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aquamarinescarlet · 3 years

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Don’t give up just yet

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~3.6k

Warnings: two curse word (I think), brief mentions of sex and cheating, angst (bare in mind these warnings don’t apply the way you think they do, you’ll have to read to understand)

Summary: The classic soulmate AU, sentences written on each other’s wrists, but with a twist.

Author’s note: This was basically an excuse for me to reinvent the soulmate AU with the wrist tattoos thing. It’s sorta angsty, but I just thought the ending was too funny. Just experimenting here, tell me what you think.

PSA: Dividers are the count down till the day: black is reader focused, red is wanda focused, gold/yellow is also reader focused, but I thought it deserved a little spark.

“You should call her, y’know.”

“Why would I do that? She made her point very clear.”

“It’s her wedding day, Y/N,” Mia reasoned, “and this fight was months ago, you have to get over it.”

You rolled your eyes at her insistence. This discussion has been happening every day for the past two weeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, why am I the one who should get over it?” You emphasized.

“He is her soulmate, and she is your sister, the least you could do is pretend.”

“Ugh,” you let out a guttural scream, “I can’t do this anymore Mia, I stand by what I said. That man is an asshole and this soulmate thing is stupid. I don’t trust him, no matter what the words on both their wrists say, and I’m not gonna watch her go down with this and not do anything about it.”

Mia didn’t respond, she knew she’d reached your last nerve. You watched as the woman left your office, sending a last sympathetic glance your way before walking into the hall.

Mia was right in some points, and you knew that. She was right about it being your sister’s wedding day and that you should be there to support her. She was wrong about you needing to be the one to apologize though. The way people manipulated their lives to fit this whole twisted Soulmate Theory made your blood boil.

The Soulmate Theory was quite simple: everyone was born with a sentence written on their wrists, popular belief is that those are the first words your soulmate will say to you. It was cute, and it worked most of the time, not for your sister though. Or at least you thought so.

Oli's soulmate was Isaac. They had met three years ago and eventually started dating. Oli was a firm believer of the Soulmate Theory and had never dated anyone before, so it was all new and exciting.

You started noticing the patterns roughly one year after they started dating. He was controlling her, discreetly, barely noticeable, but it was there.

First with clothes, Oli had made it a habit to always ask for his opinions on her clothing, and he would tell her he hated something, regardless of her telling him over and over again she had liked it. You made little comments here and there about his actions, mostly jokes but with some truth behind, she didn’t notice.

Second was friends, Isaac would always want to meet Oli’s friends, and if she went out with one he didn’t know he would make her feel guilty. You started giving more serious warnings, pointing out what he was doing more clearly, she didn’t care and called you crazy.

Third was her feelings, he had his mind set on what her role should be in his life. He praised Oli endlessly when she cooked or cleaned. Other than that, he didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to her stories, didn’t appreciate her paintings and drawings…

It got to the point where she wouldn’t want to paint anymore, when she was telling a story it would be without her usual excitement. Her smile no longer reached her eyes, she was constantly tired.

You confronted her about it, several times, but it was of no use. You’d point out the facts and she’d retort with ‘he is my soulmate, the universe bound us together, he wouldn’t do this to me!’

Three months ago was the last time you two talked. She told you he asked her hand. She knew you would be against it, she tried to ease you into the idea of her being with Isaac for the rest of her life. You weren’t having any of it.

After hours of screaming, arguing and loads of tears, she told you not to come to the wedding, and you said you wouldn’t.

It’s now four days from the date and you’re not going as long as he’s the one she’s marrying.

You stared at the words on your own wrist. ‘It’s you’. That sentence haunted you for years. What a stupid set of words for your soulmate to say.

As a kid you adored the Soulmate Theory, you paid meticulous attention to the first words you’d exchange with anyone, you made new friends nearly every day in hopes of hearing those words, but they never came.

Until they came. At first it was exhilarating, but the ones you said didn’t match the ones on the person’s wrist. You were extremely disappointed. And then you heard them again, and again, and again… It became almost routine. Every single person you met would say ‘it’s you’ or some variation of it.

You being who you are certainly didn’t help. During college you had started a tech company and now it had grown to be one of the biggest and most important in the field. The new inventions did win you several prizes and a lot of money. You were also stupid famous, being the young brilliant CEO and all.

Ever since, you gave up on looking for your soulmate. It seemed counter productive to get yourself all worked up just for it not to happen every single day. You made your peace with it, although a small part of you just wanted to meet said person.

The situation with Isaac and Oli helped. Seeing that it could end up hurting you made it easier to not fixate on finding your soulmate. Nonetheless, the desire was there; hidden, pushed to the back of your mind, but still there.

You just wished your sister could see it too, that the Soulmate Theory is not the solution to all her problems.

“Relax Steve, it’s all taken care of.”

“What about the flowers? Did you book the buffet? Did you check with the band? And the decorations? I saw some people didn’t RSVP yet, should I redo the seating charts?” Steve rambled on as Wanda just laughed.

“The flower problem is solved, the buffet confirmed, so did the band, the wedding planner is working on the decorations and redoing the whole seating chart seems… unnecessary, they still have three days to confirm their presence.” She reassured the man who was more stressed than her about the whole situation.

“Okay, sorry, I just want to make sure everything is perfect.” He huffed, taking a seat on the couch.

“It’s going to be perfect, don’t worry.” She couldn’t help the weirdness that surged upon uttering those words.

“How are you so calm?” Wanda just shrugged, not really sure how to answer.

Steve took a deep breath and gazed at the red head, offering her a smile.

“I’m going to sleep, all this wedding stuff has been stressing me all day.”

“Okay,” Steve made his way to his bedroom but she called him before he reached the hallway, “thanks for the help Rogers.”

“No worries.” He shot a last smile before disappearing.

Wanda found herself alone in the living room, the silence only making her thoughts scream louder.

She would be married in three days. It seemed unbelievable. After losing her parents, being experimented on at Hydra, fighting along Ultron, losing her brother and becoming an Avenger, she never thought she would have time to fall in love.

Yet, here she is. Although the feeling wasn’t quite what she thought it would be. It wasn’t exciting, or nerve racking. She felt no different than any other day of her life. Steve seemed like the one who was getting married, not her.

Vision is sweet and caring, she feels so happy around him. Then what is causing all these doubts to haunt her?

She knows what it is, she just doesn’t want to admit it.

Those words. Those stupid words painted forever on her wrist. ‘Don’t do this’. Ever since joining the Avengers she started using several bracelets to hide them, but they still burned on her skin every single day.

She’d heard of the Soulmate Theory at a very young age. Her parents had explained how those were the first words she’d hear from the love of her life. She would spend hours daydreaming all sorts of scenarios in which someone would say those words to her and they’d fall in love.

After her parent’s death, that stopped being her priority. At the Hydra base she’d only see her brother and a couple dozen different Hydra soldiers, too old and mean for a soulmate.

Gaining powers was a game changer. She was older then. Stronger. They finally allowed her and Pietro to leave the base and create chaos in Hydra’s name. “Do good” in Hydra’s name. She believed she was doing the right thing. She truly did.

Hearing her first ‘Don’t do this’ made her question everything. It came from a little kid nonetheless. A scared little kid. It must’ve been a mistake, she thought at the time. But that mistake happened, again, and again, and again…

When she joined the Avengers her eyes were opened to all the pain and terror she had caused. All the people she hurt. Then it dawned on her, what if one of those ‘Don’t do this’ came from her soulmate? What if she had hurt them, or worse, killed them?

The idea terrified her. So she hid those words on her wrist. A reminder of the evil she’s done and the love she’ll never have. She promised herself to never look for her soulmate, she already caused them enough pain, they didn’t deserve to get tangled in the mess that was her life.

And then Vision was created. Him and Wanda got along greatly. He made her happy. They fell in love, or at least that’s what Wanda told herself, that she fell in love with him. It was possible, there’s no rule on the Soulmate Theory that says you can only fall in love with your soulmate. Plus, Vision is not human, so he doesn’t have words written on his wrist, he doesn’t have a predestined soulmate, technically he doesn’t even have an actual soul for this sort of thing. They could be each other’s soulmate. A loophole on this stupid theory.

Why didn’t it feel like that though? Why was she questioning it so much? And why now? Three days before her wedding?

She took off the bracelets and stared at the ink, brushing her fingers lightly over it. She loved Vision, she affirmed to herself. She wants to marry him. This is what she wants. And she believes in these words, for a while. Long enough for her to fall asleep, turning off her brain from overthinking the situation too much.

Work has had you occupied all week. With back to back meetings and loads of paperwork to fill out, you’ve barely had time to think of anything else.

But now it seems like everything is done and you have more free time than you’d like.

You left the office early, not having much to do there anymore, and, instead of spending all afternoon home alone, you decided to go out for some coffee.

You were sitting on your usual table in the small coffee shop close to your place. It was calm, quiet and homely, a nice contrast between the places you frequent. The warm cup on your hands did nothing to distract you though.

The book you’d brought was long forgotten on the table as you glanced at your phone every few seconds. It’s two days till the wedding and, even though you tried not to think about it, you hoped your sister would text you saying she broke it off. It was unlikely, but wishing she could get some sense knocked into her wouldn’t kill.

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn’t notice a woman glancing at you until you caught her trying to call your attention.

“It’s you!” She said, astonished, pointing to the cover of a magazine showing a picture of you.

Recognizing that issue as being a rather old one, you just nodded and offered the woman a friendly smile. She took that as an opportunity to approach you.

“Hi. Sorry,” she sounded excited and also nervous for bothering you, “I just wanted to say what an inspiration you are to women all around, to me especially. I’ve been opening my own business and seeing what you do has been such an encouragement to me. So, thank you!”

You were surprised by how nice she was. You’d expected her to ask you to invest in her business or something, like everyone who approaches you does, but she didn’t and it was a nice change of pace for once.

“What kind of business are you opening?” You asked. Listen to her talk would be a good distraction, plus, you could use the company.

“Oh, no, that’s ok,” she said, “I don’t want to bother you any further.”

“Please,” you urged, “I have the rest of my day off and I could use someone to talk to. Unless you’re busy, then I wouldn’t want to be a burden to you.” You laughed to ease the woman’s nerves.

“Sure?” You nodded and gestured to the empty seat across from you.

She accepted it and you spent at least an hour talking before she had to leave. It was a pleasant conversation, she praised your work but didn’t refrain from giving some interesting criticism on your business. The topic of an investment or a partnership never even came up.

It got your sister out of your mind for a while, although it didn’t last long.

Laying on your bed, your eyes fought to stay open, your mind swirling with all possible scenarios regarding Oli. She would be miserable if she went through with this, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

You love your sister, you care so much about her, but she refuses to listen to your warnings. You could swallow your pride and go to the wedding. You could try and support her. But that would just make an accomplice to her stupidity and you’re not going to just stand there and pretend that that’s ok.

You thought about texting her, way too many times. But your relationship is already rocky as it is, the least you could do is hope she gets some clarity on her own.

One day till the wedding. She’s 24 hours away from the happiest day of her life. Why is it, then, that Wanda doesn’t feel as happy as she should be.

She didn’t have to fake a smile, she was happy, but that smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

None of the others seemed to notice it. They just thought it was the nervousness of having everything set so the day could run smoothly. Vision even brought up the possibility of her having cold feet about it, but she denied it thoroughly, assuring him she wanted this.

And she does. She wants to get married, have kids and build up a family of her own. She wants it all.

It still seemed weird though. Like something was off.

“Steve just called,” Nat interrupted her thoughts, walking back into the room, “everything is set, prepped and organized for tomorrow.”

“Let’s try on the dress then.” Carol urged the girl to put on the piece of clothing for the millionth time.

It did her justice. Slim at the top and flowy at the bottom, accentuating all her curves perfectly. It wasn’t big and puffy but light and delicate. She smiled at her own reflection as the other women crammed around her to take a look.

“You look beautiful.” Pepper said in awe.

“She does, doesn’t she.” Laura agreed, even though she’s the one that helped her choose it.

Wanda didn’t say anything, just smiling and appreciating her own image, excitement growing on her chest from wearing it in front of everyone the next day.

The girls spent hours planning how they would do her hair and makeup. There were so many ideas, disagreements and arguments that Wanda was completely drained by the end of the day. She was happy though, to see her friends being there for her, eager to help and make sure everything was perfect.

It was nice to have people around since she lost so much throughout the years.

After the women were gone and she found herself alone, Wanda’s thoughts from the beginning of the day came back, hitting her like a train.

Was she really more excited about wearing a dress than about getting married? Was this a sign of her actually getting cold feet?

She shrugged them away, affirming to herself these are just stupid uncertanties people always get before their wedding day. At least that’s what happens in movies, so nothing to worry about... right?

Thankfully your work slump had subsided as now a gigantic pile of papers sat on your table. Some contracts had to be restructured and a set of stores had to be chosen to distribute your newest technology.

You thrived in that scenario, with countless reports and 2D drawings of the prototypes scattered about the room. Your mind was going a thousand miles a minute, seemingly unaware of the events that would take place later that day.

That peace, however, was short lived. Your brain short circuited for a second when you checked what had caused your phone to buzz.

Two voicemails.

From none other than Isaac.

It was right then that it dawned on you: Oli was marrying that asshole today. In only a couple of hours actually.

Before listening to the messages you started to record your phone screen, maybe he would try to threaten you or something and you could use that to convince Oli to break things off with him. It wouldn’t kill to be precautious.

The first one was sweet, although it almost made you gag, it was sent with good intentions. Isaac was asking you to go easy on Oli, regardless of your feelings towards him, you should be supportive of her and her decisions. Too pretentious for your liking, but sent with good intentions nonetheless.

The second one started awfully weird. Some muffled sounds, things you couldn’t quite make out. Until you heard a loud moan, your eyes going wide as you pushed your phone away from your face. Isn’t it technically ‘bad luck’ to see the bride on the wedding day? You didn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts as the voice on the phone started to moan each other’s names. The woman didn’t sound anything like Oli, because it wasn’t Oli. Isaac was cheating on your sister? And on their wedding day!?

Oh you weren’t about to just let that go. You stopped the recording, thanking your intuition, and quickly ringed Oli.

It rang once… twice… three times… and then voicemail. You tried at least four more times until you figured she just didn’t want to talk to you.

“Marie can you come in here please?” You called your secretary.

A few seconds later she popped her head inside your office.

“How can I help?”

“Can I use your phone!?” You sounded more exasperated than you wished.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to call your sister today?” Damn, that woman knows you too well. You sighed loudly.

“Please… I just…” You trailed off, sounding desperate this time around.

Thankfully Marie gave in and lent you her phone. You typed Oli’s number and rang it, several times, she didn’t pick up once. You were starting to get truly desperate now.

“Do you have the address?” You handed Marie her phone back.

“Here.” She handed you a piece of paper from her pocket.

It was on the other side of the city, at least a one hour drive. You quickly grabbed your coat, purse and phone, rushing out of the office, only being stopped by a hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” You gave her a reassuring smile and a quick nod before making your way to your car. Marie has been working with you since the beginning, she always knew when you were up to nothing good. She also knew that when you set your mind to something, there was no stopping you.

The drive was excruciating. You kept making stupid mistakes and taking wrong turns. Everything seemed to work against you, being it: accidents, red lights, slow drivers, pedestrians. Even the birds chirping around were pissing you off.

You finally reached the venue and stopped the car messily in the front entrance. You quickly ran up the stairs, and almost tripped and fell when you heard the officiant was already performing the ceremony.

You reached the doors and yanked them open, hopefully interrupting the wedding before it was too late.

“Don’t do this!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, nearly breathless.

The guests all turned towards you, surprised. So did the couple on the podium.

Except those people weren’t Oli and Isaac. You recognized them, Vision and Scarlet Witch, or at least that’s the names they went for on television. You’ve seen them before, doing business with Stark had its perks, but had never been introduced.

You could’ve felt bad, but your stomach was a turmoil of faith and nausea. You were either really early or really late to stop Oli.

“Sorry,” you said, trying to catch your breath, “wrong wedding, carry on.” You turned around to leave, but not before noticing the bride glancing at her own wrist.

You didn’t get the chance to take a single step out the door before her voice filled the silence that had settled.

“It’s you.” You stopped dead on your tracks. Your wrist burning slightly, not the kind of pain to cause discomfort, just enough to be noticeable.

Those words.

Her looking at her wrist.

Your’s burning now.

You turned back around, earning all kinds of confused glances from the guests. Your eyes fell on the woman, a smirk plastered on your lips.

“Seems like this isn’t the wrong wedding after all.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mcu #marvel #reader insert #wanda maximoff imagine #soulmate au

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theseerasures · 3 years

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RWBY V08C14 reaction post

haven’t done something like this for this fandom yet, but the finale was so much all at once that i could not muster any level of critical thinking the first go-around. my thoughts have...settled somewhat with a second rewatch. still nothing conclusive (obviously), but at least coherent enough to be written down.

in rough chronological order:

i am very into it, of course, but i’m still not quite sure what to make of the fact that this finale very explicitly pivots around Winter Schnee, to the extent that the episode (sans prologue and coda) are bookended by her. she begins the episode charging into a fight, and ends it the same way. even putting aside that her in-universe presence has increased by magnitudes, that we end a season where she has mostly been a sparse supporting player with THIS has implications i can’t suss out for her narrative role going forward.

going into the finale i thought that Ironwood vs. Winter would turn out to be another RWBY Flagship Fight (ie long and flashy and indulgent in the best ways), but i pretty much knew that wouldn’t be the case once the fight began in earnest and they immediately started talking to each other.

for what we did get i’m happy to say that the Core Dynamic of the fight was exactly what i predicted: Winter rushing in to melee and not giving Ironwood enough time to fire, Ironwood trying to make room by shoving her away and using his cannon as a makeshift club--even down to breaking the cannon formation BACK to dual wielding to give himself an edge.

i will say that for Winter to have blocked him head-on--this is James Ironwood, who once stopped an Alpha Beowolf cold with one bionic hand, and now he’s got TWO--with her broken noodle arms is...incredibly cool. stupid! but cool.

Ironwood doing the double pistol whip while screaming about how no one is grateful has i wouldn’t have to be doing this if you just behaved all over it.

in retrospect i’m not sure why i expected a RWBY Flagship Fight when just about every fight this season has been extremely different. the camera work is always fucking frantic, we’re often cross-cutting between different simultaneous fights, and there are far fewer shots where both combatants are clearly shown and evenly matched. about the only fight we’ve had resembling that is AceOps vs Penny waaaaaaay back in Strings--even the low-stakes triumphant JNPER + Winter vs. Ironwood fight in Creation was extremely short and crosscut with BRA vs. AceOps.

case in point: the showdown in Grand Central takes up pretty much the entire episode, but combatants are continuously entering and exiting, the setting’s physical dimensions feel wonky and surreal, and the fact that half of the people fighting have flight capabilities means we’re relying on wide shots and oners to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s a war now, and even though we follow only a handful of characters in it the fights carry that grander and more desperate tone.

Cinder relies twice this episode on just fucking nova-ing herself to overwhelm her Maiden opponents. it’s different from how she usually fights, which is still fireballs and conjured swords/projectiles--she’s learning to use her Maiden powers to wreak havoc on a larger scale, which a) reinforces what we already know of Cinder, but b) complements her recent relearning of subtlety and manipulation. still a tenuous balance of extremes that can and will shatter, though.

Weiss got to save everyone during the fight, and none of it mattered in the end.

the thing about priority one is that they all planned for this. they all went in planning for the contingency where they don’t make it out, where they have to watch others not make it out.

Weiss plucking Penny out of the air and Penny pleading to make the sacrifice play is an EXACT recreation of what happened in Enemy of Trust, down to the saved looking up at the savior while the savior is looking onward. she’s just swapped places with the Schnee in question, and...they are the priority targets this time, unfortunately.

Cinder smugly flipping her hair out of...her eyepatch...she really is living her best life and she knows it

Blake made the right choice, and it didn’t matter at all.

Qrow ending the last episode with a berserker charge at Harriet and then immediately pulling back here and trying to talk her down really got to me, as did him trying to block the bomb with his body. the man is so desperately trying to be better than he was, and it doesn’t take a lot anymore for him to realize the right path.

Elm and Vine--

the thing about Elm and Vine is that both their powers boil down to getting attached. so watching Elm hold Vine in place while Vine holds the two airships together, everyone in this little world, it’s...everything i could ever want, out of how the story of the AceOps would end.

Anairis Quinones for dark horse MVP. why can’t you just let me do my job, delivered in the way that it was, is the perfect encapsulation of Harriet Bree desperately trying to outrun her personal feelings and the grief it has given her.

Elm tells Harriet that she’s their friend, to stop her from killing a part of herself as she tries to kill others. it’s the first time this happens in the episode, but not the only time.

Penny saved Blake so they could save Ruby together, and it didn’t matter at all.

our heroes have GOT to stop falling for the “watch the thing flying in the air! OH WAIT I STILL HAVE A WEAPON IN MY HAND WALLOP WALLOP” trick. it happens multiple times in this one episode.

