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silver-wield · 4 years

Note

If you don't yet have an analysis of when Cloud saves Tifa from the collapsing staircase, I'd like to hear it!

Sorry this one took awhile, Nonny, I was gonna do it yesterday, but I got super tired and then I was gonna do it earlier but I got pissed off and had to walk away from the internet before I threw my computer through a window.

So, the collapsing staircase aka the cloti hand grab. Bring it!

Ok, spoiler warning for ppl who haven’t played – do I still need to do this? Eh ok, (I tag FF7R spoilers as final fantasy 7 remake spoilers) and it’s gonna be long and awesome! Because I saw things and I have suspicions!

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of the scene, so if you disagree that’s cool and we’ll agree to disagree.

You’re also gonna have to excuse the janky quality on some of the screens, I’m grabbing them from Youtube and it’s frustrating af trying to get the exact moment I want.

Please check my master post to see if I've already covered your question, thanx

Let's mosey!

Recap time!

Let's backtrack a tiny bit first. Cloud's making his way up the pillar, had his bro moment with Biggs – damn you Square – and he's heading up to where Barret is on the top level.

Reno and Rude are in their chopper, throwing shade at Shinra while doing their jobs. I love how idgaf Reno is during this bit. Like, honey, you not even trying.

As Cloud comes into view on the staircase, Reno spots him and it's time for revenge! Nothing personal, bitch!

Ok, nothing very special here. SOLDIER!Cloud taking a look about for whatever resources he has to hand – none – and we've got Reno in the background waiting for him to get in range. (Yall also almost ended up with my gif of Nyx Ulric loool he pretty but Cloud’s prettier)

Reno's impatient. He fusses with the joy stick, drums his fingers, then puts his arms behind his head. The fact he's done this last move suggests he has no doubt he'll be gunning Cloud down sooner or later. We can see Rude keeping his eyes front – you can just catch the direction of his gaze behind the left lens of his sunglasses.

HOLY SHIT! Rude blinked! Like several times in quick succession! (gotta slow the frames down to 0.25 to catch it btw) Now, this could be nothing since Rude is very hard to read and has even smaller micro-expressions than Cloud does, but when someone blinks like that it usually means they recognise the person they're looking at. He's seen Tifa running up the stairs. I don't know why he might recognise her, aside from having a headcanon about it, but I'm telling you, I saw him do several rapid blinks when he caught sight of her, then draw Reno's attention to her. His eyes behind those sunglasses are ever so slightly wider than usual btw. It's really hard to see, but there seems to be a definite look of “I know you” about him.

Reno shooting at her might have been a mistake on Rude’s part. He could have forgotten himself in that moment of recognition and didn't mean to direct Reno to a new target. That would explain why he pulled away from the attack and made up an excuse about his hand slipping.

This makes me excited to find out if Rude knows her and what the deal is with that OG crush. My headcanon? He's a former student of Zangan too and helped get Tifa to Midgar when she was injured. She doesn't remember it since she was at death's door for most of the trip. I saw a bit saying Zangan had to use a lot of healing materia on her and she stayed in the hospital too, so it's reasonable she wouldn't recall Rude. But, we don't know for sure yet, which is why headcanon.

Still exciting though!

Cloud's heard footsteps on the stairwell, so turns to see who it is and you can just catch a glimpse of Tifa appearing through the metal slats. This is the first time Cloud spots her. The camera then pans up to the helicopter again where Reno prepares to shoot Tifa.

I don't wanna say for sure that Rude's jaw clenched here. The lighting is suspect because of the angle it strikes his face. He did something. I noticed something, but it's so utterly subtle I can't tell what. He either clenched his jaw for a brief second or his lips firmed, again for a brief second. It's probably easier to catch if you slow the frames down then don't look at Rude and rely on your peripheral vision to see it. That's how I end up replaying things a million times because I saw something and then have to spend half an hour trying to find it again lol

Reno definitely smirked, I caught that no problem.

So yeah, moving on from Rude's super micro-expressions, before Reno's even finished speaking he's pulling the helicopter away from Tifa. Like, Reno's still saying “bullets” when it happens. That's a very snap decision, especially with how fast Reno talks usually. And the entire time Reno's speaking Rude is looking at Tifa. I mean, he's expressionless – he could give Cloud lessons – but there's also emotion coming from him. I kinda feel a bit sad looking at him in this screen.

Guess we'll get more Rude backstory in part 2!

Reno bangs his head and I always laugh at that part. Get rekt!

Cloud's all da fuq? since it's so very obvious Reno was lined up to shoot and then suddenly not. But there's no time to think about why because Tifa's still running up the stairs.

Omg I'm so good I even impress myself sometimes! Check either side of the screen. Tifa at one edge and Cloud at the other, already in motion to save her as the first bullets from Reno's miss start destroying the staircase. You could not get closer to the start of this catch!

Tifa's foot is on the second step here. That's not even a second after the last screen. Her sub isn't even fully solid that's how soon she yelled for Cloud. Going by common sense, the staircase is collapsing to her right and she needs to get up another 12 steps? In a couple of seconds? Yeah, she knew that wasn't happening. She needed him. I question how she knew he was there. She couldn't see him from where she was. Maybe she guessed the chopper was shooting at him, but it could've been anyone from Avalanche. She's not looking up the stairs, her eyes are at her feet.

I think she yelled for Cloud because that's who she wanted. Like Aerith said to follow her heart, Tifa's heart cried out for Cloud when she was in danger.

Well, if that isn't a look of surprise right there. She really didn't expect him to be right there at that moment. She was screaming for him, hoping he'd save her and there he was. Her face goes from this tense “I'm about to die” look, to this wide eyed shock that there he is, right in front of her, reaching for her. Right when she needed him most. If he wasn't there she'd have been shot and the last thing she said would've been his name. That's how important it is that she screamed for him there. It wasn't that she knew he was waiting for her. She didn't know he was there at all. She just wanted him to be the one to save her so desperately and he came through.

So I bet a lot of people have looked at this so romantically that he's reaching for her. Hell yeah in a way, but what makes it even better is when you remember you're looking at Cloud through Tifa's eyes. This is how she sees Cloud looking at her in this moment, all heroic and brave and just right there for her. That confident stance, totally out from behind any kind of cover, just waiting and reaching for her. It's funny she never calls him a hero in the game, except as a motivator at the end when he's dangling off a building, because he absolutely is pulling off the hero moment here. She called his name and he appeared to save her. It's exactly how she said during their promise.

He is taking her hand. That's his fingers wrapping around hers, while hers lay open against his palm. She is the passive party in this hold, while Cloud is the active one. She could've mutually grabbed him, but she didn't. This is him saving her. This is not an equal grab. This is Cloud grabbing Tifa. Only after his fingers close over her hand do hers do the same back.

Cloud backs up, dragging Tifa up the last of the stairs to safety, while keeping himself safe as well. There, he spins her around and puts his free hand on her back, while keeping hold of her other hand in his. He doesn't let her go at all during that move. In fact, you can also see that Tifa now has both hands on Cloud. The one he took is still holding his and she's put her other hand on his arm. She was likely very scared during that moment he saved her and she's holding onto him as an anchor to feel safe. Cloud saved her and she feels safe with him.

Cloud's expression is wary and alert, since he's focused on the danger, while Tifa's is scared. Just because she can fight, doesn't make her a fighter.

Cloud lets got of Tifa's hand so he can lean out from behind their safe spot and check on the danger, but he's left his other hand on her back. During this moment, Tifa actually leans back which would increase that contact.

Her face is quite blurred since we're focusing on Cloud in the foreground, but her expression seems to hint at a “thank god I have you” look.

Oh look, the camera refocused. Definitely a “thank god I have you” look, not to mention the tears in her eyes. She was terrified.

