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itsbenedict · 7 months

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Two-Faced Jewel: Thunderbrush 15

Never Call It Piss Magic Again

A conwoman disguised as a noble and the delegation of university students studying her have arrived in the jungle city of Thunderbrush, ruled by ancient dryads and organized crime. Will they manage to stay uninvolved in shady conspiracies? (No.)

Story so far | Session log index | Previous session

Last time, the players extricated themselves from an awkward situation with some ghost dryad mafia protection racketeers, and hurried off to the local brothel to go cure a vampire of her vampirosity. They did a bang-up job of it, despite some close calls- and now it's time for them to decompress after a job well-done.

Also grapple with the nightmarish implications of Saelhen's powers. And drive Looseleaf to the brink of a complete mental breakdown vis-a-vis backstory trauma. And receive extremely troubling news about the Stump conspiracy's agenda. And have nightmares.

So, first order of business: the party needs to flirt with some NPCs. Saelhen manages to apologize for all the craziness that's been going on during this sports-watching date... while also being the smoothest operator in the world somehow. This prompts...

After some further ruthless ladykilling, Zzaiya flees the scene in a fit of embarrassment, unable to process the idea of someone being romantically interested in her. Allegedly, her house is nearby.

Meanwhile, Oliver is trying to put the moves on the recently-shirtless Sam Sweethoney...

...but runs into a brick wall of total obliviousness. Sam Sweethoney is seemingly incapable of realizing that anyone is ever being serious about anything, and takes incoming flirtation as a hilarious joke that he's in on.

While Oliver is striking out with the world's densest shirtless halfling tattoo artist, Looseleaf and Saelhen try to have a serious conversation about... all that shit that just happened.

The thing is... Saelhen's invested a great deal of emotional attachment into this thing that lets her turn invisible- for reasons that she'd prefer not be discussed in mixed company.

While they're in the middle of discussing how dangerous their personal magic powers are, and whether it's ethically permissible to use them at all... Oliver shows up, very curious about Looseleaf's magic powers.

Looseleaf is set on edge by this question.

Oliver is surprised about the apparent deadliness of teaching spirit magic- and has a billion follow-up questions, none of which please Looseleaf to hear.

Oliver keeps pressing... and Looseleaf explodes.

Looseleaf: "I don't fucking know, okay? I'm not a specialist in this! I was supposed to be an anthropologist before everything happened and now I am a mage wielding a near-extinct line of magic because nobody else can do it and so I have to figure out how to do all the things that THEY were supposed to be responsible for doing!" "I don't know! I'm relearning this from scratch! You want answers but I don't have any!" "Nobody has answers anymore!" By the end of it Looseleaf's speech is seeming… weirdly discongruous and jilted, each syllable coming out jerky and staccato. "You know what, you want it so badly, maybe you can actually learn and then I can go do other things with my worthless life-" Oliver Highhollow-Selby: Oliver is stepping backwards and looking scared/worried/horrified as Looseleaf is basically suddenly unraveling. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Okay, well, it appears that question time might be over, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Highhollow, I think we are going to get something in your stomach, dear heart, and perhaps a nice bath and — save everything else for later, yes? Sounds good?"

Oliver tries to apologize and calm her down, but it doesn't go well.

Saelhen diplomatically defuses the situation, drawing attention to her own role in today's debacle to reduce tensions. Looseleaf apologizes to Oliver for her outburst, an olive branch is proffered... and then Looseleaf remembers she needs to change the subject.

Right! That situation! Looseleaf still doesn't divulge how she knows this, but Oliver's on the back foot and kind of has to trust her about this. He intends to report in to Evelyn at his nearest opportunity.

Still- it's getting late, and they happen to be at a place that is technically an inn (and brothel and live music venue and bar and grill and lesser temple of Karou), and the Sweethoneys are happy to put the party up for the night. But first... dinner! Vampire surgery is hungry work.

At the bar, they meet Dall, who's beyond relieved that her girlfriend is alive despite the odds. She treats them to drinks, and- after Looseleaf invoices her to the tune of two hundred gold- begins explaining the Iron Section incident that led to this whole vampire issue.

The Iron Section, Dall explains, was a mining division. Specifically the iron mining division, as the name implies. Dall tells you, with increasingly slurred speech, about the Iron Section incident. They had a mineshaft that was going deeper than usual- the kind of dig that risks unearthing monsters. As a result, the mineshaft was completely sealed off, and the workforce quarantined to the dig site for the duration of the expedition- until the entire shaft was cleared out and warded and declared safe. This isn't that unusual for dwarven mining companies- it's akin to going out on a lobster boat for a while, you get paid handsomely for the long and arduous multi-day work shift. The dig site was sealed off to ensure no one would come or go, besides the iron carts- and because of this, there wasn't much oversight, besides the foreman in charge and his subordinate management. Which means when the foreman somehow became a vampire- and was the first to become a vampire- there was no one above him to countermand his orders. Gelly had explained to her- the foreman cared about his workers, he didn't want them to die, so he didn't feed on them to the point of exsanguination- but when a vampire feeds on you without killing you, you get thralls. And he wasn't as heartless as Cabana Jim- when his thralls hungered, he didn't starve them half to death to keep them compliant. He fed them. And so it proceeded until the entire Iron Section was vampirized- and then they were out of blood. And so they got increasingly hungry and desperate and left the quarantine mine, in a sudden attack on the surface. This got the attention of the Ecumene of Harmony, led by bishop Celeste Yonder. The ecumene led a cleanup crew and killed them all.

Yeesh.

The party asks a few questions about the monster issue- which Dall isn't super knowledgeable about. Apparently if you dig deep enough, monsters can just spawn in the depths, in any sufficiently large hollow space deep underground. There's ways to block this from happening, but Dall can't quite remember what kind of magic is involved.

Afterwards, they hit the hay. Looseleaf, through a soul link, detects that Oyobi is coincidentally also in this establishment, upstairs in a private room with someone. Weird.

Looseleaf also takes some time to contact Miriko Watchwood via telepathy. Apparently, Miriko has "disposed of" Jess Chainer- by which she means, locking her up in a cell underneath the ghost dryad Ana, to have her life force fed upon. Miriko's met back up with her employer, and everything seems hunky-dory for her... but Looseleaf detects a wrong note.

Like... shouldn't Miriko be mad at her boss? The one who knew she was enslaved at Cabana Jim's, and used that as an opportunity to extract information from rich tourists instead of, say, rescuing her?

Miriko denies this.

Looseleaf gets a crit roll on Something's Fishy.

Trauma aside, the party tucks in for a good night's sleep.

Looseleaf has a dream.

Looseleaf has this same dream for the next few nights- each time a bit less obscured and difficult to remember. There is a last time that she has this dream, later on- at which point it is fully revealed. She's yet to discuss it with anyone, though.

Saelhen, by contrast, has this same dream, revealed from the very first time- but she can't remember it when she jolts awake in panic.

:) :) :)

Next time. Looseleaf and Oliver go to school and have a nice time and learn some things! That's all! Don't worry!

#tfj log #twofaced jewel #i love it when my players write my horror for me

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transformers-fan-continuities · 3 years

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Spotlight: Ties That Bind

This one’s a doozy folks! If you missed the last spotlight you can go read it here, but strap in for The Ties That Bind, an absolutely brilliant take on humanformers. It’s hosted here at @tiesthatbind-tf created by @artsy-hobbitses!

Q) Give us a run down of your cont! What's it about, what's it called, what's it like?

Ties That Bind is a humanformers-based original continuity which is part Science Fiction and part Alternate History where the invasion of Quintessons and introduction of their technology to Earth in 1920 sets the world and humankind on a completely different trajectory. The active narrative spans a period from 1920 to 2070, covering the First and Second Quintesson Wars, the interplanetary Antillan War (leading to the creation of Unicron on Mars) and the Great War which involves the Autobots, Decepticons and Functionist stalwarts, and how it affects the characters.

The cast is pretty sprawling and the narrative is mostly centred around human drama with bits of humor interspaced and a dash of horror (mostly centred around how the previous government often chose to utilize the technology left behind from the Quintesson Wars to create new systems of oppression, which affected many of the characters, in the name of worldwide rebuilding efforts).

Q) What characters take the lead here? Any personal favorites?

I will admit to this continuity being very much heavy on the relationship between Old Bastards Optimus Prime and Megatron, which is given considerable weight as they were best friends who had known each other since childhood and were deeply intrinsic to each other’s growths as individuals, which makes it all the worse when guilt and betrayal enter the party. Despite being captains in two corners of this battle, there’s a part of them that just cannot let go of their pasts together and they need to reconcile with how this will affect their agenda (Megatron) and how they lead their team (Optimus) who don’t necessarily share their history.

Other characters with significant development include:

Starscream, a Cold Construct in a toxic working relationship with Megatron with whom he is hiding a dark secret, who struggles to balance the underhanded viciousness he believes he needs to gain power and his innate desire from his Senate days to make the world a better place.

Windblade, a Camien native who fights her government’s apathy concerning the situation on Earth which they see as unsalvageable compared to their more Utopian society.

Prowl, a Cold Construct raised from childhood to be a cop in a police state, who finds out that he was brainwashed several times to ensure his obedience and efficacy as a government asset and is now working to reclaim some semblance of the humanity he was never allowed to feel and figure out how much of him is who he really is and how much is programming.

Hound, a sheltered Beastman who joined the fight to ensure that Beastmen the world over would have the same rights he did in his homeland of Shetland Isle, but is forcefully stripped of his humanity and faced with his animal side during the war and has to relearn what personhood means amid his trauma.

Q) Is there a bigger point to this, like a theme or some catharsis? Or is it just fluffy fun?

God with the amount of time I spent sleepless trying to figure out how the logistics of this or the semantics of that were supposed to work in universe, I cannot for the life of me say it’s fluffy fun, but I can’t exactly say it hasn’t been pretty engaging either!

There’s elements of war being messy for everyone involved where there doesn’t seem to be a clear line between friend and foe at times, but I think for most part it prescribes to Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s belief that people are inherently good, but are corrupted by the evils of society. Despite its dark themes (Including but not limited to child abuse, torture, illegal experimenation and brainwashing), love and friendships do prevail, kindness does beget kindness, found families are made, even the smallest actions matter, and things do get better because there are people on both sides who genuinely want to, and strive to make it better.

With Cold Constructs and Beastmen, it also delves heavily into what it means to be human; to have agency and personhood.

There’s also a strong undercurrent of taking responsibility for one’s actions, even if they were made with the best of intentions (Avoidance of this is what eats up Starscream and Megatron from the inside, and what Starscream eventually embraces).

Q) How long have you been working on it?

There’s two answers to this!

I’ve had a Humanformers-related universe going all the way back to 2007 around the time the first Bayformers came out---basically I had a choice between learning to draw cars or draw people (I was an anthro artist back then) and I immediately chose people.

The 2007 draft however had no worldbuilding or connective storylines and was mostly a fun little venture into character design and practice which were actually instrumental to me experimenting and learning how to draw humans properly.

I left the fandom for about a decade and when I came back to it in late 2020 around September via the War for Cybertron series on Netflix, I immediately got hooked on the 2005 IDW comics I missed out on and wanted to get around to updating my old designs as well find a way to translate several of the concepts I wanted to explore in a human sense, so the 2020 update became its own full-fledged original continuity with detailed worldbuilding and history.

You can see the artistic evolution of several characters from their original incarnation below!

Q) It’s incredible to see your artistic improvement too! Give us a behind-the-scenes look! Show us a secret ;))

Say hello to my workspace! I’ve been working exclusively on the Ipad Pro since late 2016, which is fantastic because I can basically whip up concepts and sketches on the go anywhere. Nowhere is too out of bounds to work on TTB!

Also, do enjoy this sneak peek at true!form Rung, whose synthezoid human body took years to perfect.

Q) YESSSSS alright I must admit this is one of my favorite Rungs, and certainly my fave within TTB. Amazing. Phew, anyway. Where did you draw inspiration from? What canons, what other fiction, what parts of real life?

TTB was initially conceived as a faithful retelling of the IDW 2005 narrative before it was transformed into its own continuity and as such, it borrows heavily from concepts and mirrored plot lines introduced in that run! I chose to have the series inspired off it specifically for the amount of history and worldbuilding it introduced to the franchise.

Anime like Gunslinger Girl and Beastars inspired the depictions of Cold Constructs, especially the more harrowing aspects of their upbringing as government assets instead of children, and Beastmen (Beastformers) in TTB.

I haven’t depicted the world itself in my art all too much, but the architecture from Tiger and Bunny, which has sort of a futuristic Art Deco feel to it, is what you’d usually see in major cities. There is an in-universe reason for that---with a Point Of Divergence set in 1920 followed by 25 years (an entire generation) of progress basically being kicked to the curb due to the Quintesson wars, mankind was basically in a time-locked bubble until the end of the wars, and by then their heroes were 1920s-style rebellion leaders, which lead to 1920s fashion (especially among the Manual Working Class---Megatron, Jazz and Optimus all rock 1920s fashion at some point of their lives) and architecture being celebrated and retained as sort of a reminder of how things were before The Invasion. This anime’s background design is also where I adopted the tiered system TTB’s major metropolises are often built on (with each tier being designated to a different working class) from.

The main artistic style itself is a love letter to 90s cartoons, in particular Gargoyles’ deep and drama-driven character narratives and designs as well as The Centurions’ take on body armor logistics.

I also take inspiration, especially armor-wise, from the characters’ given heritage and background. As an example, Hotrod who is depicted as Irish has the flames on his armor done up with Celtic knots. Welsh aristocrat Mirage’s armor bears olden knight-style filigree and has his Autobot logo designed as a coat of arms. Indonesian Soundwave’s armor and Decepticon logo takes cues from Batik and Wayang Kulit while their mask is based off the Barong.

Q) They are absolutely gorgeous! Show off something you're really proud of, a particular favorite part of your cont.

The worldbuilding in general! Most Humanformers I’ve seen tend to treat it like a fun exercise which it is and is definitely valid, but I found myself wanting a full-fledged world to lose myself in and I sought to try and make that world myself by drafting a detailed history and timeline of events which would affect ongoing narratives, having indepth worldbuilding to include almost all societal aspects of the universe and expanding on the concept of Beastmen and Cold Constructs existing in a human setting.

I’m not so secretly proud of the research and diversity included to make the cast look like the multicultural, globally-based team that they were meant to be instead of being locked to a single region! My original draft from 2007 was, to put it simply, quite culturally monolithic and I wanted to improve on that aspect with TTB.

I’m also proud that I’ve kept to it this far! I’m a notoriously flaky person jumping from one idea/fandom to another and to have kept at this continuity for the better part of ten months is honestly a personal feat.

Art-wise, this scene depicting a young Megatron working alongside Terminus and Impactor (cameo by @weapon-up-wallflower‘s OC Missit!) is definitely one of my favorites since it helps build up the world they live in and plays to familial bonds and comfort found in one another despite their less than ideal circumstances.

Q) Everything has come together so beautifully, you absolutely should be proud. What other fan canons do you love and why? Would you like to see them interviewed?

I am dying to hear more from @iscaredspider’s Sparkpulse continuity! Her designs are MIND-BLOWINGLY GORGEOUS and I want to hear more about what inspired her to work on it!

Also YOU. Yes YOU BLURRITO. LET ME HEAR MORE ABOUT SNAP.

Q) [wails and squirms away in the mortifying ordeal of being known but in a very flattered way] I WILL SOMEDAY I PROMISE aflghsdjg thank you QwQ

Well that was fantastic, Oni, thank you muchly! A magnificent continuity with so much to look forward to! Coming up next is another personal fave of mine, the first inspiration for SNAP, so stick around...

#long post #gore #ties that bind #spotlight #transformers #HUMANFORMERS #transformers au #tf original continuity #transformers fan continuity #transformers redesign #maccadam #i said id post this on sunday but i realize thats a holiday for lots of folks on this site :/

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attllhak · 3 years

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@tortilla-of-courage I flipped one of my Fancy coins and got heads, so here’s the one about Wild! (And Twilight and Time and Malon.)

This is also the first fic I wrote, so there’s also a lot of worldbuilding details here too. Regardless, enjoy!

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

Twilight really shouldn’t be surprised by things like this anymore.

He had managed to befriend a trench mer about a year ago, and after all the drama that came from that he really should be used to weird shit just, happening to him.

But, here he was, surprised.

In his defence, usually he didn’t run into other mer when out swimming.

His family’s farm was along the coastline, and there weren’t any pods native to the area (outside of the trench mer that lived in the trench a few miles out to open sea), so the only mer that Twilight had ever run into were friends of his father’s who’d come to visit.

This was not a friend of his father’s.

The most obvious detail that this was something new was that all of Time’s friends were deep sea merfolk, and this individual was very much a tropical mer.

Well, maybe a mer. Twilight had never been good at telling the difference between merrow and mer, and that was made harder by the fact that he’d never seen a tropical mer before. This person could be mer or merrow and Twilight would never have been able to tell.

The second detail that said this was a new circumstance was all the blood.

That was actually what drew Twilight over. Large amounts of blood drew sharks, and though they were mostly kept away from the shores by the local zora, it was still better to avoid large blood pools in the water regardless.

Upon approaching, Twilight had noticed that the blood was fresh, and was coming from a merfolk that was definitely new to the area.

This tropical mer had been horribly injured, the entire left side of their body leaking blood into the water around them. Long, tangled blonde hair floated around their head, and their pale blue fins were tattered and damaged, and a few on their left side were just gone altogether.

Twilight initially thought they were dead until he got a bit closer, and their eyes moved to look at him.

Twilight had jerked back in surprise, eyes wide as he took in the expression on the mystery mer’s face, which had gone from defeated to hopeful.

Twilight had to fight to remember to breathe with his gills and not his throat for a moment.

He swallowed, and slowly tried to remember how to speak with his skin.