Harriet, who has the fastest Speed Semblance known, says there’s no time to make it out of the blast range. she doesn’t try to outrun it. she just...stays put, and admits that she brought them all here, to this. i’m sorry.

here’s the thing: they’re soldiers. they were prepared for this eventuality, where they don’t make it out. that’s why Elm let Vine go grab Harriet; because she thought they were all going to die, and if that happened she wanted Harriet close enough to reach.

but--just like with Team Hero--some of them do make it out. they just have to watch.

Vine and Hazel sacrificed themselves in the same way in the end: pulling their loved ones close wasn’t working, so they threw themselves around the thing trying to kill them instead.

Ruby was clever, and pragmatic, and brave. it didn’t matter in the end.

Cinder letting Neo fall as soon as she gets a chance proves that she still lacks patience, and that’s going to bite her in the ass.

the Penny-Blake fastball special and the fall; Penny crying tears for the first time, but not moving immediately to rage, as she had last episode, when Yang fell.

Weiss’ shaking hands around Gambol Shroud, crying berserker tears as she tries, desperately, to pull off another miracle. it’s another role reversal in a way: her sister’s the Riza Hawkeye, but she’s the one emptying useless clip after useless clip into an enemy she can’t kill, because her heart has been ripped in two.

the last time Nora Valkyrie saw Jaune Arc, they clasped hands, and their eyes met with determination, and hope.

it figures that a Schnee would be the last one standing, letting all her friends die first. she was right, but again: wrong Schnee.

Weiss diving past Cinder’s blind spot to slice the Grimm Arm, to save Penny--the same script, but the wrong player. and too late.

at Haven, Jaune went from trying to do harm to unlocking his Semblance, and realizing that he was meant to heal. here, he goes from trying to do what he is meant to do, what he has made peace with, to...

it will take a long time, i think, for him to learn to live with himself, even with Penny reassuring him that this is what she wants. to go from wanting to harm to being the one who does no harm, to being forced to acknowledge a person’s right to die, and carry out the deed himself. it’s a new variation on what he’s always had to wrestle with since Pyrrha’s sacrifice.

Weiss managed to outlast Cinder Fall without an Aura WITHOUT getting her entire body broken, Winter

the boundary between material worlds is made of darkness. the boundary between souls is made of light, and there is no danger of falling.

where...what is this? of course Winter doesn’t know. she never would have, even if she had gotten the powers, because she would have used the Transfer machine.

i thought of you, and here we are. that was all it took. the last time Penny saw Winter, Winter was still loyal to Ironwood. she’s only known abstractly, secondhand from Weiss, that Winter was on their side again and trying to help save Mantle, for about an hour. and yet: i thought of you.

and in the face of this thought that is love, Winter averts her eyes. tries in vain to hide her face, because she knows she is unworthy. she doesn’t deserve this.

but here’s the thing: no one deserves this. Penny. are you...the one? even Penny herself wasn’t sure.

you were my friend. the second time it happens this episode. friends save friends from themselves. friends transform what would have been murder into sacrifice.

remember what Penny said to Cinder, shortly before Cinder killed her? you wouldn’t know anything about friends. she’s right. it wasn’t Cinder’s choice, but she’s right. and now Cinder has learned how to use that.

i’ll be part of you. it is, of course, something that’s been brought up repeatedly this whole season. but it’s also what Winter said to Penny after Fria died: she’s a part of you now.

and i do love this yoking together of arc words. Winter is of course the firstborn Schnee, but Winter is, more broadly, The Firstborn in this new generation. so here we have something similar to the chain that begins with Winter letting her sisters go, through Penny letting Emerald go, through Emerald helping Oscar escape, to Atlas’ however ephemeral victory over Salem. what Winter begins--haltingly and with resentment--becomes transformed into radiant grace in the hands of her younger siblings. and she gets to be the direct benefactor this time. the prodigal daughter returns to her family.

during Enemy of Trust we watched from the outside as Oscar fell and Penny rose, as one set of eyes closed as another opened. during The Final Word, we watch from the inside: one set of eyes close. another opens.

Winter’s leitmotif plays on the piano for the first time since the previous season as she comes back to the world. it makes sense. the piano version is for her sisters, and she just left one of them.

here is the apotheosis of Winter Schnee: she gets back up. she falters and sways but she gets back up, and then she, the person who once managed to convince herself that so long as she could make peace with someone else’s choice it meant she too was choosing, tells the man who has been choosing for her for years: you chose nothing. and she rises.

in the end James Ironwood was finished by his petard thrice over. Atlas had defected against him. his greatest creation had become the Maiden and unshackled herself from him. and there is of course, the cannon: a literal petard, in the other words, which he fires at Winter, and Winter reflects back upon him.

Jaune Arc used the heirloom that his family has held for generations to kill a defenseless girl. he took the blade and sunk it in deep, because Penny trusted him and he had to be sure.

and then it shattered in his hands.

there’s something here in the second fight between Maidens, about Cinder having a named weapon and forsaking it for what she can make on the fly, and Winter insistent on using a weapon with no name at all, but i still can’t put my finger on it.

Winter never got to see Weiss try to Summon her Nevermore.

the thing that gets me about how it turns out is: Winter was winning. she’d managed to get her hands on the Staff, and even with Cinder’s immediate counterattack she managed to get the Staff away from Cinder. but then Cinder saw Jaune and Weiss, and she remembered a few days ago, when Penny saved Winter instead of going after Cinder, when Winter attacked Cinder to save Penny.

so Cinder attacks Weiss and Jaune instead of racing for the Staff. and Winter--

this is Winter Schnee. she saves people despite herself. she runs toward them, despite herself. and it has always, always been what saves her.

not anymore.

last time it had been Winter who was in mortal danger, and Weiss who, with Ruby’s help, drove Cinder off. same script, wrong player. and too late.

Weiss falls and for a moment, the camera makes it seem like Winter is falling too.

she wants to. no one deserves this.

the thing you have to ask when characters leap for the exit and fall just short is: is it about faith, or friendship? in Jaune’s case it’s both. his faith broke with Crocea Mors. and the portal is one-way, so he had no friends to grab him from the other side.

but Nora was still trying. they clasped hands. she promised.

the first time Winter sees her family--really sees them, after years of separation--she averts her eyes. she hides her face from them, because how can she tell them that Weiss is gone? how can she tell Penny’s friends that Penny is a part of her now, when Penny is just a part, now?

there are people all around her looking to her. there are voices within her. she has never been more alone.

(Winter Schnee has never met Pyrrha Nikos, and Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. because Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. Cinder Fall did that, too.)

this is what Winter Schnee thinks, as she screams and charges, as she kills Grimm faster than they are drawn in by her despair: in the fairy tales, eldest siblings never win.

i failed you again, master. master, but not queen.

Cinder won this. the heroes tried and tried and tried and none of it mattered, and she won this. but here’s the thing: Cinder won because she was LUCKY, and because she made her own luck. that she was able to pin things on Neo and Team Hero depended on things going exactly as planned, and some things going better than planned. and the reason she’d even made it that far was because she cheated, with the last use of a divine relic. it doesn’t take away her from her victory, but what i do know is this: this is her finest moment. she will never win as completely ever again, and she will fall farther than she has ever feared. (and that will save her, in the end.)

and that’s checkmate. i said that i wanted Atlas to fall the same way that Amity rose, but of course they did it like this. of course it would horrific yet unspectacular, with its General slumped in defeat, unable to fire a single shot from his gun. with the city in the sky falling onto Mantle, in Mantle’s palette. from the Dust from which it arose into Dust again.

as below, so above.

#rwby #helen writes meta

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intheticklecloset · 3 years

Text

A Good Tickling (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

This one is a direct sequel to “Wardrobe Malfunction,” as requested above. It’s also officially the longest fic I’ve ever written for any fandom, clocking in at 3,000+ words, so buckle up! I really had fun delving into this one and exploring Kirishima and Bakugou’s friendship on a bit of a deeper level while still turning it into a tickle fic by the end. I sincerely hope you enjoy! <3

6: “You want me to tickle you that bad?”

25: “Let’s see how long you can go without laughing.”

8: “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

20: “Stop resisting!”

19: “I see that smile. Come on, laugh!”

25: “Let’s see how long you can go without laughing.”

You’ll notice for some of the numbered prompts I didn’t use the exact quote, but a variation thereof. This was to help prevent repetitiveness as well as maintain believable story flow. They’re still in the fic, just perhaps not word for word.

Warning: Slight angst.

Kirishima was quiet. Like, really quiet. Too quiet. And Bakugou was extremely aware of it.

The silence had come on gradually, over the course of a couple of weeks. At first it was just small pockets of time during which the redhead seemed to shrink in on himself for no discernable reason, but he’d soon bounce back when someone started talking to him, Bakugou included. But as time went on, those pockets of silence became entire hours, which became days by the time two weeks had gone by.

Then Bakugou noticed something even more disconcerting.

Kiri would only be silent around him.

He’d walk into a situation in which Kiri was his normal self, having a good time with their other mutual friends and classmates, and boom. Instant shutdown. It was impossible to ignore after the second time it happened that Kirishima was going silent because of his presence, and Bakugou was actually getting worried about it.

It all came to a head one night when Bakugou went downstairs for dinner, where Kiri and some others were already starting to eat. As soon as he entered the room Kiri’s face went dark and he stopped speaking, which was already bothersome to the atomic teen before the redhead then stood up, put his practically uneaten dinner in the fridge, and left the room.

That was the moment Bakugou realized he’d done something wrong. Somewhere along the line and without knowing it, he’d upset Kirishima so much that his closest friend couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him anymore.

No, he thought. I have to fix this. So he turned right back around and followed Kirishima to his dorm room.

“It’s open,” Kiri called when Bakugou knocked, and as soon as the door was open enough for him to see who was visiting, he turned his back and didn’t say anything.

Bakugou felt awkward closing the door behind him as he entered the silent space, but he’d resolved to find out what was going on. He hated this rift that existed between them now. He wanted to close it up. To be close with Kiri again. He missed him, dang it.

For a long while words failed him. How was he supposed to approach this when he didn’t know what was wrong? Finally Bakugou cleared his throat. “Hey. Are you mad at me?”

Kiri’s shoulders slumped. “No.”

Well, that was a relief, at least. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Bull. Bakugou fought back an angry retort and said in his calmest voice, “You can run from me all you like, Kirishima, but at the end of the day you can’t hide that you’re upset with me about something. It’s written all over your face every time you look at me. So…” He sighed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Kiri still wouldn’t look at him. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to you,” Bakugou shot back, “and I don’t like that you aren’t yourself around me lately. Where’s that loud, obnoxious, spiky-haired idiot I usually hang out with?”

“I don’t know.”

Bakugou’s irritation was rising, but he used every ounce of willpower he had to fight it. He tried to think rationally. When had this all started? Not long after that day in the locker room when he called Kiri’s costume stupid. Was that it? “Is this because of what I said about your hero costume?”

Kirishima tensed, but shook his head. “No.” His voice was quieter now. “It’s not that.”

“Well, you started being really weird around me after that, so what gives?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The redhead got up from his seat at his desk and finally turned to look at him, and the look in his eyes – the upset, lost, desperate look – was like a sucker punch to the stomach to Bakugou. Guilt washed over him, and he still didn’t even know why.

“Yes, it does.” Bakugou felt something inside him soften. He dared to take a step closer. “Please, Kiri, tell me what I did wrong. I want to fix it. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

Kirishima seemed to have some kind of struggle within himself. He grabbed onto the back of his desk chair and gripped it so hard Bakugou thought it might splinter. Finally he muttered, “It’s just…I’ve tried everything I can think of. Nothing’s working.”

“What isn’t?”

“I’ve tried tickling you,” Kiri continued, his eyes everywhere but the blonde. “I’ve tried outing you to our friends, I’ve tried tickling you in public, teasing you in public, saying things I thought would make you angry enough to retaliate…nothing!” He shoved his chair into his desk so hard it made Bakugou jump. “And then when you finally tickle me and call it revenge, we’re in the middle of class so I can’t even enjoy it because I don’t want to get in trouble. And I try challenging you openly and still nothing!” The redhead was on a roll now that the words were finally coming. “Even Sero has tickled me nearly to death, and he almost never does that kind of thing. Everyone seems to get it. Everyone can tell when I want it. But even when I outright tell you to do your worst, you do nothing!”

Bakugou was stunned.

“Why is it,” Kiri continued, voice rising, “that all of our friends know that I love being tickled and will tickle me when I want it, but my best friend just stands there even when I’m practically begging him to destroy me? I don’t understand!”

This time, the silence was on Bakugou’s end. He had no idea what to say. He’d never seen Kiri so openly upset, and over something that could have so easily been avoided if he’d just pulled his head out of his butt long enough to see how much damage his apathy was doing.

A long minute passed before he was able to speak.

“I…” Bakugou cleared his throat. “I didn’t know…I mean, I knew you liked it, but…I didn’t realize how much…” He frowned. “You want me to tickle you that bad?”

“Ugh!” Kirishima covered his face with his hands and cried, “Yes!”

“I’m…I’m sorry.” Bakugou took another step closer. “Kiri, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize how much it meant to you. It…it means a lot, doesn’t it?”

“It’s so stupid,” Kiri growled, but Bakugou could tell even before he turned his back again that his friend was on the verge of tears. Another sucker punch to the gut. “It’s so stupid. It’s just tickling. I shouldn’t be so upset over this, right? It’s so dumb of me.”

“Oh, heck no.” No way was Bakugou letting him go down this path with his thoughts. He strode right up to him and grabbed his shoulders, turning him around. “Do not feel bad about this. This is my fault. This isn’t because you weren’t clear enough. I knew what you were asking for and I just stood there, like you said. Like a complete and total jerk. Do not apologize for my mistakes. Let me do that. Kiri, I’m so sorry.”

Kiri said nothing, but he swallowed thickly, and Bakugou pulled him into a hug before he could think twice about it. He held the redhead close and waited, hoping that his apology would be accepted. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever. Then, finally, Kiri wrapped his arms around him, too, sighing heavily into his shoulder.

“What is it?” Bakugou asked softly, genuinely, trying not to disturb the moment. As much as he hated sentiment, he didn’t want to screw this up any more than he already had. “Why is it so important to you? I want to understand.”

“That’s just it,” Kiri mumbled in reply. “I can’t put my finger on it, exactly. It’s just…it’s so much fun, and it makes me feel good, and when it’s with my friends I know I can feel comfortable and be open about it without judgement, and even when I’m getting absolutely destroyed I know I’m safe and they’ll stop when I really need them to. But until then I can just…laugh until I can’t breathe.” The redhead pulled away from Bakugou, keeping his eyes averted. “I don’t know. It’s just so much fun. And with you, I know you’re good at tickling; I’ve heard Midoriya talk about it, I even experienced it a couple of times. And you’re my best friend, so more than anyone else I want you to tickle me into next year. So when I openly asked you to and all this time has gone by and you’ve had lots of opportunities and you didn’t, I just…” Kiri bit his lip. “I felt like maybe you really didn’t care. You act like it a lot, but this time…this time I wondered if you—”

“I care,” Bakugou said quickly, desperate to bring an end to that train of thought. “I care, Kiri, I’m just a complete jerk.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “God, I really screwed things up. I’m an idiot.”

Kiri offered a weak smile. “It’s okay—”

“No it’s not okay!” Bakugou snapped. “Are you kidding me? Look how upset you are over this! How is any part of this okay? No.” He shook his head. “No. I have to fix this. I want to fix this.” He thought for a moment, then met Kiri’s eyes. “Do you still want me to?”

Kirishima stared at him. “W-What? Now?”

“Or later,” Bakugou said quickly. “If I haven’t ruined everything. But – but yeah, I’ll do it now, if you want.”

Kiri took a step back. “Talk about whiplash.”

“I know I’ve been a jerk, and I know you’re upset, but if you’re okay with it I’d much rather make you laugh right now—”

“Bakugou,” Kiri said, “I want you to tickle me. But only if you want to. Don’t do it just because you feel obligated. Do it because you mean it.”

Bakugou nodded once. “I mean it. I’ll tickle you into oblivion now, and then later I’ll do it again and again and again. I do want to make you laugh, Kiri. Really.” He dared to smirk. “But even more, I kind of want to see how much it will take for you to beg me for mercy.”

Kiri frowned. “It will take a lot. I’m not kidding about that.”

“Then bring it on.” Bakugou tackled Kirishima onto his bed, making the redhead yelp in surprise. He swung a leg over to straddle him and paused, just once. “You sure this is okay right now?”

“For the love of god, Bakugou,” Kiri groaned, “if you don’t make good on your promise right here and now I swear I will end our friendship and then end you!”

“Good enough for me.” Bakugou grinned wickedly, shoving Kiri’s arms above his head. “All right, then. When you really can’t take it anymore, tap out. Until then, I will not stop. Got it?”

“Prove it,” Kiri spat, but his eyes were hopeful.

“Keep those arms up there.” Bakugou growled, releasing his hold and sitting back. “Move them and I’ll make it worse.”

“All bark and no bite?”

“Hah.” Bakugou smirked. “One more thing. I want to make you laugh so hard you forget your own name. But before that, I want to see how long you can go without laughing. Bet you’re not going to be very good at that part.”

Kiri smirked back. “Bring it on already.”

Bakugou did, lightly trailing his fingers from Kiri’s underarms down his ribs and sides to his stomach, watching the redhead twitch a little but – surprisingly – do very well in keeping himself in control. “Hmm,” the blonde mused. “Should have had you take your shirt off. That would make this easier.”

“Want to enjoy the view?” Kiri teased. “I told you I look good in my costume as it is.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

“The shirt stays on. You made me wait this long. Now I’m going to make you work for it.”

“I don’t think that will be hard, considering I can just do this.” The blonde shoved his hands up under Kiri’s t-shirt and raked his nails down his ribs roughly, making Kiri choke on a startled yelp. “Giving in already?”

“No way!”

“We’ll see.”

Bakugou got to work, starting very lightly and increasing the pressure with every pass, making sure to focus on the ribs when he circled back to them each time, knowing that was Kiri’s worst spot and very likely the place that would break him and make him laugh first. Kirishima kept his arms above his head as instructed and his smile widened more and more, but he did better than Bakugou was expecting at keeping his mirth at bay.

“Dang, you’re stubborn,” the blonde muttered after a few minutes of this. “Stop resisting, already.”

“Y-You’re the o-one who wanted m-me to h-hold out,” Kiri stammered. If nothing else, he sounded close to breaking, and that was satisfying just on its own. “I’m c-c-committed n-now.”

“Well, knock it off. I see that smile, but I want to hear you laugh, spiky hair.” Bakugou decided to be a little mean and press his thumbs into Kiri’s bottom ribs, kneading gently. “Come on. Let it out.”

“Agh, n-no,” Kiri’s voice wobbled as he tried to stay in check, his grin splitting his face. He squirmed a little. “That’s cheating!”

“Oh, is it? Too bad. Playing dirty is kind of my thing when it comes to tickling. Ask Deku.”

“I k-know all about that. He’s t-t-told me how r-ruthless you ahare.”

Bakugou kneaded deeper. “Was that a giggle?”

“Ah! N-No, no!”

“It sounded like a giggle.”

“It w-w-wasn’t!”

Feeling evil, Bakugou kept up his kneading pace and began to tease. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

Kiri whined. “Oh, y-you so don’t p-plahay fair!”

“Now that was a giggle.”

“You s-s-suck so much--!”

Bakugou dug his fingers in deep to Kirishima’s ribcage, and with a shriek of surprise, the redhead finally broke.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU JEHEHEHEHEHEHERK I WAHAHAHAS DOING SO GOHOHOHOHOHOOD!!”

“Too good,” Bakugou corrected over Kiri’s laughter, impressed his friend’s arms were still above his head, albeit flailing now. “I was getting tired of you showing me up from such a helpless position. Forget resisting. It’s time to make you laugh your guts out.”

“YOHOHOHOHOHOHOU SOHOHOHOHON OF A--!!”

Bakugou slapped a hand over his mouth and tickled wildly with his other hand, enjoying the look of sheer panic that came over Kiri’s face. The redhead started to bring his arms down. “Ah-ah-ah! What did I say? Keep them up.” Kiri whined, fisting his hands into his hair while his legs kicked wildly, the sounds of his distress muffled. “Well now, this is satisfying. You look hilarious, all freaked out like that. Didn’t think I’d pull out all the stops, did you?”

Kiri screeched when Bakugou started pinching his bottom ribs.

“I mean, I suppose I could also tie you up if I really wanted to be mean. But that’s your call, and you can’t talk right now, so I’m not going to assume anything.”

Kirishima started to bring his arms down again, then settled for covering his face with them. His laughter was loud and crazy, even behind Bakugou’s palm over his mouth. The blonde smirked down at his friend, marveling at how much he seemed to enjoy this, despite the obvious ticklish distress he was in.

“You’re probably thinking, ‘I thought you said you wanted to hear me laugh? Why are you covering my mouth?’ Right?” Bakugou chuckled. “I do want to hear you laugh. But it’s so much fun to make you desperate first. You’re just dying to let it out now, aren’t you? No more holding back?”