Also, that hand is still on her back.

But, she can't be weak in front of Cloud. She wants to prove she's his equal, that she doesn't need a hero. She just wants him. I mean, before he turns to look at her, she's staring at him like he set the stars in the sky for her.

As he takes his hand off her back and pulls out his “what the hell?” line, which is clearly him mad at her for being so reckless and almost dying on him, she gives him a brave smile and puts on her own persona as someone who can totally handle all this chaos. Scared? Tifa? Noooo.

She says “nice catch” all casual like she wasn't petrified and screaming his name less than thirty seconds ago and he is not impressed by this one bit. He's unconvinced Tifa's as blasé about this as she's acting, which is why he continues to challenge her. Which isn’t the first time he’s done it. He doesn’t let her bullshit him.

Basically, she's trying to be brave and support him, but he doesn't want her to put herself in danger because he wants to protect her. They're both trying to prove they're worthy of each other and doing stupid shit in the process.

This is actually a very good moment for them because we know Cloud pretty much does whatever Tifa wants because he wants to make her happy, but this shows he's not above arguing with her or challenging her when she's being reckless and endangering herself. He's not got her on a pedestal. She's not some unobtainable dream woman. She's real to him and he feels comfortable getting mad and showing negative emotions to her. That's why he can call her crazy without worrying it'll sour her opinion of him.

Remember, Tifa is non-confrontational by nature. She doesn't like fighting and will usually agree or let things go for the sake of an easy life. But, she disagrees with Cloud or tells him off several times throughout the game. This shows she's comfortable having confrontations with him. She's not worried about upsetting him and being rejected during a typical interaction. She worries about scaring him away when she’s unsure he’ll stay, but once he’s said he’ll stick around she relaxes and doesn’t seem as worried about him leaving her. It was only when she tried to move their relationship from friendship to more during alone at last that she worried about rejection.

Tifa accepts Cloud's feelings, even the negative ones and deals with them in a mature way. She doesn't dismiss him or ignore how he feels. She just relates her feelings to his and points out that he's still going up the pillar, so she will too. She wants to stay by his side. Her heart led her to him. If he's going, then so is she. Her expression is earnest here. There's nothing more than what she says. She's not leaving. Nothing can change her mind.

OK WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, RUDE?! DO YOU KNOW TIFA?!

He swallowed! His mouth tensed and he swallowed! Lips pulled down. Behind those sunglasses I caught movement. There's definitely something going on with Rude here and it's something that Reno doesn't know about since he doesn't recognise Tifa and he has no idea why Rude did that.

Ok, one last quick shot of yet more unnecessary touching between Cloud and Tifa. Why is he doing that? Literally to keep her within arm's reach. She said she's not leaving, so he's gonna keep her safe no matter what. To do that, he needs to know exactly how far away from him she is. Also, he wants to touch her lol

Conclusion

Well, there was lots of good stuff hidden in there and I'm even more convinced that Rude knows Tifa after I caught some of his micro-expressions. I'm excited to see if it's true in part 2, but more so the fact that we're gonna get the Turks characters' fleshed out compared to OG. We've already learned that Reno while not giving a fuck, also actually really gives a fuck. I love him. He's such a snarky butt.

But, this was about Cloud and Tifa, not Rude.

Yeah, she literally couldn't see him at any point when she was running up that staircase. She screamed his name because that's who she wanted in that moment to appear and save her. The surprise on her face is genuine. She didn't know he was there. Cloud's in full “I must save Tifa” mode, so it's real!Cloud motivating SOLDIER!Cloud to do what he doesn't think he's capable of. They then have a lover's spat about Tifa being reckless and show the healthy disagreement side to their relationship by not screaming and shouting at each other or being sarcastic – like Cloud is with someone else. While Cloud might not like Tifa going with, he understands her need to. She's also put it in terms that he can understand, but part of him is very unhappy about it, which is why in that last shot we see him with his hand on her arm ready to protect her at a moment's notice. He's not letting her out of sight or arm's reach.

It's some damn good solid relationship building from them during a tense moment.

#final fantasy 7 remake spoilers #scene analysis #hand catch #cloti #cloud/tifa #cloud strife #tifa lockheart #wtf is up with Rude tho

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missjanjie · 4 years

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Conscious, Deliberate Mistakes | Jankie

this is a commission for @moniapossenti99 which is actually a sequel to this jankie drabble i wrote the other day

Ship: Jankie (Jan Sport x Jackie Cox) Word Count: 1.8k Rating: E

comission info | ko-fi

“Just this once.”

“Nobody needs to know.”

Those were the last words spoken between them before they raced back to Jan’s hotel room, haphazard as they threw off their clothes. Their kisses were hot and messy, filled with the lust that had been bubbling over since their dressing room kiss.

Jackie pushed Jan onto the bed, fingers grabbing his hair and yanking it, making him bare his neck and littering the expanse of skin with kisses and bites - stopping just short of leaving actual marks. They were professionals, they knew better. But the temptation grew every time Jan let out another little whimper. “Do you know how fucking badly I’ve wanted you?” he exhaled, breath hot against his skin.

“Hopefully as badly as I’ve wanted you,” Jan answered, his eyes fluttering shut and his hand resting on the back of Jackie’s head. “Every goddamn day on this tour, been trying so hard to be good…” His voice trailed off as Jackie’s hands moved down his chest and shifted to a moan when Jackie pinched and teased his nipples.

Jackie kissed back up to Jan’s lips, teasingly biting his bottom lip as he slowly pulled back. “But you’re gonna be a good boy for me now, aren’t you?” he cooed, cupping Jan’s face and stroking his thumb across his bottom lip.

Jan shuddered in pleasure. He didn’t know what to expect from Jackie in bed, but the cockiness, the way he took charge, it made him absolutely melt and he couldn’t do anything but agree. “Yes, Daddy,” the term slipped out without his conscious awareness.

But Jackie was very aware, smirking and lightly patting Jan’s cheek. “That’s what I thought, baby,” he cooed, kissing him once more. “You have lube and condoms, right?” he asked, momentarily switching to his ‘regular’ voice.

It took a moment for Jan’s brain to reconnect with his mouth. “Yeah, yeah I got it,” he nodded, crawling across the bed and rifling through the drawer.

Jackie laid back on the bed, lazily stroking himself as he watched Jan crawl across the bed, appreciating the view. “Take your time,” he teased.

Jan turned to face him once he had what he needed, sitting back on his legs. “I didn’t realize you were such a pervert.”

“Don’t you play innocent,” Jackie retorted, grabbing Jan by the arm and pulling him close. “You’re just as dirty, even more I bet.” He let go of him and laid back down with his hands casually behind his head. “Go on and prep for me. Show Daddy how badly you want it.”

And who was Jan to disobey? He propped himself up with his legs apart and slicked up two fingers with the lube. He worked them in steadily, doing his best to maintain eye contact with Jackie as he did.

Of course, Jackie loved what he saw. He watched comfortably, going back to jerking off as well. “Just tell me when you’re ready, baby,” he told him.

As impatient as Jan was, he made sure to be thorough - once he saw what Jackie was packing, he realized he had to. When he did deem himself ready, he tore open the condom with his teeth and handed it over, then waited readily to be told what to do next.

After he rolled the condom down his length, Jackie looked at Jan with a wicked grin. “On your back,” he told him, only to push him onto his back instead when he didn’t move fast enough. He had one hand gripping Jan’s hip, the other guiding his shaft in, letting go and grabbing his other hip once he bottomed out.

“Fuck…” Jan let out a breathy moan, his eyes closing and his head pushing back into the pillows as Jackie began thrusting.

Jackie clicked his tongue in disapproval, gripping Jan’s face and moving his head forward. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Wanna see your face, wanna see how good Daddy’s cock makes you feel.”