‘Who, what, why,’ he floundered for a bit. ‘Who are you?’

The mystery mer just watched him lazily, as though they didn’t have the strength to do anything more.

After a long, long moment, and what seemed like quite a bit of effort and pain, they managed to flash ‘help’ at him.

Twilight didn’t even hesitate, moving as quickly as he could without tripping over his fins to the mystery mer’s side, gently scooping them into his arms. Once he had a decent grip on them, he looked around to orient himself, and then took off towards the shoreline where he knew his parents would be.

He didn’t know if the mystery mer had issues with humans, but he couldn’t think of any other way to help them. The trench mer really couldn’t be trusted with delicate matters like this, as much as he loved Midna, so his parents were the only option he had.

He just hoped it wouldn’t make things worse by accident.

His head broke the surface not far from the shore line, where Time was sitting in his human form with Malon.

“Dad!” He shouted, struggling a bit more to keep his passenger steady as the water became more and more shallow. “Dad!”

Time looked up, noticed Twilight trailing blood, and was on his feet immediately.

He met Twilight halfway, which is when he noticed the mystery mer.

“Twilight, what,”

“I found them a ways out,” Twilight gasped out, letting Time help him carry them further onto shore. “They’re really badly hurt, and I couldn’t just leave them, so,”

“Malon!” Time shouted. “Red potions! Hurry!”

Malon nodded and ran up to the house as quickly as she could.

Time and Twilight hauled the mystery mer up onto the shoreline, though still in the water, and Twilight crawled up to the skirt that he and Time both had to pin around their hips to shift back to his human form, since clothes and mer don’t usually mix.

Twilight hurried back over as quickly as he could, stilling pinning fabric in place as he crouched down.

Fortunately it seemed like breathing straight air seemed less painful for the mystery mer, who had taken to clinging to Time’s shirt with his good hand.

Time carefully brushed back their hair, exposing the injuries on their head. Time frowned deeply.

“Can we help them?” Twilight asked, ringing his hands with worry.

“We can,” Time confirmed, and Twilight let out a full body sigh. “He’ll end up with some serious scarring, but he’ll live. What I’m more concerned about is the nature of these injuries,”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked, frowning as he looked over the injuries himself.

Malon came back, three bottles of red potion in her arms as she dropped to her knees next to Time. She handed him one of the bottles.

Time nodded, mouthing ‘thank you’ to her, and opened the bottle. “Twilight, support his head,”

Twilight reached out, lifting up the mystery mer’s head so that Time could tip the bottle back and they could drink without choking.

“Dad, what did you mean about the injuries?” Twilight tried asking again once the bottle was empty and they were waiting the few seconds needed to see how well the potion worked so they could gage how many they would need.

Time frowned, but eventually pointed to the parts of the mystery mer’s tail where the fins were missing. “Here, the injuries imply his fins were sawed off by netting,”

“Netting?” Twilight asked, not really following. He knew he was rather sheltered for merfolk, since he grew up on land, but he couldn’t think why someone could end up missing fins from netting.

Time nodded gravely. “Poachers use a specific kind of netting that can cause serious injuries if you struggle too much,”

“Poachers?” Twilight echoed. He wasn’t so naive that he didn’t know people tried to poach merfolk, but poachers never got near zora controlled waters, which was where he’d found the mystery mer. “What are poachers doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Time said, popping open another bottle to offer to the injured mer.

Twilight accepted the other bottle as his mother got up to go and get more.

They spent well over an hour there, crouching in the shallows with this mystery mer as they slowly fed them red potions.

After a long while, Time declared that was enough, and they sat back.

The blood had stopped, but the entire left side of the mer was red and raw still, a collection of marks that would scar pretty badly. But they’d live.

Time sighed, letting the mer cling to his shirt with no small amount of relief.

“He’ll probably need to relearn how to swim with the missing fins, but he’ll be alright,” Time said, and both his wife and son sighed. Time looked up at Twilight. “You did good, bringing him back here. You probably saved his life,”

Twilight smiled. “I was just trying to help,” he shrugged.

“Thank you,”

Everyone froze, and let their eyes fall to the very tired mer in Time’s arms. Their voice croaked and was very quiet, but they all heard it clearly.

They all blinked at each other. Apparently no one expected them to speak a human language.

“Of course,” Twilight said softly, offering one of his hands, which the mer took with their bad hand. “I wasn’t just going to leave you there,”

They nodded, squeezing Twilight’s hand weakly and offering a smile.

“Darling,” Malon asked gently, drawing attention up to her. “Do you mind if we ask your name?”

The mer said nothing, frowning softly.

“Do you have a name?” Twilight tried. Midna had told him that not everyone in the trench had names, and he knew nothing about tropical merfolk. Maybe they had Nameless too.

“I don’t know,” the mer finally said.

“You, don’t know?” Time echoed.

“I don’t remember much,” they admitted, curling in tighter towards Time’s chest. “The last thing I can think of is floating, and then he found me,” they pointed towards Twilight.

Time and Malon shared a look.

“You don’t remember anything?” Malon asked.

They shook their head lightly.

Time and Malon shared another look, and Twilight shifted uncomfortably, bringing his hand up to join the other, just so he had something to do with them. He knew his parents did this often, speaking silently through facial expressions, but he’d never been able to figure out what they were talking about.

“You aren’t going to send me back out to sea, are you?” The mer finally asked, looking more than a bit concerned. “I, I don’t want to go back out there alone,”

“Of course not, dear,” Malon promised them, reaching out to set her hands on the one Twilight had between his own hands. “We wouldn’t do that,”

“We will need to find a way to make sure he doesn’t dry out,” Time pointed out. “We do live on land,”

“We have an extra water trough,” Malon pointed out. “We could pull it inside and fill it up until we think of something better,”

Time hummed. “Would it be big enough?”

Malon frowned at him.

“Right, my mistake,” Time coughed, covering up an amused smile.

The mer finally turned to look at Twilight, marred up face twisted in confusion.

“My mother is human,” Twilight explained carefully. “Dad and I are merrow, but since we can live on land, and mom can’t live in the sea, we live on land. We can and will bring you home, but unless you happen to be merrow then we’ll need to find a container to fill with water for you,”

“I don’t remember if I’m merrow,” the mer said quietly.

“That’s okay,” Twilight smiled. “That’s why we’re talking about options,”

The mer nodded, and curled back into Time.

“Alright,” Time sighed. “Twilight, can you carry him up to the house? I’m going to run ahead with Malon to drag a spare trough into the house to fill up for him,”

“Sure,” Twilight nodded, readjusting how he was crouched to take the mer from his father.

Both his parents stood up and headed back to the ranch, and Twilight watched them go, then turned back to the mer. The mer had wrapped their arms around his neck to hold on, and was looking between the retreating forms of Time and Malon and back to Twilight.

“You don’t have gills,” they said.

Twilight tried to look down at his neck (unsuccessfully), and shrugged. “I do, but they’re closed up right now. I don’t need them in my human form,”

“Oh,” the mer said, then nodded. “That makes sense,”

Twilight stood up, grunting as he shifted how he was holding the mer, and began slowly walking up to the house. Slowly because he didn’t want to trip at all.

Sure enough, Malon and Time had set up a horse trough in the kitchen with a small amount of water in it, towels and other soft materials lining the edge. Twilight knelt down and set the mer in it, being careful to be mindful of the still only mostly healed injuries.

The trough was just a bit too small, the mer’s tail sticking out the one end even fully sitting up.

Twilight and the mer both looked at the arrangement, taking in the cramped conditions.

“Well, this is most certainly a temporary thing,” Time sighed, holding a bucket of water in his hands and frowning at the arrangement. “I’ll call Ruto and see if any of the zora have anything that can help tomorrow,”

“That would be good,” Twilight agreed, voicing the mer’s nod.

(---)

The zora did promise to help with better accommodations, but it would take a while. So the mer spent a week and a half in a repurposed horse trough.

They took the mer back out to the shore every day, and Time and Twilight tried to help him relearn how to swim with his injuries. A zora princess, Mipha, also often attended these lessons after Time had called Ruto and gotten the zora involved. Mipha was a healer, and Ruto had made it very clear that they would be looking into poaching in their waters as that was unacceptable, and wanted to make it up to the poor victim.

This worked well, as the mer took quite a liking to Mipha, and she to him.

Of course, this was also where Twilight and Time learned just how outgoing their new family member was.

Malon called him their ‘wild child’, and after a while ‘Wild’ just became his name.

It fit, if nothing else.

Even on land, Wild continually became more and more vocal and involved in day to day life. He had been very quiet and reserved when they first brought him home, probably a side effect of his memory loss, but as he got more comfortable with them he started coming out of his shell more.

He would sometimes remember random things, and sometimes they would be sad things and others would be happy, but it was never anything big, or that they could use to find his original pod.

Wild didn’t seem to mind that much. He mentioned more than once that he was happy where he was, and was glad Twilight had found him that day in the open water.

The day he called Twilight his brother was the day that Twilight decided he wasn’t going to easily let go of Wild. This was his little brother now and Wild was part of his pod. Time didn’t argue this declaration, just told Twilight to go make sure Wild didn’t hurt himself showing off for Mipha.

Wild did not get hurt showing off for Mipha. Barely.

Wild adapted rather well to the lack of fins, and eventually was swimming just as gracefully as Twilight. Which still wasn’t very graceful, but it was effective enough that he was swimming confidently.

Which is when they spotted the boat.

It was a marine research boat, Wild recognized it but didn’t know why. Marine researchers weren’t allowed in zora controlled waters, it was one of the things they did to crack down on poachers. Hard to pose as marine researchers when marine researchers weren’t allowed in the first place.

‘We should go find Mipha,’ Twilight flashed at Wild, watching the ship warily.

Wild said nothing and didn’t move, just looking at the ship.

‘Wild,’ Twilight grabbed his arm. ‘We should go,’

Wild turned and blinked at him. ‘I know this ship,’

That sent Twilight’s heart up into his throat. He couldn’t stop himself from eying Wild’s scars, a reminder of the poaching that he’d survived.

Twilight swallowed hard, reminding himself that if this was what he was worried about then he’d need to be the one to stay calm, and tightened his grip on Wild’s arm a tiny bit. ‘We need to go,’ he flashed again, trying to press more urgency this time.

Wild shook his head. ‘I know this ship,’ he repeated.

Twilight took a deep breath, glancing up at the ship and seeing people start looking over the side of the ship. That did not calm his nerves. ‘Wild, marine researchers aren’t allowed here. And,’ he trailed off, biting his lip as he struggled and failed to avoid looking at the scars.

Wild caught on and shook his head. ‘I have a good feeling about this ship. I think it’s a good thing,’

Twilight did his best to avoid the worry and panic building in his chest. ‘They still can’t be here. These are zora waters, marine researchers aren’t allowed here. We need to go tell Mipha and Ruto,’

Wild shrugged. ‘Go then, I’ll wait here,’

‘I am not leaving here without you,’ Twilight flashed.

People on the ship were pointing now, and a small boat was being loaded to lower.

Twilight was starting to really worry now, biting his lip and trying not to squeeze Wild’s arm any harder.

‘Wild, please,’

‘You’re really freaking out, aren’t you?’ Wild asked.

Twilight nodded, not bothering to hide it with how the smaller boat had all but hit the water already. They were basically already out of time.

‘Okay,’ Wild offered him, as though he was consoling a small child, which Twilight would be offended by in any other circumstance. ‘Let’s go find Mipha and Ruto and tell them there’s a boat here that shouldn’t be,’

Twilight relaxed just a bit. ‘Thank you,’

They turned to swim off just as the person in the small boat started shouting.

“LINK!”

Twilight startled, not sure how this person knew his real name, as he’d been named after his father and so they both had nicknames. Wild, however, froze.

“LINK!”

Twilight turned to look, seeing a blonde woman with short cut hair leaning over the edge of the small boat, the arm not balancing her switching between waving and cupping her mouth when she yelled.

“LINK!”

‘Wild?’ Twilight asked, shaking his shoulder slightly.

Wild snapped out of whatever daze he was in, twisting in the water to look at the woman.

“ZELDA?!” He shouted back, bubbles erupting from his mouth.

Twilight reared back. Wild never spoke out loud when underwater. Even in the big tank the zora installed for him in their house, he either flashed or surfaced to speak to them.

It didn’t even register that Wild knew the woman’s name until after Wild was already halfway to the surface.

Twilight panicked and followed.

Twilight made it to the surface slower than Wild, and very carefully peeked his eyes above the surface.

Wild had jumped up and had his arms hooked over the side of the boat, and was laughing alongside the woman.

“Oh, and who’s this?” ‘Zelda’ asked, spotting Twilight.

Twilight sunk just a bit further in the water, narrowing his eyes warily.

“Oh! That’s my brother, Twilight!” Wild waved him over, grinning. “Twi! This is Zelda! She’s a friend of mine!”

Twilight cautiously approached, trying to hide how his heart was still ramming in his chest. He poked the rest of his head out of the water.

“Hello Twilight,” Zelda smiled. “I didn’t realize Link had any siblings,”

“Hello,” Twilight said, voice carefully kept even, which was about as polite as he could manage. “You do realize your ship is illegally traveling through zora controlled waters, right?”

Zelda blinked at him, and Wild glowered. Twilight just waited.

“Well, no,” Zelda admitted. “My father had said he’d spoken to the zora here, and that we’d be able to pass through to look for Link. He went missing a while ago, and we’ve been very worried,”

“He was lying,” Twilight informed her bluntly. “If he really had spoken to the zora then he’d know that we’d found him already, and there’s no need to look,”

Both Wild and Zelda blinked at him.

“You’re certain?” Zelda asked.

Twilight lifted an arm to gesture at Wild. “How many merfolk do you know that would match his description?”

Zelda turned to look at Wild, who in turn blinked down at himself.

“You make a very good point,” Zelda conceded.

“You should probably get your boat out of here, before you get into a lot of trouble,” Twilight advised.

“Right, a very good idea. Thank you for warning me,” Zelda smiled, and Twilight could almost believe she was sincere, but he didn’t really want to do so, just in case.

“We won’t tell anyone about it,” Wild offered, and Twilight sent him a half-hearted glare. “So you don’t need to worry about getting in trouble,”

Twilight HAD planned to tell Time and Ruto about it.

“We will need to tell them that someone had lied about speaking to them about getting permission,” Twilight reminded Wild. “That could become a big problem in the future,”

“Oh,” Wild seemed to deflate.

“We don’t need to tell them who was here though,” Twilight offered hesitantly at Wild’s dejected look, not really caring about how worried Zelda was. “We can leave the ship and it’s crew anonymous,”

“Thank you,” Zelda gasped in relief again, smiling.

Twilight shrugged. “I will need your father’s name, though. For the report,”

“Oh, uh, right,” Zelda fumbled, but did provide a name.

“You should come visit!” Wild grinned. “I’d love to introduce you to the rest of the family!”

“The rest of your family?” Zelda asked.

Wild nodded. “Yeah, mom and dad,”

Zelda frowned. “Link, didn’t you tell me your parents had died in a wreck a few years ago?”

Wild blinked. “They did?”

Twilight looked between them. “You didn’t tell her about the amnesia, did you?”

“Amnesia?”

Wild slid off the side of the boat and sunk up to his nose under the water, his hair floating like spider legs around him.

Twilight sighed. “I found him a few weeks ago floating injured in the water here. I brought him home and my parents and I healed him, which is when we learned he had no memories of anything before I found him. We brought him home with us, since we didn’t want to just leave him alone in the sea. The parents he mentioned are my parents, since we adopted him into our pod after a week or so,”

“Oh,” Zelda blinked.

“I’ve been remembering things though!” Wild piped up. “It’s how I recognized you,”

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Zelda smiled. “And, I’d love to visit your new family, if they’d let me,”

She and Wild both looked at Twilight.

Twilight shrugged. “Mom is human and Dad and I are merrow, so show up on land without the ship and we’d be happy to let you in. We have been trying to find Wild’s original pod,”

“Wild?” Zelda blinked.

“We didn’t know his name and he didn’t remember,” Twilight explained. “We’ve been calling him Wild,”

“Ah,” Zelda nodded. “That makes sense. Where do you live? We’ll turn the ship around and meet you over land,”

Wild happily provided her their address, and she signalled for her smaller boat to be lifted up, promising to visit over land.

They watched until the ship had fully turned and left, and then headed back home.

Wild swam up to swim in front of Twilight.

‘You won’t get her in trouble, will you?’

‘The only person I plan to get in trouble is her father,’ Twilight explained.

‘Thank you,’ Wild flashed back.

Twilight did get Zelda’s father in a lot of trouble. Ruto had blown up, and Time, despite being dimmer than a true mer, still managed to nearly blind them as he went off.

It ended with Time and Ruto swimming off, publicly and angrily plotting while off on a warpath. Time likely had the same thoughts Twilight had.

They didn’t even have time to explain that they should be expecting company.

So they surfaced, Wild slapping the water while Twilight pulled on his skirt, and then Twilight carried Wild back to the house.

They decided to start by telling Malon that they’d have company before getting to the bit about Zelda’s dad lying.

A few hours later and Time walked in, still dripping and wearing only his skirt from coming out of the water. He was cursing under his breath.

Which is when the knock on the door sounded.

Wild shot up over the top of his tank, excitedly asking if it was Zelda, which confused Time immensely. Malon went to explain, and Twilight opened the door.

Zelda was tucking a bit of hair behind one of her ears, whispering with one of the people with her when the door swung open. The talking stopped when they saw him, not unexpected considering he was a big guy made mostly of muscle before even taking in the claws or second eyelid that came from being merrow.

Three people stood around her, sheikah Twilight guessed, based on the pure white hair and reddish eyes. One of the women had a streak of red dyed in her hair, and the man had a rather absurd haircut. At least the last woman looked mostly normal. Er, at least in that sense that she was only dressed like she was some kind of ninja or something. A gerudo woman stood a few feet back, watching him closely.