Kirishima managed a split-second glare in the midst of his muffled hysterics before nodding frantically.

“That’s what I thought.” Bakugou finally pulled his hand away and used both hands to rake up and down Kiri’s ribs.

“SOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOMEWHEHEHEHERE ELSE!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE, PLEASE GO SOHOHOHOMEWHERE EHEHEHEHEHELSE!!”

Bakugou laughed. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it here anymore? But I want to hear you laugh, Kirishima.”

“I AHAHAHAHAHAHAM LAHAHAHAHAHAUGHING!!” Kiri screamed, his arms flailing wildly above him. “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKUGOU!!”

“Honestly, I’m just trying to find the technique that will make you bring your arms down to stop me,” the blonde said with a shrug. “So I can make it worse.”

Kiri’s laughter was wild already, and they were only a few minutes in. He squealed and shrieked and thrashed and kicked but – somehow – kept his arms above him the entire time. Bakugou was impressed. That had to take serious effort on his part.

Now, how to break that concentration?

He’d tried kneading, pinching, and raking – all obviously effective forms of ticklish torture. But nothing had made Kiri’s fight-or-flight instinct kick in the way he’d hoped it would. What was he missing?

“Oh, I think I know what will drive you nuts.” Bakugou laughed, suddenly leaning down to blow the longest raspberry he could manage on Kirishima’s bottom ribs. Sure enough, not a whole second had gone by before he felt Kiri’s hands grabbing at his hair frantically.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DOHOHOHOHOHON’T DO THAHAHAHAHAHAHAT!!”

“Well, well. I told you to keep your arms up.” Bakugou smirked, grabbing Kiri’s wrists and pinning them to the mattress by his sides. “Now I’ll have to punish you.”

Kiri gasped for breath while he could, his eyes wide and cheeks pink and hair wild, but behind it all, it was obvious to Bakugou that his best friend was having the time of his life. He couldn’t believe he’d made him wait this long. Made him practically beg for something as simple as a good tickling.

“Y-You’re gonna…b-break me,” Kiri stammered between breaths of air, sounding surprised. “I w-won’t be able to…to take it at this rate!”

“That’s the idea, isn’t it? You wanted me to destroy you, right?”

Kiri beamed. “Yeah.”

“Still good to go?”

“Yeah!”

Bakugou took a big breath, then blew another raspberry. Then another, then another, then another. Then he got to work absolutely destroying Kirishima with tickle torture, digging into his underarms and sides and hips and knees and feet, but especially his ribs, until the minutes added up and added up for nearly an hour, and by the time they were done Kirishima was laughing so hard his voice was giving out and tears streamed down his cheeks and he was pounding the mattress as desperately as he could to gain some shred of mercy from the tickle monster that was Katsuki Bakugou.

And when it was all over and Bakugou finally relented, Kirishima kept giggling even without the tickling stimulation, shaking his head in disbelief and gasping for oxygen. “I c-can’t…breheheathe…”

“You asked for it,” Bakugou reminded him, but he couldn’t help but grin at the mess he’d made of his closest friend. “And I promise, the next time you ask for it, I won’t hesitate to do this to you again. And again and again. As many times as you ask for it, I’ll destroy you, Kiri.”

“W-What about…playful tickles…?”

“Those, too.” Bakugou nodded. “I swear I’ll stop being an idiot about this. You ask, I’ll answer. I promise. I won’t ever let you give me the silent treatment again. I’ll be a best friend worthy of the title.” He wanted to cringe at himself for saying it, but it was all true, and besides that, Kirishima’s response was more than worth it.

“You were already a great best friend,” the redhead replied tiredly, lifting his head off the pillow to grin at him. “This just makes you that much better. Thank you, Katsuki. Seriously.”

Bakugou swallowed, feeling a little awkward due to all the sentiment in the room. He nudged Kiri’s leg. “Thanks for putting up with me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Sure you do. You’re a little rough around the edges but you’re a cool dude, King Explosion Murder.”

Bakugou’s lips twitched. “I told you if you called me that again there would be consequences.”

“Yeah?” Kiri chuckled. He leveled a clear, challenging smirk at the blonde. “Prove it.”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #katsuki #bakugou #eijirou #kirishima #angst #fighting #friendship #fluff #wholesome #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

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officialinuyasha · 4 years

Text

Something has been brought to my attention that there is still nay-sayers out there about Yashahime trying to call it "fake"/"unofficial"/"non-canon"/"fan-fiction" then trying to say that Rumiko Takahashi only did the character designs.

That is so far from the truth.

I have two people who have read the magazines.

Mod Esther and Lea / @ayuuria

Let's go for starters. First of all "canon" was a term invented by the Bible for Apocrypha. This was when they tore pages out of the Bible and tried claiming that these were not the truth. Somehow religion adapted itself into fiction. This happened because of a Sherlock Holmes writer by the name of Arthur Conan Doyle. Other writers started to use it into their fictional writings.

Canon is a word that also describes what is official.

In Japanese, they do not have this word "canon" in their vocabulary, they use "anime-original" or "manga-original"/ "official". So if a creator wants to ret-con something, or say something is from another universe. They will tell you.

Now about Rumiko Takahashi. She had an issue once in her super early work, and since then she's been keeping tabs hardcore on who she works with.

Mod Esther: When it comes to storyline, I can say Rumiko is quite strict about this lol.It’s because she already had a bad experience once when she worked Urusei Yatsura at 1980s.

Movie 2: Beautiful Dreamer is her most dislike movie in the series. Urusei Yatsura was meant a illogical gag story, but the story writer made it into a philosophy movie, which caused her very displeased (frustrated). Ironically, it also became the most famous movie in the series.

So here we can say that Urusei Yatsura movie 2 is "non-canon" because the creator had zero involvement and did NOT like it. She got super screwed over this instant.

In the InuYasha Bluray Set 1 VIZ Media interviewed Katsuyuki Sumisawa on how he wrote all four original movies that do not break the original canon!Katsuyuki Sumisawa says he gets praised by Rumiko Takahashi alot

"For me atleast, I comprehend Rumiko-sensei's atmosphere pretty easily without leaving a single dent on Rumiko-sensei's unique atmosphere because I recieve praise from Rumiko-sensei often. There are scriptwriters who fail of course. Those scriptwriters who can't stop creating their own world."

He said that most creators don't like it when the scriptwriters try to do backstories for the main characters family, but Rumiko sensei's approval for that and her help to make the movies, he is so grateful for.

Mod Esther: So if Rumiko says yes for original animations (the stories that aren’t made based on manga), it means she’s very satisfied.In many interviews Rumiko mentions Katsuyuki Sumizawa alot, are they like InuYasha and Kagome? lel

In the recent Q/A with Rumiko Takahashi translated by @eeriechan

https://eeriechan.tumblr.com/post/632879317971599360/takahashi-rumiko-senseis-question-corner

Rumiko refers to the anime scripts as official answers!

Q.- I want to know how Jaken and Sesshomaru met. Even from that time, was Jaken an old man already? (PN. Momo)

A.- I remember that their first encounter was depicted in one of the original scripts for the "Inuyasha” anime. I forgot what episode it was. According to that, Jaken was the leader of a group of yokai that fought against Sesshomaru and lost, so he decided to follow him. And I think he was already an old man.

Now let's take a toast into the creation of Yashahime.

Mod Esther sent me the kanji translation for this magazine, which was then proof read by @ayuuria

Animage November 2020

Sumizawa: I think it's normal to first read the story setting and then expand on the character's image, but in Rumiko-sensei’s case, she is particular about "Solidifying the characters in great detail before moving the story forward." With a "This is the type of character they are" kind of planar description, you get told "then I can’t come up with the character's picture". Well, this is very normal. To put it simply to readers, there are often character descriptions written in game strategy books and movie pamphlets, right? They’re easy to understand because they have the picture but can you imagine the character if the picture is hidden and there’s only the text? It is that kind of nuance. In short, I wanted depict the character’s actively moving charm in a multifaceted way by including the position, setting, and environment in which the character grew up, and viewing it from multiple angles.

Sumizawa: For something like that, in my case, rather than sloppily writing the setting material, I implemented writing the script suddenly for episodes 1 to 3 thinking that by having it read it would expand a more concrete image. Of course it’s not going to get the OK in first shot so I wrote different variations of Towa and Setsuna. At the beginning, coming up with Towa's first person ling (translator’s note: how she addresses herself) was difficult. Potential options that came up were the usual “Watashi” (translator’s note: this the formal way of saying “I”) or “Atashi” (translator’s note: this is a more casual way that girls address themselves when saying “I”), and there were times when I was eccentric and made it "Boku" (translator’s note: this is what boys say to address themselves when saying “I”), but Rumiko-sensei pointed out "make it more suitable for a daughter of Sesshomaru." In the next version, I was told, "Please write without the first person ling," and when I tried to write it, I was surprised. After that, I was released from the first-person ling particularities and in the end, it was decided that Towa's first-person ling would be "Watashi". We wrote the scenario like that and finally got the OK from sensei, “we’ll go with this” and that’s how she drew the 3 that we currently see now.

-Here he follows Rumiko Takahashi's guidelines on how she wants scripts to be written and her vision on descriptions. Everything must be approved by her, and she will guide him if any changes necessary

-Next we are told that it was Rumiko Takahashi's idea for the Well to be made from the Sacred Tree's wood that would be used for the first movie AND Yashahime!

-Sumizawa: That's right. Kagome’s role ended, and the bone-eater’s well can no longer be passed. In the original story, the Tree of Ages is only called "The Sacred Tree", and that that is the tree that Kikyou sealed Inuyasha to. In the movie "Inuyasha: Affections Touching Across Time", the setting "The sacred tree was the material used to make bone-eater’s well" was an idea given by Rumiko-sensei.

-THEN we are told that they came together and agreed that certain things would be kept out from the manga and put in exclusively for the anime versions! This would include things like: The movies, Ayame, InuYasha and Kagome's kiss.

-Sumizawa: "Readers and fans may not have known but even for the non-original parts of "Inuyasha", while discussing with Rumiko-sensei many times, we decided on a number of basic settings unique to the anime version and that’s how we made the work."

-Here comes the BANG. The staff, and cast are very close to Rumiko-sensei.

Yashahime is being made very closely with Rumiko Takahashi and her vision.

Sumizawa: "The staff and cast of "Inuyasha" are so close to each other that we travel to tropical islands every year with Rumiko-sensei (laughs). Even in this work, I make it while working very closely with sensei. All the staff are working hard so that the viewers can feel this is a story after the world of "Inuyasha" so please treat us well. Thank you for your cooperation."

#inuyasha #yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #rumiko takahashi

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Text

@trulytaka asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 🛹 💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.��

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #god i want to read 100k worth of this #i just don't want to *write* it #insert dog no write! only read! meme #special thanks to mr p for coming up with rukia's car for me #we spent about a month once discussed which 80s sportscar each of the vice-captains would drive #it is the best bleach conversation we have ever had

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crimsonrae · 4 years

Text

The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter One

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.CharlesxOC, Warning: Spanking

Rated: NC-17

A/N: This may be a one-shot, actually, honestly, it'll depend on how it's received by you lovely readers. This is my first time posting on tumblr (and I’m super nervous about it), I also have an account on AO3 and FF. I’m posting this here because I’ve notice a distinct lack of Charles Brandon stories and thought I’d share. Also, I've developed something of a crush on Henry Cavill recently and while watching the Tudors the line from the very first episode where Charles Brandon says "No. No. She begged." became stuck in my head and I wanted to explore this dominant, arrogant side to him with a character that is a bit bratty and arrogant herself. Please read, review, and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own what is mine. Please don’t steal. Also, there is a good deal of smut and some spanking here. You were warned.

A Night of Revelry

"You are to be married."

The words echoed in Georgiana's ears as she watched the colorful swirls of silks and velvets that made up the dancers of the ballroom. It was the celebration for the birth of Princess Mary. Another Tudor had graced the world, though sadly not a male.

Georgiana could not have given a damn.

Her thoughts were made up of her engagement to the Earl of Worcester, a man only slightly older than her father. While many of her social circle would have born the indignity of being traded from one master to another with the cheerfulness of a summer butterfly, she could only feel the lock tighten on her ever-gilded cage.

She wanted to stamp her feet and scream at the unfairness of it all. Angry tears pricked at the edges of her blue eyes, but she refused to let any sign of weakness show. She was a Stafford; she knew her place in this world. Her father and uncle had beaten her worth into her on more than one occasion. Her father had no use for a daughter.

In truth, he had no use for a child, it was why he had gained special dispensation to marry her mother. The lady being nearly twenty years his senior, Henry Stafford had thought her incapable of bearing any further children than those from her first marriage. However, it took only their wedding night, the first and only time Henry and Cecily laid together, for the coupling to result in Georgiana's unwelcomed birth.

Now seventeen years later, Henry Stafford was unloading his only daughter off onto the first man to make him an acceptable offer. It was why she was to be presented at court on the morrow. It would be her intended's first chance to meet and gaze upon her. It was also the reason she had been forbidden to attend the festivities before her.

Georgiana felt a faint smirk pull at her supple lips, forbidding her from anything was a sure-fire way to ensure she would not do as requested, however. Her father had forbidden her from fighting. She had her half-brother, Edward, teach her to fence. Her mother had forbidden her to gamble. Her half-brother George, ironically now a man of the cloth, taught her every variation of cards and darts known to high and low society.

Her introduction to court was a mere formality. Her intended an old fat boar of a man that she had identified upon her arrival to the celebration was standing beside her father and uncle. Her wedding was to be in a month's time. This night of revelry, the first for another noble lady, would perhaps be the last for Georgiana and she intended to make the best of it. She would dance, she would drink, and if fortune favored her, then she would find a man to take her maidenhead in the most pleasurable way possible.

After all, why did men get to have all the fun?

She tightened the ribbons securing her mask to her face. Her dress, while not as ostentatious as some of the ladies, was still well-made and allowed her to skirt the line of either noble or servant. She didn't want to draw too many eyes, should her father discover her presence... she shuddered to think of what he would do to her.

Feeling confident enough to mingle, Georgiana stepped gracefully around the milling crowds to the side of the dance floor and found a glass of wine. It amused her to stop and listen to snatches of conversations. Most were comments on the Queen's failure to produce a son, though others were more scandalous.

The Earl of Pembroke had taken who as his mistress?

The Lady Annabel was with child? Hasn't her husband been in France for the last few months?

You'll never guess. His lover was a man!

Georgiana sipped at her drink and bit her tongue as she listened. Was this to be her life if she were allowed to stay at court?

As entertaining as the gossip was, there was an undercurrent of maliciousness that made her skin crawl. It wasn't difficult for her to ascertain that friendship here would be as hard to find as water in a desert. It was disheartening, to say the least.

Before long a courtier approached her for a dance. She slid her glass onto a passing tray and took the man's hands with a simpering smile, a pleasing rush warmed her veins, though this quickly dissipated.

His name was Owen Mayfield and she learned that was perhaps the only interesting thing about him. His palms were sweaty from his earlier exertions which Georgiana could forgive, but he seemed to have bathed in some overly floral perfume that had her holding her breath.

It was a relief when the dance finished. She tried not to giggle as she took the opportunity to hide back away in the crowds. She kept up her game of listening to gossip, not willing to enter into conversation, and willing to be more judicious of any further dance partners.

Perhaps it was because of her hesitance to engage in conversation that drew attention. Or perhaps it was the way she calmly wove a path around the room that allowed her to avoid her family as she observed.

Whatever it was, Georgiana slowly became aware of the fact that she was being watched. She had felt it first while dancing with another courtier. Her heart had raced and her head had felt pleasantly fuzzy as she had glided through the quick steps with her partner. She had initially dismissed the watchful feeling as too much wine, unwilling to let a trifle paranoia ruin her current joy.

Still, she had laughed and quickly begged off another dance with the rather charming Mr. Anthony Knivert. The need for fresh air suddenly becoming great as she slipped back into the shadows. It was here, she knew that her early realization of being watched had not been a trick of the mind. The sensation of eyes burned her and she felt a twinge of fear as she fought the urge to seek out her admirer's gaze in case it was her father.

Instead, she kept her head down and made her way to the hall. If it was her father, then she would make a quick escape. If not, perhaps her admirer would follow.

Quietly, she meandered to a tall window at the end of the aisle which overlooked the gardens. Clouds had moved in and a light rain fell over the courtyard. Away from the bodily warmth of the ballroom, she could feel the midwinter cold seeping into the palace. A shiver coursed through her back...but not from the chill.

Slowly, she shifted her gaze over her shoulder and back to the jeering celebration. A man stood just within the entrance to the hall. His deep blue eyes shined dangerously at her from behind a black and gold diamond pattern mask.

Her admirer.

Her stomach clenched at the sight of him. Despite the fact that half of his face was hidden from her, she liked the shape of his mouth and jaw, even the dimple of his chin. He was young and his form was pleasing to the eye and he knew it... A slow smirk pulled at his lips as she took her fill of him.

"Are you well, milady?" He asked almost mockingly. His voice was deep and smooth like the sonorous notes of a cello.

She refrained from answering.

A new game began to form in her mind as she gazed at him. Timid excitement swelled within her... Swallowing tightly, she smiled at him and breathed a faint laugh at her foolishness before taking a step back.

He followed.

She took another step.

He followed again.

Anticipatory recognition sparked in his gaze.

Her smile nearly turned triumphant as she whirled and slipped further away from the party. She didn't run, but it was a near thing as she listened to his heavy steps growing closer to her.

Georgiana thought her heart had beat fast before, but now it thudded in her chest so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Her hand grazed across cold stone as she dashed around a corner. She snuck a quick glance behind her and nearly yelped to see him only a few steps away. A ferocious grin painted his lips as she laughed and flew from his reaching grasp.

She only made it a few more steps before she felt his fingers grasp her arm and whip her around. He quickly backed her into a dark alcove away from any prying eyes. Though, she doubted that any would find them this far from the festivities. Breathless giggles spilled from her throat as she gazed up at him and he hummed amused.

A hand slipped to her waist and somehow impossibly, he moved closer to her. Her laughter slowly diminishing as her curiosity started to take over. She had never been this close to a man before... she liked the strength she felt in his grip, the warmth that emitted from his form. Tentatively, she smoothed a hand up his chest and reveled in the firm feel of his body.

His lips hovered just inches from hers, "Do you submit, lady?"

Submit?

Was she not a woman? Did the world not demand that she submit to men? A faint resentment burned in her heart at the word. She would only submit when forced.

Again, she refrained from answering and instead stole what she wanted. It was quick, a faint brushing of her mouth against his before she pulled back when he pressed for more. A low growl rumbled through his chest that made her smile.

"What's your name?" He asked, brushing his lips over her ear.

The sensation tickled her and sent a strange tingling heat to her core. Licking her lips, she gave her middle name, "Charlotte."

He pulled back with a faint frown, "Are you mocking me, milady?"

She pursed her lips, confusion apparent as she met his suspicious glance. He reached up and removed his mask, allowing her to see his handsome features fully. When she merely arched a brow at him, he realized that she did not recognize him.

He couldn't hold back a faint laugh, "My name is Charles, milady. Charles Brandon."

The name meant nothing to her.

"Charles and Charlotte. How fortuitous." She murmured, sagely amused. She drew a finger down his cheek and to the very lips she wanted to taste again. She gasped startled when his tongue darted out to suck on her delicate digit, all the while he held her gaze.

A flush spread across her cheeks and her stomach clenched again... how improper, but she dared not look away. Charles captured her wrist as he pulled away and placed a light kiss to the sensitive flesh, "Do you submit, Lady Charlotte?"

It took her a moment to remember how to speak, but even she was surprised by what fell from her lips, "...No..."

Charles raised a brow and slipped tantalizing fingers beneath the hem of her bodice, "No?"

Georgiana leaned into his touch as she tried in vain to suppress a moan that rose to her tongue, "No... I do not submit...But I do consent."

The distinction was important to her, maybe foolishly so, but it mattered little because he was upon her in a second. He claimed her mouth with the ferocity of a winter storm. So harsh, his lips bruised hers, but so pleasantly cool as his wicked tongued enticed her. He swallowed her whimpers and delved desperate touches to the small hints of skin her gown revealed. I

It wasn't enough by half. Her game of chase had whetted his appetite and he was so very hungry now. He needed her undressed and prostrated before him.

Abruptly, he pulled back and wrapped his hand firmly around her wrist as he pulled her down the hall. They weren't far from his chambers, but Georgiana wasn't to know that as she stumbled after him, flushed and bewildered.

She opened her mouth to demand an explanation, but he seemed to sense her confusion as he smirked at her over his shoulder, "A bed would be preferable, lady... and you will submit."

The surety in his voice had her baulking on principle, but a smaller part of her thrilled and fluttered at the pronouncement.

So, he had made the distinction.

Unbidden, her maidenhood clinched and shuddered around nothing and she had the sudden desperate desired to know what it would be like to be filled... to submit.

Oh God...What devil had she surrendered to?

