the severity of your wound as she began pouring the contents of the vile onto your torn skin. She then folded the handkerchief and placed it firmly onto your side, grasping Levi’s hand and placing it over the fabric.

“This should keep more dirt from getting into her wound and irritating it. Keep applying steady pressure; thankfully it looks like you have been doing that already.”

Levi looked from his hand to her eyes, grateful for the sympathy that they held despite his frustration.

“Thank you.” He said curtly. Then, tugged on your horse’s reins and with one swift kick was off towards Wall Rose. To his relief, the gates were wide open as merchants filed through them. He deftly rushed past their inventory checks, unsympathetic to the whines in protest when your horse’s side rammed into a cart resulting in the spilling of an expensive keg of whiskey.

The signs to the estate took him through a picturesque village that made him question if the both of you were even residing in the living world anymore. When the crisp clacking of hooves against the brick road manifested into drum beats on the hard earth Levi had a small sliver of hope he was finally nearing his destination.

He had no idea how long the two of you had been riding for as crop fields turned into whistling wheat fields; the euphoric rolling hills were laughable in comparison to the bloodbath you had fled from. Levi only had a vague idea of where he was headed; his mental map painted by fond childhood memories and other stories of your youth. Based on your descriptions the place you talked so much about couldn’t be hard to miss.

You had taken Levi to Krolva once, a little less than a year ago he reckoned, on a rare scouting legion day off. However, you were unable to stay at your family home due to a myriad of circumstances. He wouldn’t have admitted it but a sweet, syrupy nervousness would churn in his stomach whenever you would talk about introducing him to your family and the other intimate aspects of your childhood. He had, indeed, already met the closest members of your family. One a scout that Levi was quite familiar with and the other the owner of this estate. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had met her and could say with the utmost certainty that it perplexed him beyond hell how you two were related. The fact that this was the first time you two were going to be there together, well the irony was ludicrous.

As humble houses began to litter the landscape he regained some confidence in his surroundings. Levi began analyzing each structure as your horse sped past, hooves hitting the stone path with the intensity of gunshots. His frantic mind began convincing himself that he was in fact in the wrong location when he saw the subject of all your musings.

Tulips.

A vast ocean of tulips that extended so far they seemed like they could caress the horizon. Levi had never seen such a sight in his life. He was never able to fully comprehend the pristine scenery you always described but seeing it laid out in front of him had enlightened his mind. Across from the floral sea sat a grand house, its elaborate frame sticking out against the rural landscape. Levi urged your horse on with a firm kick, a pained whinny erupting from its belly.

Upon reaching the structure Levi yanked on reigns, causing your horse to slide to a stop along the dirt path of the front yard. The homestead was silent except for your horse’s labored panting. Not even the sparrows that nested along the siding of the ornate porch chirped or rustled about. Levi took advantage of the quietness to make his presence known.

“H-HELP!” He shouted, his voice faltering a bit from his sore throat. He was far too used to being on the receiving end of this plea and it made him sink even more into desperation that this time the roles were reversed. The stillness lingered but a moment before the grand door swung open with a force that sent it bombarding against the siding of the house.

“Y/N!” A figure cried from the porch, their bellow echoing over the high entryway. The woman hurried down the steps with a spryness that betrayed her age. As she neared, Levi was faced with the familiar features of your grandmother.

“What in all hell happened, Levi?” She exclaimed with viscous horror. Her face contorted into various morphs of worry and disdain with each new angle she viewed of your mangled body.

“Y/N...she-” Levi wheezed, but his throat was too dry to formulate a proper sentence. His voice was cracked and his shoulder was numbing to the point where he was beginning to lose feeling. Your grandmother exhaled and collected herself, a wave of determination fastening like a uniform onto her being.

“Shit. No time for my questions, we need to get her inside now.” She stated firmly, releasing the reins from Levi’s locked grip. He nodded and allowed his hands to rise to your shoulders to pass you off to the woman. To his delight instead of fresh blood a layer of dark liquid caked his palm. This meant you hadn’t bled a significant amount since the hospital. He let out a shaky breath as the woman gathered you into her arms. You fell limply into her embrace, her knees buckling a bit at your weight but she quickly regained her posture. You looked like a corpse, pale and utterly dead looking, which made Levi want to throw up.

He never threw up.

As the woman began carrying you inside, Levi lifted his leg to dismount your horse but winced in pain. He hadn’t noticed his own injuries due to your condition, but now that the adrenaline had started to wear down they were catching up to him. When he landed the dismount he was met with a sharp pain along his shoulder blade. The pain was just an annoyance though in the grand scheme of the situation. The one thing that mattered the most in his life had almost been torn to pieces. So his shoulder could wait.

He began to hobble towards the front door, leading your horse along with him. He let go of the reins just shy of the porch steps.

“Wait here.” He coughed. There was of course no way your horse would understand him, let alone obey him. Knowing that animal it most definitely wouldn’t stay in the same place Levi left it.

Making his way into the house he paused in the entryway, taking in his surroundings. The foyer ahead of him was spacious; a large staircase laid directly in front of him and tall archways to both his sides led further into the lodgings. The quarters screamed quaint luxury; from the high ceilings, the perfectly intact pearl colored walls, to the elaborately carved hand railings of the stairs. He knew your family wasn’t exactly poor, but he didn’t know they were this economically endowed.

“Up here, quickly.” The woman called from the second floor, consequently snapping him from his daze. Blinking a couple times he charged up the stairs, taking the polished wooden steps two at a time. Once at the top he saw an open door to his right, one of many along the hallway. Just like the rest of the house the room was big, wide windows letting in the evening sunlight and casting a warm glow across the chambers. You were splayed across the silk sheets, the smooth linen now dirtied by your blood and god knows who’s else's. Your shattered form contrasted with the affluence of the room and he felt like he had just walked into your funeral service. The woman was seated at your side next to the nightstand. She had a variety of medical supplies splayed across the small table; needles, thick thread, cotton, alcohol, steel scissors, gause.

“Help me adjust her.” She requested in a low tone. Levi nodded once before walking to the opposite side of the bed and gingerly grasping your shoulders. The woman had laid you haphazardly on your side, unable to properly lay you straight due to her old age. Levi was impressed nonetheless, however, that she had carried you all the way up those stairs from the front yard. He moved your body so you were laying on your back, arms against your sides. Not wanting to get in her way, Levi planted himself on the bed at your other side.

“I’m thankful that you brought her here.” She said as she cut away pieces of your shirt with the scissors. “But why in holy hell did you not bring her to a proper medical facility? Half of her got torn up by one of those fuckers.” She exclaimed, her voice quaked with emotion but her hands remained steady.

The woman really had a way with words.

“Apply pressure to her wound while I get the stitches.” She instructed, immediately padding about the room to gather her medical supplies. Levi did as he was told and cringed when your flesh squelched under his palm.

“The hospital at Krolva was full, they wouldn’t let us in because of the illness.” Levi explained in a voice uncharacteristically small. His gaze remained fixed on his hands. Damn, his fingers were twitching.

Your grandmother slammed a bottle of alcohol down on the nightstand in disgust. Her weathered arms shook slightly at the impact.

“That damned hospital, if you can even call it that, is never prepared to take on the ailments of this city.” She spat. Now having gathered all the necessary items she pulled the stool from the vanity and set it so she was level with your injury.

In the fray he hadn’t been able to get a proper look at your injury. The woman had bunched up your tattered shirt just under the swell of your chest. She examined your torso with seasoned eyes, yet Levi saw a tinge of worry laced in her gaze. The skin that was exposed looked like someone had taken a rake to it; indigo bruises framed a sea of tattered skin in the shape of a crescent moon. Your body bent in at an unnatural angle where the titan had bitten down on your side and Levi was just thankful that he couldn’t see any bone. Seeing you in this crippled state caused tears to sear the inside of his eyes but he refused to let the floodgates burst. This was not the time to be weak, especially with this woman here.

“Don’t go crying on me now, shorty. I know you aren’t the soft type.” Levi jumped at the familiarity in her tone. It put him on edge at first; he had arrived under dire circumstances now she was calling him names and was talking as if he was an old friend. But it was oddly comforting; the boldness and confidence in her voice eased away some of his jitteriness. He huffed in response before watching her work again.

Your grandmother used gentle fingers to assess the wound, gingerly prodding the areas where you should have had skin but you didn’t. She then reached for the cotton and alcohol and began to clean the wound as much as she could; the large teeth shaped holes in your side would be difficult for any trained physician to work with. But she handled the medical supplies with a grace Levi never considered possible. When she was finished cleaning your side she spoke up.

“She’s unconscious but she could still accidentally bite her tongue.” She stated, standing from the chair to rummage through the carven dresser. Out of the top drawer she pulled out a leather belt. She returned to the bedside and handed it to Levi.

“Place this in her mouth. I’m about to start stitching her wound.” She instructed, cutting a long piece of thread with the steel scissors. His fingertips brushed your jaw as he guided your mouth open. You were already slack jawed as little puffs of air were rising from your agape lips. He folded the belt in half two times and placed it between your teeth, careful to keep your tongue along the bottom of your mouth lest you started to choke.

Once he was done, Levi studied the woman’s hands as she prepared the needle. Her fingers were wrinkled, coarse, bent at the joints, and they looked like they had endured a lifetime of hard labor. Those aged fingers preformed with precision and finesse from the moment the needle entered your skin to the tying of the final thread.

Although not awake, you had in fact tried to bite down on the belt, letting out muffled groans each time skin met needle. Levi desperately wanted to look away each time but didn't out of fear you would bite through leather.

“Talk me through what happened.” Your grandmother said without a wavering of her concentration. Had she sensed his uneasiness? Levi swallowed hard, the action painful on his parched throat.

Levi’s whole body stung with exhaustion and pain as he prepared to explain. When he spoke again his voice was still hoarse but not as jagged as before.

“What was planned as a routine expedition turned into a recovery mission for Eren-”

“Mhmm, the boy who can shift into a titan.” Your grandmother interjected, mostly as clarification for herself. She attentively continued to thread you back together as if you were one of your chewed on stuffed animals that sat atop your dresser.

“Yeah. Y/N’s squad was set to clear out any incoming titans on the western edge. That’s when the abnormal appeared. I saw the flare and-” He explained, almost in a whisper. Damn did his throat hurt. Damn did everything hurt.

“You acted out of order.” Your grandmother stated simply. A knowingly somber smile upturning her wrinkled mouth. Her words and the soft manner in which they were said caused Levi’s mouth to hang agape mid sentence.

“Which I am grateful for. Otherwise she might have died alone out there.” She added. Her expression was as even as her handiwork but Levi could see that in her eyes concern was brewing like freshly charred coals.

“A ripe piece of shite it is that this is the longest conversation we’ve had isn’t it?” Your grandmother huffed a dry laugh. Levi could only nod in response as he watched your jaw clench when her needle deftly plunged into a heavily bruised area.

She was right. The other times he had interacted with the woman were brief and professional. Both were at military events that left little room for idle chatter, seeing as she was a highly praised veteran of the garrison. One interaction occurred before you two were committed and one...well that awkward experience could not have been far enough from the forefront of his mind.

It took thirty minutes for the woman to piece you back together but it felt like a fortnight for Levi. When she was finished she exhaled loudly and wiped her hands on a now stained crocheted dish towel.

“All done.” She stood and placed her hands on her hips. Levi couldn't begin to thank her enough for all she had done in such a short amount of time.

“Thank you, for everything.” He coughed, thus sending a wave of pain down his shoulder blade.

A huff of laughter left her lips and she sent a wyry smile his way.

“Well, what kind of grandmother would I be if I left my granddaughter as the remains of titan fodder? Come on let’s get her in some clean clothes and wash some of this blood off.” Levi nodded once and proceeded to help your grandmother get you changed and cleaned up. When the two of them had finished you almost looked back to your normal self; your body tucked under the satin covers in an elegant ivory nightgown. Your features were soft, plush lips parted and breathing steady. You now fit in with the lavish ambiance of the space. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. That is until he felt a poke on his arm.

“It won’t do either of us any good if we just sit here staring at her. Come downstairs, i’ll make you some food and stitch you up too.” Your grandmother was looking up at him sternly. Levi shot her a confused glare and she met his gaze with another chuckle.

“You don’t hide your wounds very well, humanity’s strongest. Now come on, don’t make an old lady wait.”

#LEVI ACKERMAN #levi #levi x reader #levi heichou #attack on titan #AoT #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan fanfiction #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #jean kirschstein #marco bodt #bisexual jean #hange zoe #attack on titan hange #petra ral #snk x reader

137 notes · View notes

detectivereyes · 3 years

Text

I Watched the Leaves Go From Green to Grey

Summary: When TK gets anxious, he gets into fights.

Notes: for the self-harm square on my @badthingshappenbingo card, or my interpretation of it bc i didn’t want to write a traditional “self harm” fic yk

beta’d by @marjansmarwani and also s/o to loml @seaoflittlefires for providing her objective perspective and fixing all my past/present tense issues 💗

word count: 2.3k

read on ao3

If you asked TK, the first time it happened was definitely an accident.

He wasn’t planning on getting into a fight, and he wasn’t even that high. Instead he found himself riding out the tail end of a high in some dingy bar in the East Village, trying to numb the pain with whatever alcohol the bartender would give him with a quick flash of his fake ID. At only 16, he knew he didn’t look 21, but the bartender didn’t ask or didn’t care.

It started with a simple misplacement of his elbow, brushing up too close against the glass of whiskey belonging to the burly man sitting next to him. He didn’t even realize what had happened until he heard the glass shatter on the floor between them.

He started to stutter out some form of an apology but not before he felt a flash of pain hit his face, radiating through his lower jaw until his body collided with the ground. Though he was caught off guard, the pain he’s feeling didn’t feel wrong. In fact it made him feel alive.

He hopped back up, managing to throw in a few punches of his own until more of the burly man's friends showed up and he couldn't decipher which direction the blows were coming from. But with each punch or kick, he felt more empowered. Each freshly formed bruise serving as a reminder that he wasn’t actually numb.

He was here, and he was alive.

Fortunately, he had managed to sneak out before the cops showed up. Unfortunately, the bruises did not go unnoticed by his mom or dad. Though they didn’t press too hard, he knew he would have to be more careful next time.

He never forgot the outlet getting into fights provided. A way to not only relieve the numbness, but relieve stress and have the pain on the outside match what he felt on the inside.