Twilight just smiled, not bothering to hide his fangs since he knew Zelda was already aware he was merrow.

“Zelda! You made it! We’ve been pretty excited about you coming over,”

Zelda smiled back. “Twilight! I’m glad we got the right house. It’s a pleasure to see you,” she waved at her companions. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a few more mutual friends of Link and I’s, since we’ve all been really worried about him. This is Impa, Purah and Robbie, and that’s Urbosa back there!”

Urbosa stepped up to the porch, eying Twilight. He got the impression she maybe didn’t know he was merrow.

“So, you’re the one who found and rescued Link,” Urbosa greeted.

Twilight nodded. “I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he offered his hand.

Urbosa accepted, eying the claws on his hand.

“Twilight?” Malon called, appearing behind him. “Is this the friend you and Wild mentioned?”

Twilight nodded, and stepped aside, inviting them all in.

Malon greeted them happily, waving them into the living room where Wild was mostly out of his tank.

Wild slipped when he went to wave, and Time reached up calmly to catch him. Time hadn’t bothered to change, but was wearing a towel around his shoulders and was no longer dripping.

“Careful,” Time warned. “You don’t want to fall out,” he said it seriously, but there was mirth in his eye.

Wild grinned sheepishly, but without shame, and slipped back into the tank.

Zelda ran right up to the tank, craning her head up to look at Wild, her companions following her.

“Link!”

Time swiveled his head to her, looking confused, and Twilight hid his snort behind his hand. Time eyed him as well.

“Zelda!” Wild grinned. “You came!”

Zelda scoffed. “Of course I came! And, I brought more friends of ours!” She waved at the others, who all echoed their own greetings.

“Twilight,” Time said slowly. “Did you know Wild was having friends over?”

“We tried to tell you when we reported the confused marine research ship,” Twilight explained. “But you and Ruto got so mad that we couldn’t find a spot to jump in, and then you both swam off. So we came home and told Ma,”

Time nodded, eying the group. “And, you’ve learned Wild’s real name?”

“Yes,” Twilight confirmed.

“And his name is Link?”

“Yes,”

Twilight’s grin never wavered, and Time just sighed. Malon burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Impa asked, eying the group.

“Oh, I,” Malon coughed, trying to reign in her laughter enough to speak. “There’s three of you!”

Time sighed, and Twilight’s grin just grew.

“What does that mean?” Zelda asked.

“I’m Link Jr,” Twilight explained, pointing. “Dad is Link Sr,”

A few more voices join Malon’s in laughter.

Time sighed again.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” Time said, walking out of the room, flicking his towel up over his head and pointedly ignoring the rest of them.

Twilight finally broke and snorted.

The conversation went very well actually, and Urbosa relaxed quite a bit once it was explained to her what merrow were. She came from the desert, and so hadn’t ever encountered merrow before, which explained the weird looks she gave Twilight when he opened the door.

Zelda promised to visit more as well, and to bring more of their mutual friends in the future, and agreed to stay for supper when Malon offered.

“Oh, Wild,” she turned on their way out, looking a bit curious and confused. “I have a question,”

“Yeah?” Wild asked, leaning out of his tank and still grinning.

“Why are you in a tank and your brother and father aren’t?”

Wild blinked. “Because they have legs,” he said, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes,” Zelda agreed. “But, so do you,”

“What do you mean?” Wild asked.

“Wild, you do know that you’re merrow, and not mer, don’t you?”

“I’M WHAT?!?!”

#linked universe #lu #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #malon #lu flora #mer au #injury mention #blood mention #behold! mer au fic!#i have one other thing with twi and wild #and one explaining what happened to wars #and i really need to introduce legend hyrule and four #but i'll do that later #for now there is this

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allteacher · 3 years

Text

also on ao3

Eris has been in the Tower for barely three weeks when she gets the message.

It should come as more of a surprise, but Eris has known since she crawled gasping out of the Moon’s tunnels that she would not have peace for long, even in the Tower. Even after she’d been discovered and inspected and questioned, spoken softly to and coddled and ensconced gently in her own private quarters— quarters in the civilian wing, far away from her old rooms.

“All your things are still in storage,” Ikora had told her that first day, watching Eris look around her new bedroom, empty save the large windows looking down on the memorial gardens. The view is of the Firebreak section; Eris had refused anything where she could see the names of the people she’d known, where the City planners had just yesterday taken down the stone inscribed with her own name.

She still hasn’t retrieved any of her things, the ragged cloaks or the blankets or the chipped mugs she’d stolen from the Hunter’s Lounge. She thinks about going into that dark room filled with the markers of her past life, sometimes. Sometimes she thinks she will open the heavy metal door and her old self will be standing there, surrounded by the past. Sometimes this is a dream; more often it is a nightmare.

Every few days, Eris sneaks into the supply closet at the end of the hallway and takes one of the chain locks from its carefully-labeled container. She installs them carefully, tests her weight against the door to see if it gives: fragile charms against some future ruin. She knows anything she is truly afraid of could not be stopped by something so mortal, but the action gives her hands something to do; material action, however useless, in service of her own protection.

(She’d done the same on the Moon, before they’d ventured down into the pit: the six of them, holed up in some small lunar colony outbuilding, she and Vell nailing sheets of spinmetal to the doors to keep out wandering Hive in the night. The chalk of bone dust in her throat as Toland had hung Hive-charms over each threshold, humming to himself.

Sai had looked at him, grin questioning. “Are those going to blow us up?”

Eris knows now they would’ve done much worse.)

She hauls herself to her feet, examines her handiwork. If Ikora saw her, she’d call Eris obsessive. Eris knows she is; she wants something new to obsess over. Wants to think of nothing but Crota, to dream of nothing else until his great luminescent corpse is rotting in his Throne. This is why, when her comm chimes with the one-two tone of a summons, she turns toward it with an eager expectation. Maybe Ikora has convinced the Vanguard to listen to her, finally.

The message is from a channel she’s never seen, not before she entered the Hellmouth or since. There’s no text, just a string of coordinates and, at the bottom, a series of pictographs. They’re not Hive runes, have none of the sinuous incomprehensibility.

Eris, the habit worn into her, has her suspicions. But she speaks of them to no one, has the feeling she’s guessed the importance of the secret she’s been entrusted with.

The message has no date attached, so she waits a few more days before acting. She spends that time in a stupor, drifting around her little room, sometimes venturing to the library or to the secluded back hallways of the Hidden to ask for information. She still keeps to the shadows, because no one in the City or the Tower has grown used to her presence yet. Idly, she considers the idea that she is making her problem worse, only alienating herself further by refusing to come fully into the light, to let herself be seen. In these in-between days, she cannot bring herself to care.

She considers leaving without telling anyone. She does not think she will be gone long, and she does not need permission to leave the City. But she considers what the Vanguard, already suspicious of her, would think, what conclusions they would draw. What Ikora would think if Eris disappeared into the night, like she’d done with Eriana so many years ago.

Finally, she sneaks into Ikora’s office.

Eris wastes no time on formalities once she sees Ikora's figure behind her desk, piled high with reports. "I am leaving the City for the afternoon," she says. It is not a lie, because she is loathe to hide anything but what she must from the one person who has tried to welcome her back into the City, who still sees her as an equal. "I am not going off-world. I should be back before tomorrow." The words feel stiff in her mouth even as she says them, but she is still relearning conversations not conducted in whispers or screams.

Ikora does not beam at her, does not over-indulge her, but Eris can still feel the warmth of her Light radiating outward. “Alright," she says, "Radio if you need any assistance. And let me know if you see anything unusual. I’ve been receiving strange reports, lately.”

Eris hopes that isn’t a warning. She inclines her head, leaves without a word.

She departs immediately, before her paranoia can get the better of her. She flies over the Cosmodrome for half an hour before inputting the coordinates she’d long since memorized— some Hidden practicality had made her delete the message almost as soon as she’d read it. She comes to the location soon enough, a little clearing tucked into some foothills. Still on Earth, which she privately considers a blessing. She does not know if she would have been able to leave it, yet, not when her wounds are still so raw.

Eris parks her little ship in the shadow of a few trees. She feels secure having it a physical presence near her, a concrete mode of retreat. It’s more than she’d ever had in the tunnels.

She picks her way across a stream, climbs to the top of a small hill that rises over the clearing. She sees the figure immediately, cutting a striking figure against the weak afternoon light. Even from here, he hurts her eyes to look at. She grimaces, continues down towards him.

As she grows closer, the figure grows more obvious: Osiris. She’d had her suspicions, driven by what she’d remembered of his writings before his exile, Toland’s ravings. Even the message had a certain Warlock quality to it, a mystery, a challenge. She and Eriana had crafted just such a message with their own hands once, join us in our quest…

Osiris looks as she remembers him, though she’d only ever seen him from a distance. Eriana had disliked him, had hated his presence as Warlock Vanguard. Despised his position because of the power it gave him over the Praxic Fire, who stood in clear opposition to everything he'd gradually become.

(“I don’t see why he’s so desperate to understand them. I’m tired of trying to simply understand,” Eriana had groaned once, servos whirring, bent over some ancient tome. “I do not need to know the Hive to raze them to ashes. I only need to know what they have taken from us.”)

Forgive me, Eris thinks. She will not get her vengeance without fully comprehending everything the Hive are, without learning the weft and weave of their existence so that she can unravel it.

She blinks and she is standing before him. “Osiris,” she says. Maybe it is her memories of Eriana but she feels like a newly-Risen, again, standing before him. He is a figure cut neatly from her past and transplanted into the present, unchanging, looking down at her.

“Eris Morn,” he says, and Eris does not startle but she is, for some reason, surprised that he knows just who she is. She knows that it is her own tortuous journey that has made him seek her out, that it is her pain that has made her valuable. Some part of her rails against it, even as she is desperate to turn her nightmares into something usable, to prove to herself that their deaths were not meaningless, that they have done something other than feed the Hive’s ever-eager desire for suffering.

Osiris is looking at her strangely. Eris tries to stare back, but her eyes skitter sideways off of him, the afterimage of his silhouette burning in her eyes. She must make another face, because Osiris’ Ghost slides close to him, spinning intently, and the aura of his Light fades to a shimmer over his skin.

“I know you have information regarding the Hive,” he tells her. “The City ignores your warnings.”

“As they ignored yours.” It is not meant as a challenge, but everything she says sounds bitter, now.

Most of his face is covered, but the tilt of his head changes. “Yes. But we both know what is coming. The question is how to stop it.”

Eris has never been good at these Warlock-games, at talking in circles, hinting closer and closer to what lies plain before them both. “I think I know how to kill Crota,” she says, because she needs to get to the heart of the thing that has been eating her alive. She needs to tell someone who will understand.

And she thinks Osiris will understand, because he has not been through the Hellmouth but he does understand what it is like to exist utterly alone with the enemy, to be shaped by your experience of something completely alien. To be so utterly changed that everyone around you can only think you mad.

“Tell me, then,” he says, and so she does.

#destiny the game #eris morn #osiris #my fic #sometimes you have to get a fic out of your brain in order to get to the actual fic you want to write #aka 'this is the prequel to that eris&osiris fic i was talking about last month'#(they'll actually interact in that one i promise)

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fluffi · 3 years

Text

MY DETENTION BUDDY :: JAY

pairing: jay x gn!reader genre: fluff, badboy!jay, highschool!au, friends-enemies-lovers!au word count: 2k event: for @lovesick-net and (early) jay day 200421 <3 author’s note: simple little one-shot for jay’s birthday (i wont be uploading anything for his actual birthday). i had to speedrun this fic because i kept changing the plot and this hasnt been proofread twice (unlike my other fics) T-T i hope it’ll still work out. warnings: (reader makes one bad decision)

Ring...ring...ring...ring..ring…

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring

Ringringringringiringringringring.

RIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRRI-SLAM!

The alarm clock stopped its boisterous wailing

10 more minutes. I don’t have to style my hair today.

Thirty minutes passed.

RIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRIRI- SLAM!

Ugh. I’ll just miss assembly.

RIRIRIIRRIRIRI-

This time, the ringing stopped before he could slam his hand over the alarm clock.

“Jongseong, do you not have school today?” Jay could only make out a bush of black that stood above him as he sat up, dazed and drowsy.

“Yeah, I do. I’m about to get ready. Why?”

“It’s 9 am! You should be at school! At this point, you don’t even have to go anymore.” His mother huffed in disappointment.

It was an exaggeration, but she had a point. School started at eight in the morning. It was already an hour later but he was still sitting in bed.

“I’ll get ready now. 10 minutes. Good to go.” He shooed his mom away, already running to the bathroom to wash up.

“I’m leaving now Jay. You know darn well that I have an important meeting today and I can’t miss it just for you to not get a tardy. Heck, you’re already late! You’re-”

“Mom! I can’t walk to school! It takes too long.” Jay whined as he brushed his teeth, his muffled voice interrupting his mother’s speech.

“Young man, stop interrupting me. I told you a week ago about today’s event and it’s not my fault that my oldest son can’t take care of himself. You’re going to have to take another mode of transport, you’re old enough to deal with this yourself!” With that, his mother stormed out of his room, her feet obnoxiously thumping on the floor.

“I’m also your only son...” Jay muttered.

Of all days, why did she have to have her meeting today? Monthly evaluations aren’t that important. Dangit, I should’ve been taught how to drive. Jay returned to his rapid multitasking, grabbing his school uniform while washing his face. He didn’t even look twice,

After taking the quickest shower he had ever taken in his entire life and shoving all of his essential (what he determined as essential, at least) belongings into his bag, he opened to door and dashed outside only to be met with…

Rain.

Rain everywhere. Drenching the front yard’s perfectly tended flower garden and creating heaps of watery mud. It was pouring at 9.15 am. There was thunder and occasional flashes of light zooming through the clouds. The city was in shambles.

Not like, shamble, shambles. It was shambles in Jay’s opinion as he groaned and stomped his way through the rain.

Screw school. Screw this stupid rain, screw my alarm clock, screw this-

“Dude, why are you running in the rain? You’re soaked. Are you heading to school?” A pink-haired boy in a red Ferrari shouted from across the street.

Jay sighed in relief, immediately running across the road to said Ferrari. “Choi Yeonjun. You are a life-saver. Could I get a ride real quick? I’ll pay back for engine fees and for soaking the inside of your Ferrari with rainwater.”

“Hop right in, and don’t worry about returning. Let’s have some fun with this baby.” Yeonjun smirked and revved the engine, swerving past cars and buildings like it was a little RPG game.

At this rate, I’ll make it to school in no time.

“Dude, I’m so sorry. I guess you have to walk.”

Just as he thought things were taking a better turn, Yeonjun decides to show off his new driving skills and zooms through roads at a rapid speed, so fast that he crashed the car by a tree. It was a miracle that both of them didn’t get hurt but as far as Jay was concerned, he could worry about that some other time. This was just slowing him down on his long and tedious journey towards his form of hell.

On the bright side, the rain had stopped and the sunshine was back as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll get going to school.” Jay internally groaned and started sprinting in the direction of his school.

“Hey, at least I helped you get closer to school! Didn’t I?” Yeonjun shouted from behind and coyly smiled.

Such a boastful punk, Jay thought. “Whatever, bro!” He turned back and gave his older friend a quick wave before dashing off.

“Park Jongseong! You’re late...again.”

“I’m aware.” Jay didn’t spare his English teacher an eye and slung his backpack over the chair, about to take a seat.

“Stop giving me attitude, I’m your teacher.Why are you tardy for the fourth time this month?”

“Alarm clock.”

“Alarm clock what? Are you afraid to speak up? I don’t see you acting like this in the hallways.”

Jay looked down at his feet and sighed before side-eyeing his teacher. “Overslept, okay? Sir if you could just let me off the hook you would be able to proceed with your Shakespeare nonsense.”

The entire class snickered. It was no secret that Jay loathed Mr. Jung, the English teacher. Who didn’t? Mr. Jung treated every student in school like they were incapable toddlers and it was a wonder that anyone would dare to stand up to his stupid remarks. Jay’s carefree attitude towards his horrible teachers was one of the reasons why he earned so many fangirls.

Not like you were one, of course. You watched as he pulled his chair out and sat next to you out of the three other vacant seats at the back of the class.

Mr. Jung rolled his eyes and continued writing on the blackboard. “Also, Jongseong,” he added, “you’re wearing your school shirt the wrong way round. See you in detention for your tardiness.”

A few of the girls in a few seats in front of him whispered rapidly, although whispering didn’t stop Jay from finding out about their gossip.

“Lol! So much for being the bad boy of our grade. He looks like a wreck today.”

“I know right? I wonder what the other fangirls will think of this. Should we send the pictures to the fan club?”

The second girl giggled. “Yeah, duh. Name it jay-park-wreck-images.”

So much for my reputation. Jay could only roll his eyes as he pulled out his supplies, ignoring the camera clicks coming from the seats in front of him.

“Oh, yay. At least I’ll have a detention buddy now.”

Jay eyed you up and down like your statement was some sort of monstrosity. “Detention? You, detention? Pfft.” He laughed.

“Yeah, Jay. Me, detention. Why are you so happy about it? Glad to be stuck with another girl?”

“What, no-no. You just...don’t seem like the type to be in detention. How’d you get it?”

“This..may be kind of embarrassing, but...” You turned to the side and Jay gasped.

On the sleeve of your uniform was a...rabbit? It wasn’t too obvious as to what the marker doodle was but it was apparent that you had intentionally spent time to draw on it.

“Look, I was bored in assembly this morning and found a spare marker in my pocket! Don’t judge, we all know how bad assembly can be.” You blurted just as Jay was about to ask why you had done what you did.

“You could’ve just drawn on your hand or done something else with the marker.” Jay sighed and shook his head at your dumb decision.

“I was out of my mind, okay? Ugh, Assembly always drives me nuts. I got called out for for the horrendous ink bleed when Mr. Jung saw as I walked into the classroom. He said it ‘didn’t follow school guidelines’.”