The question reverberated in her consciousness as she was pulled into a dark room and Charles soundly locked the door. He didn't give her time to protest or rethink her actions before he attacked her lips again. She groaned as his expert touches drew her further into a curious sparking pleasure. Her own hands divested him of the colorful broach that held his collar closed as she sought the smooth flesh that laid underneath. He was so incredibly warm and felt so hard.

How could one man be this dizzying?

Time seemed to blur and disappear as articles of clothing littered the ground and they both became consumed by taste and touch. Rough fingers teased and tweaked at her nipples, pebbling the sensitive dusty pink skin until it was a darker blush. Georgiana whined and whimpered as her body was assaulted with these new and strange touches. Her nails raked across his bare shoulders as she arched into him, his responding growl, a pleasure in itself.

It was only when his hand slid down to her mound that she suddenly became aware of the wetness seeping from her. Unthinkingly embarrassed, she pressed her thighs together seeking to hide, but Charles would have none of it.

"No. No hiding." His blue eyes blazed down at her as he purposefully grasped her knees and forcefully parted her legs and pressed them to her chest, "Look at how wet you are... Absolutely, delicious."

She went scarlet and mewled lightly in protest as he chuckled sinfully. His gaze disappeared as he dipped down and she jumped when she felt the firm press of wet tongue to her most intimate area. Another rumble of laughter came from him, but Georgiana suddenly didn't care as the vibrations sent a strange tingling sensation to her belly and down through her legs.

She squirmed and wiggled, not sure if she was trying to get closer or further from him. Then she felt it. The press of something foreign at her entrance. She looked down, her chest heaving for air, only to find him staring back at her with wild dark eyes as he pushed a finger into her and then another.

It was uncomfortable, but not. It was invasive, but not. It was painful, but not... and she nearly bit through her lip as she watched him slowly pump those thick fingers in and out of her.

Something was building.

A light sheen of sweat started to bead over her skin and she wriggled as she tried to understand what her body was instinctively searching for, as she tried to find relief from this strange new pressure. She jerked when his thumb brushed over her swollen nub and white sparks of pleasure shuttered her eyes. Her walls clenched desperately around his fingers and she moaned, grasping at the sheets beneath her. She ached so sweetly and then he did it again.

A soft brush back and forth, barely-there – just enough for those sparks to ignite again, but this time he didn't stop. She cried out hoarsely as her legs jerked and her walls spasmed, releasing that exquisite pressure so swiftly that she was lost in seconds.

It took several minutes before she spiraled down from the heavens, he had sent her to. When she opened her eyes, it was to see him sucking on the fingers that had been in her, "Delicious."

A low whine left her at the sinful sight and he grinned darkly at her before he suddenly crouched and smoothed a trail of kisses and feather-light touches up her belly and over her chest, "You came so beautifully."

It was such a stark contrast to what had felt like a violent release that her body seemed to hum in response. She bit back further whimpers but spread her shaky legs to accommodate his broad body as he worked his way back up her.

Charles pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth and reached out to undo the ties of the blue lace mask that had managed to stay on this long. To his surprise, she tilted her head away from his touch, "Leave it."

"I want to see you. All of you." Yet, he didn't reach for the mask again.

Georgiana nearly acquiesced to the light demand in his voice, but a mischievous spark batted down that need. She smirked and nuzzled his cheek as she whispered, "Only if you're very, very good will I remove the mask."

Charles huffed a small laugh, "Have I not been good already?"

She shook her head, "Do better."

"You will regret that, lady." He murmured softly and started to tease her core once more. They were playing his game now after all, "Submit to me."

"No, sir." She breathed.

His cock twitched at being addressed so, though he knew that she hadn't meant it to be provocative. More than ever before, he was determined to get her to submit to him. He twisted her onto her stomach and straddled the backs of her knees. Biting kisses peppered her shoulders before he yanked her back by her hair into a kneeling position.

A smile crossed his lips as she caught sight of herself in his dressing mirror and gasped. Her body glistened, nipples hard, face flushed. She was an appetizing sight, but she could only stare as his hands reached around to caress at her intimate areas. He nudged her hair to the side with his nose as he nibbled lightly on her ear and enjoyed the small noises of pleasure she couldn't help, but emit, "Submit."

"N..n-no." She stuttered. Her hands grasped at his hips, pulling him closer in an attempt to find stability.

He bit punishingly at her neck and was rewarded with a lewd groan. His hard cock pressed firmly into the seam of her ass and she whimpered when he began to rock gently against her, "Submit."

A choked denial fell from her lips and he growled.

Her eyes were forced to watch as his hands slid over her stomach to her breasts as he groped and teased at her soft mounds. If it were possible, she flushed darker at the erotic sight of her body being handled so. Shame and embarrassment twirled in her veins despite the heated pleasure he was giving her and she attempted to look away. A particularly hard pinch to her nipple had her crying out as he brought her head back around, "Who said you could stop looking, lady? Eyes forward."

"It's unseemly, Charles." She whimpered pleadingly.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "And you enjoy it. I can tell. As wanton as a whore, you are."

She should be outraged, but only a low moan echoed from her mouth as she felt that lovely heat pool even hotter in her belly again. She shouldn't like being debased like this, but she did. He seemed to know what she was thinking as he smiled against her neck.

He scooted forward and pressed his legs into hers, keeping her thighs locked together tight before shifting ever slightly to slip his cock along her slit tauntingly. They both groaned at the sensation. She was so wet that he was able to grind against her easily. The head of his cock rubbed teasingly against her clit and she writhed back against him breathless. Unwittingly trying to angle him into her tight little entrance. He locked his arms around her as he fucked her shapely thighs and watched as her coil of pleasure began to wind tight again.

"Submit." He breathed and when she shook her head, unable to voice her denial, he shifted again and his cock left her well-attended and swollen clit alone. Georgiana whined in protest as he continued to chase his pleasure, but refused hers, "Submit or I'll continue to bring you to the edge with no relief while I find mine so close to your shuddering little hole."

"Charles." She gasped pleadingly.

It wasn't enough and he slid a hand over the curve of her ass and to the other hole that had thus far been neglected. It was almost as wet as her entrance and he prodded the rim tentatively, smirking as she tried to jerk away, "Even this little hole is winking in need."

He toyed and played with the delicate flesh, making her moan and cry, "Submit, Charlotte."

Instead of answering him, she pressed back against him suddenly trapping his hand between them. He found her gaze in the mirror and his breath was stolen by the desperate fire peering back at him. The muscles of her thighs tensed around his cock and he groaned at the exquisite feel. The little minx was trying to give him a taste of his own medicine.

That just wasn't acceptable.

Before she could try to take further control, he pressed her down into the bed and soundly smacked her bottom, "That was very naughty, Charlotte."

"You...enjoyed it."

A surprisingly delighted smile tugged at his mouth and he spanked her again, "Mouthy, brat. Submit."

She yelped and shook her head.

"Very well." He murmured and continued to turn her little bottom red.

She yelped and whimpered with each strike, but to his amazement didn't try to pull away. Low sobs began to pull from her throat as he continued her punishment before finally, he stopped and placed a hand to either side of her head. He lowered his body down onto hers and nuzzled lightly against her cheek. He wished that she had let him remove the mask. Ever so gently, he ground against her warmed bottom until he felt her arch into him and stilled, "Submit. I can feel how much you want it. Submit, darling."

She was close to giving in, he could practically taste it. Georgiana whined lowly as she pressed desperately against him, "Charles, I... I..."

"You?" He drawled softly.

"Please."

He kept still and allowed her to writhe against him, "Please what, Charlotte?"

She grunted in frustration when she couldn't get him to move, "Please I... I need you..."

"You need me...?" His tongue lathed at the rim of her ear, "Come on, darling, just a few more words."

"I need you to..." She choked as his hand moved under her and swallowed the last of her pride, "God... I need you to -to take me. I –I s-submit. I submit. Please."

A pleased hum sounded above her before she felt Charles press a kiss to the crown of her head, "Good girl."

He sat back on his heels and widened her legs, admiring his handiwork as she presented to him. He placed a light kiss to either cheek before he pulled her hips up. No more teasing. They were both at the end of their patience. With little warning, he positioned himself at her weeping hole and entered her in one swift thrust. She cried out at the intrusion and he lost his breath at her velvet tightness. He wasn't going to last long if she kept gripping him this titillatingly.

Georgiana's breath shuddered and groaned as she wiggled and attempted to adjust to his girth. He was much bigger than his fingers. Painfully so.

He pressed his head between her shoulder blades and groaned with every twitch and shift of her stretched muscles. His fingers left bruising marks in her hips before he withdrew and slammed into her again. She choked on a cry, lost somewhere in the realm between pain and pleasure as he set a punishing pace. It wasn't until he brushed against something that made her see stars that she found the strength to meet his thrusts with her own. It felt so good... so much better than his fingers.

It didn't take long before she felt that beautifully exquisite pressure again, building and swelling around his cock. However, this time she felt a heat tremble from the tip of her toes to burn through her legs to her core. It was almost unbearable.

Sensing she was near her end, Charles slid a hand further over her hip and to her swollen nub. His rough fingers pinched lightly at that sensitive organ and the resultant eruption was magnificent.

Georgiana cried out, her legs locking against his as she stiffened and trembled. It was too much and she pressed her face into the mattress as she spasmed around his cock, sobbing her release.

Charles moaned as she clenched tightly, her walls attempting to milk him of his seed. His hips stuttered in an irregular rhythm before he spilled into her. For a few moments more he continued to undulate against her, reveling in everything she gave him before his strength began to wane. With a heavy breath, he collapsed next to her and slowly drew her into his arms.

Their coupling had been intense...more than he expected. Her sobs had turned to quiet sniffles as she fought to regain control. Charles pressed a comforting hand to her back as he shushed her, "You're alright. You were so good, darling."

Georgiana clung to him. She wanted to ask if it was always like that but didn't want to betray the fact that she had just handed him the only thing that made her valuable in the world. Her virginity was gone and she couldn't find it in herself to regret it. Somehow, she doubted her wedding night would be this good. She took a few steadying breaths, allowing herself to take the comfort that Charles was offering. His soothing touches and whispered praises were doing much to settle her.

Slowly, the late hour began to dawn on her and she realized she needed to get back to her chambers before her father realized she was missing. Gingerly, she sat up, cringing as sticky seed and blood slid down her thighs. The pain to her bottom was secondary.

Charles frowned as he watched her, "Where are you going?"

Georgiana smiled faintly, "I need to leave before I'm missed."

She leaned back down and stole a last kiss before she stood on shaky feet and quickly donned her chemise and petticoat. Charles sat up and snatched her hand before she could get much further in her escape, "Stay. I hardly doubt a few more hours will matter."

"I'm not foolish enough to risk it." She countered, gently shaking him off and gathered the rest of her clothes. She could put everything else on in the hall. If she stayed then she would simply end up in his bed for the rest of the night.

Georgiana made it to the door before Charles spoke again, "Lady Charlotte, I believe you made me a promise if I was good."

She paused and eyed the smug glint in his eye and the arrogant smile painting his lips. The pride she had swallowed earlier reared its head again, "Bold of you to assume you were good, sir."

Instead of bringing him down a peg, his smile grew as he cocked a brow at her, "Charlotte, do I need to warm your lovely arse again?"

She blushed darkly at the reminder of their actions and even worse felt her walls clench in anticipation. At his chuckle, she sharply turned to the door again. Without giving herself time to think her actions through, she undid the lace of her mask and threw it back towards his bed before bolting out the door. He never had a chance to see her face.

It was only as he reached to grab the memento, that he noticed the blood. He stiffened and drew his fingers over the wet spot. He hadn't thought he had been that rough and she hadn't mentioned any undo pain to him. It was only as he replayed their affair that he remembered her tentativeness in touching him initially, the curiosity that had burned in her gaze... all that he had taken as an act of well-played coyness. Gods, it hadn't been an act. She had been truly innocent.

He quickly scampered for his trousers and leapt for the door, concern, and sudden possessiveness rearing within him. He wanted no one else to see her as he had or touch her. Odd considering, he wasn't even fully sure what she looked like, but it was too late... she was already gone.

Next Chapter

#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon fic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #duke of suffolk #anthony knivert #henry cavill #tudors fanfiction #tudors fanfic #the tudors #The Wiles of Men and Women

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troped-fanfic-challenge · 3 years

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Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange 2020 Masterlist!

A huge thanks to every person who signed up for our fic exchange, we got 21 really wonderful fics! We’re sorry it took us so long to get this out to you all! For anyone who isn’t sure what this was all about, this was a double blind gift exchange where each of our twenty-one (21!!!) writers were assigned four tropes from an anonymous recipient, and were tasked with writing a fic that fit our holiday theme, and included all the tropes. The only guidance from their recipient were a couple of brief notes they included during the sign up, and both the writer and recipient were revealed when we shared all the fics! A big thanks to the Tropesters who stepped up to write a second fic when we needed them! These fics, as with all our TROPED fics, were creative and unique, and found ways to utilise tropes that may seem so simple but were transformed in really spectacular ways! Please enjoy these wonderful holiday fics!

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roots in my dreamland (my house of stone, your ivy grows) (Rated M) [Bellarke]

Written by @captaindaddykru for @thelittlefanpire. The four assigned tropes were 1) Doppelgängers, 2) one character is a dancer, 3) first snow, and 4) kissing to keep a cover/a secret.

Summary: Clarke really wants it to work out with Bellamy, but as an A-list Hollywood actress there’s a lot of contractual obligations she can hide behind instead of confronting her own insecurities and past mistakes. Luckily, this Christmas she’s lucked out, and her stand-in Josie is more than willing to (completely selflessly of course) take her place.

Now comes the hard part.

brighter than moonbeams (Rated T) [Memori]

Written by @the-most-beautiful-broom for @thedefinitionofendgame. The four assigned tropes were 1) The characters play a game,2) Secret Santa, 3) Exes to Lovers, and 4) Surprise kiss.

Summary: Murphy and Emori fall in love fast, and then talk themselves out of it. Years later, their paths will cross again, and they realize that their might be parts of their story that are yet to be written.

What a way to start the year (Rated T) [Bellarke]

Written by @bellarkeshoe for @bellamysgriffin. The four assigned tropes were 1) Law enforcement partners, 2) Character gets BADLY injured and they hide it somehow only to reveal later that they are mortally wounded, 3) Characters hugging after they’ve been through hell, and 4) Kissing in the snow.

Summary: It’s New Years Eve, and Bellamy and Clarke got stuck working.

It’s Alright, It’s Okay (Rated M) [Clurphy]

Written by @sailawaymayday for @wwjacksparrowd. The four assigned tropes were 1) Found Family, 2) Groundhog Day/timeloop, 3) Character gets shot/stabbed/BADLY injured and hides the wound somehow, only to accidentally (someone else touches them and their bleeding, they collapse, etc.) reveal later that they are mortally wounded, and 4) Hurt/Comfort.

Summary: Clarke makes it onto the Ring with the rest of Spacekru. What happens when New Years Eve keeps repeating itself? And what does Murphy have to do with it?

Dancing in Graveyards: An Arkadia Anthology (Rated T) [Gen Fic]

Written by @justbecauseyoubelievesomething for @kinetic-elaboration. The four assigned tropes were 1) Small town gothic, 2) Christmas Lights, 3) First snow, and 4) Sneaking someone in/out of your window.

Summary: Three small town gothic stories intertwine as old friends reunite and try to make the best out of their lives. Raven returns home after her foster father’s death and is pulled like a magnet to her enigmatic highschool sweetheart. Jasper seeks solace from a tragedy and desperately attempts to outrun the ghosts of the past. Bellamy battles his inner demons and prays not to tear himself and his loved ones apart in the process. And all of them come to realize that they belong together, even if the place they call home is shadowed by sorrow.

do or die, you’ll never make me (because the world will never take my heart) (Rated T) [Bellarke]

Written by @shen-gong-oops for @probably-voldemort. The four assigned tropes were 1) Fake dating, 2) Amnesia AU, 3) Enemies to Friends to Lovers, and 4) Superhero AU.

Summary: As the youngest member of the Guard and the daughter of the Guard former leader, there are high expectations set for Clarke. The Marketing and PR teams at Ark expecting her to be prim and proper during any conferences, while simultaneously performing their well-rehearsed fight choreography to a T.

But when four unknown supes challenge the juggernaut that is Ark Industries, Clarke wonders if herodom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Merry Christmas, Lovebirds (Rated G) [Murven]

Written by @kinetic-elaboration for @shen-gong-oops. The four assigned tropes were 1) One character cautiously says “i’m going to kiss you now, okay?” or some variation of that, 2) Mutual pining, 3) A misunderstanding, and 4) Tattoos.

Summary: There’s never snow for Christmas on the beach, Murphy is a culinary genius, Raven has a boyfriend, and other presumed facts, too obvious to mention.

Once Upon Our Story (Rated G) [Bellarke]

Written by @andthelightbulbclicks for @bellamythology. The four assigned tropes were 1) break-up/make-up, 2) Did they or didn’t they, 3) Extremely biased flashbacks of the same event, and 4) Bookstore or library AU.

Summary: Bellamy returns with as much fanfare as one can imagine when driving a school bus decorated as Santa Claus through town, leaving Clarke shocked and all of their friends confused given he hasn’t been home in months.

(Or: Six months ago, Bellamy left Arkadia.

Six months ago, Clarke didn’t.

Six months ago, their friends knew the relationship ended, even came up with their own versions of what really happened. But the question that they all want to know for certain– is why?)

Dream A Little Dream of Me (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @queenemori for @vmreed. The four assigned tropes were 1) One character has a child, 2) Protectiveness, 3) Only one bed, and 4) Soulmates.

Summary: It was just Murphy’s luck that right as he was starting to enjoy Earth, he had to leave. But he’d rather that than succumb to a fiery death wave. He and the other residents of the Ring remembered Clarke every year during their New Year’s Eve celebration. But even when they weren’t celebrating Clarke, Murphy couldn’t seem to get her off his mind. He wished his brain would stop playing tricks on him by making him think she was alive. Clarke was dead. Wasn’t she?

i don’t wanna burn out, so wont you please set me on fire again? (Rated M) [Murven]

Written by @kuklash for @sparklyfairymira. The four assigned tropes were 1) Protectiveness, 2) Exes and Lovers, 3) Small Town AU, and 4) Characters fall on each other and have a moment.

Summary: The wind nipped at Murphy’s nose as he stood in the doorway of the gas station on the edge of town. Work was slow, as it always was after sundown, especially in the mid-December cold, but someone had to make sure the good townsfolk of Arkadia could get their milk and gas after the small general store closed. All 800 of them. He watched the cars drive by throughout the day, recognizing each and everyone of them. Bellamy’s beat up truck he worked all highschool to afford, Clarke’s clean new sedan, even that jerk Finn’s loud ass motorcycle. He watched them all pass one by one, his old classmates returning home after another semester of college at the University of Polis. The only sign that time was passing at all.

The phone inside rang, breaking him out of his melancholy, at least for now.

“Great,” he thought, sarcastically. “A phone call 10 minutes before we close.”

He walked back inside and put on the most cheerful customer service voice he could muster.

“Dropship Gas, this is Murphy. How can I he-”

A familiar female voice cut him off, leaving him cold.

“Murphy? Thank god!”

It was his ex.

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you (Rated M) [Bellarke]

Written by @sparklyfairymira for @captaindaddykru. The four assigned tropes were 1) Celebrity AU, 2) Meet Ugly, 3) Characters must share something, and 4) Characters aren’t together but are mistaken to be.

Summary: Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin are household names thanks to their music. They belong to the same label so they often work together on duets—even though they can’t stand one another. Their first meeting is disastrous and six years later they still can’t get along.

toward brighter days (Rated T) [Sea Mechanic]

Written by @reggieshamster for @/ashplana. The four assigned tropes were 1) Apocalyptic Log, 2) bed sharing, 3) road trip au, and 4) mythical creatures.

Summary: Dear Harper,

I am ridiculously out of it this morning. Last night, when we reached the campsite, Luna suggested we give Echo her own bedroll, since she gave hers up the night before.

Which meant Luna was sleeping with me.

Beside me.

Excerpts from Raven’s journal as she travels to Polis for the Winter Solstice Festival

three words, two hearts, one maybe (Rated G) [Bellarke]

Written by @bellamysgriffin for @bellarkeshoe. The four assigned tropes were 1) Youtuber AU, 2) best friend’s sibling, 3) frikdreina, and 4) miscommunication.

Summary: After an accident blinds Clarke, Octavia’s been encouraging her best friend to keep up with her artwork. In order to inspire her, she recruits the help of her older brother, Bellamy, who’s recently launched a new exhibition at his museum, to feature her work. Bellamy likes Clarke’s work, and he’s more than happy to help. But when she doesn’t show on the big day, he takes matters into his own hands. With an old video camera, he records people’s reactions to Clarke’s artwork so that she’ll know just how talented she is. But when he sends it to his sister, he doesn’t expect her to upload it to YouTube. And he definitely doesn’t expect to go viral.

Something Beautiful, Simple, and Bright (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @wwjacksparrowd for @queenemori. The four assigned tropes were 1) Friends with Benefits AU, 2) Prank war, 3) characters are not together but are mistaken for a couple, and 4) Based on a Song.