Part of Jan wanted to know what daddy dom possessed his friend’s body, but the rest of him couldn’t have cared less - it felt far too good. With Jackie holding him in place, he kept their gazes locked, moaning out wantonly. His body rocked in tandem with Jackie’s thrusts, urging him on.

Jackie moved his hand from Jan’s jaw to his neck. He was careful not to get too rough when he choked him - Jan’s voice was pretty necessary to the success of their tour.

Not that Jan was treating it like it was. He started moaning even louder with Jackie’s hand around his throat, fervently writhing against him, needing the friction to get close to an orgasm.

Jackie frowned when he noticed. “Don’t even think about coming before Daddy,” he warned sternly. He thrust faster and harder, and, to Jan’s relief, hit his orgasm not long after.

“Fuck, fuck… Can I…”

“Go ahead.”

Jan let out a guttural moan as he rode out his orgasm, reaching up to grab onto Jackie as he did.

Jackie let him, resting his hand on Jan’s back and holding him until he was fully spent. He slowly eased out of him, making quick work with the cleanup so he could get under the covers with Jan and hold him close.

Jan cuddled up to Jackie, resting his head on his chest, letting the rising and falling of Jackie’s chest sooth him. He was going to make the most out of that moment. After all, it was a one time deal.

As it turned out, it was definitely not a one time deal. For Jan and Jackie, having sex opened a whole new can of worms. All the energy they had invested into keeping their hands to themselves was now used to take any and every excuse to sneak away and fool around. Every hotel room, dressing room, and even a hotel pool was defiled while they were at it like rabbits.

But it wasn’t just sex. No, that would be too simple. There was more emotional bonding as well, that was just the type of lovers they were, whether it was with others or together. Every time they had sex in bed, they cuddled after. They held hands everywhere, cuddled up to each other on whatever bus or van they were travelling on. It was an open secret with everyone who worked on the tour, and ‘secret’ was used very loosely.

It was on a perfectly innocent ice cream date when a harsh realization dawned on Jan. He hadn’t felt this way in a while. Of course he loved his boyfriend, but they had long passed their honeymoon phase. But even that phase didn’t hold a candle to what he felt with Jackie. He felt alive, like a new part of himself had been awakened. He felt free even though they were both tied down.

“I can’t believe tomorrow’s our last show,” Jackie remarked as they took a stroll down the street, holding their cones in one hand and the others held each other. “I’ve gotten so used to tour life in such a short time.”

Jan nodded. “It’s gonna be weird, going back home, back to… normal…” He looked out in front of him, not wanting to look at Jackie as he was hit with a sharp pang of sadness. They hadn’t talked about what would happen between them when they returned to Manhattan, other than there was no way their partners would find out what they did.

“We haven’t done ‘normal’ in a while,” Jackie agreed. “We’ve had our own, new normal,” he mused. That was what made it so complicated - being with Jan just felt right, like they were supposed to be together. And that wracked him with a hefty amount of guilt.

So, they did all they could - make the most out of what time they had left. The rest of their day off was spent in bed - alternating between sex and cuddling. They didn’t want to fall asleep, because it meant they would wake up to the end.

In the morning, everything was normal. They got up, had breakfast, got handsy in the shower. But by the time they got to the venue, Jan seemed different, withdrawn. It wasn’t like him to not be the life of the party, so of course Jackie was concerned.

The concern had to wait until after the show which, despite Jan’s mood, went off without a hitch. But Jackie went right to Jan the second they were finished. “Hey, is something wrong? You’ve been acting kind of… aloof.”

Jan opened his mouth to lie, or to make an excuse, but instead a sob came out, and he hid his head in his hands. “Shit…” he muttered through tears.

Jackie rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around him. “Jan, baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is we’re gonna get on a fucking plane tomorrow and the second it lands in JFK we’re gonna have to go back to being just friends, to acting like we’ve never touched each other, that we feel nothing for each other,” he grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes, makeup already ruined. “How am I supposed to be okay with losing you?”

“Is that what we decided?” Jackie asked quietly. “It’s just… I mean… we failed the ‘one time only’ thing a long time ago.”

Jan shook his head. “I know you don’t believe that, you know as well as I do that sleeping together while they’re ten thousand miles away is different than going directly behind their backs.”

“It’s the object permanence,” Jackie agreed. “But we could always-”

“We can’t!” Jan jerked away from him and started to pace around. “Don’t you get it? We can’t have our cake and eat it too.”

“I know it’s wrong, but you can’t tell me you’re ready to just throw this away!” It was a rare sight for Jackie to get angry, to see his face flushed red and his fists clenched, but even then, maybe that wasn’t the right word, but he was overwhelmed with emotion and it just made him frustrated.

Jan sighed. “Of course I don’t want to, but I know you don’t want to throw your relationship away either, and neither do I. We can’t toss out years for a week of amazing sex and deep emotional bonding!”

“Fine!” Jackie snapped. “Fine, we’ll go back to normal,” he sighed as he calmed down and rationality reentered his mind. “You’re right, I don’t want to hurt him, and I really don’t want to lose him.”

Jan nodded, sniffling quietly. “So this is it then.” He looked out the window, chewing on his lip. “At least we’ll always have Australia, right?”

Jackie let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah, we’ll always have Australia.”

#jankie #rpdr rpf #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr fanfic #fic commission

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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hotel california. (gigi/jackie) — chapter two, roza

summary: jackie and gigi take to the city to get some basic shopping done as the persian feels herself developing a strange connection towards the blonde she just met. gigi is happy to be a taste tester and ride her bike.

author's note: thank you to all of jankie candle for being the best support and of course to alex for always being the best beta. I hope you all enjoy!

ao3 link / my tumblr: @leljaaa / (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

— *.✧

"This is pretty good," the words left Jackie's lips as she tightened the gold belt on her white kaftan as she was left to stare aimlessly in the mirror, admiring her acute sense of fashion.

The clock struck ten minutes to seven as Jackie finished adjusting her hair, making sure she adjusted her light red lipstick as she heard a knock on the door.

Completely giddy, she raced out of her room, grabbing her wallet before her hands pulled on the handle and opened the door.

Gigi was outside her door, parked against the wall in an ensemble completely resembling the sunsets back home in Tehran.

Her blonde hair flowing across the top of the pastel blue, yellow and pink colour blocked outfit. She looked beautiful and Jackie was completely in awe at the colour scheme and how the American managed to make her entire heart race purely by virtue of wearing an outfit.

Gigi's cool facade seemed to drop the minute she looked up to see Jackie dressed to the nines as she always was. The blonde's heart stopped and she masked the burning flush across her cheeks with a cough, saying aloud that she looked very pretty.

God is a woman. Crystal was absolutely right.

They headed for her bike, the American admitting she left it outside her garage so they could get on the bike and leave.

"So you are good at riding?"

Gigi chuckled, nodding as she spotted Jackie's worried face. "I'm very good! I have studied my craft well," she replied with a wink carrying her matching helmet as they make it towards the next complex besides Jackie's.

"Okay, you're going to sit behind me and I recommend you hold my waist or lower back because my shoulders aren't a good option."

Jackie nods, waiting for Gigi to position her bike, the blonde grinning at the sight of her dual-seated brown and black motorcycle.

"Alright here we go!" Gigi yelled, excited that she got to take such a beautiful girl out on her bike, especially considering the circumstances surrounding Jackie's entire arrival.

This is my hometown, I have to make sure she can see as much as she can while she's still around.

Her hands gripped the throttles of her bike as the Persian hopped on behind her, having made sure back in her room that she put shorts on, knowing the kaftan would completely blast away in the wind.