“For once, I agree with Mr. Jung. It was a stupid choice, you know? If you didn’t draw on your uniform then you wouldn’t have to go to detention now.”

“Jay Park, the bad boy of school, is telling me to be a rule abider. Biggest twist of the century.” You rolled your eyes.

Jay frowned and turned back at you, losing that little spark in his eyes that he once kept. “I’m not a bad boy you know? I just don’t like the system in place here.”

“As if anyone is going to believe that. Go hang out with another girl of yours. I’m not here to be your toy.”

“People like you are the reason why everyone thinks I’m a bad person. I thought you were different, you know?”

You had been preoccupied with taking notes for class, but now you looked at him with squinted eyes. “Well, I am different. Different as In someone who doesn’t fall for your useless charms. Go suck up to your fangirls or something.”

Jay rolled his eyes and scooted away from you. He thought he had been lucky to meet you, but he guessed not.

You always do this, you idiot. You were so close to making a new friend.

You put your hands in your head and side-eyed Jay, who seemed to be struggling as Mr. Jung blurted out an entire unit’s summary.

The boy hadn’t brought any stationery and was definitely on the wrong page of the textbook. You figured that he was this disheveled from his absolute lack of planning but you still felt bad.

His hair was a mess, it was still damp from the rain before. If only you could help him style it…

Why do I want to touch his hair? That’s weird and gross.

You were so occupied with thinking about Jay that you realized that he was still struggling in class.

Maybe you could make things better.

“I’m sorry.”

Jay was struggling to find the page you guys were on for class when a pencil blocked his view.

“What do you want?” He said as he tried to look past your pencil swinging.

“It’s a pencil for you since I realized that your table is practically empty and you’re going to need something to take notes with for later. Also, it’s page 153, not 53.” You leaned over to help him flip the pages.

“Oh, that makes so much more sense. I was wondering why we were relearning unit 3 when finals aren’t even near yet.”

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at a relieved Jay. “So you do pay attention in class.”

“Of course I do! I’m a student. You should stop using that stereotype on me.” Jay frowned and a tinge of disappointment shadowed his face.

“Right, I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to work on it, it’s rumors and assumptions that have built up over the past few years and I understand that it shouldn’t get in the way of our friendship.”

“Friendship? We have a friendship?” Jay chuckled and cocked an eyebrow up, teasing you.

Maybe it was that eyebrow slit or the weird tension that was building up between the both of you. You felt your face heat up. “I mean- yeah, friendship. Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, hun. I thought we were something more.”

“Um...best...friends?”

It was perfect timing as the bell rang and you immediately started packing things into your bag, eyes glued to the clock instead of the amused boy next to you.

Jay laughed, running his hands through his blonde locks and watching as you started running out of class, your eyes occasionally looking back at him to see if he was still staring at you.

“See you in detention!” He called, drawing the attention of your classmates.

Jay Park needs to learn how to shut his mouth. Everyone was now staring at you and you were flustered, embarrassed, shocked, and confused. The weird mix of emotions were driving you nuts. All you could muster was a little nod and you dashed out of there as fast as you could.

“Today we’re going to learn about Murphy’s Law. It is where anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“But everything that can work, will work.” Jay raised his hand and added, sparing a glance at you jotting notes in the back of the classroom, oblivious to his reference towards you.

“You’re right Jay. Murphy’s Law works both ways. Reversing it is considered part of science…”

Today morning was a storm (figuratively and literally) and everything seemed to be going wrong for Jay. Murphy’s Law prevails. but there’s always a rainbow after the storm. You were his rainbow and his lucky charm.

2021 © fluffi

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themand0lorian · 3 years

Note

How does impression, sunrise Marcus handle the reader getting hurt on the job? How do the kids react?

Oooh an interesting question anon!! I purposely moved reader to cyber crimes because it would be a position mostly done from a desk, meaning relatively safe (like art theft I imagine would be) but let’s see

This ended up much longer than I thought so I guess this is my first head cannon for this universe lol

Also I’m on mobile so I apologize in advance for typos, weirdness, etc.

also also spoilers for impression, sunrise below the cut if thats not immediately apparent

Grace

Grace is a baby, and I honestly think would not even recognize anything unless it was like, an injury to your face. She’d be a little alarmed by the bandages, leaning into Marcus and balling her fists into his shirt but the second she figured out it was you under there she’d be like “oh cool it’s mom” and just be normal about it (babies have no sense of object permanence though so depending on how long you’re hurt this may be a daily occurrence until she learns, and then when the bandages are off she has to relearn what your normal face looks like. basically Gracies whole life is just this emoji 😳)

She would also absolutely get her grubby fingers up in any bandages, casts, etc because babies always have sticky fingers and are insistent on shoving those sticky fingers anywhere they can, ESPECIALLY if you respond “ow,” that’s like baby kryptonite and she will find that spot that hurts every single time she’s near you from then on

If you hurt your hand or your arm or something and couldn’t do her hair Marcus would make extremely pitiful attempts at throwing it up into her little sprout, but it would fall out after 3 minutes of baby toddling because he never made the elastic tight enough (he’s afraid he’ll hurt her head)

he then attempts to watch YouTube tutorials on elaborate hair styles that will literally never work because her hair is like 3 inches long and super fine but you let him try the braids and twists anyway because their little daddy-daughter hair time actually melts you into a puddle

Eli

Eli would be peak worried™️ he knows someone hurt his mom and dad and that’s how he ended up with you and Marcus, so if he even heard you got hurt he would basically shut down into terrified mode (Marcus would try to keep it from him but the kid is nosy and the second he heard the word or sensed Marcus’ uneasiness he’d turn to panic mode)

Once he worked out whatever was going on in his little head he would constantly be asking if you were coming home, when he could see you, etc

If you were noticeably banged up (cuts, bruises, bandages) he would be scared, but not in the same way as Gracie—he understands it’s you under there but that scares him more because parents are supposed to be superheroes??? And he’s already lost some??? He can’t lose these ones too??? (Wow the big sad comin in here)

He vows to become a police officer too so he can catch whatever bad guys hurt you (he still has no concept of the fbi vs. police but you know what he means and you think Marcus will have an aneurism out of worry if that actually happens)

He absolutely gives you Wilbur (the stuffed rabbit) to cuddle with but then also ends up back in bed with you cuddling into your side, Wilbur between you both pretty much 24/7 if you need rest

He’s a little rough with you because he doesn’t understand that what he’s doing can hurt (hitting your injury as he snuggles, bending you the wrong way, etc) but the second Grace tries to touch or do anything he immediately tells her you’re hurt and she needs to be REALLY careful (that rule does not apply to him) and will show her how to touch nicely (it’s still too hard but you appreciate the sentiment and also you would let them re-injure you if it meant they were happy/you were still here with them)

Basically he’s a terrified boy which is heart breaking but also he is really trying and will be very sweet and draw you pictures and stay glued to you once he knows you’re okay and probably insist that you never go to work again until you can calm him down

Marcus

Ah yes, sweet boy Marcus

Essentially, when he finds out, his only reaction is sheer terror

Carson agrees to take the kids immediately and sends him to you, but he’s basically an autopilot until he sees you’re alive (doesn’t matter how severe the injury was, he automatically goes to worst case scenario every time after Stanford almost shot him)

As soon as he sees you bandaged up or bruised or whatever, panic very briefly subsides into relief and he checks you over himself as if he’s making sure all your arms and legs are still attached, like the he thinks he will find something the doctors didn’t

Basically you are very precious to him and so as soon as he counts ten fingers and ten toes attached to your body he immediately goes into guilt mode, like he should have been there to help you or protect you or to do something because he would gladly take every ounce of pain you have to make it so you were fine

Somehow you end up comforting him because 1. It’s very obviously not his fault and 2. You don’t even work on the same team anymore so why would he have been there and then he feels even worse because HE should be comforting YOU

Essentially, mans a wreck, and then you smile at him and he gives that crooked half-smile back and it’s like you’re the only people in the hospital

Of course, you’re not—Eli heard Carson tell his partner you were hurt and threw a tantrum until Carson brought him to see you, so as usual he barges in at that moment

After you get home Marcus won’t let you do anything for yourself. Thirsty? He’s bringing you three types of water/tea/soda. Hungry? You bet he’s already cooked. Lean over the bed for the phone charger? No ma’am you need to ask him and he will get it for you (after he saw your acrobatics to reach it without getting up he bought a ten foot cord and mounted it to the wall)

The man would literally carry you to the bathroom if you’d let him, so you have to draw a line somewhere, and it seems to pain him to see you back up and at it before he thinks you should be

He tries to do everything around the house, with the kids, etc for you so you don’t have to lift a finger but in turn ends up wiped out by 7 most nights from running himself ragged

BUT he’ll wake up in the middle of the night to watch you breathe, thinking about how much all this makes him love you even more because you’re HERE, and you do so much for him and the kids that being tired feels like a small price to pay for having you with him

Little does he know he’s making you love him more for all his concern and care and doting and just being typical soft protective Marcus, the only reason you got through it was to see him and the kids again—

—but he does try to convince you to somehow find an even safer job and you tell him “I will when you will” and give him a big ole kiss because both of you know it’s never going to happen

wow I am soft

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #impression sunrise #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x y/n #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist #headcannons #cw: injury

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kettlequills · 3 years

Text

ok so this was inspired by this post made by @argisthebulwark - check her blog out! - about dovahkiin soulmates that could feel each other's pain. naturally i ran with the concept of dragonborn soulmates. feat. my ldb laataazin/miraak.

Laataazin has always felt trapped. Before they are Laat-aaz, even, when they are a nameless prisoner, hands-bound, another to be executed through a simple whim of fate. No memories then in the buzzing darkness of their mind, but a feeling of fear, confusion, brief-dawning wonderment on the heels of hot green rage in the drumming space of their chest that was theirs-and-not-theirs. Breath hurting, unused lungs and trembling hands that will not grip round the hilt of the sword Hadvar tries to press into their hands like they know it ought. Like they know scars on their bodies – body, for there is only one Dragonborn, only one.

How dare, their mind rages, how dare the gods try to discard me.

These thoughts, these hungers, these fears, are surely Laataazin’s alone, clear as Masser’s moonlight in the dark sky.

They have known imprisonment, in the cold, whispering bowels of Dragonsreach dungeons, where Mephala murmurs maliciously in every iron bar and chiselled stone, hissing breaths dampening, soft and light as cobwebs falling upon a sleeper’s eye, sanity, safety, sight. Trying to tempt, twist, torment total truth from the prisoner-that-would-be-Laataazin, named Dovahkiin and wrestling the ashes of Mirmulnir into restless ebb. Oil-and-ink in Laat’s nose, and a will that is theirs-and-not-theirs, resistant, defiant, no more daedra than dragonfire, sings firm around Mephala’s words, like the thrum of earthbones a song that refuses to be a bound-and-fooled-slave again.

Don’t complain so much, says the thoughts-that-are-Laataazin, they’ll let you out.

Their dragon-soul, for it must be theirs, is loud, angry, knows their head. It refuses to be quieted, grumbles and snaps at the rolls and reams of papery scrolls the Greybeards set down in front of them, snarling answers in a mother-tongue Laataazin has never known, with the air of distant, impatient distraction, like wings brushing across planes. Laataazin is not much of a reader, puzzles through relearning letters in dusty texts that take bored moments to recall when their body slumps softening into slow sleep. They wake with understanding and vague, boundless frustration, dragon-words in dragon-soul that mutter about Stupid fools and their vapid teachings, you will never learn with these chains on your wings.

Laataazin meditates for endless hours on frigid snowcaps with Paarthurnax’s breath steaming the snow and still thinks of smashing skulls and bloodied steel, still thinks of broken wills and shattered spirits.

It is, they tell Paarthurnax, a losing battle. There is something in them that wants out, and it will stop at nothing, nothing, to claw itself free from the trap locked shut around its howling muzzle.

Mortality is a losing battle, Paarthurnax reminds them. It is their nature to beat against the bars of inevitability, and turn their faces from the grind of time.

Hypocritical lizard, the soul-that-must-be-Laataazin’s mutters, and Laataazin chooses not to share this or the smile it provokes.

Laataazin goes about their divine-driven hunting of twin-souled dragons, who speak to them in a language they know, who challenge them to fights they win, who know them and are stranger to them in a way that only the careless and god-flung may be. They do not want to kill the dragons that are like themselves, who look at the sky and see a glorious road untravelled rather than the distant god-realm for no mortal to cross.

Your soft heart will do us harm, their soul reminds them. Do not spare what hungers to hurt.

Delphine tells them that they are not bloodthirsty enough, that they accept the surrender of too many, and create surrender still where there is not even that. That there is no point sparing monsters, and that Laataazin has a duty, a destiny, a fate.

Laataazin tells Delphine and their soul both that they have chosen a different path. But Akatosh does not make the same mistake twice, and this time, there is no give in the leash of fate wrapped tightly around the neck of the Last Dragonborn.

Ushered by inevitability, they go to face Alduin, and within them their soul rants and raves for its freedom. Fate! Fate! The gods laugh at us.

In Sovngarde, they feel empty, empty. It is a dead place for dead souls, and there is no place for living ties in bodies that breathe and fates that twine. Laataazin’s chest feels cold and dim, unwarmed by so total an omnipresence they had thought it part of themselves. It is not, they know now. There is… something, someone, else.

Gormlaith’s golden hair shines like septims when she smiles at Laataazin, all bared teeth. I knew you would come around, she says, and Laataazin wonders which of them she is talking to, Alduin-that-is-Akatosh, or Laataazin-that-is-trapped. Like standing in a boxful of mirrors, making eye-contact with a thousand versions of an image, an icon, a legend, borne through the ages to consume itself.

It is done. Alduin returns to himself, and fate twirls the key to the shackles of its Last prisoner. Tsun drags their weeping body from the gate and casts it into the realm of air and sunlight, wordless in the face of their inappropriate grief. When Laataazin returns, staggering and coughing out their lungs onto the windswept emptiness of the snow-throat beneath the watching dragon-eyes, feeling slams back into them with all the force of a tidal wave. Pure, blistering rage, fanned so hot it can only be the most animal of panic.

Where did you go? demands the thing-that-is-not-Laataazin. Why couldn’t I feel you?

Laataazin presses their hand to their chest and feels relief, relief, vast enough to swallow the sun.

I thought I had lost you, the prisoner thinks.

Come to me, longs the other.

What force on Tamriel could resist a plea like that? To Solstheim it is and kneeling in the hot ash Laataazin feels the sky all around them open up and his presence close in like breath on their neck.

You are so much louder here, Laataazin tells him, their steps still wobbly from the boat.

You walk on my land now, Miraak replies, and what a wonder to know his name, to touch with travel-sore body land his own has walked, see with dust-stung eyes what his has seen. I grow ever nearer to you.

You did not need to enslave these people, Laataazin thinks at the Tree Stone, watching empty-eyed cultists and blankened reavers work on towering edifices of stone. The mumbling figures remind them of Sovngarde, that terrible emptiness where once a gnawing pain sat. I am here.

I did not think you would come. Miraak’s admission is grudging, a little bitter. But as Laataazin walks through the stone doors of the temple, they hear the clatter of tools dropping, and the shouts of startled reavers.

Laat grins, feels it mark their face wide and feral. Put your best panties on then, for I shall see you soon.

Do not keep me waiting any longer. His pain is audible in the bones that house their heart, his impatience like whips licking the soles of their feet, his eagerness like teeth to their neck. Laataazin opens the Book, and there he is.

“You are shorter than I expected,” is what the soul-of-their-soul tells them, towering over them, crowned in blue and gold like fearless god and dripping ink like blood.

“And you are as obnoxious as I predicted,” Laataazin says, but already they are approaching him, and he does not move away but flinches when their hands meet his chest.

They bear together his pain from centuries of untouched isolation, the nerves awakened by another that burn like needles and dragon-fire, and they bear together the pleasure too, found in smoothing gauntleted hands over thick robes, found in solidity, presence.

I would touch you like this everywhere you could bear it, then more, Laataazin thinks, and their hands come away inkstained when they lift them to cup the golden mask, which tilts, as if its wearer has flinched again at the thought whispered into the ear of his mind like a promise.

The prince that Laataazin favours most is not cunning Mephala who whispers to them in Whiterun, nor Hermeaus Mora, who believes himself masterful gardener of all, but ruby-red Sanguine, who with a gift of a loving if unconventional wife found in a night of revelry wins anew with each feathered kiss their loyalty. It is therefore Miraak who tears himself from this indulgence of touch first, and takes a few steps back. The words of fate are a well-settled cloak employing the ruthless machine of purpose.

“And so the First meets the Last at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak says, ringing, proud. “Tell me, did you enjoy the dregs of my destiny?”

“If you had not turned from your fate to kill Alduin, I would not have awoken,” Laataazin replies, dryly, “so to some extent, yes. To other extents, fuck you.”

“That same fate decrees you must die for me to win my freedom.” Miraak’s mask is expressionless, but Laataazin does not need it – they can feel through the glass of body-barriers the surge and roil of the infection of wounds thousands of years untreated, the bitterness, the fear. It has beat within their heart from the very first moment of their waking in Helgen, as their grief, their loss, burns like wildfires in his.

“Freedom?” says one prisoner to another. “What freedom is this? Aren’t you tired of being what they ask of you? Haven’t you paid the price?”

“Do you not feel how the world has warped around you since you awoke?” Miraak’s hand is tightening on his sword hilt, but he does not draw. “You cannot die, you do not sleep, you are not real, or you alone exist – there can only be one Dragonborn.”

“We will both be free,” Laataazin asserts.

“Time, and reality, would not survive us both,” Miraak says, but Laataazin knows their dragon-soul, and knows he is hungry, hungry, and tired of cages.