Summary: Six months after Wonkru and Eligius manage to establish peace and divide Eden between themselves (with a little slice shaved off for Spacekru, of course), Clarke has a mission: plan a New Year’s Eve party for fifteen hundred people within three weeks.

Murphy’s mission? Stop her from burning out in the process. Oh, and if he could just get Monty to quit it with the freaking noisemakers, that would be great, too.

(…Okay, yeah, he’d also like to date Clarke for real instead of just sleeping with her. But that’s a pipe dream, right?)

put your faith in the devil and the deep blue sea (Rated M) [Clurphy]

Written by @probably-voldemort for @kuklash. The four assigned tropes were 1) Time Loop AU, 2) Characters fall on top of one another and have a “moment”, 3) Enemies to Lovers, and 4) Superhero AU.

Summary: Twenty years ago, when the clocks changed from 11:59pm on December 31st, 1999, to 12:00am on January 1st, 2000, the world ended, exactly as the doomsdayers had predicted. Now, there are only a few livable months left on Earth, and the privileged are evacuating for a life in space, abandoning the planet.

But not everyone has given up.

Clarke was only three when the world ended, and she’s spent most of her life in her mother’s lab. Now, as the last space ships are preparing to leave, her mother’s machine is finally ready, and Clarke and her mother are heading back in time to try to stop the apocalypse from happening in the first place.

An attack on the lab leads to Clarke heading back to 1995 on her own, and the past isn’t quite how Clarke’s vague memories from the beginning of her life paint it. Clarke soon discovers that not only did the machine do more than just send her back in time, but she wasn’t, in fact, sent back alone.

Will she be able to stop the apocalypse before the clock strikes midnight? Or are some parts of history unchangeable?

All I Want For Christmas (Rated T) [Memori]

Written by @thedefinitionofendgame for @the-most-beautiful-broom. The four assigned tropes were 1) Fake dating, 2) Joke kiss turned real kiss, 3) One character is sleeping and the other character is watching them totally in love, and 4) Blanket fort.

Summary: Tired of being single, Murphy decides to take matters into his own hands and get himself a girlfriend before the annual Christmas Day dinner with his friends. Having had bad luck in the past with girls - all twenty four of them - Murphy is determined to make the twenty-fifth, the “Christmas Day” number, his forever.

Of course, this is easier said than done. When his fellow coworker, Emori, seems to be having similar problems and suggests them being each other’s “fake dates” to their Christmas parties in December, Murphy jumps at the chance. Fake dating is better than being totally alone, right? It appears that way, at least until Murphy starts to catch feelings; the ones that make you question everything you think you know. As their “fake feelings” start to become more real, Murphy realizes that Emori’s the one he wants for Christmas. But she’s got walls up and even though his heart doesn’t stand a chance, Murphy’s determined to break them down and show her what falling in love really means, maybe with the help of a little December magic thrown in.

As long as we’re together, no I can’t get much higher (Rated T) [Murven]

Written by @dylanobrienisbatman for @andthelightbulbclicks. The four assigned tropes were 1) Zookeeper AU, 2) Treasure Hunt, 3) secret places, and 4) Secret Santa.

Summary: Murphy has only known Raven for a little while, but the longer he spends getting to know her, the more he realises that there’s no hope of him not falling in love with her.

So when he gets her for Secret Santa, he makes it his mission to nail it.

before i knew you (Rated G) [Clexa]

Written by @dylanobrienisbatman for @sailawaymayday. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Pen Pals, (2) 3+1, 4+1, 5+1, etc., (3) surprise kiss, and (4) character meets another characters ex.

Summary: What do you do when your penpal, the person you know the best in the world, who you love, turns out to be the rather rude (if also rather pretty) sales girl from downstairs? Lexa is about to find out. or - 3 times lexa and clarke meet without knowing they’ve been penpals since childhood, and the 1 time Lexa figures it out.

when life gives you shit, you make kool-aid (Rated M) [Becho]

Written by @reggieshamster for @dylanobrienisbatman. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Bodyguard AU, (2) Bed Sharing, (3) Kissing to Keep Cover/a Secret, and (4) a Character gets shot/stabbed/badly injured and they collapse, being caught by their loved one.

Summary: Bellamy used to have it all, and then one screw-up cost him his career and his fancy life. Now, working as a bodyguard for alcoholic businessmen and their families, he gets a call from his sister for a job… escorting a hitwoman to testify against a man convicted of crimes against humanity. What could possibly go wrong?

and left the secret at the grave (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @probably-voldemort for @justbecauseyoubelievesomething. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Murder Mystery, (2) Partners in Crime, (3) Exes to Lovers, and (4) Snowed In.

Summary: At 8:57 on the morning of December 23rd, eight year old Jordan Green discovered the body of Skybox Inn owner Vera Kane on the floor of the lobby. His screams woke up the other guests of the inn, as well as the live-in butler.

The discovery of the body was followed shortly by two more discoveries. The first was that the storm the night before had knocked out the phones and the internet, and the second was that the inn was completely snowed in with no hopes of escape anytime soon.

Thirteen people trapped in an inn.

Uncountable secrets.

One murderer.

One question.

Who killed Vera Kane?

what a tangled string of Christmas lights we weave (Rated T) [Linctavia]

Written by @thelittlefanpire for @reggieshamster. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Royalty AU, (2) Cyrano AU, (3) Characters fall and end up landing on top of each other and have a “moment”, and (4) Hair brushing and/or braiding.

Summary: When the royal family loses their beloved Prince Wells, the future king of Arkadia, all eyes are on them. The Queen remains as stoic as ever, the Spare grapples with his new responsibilities, the Princess drowns in her grief, and the King is threatening to abolish the monarchy forever.

At Christmastime, as tensions in the palace rise with the vicious tabloids outside, the royal family makes an escape to a castle in the mountains, hoping to find solace and reconcile with their loss.

Princess Octavia will try to mend her broken heart back together as she becomes entranced with the letters sent back and forth between herself and another. But when it’s revealed who the true penman is, will she rise above her sorrow or sink further into it?

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Take a read! Leave a kudos/comment! Our Tropesters worked so hard on creating some unique, festive fun fics from all the amazing tropes that were sent in. Thanks again!

#TROPED: masterlist #chopped: holiday gift exchange #chopped: holiday trope exchange #chte 2.0 #chte2020 #masterlist #the 100 fanfiction

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 3 years

Text

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam 2/?

Story summary: Princess Emma isn't the princess of much anymore. It's been months since her parents and brother were taken, and she's been on the run with her godmother Red. When Emma and Red board a merchant vessel to sail to Arendelle, Emma quickly finds that the captain is not to be trusted. After helping two slave brothers, Emma takes over the ship and begins her journey to save and rebuild her kingdom.

Read it on AO3 | or start at the beginning

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 2: Trick of the Knife

word count: ~6k

Panic was a curious thing.

Emma liked to think that she was a rational person, that the years of guidance from her parents had taught her to keep her emotions in check. Sure, they’d told her to trust herself and her instincts, but being an effective ruler meant not getting carried away by intense feelings that had no bearing in reality.

Needless to say, it was frustrating for her to wake in the morning with a jolt of panic, for her mind to race the second consciousness gripped her, for her eyes to search frantically around the captain’s quarters for whatever it was she was missing. Because the clawing of fear in her stomach couldn’t have been her imagination.

Except it was.

Her sword was propped against her bunk just inches from her hand, her boots knocked over haphazardly where she’d kicked them off the night before. Everything else was exactly as it had been when she’d entered the cabin hours ago.

Emma fell back onto the bed, dropping her elbows from where they’d held her up in her attempt to locate some imaginary danger. She huffed, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to breathe deeply. It was a familiar process for her, convincing her mind and her body that she was safe for the moment; her anxiety was nothing more than the product of her current circumstances, of months on the run and the weight of the world crushing her bones.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, closing her eyes to feel the gentle sway of the ship. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that the sea calmed her—relieved that something could—because she hadn’t been sailing in years and another obstacle, no matter how trivial, might’ve been too much for her.

Emma had just managed to get her breathing under control when a knock came to the cabin door. She grabbed the sword on instinct before she went to open it.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Liam Jones said, a large tray balancing in his hands, “but I thought you might wish to break your fast.”

“As much as I appreciate the thought, I don’t expect you to bring me meals on a silver platter—or any platter, actually,” she replied, frowning as she examined the offering. “You’re not a servant or a cabin boy, Liam.”

He ducked his head, a habit he shared with his brother. “Aye, however, I simply wished to see to it myself that you were well fed,” he paused, waiting for her to let him in. When she simply narrowed her eyes at him, he added, “I know you reject gratitude, Emma, but I think getting my brother to sleep this long and break his stubborn streak warrants a proper thank you. It’s a feat, honestly.”

She sighed, stepping back to allow him entrance. “Okay, just don’t make a habit of it.” She watched him set it on the table, her lips pushing into a tight line. “You’ve brought me too much,” she admonished. “Would you care to join me?”

Liam shifted his feet, moving half a step back and away from her. “I—I couldn’t, besides, I’ve had my ration already this morning.”

“And I suppose you never give any of yours to your brother to ensure that he’s well taken care of,” she shot back, raising a knowing eyebrow. It’s what she’d do, if Leo were there. “Sit, eat, tell me how we’re faring today,” she encouraged as she took the closest chair and leaned her sword against it, and there was only a slight edge of a command in her tone.

Liam didn’t move right away, looking at her as if he were gauging whether or not he could win this one. After a moment, he relented, dropping into the place opposite her. “Eating with a princess,” he muttered, forcing his hand to take a piece of bread only after she’d taken some of the fruit for herself.

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you that my mother was a bandit and my father was a shepherd?”

His head shot up, and he nearly dropped the chunk of bread he’d been holding. “Pardon?”

Emma smiled, and for a moment she could almost hear her parents as they told her the story. One of their favorites, actually, and no matter how old she was, she never tired of it. It was something she repeated in her head over and over again lately, a grasping attempt at comfort when things got particularly difficult.

“When my mother was on the run from the Evil Queen, she became a bandit to survive. She taught me everything she knows about tracking, archery, all of it.” Emma couldn’t help the smile that pulled up the corners of her lips at this, the fighter her mother was beneath it all.

Liam took a moment to process that bit of information, making himself eat a little more of the bread under her firm gaze. “Are you trying to convince me that you’re not a typical princess?”

Emma chuckled, “I think I’ve already proven that.” She leaned forward, taking a roll for herself. “I’m trying to say that my parents have never liked to stand on ceremony, either. No, a meal with a sailor would hardly scandalize them.”

His mouth opened automatically but he forced it closed, and Emma could tell that he’d meant to correct her on her use of the word ‘sailor,’ but it was accurate now. She expected it to take a bit more time for them to break their habits.

“Did your father teach you to fence, or was that your mother, too?”

“My father,” she replied. “Put the first wooden sword in my tiny hands on my eighth birthday. I was tormenting the castle guards by the time I was eleven.” It’d been a long time since she’d thought about that, and the memories flashed in her mind before she could stop them.

Her laughter, bubbly and free like the child she was. Leo had been so small, his hands grasping the air as if to ask to hold her new gift. And then later, a heavier gift, one that was responsibility when she held it in her hand, promises to clean it and practice every day. The guard’s playful annoyance that steadily grew as she got more skilled, her parents’ mildly exasperated expressions that were too fond to be anything bad. Teaching her brother once he was old enough, his wide and curious eyes as he watched her and tried to mimic everything she did. All those days ended with wonderful soreness buried in her muscles that made her bed feel softer and her sleep come easier.

But those days were long gone.

Liam laughed, bringing her back to the present. “I suppose that isn’t surprising,” he said as he reached for an orange. “I’m no great swordsman myself, but Killian was quite impressed.”

The rock that had lodged itself in her gut disappeared with the mention of the younger Jones brother. “Oh?” She kept her eyes on her food, hoping that she sounded only mildly interested and not like her heart had done a flip in her chest.

“He was nearly raving about it yesterday evening,” Liam told her, fondness across every inch of his face and in every tone of his voice. “The particulars eluded me, but I’m to understand that some of your disarming techniques are incredibly impressive and difficult to master.”

Emma hummed, her expression nearly nonchalant despite the pride that took root in her stomach. Pride and something else, something she couldn’t quite name. It only took a moment for her to pick up on the odd shift in the silence.

“Is something wrong?” she asked Liam, glancing up at him across the table where he seemed to be thinking too hard.

“No, no,” he insisted, shaking his head to dissipate the haze of contemplation. “Your father was a shepherd? I thought he was a prince,” Liam said.

“That’s what you’re supposed to think,” she replied, “because King George adopted his twin brother James as his heir.”

“Isn’t your father King James?”

“His name is David, actually,” she told him. “George didn’t want people to know that James was dead. It’s not exactly something they’d announce to the realm after all that, though. It’s all a bit complicated.”

Liam nodded, and Emma was good enough at reading people to recognize the connections he was making in his mind that shone through his blue eyes. They were perhaps a bit grayer than his brother’s, and their expressions were different enough that it often seemed to her that they were different shades entirely.

“I hadn’t heard about your family,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking up to her from the orange peel he worked off. “I’m sorry.”

It was more than just their capture that he referred to, this much was obvious. Red was the only one who was privy to anything more specific, so Emma didn’t have to wonder at the source of this knowledge.

“It’s likely just a sleeping curse variation with my parents, but we’re unsure what was used on Leo. His curse is…different.” Cruel was the word she wanted to use, but that wouldn’t help anything. And it wasn’t as if the Evil Queen had laid out the exact parameters of the curse when she’d found her. But that wasn’t something Emma wanted to think about.

“How old is he?”

“Sixteen,” she replied, her lips pulling up on one side without her consent. “Seventeen in a few months, though.” She didn’t have to add that she hoped to see him before then.

Perhaps it was because Liam was an older sibling himself that the melancholy filled the air so intensely; a lost brother was hardly something they wished to discuss thoroughly. Emma’s appetite vanished as she played with the roll in her hands, unable to bring herself to eat it.

“You will save them, Emma. You will succeed,” he insisted, “and Killian and I will do whatever we can to help you along the way. You have my word.”

��Thank you, Liam,” she said. “I find myself desperately in need of allies these days, and it’s a relief to know I’ve got good men on my side.”

Liam flushed, but he carried on admirably. “And when we reach port tomorrow, we’ll replace the, um, less desirable men with trustworthy ones. A handful, at least, if I’ve got anything to say about it.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied. “Red is quite the charmer, you should bring her along.”

“Already asked her myself this morning,” he told her. “Terry’s arranged a group to oversee supplies while I accompany Lady Red in the search.”

Nearly everything had already been taken care of for her, though Emma did not feel like an inadequate captain. The title was more symbolic than anything, and her parents would have been proud at her efficient delegation of duties.

“I’ll remain behind to watch the ship.”

“Killian’s volunteered to stay, too, which should provide ample protection should anyone attempt anything foolish.”

If every mention of the younger Jones was going to torment her stomach with that flock of butterflies, Emma was going to have a difficult journey. “Alright,” she said, squashing down the fluttering feeling.

When Liam realized she’d finished, he stood quickly, as if it went against his honor to tarry when there was work to be done. “Thank you for breakfast, Captain,” he said as he reached for the tray, but her sharp gaze made him stop. “I’ll, um, just return to relieve Lady Red at the helm,” he told her.

“Perfect,” Emma replied, “I’ll be on deck shortly.”

He did not bow when he left her cabin, but there was a distinct nod of his head that felt like the equivalent of one. Emma let it slide, closing the door behind him to secure the lock so she could dress for the day without interruption.

The new trunk sat at the end of her bed, Red’s bag of belongings noticeably absent from it. She sighed as she considered how it had gotten there, knowing the answer would certainly irritate her. Emma pulled her leather satchel from the trunk, deciding that it just wasn’t practical enough to use. She considered offering it to Killian and Liam, but they’d never accept it.

Emma pulled on the dark leather pants and that blue vest that she loved too much, preparing for the day she was expecting and the one she wasn’t. This meant sliding the blades into their hiding places and tucking several things in her pockets that one may not have deemed entirely necessary, but she’d learned that having to leave abruptly was not uncommon, and she hated replacing things she’d had to leave behind. Much of her downtime was spent sewing hidden pockets into her clothes, but she never minded the monotony.

She replaced her boots, ensuring that her dagger was in its place before securing the sword against her hip. The weight was so familiar now, she felt lopsided when it wasn’t there unless she was using it. Once her hair was tied up and out of the way, she left her cabin to return the tray to the galley.

It didn’t take long for her to reach her destination, but the voices that carried from the galley made her pause around the corner, leaning against the wall as her breath held to prevent an early reveal of her location.

“She is our princess and our captain, in case you need reminding, and you will do well not to forget it again.” This was Killian; she’d recognize his lilting accent anywhere. But his tone was harsher than she’d ever heard it, hinting to his listener that there was no argument.

His words were met with dark, throaty chuckles from more than one person. “Oh, aye, that slip of a girl would make us regret it, would she? No amount of sword tricks will save her if I decide to cross blades with her,” a man replied.

“She ain’t that skilled, boy, really,” another said, sharp and teasing.

Killian simply laughed. “You must not have been watching yesterday, then. None of us have ever seen a swordsman like that and you know it,” he told them. To him, this was obvious. His praise wasn’t fluff and flattery, it was fact, and Emma was torn between considering what this meant to her and focusing on the problem at hand.

“Awe, does the little slave boy have a crush?”

“Wishing for a peek under her skirts, laddie?”

“This won’t end well for you,” a third voice said.

All pleasant thoughts vanished from Emma’s mind at their taunts and threats and use of the word slave, and her plan was formed before she even had time to think about it. Disrespecting a captain was about a step away from a mutiny attempt, and she couldn’t ignore that, nor could she ignore her desire to prove these men wrong.

When their laughter died out, Emma stepped into the galley and greeted them with a smile so sweet it was poisonous. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, her eyes scanning the scene.

Killian stood tall with crossed arms nearest to her, while the three men grumbled from where they were grouped by the end of the table. They shifted their feet and seemed somewhat annoyed at her appearance, but Killian was too perceptive, staring at her as he waited for whatever she had planned.

Emma took her time setting the tray on the table, pretending to adjust her vest for a moment before bringing her right boot on the bench. Her hand lingered by her laces as if to fix them, and though she was aware of the eyes on her, she did not look up until she slid the blade from her boot.

The dagger glinted even in the low light, her thumb brushing fondly along the design on the hilt. She smiled at the three men as she returned her foot to the ground.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked them, holding it out for them to see, warning dripping from her sweet tone. “It was a gift from my father, a present for my sixteenth birthday. Had the swan made special for me,” she added, smiling at the silver bird. Vicious and beautiful.

“Until a few months ago, this blade had never touched blood,” she said, her voice even, calm, unremarkable as her thumb moved to edge to metal. But in a second her grip shifted and the dagger sliced through the air in a show of speed and agility, though it might have been to test the balance or the weight. “Since then, I’ve had to do a lot of cleaning, and you know princesses—we hate to clean up after ourselves.” It didn’t matter that this wasn’t particularly true in her experience, she wished to make the point all the same.

Her lips curled up higher as she glanced between the traitorous men. “So either you can keep your heads down and work until you’re put off this ship tomorrow, or I’ll have to clean this dagger again.”

“Or there’s always the brig,” Killian added helpfully. His mouth was twisted in a smile that was half threatening and half proud of the woman before him.

“There is, isn’t there?” Emma asked, pretending to think on it. “Getting a bit crowded, though. Might be better off not facing Silver after all that has happened,” she mused, appraising the three crewmen again.

Two didn’t move, attempting to keep their expressions firm and unyielding as their chests puffed and their shoulders broadened, but the smallest—and smartest, if anyone were to ask Emma—looked between them before stepping forward.

“We’ll stay out of trouble,” he decided.

Killian and Emma turned expectantly to the others, but they did not even react at their friend’s announcement. They kept their fierce gazes on Emma, but this wasn’t anything she hadn’t planned for.

“It must be my parents’ reputation of benevolence that hasn’t convinced you,” she sighed, “but I can assure you, I do what I have to do to survive. And if you decide to get between me and a chance to save my kingdom and my family…” She didn’t need to finish, and her words thickened the air with her thinly-veiled threat.

“Come on, Evans, Blake,” the smart one told them, “don’t be fools. We can leave tomorrow.”

It was in this moment when Emma’s free hand moved behind her, edging the leather as she waited for the two men to make their move. Her movement was too gentle, too slow to draw anyone’s attention, and her body appeared relaxed and devoid of tension though she was prepared for what was to come.

It only took about thirty seconds before the fools moved, pushing past their friend and lunging towards her. But the distance was enough that time was on her side, and Killian charged the one closer to him—Blake—as the small throwing blade left her hand before Evans could even register what she was doing.

The slim knife whipped through the air with the perfect spin, and her lips almost twisted into a smile as she watched it connect with his palm, slamming dead in the center and dragging him back so it could pin him to the wooden wall he’d barely had time to step away from.