He didn’t get into fights that often, only when the pain built up too much and he needed to let it out somehow. Or sometimes he used it as a way to just quiet the anxious thoughts when substances no longer did the trick.

Even after he got clean, he would occasionally find himself back in some random bar that he hadn’t managed to get himself kicked out of yet. Every bar had at least one drunk asshole who he knew would be easy to pick a fight with.

He quickly learned the right words to trigger the perfect reaction. He also got better ducking and throwing his own punches, and hiding the bruises that did form on his skin until his parents no longer noticed or worried about him.

When he arrived in Austin, he figured it would only be a matter of time before he found himself in a dingy bar on the outskirts of town, opposite of the bar the team frequented to avoid any chance of running into a familiar face.

The numb feeling and colorless vision was too much and Judd’s words only served to exacerbate the pain he was feeling inside. He attempted to fight Judd, knowing his larger frame could do a lot of damage and would do the trick. But he should have known the other man wouldn’t fight back, instead holding him close so he couldn’t do any damage until Paul broke them up.

As soon as the shift ended, TK all but ran into the Uber. The tension in his body wound up too tight and he knew it wouldn’t settle until he got in a fight.

The fight itself was a blur, but what happened next wasn’t. As he walked out of the police station with his bag of belongings and busted lip still pulsing in pain, Carlos’ words rang in his ear.

You should talk to someone about why you felt compelled to do something so suicidal.

Was it suicidal? He always saw it as a way to remind himself that he was alive, not trying to die. But he'd also never met someone who cared so much about his well being.

The police officers he usually ran into during his fights never seemed to give a shit about why he did what he did. And if the guys he hooked up with noticed the busted lips or black eyes, they never said anything.

Carlos checked both of those boxes, yet seemed genuinely concerned with what TK was getting himself into.

That was when he knew things would be different here.

And they were for a time. For a while the color returned into his life and the pain that he had grown so accustomed to settled into a dull ache that he barely noticed.

But like everything else, the good could never last. And soon enough the pain grew more noticeable and he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. He needed to know he wasn't numb. He needed to feel pain. He needed to fight.

So he found himself in another dingy bar, much similar to the one he went to when he got to Austin over a year ago. He knew he shouldn’t be there. He had to call someone. But Carlos was on shift and his dad was on a date and while both would have probably picked up in a heartbeat, he couldn't do that to them. And anyone else he could have called wouldn’t understood or known what to do.

He knew what he had to do.

On muscle memory he ran through his routine, spouting out the perfect words to trigger the reaction he craved.

After only a few blows to the face, the punches stopped and the fight broke up as the cops arrived. He scanned the area, letting out a sigh of relief when he didn't see Carlos’ familiar brown eyes, and managed to slip out the back before anyone noticed.

The Uber ride from the bar back to his and Carlos’ home passed by in a blur. If his driver noticed the purple bruises likely beginning to blossom on his face, she didn't say anything.

He made a beeline to the bathroom as soon as he walked through the door, hoping that the damage wasn't bad enough that he couldn't cover it up. There was no way Carlos wouldn't notice, but if cleaned it up a bit and came up with a good story, it might not be as bad.

Flipping on the light switch TK frowned at his reflection. While there were a few scattered bruises all over his body, the worst by far was the one forming around his eye, already turning a lovely shade of deep purple. Above his eye was a short but deep gash, stretching across his eyebrow.

Well, that definitely wouldn't go unnoticed.

TK sighed, rifling through the medicine cabinet until he found the box of butterfly bandaids. He knew it probably would need stitches, but if he could avoid a trip to the ER tonight, that would be ideal, and these bandages would do the trick for now. He carefully placed two on his eyebrow, hissing at the contact as the wound closed. He then shut off the light and settled on the living room sofa, waiting for Carlos to come home.

By the time he heard the jiggling of keys in the door, a few hours had passed and he had nearly fallen asleep under the soft blanket on the couch. He panicked for a second, not quite ready for Carlos’ reaction when he saw TK’s face.

On impulse, he ducked under the blanket before the door swung open. He could see the light switch on and Carlos’ outlined shape from beneath the cover.

“Babe? What’s going on?” he asked. TK could sense he had stopped in front of the couch but was refraining from coming any closer.

“Don’t freak out,” was all TK could manage to say, and he could only imagine the confusion painting his boyfriend’s face.

“I’m freaking out that you won’t tell me what’s going on,” he stated matter of factly.

TK sighed before slowly pulling down the blanket and peeking his head out, giving Carlos a sheepish grin.

Carlos’ eyes widened in concern as he sat down next to TK, gently running his fingers over TK’s swollen eye. “What happened, baby?”

“Combative patient,” the lie rolled too easily off his tongue. “Woke up while we were treating him and took a swing at me.”

“I see,” Carlos nodded slowly. “And these other bruises?” he added, trailing his hand over the blossoming bruises on TK’s neck and arms. When he reached his torso, he didn't miss the way TK winced at the contact. TK hadn't even realized how sore he was.

“Must have fallen a little bit in the scuffle,” he shrugged.

Carlos hummed along to TK’s response. TK tried to get a read on what Carlos was making of his story. It was a pretty good one if he gave himself any credit, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Carlos just wasn't buying it.

“You know how people get when they’re caught off guard,” he quickly added, panicking when he realized he should be adding more details before Carlos could doubt him anymore.

Carlos though remained silent, studying him carefully.

“We’re here to help them but they don’t always realize that right away,” he laughed nervously, hoping Carlos wasn't catching on to his anxious rambling.

“TK,” Carlos trailed off, his eyebrows pinching together in worry. He knew something was off, and there was no getting out of it.

Before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, he decided to dam break. He launched into the whole story about how he felt so on edge after his shift and he didn’t know what else to do, which is why he fell back into old habits. Carlos listened intently as he explained what happened when he showed up at the bar and instigated the fight, and ducking out he could get caught.

“I’m so sorry, Carlos. Please don’t be mad,” he said at the end of his rant, still shaking with adrenaline while he waited to see how Carlos would handle hearing the truth.

Carlos sighed, gently rubbing TK’s shoulder. “I’m not mad at you, TK.”

“You’re not?” TK said, sniffling.

“No, but I am concerned at why you didn’t think you could call me. And then why you felt like you had to lie about it.”

TK shrugged. “I’m just kind of used to bottling it up, I guess.”

“But you should know you can talk to me about this kind of stuff.”

“I do! But sometimes it just gets to be so much that I don’t know what else to do and I need a way to let it all out.”

“What gets to be so much?” Carlos cocked his head to the side.

“Everything,” TK quickly responded, as if that clarified anything he was saying. He knew he wasn't making much sense and Carlos was trying his best to understand. But TK didn't know how else to describe the way he was feeling. Like a row of tightly wound string, one pluck away from snapping.

“TK, what happened that made you want to get into a fight tonight?” Carlos asked.

“I,” TK started to answer but stopped himself when he realized he didn't even have a good answer. He'd never stopped to consider the reasons for why he felt this way. All he knew was that he felt like he was about to explode and he needed a good way to release it. “I don’t know.”

Carlos nodded, and TK could only admire the patience his boyfriend had with him. The tears started to well up in his eyes and he took some shaky breaths as Carlos pulled him close into a hug, letting him sob into his broad chest.

“It’s okay if you don’t know,” he whispered softly into TK’s ear. “But I think it is important to examine why you do feel this way. And to realize when it starts to get bad so it doesn’t happen again.”

TK pulled away from Carlos’ embrace, nodding and wiping back the tears while doing so. “It just feels like there’s always this pain, and sometimes I don’t notice it but other times it’s so much that I need to do something about it. And I can’t do the other stuff I used to do to deal with it, but getting into these fights… I don’t know, it helps. Which probably doesn’t make any sense but it’s better than some of my other coping mechanisms.”

Carlos gave him a sympathetic look. “TK, it might not be drugs, but you are just as likely to get hurt.”

TK looked down, nervous squeezing his hands, unsure of how to respond to Carlos’ observations.

“It’s not healthy,” he continued. “I need you to promise me you will call next time. It doesn’t matter what time, or if I’m on shift, or I’m asleep. Talk to me about it. And talk to me about what you’re feeling all the time so we can try to prevent it getting this bad. Okay?”

TK nodded in agreement.

“Hey,” Carlos tilted TK’s head up so they matched each other's gaze. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“I know,” he gave Carlos a small smile. “I appreciate it, and your patience with me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. We’re a team, and I want to help you in whatever way possible. I love you, TK”

TK melted under Carlos’ soft brown eyes and genuine smile. “I love you too, Carlos.”

#bad things happen bingo #badthingshappenbingo #self harm #911 lone star #911lonestarfic #my fic #userjillian #userbones #tuserpaige #usermaximus #userjilly #userkimmy #moviegeek03 #also hey anon if you have an issue with this fic #you are welcome to discuss it with me off anon #bc that function has been shut off #so you now must show your face (so to speak)#but i am 100% open to hearing you out on what you think the issue is here.

52 notes · View notes

skiller0dani · 4 years

Text

Heart of Stone | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut requests info wanna be on a Timmy taglist? click here

hey guys. so I’m really depressed right now and everything I try to write is shit. so if you want something good it’ll have to be depressing bc that’s the mood I’m in. sad shit is all I’m good at. ahahaha I am useless. just ignore that. hope you enjoy. thank you for all the love, I appreciate all your lil angel baby faces. xx (I listened to ‘diamond heart’ by alan walker before I wrote this. just some inspo)

there’s something broken in me. anyone relate?

He called so many times he was worried you were going to block him.

Tim knew he needed to give you space but he didn’t know how to do that. You’ve been by his side for so long he’s used to calling you about everything. Most of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s calling you until he hears your voicemail. ‘Hey it’s Y/N, uh call me back! If you want, or don’t I don’t care either way you can do what you want. I’m not the boss of yo-’ He always smiles when he hears your rambling voicemail, the beep eventually cutting you off. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why you never changed it but he’s happy you didn’t. It’s so you.

Nothing tasted the same, if that makes sense.

Timothee used to love orange juice first thing in the morning, but now it tasted too sour. He didn’t know if orange juice had changed or if it was him that changed. It was hard to tell anymore. Nothing fit together the same way it used to, like all the pieces to his puzzle didn’t go together. It all felt jumbled, he never thought this would happen. But according to you it wasn’t anything he’d done wrong, it was you that needed to ‘explore emotional experiences’ with someone else. Tim knew what that meant really though. It meant you started having feelings for someone else and wanted to pursue it. A really fancy way of saying she emotionally cheated on him. At least that’s how Tim sees it. You pulled out of the relationship emotionally and began to invest your heart in somebody else. How fucked up is that? Tim tried not to be angry but how could he not be? His heart has been crushed in his chest and he was here, alone, in the apartment you picked to put all his pieces back together again. As if that was even possible.

His desk chair was too twirly. It spun too much. That’s what started this whole fiasco Tim found himself in. His desk chair spun too much. He had gotten a knife to try and pry the chair apart to tighten it when the knife slipped and sliced his hand open. This kind of crap never happened when you were around. You always stopped him whenever he reached for the knife, “Wait, what’s the knife for?” Tim can hear your worried little voice in his head, except this time he decided to promptly ignore it. So he’d cleaned the cut, and instead of getting stitched he opted to superglue it shut and slap a bandage on it. Even pain felt different. Were you a life dampener? Did your love shield him from dealing with crap like this?

Tim leaned his head back against the bathroom wall, his throbbing hand resting in his lap. It was concerning how numb he felt to everything because at first Tim was pissed. He trashed your shared bedroom and smashed nearly all of your dishes. He was currently eating on paper towels until the replacements could be shipped. Normally Tim would have bought more from the store but you know- fucking COVID. He rubbed a hand down his face as the tears built behind his eyes again. Who was better than him? Who stole your heart right from him? Who on Earth could have caught her damn attention? Why did this happen? Tim had a hundred questions and no answers, but he didn’t know if knowing the answers would help.

His friends called, they texted. They even tried to stop by. He didn’t answer his phone, or the door. There was no way he would ever feel comfortable talking about this with anybody- not even Dr. Phil. Even Jimmy Fallen reached out attempting to make some sort of contact with Timothee. But Tim for the life of him could not understand why nobody understood that he didn’t want to talk. He wasn’t expecting you to abandon him, he loves you. He wished he didn’t. Tim wishes he could wake up and for this to be some sort of extremely vivid nightmare. That he could wake up and pull you into his arms with a deep sigh, just inhaling your scent and pressing kisses to your bare skin. Thumping his head back against the counter, Tim squeezes his eyes shut as he feels tingles running south.

He’s always had you here to help him take care of his sexual needs, he doesn’t even know how to deal with his hard ons without you. He curls his fists against his sides when he remembers you on your knees in this very bathroom, swallowing his cock all the way down your throat. Tim can still see you in front of him, your eyes locked on his. Standing from the bathroom tiles Tim pushes out of the small room, needing to get some air. There are tears in his eyes again as he paces the living room. He quickly reaches for his phone but instead of landing on your contact he keeps scrolling to a contact he had saved in his phone a few days ago when he was out at a bar. Tapping his fingers along his phone nervously he prayed to God she would answer.

“Hello?” Her voice was groggy on the other side and in any other circumstance Tim would feel guilty for waking her. Not this time. “I need you.” His voice was nearly a whine as he gasped into the phone, his cock straining against his jeans. He was hard for you not for some girl he met at a bar but goddammit he needed to get off, and you left him.

It wasn’t too long before whatever her name was arrived and as soon as Tim opened the door he was pulling her against his lips. “Not to be rude or anything,” Tim began as her lips chased his in a desperate and fast kiss, her hands grabbed at his curls to tug gently. “But I just need someone to fuck.” He gasps against her lips as her right hand slides down his body. She nods as her lips find his neck, “I know.” She agrees and as soon as she does Tim’s hands are hauling her legs up and around his waist. She ground against his hard cock, and he groans softly. “Sorry but what the fuck is your name?” Tim asks and she laughs against his mouth as he walks them to the couch. She pulls back from him, her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. She’s not nearly as pretty as you, but she’ll do. “Ashley.” She smiles but in all honesty Tim doesn’t really care. He just doesn’t want to call her ‘whatever her name is’ in his head anymore.