Boldly, Laataazin reaches out. Miraak takes their hand, masked eyes searching, like he is a man on open water clinging to the uncertain shelter of driftwood.

“That is Akatosh’s problem,” says Laataazin, “I choose to have you.”

#hi syd let me know if you want me to take this down #inkwrites #laataazin #miraak #laataazin/miraak #this is kinda disgustingly fluffy #and self-indulgent #skyrim #tes

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scribbles97 · 3 years

Text

Paris

From @gumnut-logic 's AU Where There Be Dragons

Specifically from THIS FIC exploring Eos' creation

Thank you for letting me play in your universe Nutty.

“Eos has promised to do no more harm. She just needs a chance.” Please, Gordon. A one-sided slow blink as the black spots danced. “I invoke Paris.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “John, no. No, not for this. Please!”

“Worth it.” And John was falling, hands grabbing at him until he blanked out.

It was Grandma who saved John.

And Gordon who saved Eos.

Because John saved Gordon.

Paris was beautiful at night, there was no denying, John thought as he strolled the banks of the Seine with Penelope on his arm. The city was more to Scott or their father’s taste, all boutique tailors and nice places to lunch. Women that smiled prettily and batted their eyelashes until one paid attention to them.

Alongside him, Penelope was dressed to match the most elegant of ladies in the city. All tight corsets and coats that she complained pinched at her waist, and big skirts that took up more space in the carriage than John needed as a whole.

It was apparently the fashion though, and John had caught more than one so-called gentleman taking a second look at the pale pink dress she had been wearing over dinner. Even covered in her winter cape, thick, dark and heavy to protect from the cold night, he still caught others looking. He didn’t doubt the question in their eyes of what was under such a luxurious coat.

John had no such interest. The oil lamps that lined the streets blocked out the stars, their light drowned out by something artificial.

Penelope has asked for him specifically though, insisting that his brothers stay aboard Thunderbird Five nestled away deep within the English Channel. She had been unwilling to say more until they were well on their way to Paris from Calais. Apparently the other didn’t need to know until more information had been garnered.

With both Gordon still not operating at full steam, and Scott and Virgil insistent on mollycoddling, John hadn’t disagreed.

“What is on your mind?” Penelope murmured, turning slightly to look up to him, “I can hear the cogs turning from here.”

He knew his smile was tight and hardly reassuring to the lady that saw everything. To trick Penelope was fatal, and near impossible for his family. She knew them all too well, had spent enough days watching them all to know their traits and tells.

John wasn’t sure he would ever have reason to lie to her anyway.

“Gordon.” He admitted softly.

Her frown was brief but noticeable as she focussed on the path ahead, twirling her umbrella slightly as her brow dipped.

“I thought your brother was doing well?”

“He is.” John nodded, tugging at his scarf slightly against the frosty night air rolling in off the river, “As you saw, he is walking well now. The function he has regained, even at this point, is remarkable.”

“However?”

“You know my brothers, Penelope,” He smiled with a slight shake of his head, “They are not patient men. Gordon wishes to prove he is fit, that he can and should be allowed to return to duty alongside us.”

“He is not ready.”

“He is not.” John confirmed.

Her hand squeezed his arm tightly in a form of silent reassurance as she nodded ahead, “I believe this is the barge we were looking for.”

John followed her gaze, recognising the figure stood under the next lamp smoking his pipe.

“I would be inclined to agree.”

He took the step across first, holding his hand out for her as she stepped lightly from pavement to the boat. The river was still and quiet around them, much like the rest of the city hiding away from the frost bitten air of winter.

Allowing her to step ahead, he hesitated, eyeing the figure approaching the edge of the dock as he jumped more purposefully on to the coal barge.

“Parker.”

“Master John.”

“Parker.” Penelope turned back, umbrella folded as she smiled to them both, “I trust our hosts are expecting us?”

“That they are M’lady.” The older man tipped his cap to her, “Below deck h’I’m h’afraid.”

John could tell the lady wasn’t best pleased with the news, the light colour of her shoes would no doubt be ruined by the black dust left from the coal. He knew better than to expect it would put her off though. There was a goal in mind for the evening, and he doubted anything would disrupt her from it.

“Well I suppose we shan’t keep them waiting.”

Parker ducked ahead of them both, gesturing towards a hatch, hidden amongst the piles of coal, “This way M’Lady.”

John followed last, having to duck down in the low height of the hold clearly designed for people much shorter than himself.

“Good Evening, Mister Yost.” Penelope was saying, her focus aimed on the sole occupant of the room, a man tied to a chair in the centre of the space.

“Who are you?” He spat back at her, “What are we doing here?”

“I am aware that you have a hand in the designs for the tower that is to begin construction next year, yes?”

John glanced between her and Yost. Penelope knew exactly the man's part in the plans, knew what information she was there to gain.

“If you want ze plans I shall not give them to you.”

“It is not the plans I am in need of, Mister Yost, but I do not believe you are the sole architect as had been planned?”

“It was to be my masterpiece.” He uttered, eyes aflame even in the low light.

“Assist me in my queries and maybe it shall be.” Penelope offered, the young sweetness in her voice like a flame drawing in a moth.

The sneer from his face fell instantly, dropping to a slight glare before landing on something altogether more neutral. John could guess Penelope was using that smile of hers, the one that seemed to manage to get her whatever she so chose.

“What changes did the other architect make?”

He glanced towards John, the man’s eyes hardening again before looking back to Penelope, “To ze designs themselves very little. It was ze alloy zat he changed, a new material, one I had not heard of before.”

“Why?”

John missed the response, something above him scuttering along the tops of the boards. A glance towards Parker told him the older man had heard it too.

Being closer to the hatch, John turned slightly, stepping up onto the first step as he listened again.

The footsteps were meant to be quiet, he could hear how they were slow and cautious in their movement. Against the wooden deck of the barge, sneaking was impossible.

“We have company.” He murmured, glancing back into the hold.

Penelope’s tutt was loud in the small space as she turned to face him, “Might yourself and Parker deal with our visitors, I shall finish off here with Mister Yost.”

“Quite.” John smiled, “Try not to be too long.”

She almost laughed at his request as she turned back to Yost, and John focussed on making it above deck unnoticed.

Movement immediately caught his eye as he rose from the dusty hold, drawing his attention towards the port side.

A flash of blond in the lamp light was enough to have him straightening in fear as a figure in black wrestled with the shorter person. One set of feet against the deck were much heavier than the other, a whir of hydraulics accompanying each movement.

Parker alongside him hesitated, “H’is that…?”

“Gordon.” John confirmed under his breath, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“Not if we do first.”

Both spun at the voice, accent familiar english.

Parker was first to move, taking on the other Brit with a well trained hand. John knew he was more than capable, but the man was older, getting slower as life moved on by his own admission. It wasn’t something a Tracy did, to run in the opposite direction of those that may need help.

A cry of pain from across the boat reminded him that his brother was the one more likely to need such help.

He was off without further thought, not caring for how the coal may muck up the crisp lines of his evening suit. His shoes were slippy against the deck, made for walking along cobbled roads and not climbing across boats mounded high with wares.

Stumbling around the hatch they had emerged from, the glint of metal caught his eye.

“Gun!” He yelled, hoping his brother took heed as he raced for the assailant.

Gordon spun too fast, the hiss of his legs not keeping up, his balance off still as he adapted to the new legs. It may have been months, but learning to walk was a slow process, one the swimmer was yet to remaster.

The line of his fall flashed before John’s eyes as he tracked the squeeze of a finger on the trigger. The timing had to be right, he had to save his brother.

“No!” He screamed at the final possible moment, grabbing for the gun as he slammed into the man. Kicking hard, he buckled before him, giving John the desperate moment he needed to claim the gun.

A single solid thwack to the back of the head was enough to still the man that had been attacking Gordon.

“John!”

He would always react to the call of his name from a brother, though it was rare for such a call to set his heart racing. The fear and desperation so plain and clear.

In the rush he hadn’t heard the splash that he knew must have happened. He hadn’t had time to do anything other than allow it to, even if Gordon had yet to relearn to swim as he once had.

John had only hoped he had the upper body strength to keep himself above the water for long enough.

“Reach Gordon.” He encouraged, throwing himself half over the side, stretching as far as he could. Even from a distance he could feel the icy coolness of the river against his face, his brother would freeze if he didn’t get out in a moment.

“‘Ere!” Parker called, throwing a rope down into the water before John could look around, “Grab on Master Gordon.”

His brother did as the older man bade, grabbing on with hands the shook from equal parts cold and fear. Together, John and Parker heaved, pulling the swimmer from the water and to the damp boards of the barge.

John didn’t dare look, anger burning hot in his chest as he dropped the rope and looked straight to Parker.

“Get a carriage and get him out of here.” He spat, “Penelope and I shall finish here.”

“H’of course, Master John.”

He didn’t look back as he headed for the hold.

***

Penny had been the one to catch the blood staining his hair a darker shade of red. One look at him in the hold and she had been pulling the scarf from his neck to tend to the wound.

“We have what we need.” She had uttered to him, “Where has Parker gotten to?”

“I sent him to the hotel.” John murmured, wary of listening ears as Yost looked between them, “There was a complication.”

“Then we shall follow on.” She nodded matter-of-factly, “Mister Yost is of no more use to us.”

In the moment, John didn’t overly care for what Yost had or hadn’t told her. There were too many other aspects to consider. Scott and Virgil were going to give him so much grief for not only his wound but for Gordon sneaking along.

“You are fortunate,” Penelope whispered once they were in the cab, she hadn’t stopped fussing with his hair since they had set off, “”Tis a minor scrape, less than an inch and it would have been your head.”

He couldn’t help but scoff with a shake of his head, wincing as the world in front of him spun with the movement.

“You can blame Gordon.” He uttered back to her, “Dear brother followed us.”

Her silence had him worried, it wasn’t like Penelope to not have a response quick off of her tongue.

His head was starting to throb though and he really did not have the energy to look to her.

“Scott is going to kill me.”

Her gloved hand was warm over his, “He shan’t. We will deal with this and your brother need never know.”

Opening his eyes just enough to look down to her, John found himself smiling slightly. When it came to the Lady, he knew he had her word.

***

He awoke to the sun shining through the light lace curtains of the windows, it’s low light in the winter sky an indication that he had slept in far later than anticipated. His head still ached as it had the night before, the gash at his scalp pulling as he screwed his eyes shut again.

The bed was warm but the air around him cold. There was another reason for him to hate Paris, for him to dislike anywhere that wasn’t his ship.

The quiet hiss and pop of a fire assured him that the room would heat up soon, even if he wasn’t quite ready to venture from the warmth of the bed.

“Master John,” Parker’s voice was soft despite the harshness of his accent, “H’it is time you were h’awake.”

Sighing he hummed softly in some sort of response. The ride back would be hell if his head continued as it was.

“Her Ladyship has made arrangements for us to remain in the city for another day.” Parked continued, “She thought you might want to recover a little more before making the return journey.”

If he had been so inclined he would have kissed the woman.

“H’excuses ‘ave been sent to your brothers. Her Ladyship shall fill you in over breakfast.”

Shifting, he sat up in the bed, resisting the want to probe around in his hairline to asses the wound on his head.

“Might h’I recommend a wash before you make h’an appearance, Master John?”

Grimacing, he looked to Parker, “That bad?”

The butler tilted his head slightly, a smile hiding somewhere behind his eyes.

“How is Gordon?”

“‘E’s well. Though regretful of your injury.”

John frowned, they hadn’t run into his brother on their return to the hotel the previous night. Parker had done enough to assure John that his brother would at least live for the time being. It had been John’s aching head that had forced him to retire early, despite the conversations he knew he needed to have.

“Master Gordon ‘eard your return with ‘er Ladyship and caught a glimpse of you before you retired.”

That made more sense.

Reaching for his shirt he swung his legs out from the bed, “Send him through please.”

“Of course.” The butler nodded, stepping backwards towards the door, “Though, master John?”

“Yes?”

“H’if I might say, h’I wouldn’ be too harsh on Master Gordon. There was no intention for ‘im to get you hurt. H’and I do believe ‘e was only lookin’ out for ‘er Ladyship.”

As much as John wished to deny it, he knew the older man had a point.

“Tell Penelope we will join her for breakfast in good time.”

“Of course, Master John.”

He dressed quickly, determined to keep out the chill of the room and have himself composed before Gordon turned up.

His family had always said his anger had burned as red and as hot as his hair.

It seemed ironic, he thought to himself as he warmed his hands by the fire, that red hair determined a hot temper when fire so often burned the yellow of Gordon’s hair. Everyone knew his younger brother wore his emotions on his sleeve, that you simply had to look in his eyes to know exactly what his feelings were on any matter.

“You asked for me.”

John looked up from the flames as his brother slipped into the room, layered up in clothes that didn’t quite fit him.

“Are you well?”

He looked okay, though John knew that looks could be deceiving.

“Bruised and sore,” Gordon admitted softly, still hovering by the door, “I spent the night by the fire, Parker ensured I was warmed through. I shan’t catch a chill.”

John nodded to his own fire, “You will do well to stay warm today brother, I do not know what I should tell Scott if you were to catch a chill. Where does he think you are?”

“Thinks I went up the coast to Dunkirk to meet some old Navy friends. I would rather we kept him believing as such.”

The swimmer had the decency to look guilty as he approached, sinking down in the armchair John directed him to.

“Fortunately that is possible as you did not take a bullet last night.” John uttered, voice low and dangerous, “Was there any thought as to the implications of your actions, Gordon? Do you not think we have already lost enough of you without the risk of losing more?”

He stayed quiet, not even fighting back as John knew his brother should have done. His anger was burning hotter than the fire though, heating his gut from the inside out as he glared at his younger brother.

“I am not Virgil, Gordon. I had no way to save you like he did. I do not even know if he could have saved you from that. Having your life saved once does not make you invincible brother, it would do you well to remember that!”

“I did not anticipate the situation.” Gordon uttered, not looking up from where he was wringing his hands together, “I did not expect for someone to attack me, John. I did not--”

He caught himself, looking away as his mouth twisted.

John frowned down at him, ignoring the pain in his head. He knew his brother, knew that it was so very unlike him to leave anything unsaid.

“What?” He prompted.

Gordon looked down as he shook his head, “Tis nothing.”

The voice was too soft and young, so unlike his brother.

“Gordon?” He stepped closer, shifting to crouch, “Brother, something is bothering you and I can see it. I may not be Scott or Virgil, but you know you can still talk to me.”

Amber eyes were wet as they looked to him, the sharp intake of breath a telltale sign that something was most definitely wrong.

“What am I, John?”

There were many questions John had heard in his life, he prided himself on having the answers to all that he could.

Except, he didn’t understand Gordon’s.

And there was no answer for a question he did not understand.

Shaking his head he reached out to the arm of the chair, “I--”

Gordon reached to the leg of his breeches, tugging just enough to pull up the hem and reveal the metal beneath.

“What has Virgil done to me?”

John shook his head, wincing at the pain briefly before refocusing on his brother, “Virgil saved you.”

Desperate hands grasped at John’s, amber eyes pleading as they reflected the firelight.

“Yes, and for that I am forever grateful. Is this not also a curse though? None of you shall ever allow me near a rescue again, I am not capable, last night was simple proof of that. I cannot even swim, something I have spent my whole life doing!”

The energy was all Gordon, burning as hot and as bright as the fire behind John. It burned his heart to hear the words, singed him to even think that his brother had all these feelings.

“I cannot do anything that my life has revolved around and with all that I am a monster. I must hide in the shadows for fear of either ridicule or theft. You and I know this world John, we saw what people will do last night, nobody shall ever know the truth outside of our family and that--”

A fist tightened as he pulled away, jaw clenching tight as he tried to blink away the dampness in his eyes.

“Virgil saved me, but now I do not believe I shall have a life.”

Long, cold fingers grasped at his brothers, pieces of the previous night falling into place all at once.

“Gordon,” He choked, “Tell me you did not ignore me last night. When you were in the river? Tell me you intended on getting out?”

His brother looked to his legs again, “The last days were the first I have seen Penelope since…”

John didn’t need him to gesture to the false legs before he continued.

“And until last night she had barely said more than two words to me.” A tired scoff as he shook his head, “I am well aware of the jokes you all make at my expense, because you all know how I feel for the woman. When she came for you though, whisked you away in her carriage without even a thought of me. What was I left to think, John?”

He could only bow his head in response, the thoughts of his brother irrational but so understandable all at once.

“My dear brother,” He whispered, squeezing the hands in his tightly, “Penelope, she--”

“I know.” It was whispered back as Gordon slouched in the seat, tears fresh on his cheeks as he sunk into the cushions, “Parker set me straight last night. It was about when he threw me the rope that I realised how wrong I was.”

“I love Penelope dearly,” John murmured, “As a friend, Gordon. She does not see you as anything other than the man you always have been. Penelope is a woman so very above material things despite her expensive taste.”

The comment had the desired effect as Gordon laughed, eyes brightening just slightly with the sound.

“And do you really think I would allow her to court me aboard a coal barge?” John continued, allowing his own smile to spread, “Of all the places in Paris?”

Gordon laughed softly again, nodding slightly in admission, “I’ve been out of sorts. I am sorry.”

John sighed, watching him carefully and knowing all too well what it felt like to be so very alone in a room full of people.

“You will save people again my brother, do not doubt that. You are still healing though, your injuries still fresh and raw to us all. We are your brothers and we shall always fear for your safety. There is no denying though that we cannot keep you from that life, and if you have started to believe that we would then I can only apologise.”

The wetness in his brothers eyes was gathering again, brightening the reflection of the fire as he focussed on John.

“Have we not proved so many times,” John continued, “That there is always a way my brother, whatever you need we shall do all in our power to make you well and make you happy. If that means to be on rescues we shall work towards that, or if it means courting Penelope then we will find a way.”

Taking a breath, John thinned his lips, “You are not the only one in our family to believe that you are so very alone. I promise you though Gordon, there is always someone when you need them.”