Evans cried out in shock and pain, predictable curses falling from his mouth as he stared wide-eyed at his hand, his uninjured one reaching to grab the handle, but he cursed again when it moved.

Killian had done exactly as Emma anticipated, and his opponent was knocked onto his back, the sword at his throat. But both Killian’s and Blake’s eyes were on the knife that stuck into flesh and wood.

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Emma. “I didn’t know you could do that,” he said.

“I’m full of surprises,” she replied, sliding another blade from one of the hidden panels in the front of her vest to show him before pushing it back into place.

“And weapons, apparently,” he chuckled.

Emma grinned, returning her dagger to her boot. She preferred not to use it, honestly, but more because she didn’t want to damage it rather than a dislike of cleaning it. But with her throwing knives, this particular kind of fight was easily taken care of without even having to move from a strategic spot. She could get the higher ground—or the place with the best escape plan, in her case—and hold onto it.

Evans was still moaning in pain, though he’d begun to spout insults at her between curses. It was easy enough for her to ignore him as she approached and drew her sword, yanking the knife from his hand without hesitating or even attempting to be gentle. He groaned, crouching as he brought his wounded hand into his body to cradle it, but the hilt of her sword temporarily put him out of his misery when he toppled to the ground.

Killian took this as permission to do the same with Blake, and he was looking to her for direction as she turned to him.

“I suppose the brig will have to do,” she said.

The other crewman moved right away, hauling the man in front of her over his shoulder without waiting for her to ask. He’d already wanted to avoid conflict, and after seeing her other skills, he wasn’t eager to incur her wrath.

She stopped Killian from lifting Blake with a raise of her hand. “Don’t. I’ll get someone else to do it,” she told him. “I have to get Red anyway, she’s got the keys to the brig. Just wait here with him,” she added, hoping her tone and the intensity of her gaze would prevent him from arguing.

Their eyes locked, tension snapping between them that had nothing to do with anger or his wanting to protest. But she had no time to decipher the look, and she sheathed her sword, tucking the bloodied blade into its spot at the back of her vest.

“Good,” she said, “don’t move.”

She only had to wait a moment for his nod before she turned, heading towards the deck without stopping to analyze every word and expression she’d seen from Killian during the last few minutes.

The atmosphere on deck was lively, the fair weather and the absence of the more miserable sailors making for a pleasanter mood than she’d felt on the ship thus far. There was laughter in the air, camaraderie amongst the crew as they worked on their various duties. They were down in numbers, but even that wasn’t enough to dissolve the jovial spirit following Silver’s loss of power.

Red stood at the helm, Liam at her side likely trying to convince her to give up her post and let him work instead. But there was no animosity in their manners, only evidence of their rapidly developing friendship as Red rolled her eyes at whatever Liam said.

Emma reached them quickly, ignoring their pleasantries and turning to Red. “Killian and I ran into some trouble in the galley,” Emma said, “if you’ll kindly bring the keys, the two men can join their friends in the brig.”

“Of course,” Red replied, glancing at Liam with a raised eyebrow as something unspoken passed between them, then he replaced her when she moved to head below.

“Oh, and don’t let Killian carry the man himself, please,” Emma called. “He’ll reopen his wound.”

Red’s lips curved into a smile. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

When she was gone, Emma turned back to Liam with the intention of uncovering the root of that look they’d shared, but the elder Jones was cool and kind as he offered her a smile.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said. “You seem to be making a habit of helping my brother and myself.”

Emma waved a hand dismissively, swallowing the discomfort that followed his gratitude. In recent weeks, she’d found it difficult to acknowledge praise or recognition no matter the subject. If she had to think about it, she’d probably trace it to her inadequacy and failure in saving her kingdom, her people, or her family, so she found it much better to not think about it at all.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, glancing around the deck to study the differences in the crew, watching for the way they worked together. It was easier to think like this, to plan and strategize rather than focus on dangerous things like emotions and honor and everything else.

“It’s not,” Liam insisted.

“I’d like your help tomorrow after you and Red find new crew members,” Emma said suddenly, the change in topic not subtle at all but the request of his assistance was a carrot that dangled before him.

“Whatever you need, Captain.”

Emma, she mentally corrected. But he was probably better off using her rank on deck where the others could hear, at least until they could bring in some of their own sailors.

“I’d like for you and Killian to assist me in bringing Silver to the local authorities,” she told him, and his eyes darkened. “As far as I’m aware, these waters don’t take too kindly to slavers, either.”

Liam’s grip tightened on the helm, but he otherwise kept his expression neutral. “Killian and I would be happy to join you.”

“As I suspected you would be,” she replied. With a nod, she left him to his post, finding Terry across the deck so she could discuss their replenishment of supplies the following day. Though her captaincy was flimsy at best, she still wished to lend her aid in whatever way she could.

For the second night in a row, Emma found herself at the helm. It wasn’t nearly as late, however, the golden sky just beginning to turn to a deep blue that didn’t yet hold any stars. She watched, waiting patiently for the pinpricks of light to appear overhead.

The day had been long, filled with people needing things and asking questions and there wasn’t a moment in which she could ponder things like tense gazes or proud smiles. But perhaps gazes and smiles shouldn’t have been high on her list of priorities.

She pulled out the flask from inside her vest, unscrewing it to take a sip. Before a few months ago, Emma hadn’t cared much for rum. But now she relished in the familiar burn as it dragged down her throat and eased some of the tension in her body. She froze with the flask poised for her second sip when the ship creaked.

“I don’t suppose you’d share,” a voice called.

Emma watched as Killian approached, her eyes scanning his face for anything or everything. “As long as you’re not here to convince me to give up my shift,” she said dryly.

He chuckled, “No, love. I know that the Lady Red is set to relieve you in a few hours. I simply wanted to speak with you regarding our earlier confrontation in the galley, since we’ve had not a moment to ourselves since the whole ordeal.”

She willed her stomach to unknot itself as she passed him the flask, unable to stop herself from following his movements. His fingers nearly grazed hers when he took it, close enough that she could feel the heat from his skin. Killian’s head angled up and to the side, revealing the column of his neck as he drank.

“Good rum,” he commented, returning the flask.

She accepted it, taking another small sip before replacing the cap and returning it to her inner pocket. “Does that surprise you?” she wondered, but she couldn’t determine why she cared.

“That a princess has good rum?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers. She couldn’t see the color in the growing darkness, but she’d already spent enough time studying them to imagine the exact shade now. “I don’t know about other princesses, but it doesn’t surprise me that you have good rum, Captain.”

If she’d heard only the words, she would’ve been incapable of determining whether or not this particular statement was a compliment, but in his tone, there was no question. But he’d come on deck for a reason, and it wasn’t likely to be to issue compliments and nothing else.

“I hope you’re not here to insist that you could’ve handled things on your own in the galley today,” she said. She doubted it, especially after his expression before she’d left, but he was known to be stubborn, so it was plausible. Maybe.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “While perhaps I could’ve handled them myself, I’m incredibly relieved that I didn’t have to. I would’ve torn some stitches, I’m sure, and I’d hate to get on my captain’s bad side.”

Emma hummed, glancing up at the sky to check for the appearance of stars rather than looking at the ones in his gaze. “I’m glad.”

“And I was also going to tell you that you—Your Highness, Captain, Princess Emma—can be bloody terrifying when you want to be,” he told her. He was grinning when she finally looked over at him, his eyes glimmering far too much for the fading light.

“As I said, I do what I have to do to survive. And if my parents can’t get past that once I’ve saved them, I can always abdicate the throne. Leo would make a good king.” It was true, she knew, but it didn’t hurt her any less to say it. Too much blood had been spilled since that terrible day, but she couldn’t very well save the damn kingdom if she was dead, could she?

“But you would make a fantastic queen,” he said firmly. “And if I recall correctly, your parents took their throne back from the Evil Queen once before. That couldn’t have been done without some difficult choices.”

“Maybe,” she allowed. But he didn’t know her parents—very few did—and their constant insistence that violence was always a last resort and there was always a choice when it came to taking another’s life…she wasn’t sure that they would welcome her back into their family as openly as she wished.

Emma cleared her throat. “But maybe not. Either way, they trained me to be lethal. Fair, yes, but as you’ve seen, I can take a life just as easily as I could pardon one.” She could hear them now, the sword is not equal to the gavel, Emma, and when given the choice, put down your sword before ending a life.

Killian shifted, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m not sure your parents would agree with me, but I believe that there are certain people for whom pardoning isn’t possible. Saving someone who could take hundreds, possibly thousands of lives if they escape—” he paused, his lips turning down into a sharp frown. “Well, perhaps I’ve seen too much to judge fairly.”

Or perhaps her parents hadn’t seen enough to judge rationally, though Emma wasn’t about to raise the issue to them upon their rescue.

“I would’ve killed her,” Emma said, her voice strangled. Killian’s eyebrows pinched together, and she sighed. “The Evil Queen. If I had been there all those years ago, I wouldn’t have just stopped her and exiled her. I would’ve killed her. If my mother or my father had, they wouldn’t be cursed now. Leo wouldn’t be cursed now. And more than that, my kingdom wouldn’t be ransacked, and my people wouldn’t have been murdered or chased from their homes.”

Though her voice had been bitter when she spoke, the words were not rash or thoughtless. Every night that she’d been forced to remain awake for survival, she’d considered this. Wondered at her parents’ choices, weighed them against her own. She was never able to determine who was in the right, however.

“You worry that when you save them, they won’t understand,” Killian said, and it should’ve been a question, but it wasn’t. “That they’ll disagree.”

“I don’t care,” she said, and she wished it were true. If only she didn’t care, didn’t honestly believe that the look her parents would give her upon their rescue would break her beyond repair, didn’t think that their disappointment in her would be a curse in its own right.

Emma sighed, not even trying to relax her grip on the wheel. “The Evil Queen would kill my brother if she could, and that’s enough for me. If my parents hold it against me, I’ll abdicate, as I said before.” The words were rational, emotionless, but the storm of doubt and hopelessness swirled in her chest.

“You shouldn’t abdicate,” he repeated, his gaze unfaltering. “Emma the Swan Queen,” he murmured, and the way he said it was almost like a reflex, a thought that passed his lips automatically.

It made her eyebrow quirk. “Swan Queen?”

Killian ducked his head, his hand running through his dark hair. “Aye, like the dagger. Elegant and beautiful, but deadly when provoked. Fitting, don’t you think?” When his eyes locked with hers again, his lips curled into the smallest half-smile.

“I don’t hate it,” she allowed, and his smile widened. “Now I just have to save and rebuild the kingdom, and then perhaps they can call me that. Well, it’d have to be the Swan Princess first, at least.”

“You’ll do it,” he said, though his tone was more befitting of a vow. Emma wished she could bottle his belief in her, keep it and uncork it when she couldn’t believe in herself.

Her breath had snagged in her throat, but she spoke anyway. “I certainly have a better shot with you and your brother to help.”

Killian waved a hand dismissively. “You could do it without us.”

“Sure, but as you said earlier,” she replied, “although I could do it alone, I’m relieved I don’t have to.”

That tension returned from before, electricity snapping against her skin beneath Killian’s gaze. If she’d had less on her mind, she could’ve understood what it all meant, but all she knew was that it was somehow both pleasant and unnerving and she never wanted to look away.

“If we thought for a moment that you’d let us, Liam and I would pledge you our fealty in the manner befitting your title.”

This, Emma knew, was no small declaration. She’d seen soldiers lay their swords at her mother’s feet, their heads bowed as they sealed their promises to fight and die for the queen and her kingdom. It was something she’d never gotten used to, and she never would, should she one day take her mother’s place.

The depth in Killian’s eyes told her he knew exactly what he was saying, and after a moment he spoke again. “We may be mere sailors, hardly making up for your lost navy, but we’ll fight with everything we have.”

She heard the words he did not say and quickly offered her own opinion on the matter. “Mere sailors who also happen to be talented swordsmen and navigators,” she pointed out.

“Ah, a bit of luck,” Killian said. “Our captain before Silver was the best we’d had, and we sailed with him for about five years. He offered to teach us valuable skills, and we were eager to learn. Liam dedicated himself to navigation, insisting on bettering our future prospects so we could perhaps one day join the navy.”

“But you wanted to learn to fight,” she guessed. “Fight and survive.”

“Aye,” he confirmed. “But Nemo made sure we each learned some of both endeavors to manage on our own.”

There was enough in his voice and in his face for Emma to determine that the tale ended with grief. “Sounds like he was a good man,” she said.

“One of the greatest I’ve ever known.”

The silence that followed Killian’s story was not uncomfortable, and the two sat together as the stars glowed more brilliantly above them. Despite the pleasant tension that continued to buzz in the surrounding air and the sensation that curled in the pit of Emma’s stomach, she was painfully aware that some things would have to wait.

“We’ve a busy day tomorrow,” she began reluctantly, “you should rest while you can.”

“Aye,” he breathed, but he made no move to leave. His eyes did not falter from hers, either, as if he wished to prolong their moment for as long as he could. Eventually, he realized what he was doing, and Emma imagined the color that touched his cheeks and the tips of his ears in the darkness.

A smile ghosted his lips as he began to leave. “Good night, Captain Swan,” he said.

“Captain Swan?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

He paused, meeting her gaze once more. “If you insist you’re not yet the Swan Princess, then I believe that makes you our Captain Swan.”

She considered that, studying his eyes like they held the answers she sought. “Good night, Killian,” she said after a moment.

He nodded, turning to leave her at last. She watched him until he disappeared below.

In his absence, Emma was left to ponder the man who had begun to work his way beneath her skin. If she wasn’t careful, the butterflies would become something much bigger, more than just a stuttering heartbeat and a fluttering in her stomach. But as she stood beneath the infinite stars at the helm of this ship she now led in place of a kingdom, Emma wasn’t certain that she wanted to be careful.

#How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam #ouat fanfic #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time #chapter two #cs fanfic #ao3

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1mechanicalalligator · 3 years

Text

2020 Fic Year in Review

Total number of completed stories: 68

Total word count: 288,290

Fandoms written in: Community, Mythic Quest, Space Force

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? I would say a lot more than expected, considering I never had never written any fic at all until quarantine started.

What’s your own favourite story of the year? I am really, really pleased with how Selected Variations on Reunification turned out. I tried some different things stylistically that I think really paid off and it was just a lot of fun to write and I got a lot of great feedback.

Did you take any writing risks this year? When I first started writing fic I had no intention of ever writing smut. So, I would say five times troy and abed were together (and one time they were apart) felt like a pretty big risk!

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I just hope I'll keep writing. I'm not good at distinguishing between hobbies and hyperfixations, but I'm really hoping this is a hobby.

Most popular story of the year? Intro to Emotional Regulation, my very first fic, has the most kudos by a landslide. Which makes me happy because I love this one and it's very personal and important to me.

Applied ADHD Studies got a ton of positive feedback, though, especially through tumblr, so I think that deserves a mention, too!

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Examination of the Worst, my character study of Britta. There are no pairings, so I figure it probably gets filtered out of a lot of searches, but it holds a special place in my heart.

Most fun story to write: Enhanced Physical Education!! I had so much fun developing Abed's social life and hookup history and trying to make everything fit within the episode without changing any dialogue or scenes.

Biggest disappointment: Pigeons in the Night is kind of on an indefinite hiatus at the moment. I still like the concept, but I wrote most of it while going through some bad personal stuff and now every time I open the doc that's all I can think about. So I've stopped opening the doc. Maybe someday I'll update it again, but who knows.

Biggest surprise: A few people told me that Fundamentals of Stimming helped them to actively seek out more healthy stims, which was kind of amazing to hear.

Also, Studies in Evolution of Affection started out as a silly one-shot and turned into my longest fic, so that was pretty cool.

#fic writers do this!#it's fun!#fic year in review

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astralaffairs · 4 years

Note

If you're taking asks, can I get "did you really have to give me so many hickeys" with Laurens? Thank you! I've re-read Freedom of the Press too many times to count, I love it so much

aww thank you!! i've had major writer's block with fotp 05, so i hope these drabbles hold y'all over until I can get it out. side note -- i've been doing sm writing for john lately and?? he's absolutely adorable???

---

You'd been avoiding John's workplace for about as long as you'd known him. You'd met him through a mutual friend, incidentally one of his colleagues, and hearing them discuss their job, their coworkers and clients, turned you off to the corporate world the moment you began to learn about it. Since you and he had been together, of course, he'd told you more and more, and since you'd moved in with him, you'd begun to feel like you could reconstruct his entire office from the ground up. As much as you hated the topic, it was his life, and if you wanted him, it came with the role. It was a trade-off you were more than eager to make.

However, actually breaking the boundary between your and his worlds was a line you hadn't yet crossed. So when he asked you to go his annual office party, a celebration of the corporation's progress and profits, your resistance was all but endless. He saw the party as the next step in your relationship; you saw it as pushing you further out of it.

When the time came, you couldn't say no -- it was clear how much this meant to him, and one night out of the rest of your life felt like a small sacrifice to make.

So that was exactly how you found yourself in the over-glamorous sixtieth floor of a corporate skyscraper. (John had been quick to catch onto the fact that "corporate" was a turn-off. At least you wouldn't be trying to rub one out in his place of work.) It wasn't quite what you'd expected, admittedly. Marble floors, glass doors and walls, gilded chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows -- you could go on.

It was a black-tie event. You'd arrived at the floor of the office huddled close to John, his arm around your waist, you pleading with him until the very last minute to go home as he only chuckled, kissed your cheek and all but pulled you out of the elevator.

"But what if we went home," you whined in his ear, clinging to his arm, and he only rolled his eyes, now scanning the room for who-knows-what. A sly smile crept onto your face as you leaned in, pulling him closer. "Promise I'd make it worth your time."

He could hear the mischief in your tone, and while he appeared moderately amused at your attempts, he gave you a pointed look. "Not the time, baby. Can you be good, just for one night?"

Your lips fell into a hard line, considering his demeanor as he raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. With your arms around his neck, you pulled him down to your level so you could kiss him on the nose. "Only for you," you whispered, and his smile was undeniable as he briefly leaned down to kiss you properly.

"Then c'mon."

You swallowed your exhausted groan as he tugged you toward a group of his colleagues -- these appeared to be the ones you'd heard about most often, his closest friends, and as he introduced them, you couldn't help but play back the stories he'd told you in your head. You'd obviously met Hercules -- he was the one who introduced you to John in the first place -- and Alex had dropped by your apartment a number of times, so you'd slowly familiarized yourself with him. However, everyone else's names immediately triggered a word association. Eliza: catching the communal microwave on fire -- three times. Lafayette: getting half the staff drunk while working overtime. Maria: serving as the divorce lawyer for one of her co-workers' spouses. The list sure did go on.

They all seemed incredibly friendly, however, so you decided to make nice and not let your aversion to gilded capitalism ruin everyone's night. The things you did for your boyfriend.

And so, you humored John. You met his boss. You stood by while they discussed corporate law, made esoteric jokes that you knew you couldn't begin to understand, and laughed when the group had obviously deemed it appropriate. You hardly left John's side; you didn't think you'd have made it through the night if he'd expected you to socialize independently. There were two things you thought you could honestly say in the night's favor -- John was absolutely beaming as he finally had the opportunity to show you off to his colleagues and friends, which wholly validated your reason for acquiescing to his invitation with little resistance, and the company had splurged on the wine and cheese for which you'd never have been willing to fork over such unholy amounts of cash.

You were careful not to drink too much, wanted to stay as far from the verge of tipsy as you could manage so as not to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire office, but you allowed yourself two glasses of the $600 merlot from the end of the refreshments table. Moreover, you shamelessly loaded up on cheese.

That was the only reason you ever had to steal away from John for a moment. It seemed that few of the employees were going to pillage the snacks, which made it feel all the more like your well-deserved karma for deciding to come, so John only laughed every time you told him you were going back to the cheese cart.

By the fourth time, you were on your second glass of wine, and you squinted at the various variations on smoked brie before deciding exactly how to pick your poison that time around.

"You new here?" A voice came from your right, startling you out of your dairy-induced haze. You turned with wide eyes to see a man standing beside you with a moderately amused smirk. "Because unless you're our transfer from Atlanta, I can't say I've heard about you -- and unlike Beatrice, you don't quite look 57."

You couldn't help your laugh at his playful tone. You gave him a once-over; he didn't fit the description of anyone John had told you about. "I can assure you, I'm not here to steal poor Beatrice's identity," you replied mildly. "I'm actually here as a guest, Mr..."

You trailed off an eyebrow raised. "Jefferson," he supplied, offering you his hand to shake, "Thomas Jefferson."

"Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you." You shook his hand, and something akin to recognition flashed across his face. Perhaps he'd heard about you from John? His crooked grin only grew with that as he drew closer to you.

"So you're here as a guest, hm?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded hesitantly. "Must not have had a very good host to bring you then, huh? Can't imagine leaving a pretty little thing like you unattended around here."

You raised your eyebrows at that. His sudden confidence was off-putting, and you shifted your weight from one foot to another as you gave him a slightly strained smile. The shift in his demeanor was beginning to make you mildly uncomfortable. "I assure you, I can take care of myself, Mr. Jefferson."