Tim throws her back against the couch, her pupils dilated as he leans over her to pull her shirt up and over her head. He trails wet kisses down her body until he’s tugging her yoga pants down her legs. “Right to the point huh?” Ashley pants, lifting her hips to help Tim remove her pants. He doesn’t bother answering her as he literally tears her thong off. He doesn’t feel like doing the whole foreplay thing, he doesn’t want to ‘enjoy’ this. He wants to get off.

Tim licks a line through her folds to ensure she’s wet as he hurriedly pushes his jeans down. Ashley hands him a condom, which he quickly takes before tearing it open. “Fuck you’re big.” Ashley muses as she spreads her thighs, watching as he rolls the ‘a little too small’ condom down his shaft. He presses his head into her, and when Timothee sinks his cock inside her all the way. He feels like a goddamn animal.

Tim never was a smoker but he did it occasionally for movies. Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to give it a try. He leaned over the balcony of the apartment, overlooking New York. Ashley was asleep on the couch and he really should make her leave but he doesn’t feel like waking her up. Jeans hang low on his hips and he couldn’t be bothered to put his shirt back on. He feels like a bad person, for having sex with Ashley. It’s not his fault you left him. A cigarette hangs from his lips and for once the ambiance of the busy city soothes the storm brewing in Timothee’s head. He’s not used to you not being here, he doesn’t want some random girl named Ashley on the couch. He wants you on the couch. This fucking cigarette is doing nothing for him, why do people smoke anyway? In every damn movie you always see someone smoking after sex, why? What’s the point?

Tim flicks the cigarette over the balcony with a shake of his head before he hears quick and desperate pounding on the front door. He turns to answer it, seeing Ashley having been jolted awake with a blanket pressed to her bare chest. Without looking Tim swings the door open and the sight before him nearly makes his eyes bulge out of his head. There you are stood, with your bags, at his door. Your eyes flicker to the girl on the couch, and there’s an unreadable expression on your face. “May I come in?” You ask politely, as though the two of you were briefly acquainted strangers. He sucks in a sharp breath before opening the door wider for you, seeing Ashley already pulling her clothes on.

The fireplace created a soothing ambiance, but the current mood in the room is anything but soothing. Ashley hurriedly gets to her feet, her shirt only halfway on as she scrambles to the front door- swinging it shut behind her. Tim reaches for the carton of cigarettes, so this is why people smoke. He lights it, much to your disbelief. “You smoke?” Your voice portrays how utterly shocked you are, but that’s not what Tim is concerned about. “Forget something?” He asks bitterly, turning back towards the balcony. You stand dumbly in front of the fireplace as he turns his back to you, “you know where everything is. Careful there’s broken porcelain in the kitchen.” Tim adds as he steps onto the balcony, needing space from you.

Tim isn’t all that surprised when you step out onto the balcony beside him.

“That’s not why I’m here.” You say softly, careful not to get too close to him. There’s a tension between the two of you that was never there before, and it’s all your fault. You look back inside at the couch, the blankets are messed up and the cushions are squished down. “You had sex with her didn’t you?” You ask, knowing you don’t have any right to sound as hurt as you do. Tim takes a long puff of his cigarette before blowing the smoke out into the New York night. “Yeah,” he breathes, although he doesn’t sound very proud of it. You nodded, your eyes looking out at the beautiful city laid out before you. “I think we both know that I made a mistake.” You start, your voice soft. Tim scoffed through a bitter laugh, his elbows resting on the railing.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t trust you not to hurt him again. “I love you Tim.” You say, your heart betraying you as tears well in your eyes. You wanted to try and remain strong. Tim’s eyes are downcast as the cigarette rests between his lips. Your eyes land on his hand, and you notice the blood soaked through the bandaid. “What happened to your hand?” You asked and Tim briefly glanced down at his palm before turning his gaze to you for the first time since you got here. “Please just tell me what you want.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans away from you. You hate that you did this to him.

“You Tim, I want us.” You tell him, your eyes following him as he moved back inside. You followed him like a lost puppy as he moved into the kitchen.

“But you want him too right?” Tim asks, a look of hurt and anger on his face as he eyes you. There’s a bitter smile on his face, and a look of guilt on yours. You shake your head, “I thought I did. I was wrong, I could never feel for him the way I feel about you.” You plead, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you stand and watch him move through the kitchen. “The problem Y/N, is that I knew that from the beginning. I knew right away that I would never love anyone the way I love you. I didn’t need to go gallivanting off with some other girl to figure that out!” Tim snapped, his voice raising as he looks into your eyes. There are tears falling freely down your cheeks now as you pull at the strings hanging from the sweater you’re wearing. It’s Tim’s sweater actually, and you’re sure he knows that.

“I-I know, I wish I had the answer you want but I don’t! I don’t! All I can give you is what I got right now, I-I love you.” You beg, your voice breaking through the tears. Tim holds a glass in his hand, presumably to get a drink but he never gets the chance to use it. He chucks it at the wall, glass exploding off everywhere as he turns back to you. “You love me? That’s fucking hilarious Y/N. If you loved me you wouldn’t have left!” He yelled, the emotion on his face making your throat close. There are tears behind his eyes, and you can see how badly you broke him. You’d give anything to undo this, to go back in time. “What do I do Tim, what c-can I do?” You plead, trying to catch your breath through the sobs. Tim doesn’t bother responding as he storms past you and to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You stand in the kitchen and cry, you’re not sure this can be fixed. Why are you so stupid? You love him so damn much, why couldn’t you see that sooner?

Tim slides down the door, part of him wants to take you into his arms and never let you go again. But the other part wants to hold you at arms length, wants to scream and break everything in this damn apartment. He hears you slump against the door on the other side, and his heart rate begins to slow. “I want to fix us.” You say softly. Tim rests his head back against the door, his knees are pulled up. “How can I trust that you won’t leave me again? I won’t survive this a second time.” Tim says, his voice calmer than before. It’s true, he will not survive this a second time if you up and decided to leave him. “You can’t, but I won’t leave you again. I promise.” You whisper, turning to press your forehead against the door.

Slowly the door opens and you immediately stand, seeing Tim standing before you. “I love you.” You whisper again, seeing the tears in his eyes. They match the fresh tears brimming in your own eyes. “I-I love you.” Tim breathes through shaky breaths, his trembling hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. Your forehead presses against his as your arms wind around him, and you feel at home again. Slowly, cautiously, you press your lips to his. Tim reacts immediately to you, his head tilting to deepen the kiss, his hands pulling you more firmly against him. The kiss is quick and desperate, but at the same time slow and sensual. You feel tears falling down your cheeks, and tears falling down his as well. You begin to walk him backwards towards the bed, you need to feel him all over your body.

The two of you fall against the bed, your bodies tangled together as your lips continue to slide against each other. Your hands are the first to wander as they head south to his hardening cock. His chest is still bare and your other hand dances around his revealed skin. Tim’s hands push up the bottom of your shirt, slowly working it up your body as your hand dips under the waistband of his jeans. He gasps into your mouth when your small hand wraps around his cock and his grip on you tightens when you begin to slowly pump him in your hand. You break away from his lips to allow him to pull your shirt over your head and he groans when he sees your bare breasts and no bra.

“I missed this.” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, his kisses trailing downward towards the swell of your breasts. Your head fell back as soft gasps escaped your mouth as his lips latched to your left nipple. You continued to work your hand over his shaft, feeling the head precumming all over your hand. “You’re hard awfully quick after the blonde bitch.” You say, your voice sharper at the end. Tim hummed against your skin, his other hand dancing down between your bodies to the waistband of your jeans. “She wasn’t particularly satisfying, just enough for me to cum though.” Tim says simply, kissing across your chest to your right nipple. You feel a sting to your heart but you say nothing because you totally deserved that.

The pad of his fingers makes contact with your aching clit and you nearly cry out when you feel him beginning to softly press against your bundle of nerves. You pump him in his pants faster and when you feel his hips stutter one of his hands snatches your wrist in his hand. “I’d rather cum in your sweet little pussy rather than in my jeans.” Tim mumbles against the supple skin of your breast. You nod immediately as you begin to push his jeans down his legs, helping him remove your own jeans. You rolled onto your back and pulled you with him so that he was hovering above you. “Don’t think this fixes everything, we have a long way to go.” Tim reminds you, his hands planted on the pillow on either side of your head.

“I know.” You say softly, parting your thighs for him. He groans at the sight of your wet pussy, this was definitely a view he missed enjoying. Tim smiles to himself as he leans down to part your pussy lips. He sits back and takes in the view of your glistening folds until you’re squirming under his intense gaze. “Please do something,” You plead softly, watching his eyes flutter over every detail of your soaked pussy. He softly blows cool air on you, causing a soft moan to tumble from your lips before he leans back up over your body. Tim nudges the head of his cock into your opening as he looks down at you, “look..you hurt me but I love you. More than anything.” Tim says sincerely, his eyes flickering between yours. You wrap your arms around him before you press your lips to his, “I love you.” You mumble against his lips as he presses into you.

You wince as he slides inch by inch into you, the last time you were with anyone was him and that was a few weeks ago. You missed the feeling of his cock stretching you open. Tim squeezes his eyes shut with a long groan, “Christ baby you are so fucking tight.” Tim gasps, the feeling of you tightly hugging his cock is making him feel a little lightheaded. “I haven’t been with anyone since you,” you gasp once Tim slid fully inside you. He sat still for a moment, basking in the feeling of being fully inside you. You moaned softly, you loved feeling so stuffed full with his cock. How could you ever think you were better off without him? Or his Godly cock? Eventually Tim pulls his hips back, sliding out until just his tip rested inside you. Your legs spread even wider for him as he thrusted back in, his strokes long and deep. Tim kept fucking you nice and deep, keeping his pace steady as he panted above you. His mouth hung open and his eyebrows were pinched together as he frantically lowered his mouth over yours again.

Your lips moved quickly against Tim’s as you felt the heat building in your stomach. “I missed this pussy so much baby,” He groaned against your lips, his pace picking up a little. You began to moan uncontrollably as Tim began to pound into you, “I-I won’t leave you again, fuck I can’t live without you or your perfect cock.” You cry out, your arms flying around him as he bites down on your shoulder to try and silence his groans. Tim loves hearing the sounds you make for him. “Don’t stop baby please.” You plead softly as his pace slows to deep and hard strokes. Tim reaches down to harshly pinch your clit and you cum around him, your back arching up into his chest. Feeling you tighten around him sends Tim over the edge as he spills into you. Thank God for birth control.

Tim pulls out of you and collapses onto the bed next to you, his arm pulling you into his chest. You both sit and catch your breaths for a second before you feel Tim pressing a kiss to your head. “I know you’re scared I’ll leave again, but I won’t and I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving it to you if that’s what it takes.” You tell him and he offers nothing more than a nod as he squeezes you to his chest. He doesn’t know the future, he only knows right now.

And right now, he’s got what he needs.

***taglist*** @irishbish @90sthemedsunsets @newletas @londonmademedoit @80sangelics @sflowercvol6

#Timothee Chalamet #timothee chalamet smut #timmy chalamet #timmy chalamet smut #lil timmy tim #timothee x you #timothee x reader #Smut #angsty smut #sad imagine #bittersweet #sad smut #makeup sex

228 notes · View notes

pixieposts · 2 years

Text

I posted 2,267 times in 2021

254 posts created (11%)

2013 posts reblogged (89%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 7.9 posts.

I added 871 tags in 2021

#critical role - 217 posts

#widofjord - 125 posts

#caleb widogast - 108 posts

#writing stuff! - 106 posts

#pixies rambling - 70 posts

#fjord - 57 posts

#i love it - 50 posts

#cr spoilers - 49 posts

#critical role fanfiction - 48 posts

#febuwhump2021 - 41 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#"whose feelings about sex fluctuate are dependant on the situation or otherwise cant be easily be placed in a consistent category

My Top Posts in 2021

Bad Things Bingo

AO3

The first fill I did for my BTHB card was: Mouth Stitched Shut!

TWs:

Description of injuries

Blood

Referenced PTSD symptoms

Someone (he was sure he knew who) had stitched it closed with some kind of rough spun black cord. Nine neat X’s all the way across, with more blood dried all around it, and dark bruises around each of the punctures.

There was a gagging noise from beside him as Beau looked Caleb over, and a horrified gasp from Jester on his other side. He turned, looking them both in the eye to make sure they would follow, then made his way to the happy room. He laid Caleb on the couch as gently as he could, worried about any unseen injuries he might have hidden under the tattered clothes.

“Beau, get Caduceus… Jester, grab the healers kit from the kitchen, would you?”

They ran off, Beau towards the garden and Jester back down the stairs, as Fjord got Caleb as comfortable as he could. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over Caleb’s shivering form, and tucked his messy hair back behind his ears. Heat seemed to radiate off his skin, and Fjord worried about the possibility of infection. He felt a tug in his chest, a tight sort of pain at the sight of Caleb lying like this. They had been through a lot together, literal death a few times… but there was something particularly difficult about seeing just how much he had been through alone. He hadn’t had any of them to help, no one to lean on or turn to… they had failed him.

21 notes • Posted 2021-05-20 15:55:08 GMT

I decided to start Hello from the Hallowoods this morning....

I have listened to nothing else all day, I'm 12 episodes in.

I would literally kill or die for Diggory Graves.

27 notes • Posted 2021-05-05 17:31:12 GMT

Y'all want something soft and random? I wrote this after reading a LOT of Song of Achilles. There is no context, enjoy!

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

"What should I say instead?" Caleb asked, the tone of his voice that with which he read poetry "Only tell me dear captain, and I will say it"

Fjord knew he was being teased, and decided the best response would be the least anticipated: play along. He leaned in, catching Caleb's fine chin and tilting his face upwards just a bit

"You should tell me just what you want, and know that I will provide it"

Caleb's cheeks went red, but Fjord couldn't miss the way his pupils dilated at the same time.

"Und... if I want something you would not give?"

Ah, the Zemnian was breaking through.

"Such a thing doesn't exist" he dropped his voice low, leaning farther in so that there was barely any space between them "I would burn the world and fight the Raven Queen herself if you asked it"

He felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath before Caleb continued, his voice breathy

"And... if all I asked for was a kiss?"

"You don't even need to ask"

28 notes • Posted 2021-05-26 00:38:23 GMT

36 notes • Posted 2021-06-13 23:13:35 GMT

DICE

I was counting my dice today, because I wanted an updated tally on them...

I have 365 dice exactly.

I have one single dice for every day of the year.

Next step.... 1 SET for every day 🤣

49 notes • Posted 2021-04-15 18:04:48 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

2 notes · View notes

comic-the-adventurer · 3 years

Text

There was nothing.