"Good," she heard Gigi call out as her hands slid past her back and wrapped around her waist, head laying comfortingly on her back side. Jackie hummed gently against her outfit as her gloved hands kick-started the engine.

She couldn't see it but Gigi was profusely blushing under her matching helmet.

The ignition turned on as she quickly made sure everything was in proper position before letting her fingertips press the start button. Jackie jumped up at the firing and sputtering of the engine fires. Gigi's hands clutched at the throttles as she gently began to move pressing the gas.

"Hold on tight, it's only about a ten minute ride," she yelled as the motorcycle began to pick up speed extremely quickly.

Gigi grinned hearing Jackie cursing and instantaneously gripping her waist even tighter, seeing everything quickly disappear behind their view.

Has she never been on a motorcycle before?

Jackie was horrified, completely shook up to say the least, but she admitted in the back of her mind that there was something so euphoric about the fact she was up against this extremely fascinating and beautiful biker.

The scenery of Los Angeles was quite lovely, humidity aside.

It reminded her of Tehran in a way with the picturesque mountain backdrop, though Jackie was completely new to all of the palm trees that clouded every square inch of this city.

Gigi picked up speed as they were still alone on the one lane road, explaining to Jackie that the grocery store wasn't too far from here. They slowed to a halt at the traffic lights above them, the Persian glancing around constantly to take in any new building or bush or tree that she saw.

Pretty city. Maybe it was meant to be, staying here instead of Canada.

They finally entered traffic as Gigi turned left straight into one of the larger city centers, keeping in her lane as she impatiently waited to turn into the grocery store parking lot.

"Hurry up," she screamed muffled through her helmet as a Mercedes-Benz finally backed out of the parking spot closest to the entrance of the store.

"Very big…" Jackie was almost impressed and also distraught. Iran, as well as most of the Middle East and Balkan countries she had lived in or traveled to, had been simply made up of small businesses that each did one thing.

One cheese shop, one local butcher, one man you always got your bread or spices from— this was a complete cultural reset.

Gigi parked as she took the key out of the ignition, throwing it up in the air as she laughed, dropping it on the pavement. Jackie snickered as she adjusted her flowing kaftan, hoping it wasn't completely wrinkled as they stepped inside the store.

"You okay?"

"Yes!" Jackie exclaimed nervously, terrified purely by the size and scope of the store. It didn't help that there were many people crowding in the store and she hadn't even brought a list with her.

A lightbulb popped into her head as Gigi came back to the Persian girl, rolling along a green shopping cart.

"I want to cook for you tonight!"

The blonde blushed, completely honoured but a bit confused by the sudden plan. "That's not necessary, I just wanted to make sure you had food," she replied before Jackie interjected, saying that she needed some way to pay Gigi back for the sweet favour.

"Well if you really want to, I won't be stopping you," the blonde admitted, staring at the bright smile painted across her lips. Jackie clasped her hands together in excitement as she skipped down to the produce section.

She was in awe of how every vegetable and fruit seemed to be in season in America.

Do they not have the changing of seasons?

The Persian decided it was only right for her to make Tahdig, the most loved soul food of her home country, for Gigi who was simply staring at the fruits as Jackie picked up a good amount of veggies and potatoes, seeing as they were quite cheap compared to the packaged alternatives.

Maybe some Kanafeh as well.

Dozens of herbs and spices filled her cart as she crouched down and gasped, smiling seeing actual Middle Eastern products taking up a tiny section of what Gigi described as the "International Section" with most of the imported foods.

"How comforting," she whispered before grabbing two entire bags of chickpeas, a standard necessity for any Middle Eastern citizen as she frowned, unable to find proper tahini, though she knew she could just make it with the sesame seeds and oil already in the cart.

Gigi was in awe of how healthy and natural Jackie was, half of her items were green and the other half were just spices or beans. She embarrassingly tossed an entire bag of German chocolate in the cart as she kept a close eye on the Persian girl who seemed to be in her own world.

"It's not Iran but it's very nice," she heard Jackie mutter, loud enough for some xenophobic man nearby to step closer and yell about how refugees from Iran were flooding every University and town in California.

"I'm sorry?"

"Go back to your fucking country already!"

Jackie's face showed genuine confusion and lack of understanding by the statement as Gigi immediately walked over, stopping a moment to remember she always had a switchblade in her back pocket if needed.

"She's not doing anything you fucking prick," she muttered loud enough for the man to hear her but not talking loud enough to start any kind of rally in the grocery store. "People are in danger where she's from you know. What's it like to have no concept of basic human decency?"

Gigi firmly stepped in front of Jackie, who gently stood up and took a few steps back, trying not to make eye contact or respond.

"Fucking hippy."

The blonde flipping him off as Jackie gently rubbed her shoulders, whispering at her to stop trying to cause a commotion just for her.

"You don't care at all what he's saying?"

The Persian sighed, not knowing how to properly put into words how she felt.

"My religion has always taught me violence isn't the way, that's what my entire country's revolution has now succumbed to. I have bigger issues concerning me, like if my mother is safe, if my best friend was shot by police during a rally; not some stupid comment."

Gigi swallowed hard, apologizing weakly and quietly as Jackie's radiant smile returned. She appreciated the gesture, even if it wasn't something she would've ever done.

"You want anything else?"

"Just honey and then I need your help finding something sweet. What do American's like for sweets or chocolate?" The question pondered in Jackie's head as Gigi grinned ear to ear immediately running down the aisle as if she was a track superstar.

"These," Gigi held up three separate bags of Pop Rocks, Jackie laughing curiously as she took one in her fingertips, staring at the bright coloured packaging and giant typography.

"We'll try them at your room, they're huge with kids and teenagers mostly but I definitely enjoy them on a mindless level."

They waited in line before walking out with three paper bags, Gigi groaning as she realized there was absolutely no way either of them could hold it with the motorcycle. Jackie ran inside, the blonde left awkwardly standing around before she came back with a few plastic bags.

Gigi watched as she stacked the weight evenly between the two large plastic bags, the Persian tied them to each throttle of the motorcycle making sure that they weren't going blocking any buttons.

"You're truly the smartest person I've ever met."

Jackie flushed, giggling as she waited for Gigi to put her helmet back on as the stars were gently painted across the night sky. She hopped on before the American put her key into the ignition, waiting for the car beside her to park before they began riding once again.

As the Persian's head fell against Gigi's back, the blonde couldn't help but smile the entire ride home.

— *.✧

They hauled the groceries back to Jackie's complex as she kicked the door open, turning on one of the lights as she set the bags down near her small kitchen counter.

"Very nice," Jackie whispered as she stared at Gigi's bright blonde hair in a complete trance. The American looking up confused as the woman beside her laughed it off, lying and saying she was impressed by all the food she got.

"Oh yeah, a lot of this stuff like the spices you shouldn't have to buy again," Gigi smiled as she attempted neatly to organize her fridge.

Something was pulling at Jackie's heart, she couldn't tell what but she felt like every moment they had spent together thus far was completely made up of not-so-secret glances and sweet smiles.

"Thank you for everything," she said as she grabbed Gigi's wrist and pulled her near, the American chuckling nervously as she partook in whatever romantic connotation she could get.

"It's no problem, you deserve to have an easy start," she was silent as Jackie pressed a gentle kiss to her left cheek, not thinking much of the gesture, though Gigi took it as nothing but utter affection.

"Will you stay and eat with me?"

"Absolutely."

— *.✧

Gigi could not cook.

She had always known about this fact, considering her parents always made the food. However, trying to keep up with and help Jackie while she made her traditional Middle Eastern dishes had shown her how messy and clumsy she could be.

"Jesus, I got it everywhere," the blonde yelled as she was still cleaning fresh garlic peels and stray strands of rice off the floor.