"I don't doubt that, sweetheart." His reply was mildly absentminded as his eyes trailed down your figure, and you took an unconscious step back. When you did, his eyes jumped back to yours as he flashed you a winning smile. "But please, it's Thomas, to you."

"Well, Thomas, it's been nice meeting you, but I think I need to get back to my date." You silently mourned your not having collected any new cheeses, but you were eager to end that interaction. He raised an eyebrow, grin groundlessly smug.

"You sure you wanna do that? I mean, if your date cared little enough to leave you out here all alone in this big office, I think you're justified in findin' other company." He moved imperceptibly closer, but it made all the difference to you. You swallowed. "Besides--"

"Y/N!" You whipped around, on cloud nine when you made eye contact with the source of the voice. You must have looked endlessly relieved, grateful for your savior, your white knight, your Messiah -- not to be dramatic -- but John just looked tense as he approached where you were standing. His smile was clearly forced, and Thomas raised an eyebrow. When he reached you, he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you further away from his coworker immediately. "Jefferson, I see you've met my girlfriend."

Thomas didn't miss the emphasis on the word 'girlfriend.' His eyebrows jumped toward his hairline, and he huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Your girlfriend, huh?" He looked between the two of you, and the tension as he met John's gaze was palpable. He broke it after hardly a second, turning his focus back to you with an irritatingly pitying smile. "Oh, sweetheart, how much is he paying you? Surely, it can't be that much, considerin' how much less John makes--"

"I'm not in this for money, Mr. Jefferson," you said, careful to keep your tone level. Beside you, John's jaw ticked, the pads of his fingers pressing possessively into the side of your waist.

Doubt still drenched his stare, and John cut in. "Not everything can be bought, Mr. Jefferson--" The utterance of his title was mocking, the words closer to a sneer, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop calling my girlfriend an escort. Watch it."

"Mmh, your loss, gettin' with him. You could be making some good money off of that." He let his gaze wander, never going above your neckline. It was painfully obvious that he was just playing it up to get a rise out of John, but nonetheless, it was working. You heard your boyfriend inhale harshly; his grip on you was getting closer to a vice. Thomas shot you a wink. "Gimme a call if you're ever interested in actually gettin' something out of a relationship, for once."

John scowled; you had to cling to his side to restrain him from tackling Thomas right there and then. His teeth were clenched, his gaze full of unbridled fury. "I swear to God--"

"Baby, c'mon, it's not worth it." Your quiet plea cut him off as you rested a hand on his chest. You could feel some of the tension leave his body. "You're fine. I'm fine. Let's just go, yeah?" He met your wide eyes, and your worried gaze had him forcing himself to cool off.

He shot Thomas one last burning glare before turning on his heel, promptly pulling you as far from his coworker as he could get you. You went with him readily.

He was quiet for the rest of the night. Despite your constant questioning stare and occasional attempts to check on him, voice hardly above a whisper, he just ignored it, waved you away. You didn't stay much longer after that, and the car ride back to your apartment was dead silent. John's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

After you made it home, though, you tried one more time. He threw the keys into the bowl by the door after locking it, and immediately began to loosen his tie, eager to relax and forget about the night.

"John, are you okay?" Though the question was hesitant, your tone was firm, demanding. He reluctantly met your eyes, vexation still brewing near the surface of his gaze. "Talk to me, baby. What's up?"

"What the fuck was that stunt with Jefferson?" The question had your eyes widening.

"'Stunt'?" you repeated, hoping you'd misheard him. "Seriously? He approached me; I just wanted more cheese!"

"You didn't exactly seem to be pulling away," he accused, and you gave a short, mirthless laugh.

"You've gotta be kidding me, John." His expectant expression told you that he absolutely was not, and you scowled. "I didn't wanna cause a scene. I was trying to get away politely. I just... didn't want anything to escalate."

"Some excuse."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Y/N." His voice was louder that time, and it was tinged with genuine anger. He took a step toward you, looming over you as he began to close the space. "You've never cared about being impolite before; don't expect me to believe you're suddenly miss proper. You were just enjoying the attention."

"This was my first time around your colleagues! At your office!" you protested, standing your ground.

"You don't give two shits what corporate employees think about you!"

"But you do." The truth behind your words was what made him bite his tongue, not the urgency in your tone. Tentatively, you closed the small gap between you, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders. "John, I didn't wanna make a scene because I didn't wanna embarrass you. You were so excited to bring me there and have everyone come see me, and I knew how much tonight meant to you." He looked down at you with his eyebrows raised. Much of the tension in his shoulders had melted away at your touch; his eyes held no hostility as they met yours, and his hands ghosted across your hips. "I just wanted you to be happy, baby."

He wrapped an arm snugly around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he brought his other hand up to smooth your hair back, away from your face. His frustration had been replaced by a tiny, playful smile. Slowly, he moved forward, and your eyes widened as you stumbled in his grasp; it only took him a moment to back you into the kitchen counter. "Fucking Jefferson has no idea what he's missing out on."

You smiled, pulling yourself up to him to rest your forehead against him, to look him in the eye. "And he never will."

-----------

You both woke up late the next morning, exhausted and disinterested in leaving your bed. You weren't surprised; you'd ended up having a late night. You groaned at the sunlight streaming through your window as your eyes fluttered open, trying to bury yourself in John's embrace. He breathed deeply as he held a hand to the small of your back, dipping down to kiss you as he stretched, stifling a yawn.

"Morning, baby," he hummed, fatigue sitting heavy in his voice. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you groaned, and he chuckled. You glared playfully up at him.

"You complaining?" he retorted, raising a teasing brow, and you didn't bother to hide your grin.

"Never." You kissed the tip of his nose. "But John?"

"Mmhmm?" His forehead creased, and your smile only grew at how unnecessarily concerned he looked.

"As hot as it is seeing you jealous -- and it is, ridiculously hot, actually -- did you really have to give me so many hickeys?" The words came out as a whine, and he laughed as he eyed your pout.

"I dunno, babygirl," he began, rolling over so you were on your back and he was propped up on his arms above you. The wistful regret in his voice was dramatically phony. "If last night told me anything, it's that you can't seem to keep the men away, no matter where we go." He paused, shrugging. "Not that I blame them. Look at you."

He dipped down to kiss your neck with that, and you huffed. "John. Promise you've given me enough hickies. You can stop."

"I like seeing 'em," he said, smile growing as he looked proudly down at you. "Besides, if the world needs a reminder that you're mine, you had better bet that I'm not gonna hesitate to give it to them."

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panharmonium · 4 years

Text

more rambling re: that last post (+ the merlin/will fic survey overview)

because i generally refrain from reading fic while i’m actively writing for a fandom, the only real ao3 reading i have done for merlin is my survey of the merlin/will ship tag. and the only reason i undertook that survey in the first place is because while i was doing an introductory cruise of the various merlin tags during my first exploration of the fandom (after i finally finished S5 and was able to start looking into fandom dynamics without fearing spoilers), i noticed that a LOT of the fic tagged with this ship was also tagged merlin/arthur, and despite the fact that i personally am more interested in gen stuff, i started to get both suspicious and annoyed about what i was seeing. but i also wanted to have the data to back up my annoyed feelings, so i made a little spreadsheet for myself and then just filled it in whenever i had time to kill and wanted something to do.

the data, when i eventually finished, backed up my annoyance pretty much as well as i expected, which was disappointing, but not surprising.

to clarify - i’m not annoyed by the fact that will and merlin don’t have a whole lot of material in their ship tag. will only showed up directly in one episode; i don’t expect him to be a popular subject. what i AM annoyed by is the fact that there are actually more merlin/arthur fics in the merlin/will tag than there are fics that actually focus on...merlin/will. by, like - an extreme margin.

(the rest of this is just me griping about fandom trends. popping it under a cut so folks can just move on with their days if this isn’t relevant to their interests.)

The Numbers

two quick notes before i get into the nitty-gritty:

1) i originally did this survey a few months ago, but i updated it this week with fics that have been added since then, so the numbers are current.

2) some of the data below would probably vary slightly depending on who was conducting the survey, so there’s a bit of wiggle room in either direction. the criteria i had to use [aka what counts as just a ship ‘mention’ vs actual content] would be subject to reader interpretation, obviously, but even with that, i do feel that most stories fell into pretty clear categories.)

so, without further ado -

total # of fics in the ship tag: 145

number of fics that are inappropriately tagged (meaning either will himself or merlin/will as a ship does not actually appear [which is kind of bizarre, but which i saw happen surprisingly frequently], OR where there is only a brief reference to will or past!merlin/will and that’s the extent of their inclusion: 50

number of fics that are duplicates of works already in the tag (ie podfic), or (in one case) a meta podcast about the show: 5

so, that brings down our total number of fics with some sort of actual merlin/will content to 90.

of these 90 works, only 17 of them are actually focused on merlin/will.

everything else in will’s ship tag, including the 54 works from the previously discussed "incorrectly tagged” category, is either a) fic where will is dumped, broken up with, or otherwise passed over in favor of arthur (and very occasionally gwaine, at least once mordred, once percival, once arthur and gwaine in a threesome, and once CENRED, which i’m sure will would be especially thrilled about), or b) fic where will is only included as a previous/ex relationship (again, almost always in lieu of arthur).

moreover - of the 17 actual merlin/will fics, 7 still end with will dying or the relationship ending for reasons other than him being passed over for arthur. an additional 4 are <1000 word PWP snippets, generally written for old LJ summer pornathons, one of which still somehow manages to be...you guessed it - all about arthur.

in terms of actual one-shots/full fics where merlin/will is the endgame/non-dead pairing, there are only 6 stories.

i repeat: will gets six earnest stories, IN HIS OWN SHIP TAG.

i repeat once again: will, in a non-dead, endgame form, gets 4% of his own ship tag.

The Content

the in-fic trends are frustrating, if you actually like this character.

the asshole. will is an abusive boyfriend. he is a jealous ex. he’s a shitty friend. he’s a stalker. he’s manipulative. he’s emotionally abusive. he’s physically abusive. he dumps merlin for someone else. he cheats. in one fic he’s so mad at merlin that he outs merlin’s magic to arthur. in multiple fics, i watched him literally go off the rails and try to murder somebody.

the fuckbuddy. they’re just messing around, guys! no, of course it’s not serious! they just do this for fun! of course there’s nothing to get in the way of arthur’s inevitable arrival! no sirree!

the unrequited. will is actually in it deep for merlin, but merlin doesn’t feel the same. this does not, however, prevent merlin from using will for sex, companionship, comfort, distraction, etc - until arthur shows up, when will either steps aside in deference to merlin’s all-consuming passion for arthur or is dropped like a hot potato.

“not even will.” that sentence. over and over again. merlin had never felt like this before, not even with will. nobody had ever understood merlin like this, not even will. even in fic when they were like. married. or engaged. fanon arthur pendragon must be truly mind-blowing, y’all.

dead long-term relationship. will was merlin’s husband/fiancé/long-term partner. now he is Dead. merlin getting together with arthur is what allows merlin to Heal. (these stories sometimes contain some variation of “not even will,” as discussed above.)

lastly, in a related phenomenon:

who are you and what have you done with arthur pendragon??? i suppose in a way it’s nice to know that will isn’t the only one who gets the OOC treatment, but it is still really...something, to read fic where will is twisted into an unpleasant, abusive, canon non-compliant version of himself, and then to see arthur, on the very same page, transformed into a gentle, solicitous, kind, caring, equally canon non-compliant angel. fanon!arthur is more worried about merlin’s well-being than literally anyone i have ever seen. he is so invested in merlin’s emotional health. he is so concerned about merlin’s boundaries. he says things to merlin that no version of arthur pendragon has ever - EVER - in any universe, thought about saying to anybody. he wants to hear all about merlin’s problems, and he’s all about taking it slow and making sure merlin feels comfortable and loved and worthy and safe (from all that horrible stuff done by that horrible other guy; that must’ve been so hard, merlin; ‘it’s okay, i’ve got you now’) - the man is utterly unrecognizable. and you know what? it’s okay! it is fine to make your characters as OOC as you want. it is fine to make them better/nicer than they were in the canon. sometimes we all want that, right? it’s fanfic! have a ball. i will never tell anyone to stop writing what they like, and i will NEVER interact negatively with a fic i don’t care for. EVER. do not do this, people - click the back button and move on with your life. but i reserve the right to be annoyed, in my own space, about a persistent trend of will and arthur’s canon functions being flat-out reversed, in service of merlin/arthur. not in the sense that canon!will is particularly gentle or sweet, because that’s not the case - but in the sense that will, in canon, is the one who actually cares about merlin’s best interests, whereas arthur is, quite frankly, the ass. a lovable ass (sometimes). but an ass nonetheless, and one whose relationship with merlin is, from start to finish, an unhealthy, oppressive mess.

The Point

the point of me typing this up is not to say that what people choose to write is bad or wrong. this is fanfic! you can write whatever you want. you can make characters as OOC as you want. you can create as many AUs as you want. i don’t mind fic authors writing stuff i don’t personally care for; someone else probably loves those stories! and i am never going to interact negatively with anything i don’t personally enjoy - i am going to let people continue to have fun in their own ways, and i am going to grumble about my frustrations in my own space, and then i’m going to direct my energy into writing stuff i would personally like to read.

the point is just that i needed a brief second to complain, on my own blog, about my most familiar bbc merlin nemesis (otherwise known as ‘single-ship ubiquity’). and what i mean by this is that it is REALLY FRUSTRATING that other little relationships are not even granted the tiniest concession of owning their own ship tags, in a fandom that is already so SATURATED with merlin/arthur content. like - even if i’m generous and use the number 17 for the number of actual merlin/will fics in the tag, that still means 88% of will’s ship tag is actually fic about merlin falling in love with people who aren’t will (*cougharthur*). eighty-eight percent! of his own ship tag!

(to put it another way - the ship tag isn’t supposed to be where you go to watch your character get repeatedly dumped or left behind for someone else, okay? it’s supposed to be literally the opposite of that.)

will’s ship tag is already tiny. and almost all of it belongs to arthur. moreover, a significant chunk of it uses will as a convenient villain (completely contradicting every canon aspect of his characterization), when in the actual story will dies to protect arthur (who he doesn’t even like) and then lies to save merlin (at the expense of his own reputation, and despite the fact that he personally thinks merlin returning to camelot is a bad idea). his behavior in canon is selfless, and wholly committed to merlin’s welfare, and yet in his ship tag he gets treated like trash.

the kid can’t catch a break. and it’s such a pervasive thing that even though i personally am primarily interested in merlin and will as friends (i am pretty romance-averse in general when it comes to media, and i have never written anything that isn’t gen, for any fandom, ever, in my life), i am also so indignant on will’s behalf that i’ve basically become invested in the well-being of this ship as a matter of principle. it’s not my main thing, and it’s not necessarily how i view the canon-verse, but i am SO IRRITATED about how virtually all of will’s shipfic has been taken over by merthur (and about how maligned will is in his own tag) that i have actively committed myself to supporting merlin and will together in as many AUs as possible.

(this is basically like when i trained myself to love allison argent after teen wolf killed her off. i did that out of spite, y’all. it’s the principle of the thing.)

so, y’know. all i am saying is that i think will deserves his share of happy endings, and i think it would be nice to see fics where he is not just a stepping stone on the road to merthur or an unrecognizable parody of himself.

more importantly - EVERY merlin ship deserves to have a tag that isn’t completely swallowed by the local fandom behemoth. merlin/arthur already owns three quarters of the archive. a gargantuan oil tanker like that can afford to let the little rarepair canoes float down their own streams in peace.

#tl;dr version:#GIVE MERLIN AND WILL THEIR OWN FICS 2K20 #I WILL NOT REST UNTIL THIS INJUSTICE HAS BEEN ADDRESSED #(y'all think i am kidding but i have already walked the walk ok)#(i am currently the internet title-holder for 'most words dedicated to this relationship')#(it might be the platonic version but if you don't think i will stretch myself and try something new)#(then you underestimate just how aggravated i am)#(and just how much i want this kid to get everything he deserves)#the once and future slowburn #no kings no masters #fandom

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treeni · 4 years

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For Your Entertainment

Day 4 - There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been. (I know its late, I forgot to post here)

Prinxieceit

Wordcount: 5688

TW: Swearing, I may have to accept swearing’s a default of my writing and not swearing is the abnormal. Heights. Abusive past (sad but not graphic) Non cannon blind character, (Avatar-esque level jokes about said blindness (think Toph)) mentions character experiencing homophobia and disable-phobia. Crime?

Summary: If you were lucky, the world would be suddenly bathed in color at sunset or sunrise. Trails of colors left by your soulmate suddenly appear. For the first time, Roman was seeing the colors he had heard so much about in storybooks, that he’d heard even Remus talk about. Finally, finally he was on a quest to follow them.

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Roman took a deep breath. In slowly, hold, and breathe out. He stared down at the crowd of what had to be a couple thousand people, maybe more. The bright lights obscured him from being able to truly take stock even from his position so high up. He rocked on his feet once, the nervous energy still shaking his knees just slightly.

And then he jumped.

Roman arched his back and stretched his legs forward with pointed toes to pick up speed quickly, his white leotard stretched familiarly with his movements like a second skin. The shimmering red accents caught the light and the audience gasped as he let one hand move from the aerial swing to pose for the cameras as Remus mirrored his movements in his own black and green leotard while swinging the opposite direction.

The biggest difference between the twins in their joint performances was that while Roman’s face was always a neutral and calm mask of concentration, Remus face was invariably stretched in a huge, toothy grin as he gave into the freedom and adrenaline rush of their careers. He truly was in his element whenever they practiced or performed. Roman? Less so. It’s not that he didn’t like it, he loved the crowds, the reactions of the audience gasping, and awing at their every trick, it’s just... he wanted something more. Something a little less mindless, something he could get lost in the way his brother lost himself in the rush. Maybe singing? Or acting? Or both? Maybe he could bring it up to their ringmaster sometime?

Remy was open for ideas wasn’t he?

Maybe going to his husband Emile about it first would be safer.

The performance was a constant back and forth between the twins, one brother constantly grabbing hold of the other brother and swinging them into the air, then catching them again on their decent. The had to be in perfect sync and over the years the two learned to read each other’s body language as easily as an open book. Or a hidden diary in Remus’ case. Several minutes in with a head rush of seemingly countless tricks and Roman felt like he was settling into the groove of the performance. He was amping up for the big show stopper soon and shook his metallic gold cuff at his brother, catching the light just so in order to signal for him to get ready. Just in time too it seemed, as a blinking stage light was signaling to them both that they needed to wrap it up soon for the next performance.

Light reflected from Remus’ own silver cuff. One, two, three flashes. He was ready and waiting. Roman nodded, mostly to himself and poised himself to go as Remus swung down first. It took a few trips back and forth while beating his legs to and fro for him to build up the momentum he needed and then he was up, up, up in the air, twirling in three consecutive cartwheels on the way down. As he descended, Roman took off, grabbing hold of Remus’ swing on the way and catching his brother as he turned in the air at the last possible second to avoid certain doom. Or at least, what appeared to be certain doom to the audience. Their job was never absolutely safe, but they did have certain safety precautions in place just in case, particularly a hidden net. If there was one thing that Remy was adamant about, it was that no one was permanently hurt on his watch, not after Emile... well....

Anyway. It was a split second maneuver as Roman twisted and worked off the momentum Remus’ fall added to their now joint swing as Remus in turn tossed Roman high into the air. Roman pulled his arms in with his ankles crossed and twirled as fast as he could, like an ice skater performing an axel spin. One, two, three, four, five, six, he pushed for just one more before letting his limbs free and reaching out to Remus’ already outstretched arm, ready to catch him. Catch him he did as the two swung together to Remus’ starting side. With a flourish, the two bowed together in perfect unison, but Remus broke the synchronicity so he could pretend he was going to fall off the stand. As the audience gasped in horror, he pretended to catch himself at the last possible second, much to the public’s relief. Roman suppressed shaking his head and gave the audience one last wave as they exited to the backstage area and away from audience view. Pretending doom was inevitable was one of Remus’ very favorite tricks.

“Ro that was amazing! I didn’t know you managed to pull off another spin!” Remus cheered, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a side hug.

It wasn’t really amazing. He’d seen Remus practice the very same trick and regularly hit eight spins, nine when he was really pushing himself. However, Roman couldn’t pull off the cartwheel trick in the same way that Remus could. It disoriented him too much. When he tried it during practice, he usually faltered at the end, nearly missing Remus’ grip. It was too dangerous to attempt in front of an audience right now and Remy refused to approve it until he made better progress. Remus never said a negative word about it, but Roman knew he was the weaker link of the two. Twins or no, Roman couldn’t quite move the way Remus could. He was stronger, sure, but less flexible, while Remus moved like a living rubber band.

“Hey, what’s with that face Ro?” Remus asked, hip bumping him playfully.

“Nothing...just...” Roman started with a sigh. “have you ever wanted to do something else?”

“Like what?” Remus asked blinking, as if the thought had never crossed his mind before.

“I dunno... something.”