He didn’t expect the soft snort as a response, “Parker said the same thing.”

“Parker is a wise man.” John smiled softly, “It would do for you to listen to him once in a while.”

Nodding, Gordon sniffed, “I am truly sorry John, I almost got you killed.”

Shifting to stand, John winced, the shift in height exacerbating the ache in his skull.

“Damn,” Gordon cussed softly, “Sit down before you collapse.”

He waved him off, “I am fine, just don’t tell Scott.” Softening he smiled as he rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “It is worth it for saving a brother's life.”

“In more ways than one.” Gordon murmured, “I owe you.”

John didn’t disagree as he glanced towards the fire, flames dying down quietly as the wood settled into place.

“Do not forget it, brother.”

#Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #Thunderbirds AU #Steampunk AU #Where There Be Dragons AU #Nutty Writes #Scribbles writes #John Tracy #Lady Penelope #Gordon Tracy #Parker

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thusspoketrish · 3 years

Text

Play Pretend (Part 1/5)

TRIGGER WARNING (PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS): Depression. Suicide Attempt. Suicidal Ideation. PTSD. Poor Coping Mechanism.

Harry Potter & Astoria Greengrass; Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter; Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy; Astoria Greengrass/Others; Draco Malfoy/Others; Harry Potter/Others

Content: Friendship. Forced Marriage Arrangement. Unrequited Love. Falling Out of Love. Falling in Love. Betrayal. Friendships. Breakups. Mental Health Issues. Apathy. Flatmates. Acceptance. Positive Thinking. Therapy.

SUMMARY: Fate boasts a strange sense of humour when a severely depressed Harry finds himself convincing a drunk Astoria Greengrass off the ledge of Waterloo Bridge at three in the morning. The events that follow after are an exercise in strength as Harry finds himself relearning how to cope, forgive, and love alongside the blossoming of new friendships.

Thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta!

====================

At approximately 2:07 AM, Harry Potter shoves his arms through his black wool coat before wrapping his Gryffindor scarf tightly around his neck. He shoves on the misshapen scarlet mittens Hermione knitted for him several years ago, realising he could summon a better pair as she’s improved greatly since Hogwarts, but finding that these reminded him of a better time.

Finally, he shoves his wand up his sleeve before wrenching the door open and taking the steps down from Grimmauld two at a time, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality. As he breathes in and out sharply, white puffs curling outward from his chapped lips, Harry looks skyward. The moon is heavy and hangs low tonight, full and beautiful as swirls of snow begin to gently fall. It’s dark, and beautiful, and it hurts to look at.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning Grimmauld from top to bottom. Not that this mattered as Harry has found that no matter how much he cleaned or remodelled the house, he was incapable of penetrating its doom-and-gloom atmosphere. But he had cleaned to the best of his ability, and had arranged all his necessary documents across his office table several hours ago. He carefully placed each note facing upward, the individual names of all his friends in his spidery scrawl. He had even left notes behind for the Dursley’s, though, not imparting a single kind word, as seen in his other letters. He had left the Gringotts keys of the Potter Vault behind in Ron and Hermione’s name and endowed a small trust to any future children they may have. He had left the deed and keys to Grimmauld and the Black vault to Teddy and Andromeda.

Harry doesn’t think he left any stone unturned.

He had been planning this for months. Had made the nearly 40-minute walk from Clerkenwell to Waterloo Bridge nearly every night for the last three weeks, simply staring out at the water, yearning. It would take nothing, he thought, to sit on the ledge, cast a simple spell to increase his weight, and fling himself over the edge. And at three in the morning, it wouldn’t be hard to do this uninterrupted.

A numb sort of blankness overcomes him as he rolls his shoulders and makes his way through the quiet roads, onto the high street where the slow crawl of busses and cars creep past. Harry’s vision is a tunnel of black and white images flickering in and out of focus as he sets himself on autopilot. He could do this route with his eyes closed.

It’s not that Harry thinks he deserves to die. He’s simply come to the conclusion that he wants to.

He’s tired, much too tired from the debilitating numbness that’s crippled his entire existence. He’s remained frozen in time since dying and coming back to life in the Forbidden Forest. The experience has left him immobile, like a statue, weathered by the storm called time but never feeling the effects of it no matter how long he holds his breath, patiently waiting for something to come along and happen. He was waiting for the spark of life to feed his blood as it had during the war, and nothing, no reason or rhyme, has been able to replace it. He had quit the Aurors, had isolated himself from the pitying expressions of friends and family, and had shrunken himself on the outside to reflect what he felt on the inside—absolutely nothing. He was nothing, a lingering afterthought in his own mind, something ugly and broken with a piece of its soul missing. He couldn’t stand to live with that knowledge any longer.

It was no one’s fault, not directly. Harry’s never been whole, not as a child curled up and forgotten in the cupboard under the stairs; not as a child, shaped into a sacrificial soldier, not as a twenty-three year old man, alone, shrouded in the dark cloak of night, ready to end his life.

The black and purple swirls of fog and clouds paint a pretty backdrop for the breathtaking view of the Thames, the London Eye, and Parliament from Harry’s position on the bridge. It’s the only time his vision shifts to full-colour, when he’s standing on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing as he peers over, his glasses sliding slowly down his nose. He uses a mittened finger to push them back up, a hollow laugh escaping him as he reaches deep down inside of himself to search for a feeling, anything. He wishes for even a fissure of panic as he places both hands on the railing again, wondering if 100kg added to his feet would successfully prevent his ability to kick back up to the surface.

A harsh wind whips by, and with it carrying a whimper. Harry turns, his gaze sharpening, harping on an elongated figure further down the bridge perched on the railing.

He turns back to the water, staring out at the inky black waves. He shouldn’t care.

The whimper turns into full on sobbing.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

Then, there’s a horrible scream of anguish that pierces the quiet, the sound full of devastation. He blinks several times, pushing his glasses up again. He may not have the ability to care for his own well-being anymore but he still...he still seems to care about others.

With a sigh, Harry walks to the centre of the bridge, noticing a lone figure down the road walking towards them before abruptly stopping and turning away from them.

Harry ignores them, and instead approaches the person perched on the railing. He can see that the person is wearing a black, long-sleeved ballgown, tiny sparkling beads of emerald green, gold, red, and silver shimmering in the moonlight, taking the shape of exploding fireworks across her bodice along the back of the dress. It’s beautiful, and Harry gasps when the woman turns to face him.

He’s seen this woman before, has seen her pretty pale face at the Slytherin table at Hogwarts. Her long black hair whips across her flushed face, mascara-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips and down her chin, piercing blue eyes unfocussed as she sways side-to-side.

“What do you want?” the woman asks miserably, her voice slurring, intoxicated. Harry steps closer to her, as if she’s a wild animal ready to leap away from him. The woman’s lips turn down into a terrible wound of a frown, misshapen by the smeared lipstick. “Did he send you?” she cries.

“No,” Harry says, not knowing who she’s talking about as he slowly approaches her. “Why don’t you come down?” he asks, extending an opened hand.

The woman’s gaze twists from Harry back out to the dark depths of the Thames. Harry inches closer.

Another whimper escapes her. “He doesn’t love me,” she cries, her body shaking as she weeps.

“There are people out here who love you,” Harry says, wincing. How many times has Ron and Hermione said this very thing to him over the last year?

“But not him!” she shouts, her shoulders trembling, the harsh winds whip her hair. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even given him all of me, all my love, all my hopes and my bloody dreams, and nothing. Nothing I do makes him look at me…at me...as if,” the woman breaks off, a trembling cry escaping her before she shouts, “Why...why not me?”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Harry says, his voice carrying on the winds, tone firm. A small spark of indignation is felt in his chest. This woman, this woman is suffering, and it’s fuelling a knife-sharp sensation alongside his slow-beating heart. He wants to touch her, see if he can pull her grief into him, see if it’ll help him feel his own, for once.

The woman tilts her head back, a wail escaping her. “I don’t deserve him! I can’t help him, I can’t even bloody keep him. I’m useless.”

“Stop it, don’t put yourself down like this. He doesn’t deserve you...you’re stronger than this pain, this numbness you’re experiencing, and you know it. You know you can do so much better than him, that your life and your hopes and dreams outweighs whatever the fuck you think he sees when he looks at you. You don’t need anything from him, not when you’re this strong,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from, they feel foreign to his own ears. A part of him wonders if he wished someone would say this to him. “What’s your name?”

The woman draws in a shaky breath before she answers in a tiny, strained voice, “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry nods, now remembering her, remembering where he’s seen her name lately. “Come, Astoria. You have so much to offer the world. You’re strong, but sometimes even the strongest among us have bad days, but that doesn’t make us worthless,” Harry says, the feeling in his chest swelling, lighting him on fire from the inside. Harry gasps. “You’re worth fighting for, you’re...let me...let me fight for you, Astoria, until you can fight for yourself. Please...please, take my hand. You don’t have to do this...you don’t have to do this alone.” He’s now beside her.

A wicked wind whips past them again, the snow falling now coming down in thick, fluffy sheets. Astoria huffs out another sob before she turns around, her hand stretching out.

Harry clasps it, pulling her forward. She wraps her arms around his neck, digging her face into this layered scarf, clinging to him like a lifeline. They both sink to the ground as she weeps. The cold stings the trail of tears on Harry’s own cheeks.

She smells like the cold, along with lingering scent of bergamot orange and rosewood. He knows it's a combination of scents he'll never forget as he cradles her against his chest before quickly opening his coat to wrap around her shivering form.

All the while, feeling more alive than he has since the day he died.

#HP fanfiction #Harry Potter #Astoria Greengrass #drarry #Astoria x Harry #Astoria x draco #Draco Malfoy #trigger warnings #please read the warnings #series #will update #1/5

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t455a-rambles · 3 years

Text

A Little Insight of StarCatcher Boyfriend and Girlfriend.

Since I've got nothing better to do, I might as well write what and how's the relationship between Boyfriend and Girlfriend.

Oh yeah! Don't forget to support the creators of the mod, Kip and Startdust Tunes.

Now, from my first post for Boyfriend's backstory, I briefly mentioned how he and Girlfriend are mostly fascinated in one another and they took the opportunity to hang out more as they are collecting the Star Gems. [I know I keep on switching from "stars" to "specific gem" to "Star Gems". But this time, this time it's called Star Gems, okay?]

But I want more in depth with it. And this is where it begins

...

Okay, now let's backtrack to when Boyfriend and Girlfriend first met. Now I mentioned Boyfriend was terrified yet curious with Girlfriend and vice versa. Boyfriend was the first who started the conversation. Of course he said "Hello" to Girlfriend.

And as you would guess it, Girlfriend did not pick up the language immediately and just responded with, "Bloop doo beep?" Boyfriend tried to slow down his speak and uses hand gesture. "Hello. My name is Boyfriend. What is your name?" To Boyfriend's surprise, Girlfriend understood what he was saying and responded with fluent English. "Oh. Nice to meet you! My name is [ [REDACTED] Because I dunno what an alien name suited for her lol]."

Boyfriend tried to pronounce Girlfriend's real name, but it ended up sounding so bad, to which he apologized for it. Girlfriend reassured Boyfriend and it was okay for him to not get it right. Girlfriend tried to come up with a name that is easy for Boyfriend to remember. Then an idea popped out. "How about you call me, Girlfriend."

Boyfriend looked up to Girlfriend with a red blush on his face. "Y- You can't call yourself "Girlfriend". We're not even dating!" Girlfriend rolled her eyes and let out a sarcastic tone, but it's a playful one. "You're name is literally "Boyfriend" for crying out loud."

Girlfriend did have a point and never did Boyfriend felt speechless by that fact. He then agreed to call the alien "Girlfriend", but he still wanted to pronounce her name correctly. This made Girlfriend flattered by his determination.

Girlfriend then asked where did Boyfriend come from and his response was gotten suck by a powerful energy while he was out to take a planet's sample. He figured it was a wormhole which brought him here.

"You're lucky that the wormhole brought you here. Who knows where you might land. Maybe near the blackhole." Boyfriend was terrified by the possibility and Girlfriend said it in a calm manner did not help the situation at all.

Girlfriend asked about the planet Boyfriend previously visited, brushing what she said earlier. Boyfriend shook off the dread feeling and explained it excitedly.

Then a question came in Boyfriend's mind. "Uh... Girlfriend. Does this planet have a supply of oxygen? I'm worried my tank is running out of air." Girlfriend wasn't familiar with the word, "oxygen" and what's the use for it.

Boyfriend explained that it's a gas molecule which helps humans stay alive. He tried to find something to draw as a example on what it looked like. Sadly, there wasn't anything to draw.

Meanwhile, Girlfriend slowly understood why the oxygen was important. "Uh... Hate to break it to you, but I don't think there's a particular gas around here." Oh how Boyfriend was panicking because he would die quiet early. And if he died, he wouldn't be able to explore and study this different universe.

Seeing Boyfriend in distressed, made Girlfriend feel bad for him. She tried to come up with something that could help Boyfriend stay alive. Then, an idea struck. She took off her ring bracelet and transformed it into a star shape. And later slapped it onto Boyfriend's glass helmet. "There you go!"

Boyfriend was stunned on what happened and touched the area where Girlfriend "gently" pressed the item. "Uh... Girlfriend. What did you put on my helmet?"

"That's a Star Shield, it used to be my bracelet. What it does is for you to survive the harsh space out there. In this case, you are able to breath without even worrying about your low oxygen." Girlfriend explained it proudly.

Boyfriend slowly taken in the new information, which to him was another puzzle he needed to solve. "Okay. But why put it on my helmet?" He asked as he pointed the said object. "Oh! I just thought it looks cute there!" Girlfriend smiled happily.

Boyfriend smiled as well. "Thanks, Girlfriend. But, are you sure you're okay without your bracelet as your shield?" Girlfriend waved her hands dismissively. "It's okay. Besides, why do you think I have two more on my upper arms?" She showed her own Ring Shields.

"Huh. I thought they were just accessories." Girlfriend just scoffed playfully. "You'd be surprised what other things I can do with these bracelets." Boyfriend was all excited again. "Really?! Can you show me?"

"Hmm... Nah. That's top secret." She giggled as Boyfriend begged for her to tell.

Both Boyfriend and Girlfriend just wandered together through the crowded area. Even if it's a terrible idea to Boyfriend, but Girlfriend reassured him that her people have seen different species from different planets visited and left their planet occasionally. So Boyfriend wasn't that strange to them.

But even with Girlfriend's calm words, it didn't shake the crowd staring at Boyfriend curiously before moving on. Such an awkward and intense feeling there. But that didn't stop Boyfriend from examining some weird objects. Did I said some? I meant a lot of weird object and Girlfriend had to explain them all, which was tiring.

"Boyfriend, can we rest up? My feet are starting to sore." Boyfriend was so distracted that he didn't noticed how long they were walking. Sheepishly, he agreed and now Girlfriend was the one dragging Boyfriend to a quiet spot.

As the two sat beside each other, Boyfriend huffed out his breath, which caused a fog appeared on his helmet. He chuckled and watched the fog slowly evaporated. "Thank you, Girlfriend, for teaching me the wonders of your planet."

Girlfriend smiled and said "Your welcome" to Boyfriend. There was another request from Boyfriend himself. "Hey, Girlfriend. If you don't mind, can you teach me your language you've said the first time we met?"

"You mean the [REDACTED] or to put it simply, the Beep Language? Are you sure? It's kinda complicated for someone new to it." Boyfriend looked at Girlfriend with determination. "Yeah, I do! How else am I suppose to communicate with your native language? I uh... kinda feel bad for you to speak English all day." Boyfriend bashfully scratched his lower helmet.

Girlfriend found herself admiring Boyfriend's determination even more. "Alright. I'll tell you the basics and work up from there." Boyfriend nodded excitedly and their lesson began.

From this point, I mentioned one of the Royal Guard found Girlfriend and reported to Daddy Dearest, or should we say [REDACTED]. [Lol I'll never get tired of using that word. I promised I'll come up with the alternative names for the Dearest family. Or maybe not. Who knows lol].

Anyway, you know what happens after that. So let's just skip to the aftermath of the first battle.

So, the Star Gems are scattered, right? So, how would Boyfriend travelled without a vehicle? Simple, he rides on Girlfriend's speakers. At least, that's what I think. Besides, what's a flying object use for if it's not for transportation, right?

But you know what the coolest part when taking a cruise on a flying speaker with Girlfriend? They can watch a lot of beautiful stars and dust clouds up-close. Man, I wished I can do that too.

From there, Boyfriend's continued to asked more questions to Girlfriend. And even though it's annoying sometimes, Girlfriend didn't mind. So long as she could travel longer with someone other than her parents and relearning everything about the universe.

After all, Boyfriend gave some insights on what he knew during his astronaut training and from his reading. And with a little friendly conversation about themselves even more. Oh, and Boyfriend is getting fluent with the Beep Language.

I do think they slowly develop an attraction from one another before they meet the last two battles. Boyfriend and Girlfriend told each other how their respected species act and do when they are in love.

I will explain Girlfriend's side on my upcoming fanon world-building for Girlfriend's universe. So keep an eye for that ;]

...

And that's it for today's fanon story! Wooh! I had a lot of fun creating these interaction with two people and semi their personalities as I am impromptu writing this lol.

Anyway, thank you for those who had read this far!

Have a nice day!