“Nothing.”

What did “nothing” imply?

What did “nothing” mean?

What did it mean to say there was nothing?

For him to say that he was nowhere, with nothing around him, he had to know what that truly meant. He couldn’t misidentify his surroundings yet again. Not now. Not after he finally might have time to stitch together his disjointed thoughts. His heart jumped at the thought of falling short. Before something changed again, the answer needed to be found.

When you think of “nothing,” what's the first thing that comes to mind? A black void? An empty room? Void is something. Emptiness is something. What’s nothing? If you’d define “nothing” as simply, absolutely nothing -- no sound, no entity, no visual, no existence -- to the point where if Mist-Jun begged you to believe he was nowhere with nothing, that alone would prove it to be yet one more devious lie. (No. He wouldn’t perform another elaborate lie. Out of everything that gets entangled in his tattered thoughts, he will forever be haunted by what banished him “here.” It’s the one thing he can remember)

He realized: He couldn’t be in an area with nothing inherently. No matter how empty it felt at times, no matter how hollow his heart felt, if looking upwards, there was always that rarely-spinning cot mobile. The mobile that always remained in the same place no matter how far he thought he strayed; as long as he looked above himself, it was always there. Even if the rest of the forever looping “room” was empty, there was always the golden cot mobile -- he was never certainly with nothing.

Although, maybe “cot mobile” doesn’t quite describe it well. In a mobile, pendants are connected to a base that spins slowly. This one had neither. He’d argue it’s more like an endless, lightless chandelier that began who-knows-where. There is no ceiling; just where the chandelier faded away -- No visible start to the mobile, just an end.

The chandelier was barely visible from shadow when he first awoke here. Originally, it appeared as a small, golden dot from his perspective. With how far it rested from the "floor," he barely noticed it at that time. The more time passes, the longer it grows, he'd realized at one point.

Until then, he was convinced time stood still where he was, all while earth continued to live on as suffered. The thought likely came from how long those mysterious voices revealed he was punished to spend in this looping, blank world a few...years?...ago.

The chandelier, he was certain, was the lock keeping him in this ominous realm.

Just like everything else here, the patterns on the cot mobile periodically changes, it seems. Never when he's looking, though; always when he turns his back.

It's never unusual or unnerving for him to recognize the patterns in the chandelier; familiarity always gave him a feeling of safety.

...

Not always.

Sometimes, he views the patterns with fear.

The patterns came in lines; one set of symbols repeated themselves until the line was over. The farther down on the chandelier, the shorter the line. It occurred to him, one day, if that meant the mobile would inevitably be forced to stop growing.

He wondered what would happen then.

The more he studied the symbols on the mobile, the more he realized some shapes were recurrent: Nearly always, there was a silhouette of him and a woman dancing. He smiles when seeing this symbol, knowing it was fortunate this was a common pattern; had it not been for this, he might have forgotten about them by now. Completely and entirely, he means. That encrypted, dance partner on the chandelier reminded him of who? It's not the first time he's thought about them. He knows their name, even if it must’ve been buried into the back of his head unknowingly. He promised never to forget them. Who was it? Don’t forget them, Mist.

Don’t forget them.

It was strange.

When he’d first awoke in this endless chamber of immeasurable darkness, he was only reminded of what led him there by those ghastly voices that were kind enough to warn him of his crimes. Otherwise, he’d be forever wandering these tainted halls without a clue of what banished him here.

This shadow-shrouded dungeon has become a prison to him. A special prison, just for him. With the years he’s spent here, he’s given up hope of escaping from this blighted chamber or finding himself released if he remains patient. With the years he’s spent here, he’s given up hope of getting answers to what the red handcuffs encircling his wrists represent or what the green shackles entangling his ankles mean.

With the years he’s spent here, he’s given up hope of trying to get answers for anything anymore.

They’ve likely forgotten him.

Not them, the voices, he means.

He’s been abandoned with no one coming back.

He hasn’t heard those voices respond to him since day one. Not just voices -- he needed to specify. Those voices. The voices that explained why he was imprisoned here when he’d first awaken, that’s who he was yearning to hear. The only other voices he’s heard in here are rather unsettling whispers that, though uncommon, seem to come from merging and shifting walls…

...And…

...of course…

...that familiar lullaby that rarely sings from the cot mobile.

It comes in waves.

Day-and-night cycles are far from identifiable to him (Here in this domain, he could identify one, and only one, cycle: "safe stage" and "danger stage.") but, over time, it grew increasingly obvious the faint melody was periodic, performing in random order. He would never know when it would start. Nor why - despite his relentless search for answers, he will forever be rooted in a world filled with simply empty non-existence.

Chills swept over him.

He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed he hadn’t recognized the person who whispered that song sooner.

Although, even then, the first time he was struck by this gentle song, he could recognize the medieval folktale hidden beneath the soft-spoken lyrics easily. This song was about one of their traditional acts, he noticed. Upon the first time he heard the lyrics, it was about the ancient belief that, if you scribbled your deepest desire on a scrap of paper, slipping it into a glass bottle and watch it safely sail past the ocean horizon, one day, you’ll find your wish has become a reality.

…

There’s a strange connection he felt resonate between the lullaby and him.

Down to the singer.

The lyrics.

The melody.

The--

...

Focus, Mist-Jun.

Should the time come he gather the strength to search through the fogged memories of his tragic past well enough, his recollections had told him that...he...used to cast wishes into the sea himself;

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Could not.

It couldn’t be a coincidence how--

--something clicked not too long ago when he realized the lyrics always alter slightly with each performance. Though the pure melody was always the same, the “final” lyrics are always delayed more each listening with new words added to the ending, steadily building another verse. While he always heard it begin all the same and, ignoring it at first, he was unaware that the strangely familiar lullaby had been rewritten.

Because his heart ached from hearing it.

With even the beginning of the lullaby intertwined with an aching story he had promised himself he would forget, how could anyone have the strength to resist shielding themself from the nightmare? Despite grimacing at the thought, It wasn't until after the song's length doubled that he thought to rehear its healing lyrics as he had staggered steadily to his feet.

…

He shouldn’t have waited. He knew that now.

Although he feared the way his broken instincts insisted the true nature of the song would have been better left a mystery, he had known the fragments of his spirit wouldn’t stop bleeding until he understood the song’s true strings to his heart.

He’d been right.

With the sadly-sung lyrics, the singer reminisced a tale of a maiden crowned as a reigning royal, and as such, grows accustomed to receiving anything and everything she would desire at the drop of a hat. As time passed living her best life and sharing her throne with her best friend, she had grown caring not of the disgusting way the foolish peasants outside her castle were forced to live, nor how greatly the townspeople hated her greed.

(The peasants weren’t being fair, he deemed. He knew they weren’t.)

The verse rambled on about her narcissistic orders as ruler…

...and…

...the penalty that came with it.

Once the public heard word of how their queen grinned happily with malice as she carried out wickedly inhuman deeds that provoked nothing but grief and misery for the common people such as enflaming the sacred forest and slaughtering the cherished lover of another princess from a faraway country, the masses arose to overthrow the ruling tyrant, leading the reign-sharing best friend to--...

…

...to…

...

The song never specified.

Still, he knew exactly what happened.

He promised them he would never forget.

It was a memory that ate away at him, a memory that tormented him, yet he would sacrifice everything and anything to hold on to this one, certain sin.

Repeating the same bloody scene again and again.

He smiles.

He couldn’t tell you what it is, of course.

It was a secret.

That he held on to.

Even after death.

#writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #original writing #story #scribble #oc #tw death #tw afterlife #tw blood mention #tw misgendering #((<< Co goes by they/them pronouns at the time this is taking place))#sorry for the double post but im p damn proud of myself!! gib support! ＾０＾(pls)

4 notes · View notes

tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 4 years

Text

Trinkets, Worthless, 10: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A burlap bag containing a dozen assorted doorknobs.

A rather large and dead hairy spider that looks as if someone tried to make a wig out of it.

A small beige oilcloth sack embroidered neatly with the word ‘CHEESE.’ You can smell it from halfway across the room.

An expertly taxidermied rat with a built in candle holder capable of bearing a small tea candle. The mouse is posed as if scurrying

A lump of coal with runes carved into it.

A five pound pyrite (Fools gold) ingot.

A worn minotaur’s nose ring that has been bent and beaten back into shape many times.

A lacquered wooden coin engraved with the holy symbol of a minor God of Random Neutral Domain.

A smooth, flat, black river stone.

A small, tattered canvas sack containing a dozen half-rotted teeth that are as long as a thumb, but are decidedly identifiable as human.

A single feather hanging from a chain of slender twigs reminiscent of a bird’s nest.

A dull-red, cloth pouch filled with five pounds of finely ground, rust flakes.

A pair of minotaur horns, which were well used by their original owner.

A tangled mess of metal wires fused together with heat and attached to a wooden plaque. It may be a worthless mess of twisted scrap metal or a priceless piece of inspired artwork.

A heavily used hand cranked wood drill that creaks loudly when used.

A foggy hand mirror that when cleaned, immediately fogs back up.

A cracked and weathered hourglass that only has some sand remaining

A battered leather satchel filled with dried red beans.

A fishing hook that cannot be bent.

A large tin canister whose lid is crudely stamped with the word “JURKY”, which contains dozens of sticks of meat jerky. Any creature can clearly identify the jerky as “meat” but as to the exact animal the dried “food” came from, (If it is only from a single species of animal) is impossible to tell.

A battered stone shaped like a heart.

A child's wooden doll that makes whoever looks at it uncomfortable.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with cat fur.

A cloth sack packed to the brim with dog fur.

A flat, round, dark gray stone speckled with reddish flecks, and about six inches across.

A sewing thimble that, when poked by a needle, will roughly squeeze the bearer's thumb.

A small brass key.

A hand mirror with a horn handle. Instead of actually functioning correctly, the mirror reflects all creature's image as a specific bald human of unknown origin.

A very roughly drawn map of the surrounding area. A knowledgeable creature is able to tell that the map is not to scale and is barely useable for actual navigation.

A spindly iron key.

A chipped nautilus shell.

A moth eaten, gray velvet clutch purse.

A fairly convincing but ultimately inaccurate map, with a single red dot marking “You are here”.

An old scratched up lyre, strung with well-worn cat gut strings.

A Random Humanoid Race’s rotting, severed head.

A crudely made staff topped by a small skull.

An uneven, gnarled length of wood from a grotesque tree.

An old and cracked velum scroll whose script has been rendered illegible by the ravages of time.

A simple, springy rod made of twisting vines and twigs.

A rotting wooden goblet filled with a festering brew of pus, blood, wriggling maggots and worms that spill from the froth on the liquid's surface.

A dusty old pair of half-moon glasses of such a strong prescription that they are unwearable for most creatures.

A cracked glass jar containing a crudely removed bear claw.

A poorly embroidered handkerchief with the words “I love you dad” crudely stitched into it.

A red, child sized, fuzzy blanket that smells of mold and mildew.

A desiccated hoof that once belonged to a large, male elk.

A simple dusty scroll has no marking, seal nor text on it. By all appearances, it is a standard sheet of writing material that is bound by a single hemp thread.

A stone jar of filled with acid. The jar's lid is badly fitting, and the acid bubbles and froths as it moves. The object's sole markings are a skull symbol resting overtop of a warning written in Dwarvish.

A bedroll that is covered in a large, dark stain, but is in otherwise fair condition.

A set of crude fishing supplies, including a box of maggots, several bent hooks and a ten foot length of wire.

A set of clothes, appearing halfling in size and design. They appear partially burnt and have a large, black stain on the chest.

A primitive woolen bag filled with bones.

A rough bag full of leaves and stems of an unknown plant.

A crude animal cage. Inside there are two dead rats a dead bat and a large number of healthy maggots feeding on the aforementioned corpses.

A badly water damaged book whose pages cannot be read.

A set of badly maintained scientific instruments, including a compass, measuring rods, quills and ink. With some repair, they could form a cartographer's toolkit.

A humanoid skull that has been cleaned and bleached white. It has a large, drilled hole in the center of the crown and several abyssal symbols are crudely carved into the temples.

A long clock hand of dark metal, the end raggedly pointed and stained with old blood.

A dusty glass bottle that still holds a few drops of viscous red liquid.

A page torn from a hymnal book dedicated to a god of war.

A clay tablet with indecipherable symbols.

A padlock that any key can open.

A bundle of crumpled papers, each having a partially completed love poem on them. Most of the words are scribbled out and are illegible, but the intended recipient appears to be a woman by the name of Neurelia.

The skull of a bird with an iron nail driven through it.

A crude wooden mask featuring a head crest of branches. The entirety of the mask is scorched wood and it smells like charcoal.

A beaten crate filled with rotted children’s clothing and old toys.

An alligator skull that reeks of sulfur and bog water. The druidic rune for “Preserve” is carved into the forehead.

A stone statue of a goblin, paper-thin and hollow. If the statue is broken, goblin bones tumble out.

A rusty dagger with a blade that is wildly unsuited for any sort of cutting whatsoever. Dangling from the pommel-nut is a leather thong strung with teeth and walnut shells.

A latticed or deformed stone that's possibly a meteorite

A malformed doll with a strange leer that wears a sackcloth dress.

A stitched up bear composed of multiple parts from different teddy bears.

A lady’s brush, elegantly carved of ivory with boar bristle. The ivory is stained and cracked, and many of the bristles are missing.

A hefty book full of notes written by many authors and inserted pages from other books. There are bite marks and slashes on the covers and some dirt might slip from between the pages when shaken.

A wizard's spellbook that was enchanted to repel liquids. Unfortunately, the enchantment is so strong that the pages cannot be written on rendering it completely unusable.

A reasonably shiny pebble.

A plank of wood whose knots and grain, crudely (At best) depict a lesser known deity of Random Domain.

A corroded metal cylinder bearing forbidden writing. The runic script bears little coherence, appearing like mad ramblings about the things beyond.

A set of brass lockpicks that couldn't possibly fit into any known style of lock.

A sheaf of poorly rendered sketches made by children.

A torn flag of an ancient city long since fallen into ruin.

A dissected and flayed corpse of a tiny fey creature.

A syringe with a squared-off crystal barrel. The plunger, flange, and needle hardware are nickel alloy ornately etched in twining, serpentine coils. Though it has no needle, and the plunger no longer seals, it is finely made, given its age.