Roman wanted to write, to sing, to dance, to paint, to act, he wanted to do so, so many things that didn’t involve variations of the same routine again and again, night after night.

“Well you know me, I’m always open for ideas!” Remus exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air to show his excitement at the prospect of change. “I want to hear everything! Let’s work on-”

Annnnnnd he was gone. Remus had stopped mid-sentence going googly eyed as he always did when his soulmate, Patton, walked into their general vicinity. He was decked out in a leotard similar to their own in a soft baby blue, with the added bonus of a floofy cyan skirt that matched his soft pleather shoes.

“You both did great out there!” Patton exclaimed with a big toothy grin, reaching to Remus with grabby hands for a hug that was readily returned.

“You really think so?!” Remus asked, nearly bouncing on his feet at the praise.

“Of course I do Inky!” Patton responded with equal enthusiasm and kissed his nose. They were supposed to use their stage names around the audience, but Patton had a habit of using them as affectionate pet names in equal measure. Remus quickly responded with a raspberry kiss on his neck that left Patton in a fit of giggles.

Roman rolled his eyes. Of course Patton thought so. He literally said it every performance.

“I thought you did great too Charm, dad said you got an extra spin tonight!”

“Yeah he did! He was really great out there Drift! The crowd ate it up!”

Unlike Roman and Remus, Patton wasn’t allowed to pick his stage name. Well, he was, as the story goes, until he tried to pick ‘Kitten.’ Emile had been okay with it, but Remy had put his foot down, saying it would make people think too much of another kind of performance. Plus, Patton wanted to teach classes to kids and he wouldn’t be getting any parental sign-ups with that kind of a stage name. Drift was a compromise that was a nod to the shoes he was filling as he took over Emile’s performance.

The loudspeaker crinkled to life with a tinny, electronic buzz. “Hey, ya’ll, have you been enjoying tonight?”

The crowd sounded out their appreciation.

“Oh, I’m sorry babes, but I can’t hear you. Wanna try that again?”

The crowd screamed louder.

From their spot hidden away, Roman could spot Remy center stage in a relaxed position with a hand on his hip. He always had such a strange demeanor for a ringleader. Sometimes he’d literally just walk on stage, take a seat on a stool and spend a few minutes loudly sipping from the straw of his coffee, doing literally nothing else. Roman really couldn’t fathom why audiences seemed to think it was so funny, but they invariably did. Eventually one of the performers would usually come out and start to pull off some tricks behind his back or Emile would enter the stage decked out in his clown costume and make the audience laugh with various tricks that were mainly at Remy’s expense.

Their ring leader had been shot in the face with a water gun many of times while Emile quoted Toy Story for the kids. Anyone else would have suffered consequences for that kind of behavior, but Emile?

Emile invariably was given a soft, amused look in return and sometimes Remy would even pull out a water gun of his own and shoot his husband back.

“Much better. Let me introduce to you, my favorite, and the very best of our sorry lot! Our graceful tightrope walker Drift!”

The audience cheered again, but got louder still when Remy muttered into the microphone, “Yeah, you better cheer, that’s my son ya’ll.”

It was only mildly threatening.

“That’s my cue I guess,” Patton said, shaking his head at Remy’s antics. He gave Remus a single kiss on the cheek before hurrying to his place on stage.

Even just that was enough to push a dopey looking grin on Remus’ stupid face.

Roman gagged.

The tightrope walker didn’t know it, but Remus rushed off to the rafters with barely a wave in Roman’s direction as he hurried off, just as he did every time Patton performed. Roman pushed away his annoyance at their cut-off conversation. He honestly didn’t expect anything else. As always, Remus sat by one of the stage lights, waiting and watching closely with a taut rope in hand. He was at the ready to swing in like god damn Tarzan just in case anything went wrong.

Not that it would.

Roman was good at his trade. Remus was great at it. However, Patton grew up on the tight rope. It was as familiar to him as walking on solid ground, maybe more so. The boy’s performance was practically a grand pas on a stupidly thin surface with gymnastic moves thrown in for flair. Roman was always most impressed by his ability to fluidly fall into a split, on a rope, without his hands, like it was easy. Patton was truly the star of their little show and Roman was certain he could have gone to the Olympics as a gymnast if he was ever so inclined.

Despite his past, and despite his unquestionable ability, Patton was very much like Roman in one very important way. Neither were satisfied by their performances alone. The two had long conversations about it over the years, especially when Remus was off adding to his seemingly endless skill set as he learned the most obscure of abilities from other performers. Unlike Remus thrived in all of the oddity, Patton wanted to do something that helped people, something social. He had never settled on exactly what, but he always insisted that it didn’t matter anyway, because he couldn’t bring himself to leave his parents behind. Remus’ sheer love of it all only solidified his stance and made him want to stay even more. However, they managed to work in some end-of-matinee kiddy classes to satiate his need for interaction. The twins helped too, well, Roman helped by acting as a second pair of hands that made sure no small children lost their balance too badly on the low bar that Patton taught them how to use. Remus “helped” by coming out in a plushy monster costume toward the end of the lessons and kidnapping “the princess,” which forced the kids into a course that utilized their newly taught skills so they could make a rescue attempt. The whole thing usually ended with Remus being squashed by a gaggle of small children who would beat him with foam swords while he played dead. Meanwhile, Patton would watch him fondly from behind the very crowd of children who saved him.

Roman shook his head of the thought just as Patton gave his closing performance bow. The two truly were the funniest of pairs, but they worked somehow. Patton seemed to thrive off of Remus’ near endless enthusiasm and Remus in turn flourished with Patton’s endless patience.

The rest of the show moved in a blur as Roman waited for it all to end. He was anxious for it to be over, anxious for time to pass already. It was their first day in a new city and he was waiting for his freedom to explore it. Roman was only brought back into focus when Remus and Patton gathered him for the final bow as Remy closed out the show. It was nearing sunset and part of their deal was that the first performance at any one location would end early enough that the performers would have the sunset free to do as they wished.

Most of the ones like Roman were just as anxious as him to explore, to catch sight of a wisp of glowing color that was only revealed in the light of a sunset or sunrise. There were apparently all sorts of scientific reasons why it happened, something about the specific light rays that hit and soul auras. Roman didn’t care enough about the how to really look much into it. All he cared about was the why. The why was being able to see the aura left behind that day by your soulmate. The why was being able to find them.

The why was why he was here.

Roman and Remus grew up in a shitty home, but that was no strange story to hear among the circus folk. Patton was pretty unique in sheer support and love Remy and Emile showed him. Then again, maybe he wasn’t. The power couple acted as group parents in a way and looked out for all of their performers. Remy would bring Roman hot chocolate on days he was particularly disheartened and sometimes Emile would kidnap him to watch Disney movies together. Still, there was a reason two sixteen-year-olds found their way to the circus in the first place. There was a reason they left their old, broken lives behind. It seemed to be fate alone that led to Remus seeing and subsequently following the glowing cyan trail all the way to a tightrope dancer in the middle of a show. It was the only time Remus actually had to catch Patton in the years since they’ve known him. The chubby cheeked, fresh faced, fourteen year old performer had gotten distracted by Remus’ sudden green shine and slipped right off. Without even thinking about it, Remus dove to save him from disaster, well perceived disaster. Still, the crowd ate it up and the reporters in attendance that night labeled him a hero in the next day’s papers.

Emile immediately invited Remus for dinner that night with them as a thank you for “saving” their son. When the couple heard about Remus’ living situation, a dead father and a drunk mother, they offered him a place with them. They showed him how to fill out emancipation forms and gave him all of the instructions he would need. They also told him to think hard about what he wanted before deciding. Remus came home with his arm full of forms and big bright eyes telling Roman the story of his soulmate. How he had found his true love and he wanted the two of them to run away together to the circus so he and Roman would be free.

And... honestly how could Roman ever say no to that?

Roman could still remember the conversation they had that night.

“Do you think mom and dad were soulmates?” Remus had asked him then as they rapidly packed their necessities, and only looking back did he realize how thin his gaunt his brother looked. Roman hadn’t realized they were underfed until they just... weren’t anymore.

“Yeah, Rem, I do,” Roman remembers saying at the time. He still believes it too. He could remember the soul crushing expression on his mother’s face when she got the call about the accident. He could still picture the hollow, dejected look that never left her eyes even as she searched at the bottom of bottle after bottle in hope of finding some peace. She didn’t know how to live without him it seemed. At the time, Roman couldn’t help but feel guilty leaving her behind, but he would have felt worse if Remus gave up his chance at happiness.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure if Remus would have gone through with it if Roman refused. A small part of him was scared his brother would have left him behind. A bigger part of him was scared he wouldn’t have. Roman couldn’t have put him into that situation, choosing between his twin and his soulmate. He refused to. So off to the circus they went and at the circus they’ve been since. It’s been just over a decade now and while it wasn’t the life Roman imagined for himself in the days Roman and Remus would whisper what they’d do when they were finally on their own while their mother drank away her problems in the living room, it wasn’t a bad life.

He just was ready for something more.

The crowd had barely filed out before Remus had grabbed onto his usual rope to swing around the tent and rapidly opening all of the flaps while Patton did the same on foot. The two worked to let in as much light from the setting sun as possible. On evenings like these the couple would sit together in the rafters, hip to hip and hand in hand, watching each other’s soul light bounce around the stage, mimicking their performances in high speed. Meanwhile Roman slipped away and took to the street towards the town.

One perk of his job was that parkour came easily and up the buildings he went to find himself at higher ground like an everyday comic book superhero. Sometimes Roman liked to imagine what it would be like to be in a comic book. What kind of powers would he have? Character flaws? Would he be a hero? Would a comic book Roman still feel so lonely?

He jumped to the next roof.

No glowing mist.

Not that he really knew what it looked like, just what it was supposed to look like according to Remus and Patton. Not that either were the best at explaining.

He knew it looked like a light, but colorful. Like mist, but stringy, streaming. Like water. Like neon. And the description he hated most of all, like nothing he’d ever seen before.

How was he supposed to know what to look for if he didn’t know what it looked like?

Roman jumped to the next roof.

He stared down at the people crowded on the streets below and was suddenly thankful for additional height. He’d never be able to sweep the city for any remnants of glow from down there, the pushy crowd of endless people would both get in his way and block his vision. Plus, as used to he was swinging through the air unobstructed, being pushed into a tight space while completely surrounded by sweaty, gross bodies sounded like a special kind of hell. He wasn’t sure how their audience ever managed it.

He groaned at the height difference of his current building and the next one, before leaping across to grab a window ledge, only to find himself in a upward climb to the roof. He wished he brought a bottle of water, but knew in reality it was a terrible idea. Water would just slosh in his stomach uncomfortably and the bottle could leave condensation on his hands, which in his shoes could be fatal. He got to the top with a grunt, ready to call it for a five minute break when-

When he saw something.

It was barely there anymore, but he scaled down the building as fast as his hands and feet would go, taking leaps and shortcuts he generally wouldn’t risk in order to get down there faster. He lucked out making it down unscathed, knowing that even Remus would have lectured him about a particularly dodgy jump (and when Remus lectured him, you knew he was being stupid) but his quick ascent allowed him to catch the last bits of a rapidly fading yellow trail. It faded from beginning to end, so he must have been closer to earlier parts, he thought as he pumped his legs, trying to keep pace with the lights that moved so much faster than him.

God the sun would be setting soon.

He was determined dammit!

Roman did as he did best and started to swing between the buildings, grabbing hold of a balcony here, a light post there, anything that he could that allowed him forward momentum at a faster pace than he could run it. People dodged out of his way, but he didn’t care as he was finally beginning to keep pace with it. The problem was that eventually the city ended.

He was back on his feet, running as fast as he could manage across open field, trying to defy the odds and keep up with the light that was rapidly denigrating before his eyes, focused on nothing but finding the end of it.

Then it was gone.

His surroundings were bathed in darkness as the very last remnants of the setting sun disappeared before his eyes. He finally looked up to take stock of his surroundings and found himself confused to be back in front of the circus tent he had just vacated earlier. There was no way that his soulmate was one of their crew, he would have known by now.

It must have been someone in the audience.

Oh god, but there were so many of them!

That didn’t help at all! Even if Remy gave him the list of attendees, he’d never be able to cross them all off before they were packing up again! He groaned and wanted to collapse where he stood. He wanted to fall into the grass and let himself sink until into the muddy, crummy underbelly of the earth as it swallowed him up and he rejoined the celestial plane. Screw this physical plane bullshit.

Instead he sighed, his shoulders slumped dejectedly as he headed to his trailer. At least he knew they were somewhere here. He just thought that he’d finally have a story of immediately finding them as soon as he caught sight of that beautiful, golden light that danced through the streets the way smoke weaved away from a warm candle. Like waves ebbing and flowing into each other. Like nothing he’d ever seen before.

At least he understood what that meant now.

For now, he was going to sleep away his depression so he could try to convince Remy to let him out of tomorrow’s show. Tomorrow’s started before the sun set, but decidedly ended much after and he wanted to get another look around town.

Roman paused in his gait, thankful that he had worn cloth slip-ons for balance. It had the added benefit of keeping his foot steps near-silent.

There was an odd clicking noise coming somewhere from his trailer. Roman tip-toed around it, keeping himself minimizing even the sound of his breathing. He was effectively impossible to notice, especially compared to the residual noise of the others shuffling around their general campsite. Roman wasn’t sure what to think when he found a hooded boy sitting at the side door of his trailer, with his ear pressed against a door as his hands... wait was that a lock pick?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Roman demanded when he stopped in front of the boy- no man, he realized as he rapidly stood up and easily matched Roman’s height.

The guy looked around rapidly, searingly, but his gaze didn’t settle despite Roman standing just in front of him. Now that they were face to face, Roman got a look at his eyes, even with the rapid movement. They were big and beautiful, despite the messy, dark makeup framing them and they sparkled a light lilac color, nearly white. A realization struck Roman and he deliberately he cleared his throat. The face finally settled its search to point in his direction. He was blind.

“You uh... probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” the guy said, shoving the hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Try me,” Roman retorted. “I think the least I deserve is an explanation for why someone is trying to break into my trailer.”

“Your trailer?” The guy asked with a head tilt.

“Yes, my trailer,” Roman said, putting emphasis on every word. Why did he look so disbelieving?

“Right,” the man replied and pulled one hand out of his pocket to reach down for a white cane Roman hadn’t noticed before. “Would you believe me if I said I was looking for something for my soulmate?”

“I doubt you could look for much,” Roman said automatically, but horror overtook him as he realized the words that had tumbled out of his mouth.

Shit he’d been hanging around with Remus too much.

“I’m so sorry, that was insensitive of me, I-”

Roman was bewildered to see the man laughing as he leaned his weight on the cane for balance rather than direction.

“You got me there dude,” he said with a snort.

“No, please don’t forgive me so easily for that, that was uncalled for. I’ve had a frustrating day and I should not be taking it out on you,” Roman said with a groan, still in disbelief of what he let himself say.

“Nice to see you’re worried about the feelings of the man who tried to break into your trailer.”

“I do when I misdirect my anger. If I was going to make fun of you, it should have been related to the crime. Instead, my usual foot in mouth syndrome around cute men took over and I said what is probably the worst possible thing.”

“So you think I’m cute?”

Roman just groaned. There was no winning this conversation.

“I’m Virgil,” the hooded man said, finally taking pity on him while reaching out a hand.

“Roman, but you might have heard of me as Charm,” Roman said the stage name with a sigh, as if the name alone was exhausting, but shook the offered hand and tried not to think about how soft those long, pretty fingers were.

“Oh! We went to your performance today. I heard it was amazing.”

“Heard? But if you went to it wouldn’t you have...” Roman trailed off and immediately groaned, realizing his mistake.

Virgil was laughing at him again.

Roman willed the earth to swallow him whole for a second time that night.

“So, Roman, what would it take for a guy to get an escort home around here?” Virgil asked with a cheeky grin.

“Despite what my brother might insist, we’re not those kind of performers,” Roman shot back just as quick, finally able to contribute to the joke.

Virgil paused and Roman knew it was impossible, but it felt like man was checking him out.

“That’s too bad,” Virgil breathed with a smirk. “Sometimes it can be hard to find my way home this late at night.”

Roman snorted at the brazen impossibility of the statement as Virgil reached in his direction. Roman granted him mercy and took his hand, but he hadn’t been anticipating him slotting their fingers together.

“Walk with me?” Virgil asked, playfully bumping his shoulder into Roman’s.

Roman chided himself for automatically nodding, but Virgil seemed to get the idea somehow as he tugged lightly on their joined hands, pulling him forward without even a verbal confirmation. From there the two of them strolled through the city, keeping even a pace that could be best classified as a dawdle. Virgil seemed intent on taking his time as the two slunk along. Honestly, Roman didn’t even mind that much because otherwise he’d probably be in the corner of his trailer, sobbing as that performance’s makeup ran down his face in harsh, ugly lines.

“Tell me a boring fact about yourself,” Virgil said suddenly, not even pausing in his gait.

“Wouldn’t most people wan’t to hear an interesting fact?” Roman asked with an eyebrow raise.

Apparently Virgil could hear the gesture in his tone because he gave a shit-eating grin in return.

“Interesting facts are too much pressure,” Virgil shrugged, “Plus you work in a circus and try to fall to your death for a living, that’s already inherently interesting.”

“It’s not exactly trying to fall,” Roman defended, but conceded at Virgil’s own eyebrow raise. “Alright... uh... I hate sleeping with socks on.”

“Ha, me too,” Virgil agreed with a nod. “Janny always wears them and I don’t understand how it doesn’t drive him nuts.”

“Janny?”

“Oh shit, I mean Janus,” Virgil said, but seemed amused at his own slip-up. “Don’t tell him I called him that when we meet up with him.”

Roman swallowed and couldn’t help the disappointment building up in his gut.

“Is that your soulmate?” He found himself asking, if only to punish himself because he was already pretty sure of the answer.

“Mmmm, yeah,” Virgil agreed with a fond look that consisted of crinkled eyes with a little half smile. It was such a soft and endearing look and Roman wanted to cry.

Why didn’t anyone look at him like that?

“With the whole not being able to see anything, much less these “soul light” things I keep hearing about, it was up to Janny to find me, got me out of a shit situation too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, apparently being disabled was already pushing the envelope for my family, but gay with a male soulmate too? That was just too much for them. I was instantly kicked out. We barely just met, but he immediately made sure I was taken care of. Even offered to find a way for me to stay somewhere else if I was uncomfortable staying with him.”

“Did you?” Roman asked. This Janus guy deserved a medal or something.

“Yeah actually, chilled with his co-worker Logan for a bit, cool guy, bit of a neat freak though. Didn’t stay too long though. Janus came and checked on me every day and well... its hard not to care for someone who makes it so abundantly clear they care for you.”

“A love story of the ages from there?” Roman teased, giving their intertwined hands a playful squeeze.

“Something like that.”

“I’ve always loved stuff like that,” Roman muttered in admission.

“Like what?” Virgil asked, stopping his trek and pulling Roman to stop too.

“Love stories... soulmate stories, the whole deal,” Roman said wistfully. He loved them more than anything because he wanted them more than anything. “I look at every stop we make to see if I can catch sight of mine. I feel like I’m so close!”

“That’s... actually really good to hear,” Virgil muttered.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Virgil said, and reached forward to a door that Roman hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t freak out too much, he’s got perfect aim, I promise.”

What?

Virgil pulled Roman inside without another word. Roman was just about to ask just what that was supposed to mean, when a throwing knife whizzed passed him and landed in the wood of the door mere centimetres from his face!

What the fuck?

“Who the hell is he and where the fuck have you been Virgil?! You’ve been out all night! Do you have even the slightest idea how dangerous it is out there for-”

“For someone like me?” Virgil asked with a huff as an, admittedly attractive man with a snake tattoo covering half of his face stomped straight up him.

The man put a hand on each of Virgil’s shoulders and literally shook him and demanded, “Do. You. Have. Any. God damn. Sense. Of fucking. Self preservation?!”

“None whatsoever,” Virgil deadpanned.

Absolutely savage.

The man sighed and slumped forward, letting his forehead rest against Virgil’s shoulder as he balled his gloved hands into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Aww, giving up already Janny? You haven’t even asked about your present yet.”

Oh! This was the soulmate. Suddenly his distraught reaction made a lot of sense.

Didn’t explain the knife though.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours,” Janus moaned in return. “You’re never leaving this god damn house again, I swear. You’re going to be the death of me.”

Virgil just snorted in return and motioned for Roman to move closer to them and out of the way as he used his cane to push open a curtain.

Then something beautiful happened.

No, something absolutely, astoundingly magical happened.

The room suddenly lit up in purple and gold as the first light of sunrise peeked through the window.

Virgil and Janus were literally glowing.

Roman watched as Virgil carefully tipped up Janus’ chin up, forcing him to face the sudden new lights streaming in and Janus let out a gasp.

“...Red,” he muttered breathily before he whipped around to look Roman’s way. For the first time, Roman could see the beautiful, two toned eyes that stared at him as if he were some kind of dream. “It’s you.”

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