#friday night funkin #fnf ramble #fnf starcatcher #fnf boyfriend #fnf girlfriend #fnf dad

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curiosity-killed · 3 years

Text

evidence of a lost past part 5

chronologically after 1 & 2 and a bit before 4

fun fact of the day: Hua Cheng’s dancing to Lover’s Tears as performed by the Shanghai Conservatory Symphony bc it’s one of my favorite lazy improv songs

story tag

By the time seven comes around, Xie Lian’s legs are trembling with fatigue and his hair’s plastered to his forehead and nape. Winding lazily out of a renversé, he drops his arms and exhales. He feels...worn, gently pummeled like a sock in a washer or a stone along the riverbank. It’s been a while since he used his body like this—even these last few weeks of borrowing Hua Cheng’s studio have been more about relearning how to move at all, retracing the lines of the technique he’s let fall by the wayside.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s properly danced. The feeling buoys up in his chest, bright and a little heady. It still feels funny to break the rules he grew up with, to blend classical lines and break up languid adagio flows to hit the ground, but the way it leaves his body feeling exhausted and satisfied makes it hard to resist.

He takes a few minutes to stretch properly, working down from his neck to his feet and closing off with a short round of abs before he shrugs his sweatshirt back on, picks up his shoes by their heels, and goes to find Hua Cheng.

He’s lured up the stairs by the arching strains of strings and the low rumble of piano underneath. Wandering to the upper studio, he finds himself swaying absently to the three-four time as if the music itself is drawing him into a waltz. He hums softly along and turns the corner off the stairs to find the studio door propped open. Here, the music swells so loudly he can nearly feel it buffeting his body like ocean waves. He comes to a halt at the door.

Hua Cheng is alone inside, a single lean figure in the half-light of the studios. Only two of the four rows of fluorescent lights are on, and they form dim lines like walls of silk strings through which Hua Cheng weaves as precisely and deftly as if he were the shuttle, the hand shaping the cloth.

The choreography is some Xie Lian has seen before—today, even. On Hua Cheng, though, it is a wholly different creature than when He Xuan performed the same steps. He Xuan is a capable dancer, with strong technique, but it’s abruptly clear that he’s a younger dancer with less experience than Hua Cheng. Where He Xuan maintained the extended balances with a tight jaw and stiff shoulders and dropped from them gratefully, Hua Cheng suspends on the ball of his foot, drawing it out and slowing his extension till it seems he’s pushing the music, curving the song’s fermatas and languid sweeps.

In time with the trills and high ornamentation, he flicks through hand gestures in rapid succession while his legs sweep rond de jambs into a light leap off his left hand. The motion rolls him back up to the start, into the sequence that begins the entire pas de deux: a heavy step to the side, the sway of loose arms carrying him into a spin.

At this point in the piece, the dancer never looks to the downstage left corner, like it’s bad luck or a persistent blind spot. When He Xuan danced it this afternoon, the choreography had seemed awkward, the missing corner too self-conscious. Watching Hua Cheng now, though, Xie Lian’s heart aches. Hua Cheng pours himself into the movement, every reach a desperate plea, every sharp twist furious rejection. Standing in this absent corner, where Shi Qingxuan is to enter, Xie Lian suddenly understands why Hua Cheng has been so insistent about the facing. He bites the inside of his lip at the familiar welling of grief that laps at the insides of his ribcage.

Hua Cheng presses into a suspension with his leg nearly to his ear before dropping into a double turn as rushed and frantic as a hurricane. He stops sharply, finally facing the corner as his leg stretches back in an exquisite arabesque, his arms reaching forward as if begging an indifferent god. His gaze sweeps up and then catches on Xie Lian. Freezing, his eye goes wide, and he stumbles forward half a step, falling out of the final pose.

“Ah, I’m sorry, San Lang,” Xie Lian says, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hua Cheng shakes his head even as he rubs the back of his neck. Wiping his hand on his thigh, he gives a small shrug.

“Gege is always welcome,” he says, a little breathless. “I was just surprised.”

His hair’s coming loose from the ponytail, hanging in hanks around his face. With his t-shirt and bright eye, he looks softer than usual, and Xie Lian is briefly possessed by the inexplicable urge to hug him.

“Ah, it looks very beautiful, San Lang,” he says instead before pausing. He drags his bottom lip between his teeth before adding, “I think I see why you were dissatisfied in rehearsal.”

“Oh?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hua Cheng tilts his head to the side in open curiosity, and Xie Lian flusters. He’s still not used to such sincere consideration, to having his words listened to with such care. He scratches his cheek.

“Mn,” he says. “It’s just—you choreographed it with a more experienced dancer in mind, didn’t you?”

Hua Cheng blinks at him once, and Xie Lian mentally goes over his words before flushing. His hands fly up, trying to wave off the offense, and he nearly clocks himself in the face with his shoe.

“No, no, I don’t mean it like that! He Xuan is definitely experienced, too, and plenty capable,” he says in a rush. “Of course he’s a very skilled dancer—all of them—”

A laugh escapes Hua Cheng, and he crosses the space between them with two easy strides. Catching Xie Lian’s hand, he smiles at him. Although there’s amusement in his look, it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at Xie Lian. It just feels—fond. Warm.

“Gege, it’s alright,” he says. “If you say it’s so, then He Xuan must really just be a useless upstart.”

The teasing edge to his tone is enough to cut through Xie Lian’s fluster, but he groans and buries his face in his free hand at the shameless teasing.

“San Lang,” he mumbles.

Hua Cheng laughs, bright and irresistible, and gives Xie Lian’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Anyway, gege’s right,” he says, stepping back slightly and tugging the elastic out of his hair. “I didn’t choreograph it with He Xuan in mind.”

His hair falls to his shoulders, a little rumpled and wavy from being up, and briefly hides his face. As he drags his fingers back through the crown to retie it, Xie Lian cants his head and considers him. He Xuan is the most experienced of Hua Cheng’s dancers, along with Shi Qingxuan. Lan Chang is older, of course, but from what she’s said, she only dances for fun and to teach now. It would take months for her to build back the strength and stamina needed to perform.

“Why don’t you do it?” he asks.

Hua Cheng startles, looking up in surprise. Tightening the elastic, he dips his head a moment before shoving his ponytail over his shoulder to hang in a long line down his back.

“Ah, it’s silly. You’ll laugh,” he says.

“Noo,” Xie Lian insists, grinning. “I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

Looking at him a moment, Hua Cheng narrows his eye, but his lips press together like he’s suppressing a smile. He looks briefly skyward and takes a breath, losing his fight with the smile. Parting his lips, he draws breath to speak before pausing and letting it out in a quiet exhale as he settles his hands on his hips.

“Well. It’s a pas de deux,” he says, like that’s the end of it.

Xie Lian pauses, pressing his lips together and tilting his head. When no more is forthcoming, he can’t help the snigger that escapes him, and Hua Cheng shoots him a betrayed look.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he chides, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I’m not, I’m not!” Xie Lian says, holding up his hands. “It’s just—you really dislike dancing with someone else so much?”

It’s not that Xie Lian would blame him, exactly: as skilled as his company dancers are, Hua Cheng is exceptional. Even with Lan Chang in the peak of her career or He Xuan at his finest moments, the pairing would still be unequal.

“Not exactly,” Hua Cheng hedges. He presses the toes of his left foot into the floor, arching the foot into an absentminded stretch. “It’s just—the one I thought of when I was choreographing isn’t an option. So to dance it with anyone else—they really can’t compare at all.”

Oh. Xie Lian swallows, startled by the sincerity of the explanation. That really isn’t anything to laugh about. He hesitates, chewing at his bottom lip and sneaking a glance up at Hua Cheng. This person Hua Cheng thought of—if Xie Lian ever knew them, they’ve been lost to time. The knowledge weighs like a stone anchor deep in the pit of his chest, but he tries to swallow it down. He’s being presumptuous, really. He shouldn’t make so many assumptions.

“Ah, then maybe we could figure out how to make it work for He Xuan and Qingxuan together,” he offers, tentative.

Hua Cheng’s expression softens, the hesitance fading into a gentle and welcoming warmth. Nodding his head decisively, he smiles.

“Gege has the best ideas,” he praises. “Where should we start?”

Setting his shoes and bag down by the wall, Xie Lian draws in a breath and steps more fully into the room. It’s not for him, to be lit up on the stage with hundreds of eyes glued to every articulation of his hands and feet—but maybe he can still help Hua Cheng, if only by being a second set of eyes.

“Ah, the a la seconde turn that turns into a tilt?” he suggests. “The floor sequence after that seemed to give He Xuan some trouble.”

Hua Cheng nods and rolls his shoulders once before moving back into the center of the space. Starting a few steps ahead, he glides through the movements as naturally and confidently as if they were the only way his body knows to move, as if fit to his long limbs by the finest of tailors. Xie Lian offers advice and suggestions where he thinks they might better shape the choreography to He Xuan’s own movement, but it seems a quiet kind of betrayal.

Watching Hua Cheng dance, Xie Lian doesn’t want to see the piece altered or made for another. He wants to see it like this, like it was meant to be, with Hua Cheng alone in the thin light and the corner empty, open, waiting.

#tgcf #hualian #tgcf fic #tgcf au #dance au #my writing #story: evidence of a lost past #me: this fic will just be a fun lighthearted way to express how much i love dance and hualian #this fic: also possibly a weird way of processing a lot of grief about dance #WHOOPS #who's surprised

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barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (12/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 1374. Square filled: “I’m turning into you. It’s like a horrible dream.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Cryostasis, some anxiety about the future. Overall, less angsty than the last few chapters lol.

A/N: It’s finally lightening up lmao sorry for putting everyone through all that angst. There are still two more chapters left!

The room is white, clean, and well-lit, and doctors and nurses move about with practised, calm movements. A scene like this, with the location changed to a slightly darker area, might have thrown Bucky into a panic just months prior, but here, he is calm, looking at the woman who brought him to Wakanda in one piece as she talks.

“You sure you want to do this? I bet we could figure something else out,” she is saying, wringing her hands, standing impatiently in front of him. He begins to shake his head but she is already continuing: “We could go into hiding again. You don’t need to go into cryo.”

Bucky smiles up at her. “I wish that was true, honey,” he tells her, the endearment slipping out of his mouth easily. They have been in Wakanda for over a month now, the distinct lack of imminent danger facilitating a warm friendship, one that Bucky is relishing in. He has, slowly, started to reacquaint himself with Steve as well, but, as she is the one who has been on this journey with him, she is the person he is most comfortable around.

Tilting her head, she looks at him with melancholy eyes, sad but hopeful, trying not to let the sorrow seep through. These are the moments when Bucky wishes he didn’t know her quite so well, so he can’t read her like a book. “I’ll visit,” she says, putting on a braver face.

“And watch me while I’m asleep? You creep,” he teases, although he appreciates the thought.

“Like you didn’t do the same when I was down with a GSW,” she scoffs, and Bucky senses a blush rise on his face.

Recovering quickly, he says, “Touché.”

For a while, they consider each other and the room. Princess Shuri is operating a panel that controls the cryostasis chamber set up in the middle of the room. In the hallway overlooking the labratory, T’Challa is leaving Steve after what seems to be a serious conversation to enter and talk to his sister. Steve’s eyes are fixed on where Bucky sits.

She clocks this, and remarks, “Alright, Steve is starting to look impatient. I think he’s getting jealous.”

“Who wouldn’t be jealous of anyone who has the pleasure of my company,” Bucky says, not missing an opportunity to make her laugh, and she does; releases the stress of worrying about Bucky in a chuckle that makes Bucky smile so wide his face aches.

“Don’t make me glad you’re entering a coma,” she teases back. The frown lines have been coming and going in the past few weeks, and they’re absent now, but smile lines crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she grins at him.

He has learnt that she enjoys grinning when she isn’t in life-threatening situations. In the time since she has recovered from her injury, and in between the times Bucky has been planning going back into cryo, he has taken pleasure in relearning her.

He knows that this slice of bliss cannot last forever. Wakanda is a bubble, but only physically. News is constantly filtering in and the United States are not happy about Bucky’s presence in Wakanda, or about the refuge granted to those who failed to comply with the Accords. Bucky has not been able to sit in on all that many intelligence briefings, but the general knowledge is that the Accords themselves are failing to provide accountability, especially considering that half of the known individuals they apply to are refusing to obey them by either operating under their jurisdiction or retiring completely.

Steve has gone out on a few missions since he brought Bucky to Wakanda. Enough of them to inform the world that he is still working, even if no longer under the title of Captain America. America itself has found another thing to divide itself over; are the Accords right or are they not, is Bucky Barnes the longest standing POW who deserves rehabilitation and a hero’s welcome or should he be extradited for crimes of murder and treason?

The woman in front of him has been reassuring him that he is the former. A good man who bad things have happened to, and he’s still trying to convince himself that he deserves this treatment, and people’s help, but it’s hard to believe it. It’s hard to believe that someone as good as her can stand up for him, can have so much faith in him. She’s a good person. A kind woman, he thinks, looking up at her, studying her features with the intent to memorize them. “I’ll miss you,” he says, drawing his eyes over the shape of her eyes, their glistening hue.

“See you soon, Bucky,” she says, leaning down, and kissing his cheek. With a wave, she walks away.

Steve takes her place. “You two are getting along well.” Bucky rolls his eyes, shuffles uncomfortably.

“Shut up, Rogers,” he responds. The lack of the weight of his left arm has left him disbalanced, otherwise he would have stood up to be at eye level with his old friend. That phrase has taken some getting used to, but he’s adjusting.

“I’ll shut up when you talk to her. She’s a keeper, Buck,” Steve tells Bucky, as if he doesn’t already know that. Bucky regrets being readable enough that Steve knows how he feels about her. Steve on his own isn’t so bad, but get him and Wilson in a room together, and they’re all wiggling eyebrows and hidden smirks, while Bucky either sputters or pretends he knows what he is doing with the kind of charm he can scarcely recall.

He has vague memories of victory curls and red lips, dance halls and clicking heels, skirts swishing and small giggles behind small hands. None of those women made butterflies take off in his stomach the way she does.

“I used to be good at talking to ladies, didn’t I?” Bucky says, thinking of the lines he’d drop with winks to punctuate every sentence, honey sweet and charm heavy.

Steve, nods, putting his hands in his pockets, his eyes going somewhere very far away. “And I was the worst,” he reminisces.

“Well then, I’m turning into you. It’s like a horrible dream,” Bucky says, now intentionally pulling forth the same words from a decade ago, in a London bar about to head out for war again. Agent Carter in her red dress, her eyes fixed on Steve, the first time Bucky realized how little Steve needed him now.

Steve must see the memory travelling through Bucky’s mind, because he reminds Bucky that he is still needed. “I’ll miss you, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t want him to, so he looks at Steve with an open smile, preparing to bid farewell with another joke. “Don’t be too happy about it. I won’t be gone for long.”

“I’m countin’ on it,” Steve replies. They look at each other for a moment more, and then Princess Shuri is approaching the examination table Bucky is sitting on. There is a tablet in her hands, and she has goggles over her eyes, and she has reassured Bucky that this procedure will be nothing like the last.

He trusts her. She’s an intelligent woman, reminds him of Becca and her dreams to go to the moon, and with that association, there is a sharp ache of grief that always comes with recollections of family members he has lost without knowing, but Bucky concentrates on what he does have. Right now, he has a team of people willing to help.

“Are you ready, Sergeant Barnes?” The princess asks, and Bucky stands, steadying himself with his right hand on the edge of the table behind him, until he is stable enough to stand on his own, and Steve is no longer looking like he wants to offer his arm.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he says to Princess Shuri, and she turns, beginning to guide him to the cryostasis chamber. As he is strapped in, he breathes slow and deep, and just as the glass starts to fog up, he opens his eyes one last time to see his friend waving goodbye. Her eyes are shining, and she is smiling, so Bucky smiles, too.

#SSB2020 #ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #marvel #avengers

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dearest-bucky · 4 years

Text

Put a little love on me (1/2)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes has come a long way in life, but when it comes to sleep, there will always be struggle.

Words: 3.4K

Warnings: None really?

A/n: The second and final part of this will be posted tonight, so stay tuned!

Originally posted: January 26, 2020

Bucky Barnes is a strong man. Perhaps one of the strongest men who ever walked the Earth. I mean, he fought a war, then lived almost a century tortured by Hydra, only to be free from them but live another torturing version of his life, having to fight all kinds of monsters and aliens on daily basis. But if anyone told Bucky he was a strong person, he would just laugh in their faces, disbelief written on his own.

Sure, he is proud of how far he’s come. Being thrown into a whole new era and relearning how to do everything, is not something everyone does. And for the most part he succeeds in it. He has learned almost all about the life in this new century, from the new food, technology, new behaviors, new customs, new ways of dating, all of it.

All of it, except sleeping. While he has picked up on some kind of normalcy in all those things, sleep is the one thing he can’t learn how to do anymore. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he spent a whole lot of time in the cryo machine, and that is sleeping too, maybe it has to do with the fact that whenever he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, all the terrors come back to him in full force, refusing to leave him alone. So even after years of living his new life, he still couldn’t find a solution for his sleeping problem.

And he had tried anything, therapy, medications, chamomile tea, yoga, even those podcasts Sam suggested would help; you name it. But nothing had worked so far. He could only get 2 or 3 hours of sleep per week, and that was only when he passed out from exhaustion.

He thought he was losing his mind. He was desperate for a couple hours of peaceful sleep, but he was so out of options he didn’t know what else to do.

It was one afternoon in the lab with Tony, where he was working in his arm, updating it after some little malfunctions, where the Iron Man gave him the idea that would literally save his life.

“You look like shit, Tin man.” Tony commented nonchalantly noticing the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky scoffed in surprise, but he knew that there was no malice in Tony’s words, so he took no offense.

“Have you slept at all?”

“Yeah, I think I had a solid 4 hours of sleep.” Bucky’s reply was short, tired.

“For the night?”

“For the week.”

Tony’s eyes widened, he felt sorry for the Soldier, his exhaustion was apparent in his face, eyes lifeless, with dark circles, displaying all of his sorrows for everyone who would just spare him a look.

“You know what helps me when I have problems sleeping?” Tony continued working on his arm while talking, and Bucky met his eyes for a second, silently urging him to go on.