"It is okay, when you eat it you should taste all the effort that you went through!"

It was easy for Jackie to say when she was still spotless, despite wearing only a completely light white fabric across her body.

"I'm sure it will taste great."

They stood around the kitchen plating before Gigi jumped on the counter, sitting comfortably as she watched Jackie pour an extremely fragrant syrup across the crispy plates that had just been cooking in the oven. She was in awe truly of the woman's resourcefulness and talents.

Americans really are at the bottom of the totem pole…

"What is that, if I can ask? I'm sorry if it's a stupid question," Gigi bluffed before Jackie shook her head.

"No question is stupid from you, you asked and I will answer," the Persian replied with a focused smile as she explained it was a very traditional and loved desert in the Middle East and Balkan region that had been around for centuries.

"It is basically crunchy pastry with cheese layered in the middle, and at the end when it's melted you pour your sugar syrup and place some nuts at the top."

Gigi nodded, completely thrilled she had the great job and honour of taste testing an entire plate of it.

The other dish they made together was essentially a very popular crunchy rice dish, almost always served as a side dish, though everyone loved it enough to make dozens of plates of it.

"It's very plain, that's why we made some spinach to go with it. I'm very excited to see how you did."

They managed to get everything clean and on plates that Gigi stole from her own house as they sat on the couch, per request of Jackie, and dug into the desert first.

"Holy shit," Gigi moaned as she devoured the entire plate in a solid five minutes, taking in every luxurious cheese pull and making sure all the syrup was sticking to the dough.

"This is so good…"

Jackie, who had not even finished half of it, slowly ate, though she was over the moon that Gigi enjoyed her cooking and was partaking in something that reminded her of home so much.

The blonde jumped up, turning on the radio as they ate, grooving to The Runaways as she sat back down next to the taller woman.

"Did the phone work?"

Jackie gasped, cursing in Farsi as she put her head in her hands hopelessly. Gigi immediately kneeled near the Persian girl who groaned feeling nothing but utter stupidity.

I forgot to ask Gigi about taking me to a payphone…

"I was gonna ask you to take me to a payphone, this one won't make calls to Iran."

Gigi held her hand tight as Jackie began to cry harder and harder thinking about her mother and how worried sick she must be between the uprising and her eldest daughter all alone in America.

"Sorry," she whispered as Gigi frowned, immediately opening her arms as the two of them silently hugged on the couch.

The blonde felt a pit in her stomach even thinking about the thought of leaving her mom in a completely different country that was also having an entire revolution as they spoke.

"She's okay I promise, tomorrow morning I wanna take you to Hollywood so you can get the full tourist experience and you will see a payphone every block," Gigi promised as Jackie looked up, pushing her curls away from her face as she nodded at the sentiment and idea.

"Thank you Gigi."

"Anytime," she said as they went back to enjoying the food, exhausted but still managing to share all the stupid stories they had with each other.

Jackie couldn't have expected a better first day after touching down in a completely foreign country, though Gigi seemed to make the transition as seamless and enjoyable as possible.

Their hands toying with each other as they would talk about their experiences at college or Jackie's extremely well traveled background.

Gigi even managed to sneak in the Pop Rocks as the refugee confusedly followed along with the antics, finally giving in and trying the candy as she yelled the minute they hit her tongue.

"Are they—"

"Supposed to spark up? Absolutely, it's the fun part of the candy!"

Jackie didn’t know what to think, but she went along with it, though she could taste every chemical and food dye put into the candy. It was very cute and fun, the flavour subpar but the experience worth the extra two dollars.

They cleaned the dishes and the Persian slipped her another piece of the Middle Eastern sweet for her to take home as she handed Gigi the plate, the woman still in her motorcyclist outfit as she leaned against the door frame.

"See you tomorrow," the blonde mumbled under her breath as Jackie waved, gently closing the door as she clutched her heart with a heavy sigh.

Her footsteps lighter than air as she thought about the entire night and cooking with Gigi, she had so many previous close female friends but her heart never had so vigorously wanted a woman.

It's only been a day, it's only been a single day.

She bit her lip, trying not to think about it.

All the homophobia she had seen first hand at University wasn't to be taken lightly. Seeing all the cases of men suddenly disappearing, or seeing the small towns in Turkey or Croatia with the few but loud protesters who would be thrown tear gas by the police.

It wasn't worth the risk and targets if it was a hopeless crush.

If. If it is.

It couldn’t be, it was just simply a strong friendship forming.

That was it, a friendship Jackie decided as she cleared her headspace, sneaking a final piece of the food as if her mother was around the corner ready to scold her for eating so late.

Just friends, Jackie. Just friends.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #jackie cox #crystal methyd #gigi x jackie #lesbian au #seventies au #song fic #historical au #hotel california #roza #concrit welcome #s12

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writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

Burning Desire (Jankie) - Katy

A/N: prompt 4/7 and y’all know I had to give you a lil sickfic for ‘heat’ 💛

Jackie was an early riser. As the self proclaimed ‘Queen of New York City’s evening life’, she sometimes woke up just as Jan was coming in for the night.

Both had a rare night off, and decided to make the most of it by staying home, watching movies and getting a good night’s sleep, cuddled around each other.

Jackie woke around 6am, carefully unwrapping herself from Jan’s vice-like grip. She pulled the blanket off of Jan, knowing how getting too hot in bed can make her feel when she wakes up, before heading to the bathroom to shower. She liked her showers skin-searingly hot, her favourite motto being ‘if you don’t feel like you’re about to pass out once you get out, it wasn’t hot enough’. Every body product they had was lavender-scented, it being a smell that calmed and soothed both queens. Just as Jackie began lathering the floral body wash over her arms, she heard a thud. She stopped her actions, listening past the gentle stream of the water to try and identify where the noise was coming from. It couldn’t be Jan, she thought, knowing her girlfriend would still be asleep well into the mid-morning. Her mind settled on it being the cat knocking something over with his tail, laughing softly at the thought of the fluffy pet sitting on top of the kitchen counter, and just as Jackie’s heart settled back down, she heard sobs.

The shower was slammed off, and Jackie’s heart thumped in her chest as she grabbed a towel and ran back into their bedroom.

She didn’t know what to expect, thinking maybe Jan had had a nightmare, seen something sad on the news or banged her toe on the doorframe, again. But she definitely didn’t expect to see her girlfriend, completely nude except for her thong, pacing unsteadily around the bedroom with tears streaming down her flushed cheeks and a pack of frozen peas on her forehead. Jackie rushed over to Jan; absolutely terrified she was about to faint and hit her head on the bedframe, wrapping her arms securely around Jan’s waist as she tried to get her onto the bed.

‘It’s so hot. So hot.’

Jan was mumbling under her breath, completely oblivious to everything happening around her. The only words Jackie could make out were ‘too hot’ and everything made sense when Jackie eventually got her lying down on the bed and was able to take a proper look at her.

Jan’s eyes were blown wide, glassy and unfocused. Sweat ran down from her neck, covering her whole body with an uncomfortable sheen. Her mind was somewhere far away, the clear fever-induced delirium taking over her thoughts as she tossed and turned and squirmed away from whatever she could see. Jackie’s heart broke as she looked at her girlfriend, knowing she had to act quickly to try and bring her fever down.

Jackie was reluctant to leave Jan alone, even for just a second to run back to the bathroom and get some painkillers, knowing the possibility of her accidentally falling off of the bed was very high. She began to shake slightly as her inexperience in taking care of ill people caught up to her, before mentally slapping herself for focusing on anything other than getting her very sick, very sweaty girlfriend better.

Carefully, she approached Jan, stroking her hair off of her forehead, before lifting her up, cradling her to her chest and holding Jan’s wrists to stop her hitting Jackie in the face. Jan wouldn’t stop writhing in her arms, and Jackie had to make a pit stop in the lounge on the way to the kitchen to lie Jan down on the couch before she hurt her.