A rotting quarterstaff made of oak wood. The staff has grips wrapped in slimy brown ape skin.

An old pair of trousers that are almost entirely made of patches and stitches, having been kept in service long past their time.

A crooked rod of dark wood with a possum skull lashed to the top.

An antique sword, rusted to its mildewy scabbard.

A length of heavy rusty chain, entangled in an impossible knot.

A thick waxy candle the colour of sickly pallid skin. When burned, the smoky odor of roasting ghoulflesh fills the room, ideal for setting the mood for foul necromantic rituals, preparing volunteers for human sacrifice, and all manner of depraved acts involving corpses.

A large bird's nest that has human finger bones woven into it.

A thick shirt of coarse brown horsehair.

A small leather pouch containing a double handful of seemingly fresh tree nuts, still in their shells.

An ugly gray wine skin, heavier than it looks, sloshes and gurgles in response to any movement.

A large, cast pewter vial containing a quantity of strangely textured sand. It clumps and sticks in a single doughy mass.

A piece of parchment bearing an unusual symbol drawn in iridescent green ink.

A long and tangled piece of twine with tiny brass bells knotted into it every few feet.

A dingy, brown leather collar with a sea serpent branded along its length is stuck on a jagged piece of splintered wood.

An intricate and spiky ball of cat and rat whiskers.

A heavy shot glass with a cat's face carved into the bottom.

A copper coin with a small hole drilled at the top and attached to a long length of fishing line.

A small, stained sack with a crudely painted figure of a halfling on the side. Opening the sack releases an odour that invokes tears and gagging to those nearby. The sack itself contains a number of crude items designed to disguise a goblin as a halfling. Laying the kit’s inventory out on the ground, you assess its value as a tool for subterfuge and determine a figure of zero. The wig leaves an odor of wet dog on your hands. The goblin disguise kit contains the following items: a chopped and damp wig made from worg fur, flesh-toned paste that burns when applied, a set of incomprehensibly disgusting false teeth, a canvas tunic with a poorly painted “shirt front,” and a pair of greasy gloves.

59 notes · View notes

thebestestboyo · 4 years

Text

Based on @loveceit 's P!ATD Prompts!

"I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon chiffon skirt."

As I like it call it:

How Remus Ended Up Working For Patton

Masterpost

(Warning of: Drug mentions/alcohol/drinking, Remus making bad decisions)

(if I need to tag anything else, please do tell me)

As the resident disaster man of the Driftwood apartments, it was common for him to come stumbling into the complex at insane times of night and early morning, out doing who knows what. Remus himself only remembers half of his ventures, often told to him by his roommate Vee, or known by most, Virgil.

Most times, he'd come home around two in the morning. Four was much more rare. And very occasionally, he'd show up at nine, passed out in front of the door, due to him being so exhausted that he couldn't even take his keys out. But no matter what he did, or how long he stayed out, he'd always come back. While it was always followed with a killer headache and potentially some injuries, he always came home. Sorta like a stray cat that you're not really sure exists when you aren't looking at it.

Yeah. He was that kind of person.

At this point, Vee was just focused on making sure he made it back in one piece. The two of them had been friends longer than either of them could ever remember, and if Virgil had to babysit Remus sometimes, it wasn't as if it was anything out of the ordinary.

So, when he had the time (and the patience), he'd go out with him, mostly to make sure he didn't pick too many fights with the gangs or their city. Downtown especially was the worst place to be when it was dark out, they were like hyenas, just waiting for someone to set them off. Vee kept him out of that area, and usually, back by eleven if he was lucky.

As much as Remus loved his childhood friend, the fact that he needed someone to look after him often rubbed Ree the wrong way. He was an adult after all, he should be able to keep himself out of trouble well enough right?

Wrong.

Now, it wasn't as if Remus didn't know that it was dangerous, but this particular night, he just didn't care. Pent up from work and needing to go out somewhere, he struck up all his usual places to unwind, but nothing was working like it usually did. Not even the weird scientist's lab on 24th Street! And he let Remus play with pig intestines! That usually always cheered him up!

So, like any force of nature, Remus decided to head downtown. He knew Vee thought it was dangerous going this late, but it wasn't like Remus was drunk or anything! And Virgil wasn't home either! So if he got back home ok, he'd never know!

These thoughts were what kept him from internally combusting (an interesting thought, Ree wondered what it would feel like) over the idea that Virgil would be worried about him doing this. It was flawed logic, but he wasn't exactly known for his straightforward thinking.

His attention was drawn almost immediately to the bright, dizzying lights of a bar, the neon sign spelling out 'What Do We Have Beer?' It was cheesy, and stupid, and yet, he couldn't NOT stop at a place that had a pun right in the title!

Stepping in, he didn't flinch at the reek of alcohol, nor the too-loud thump of the bass at the edge of the dancefloor, and not even the people practically eating each other's faces off in the dim corners of the bar. What did catch his eye, was a curly-haired man sitting on one of the edges of a table, his eyes closed as he listened to the music.

Now on any other day, he wouldn't have been drawn to this man. On any other day, he'd have probably looked past him to go cause havoc on the dancefloor, or sip something much too strong for him at the bar. And yet, today wasn't a typical day. So, he indulged himself in this man's company.

That was his first mistake.

The guy didn't open his eyes at Remus's approach, too enraptured in the music, which gave Ree plenty of time to take his image in. He seemed out of place in this loud club, his skirt, what Remus assumed to be chiffon (if Vee's fashion rambling served him correct), flowed down to his knees, while his sweater was clearly handmade, as evident from the several loose stitches in the material. It was odd, seeing someone so innocent-seeming in this sort've place. Though, Remus had seen much more naive-looking people in clubs, going nuts for a high.

"Can I help you kiddo?"

It was jarring to hear the guy talk to him, especially with that voice. Why was it so sugary? Who the hell calls a grown man kiddo??? This guy couldn't be older than twenty five! Not that Remus was much older, barely twenty six as it was.

"I'm not sure yet! First time coming here and I'm not exactly amazed." It seemed to Remus like any other nightclub, minus several guards and Remus having sneaked several seagulls in moments before. (Even Dee was impressed by how silent they were until Remus let them go and terrorize the guests.)

"Oh? Is it not intoxicating enough for you?"

"Mm, nah. Mine usually includes more chaos." Remus stared off at the dance floor, before realizing what exactly Patton had said. "Did you just make an alcohol pun?"

"Yep! I'm surprised you heard over the music! It's bass-ically deafening with how loud it is."

This time Remus noticed, laughing as he leaned against the wall next to the guy, intrigued. "You like puns huh?"

"How pun-ctual of you to notice!"

"So what's a bunny rabbit like you doing with a bunch of pirahnas? This doesn't seem too much like a thing you'd be too into."

"Mm, it's good for a business point of view. Get to know people, you know?"

"Usually my getting to know people ends up with something going haywire, like...oh! Like that one time I got a bucket of squid ink and I was planning on dumping it on this one assbutt's car, but I ended up getting it all over myself instead. So I decided, why waste perfectly good squid ink, and just threw myself into his car instead! Vee made me take a shower before I could touch anything after. "

The guy glanced up at him in confusion, but he wasn't scared off yet, so this was considered a success in Remus's book. "Squid ink?"

"Yeah! My nerdy pal Lo gave it to me! He was studying something or another with squids, and he didn't have any use for it after, so I got it! It dyed my outfit grey!"

This time was even more successful, considering he laughed at Remus's antics, and prompting Ree to continue on his train of thought. "Why was he studying squids?"

"Well, I think it was because squids can change colors, and he wanted to see if that could be replicated. I think it would be more interesting if the tentacles could be grown on humans! Imagine, you could do so much..."

Remembering that this guy didn't even know his name, he elected to change that immediately. "My name's Remus! I should have started with that actually."

"Patton!"

"No! I'm Remus!"

"No, I mean, my name's Patton!" He smiled, giggling again at him. It was almost mesmerizing to listen to, even if it was soft under all the background noise. "Its nice to meet you!"

Remus had to pinch himself to snap out of staring directly at Patton's mouth, enchanted by his smile. "Nice to meet you too. Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure! I know the bartender actually, so we can go together!" Grabbing Remus's arm lightly (and nearly causing to jump at the easy touch), he led him over to the counter, his hand still resting on Ree's arm even when the two of them had sat down. "Can I get a blueberry mocktail please? Remus what do you want?"

"Mm...surprise me."

That was his second mistake.

Remus wasn't exactly sure what was in the drink, but it got him feeling fuzzy, and that's all that mattered. "So how do you know this place?"

"My brother has business deals here, so he started bringing me along sometimes."

"Business deals? What sort've business would have place in a club?"

Stirring his drink with the straw, Pat looked off into the haze of people. "Oh, just normal stuff."

"That's pretty vague Patty."

It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, even as Remus continued to get drunker (despite his previous ideas). "Well, it's boring! I'd rather play a game than talk about business!"

"Aaaaaand what kind of game would that be?"

"A bet."

Nearly snorting his drink in surprise, Remus burst out laughing. "A bet?"

"You heard me!"

"Sorry, it's just-" He gestured to how out of place Patton looked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "What sort've bet were you thinking? Is someone gonna end up puking or attacked by rabid animals by the end of it?"

"Mm, depends on how well you can hold your liquor. I bet you can't beat me in a drinking game. Winner gets to choose his prize."

"You're on."

That was his last mistake.

Remus lost. By a lot. For the guy who ordered a mocktail right off the bat, he definitely wasn't a lightweight.

"I, I gotta say-" Remus was bent with his head against the table to steady himself. "I am surprised!"

Patton was a giggly mess even in spite of winning, leaning into Remus. "Yep! You-" His sentence was cut off by a hiccup, in which caused another fit of giggles. He didn't even seem to notice that his sweater sleeve was slipping off his shoulder, or that he had somehow lost one of his sandals.

Remus sat up dizzily, attempting to fix the sleeve, only to remember too late that his motor skills weren't exactly in the best conditions while drunk, so it was more like Remus fell into Patton instead, causing the two of them to tumble to the ground. It was a good thing that it wasn't too far of a drop, but even so, Remus was pressed into Patton in an awkward position.

A stern voice interrupted the two of them before Remus could get his thick tongue to apologise to Pat, edged with something sharp.

"Patton...what are you doing on the floor with this...man?"

"Oh hey Dee Dee! How was your-" he wiggled his eyes playfully, clearly showing this Dee how drunk he was. "-meeting?"

"It went fine, but I don't think the best use of your time is getting drunk with random men at the club while I'm working."

"He's, not random!" Patton had by now began to play with Remus's hair, not even bothered by the fact that the two of them were still on the floor. "His name is, Reeeemus. He's my new friend! I won him!"

Even though Remus was drunk, he could still tell that it was probably not the right way to explain how they ended up there to this big, probably dangerous guy. He couldn't see much of him considering his head was resting on Pat's chest, but his boots looked awfully nice.

"I like your boots."

This...Dee? Was it Dee? Snapped his attention down to Remus, picking him up easily by the back of his collar. "So you won this...mongrel? In a bet I suppose?"

Pat was too busy trying to grab Remus back to be paying attention, so Remus got a face full of Dee's words. "I suppose he could be useful...fine. You can keep him for now." There was a sudden pinch at Remus's ear, and he could feel something metal dangling from what seemed to be a new piercing??? Wtf???

"You're too drunk right now to be of any use though. Pat do you know where he lives?"

"On a mountainnnnn with fairies and unicorns!"

"Ok so that's a no."

Remus felt he ought to be part of this conversation, considering that this Dee was asking about him, after rudely lifting him up. "Why do you wanna know tall guy?"

"Oh you can still speak. That's good. Tell me where you live and you can go back there to do whatever it is you do to not be drunk."

"I ain't telling you! You don't know it's Driftward....wait that's not right. Driftwand? Drift...drift..."

"Driftwood?"

"Yeah! You don't know it's there! And that's how it's gonna stay!"

Unfortunately, this plan did not go as Remus intended, because sooner than the drop of a hat, he was put in a car along with Pat, driven to his complex, and left out by the entrance. When he tried to look back and see exactly what this Dee guy looked like, he could only see Patton, waving to him drunkenly through the window, before Remus blacked out.

He was having a lovely dream about gore and destruction when a sudden voice caught his attention. Or, well, tried to anyways.

"Remus?"

"Hey, Remus."

The sound was annoying to what he assumed was the beginning of a headache, so he tried to tune it out.

"Remus wake up."

Was it his alarm clock? No...his alarm clock didn't scream his name to wake him up...and it usually didn't sound so pissed off.

"Ree!"

Aaaand now he was awake he supposed. "Yeah...?"

Virgil stood above him, hands on his hips. "Where the fuck were you??? I come home and you aren't here until five hours later? And did you go and get a new piercing? And...throw up on the front step of our apartments?"

His memory was still pretty fuzzy due to how much alcohol he drank, so he seemed just as surprised as Virgil was that he was in this situation. "Hey, quiet down if you could. My head hurtssss."

"Your head wouldn't hurt if you weren't out however late. Seriously though, where were you?"

His hand went to his temple, trying to soothe the pounding in his head. His fingers caught on something jangly, surprising him. "What the-"

It was definitely a new earring. Gently attempting to take it out, he looked at the words on the dangling part, confused. "Who the hell are the Andacondas?"

Virgil stiffened, seeming scared. "Remus, what did you do?"

"I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt?"

#ts remus #ts patton #gang au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #ts deceit #intruality #remus being remus #drug mentions #alcohol mention #ts virgil #platonic intruxiety #platonic moceit

90 notes · View notes

aries-writingblog · 3 years

Text

Atlas (8)

Summary: After years of being imprisoned on the Raft, Tony negotiates freedom for his sister Tessa. When she’s free- so is her past, and it will never stop hunting her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC(Stark)

Chapter Word count: 1810

Warnings: PTSD (subtle ish), trauma, torture (in later parts), suicidal behaviors and thoughts, mentions of death, character death, injury, violence, angst, and a lil bit of fluff in there

Disclaimer: Atlas is my own, original work with characters belonging to Marvel (except Tessa and Dr. Clifton). Plagiarism is not cool kids.

A/N: this is my first work I'm posting to this platform and I’m really excited and nervous about it. Hope you enjoy- constructive criticism is always helpful as well!!