“Holding Pep.” He said dreamily. “Just being in her arms, or having her in my arms, holding each other close for the rest of the night, that helps me every time. I sleep like a baby whenever she’s with me.”

He was wearing a smile on his face and Bucky couldn’t help but let a small smile slip from his lips. He always loved how Tony and Pepper were with each other, Pepper always grounding him, keeping him with his feet on the ground, taking care of him, and Tony doing the same for her. But when he thought of himself, his smile dropped instantly.

He wished he could have someone love him like Tony had Pepper, but that was just something not bound to happen for him anymore. Maybe before the war, that would be possible, but now… Now he couldn’t think of anyone who would want to be with him. A monster like him, he thought.

He was lost in his head when Tony patted his shoulder gently to let him know his work was done. “Thanks Tony.” He said in a small voice and got up from the chair he was sitting to leave the lab.

“Anytime.” Tony called after him. “Think of what I said though.”

Bucky just shook his head and left the room.

If only it was that easy….

***

He hates soft beds, but ever since that conversation with Tony in his lab, he has been thinking maybe the idea wasn’t so crazy. So what he didn’t have someone to hold close? So what no one could ever love him or want to sleep in the same bed with him and help him with his nightmares?

He would simply have to improvise. And improvise he did.

That night he placed two pillows with him in his bed, one to put his head on, and another fluffy one to hug close to his chest, imagining it was another person’s comforting presence. He sighed in the pillow and closed his eyes, waiting for the terrors to come, but only when he woke up in the morning rested, he was so surprised to see that it had worked. If only it was a real person there with him, but either way, it had still worked.

When he joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast, everyone could see his relaxed expression, something no one was used to see in him. He even joked with Sam at one point and it left everyone on the team shocked to see this new side of Bucky.

This thing went on for three weeks and with his improved sleeping habits, everything was improving too. He was very efficient in training, Steve even gave him the job to train some new Sh.I.E.L.D agents in hand to hand combat.

It was another rather quiet day in the compound and most of the team were just hanging out in the common room, chatting with each other about anything and everything, when Tony and Steve entered the room, quite serious, standing out from the other people there almost immediately with their stiff postures.

“What’s going on?” Natasha was the first to notice them.

Everyone else’s attention turned to the two men and waited for them to speak.

“We just got some intel, Hydra base needs infiltration. There is this base in Kiev where they seem to be producing some kind of dangerous weapons. We need to stop them as soon as possible.” Steve was the one to explain everything to the team.

“Okay, so when do we leave?” This time was Sam who chimed in with the question.

“We don’t.” Tony interjected. “Due to its dangerous nature of this mission, it should be very secret. So we’re going to send only a duo there to do the work. Of course the rest of the team will be ready to come to help at any time, but it is very important to not draw attention on us by everyone going.”

“Okay, so who will go?”

Steve shifted on his feet, seemingly a little uncomfortable, before he spoke again.

“Y/n is a spy, she is fast and they won’t see her coming. Her abilities are essential to the mission and its success.”

Only when she heard her name, y/n actually picked up her head to finally look at the rest of the team.

“Okay, I can do that.” She said simply, a peace in her voice, almost unfit for the situation. “Who’s going with me?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you asked that.” Steve spoke again. “We gave this a good thought and we decided that Bucky is the best option to go with you. I mean, you compliment each other’s abilities and every time you’ve been paired together it’s been a success, so yeah..”

Y/n shifted her eyes from Steve to Bucky, and then to Steve again. “Okay.” She said softly with a nod of her head. “Yeah, that will do.”

Bucky hadn’t said a word yet, he was just looking each and every member of the team one after one. No emotion in his eyes, just observing them.

“I’m glad you’ve been resting a lot more lately Manchurian Candidate.” Tony’s voice was heard. “You won’t be getting any for the next two days.”

“When do we leave?” It was Bucky’s only question.

“Tomorrow at dawn. The mission is supposed to be a simple in and out. Get everything you can on those weapons and burn the shithole to the ground. Tony booked a hotel for you in Kiev where you can spend the night and rest before you head back home.”

After all the other details were discussed and everything was set out, y/n decided she was going to head to bed soon that night, considering she had to wake up early for the mission. Not long after that, Bucky did the same, bidding their good night’s to the rest of the team.

***

5 am and they were both in the jet, flying to Kiev. The flight would be at least a few hours, so they had time to kill in the meanwhile. Bucky was silently cleaning some of his knifes and y/n was watching him discreetly from the other side of the jet, while pretending to play away in her phone.

Bucky and y/n’s relationship was a simple one. They were teammates, and on Bucky’s good days they could even be considered friends, they would talk and watch movies and hang out, but it was always with other people around. Their chemistry was only fully displayed on the field, where they’d both fight side by side the bad guys and become the most efficient pair of the team. But that was the end of it.

Bucky was a closed of person, he saw himself as a total mess, unworthy to be with anyone because of his past and that didn’t help with socialization that much.

Y/n on the other hand wasn’t any better. She was a delight to be with, but after having her heart broken by her first and only love, it was like she had swore off men, so she never gave anyone a chance to get to know her, to spend time with her as more than just friends. With the other men of the team she had set a solid relationship, Tony and Bruce were her father figures, Steve and Clint were her brothers, and Sam was “the gay best friend” and he wasn’t even gay. With Bucky it was different. The fact that he didn’t hang out with the others that much helped in her situation. She didn’t want to complicate things with anyone, but most importantly didn’t want to get close to any man again. One heart break was enough in a life time.

It was hours later when they arrived in their destination and prepared themselves for what was about to come. They knew it was dangerous, but it was their job. It should be done.

After killing their way through the entire base of enemies, taking what they needed and blowing the place to hell they could finally go to the hotel Steve told them about and get a good rest for the night.

Y/n opened the door and entered their room and Bucky followed behind, head hanging low. Only when he collided with her smaller figure, he finally picked his head up.

She had stopped walking and was staring at the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Um..” she cleared her throat. “There’s only one bed in here. I.. um, I think there’s been a mistake.”

He finally looked up to see what she meant and he saw in front on him only a king sized bed in the center of the room, two little nightstands in the sides, and a small table at the end of the room, no chairs or anything else. He opened another door that was inside the room, only to be met with the small toilet.

“It has a bath tub.” He commented dryly.

Y/n just sighed in frustration and shook her head. “I’m going back to the reception to ask if there’s a mistake, or see if they have another empty room.” With that she was out of there.

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. She was clearly repulsed by the idea of having to share a bed with him and the worst part is he couldn’t even blame her for that. Who would want to be close to a disgusting person like him anyway?

If only he knew…

After talking to the guy at the reception desk again and asking if they had another room, she came out empty handed. She made her way back to the room she had to share with Bucky. How could she even survive a night sleeping in the same bed with him? She was sure he didn’t even want her there? Who would want her anyway? Not even the guy who promised to marry her did. He left her at the altar for another woman. She simply wasn’t a lovable person. So how could she expect Bucky to be okay with sharing a bed with her? If only she didn’t have a tinyyyyy little crush on the man, maybe it would hurt less.

When she entered the room again she didn’t find Bucky there, but her mind got the answer as soon as she heard the water running in the bathroom.

She waited patiently for him to finish so she could have a shower too. When he came out of the bath, the breath was almost knocked out of her lungs. He was almost naked, except for a white towel hanging dangerously low from his hips, his hair was still wet, droplets of water falling on the floor, and his broad shoulders and large chest…

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Bucky was the first one to apologize as soon as he saw her standing there. “I thought you found another room and wasn’t coming back, otherwise I’d let you use the shower first.”

“They, um…” It was getting hard for y/n to form any coherent sentences while Bucky was right there in front of her, in his half naked post shower glistening glory. “There were no other rooms available.” She finished quickly. “Can I…?” She trailed and motioned to the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Bucky was quick to get out of her way and she made it to the bathroom in three short steps, not before grabbing her duffle bag from the floor and closing the door behind her. She took a quick shower and got dressed in a hurry, only toweling her hair from the excess water and leaving it to dry naturally.

When she went back to the room, to her surprise she found Bucky laying on the floor on the side of the bed, a pillow under his head and a small blanket covering him.

“What are you doing there?” She asked him narrowing her eyes.

“Sleeping.” His answer was barely a whisper, she could have almost missed it if she wasn’t so focused on him. Her heart broke at the sight. Of course he would be sleeping on the floor. Any place was better than sleeping next to her. It shouldn’t have hurt that much, but it did. She blinked away the tears that were starting to form on her eyes, and steadied her voice to speak again.

“You cannot sleep on the floor Bucky. I can’t let you do that. Your shoulder will hurt and you’ll be in pain in the morning and I..” she was beginning to ramble at this point, but she couldn’t control her words anymore.

Bucky lifted his head from the pillow and looked back at her with soft eyes.

“It’s okay, I am used to sleeping on hard surfaces. Besides, I couldn’t take the bed for myself and let you sleep on the floor.”

There he goes. Of course one of them has to sleep on the floor. There is no other option.

“I mean..” she averted her eyes for a second from him to the bed and then to him again. “It’s a very large bed, we could both sleep there.” She could feel her face flushing with embarrassment. The words had left her mouth without really thinking and she regretted them already.

Bucky’s eyes widened for a second and then he smiled at her sweetly. “You don’t want to sleep in the same bed with me doll.” He said almost whispering and her head snapped to face him when she heard the pet name roll of his lips.

If she was blushing before, she was certain to be crimson red after hearing him call her ‘doll’. But his words also gave her a boost of confidence she so needed at the moment.

She walked in the direction of the bed and when he thought she was hopping on it, she knelt on the floor before Bucky.

“Get up from the floor and let’s go to sleep on the bed. It’s big enough for the both of us.” She said in a low voice, but left no room for arguing. As if she just cast a spell on him to follow her every order. At that moment he would have done anything she’d ask him to. Without questions. Without any second thoughts.

They got in the bed and laid down on their respective sides. The bed was large enough to allow a respectable space between them, but despite it, they could both feel the warmth coming from the other’s body. Bucky turned off the light and they laid on their sides, facing each other, only the moonlight allowing them to make out each other’s features on the otherwise dark room.

“You did great out there today.” Bucky was the first to break the silence and he could have sworn he heard her smile.

“Thanks. You too.” She replied and he chuckled deeply.

He wanted to say more to her, but couldn’t. He was scared he would ruin the peaceful moment they were having and he definitely didn’t want to make the situation weird.

“Good night.” he spoke a moment later and turned on his back, facing the ceiling this time.

“Good night Bucky.” She whispered back and closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Bucky could hear her even breathing and he thought it was insane how fast a person could fall asleep. Maybe she wasn’t plagued by the horrifying nightmares like he was. Maybe her conscience was clear and she was at peace with herself so that’s why it was so easy for sleep to come that quickly to her.

Bucky was almost envious of how peaceful she looked while she slept. Her lips partly open, he could listen to her breathing coming easy and calm out of her lungs. But it did nothing to soothe his mind.

He didn’t have his pillows. He took the one from his under head to hug it but now his neck was uncomfortable in that position. He let out a small breath and put the pillow under his head again. It must have passed at least a good hour of him tossing and turning around in the bed, when he felt y/n stirring in her sleep and moving closer to him.

He was laying on his back, with his hands behind his head and that just created the perfect opportunity for y/n to reach out her hand and place it on his stomach and inch her head closer to finally rest it on his shoulder. When she finally found herself a comfortable position, totally curled up to his side, she let out an actual sigh, but she never woke up.

Bucky had frozen in the spot, not daring to move even an inch for fear of waking her up. Only when he was sure she was soundly asleep again, he willed his flesh hand to move to her face and place a strand of hair behind her ear. His action only made her inch closer to him, if that was even possible anymore and he let his hand rest on her neck.

He was almost sure this had to be a dream. She couldn’t be sleeping so peacefully while being so close to him, but she was and now he was scared to death to fall asleep because he could have a nightmare and hurt her. He’d never forgive himself if her hurt her.

Despite being tired he willed himself to stay awake, but that didn’t last for too long, because sleep finally got to him and his eyes didn’t obey him anymore, they just closed in their own accord.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagines

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princesssarcastia · 3 years

Text

coffee and ice cream after the end of the end of the world

part 2/? of “it’s the springtime of my life.” in which I try my hand at dialogue for 1.5k and these assholes, miraculously, hold it together. it’s almost like they love each other or something.

part one | part two | part three | part four

—

None of them have a modern dollar on their person, so cabs are out. Vanya cajoles and corrals them all to her apartment, on account of it being after midnight, her place having more space, and Diego’s boiler room belonging to a technical fugitive. They eventually start walking, Five comparing his mental notes with Diego’s knowledge of the city to figure out where exactly Cha-Cha’s gun is so they can pick it up along the way.

It takes two hours to reach the entrance to her apartment building, and most of it is spent in comfortable silence:

Diego ducks his head every time a car passes by, keeping his face hidden from eyes and headlights;

Klaus and Allison train their gazes on every shop and car and pedestrian, trying to relearn what their world looks like after years spent in a totally different one;

Five contemplates how only now that the stakes are so low as to be on the ground can they stick together; apparently, directing the Umbrella Academy is only like herding cats when it matters. He heroically resists the urge to grit his teeth or make a scathing comment, still enjoying the silence—plus, he doesn’t want to jinx it.

“Ah,” Vanya says hesitantly when they reach her door. “Keys.”

Diego rolls his eyes and shoulders her out of the way, pulling lockpicks out of…somewhere and jimmying the door open in seconds.

Her space feels smaller and bigger at the same time, even though she knows it’s exactly the same as it was one month—one day?—ago. She takes a moment to stand in the center of her apartment and breathe. So much of her time here was spent feeling empty, worthless, small; but now, with her family moving through it, it feels more like home than even the old house ever did.

Klaus makes a beeline for the kitchen, flinging his hat onto the counter so he can duck into the fridge and rifle through it.

Luther settles awkwardly onto her couch and draws an ominous creak out of the frame.

Allison wrings her hands, hovering in the doorway until Five clears his throat pointedly, and then takes the few steps to the window to hover there, instead.

Five flashes directly over to the coffeemaker and starts it up, digging the filters and beans out of the cabinets.

Diego come up behind Allison and tuts patronizingly. “Vanya, your locks are shit. Rapists can climb, you know.”

Five snorts and calls back from the kitchen, “that’s exactly what I said!”

“You two fix it then, if it bothers you that much,” Vanya sighs, ignoring them in favor of her bedroom. “I’m going to go put on something from this century, be right back.”

“Maybe I will,” Diego yells after her.

Allison closes her eyes and huffs. “You know, you’re pretty loud for a fugitive, Diego.”

“Hey, we don’t even know for sure that I am a fugitive, still.”

“Well, unless you want to find out, I suggest you quiet down before Vanya’s neighbors call the cops on us!” She thumps his shoulder sharply. He makes a face back and subtly rolls his shoulder, working the ache out before it can settle.

They mill about aimlessly for an indeterminate amount of time. Eventually, Klaus settles on the floor in front of Luther with a carton of ice cream and a spoon; Five leans against the wall across from him with a now steaming mug; Diego slides onto the couch next to Luther, unusually comfortable next to their biggest brother, knocking their shoulders together gently; Vanya slips back into the room in an outfit functionally identical to the ones she wore in the 60s; Allison stays by the window, still wringing her hands, and the moon pulls her gaze back again and again, visions of Jules Verne flashing before her eyes.

She wonders if Raymond has found her letter yet; realizes that of course he has, it’s been…so long. So long, not long enough; and she wonders if the fresh and terrible ache in her chest ever receded for him, or if this is a weight she’ll carry for the rest of her life.

“So, not to interrupt whatever tranquil thought processes we all have going on, but,” Klaus swallows and digs his spoon back into the tub, “what the hell do we do now?”

Everyone looks to Five for a moment, who snorts at his coffee incredulously. “Oh, now you want to listen to me?” He takes a sip. “I’m just as much in the dark as all of you, now. I don’t think I really believed I would make it this far.”

“Well, I have to get back to L.A.,” Allison says. “I don’t even remember how many sessions I’ve missed with my court mandated therapist, and I refuse to lose whatever custody of Claire I have left.”

“I probably need a lawyer,” Diego sighs.

“I think I have to meet with Dad’s lawyers,” Luther makes a face. “There’s still the rest of his estate to deal with, even if the house is…” he rubs the back of his neck, “no longer an issue.”

Vanya looks down at her hands, turning them forward and back. “Do you think,” she clears her throat. “What about…Pogo? And Mom?” Her voice breaks. “Are they still there, do we need to—can we—” Her voice breaks again, and she swipes at her face.

All her siblings reach for her together, colliding somewhere in the middle in a jumble. Allison rubs her back, Five discreetly grabs her hand, still holding his coffee. Klaus buries his face in her hair and makes shushing noises.

Diego takes a deep breath and remembers sitting on a back porch with Vanya, however many hours and decades ago, before answering. “We’ll figure it out. If we can find Mom’s blueprints, and her—body,” he settles on, “there might be something we can do?”

“We?” Five asks bitingly. “Please, as if any of you could possibly understand those mechanics.”

“Hey,” Luther says, offended, “I’m not actually an idiot, you know. I was on the moon—” everyone else groans simultaneously, but he keeps talking over them, “—on the moon for four years! What did you think I was doing up there, sitting with my thumb up my ass? I know how to pilot and repair fucking rocket ships, I think I can handle Mom.”

“Huh,” Klaus says after a moment.

Five raises an eyebrow. “I suppose you’re right, Luther. You can be my assistant,” he declares.

They all groan again, until Diego tries to pull back and accidentally knocks Klaus off balance, sending the whole ridiculous lot of them tumbling into one another and onto the floor. Five ends up on top of the heap, his feet dangling somewhere near Allison’s face, still sipping from his improbably un-spilled coffee.

“I love you guys,” Vanya says, muffled, from under a pile of other people’s limbs.

“Aw, love you too, sis,” Klaus responds, giggling.

—

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