Jan seemed to settle ever so slightly as she was put down, so Jackie took her chance and rushed to the kitchen, filling up a glass of water before grabbing the painkillers and the thermometer from the bathroom cupboard. She returned to Jan, who was thankfully still lying on the couch. Her eyes were now closed, but she was still shaking with the intensity of her body heat. Jackie sighed softly, still feeling a little unsure of her caretaking skills, before putting her hand on Jan’s shoulder and shaking her.

‘Baby, can you hear me? It’s me, its just Jackie. You’re not well, honey, you need to let me help you take some painkillers. Jan, it’s just me, come on darling.’

Jackie kept whispering over and over again, shaking her shoulder harder and harder every time. She was beginning to think of calling for help, before Jan took in a huge breath, her eyes shooting open and body going rigid. Jackie immediately took her hand, tried to soothe her.

‘Hey hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you.’

‘Jackie?’

Jan went from looking at Jackie like she was a total stranger to thinking she’d hung the stars in the sky in less than 3 seconds.

‘Yes honey, it’s me, I got you. How you feeling?’

‘So fucking hot. Why’s it so hot? It’s the middle of February and we live in New York. Wait, are we in New York?’

Jackie had to stifle a laugh as her girlfriend mumbled to herself, adorably confused.

‘Yes baby, we’re in New York, we’re home. You’re running a fever, okay, that’s why you’re so hot. Now you’ve gotta take these tablets for me okay, baby? They’ll make you feel better, I promise.’

‘No no Jackie don’t wan-’

‘No, Jan, you have to. Come on, let me help you.’

Jan looked at Jackie like she’d just run over her cat, before promptly bursting into tears.

‘Oh Jan, baby, no, no need for tears honey. Come here.’

Jan crumpled into a ball as Jackie pulled her into her chest, feeling the intensity of the heat radiating off of her girlfriend. She continued to sob into Jackie’s chest, pressing as much of her overheated body onto Jackie’s far cooler skin as she could, sighing in relief as she rested her legs on Jackie’s cold feet.

‘Off’ Jan mumbled, trying to tug on the shirt that Jackie had thrown on in her panic, clearly wanting to try and cool her face off on Jackie’s torso.

‘I’ll take it off’ Jackie started, before pausing as Jan gave her an impatient stare. ‘If you take the pills.’

Jackie knew Jan had a strange thing against taking pills, remembering Jan saying something about fearing she would choke on them many months ago. But right now, she had no choice, and Jackie was getting those tablets into her, no matter what.

‘Jackie I can’t I don’t want to, don’t make me please please plea-’

Jan’s words got cut off as Jackie switched their positions and rolled on top of Jan, straddling her. She sat Jan’s upper body up, and pressed her knees firmer on each side of Jan’s legs, ensuring she couldn’t try and run away.

A glass of water, along with two pills, was pressed into Jan’s hand. She didn’t dare look up; she couldn’t meet Jackie’s gaze without crying and even through her delirium, she knew she didn’t feel great and needed to take the painkillers. Jan was lost in her thoughts, the next thing she heard being

‘I’ll let you sit on my face when you’re better if you take them.’

Jan took them immediately.

As promised, Jackie took her top off and Jan fell asleep cuddled as close to her girlfriend as humanly possible. Every part of Jackie was clinging to their leather couch, Jan so lovingly making Jackie very hot and sweaty. She’d lay there all day if it meant Jan got some rest though and started to get better, so she wrapped her arms even tighter around her sleeping girlfriend and closed her eyes.

‘I can’t believe you’re actually stuck to the sofa?’

‘Why are you blaming me for your sweat, bitch?’

#rpdr fanfiction #jankie #jackie cox #jan sport #katy #sickfic #summer lovin' 2020 #day 4: heat #submission

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thecasinowolf · 5 years

Text

Writing Self-Insert Fics Using Overused Tropes To Make Myself Feel Better Day 1

It’s coping mechanism time I’m using this video to give me tropes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ux8u7QxRLaA&t=39s Day 1: There was only oNE BED

Running from Emberguard was one thing, but the gang not trusting Seth and his new physical form was another. At first, they stayed with Apep and Osiris in Akhemsat, but Apep didn’t want it to get out that he was hiding criminals; and he sent them on their way. After walking for quite some time; the group reached another town. It was smaller, and its inhabitants didn’t seem friendly what-so-ever. It was their only option for now, and they found a motel they could stay at for suspiciously cheap, but they wouldn’t expect any less with how run-down it was; and with how creepy the only employee was. “We need two rooms,” Chronos requests.

“Two? Chronos, we’ve only been getting one befo-” Cas begins, before being waved off.

“We’re not letting Seth stay with us,” Chronos explains, “He can stay in his own room. Which I’m sure he doesn’t mind. Right, Seth?”

Seth scowls, he was picking at chipping paint on the chair he sat on while waiting for everyone else to get situated. Chronos was getting rooms, Cider had run off to find a bathroom to fix his appearance; and boy was he taking a while, and Zephyr was pacing around the room out of boredom. Cas leaned against the counter impatiently, tapping his foot.

“I don’t mi-...ind. I would HATE to spe-e-e-e-end all night listening to Cider’s snoring,” Seth scoffs.

“He doesn’t snore,” Cas mutters to himself.

“Good. Then we need two rooms.”

“Alright, two room keys, comin’ riiight up,” The suspicious employee hummed as he rummaged through a drawer, pulling out various different trinkets, before handing Chronos two rusty old keys. “There you are, you boys have a nice night.” Before he has a chance to say anything, Cas snatches a key from Chronos’ hand and walks over to Seth.

“Great! Let’s go.”

“Oh, Cas, you cannot be serious,” Chronos says.

“I am serious. If you got two rooms anyways, I’ll take the less crowded one with Seth,” Cas replies.

“Do you need me to explain the situation you’re about to put yourself in? We could be stuck here for a while, we’re trying to avoid any type of law enforcement, and you’re willing to be alone with Seth with no one else arou-” It was Cas’ turn to wave Chronos off,

“Yeah, yeah. I know what I’m doing. I don’t think Seth’s a bad person...and if I did; I could defend myself.” Cas opens the door, Seth walking out ahead of him, “I’m not all weak and helpless, ya know.”

And with that, the two headed outside to find their room. Cas finally found the one that matched the number on the key, and they headed inside. As expected, it was small and gross. No windows, unkept, every surface seemed crusty, a thin layer of dust covered everything, and it had a light smell to it. Not too noticeable, but inhale just a little too much and your nose would be assaulted by a terrible stench. “Ah, disgusting,” Cas mutters. Seth’s eyes were darting around the room, he felt claustrophobic. All there was was a large bed and on a small table in front of it was a janky TV. The lighting came from an unknown source; but it wouldn’t stop flickering.

“Well. It’s a good thing you didn’t want to stay wi-w-wi-wi-w-w-with the guys,” Seth says as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I saw an opportunity and took it,” Cas shrugs and lays down. The bed was gross; it didn’t feel terrible uncomfy but it was a light yellow; clearly used to be white, and the blanket on top was a scratchy plaid green mess. “Eugh.”

There was a moment of silence, before Seth scooted himself towards the front of the bed.

“Hey.” He says, getting Cas’ attention. Cas sits up and looks at the coyote with a curious glance. “The way they’ve been talking about me...what made you feel safe enough to share a room with me anyways?”

Cas looked around for a second, like he was thinking.

“I dunno. You’re kinda scary but you haven’t been acting up or anything.” He responds. “Like...I feel like if you really were the person they say you are, the second that crazy science witch gave you a physical form you would have attacked someone or something.”