She couldn’t breathe. There was a pressure building on her left side, an itch she couldn’t scratch. Her eyes were dry, like her mouth. Tessa peeled her eyelids open, having been cemented shut, it took tremendous effort- effort she barely possessed. She couldn’t hear straight, it sounded like she was underwater. A muted beep from a monitor. Rain pelting the windows of the white washed clinical room. Something tickling her forearm. She looked down. Tony.

He was grasping her hand, resting his head beside them, hair tickling her skin. She then moved her eyes to her side where a tube was running from a patch of white bandages. Along her right arm, bandages were wrapped around raw flesh. She could still see the burn marks on her wrists. In her left arm, an IV filtered blood and fluids into her system, repairing what had been damaged. She groaned as she rested her head on the pillow.

She wasn’t supposed to make it out of there. None of this had gone according to her plan. Tessa wasn’t stupid. She knew Clifton would be on her as soon as she stepped foot out of her cage on the Raft. She knew she would have to make a choice, a choice of repentance. So, when she noticed the trap he’d set for them, she couldn’t help but take the bait. Part of her wanted to flip the script and take revenge on him. But then... then Bucky happened. He’d been so kind to her- accepting her. She felt that she owed him a truth- even if it was in the form of a dead man’s ramblings. And so she did just that- confided in him, knowing that one way or another, she was never going to come back. He wasn’t supposed to be collateral damage.

Tony shifted, his head turning further away from her. She bit her lip, sinking down deeper into the sheets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’know, if you cooperated with the professionals, things would go a lot smoother.” Tony snipped at her. Tessa scowled deeper, turning her head to the side. It had been a week since the mission, since everything about Tessa had been made public amongst the team. Since Tony had released the files to the whole team, Tessa had been ignoring him every time he visited her. She was angry- the emotion palpable in the air. She had even begun to be irritable with the nurses and her doctor. Of course, they associated it with her being on bed rest for a week- knowing it would get worse because she was meant to stay there for a whole month.

She refused to allow any of the team members entrance to her room- even Bucky. Tony was only allowed in because he told Friday to over ride her command. News of her slow response to treatment had to come from the nurses or the small bits that Tony would share- which was always begrudgingly. Her therapist and parole officer were also allowed in for their visits. There had been talk of moving her back to the Raft, but Tony had shot it down, explaining in colorful detail how she hadn’t done anything wrong. Ever.

But Tessa was becoming restless. She could no longer stand the sight of the hospital room. When she was trapped within the four walls, she could only think about the botched missions and what Clifton said. She was trapped. So, she decided to take things into her own hands. Painstakingly slow, she got up from her bed, a tube no longer in her lung but it was still stitched up and painful. Most of her wounds were well on their way to healing but her mind was still fragile.

Tessa had been immediately changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt as soon as she regained consciousness. So she simply unhooked her heart monitor, taking her IV of fluids with her to the door.

She hadn’t realized Bucky had done nothing but sit outside her medical room for the past week, waiting to be able to slip into the room to talk to her. Tony had been guarding her, keeping him away. Unlike his sister, Tony held a grudge. So when Tessa’s door opened and she stepped out, he was surprised. She looked like she hadn’t slept since she came back- undoubtedly plagued by nightmares. Her skin was pale, under eyes dark. When her eyes landed on his, she stiffened, her whole body freezing. They stared for a long moment, neither of them giving in.

“If you’re breaking out of your room, you’ll need to move a little faster.” Bucky quipped, a teasing tone overtaking the concern. Tessa started to take off, her gait a small, shuffle toward the elevator. Bucky stood up, stretching his arms out before sidling up beside her.

“What do you want?” She muttered, slightly annoyed and embarrassed by his presence. She almost stumbled, her left foot catching on her right. She cursed lowly, while Bucky simply hooked an arm around her waist, steadying her. She tried to push away but Bucky had an iron grip, keeping her where he wanted. He was done waiting around. He was going to talk to her whether she wanted to or not. She was going to listen to what he had to say.

“Well if you’re going for a little sight seeing- might I suggest the floor ninety? It’s got a lovely view and- bonus: less of an elevator ride.” Bucky steered her into the elevator and locked her down, his hand drawing smooth circles on her hip.

“Isn’t that your floor?” She grumbled, leaning against him to relieve some of the weight on her feet. He hummed in response and looked down at her. She was scowling, eyes glued to the floor.

“See, I’ve been waiting outside that room for a week now. I’ve had time to think about everything that was said while we were in captivity. Don’t think I’m an idiot, by the way.” Bucky watched her begin to shut down at the mentions of the cell. The mentions of her admitted transgressions. “I’ve been where you are, where you’ve been.” Tessa scoffed as the elevator dinged open.

“You don’t know me.” She bit back, eager to be out of his hold, out of his sight. She couldn’t hold herself together around him anymore. Telling him everything- trusting him with that information... she didn’t want to see him now, not when he could judge her for it. Because all she wanted from him was to be accepted. Not pitied, not scorned, not disgusted. Loved. She didn’t know what the two kisses were on that battlefield, she didn’t know what any of it meant.

“Don’t I?” He asked, opening the apartment door. The pair quickly pushed through the living room, bypassing Steve who was sat on the couch, watching the news. He had heard the door open, figuring it was Bucky so he didn’t turn. Until he heard the roll of wheels.

“Is that Tessa?” He called, watching the receding backs of the two. His brows furrowed as Bucky’s bedroom door slammed shut, cutting the pair off from the rest of the world.

“Oh, well please, enlighten me on how you know every thought I’ve ever had.” Tessa sat down on his bed, the white cotton sheets felt much better than the stiff medbay fabrics she had been confined to.

“Alright, fine,” Bucky began shuffling around his room, seemingly in search of something. “You shut yourself off from everyone, you think it keeps us safe but really, it’s just a way of excusing your pity party and prolonging suffering you feel you deserve. You keep everything to yourself, no matter how much it pains you to do that. You don’t sleep well, nightmares keeping you up. You don’t eat much- if you do it’s at random times at night, where you don’t have to interact with us. You let one person in and immediately shut them out because you felt that you could hurt them before even giving it a chance.” Bucky stopped his search, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Am I par for the course?”

“Shut the hell up.” She growled, gently laying back on his neatly made bed. “So what if i don’t want to hurt you- why is that a bad thing? I want to keep you all safe. What’s the harm in that- what the fuck are you looking for?”

“Got it...” Bucky stood straight again before walking to her. He knelt down on the bed beside her. “It isn’t a bad thing- it’s just that you’re going about it in a destructive way. You can keep us safe and live too. The way you’re going now, that’s not living. You’re just floating from day to day. Here. They found 'em last week and sent them to me. I’ve been waiting to give them to you.” He held a hand out, intending to drop the object into her palm. Tessa sighed and held it out flat. A cool metal grazed her palm and she broke her gaze off from his to look at it. Dog tags. She held them in front of her face to read them more clearly. They were slightly rusted, but the name was still clear: James Buchanan Barnes. “I’m not judging you for a mistake made six years ago. A mistake that was made with the best intentions in mind. With the best resources you had at the time. The Tessa I want to know is still in there- I’ve seen her during those late night talks in the light of the fridge. I’ve heard her when you talked about growing up with Tony or your early days in the military. And I’m gonna do everything I can to make her happy, because she’s gone through enough.”

Tessa swallowed, feeling the beginning of tears pricking at her eyes. She was speechless- her own mind waging war on itself.

“You know just what to say to make a girl blush, huh?” She sniffled, trying to laugh through it. Bucky grinned and took the tags, slipping them over her head, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Stay here for the night, please? I know that you shouldn’t really be out of the med bay yet but... I want to talk to you- I want to be around you. Please?” Bucky asked, his bottom lip pouting slightly and his blue eyes shining with hope. Tessa pretended to think it over, pressing her hand to the dog tags that occupied her chest.

“Okay. I’ll stay here. Only for tonight- and no funny business, Barnes.” She winced, sitting up. Bucky was quick to press a hand to her back, helping her sit. He gave a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat bashful.

“No promises, sweetheart.”

5 notes · View notes

boliv-jenta · 3 years

Text

I saw a Lilo and Stitch gif set the other day that reminded me of this...

So I had to write this...(apologises to both The Mandalorian and Lilo and Stitch fans.)

Family

It wasn't often they got to visit a planet like this. It was so beautiful. The sun was low in the cloudless sky. The sky itself was pink on the horizon but bled into purple then blue before opening up to the swirl of stars above. A cool breeze occasionally took the edge off the humidity. She happily worked on her project. After an hour of gathering all the things she needed she sat crossed legged in the thick grass. The kid and Din were asleep. No one else was around for miles. It was utterly peaceful. Until it was anything but.

The ramp hissed as it opened. It had barely made contact with the ground before the sound of heavy boots came bounding down it. Between the solid armour and the weapons, Din cut a threatening figure at the best of times. Add in the strong set of his shoulders, the laser like focus of his vizor and the effect was truly terrifying as he barrelled towards her. Or it would be to anyone else. "What the hell?!" He practically snarled. "Where are we?!" she didn't even have time to open her mouth before he continued. "Did you put me in my bunk?!". This time she actually got her mouth open before his next question cut her off "How did you even get me back to the ship?!". She decided to just let him keep going. He'd started pacing now, rambling angrily as he moved. As he ranted she carefully finished her work threading each delicate blossom together.

Now and then one of his comments would catch her attention. She would mentally reply to it, thinking it better to just let him go off until he calmed down. 'The kid was safe, I put on the ground defences.' 'I came to do recon, if we were unsafe I would have left.' 'You were both unconscious from the explosion.' 'I cuffed him and hid him while I took care of you.' 'I wrapped your arm around my shoulders, braced you against me to guide you then had your jetpack take the strain of your weight, clever huh?' 'The quarry was awake when I got back, I threatened to shoot him if he didn't walk.' 'Yes, it was risky, our whole lives are risky Din.'

Once she had finished, she silently rose to her feet. His pacing had stopped. Now he stood with his hands on his hips, weight on one leg, shoulders back, chest heaving. "Why would you do that?!" he demanded. Ignoring his question she placed the flowers over his head letting them drape around his shoulders. Without question he'd dipped his head to allow her to do it before continuing to grumble for a few more minutes. Soon his angry ravings began to lose to their momentum"...a-and..." he finally sputtered, "...w-what would I do if I lost you?" There is was, underneath it all, the real reason for his anger, fear.

Without a word she took his hand and lead him back to the ship. "You'd do it again, wouldn't you?" He finally asked defeated. "Oh yeah." she smiled. Once they boarded the Crest she came to a stop directly in front on him. His hands came to rest at her waist as she lay hers on his chest. "We're a family." she felt his chest rise as he sighed contentedly at her words. "Family means no one gets left behind." Pulling gently on the flower garland until it was taut on his neck, she encouraged him to tip his head towards her. As her forehead met his she closed her eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the intimate gesture. Grogu's babbling and the scurrying of his tiny feet pulled her from her reverie. "Or forgotten." she laughed scooping up the tiny, green child and nestling him between them. Shifting towards Din the kid buried his face in the sweet smelling flowers flowing over his shoulders. "I think he likes the smell." she grinned running her finger tips between his large ears. "The smell is..." for someone who spoke a good few languages Din some times struggled with words he didn't have much need for. "...soothing." Before Din could ponder if that was the right word any further, Grogu began to stuff the flowers into his mouth.

"Grogu! No!" He barked. Turning to her as she tugged the garland away he asked "Are they edible?!"

Wrestling the rest of the blooms from his tiny fingers she replied "Edible is a relative term to this kid."

"Cyar'ika." Din warned frantically checking the baby over.

"They're not poisonous. He'll be fine."

Din proceeded to give the kid the same lecture about not eating random things. Grogu tilted his head and moved his big ears around as if he were actually listening, like he had done the previous dozen times. She stood looking at the family she had found all on her own. The heroic warrior with the flawless armour that hid all the cracks within. The unteachable child, who was older and had seen more than both of them. Their clan was little and broken but still good. As Din finished his stern words with Grogu, he placed him into his pod. Once Din's back was turned the kid promptly shoved the few petals he had managed to ball up in his tiny fist into his mouth and cooed triumphantly. 'Yeah, still good.' she thought.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #din djarin fluff #lilo and stitch

1 note · View note

boficionado-a2 · 4 years

Text

SO THIS RANT WAS SMTH I PUT ON DIS.CORD YESTERDAY. I’m gonna put it here now because my feelings are all over the place right now and I wanna talk Donnie. HERE WE GO.

I’ve always strongly hc’d that Donnie has severe issues with anxiety, depression, and self-esteem/imposter syndrome, and a lot of it stems from a simple inability to connect with his siblings. There's signs of it from super early on that Donnie does just about everything he can to maximize his chances of acceptance. His brothers, while they fight and have issues, all seem better socialized.

But per my (ongoing) theory, he has always been a world apart from them. He was leaps and bounds ahead of them intellectually, and save for a few precious early years where that didn't matter as much, he's ended up alone for a lot of his life, spending more time in his lab than with his brothers. They could all feel comfortable talking, playing games, training, but Donnie just... has this insatiable need to learn to do everything and do it well. It's the gifted kid problem... once that's identified, it becomes your identity, and he's built himself around that.

He's a genius. He really is genuinely gifted. He learns things on the fly, picks up scientific studies as easily as he does languages as easy as he does engineering. But on the same side of the coin as that being his true calling, it also meant that he got called to do a lot more than he should've from a young age. Because you know Splinter's not doing HVAC work.

(Note: we're gonna get into Jay is pissed off about the healing mantras bullshit in short order so buckle up.)

So as soon as he started showing that he could take apart and put together toasters at age six without electrocuting himself AND putting them back together better than before, it unfortunately came with... certain expectations. If it broke, or was found broken, Donnie was expected to fix it. When they got sick, Donnie could usually figure out how to treat it with a few hours and some books... so that's what he did. He set broken bones, learned to stitch cuts... he became a sort of family multitool. As a result, he never learned a healthy respect for his own self and autonomy outside of people needing him... and never needing him for just being Donnie. Needing him for being a mechanic. Needing him to be an engineer. Needing him to be a plumber, a doctor, tech support.

So when they finally started branching out past the lair the idea of people who didn't know he was a genius and might like the person he was under all that was probably more than a little seductive (this is also why I tend to hc he wanted April's friendship and wasn't so hard on the crush side). Problem is he's not sure who he is if he's not the smart guy. (I generally handwave a lot of stuff out of canon and have him not act like an asshat in regards to April... just kinda picking out the bits I don’t care for there, but. The initial desperation for that attention made perfect sense.)