“Huh, yeah I guess.” Seth says, satisfied with that response. There was a following silence, before they got a knock on their door. Cas got off the bed, having to crawl over Seth’s legs in the process, and answered it.

“Chronos told me to check up on you guys,” Cider informed. Cas nodded,

“Well. Hey,” He says.

“God, we haven’t even been here a minute and he sent someone to make sure I wasn’t committing a murder or so-...ome bullshit.” Seth grumbles to himself.

“Hi,” Cider laughs. “Well, you seem to be doing fine. I guess I should report back.”

“You don’t wanna visit?” Cas replies, Seth catches on to the flirty intent in his voice and grows jealous.

“No, he doe-doe-doesn’t,” Seth scowls. Cider takes the hint and backs off.

“Yeah; I don’t want Chronos to think I got murdered,” Cider says, taking a jab at Seth. “Later~” Cider concludes, before heading off. Cas closes the door and sits back on the bed.

“Um...are you...okay?” Cas asks worriedly, Seth looks away; not wanting to express what he was feeling.

“Fine. He just pisses me o-...off.” Seth growls.

“Jeez, sorry. I forgot you guys kinda have...a tension thing going on because of Zephyr or whatever.” Cas says. “If I wanna see him I’ll just go to their roo-”

“No!” Seth cuts him off. After a moment, Seth realizes what he said and stands up. “I mean, no it’s um, fine. I do-do-do-don’t care if they visit us or no-no-not. I’m going for a walk,” Seth grumbles as he leaves. Cas wasn’t very good at reading people, but he did know that Seth was acting a little...off. But looking out the window, and then at the time on his phone, he realized he could worry about that in the morning. First; it was 11 pm which meant if he didn’t sleep now he wouldn’t sleep until 8 in the morning. So, he laid down and tried to to go to sleep, despite the current situation he was forced to be in. He closed his eyes. How did he get roped in to this again? Oh yeah, he was a criminal himself, according to the justice system at least. That seemed like nonsense to him, he had never committed a crime in his life, but he guesses that made him the perfect person to be framed for murder. Then after trying to escape, he ended up with this bunch, and he was stuck with them. Cider was the only one he really became friends with, Seth never seemed like the ‘friend’ type to him. All he knew when he met him was that he was some sort of ghost and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be able to see him. But he could, and that’s how this whole thing started. By the time his thinking had almost put him back to sleep, the door opened again. He panicked at first but a glitchy static type noise reassured him it was just his new roommate returning from his quick walk. Seth sat on the bed, and wondered why he felt so tired. It must have been from his new form. As a ghost, he never got tired, but with a physical form...well, he guessed he had to take care of it now. But they had spent the past day and a half walking, so of course it would have worn him out. He laid down on the bed. It was weird, he had never slept before...he turned his head. He had never slept with anyone before. It was reassuring...in a weird way. He existed now; he was real. He turned over, facing the dragon next to him. Was he...? “Cas,” Seth whispers. Cas, who had only been pretending to be asleep, opened his eyes.

“Hm?” He responded wearily.

“Come here.”

#undertronic #fanfic #fanfiction #sharax #seth #xephyr #self insert

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megzthegemini · 4 years

Text

Dreaming, dreaming

I really wanted to journal tonight, but I realized my typing skills are a lot better since I got my nails off. There is so much on my mind— good, bad, neutral…I don’t really know. There is so much I want to do. I get really impatient that I don’t have everything I want happen at once. I just finished this book, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, and it touched me. How everything is connected. How the actions of people before you affect you, how the unborn will be affected from your actions…it just really hit me hard. I don’t want my actions to be forgettable like the main character believed they were. I don’t want people to remember me for what I am right now. I want to become more, do more, experience more, live a great life. I don’t want life to be complicated. I don’t believe life has to be tough. That nothing is fair. That’s total bullshit. That is something hopeless humans say to compensate when shit hits the fan. Of course I realize not everything is gonna go my way, but to say my life will never be fair? I’m not buying into it. I am hopeful. My life is gonna be exactly how I make it.

These past few months have been my happiest ever, truly. I’ve hung out with Ava like every single day. I think it is growth—how I used to need a group of five or six girls always to feel like I was good enough. I never really did, like ever. Looking back, those girls were all really great. I mean, they were exactly who I needed to be around during that stage of my life. I think that is why God made everything happen to Ava and me individually when we were not super close. She saw the side of life she never wants to engage in again. She lost herself—seas of self-doubt, insecurities, darkness. And so did I. We just showed it in different ways. It’s kind of funny. Whenever we seem to lose ourselves, Ava and me, she always becomes nicer. I became meaner. I was so mean…no wonder I befriended who I did. But again, it was what we needed. This isn’t a story of my friendship with Ava by any means. It is not even a story at all. It’s just funny how much she plays into my life nowadays. Back to myself…

My dream life. I think about it all the time. It seems unreachable when I look out my window and see the same views I have seen for the last 10 years. When I drive the same roads. See the same people. I spend so much time fantasizing about my life elsewhere, but the truth is I cannot picture myself living anywhere besides Reno. It just seems like a vacation. I do not want my dream life to be a vacation. Vacations end. They become distant memories. There is only shallow happiness in the weeklong or so of taking a vacation, no time to experience anything truly real. If I am being true to myself, I know I enjoy drama. Not necessarily something that directly involves me, but, c’mon, it is fun being part of it. I don’t want that in my dream life. I don’t want this need to have something happening at all times consume me like it does now. I do not want to be bored with the simplicity of existing, of letting myself be happy. I do that, don’t I? Sabotage my happiness. Do anything to change a routine before the dullness sets in. I am scared by the thought of being truly happy, I feel I am tainted by the years of getting my hopes up to be let down, to really let myself feel complete happiness. I don’t think I have ever felt true happiness. Close, I have been close. But never really there. I do not think complete and utter bliss are out of reach. I just think it is with the life I live right now. It just is not enough, not even close enough to satisfy what I crave out of my life. I want to be remembered. So I guess, back to my dream life.

I live in the states, yes, or maybe abroad in Europe. But I have no true roots. At least not for a while. I have plenty of money to travel, eat, spend. I visit every country. But not for just a couple days or even weeks. A month at least, in every place. I do not want to just visit the landmarks, I want to become a local. The ideal day would be having no set-in-stone plans, I can roam as I please. I wake up early, for the sunrise. Preferably in a white silk nightgown with a fancy floor length robes over it. I have room service set up on the balcony, at a table set for one. I can overlook the city before it is pregnant with travelers. I hear birds, not the bustling of everyone going everywhere at once. I smell the fresh bread at the bakeries before the first customers arrive. I feel like I belong, like the city is giving me a hug, telling me, “This is you. This is exactly where you need to be.” Back to my room service, it looks exactly like one of the hundreds of photos I have saved to my “Happy, Sad, Whatever!” photo album. It is croissants, filled with chocolate. A side of cream, strawberries and raspberries. The French press awaiting me, or maybe it is a pre-made latte, or a simple iced coffee. The possibilities would be endless. I would never have to decide between what I want, as if something like a coffee is the world’s greatest luxury. I wouldn’t have to choose between anything. Ever. I could have it all, in time. You see, that is often a problem for me and I’m sure many others. We always have to choose. This luxury or that. I am using luxury loosely, this could be a new jacket, lipstick, or what type of pancake we want. Why? This subconscious need to hold ourselves back from having everything we want seems like a pre-programmed way of ensuring suffering on earth. Those who learn to defeat that are the ones who come out alive. Not alive…happy. Anyways, I would enjoy my breakfast. I would reeeaaalllyyy enjoy this. Everyday. I could easily die tomorrow, or even the next instant. And I would die knowing I rushed myself through the gift of being alone with oneself with a meal, with a view, with a clear mind. And nobody wants to die knowing they were too busy looking forward to what comes next to enjoy what they had. That’s why the quote “Remember when you wanted what you have right now” means so much to me. It’s true. And besides being the truth, it’s a wake up call. A wake-up call to be grateful for the now, for everything you have survived. That is something else wrong with humans, we think we have to be grateful only after something happens to us, endangering our very precious lives.