The worst part about the crush, as much as I hated that they kept pushing it well after the joke stopped being funny, is it reveals part of that core insecurity. April's new. She's a friend. She doesn't have the background that's judging him purely on his genius. So of course he wanted desperately for her to like him. He wanted to have that stability that his brothers had. Someone who liked him for him.

He's a shy, awkward kid who likes to read, likes skateboarding, and is perfectly at home playing video games like any other kid his age. He's got diastema and an overbite, both of which he's pretty self-conscious about. Gets in trouble for not training hard enough, but then can't train because something new broke. He's got a temper, but tends to get sad before he loses it. When he's scared, he rambles off random facts about some minor detail regarding the situation they're in. He's attached to his big brothers, but afraid that he just exists as a roommate and not a sibling. And when left to his own devices, he's a quirky, sweet boy with a wicked sense of humor, biting sarcasm, and just a want to be loved and treated as an equal to his brothers without anything else driving that.

So he just... keeps relying on that. If he's useful, if he makes things for their friends and his family then they'll like him more, obviously. And then he messes up and they make fun and the cycle starts all over again. And then.

AND THEN.

THE HEALING MANTRAS GET TROTTED OUT. AT PROBABLY SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AFTER HOW LONG OF BEING THE ONE HIS BROTHERS GO TO WHEN THEY'RE HURT OR SICK.

All that's handed to Leo and he's got one less thing he's needed for, and that is crippling. He's a child, he's built his whole life and self around being needed just so he can feel wanted by his family... and now they need him for one less thing.

Then of course there's the space arc, and he's barely even present. He's a footnote, because Fugitoid is there to solve all those problems for them. It's even a minor plot point in an episode.

“I'm not as smart as the professor. I just build things out of junk.”

To say Donnie has near crippling issues with anxiety and depression and deeply rooted imposter syndrome and miserably poor self esteem is probably understating it a lot.

I honestly think it's also why I'm so attached to my Wheels au. Because the boys had to spend almost six whole months learning just how hard it was to keep things functioning. (Four months of Donnie's coma, and the initial two months after he woke up being mostly bedridden bc he was still really weak.)

So it wasn't just the joking "I wish Donnie were here." It was four months of "Everything is on the verge of breaking constantly" and realizing that he'd been keeping them alive far more than they knew. And then he wakes up and suddenly he can't do a lot of what he did before, and it's clear he's getting mired in a depressive spiral. Because now he feels like he's lost that one thing he had a tenuous grip on: being needed.

Obviously he’s still needed, and he improves with some time and help, but. Yeah. That verse is very near and dear to me for a lot of reasons.

AND THERE YOU GO. YEAH.

#╰ i observe; and once i observe i deduce ☣ meta ╮#((it's really long I"m so sorry))

8 notes · View notes

e11evenseggos · 4 years

Text

A Call for Dr. Goodkin

Heyyy Chloe @blush-and-books! I hope you enjoy your gift, xoxo Santa! @stitcherssecretsanta2019

Read on AO3 or read below:

It was late. Any enthusiasm for the current case had worn off hours ago as the team puzzled over what Kirsten’s latest stitch could mean and where the clues would lead. Cameron was exhausted to say the least, so when his phone rang and he saw “Mom” pop up on the screen, he let out a long sigh.

I do not have the energy for a fight tonight, Mom. Keep it civil.

Despite himself, Cameron answered the phone, “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi my sweet, Cameron. How are you?” She cooed.

“I’m good. Tired but good.” He answered truthfully. “How are you?”

“Busy.”

“Okay. Listen, I really should go- “

“The research position at MIT has opened up again. I think you should take it.”

“Mom. I already have a job here. And a life.”

“Being stuck in a government lab in a random basement is not a life.”

“I have friends.”

“Have you met someone?”

“Not exactly.”

“Cameron.”

“Mom.”

“I think you should at least consider it. You’ve always loved the east coast, and your salary would increase exponentially. And you’d be at the forefront of neuroscience research and technology. The field would be lucky to have you.”

“Mom I- “

“Don’t let your talents waste away.” Click. Marion hung up without so much as a goodbye. Typical.

The next morning, Cameron sat at a table in the breakroom clutching a cup of coffee and staring off into space.

Kirsten shuffled in, bleary-eyed from a restless night obsessing over finding Stinger, and made a beeline for the coffeemaker. As she brewed herself a large, extra-strong cup, she muttered, “Good morning” over her shoulder to Cameron who didn’t answer.

She turned to look at him as he sat there lost in space and sat down in front of him with her freshly brewed coffee. She nudged his leg gently with her foot. “Earth to Cameron.”

“Sorry, what?” He asked, coming out of his reverie.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, no. Yeah.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“I know.”

“What’s up?”

“I got a call from my mom last night,” Cameron finally answered.

“Oh.” I understand. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. She just called to tell me about a research position that opened up. It’s a dream position for me, really. But I passed it up years ago to join the Stitchers program. And here I am.”

“Here you are. Where’s the position at?”

“MIT.”

“Wow. That’s so impressive.”

“It’s also so far away.”

“You’re not scared are you.” It wasn’t so much a question as a challenge.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what’s stopping you from chasing your dream?”

Cameron gives Kirsten a meaningful look, which she deftly ignored.

Eventually Cameron said, “Nothing…I guess.”

“I think it’s really great Cameron. You should go for it.” Kirsten said, trying to mean it.

“You think so?”

More convincing this time, “Yeah. You should at least think about it.”

“Okay, I will. Thanks,” Cameron said, still a little deflated. Nevertheless, he forced a smile as he stood up and headed to his workstation.

Kirsten remained seated, watching him go, the light gone from her eyes and an unfamiliar pressure in her chest.

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

A few weeks passed without mention of the research job. But one morning Cameron practically bounced into the lab. He rushed up to Kirsten and exclaimed, “I got the job!” He enveloped her in a tight bear hug.

“Cameron that’s great. I’m so proud of you,” she said as he released her from his grasp.

“Thanks. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

“I can.”

Linus and Camille walked up to them.

“Congrats, bro!”

“Congratulations, Cameron!” They cheered.

“Thanks, guys!”

“Have you told Maggie yet?” Camille asked.

Cameron paled at the thought. “No, not yet,” he muttered quietly.

Just then Maggie entered the lab. “What are you doing? Conference room now,” her voice as sharp and commanding as ever.

“Cameron needs to talk to you,” Camille said, effectively throwing him under the bus.

Cameron glared at Camille, but she just shrugged and said, “You’d never have done it on your own.”

“Very true,” Linus chimed in.

“That’s fair,” Cameron said at the same time.

“Fine. My office. Conference room in five,” Maggie said. Cameron followed her into her office. She closed the door behind him and sat behind her desk.

“Take a seat.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sit.”

Cameron sat.

Maggie said nothing.

“I got the research job at MIT,” he finally squeaked out.

“I know.”

“Right. Of course.” Maggie knows everything.

“When do you leave?”

“A few weeks.”

“Good. Then you’ll find us a replacement.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cameron nodded a little too enthusiastically.

With that settled, Maggie led Cameron into the conference room.

“How did it go?” Kirsten asked.

“She took it pretty well, I think,” Cameron said.

“No, dude. She’s furious,” Camille chimed in. The three of them looked towards Maggie, whose facial expression was cold and unreadable.

“Definitely furious,” Kirsten agreed.

“Yup. I’m a dead man,” Cameron nodded.

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

Another case solved. More mind-mapping. And Kirsten and Cameron had barely talked since he first told her about the job opening. But with a day off and the weekend approaching, they finally had time to breathe and to be. The rest of the team made their way toward the elevator, but Cameron and Kirsten hung back.

As the elevator doors sealed shut, Kirsten joined Cameron at his desk and said, “Nice work out there.”

“You too, Stretch.”

Kirsten smiled at the nickname. “You know, it’s not going to be the same here without you.”

“Don’t worry. Harry’s excellent. It’ll be like I never left,” Cameron reassured her.

“I’m not worried about the program. I’m just…going…to…miss you,” Kirsten finally forced out, her face unreadable.

“I’ll miss you too.” Cameron reached over, covering her hand with his, and gave it a tight squeeze. Kirsten opened her mouth as if to say something, but before she could get it out, the elevator dinged open and Linus came running back into the lab. Cameron and Kirsten both jerked their hands away, but not before he clocked their connection.

“Oh, hey guys. Don’t mind me. Forgot my replica Star Wars jacket,” Linus explained as he speed-walked across the lab to his workstation.

“We were actually just heading out,” Kirsten said, standing.

“Ahem, yeah,” Cameron echoed.

“Oh cool. Can you give me a ride then?” Linus asked Cameron.

“Sure.”

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

On the ride up to ground level, Kirsten turned to Cameron and said, “I’m really happy you’re going and living your dream. This is going to be perfect for you!”

“Pretty much perfect.” Cameron smiled at Kirsten.

Kirsten flashed him a bright grin and said, “Bye Cameron, bye Linus. See you next week.”

On the drive home, Cameron was unusually quiet. He barely reacted when Linus began rambling about Doctor Who. Linus stopped mid-sentence and said, “What’s wrong?”

Cameron let out a long sigh. “Nothing.”

“Well that definitely wasn’t convincing,” Linus said. “Spill it.”

“Everything’s good. Kirsten’s been really supportive of me getting this job,” Cameron said.

“She will miss you. We all will,” Linus said.

“I just thought there was maybe something between us,” Cameron finally admitted.

“We all did.”

“What?” Cameron turned to Linus.

“Nothing.”

“Linus.”

“It’s not like your feelings were a secret. This whole move though did put a wrench in our pool. I lost five hundred dollars,” Linus said.

“You made bets on us getting together?!” Cameron cried.

“It seemed inevitable,” Linus shrugged. “Guess I was wrong. Sorry, Cameron.”

“Me too.” Cameron and Linus fell into a contemplative silence.

“I made the right decision, right?” Cameron asked after a minute.

“Are you excited about the job?” Linus asked.

“Ecstatic.”

“Then, yes. You did.”

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

Kirsten climbed into the fish tank. Alex prepared the body in the corpse cassette. Linus double-checked the mind-mapping of the sample. Cameron stood at the helm, showing Harry the ropes.

“You want to call it?” Cameron asked Harry after everyone was ready.

“Sure,” Harry said, taking the earpiece from Cameron.

“Engineering?”

“Go.”

“Life-Sci?”

“Go.”

“Medical?”

“Go.”

“Communications?”

“Go.”

“Kirsten?”

Kirsten’s eyes flashed open at the use of her name rather than a nickname.

“Kirsten?” Harry asked again.

“Go.”

“Commence Stitch Neurosync on my count. Three, two, Stitch!” Harry shouted enthusiastically. Everyone manned their stations as Harry navigated Kirsten through the sample’s memories. “Do you see anything, Kirsten?”

“Of course, I do,” she practically snapped.

“Great! Tell us what you discover whenever you’re ready.”

“I always do.”

After the stitch, Cameron pulled Kirsten aside. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Harry’s excellent.”

“Yeah, sure.” Kirsten’s sarcasm was obvious.

“He is qualified, kind, and everyone else likes him. So you’re just going to have to get used to him, cupcake.” This time it wasn’t the term of endearment it usually was but an insult. Cameron stormed off, not giving Kirsten time to respond.

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

“I can’t believe we just worked our last case together,” Kirsten said as she helped Cameron finish the paperwork on their latest case, the air still a little tense from their fight earlier in the week.

“I know right?!”

“We need to have a going away party,” Kirsten said.

Just then, Camille walked by and said, “Oh, Linus and I already have that covered. Be here at five tomorrow evening.” Camille turned to Kirsten, “And don’t dress how you normally dress. Dress more like me. In fact, just pull something out of my closet.” Camille continued walking towards the elevator.

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at five,” Kirsten said before following Camille. “Hold the door!” She called.

When Cameron walked off the elevator at five the next evening, the entire Stitch lab had been transformed. The emergency lights flashed, and the other lights were dimmed. A hand-painted banner was draped over the corpse cassette, reading “Good Luck Cameron!!!” Streamers hung from the ceiling, and a huge cake lay on the table in the conference room. The team cheered as he entered the lab.

“Congrats Cameron!”

“Thanks, guys!”

Camille popped the champagne and began filling flute glasses and passing them around to everyone. Harry cut the cake and brought slices out to everyone. When he presented one to Kirsten, she said, “No, thanks. I’m not big on chocolate.”

Cameron looked at her but said nothing and took the cake from Harry. “Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said. He lingered with them, awkwardness building.

“So-“ Kirsten began.

“I think I’m gonna go,” Harry said at the same time.

“Right,” Kirsten said.

Harry turned abruptly and walked away.

“K-“ Cameron began.

“I know,” Kirsten said before walking away. Cameron walked over to his now empty desk and sat on the edge. Linus and Camille came and sat beside him.

Camille raised her glass and said, “Here’s to new places and new adventures. Here’s to Cameron.”

Linus and Cameron dinked their glasses with Camille, and Linus said, “To Cameron, forever my bro.” They each took a sip, and moments later Kirsten returned and joined them around his desk. She had a slice of chocolate cake in her hand. Cameron looked from Kirsten’s face down to the cake and back up again. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Kirsten avoided his gaze, knowingly.

“Who wants to do shots?” Kirsten asked, filling the silence.

“Literally always,” Camille cheered, setting down her empty champagne glass.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Linus cheered.

“Come with me,” Camille said, grabbing Kirsten by the arm and dragging her towards the breakroom. They returned with shot glasses and expensive tequila. Camille poured the tequila into the glasses, grabbed one, and took a shot. Kirsten, Cameron, and Linus all followed suit.

Five, six, seven shots later, they were all sitting down, backs pressed against the concrete wall. “Alright Kirsten. Truth or dare?” Cameron asked.

“Truth.” Kirsten took another shot.

“Do you miss Liam?”

“No.”

Cameron looked away from the group to hide the smile he unsuccessfully tried to suppress.

“Camille?” Kirsten asked.

“Dare. Of course,” Camille answered.

“Okay, I dare you to kiss someone you’ve never kissed before,” Kirsten said.

“What are we? Twelve?” Camille asked. Kirsten simply raised her eyebrows, waiting. Camille leaned over Linus and gently kissed Cameron on the cheek. “I’m going to miss you, Goodkin.”

Everyone stared at her, surprised and sobered by the reminder of Cameron’s leaving.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back,” Kirsten said. She stood and made a beeline to the bathroom.

“I’ll go check on her,” Camille said before following Kirsten.

Kirsten was splashing her face with cold water when Camille entered the bathroom.

“You okay?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Kirsten answered. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and rubbed her face dry.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Camille asked.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s about to leave.”

“That’s exactly why you should tell him.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late until he’s on that plane.” Camille slung an arm around Kirsten’s shoulders. “Come on. You need one more round of truth or dare.”

Kirsten smiled as she let Camille lead her out of the bathroom, but when they made their way over to where they had been sitting, Cameron and Linus were gone. Camille and Kirsten looked around the lab but couldn’t find either one of them. Camille walked over to Fisher and asked, “Where’s Cameron?”

“He left just a few minutes ago.”

Camille stared at him.

“For the airport.”

Camille still didn’t respond.

“His flight leaves in an hour,” Fisher said. “Camille!”

She finally snapped out of her shock and grabbed Kirsten by the arm, dragging her to the elevator. “Thanks, Fishy!” She called over her shoulder.

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

Camille sped down the freeway. Kirsten sat in the passenger seat, the phone pressed to her ear.

“He’s not answering.”

“Try again.”

“What if he doesn’t pick up?”

“We’ll figure it out. Just keep trying.”

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

Cameron paced at the gate, waiting to board the plane.

Did I make the right decision?

“I think it’s really great Cameron. You should go for it.”

Yes.

“I’m just…going…to…miss you.”

No.

“You should go for it.”

Yes.

“Going to miss you.”

No.

“Go.”

Yes.

“Miss you.”

No.

The only thing that broke Cameron out of his trance was hearing his name over the loudspeaker. “A call for Dr. Goodkin! A call for Dr. Goodkin!” The gate agent kept repeating.

“That’s me,” Cameron said, rushing up to the counter and flashing his ID. The agent motioned to him, and he stepped around the counter and took the phone from the agent.

“Cameron!” Kirsten practically screamed through the receiver.

“Stretch, is everything okay?” His brow furrowed and the concern was evident in his voice.

“No!” Kirsten practically sobbed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Cameron turned and there stood Kirsten, phone pressed to her ear, tears streaming down her face. Cameron rushed over to her and cradled her face in his hands.

“Kirsten, what’s going on-“ Cameron began.

Kirsten cut him off before he could finish, saying all in one breath, “Iloveyou.”

“What?”

“I love you.” Tears continued to flow down Kirsten’s cheeks, and tears sprang to Cameron’s eyes as well.

“I love you too,” he all but whispered before kissing her gently on the lips. When they kissed, everyone at the gate cheered, clapped, and hollered. They broke apart, laughing at the response. Kirsten smiled sheepishly, but Cameron beamed.

“Come on, Stretch. Let’s get out of here,” Cameron took Kirsten’s hand in his and lead her towards the exit.

“You’re really staying here for me?”

“For us,” Cameron kissed Kirsten again and they both smiled as they walked into the crowd.

#camsten #stitchersss2019 #stitchers #kirsten clark #cameron goodkin #camsten fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #camsten fic

27 notes · View notes

motherofwoofers · 4 years

Text

Chapter 7 I'd Rather be Hibernating

As Marinette closed the hatch above her, and settled into the dark of her room, still chilled from the lack of power to her heater, she pulled the hoodie to her face. Luka's smell enveloped her: cool, spicy, and a hint of salt water. As if the very ocean had claimed him over the years. She sat there, legs bent over to her side, bundled in his jacket, beyond calm and satisfied.

She opened her eyes when her bed shifted, glowing green eyes holding her stare. They slowly blinked at her, but maintained their intense gaze. He made no move to come closer, even less so to speak.

"It seems everyone knows who I am," Marinette grumbled, letting the hoodie fall from her face. She felt oddly bereft once it was no longer caressing her face. There was no response in the dark. Annoyed Marinette climbed down from her bed, maneuvering around her dark room through memory alone until she found the space heater and cranked it up. The warm glow lit the room, and the deep shadowed figure on her bed became illuminated.

Chat Noir's suit had changed over the years. No longer the bell-ed and adorable bachelor of Paris. He was still quick, refined, and full of attitude. But he was sharper now. Less forgiving. A house cat turned panther. His appearance had altered to reflect that. Deep metallic green reflected in well placed stitching, finger tips no longer prickly, but full clawed. He was svelte. Suit clinging and moving in a way that showed he was lethal: deadly. Restrained. He had once shown deeply hidden matte spots in places along his suit.

Before the reveal.

Before the betrayal was known.

But now he no longer reflected anything but himself. His mask had shaped aggressively soon after that, ears in a constant state of irritation. The last 2 years had helped ease those harsh lines. It would take far longer for Chat to find himself again though. Find true peace. Until then, the cat miraculous gave him a way to control that anger. Siphoning off the overflow into power.

Marinette climbed back into her bed, unceremoniously making him move out of her way. She pulled the covers out from under her pillows and unfolded a pink and white spotted blanket to wrap her shoulders in. She refused to speak to him until he broke the silence himself. It took long moments of avoiding his intense stare. She took the opportunity to reflect on the scent of calming still wrapped around her *Menthol? Mint?* she felt it was the latter that made up the cool undercurrent of the scent.

"I was under the impression I was the only one who had figured it out." His voice was low. It had been a voice that had at one point made her breath catch and her cheeks warm. It no longer did. It was a voice that reflected everlasting partnership; trust. But butterflies didn't flutter in her chest. She had the feeling they hadn't fluttered in his for some time as well. Marinette waited for him to continue- he didn't.

"I was unaware anyone had. I thought I was better at hiding my identity than I thought I was. Apparently I underestimated my team. Foolish, I know. I needed to though, Chat. It endangers those who know. I can't add anymore danger to your lives." She couldn't match his gaze as she rambled, picking at a stray thread she would need to clip.

"It was," he sighed, before turning his attention away, settling into a tension-less pose. Weight heavy in his shoulders. A weight he would only reveal to her.

"Dangerous?" She questioned, as he settled his back against her wall.

"Foolish."

"Oh." She was quiet.

"Things have changed. But your protection is still paramount. You should know that by now." Chat didn't mince his words, but was hushed all the same. Silence fell between them again for awhile. The only sound the humm of her heater.

"I just-"

"I know why you did it," he cut her off. "Doesn't mean it was the right choice though. I was hurt for awhile once I'd figured it out. Felt like just another betrayal… but I know it wasn't. It was the kindest thing you could have done. A choice and responsibility that you harbored. So I never said anything. I watched though. I was there for you at every turn. As you were for me," he was quiet again. He looked down at his hand that held the miraculous ring, flexed the fingers. "These powers. A dream come true. An out. But for some of us- it's the weight of the world." He let his hand drop to her duvet.

"I'm sorry I never told you," Marinette pulled her knees to her chest. Curling her arms around them, staring down at the heater.

"I know you are."

The warmth and quiet wrapped them up once more. The silence empty but comforting. A natural balance in the room, like the feeling of true neutral. A room temperature you couldn't feel. They would always be the embodiment of yin and yang- in their part of the world at least. But while it was the ultimate balance, it had also left them balanced with eachother.

At first they hadn't figured it out. *She* hadn't figured out why she was so drawn to Adrien, and Chat to Ladybug. It was a desperate grasp to feel your other half. It had eventually led to their civilian selves having a short fling at some point. But it had ended quickly. She had more on her plate than she thought she could handle at the time- she had handled it though. And Adrien's life had begun to spiral. Things coming to light and coalescing in a way that couldn't be ignored any more. Needed to be faced.

Then it had exploded.

She had realized soon after that, that they had ached for eachother because of who they were and the miraculous they held. The feelings of love, merely a confused feeling of infatuation and need.

But as she had realized it, he had also turned away from everyone else as well. He was wounded deeply. Truly orphaned. The miraculous team had rallied around him, keeping him as grounded as they could to keep him falling into something he couldn't return from. Even more difficult when they had discovered that Nooroo's gem had been snatched right out from under their noses. The police had stormed into the Agreste mansion as the battle was ending. The raging carnage shaking the very city.

It had been a moment. Perhaps even a heart beat that the butterfly had been released from between Miraculous hands. Then it had been gone. As if it had never been in the room at all.

Chat had taken the loss as a failure of his own actions. It had been gasoline to his raging inferno.

The team had searched and scoured. Finding nothing. Not even whispers. Then some sort of strangeness had happened in Spain. Turkey. Ukraine.

Akumas.

A pair of miraculous had been awoken in Moscow, a Guardian chosen. Then the akumas had dissapeared again.

Until six months ago.

When Monarch had found Paris.

The butterfly wielder wasn't set on stealing other miraculouses. They had waited to see if she had true plans. Battled the akumatized victims at every turn. Watching them become more and more dangerous.

Monarch just wanted to sew chaos. She used all emotions. Anything strong enough to catch her attention- she snatched.

A father brimming with joy at the birth of his first child. She had seized that. Twisted it.

The akuma had built a tower. A tower in which he had held his wife and child, far from everyone. Brambles and vines with thorns thick as arms had climbed the bricks. Preventing any from coming closer. Then he had begun to collect all the infants from Paris, gathering them in his tower. He had been *protecting* them. Even from their own parents.

But Monarch struck at random. She would akumatize multiple victims in a week, and then disappear for awhile. Becoming impossible to track. Without a true goal, they had nothing to go off of. They found political elections or grand scale decisions afflicted, but not all. And none of them in line with each other.

Just chaos.

Her victims intelligent. Guided. Without anger blinding many of them, they were more focused.

Encounters in summer had been one challenge. The cold weather becoming an entirely different battle ground.

But Monarch had slowed her own actions. The butterfly miraculous beginning to affect her as well as the rest of them. The cold difficult to function through.

Marinette found herself close to drifting off as the room warmed. Then Chat shifted once more.

"Did you tell him?" It was quiet. Barely audible. Something in his tone held back.

"No." A deep breathe washed out of his chest and he closed his eyes. "He's known." She mumbled into her knees, the hoodie having snuck back up against her chin.

"Mmm," was all Chat replied with. He slid his fingers along her comforter. They had history together. Nothing would change that. "I trust him." Marinette wasn't aware that she had craved his approval of the situation until he spoke it aloud. "When did he…?"

"Before the.. before," she couldn't find the right words, but he nodded all the same.

"I'm not… *happy* about it," his voice had gone back to his normal tone. No longer raw. She gripped the loose fabric of her fleece pants. "I know how he feels. I've seen it. He hides most of it. Keeps it hidden beneath layers of coy and natural caring. He's smooth, I'll give him that," Chat chuckled. "But I'm not… hmmm. I don't… We're not together. But it's hard for me to see you wearing someone else's clothes." His eyes slid to her, gleaming in the dark. They both knew she still had a few of his things. From the heated nights they'd shared. Though they had kept it a secret from others.

"I want something real Chat," she met his eyes. Held them. "I want to try at least. I want to feel again, in the open this time. We had… we had what we needed at the time. You and I. But I had something with him, too. Something warmer and deeper, than us," something *real* she added to herself. It had been real between her and Adrien, but it hadn't been the real she craved. "Luka…Luka is-"

"What you need now," he finished for her. Marinette could only nod in response. The dim light of the heater filling the space between them again. "I came here to see if you were alright. You weren't performing well in the last fight. Deep winter is settling in early this year. I don't know what went wrong. But I know something did. I could see it all over his face. See the fear he keeps buried deeper than most can see. I see it, though. I know where to look now." He began to shift his body, moving into a crouch. Chat would leave soon.

"I know he escorts you home. Or close enough lately. Filling my position," she watched the muscle in his jaw flutter, before he unclenched. "I needed to be sure. But when I found your bed empty, I stayed. I've only been waiting a few hours." He maneuvered to her roof hatch. "It seems I didn't need to worry, though. Even without his jacket his scent is wrapped around you. I can barely tell where he ends and you begin..." he looked away from her. "I'm not happy to step back. But I know you're safe. And that's what truly matters."

Then he was lifting himself through the open door, preventing most of the newly shifted snow from falling in.

"Thank you, Chat," Marinette whispered to him. Well aware he would hear her.

"Always, M'Lady," and then the door closed softly. She couldn't hear him leap from her balcony or roof. But she hadn't been able to hear him for a long time.

It took awhile after he left, for her mind to settle. To absorb everything from the last day or two. Things had changed. Perhaps they had already changed, and she had yet to notice them. But things had definitely shifted. And even though her heart ached from the words that had been said between her and Chat- they were merely things that had not been voiced yet.

The room had finally warmed to a sweltering level, and sleep tugged at her once more. Marinette settled into her bed, shifting beneath the covers until she was thoroughly bundled. Cradled as if she wasn't alone.

She felt alone though. A feeling she hadn't recognized she felt, until the space beside her had been filled, and was now empty again. His smell was strong beneath the covers with her, breathing him in and out within the cocoon. She craved the feel of him, once more.

The teenager he had once been, had always been strong, resilient. Skilled at making any situation feel natural. He had held and cuddled her even when she had pushed them all away, in her stress. But it had never felt forced to ease into his side, drift off against his shoulder. His gentle touches and brushed fingers as he exchanged things with her. It had always been natural. Normal. Second nature.

He pushed and pulled her in a dance she hadn't realized she was waltzing in. So focused on the fire around her, never realizing his steadying presence. A presence that he maintained into adulthood. There had been moments when he had pulled away from her. She had felt them distinctly. The lack of connection was noticed. But he always drifted back. Whether of his own accord or a string she subconsciously tugged him with. A rhythm that beat between them seamlessly, even when the harmony of Ladybug and Chat Noir drowned things out, by pure force alone- he was there.

A quiet spark protected in a glass deep within her. Hidden behind that fortress she had built to keep everyone out. She had tucked it in there, close to her heart, but out of sight. Never allowing it to bring him harm.

But he *knew* now.

Had always known.

And she wanted to bring that small spark back to life, just to discover it was already a flame. A flickering flame within it's own gilded lantern.

Marinette offered small bits of kindling to the flame. Wanting it to shine, to illuminate the places within her, that were *her*. That were *Marinette* and not Ladybug. Not the Guardian.

But the whole of who and what she was now. All parts of her.

She wanted to cling to that flame and watch it thaw all the places the winters of her life had frozen over.

Chapters 1-20 can be found on AO3 :)

#lukanette #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #chat noir #mlb fanfic

8 notes · View notes