What does being grateful even mean? Or better yet, what exactly falls under having enough worthiness to be grateful for? Another thing wrong with humans. Everything has to have a perfect explanation. And everything has an extreme. Does being grateful really mean thanking a greater being for every small thing in your life? Bullshit. Way too much time will be wasted if we stop to be grateful for everything: this janky computer I am writing on, my canned chicken dinner, the squeaky bed I have. No. Absolutely not. Being grateful means taking time to say, “Hey. Everything was once so fucked up. And now it’s not. Would ya look at that? Be okay, be good, be happy.” Gratuity is a chance to make a change, a chance to take a breath and remind yourself of everything you have survived. Back to my dream life…

I enjoy my breakfast. Every single chocolate-covered bite. And I drink my coffee with one purpose and one purpose only: to let myself enjoy a small thing. I finish my breakfast, this seemed to have taken about 2 hours apparently. I walk the streets in a long dress, it is always summer where I go. I used to tell myself I needed to enjoy the other seasons, which I do. Besides winter. I will never pretend to love it. I hate the cold. The gloomy skies. Snow. I miss the blue skies, the lake days, driving with the windows down. In my dream life, I can always drive with the windows down. After I put on my long dress, I walk the city, alone. In my dream life I am not a loner, I have just learned to appreciate solidarity. I buy my day’s groceries. I talk to the marketplace vendors. I pet the dogs that walk past the park bench I sit on now. After I take my groceries back home, I leave again. I treat myself to lunch with a book. Not a book that bores me to sleep and I’m reading it just because it seems intelligent. No, never. The most intelligent thing you can do is know yourself. Everything. Your likes and dislikes. Staying true to that will ensure that if not happy, at least you are comfortable. Comfortability is in the same category of happiness.

Comfortability is a luxury, something to be grateful for. The book is probably by Mitch Albom, and it is probably Tuesdays with Morrie which I have read a million times before.

After lunch, I head to the florists along the seaside. I get a bunch. This is a key part, because every night is concluded with a flower petal bath, tea, candles, and a good romantic movie playing. For dinner, I enjoy the process. It is not fast, maybe it could be, but again, the goal of everything in this life is to enjoy it happening. I have friends coming over for dinner and we sit at my huge backyard table, lit by the firefly lights above and the sounds of crickets surrounding us. There is fresh lemonade, salad, fruit, bread, everything. And a lot of wine. It is 7pm and the sun is starting to go down, the sunset making the whole scenery look like that of a movie. I know I can’t live in a movie, but I can sure live close to how it would be. After dinner, we stay out there for hours laughing and telling stories. There are no phones connecting us to the outdoor worlds, our world is the only one that matters. We take a lot of photos on a film camera and of course we take videos, so I can eventually make a montage of my memories. When everyone has gone, my bath is over, I will be back in my silk gown. Maybe it is pink tonight. I turn my record player on to play Billie Holiday, or is it Lana Del Rey? Maybe it is Etta James. Or maybe nobody is singing, and a La Vie En Rose instrumental is on. Whatever it is, I feel it completely. I lay in bed, maybe drawing, horribly, perhaps reading, or writing. I want it to be writing. In my dream life I end every day with a complete recap of what happened, not sparing a single detail. So that way, when I ever in the future feel my life had no significance or I let days go by without a single accomplishment, I can read them and know everyday day had something good in it. Ultimately, I have a family in my dream life. My kids are free, they can believe in anything, be anything, do everything. I take them with me on travels, but I give them roots. I want them to have roots, at least as a child. I want to give them everything, and know the world is their oyster. I just want to live in a world where no dream is too unrealistic, romanticizing things is not seen as a weakness, and I have it all…whatever that means.

It starts now, creating this dream life of mine. Whether it happens next year or in twenty, it will happen.

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buckymcbuttfacebarnes · 6 years

Text

when hands touch (2/?)

wht masterlist

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: abt 1800

summary: a pair of two best friends, bucky barnes and y/n live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. it is only natural that they spend a majority of their time together.

a/n: fookin soft shite, next part is going to be halloween-related hehe

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You owe me.”

You wake up to Bucky’s voice. Husky and faraway sounding. Blindly you reach in the space beside you, but he is not there. The sheets still feel warm, he’d only just woken up.

“Owe you for what?” You croak, refusing to open your eyes.

“For trying to kill me last night.”

The broccoli incident.

“But you lived.”

“That’s not the point, Y/N.”

You turn onto your stomach and pull the duvet over your head. “You’re weak.”

“Being susceptible to the effects of poison has nothing to do with physical strength,” he points out. You can feel him climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. “How long do you plan on staying bed anyway?” he asks.

When you don’t answer him he slides beneath the duvet too where it’s warm and he can see your face. He lies close to you, his head resting on the very edge of your pillow. Still, you keep your eyes shut.

His fingertips seem timid at first, his touch barely there, a whisper. He touches your brow bone, and ghosts across your hairline. Then he gets brave, maybe even a little impatient, and uses his thumb to swipe upwards at the skin of your eyelid, forcing your eye open.

You see his face, grinning with a juvenile mischief that makes you smile too. You hide it by turning your face into your pillow and feigning annoyance.

“This is why you can’t keep a girl, Buck. You’re annoying as hell.”

“This is why you can’t keep a man, you’re always annoyed as hell,” he mocks, propping head up with one hand.

“Speakin’ of girls, how’s Marissa?”

“Melissa.”

“Same thing. How is she?” Without thinking you reach out and rake your fingers through his hair, smoothing it out of its bedhead state. Neither of you notice the way he inclines his head towards your hand, leaning so naturally into your touch.

“How would I know?”

You roll your eyes. “You’ve been seeing her for like four months, what do you mean how would you know?”

“I don’t keep tabs on her.”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“We don’t like labels.”

“You don’t like labels,” you correct him.

“Neither does she.”

Finally you turn your head to look at him once again. His mouth still quirked crookedly and his eyebrows raised in an attempt at achieving the look of innocence. “Your breath is awful,” you say.

“Yours isn’t so fresh either, gorgeous.”

You both laugh. He tugs the blanket from over your heads and you both take in a deep breath. The air is cool and the room is brighter than you had expected it to be. Your thick duvet filtered out the light until it had been nothing but a dim glow. You throw your arm over your eyes.

“What time is it?”

“It’s eleven thirty.”

“See, it’s not that late, Buck,” you whine.

“It’s late enough. I’m hungry.”

“You have a home.”

“A home with no food.”

You make a noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a groan and he laughs.

“No, it’ll be fun,” he talks quickly, touching your elbow, “Listen, we can go for a quick slice or something and then didn’t you say you had to go grocery shopping or something.”

You peek at him from beneath your arm, brows knitting together. “Since when do you care about grocery shopping?”

“Since forever! This place is where I get most of my meals.”

“You’d die without me.”

“I would,” Bucky flashes his pearly whites and presses a loud smack of a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be back in fifteen, alright?”

You wonder if the heat of his lips has left a mark on your skin.

Forty five minutes later the two of you were walking side by side down Fulton Street, large slices of greasy pizza in your hands. It’s chilly out, but that’s how the both of you like it. Just cold enough for a hat and maybe some gloves. On your head is one of the beanies you had purchased for Bucky two years ago. He typically wore baseball caps, but every now and then he’d slip a beanie on just to appease you. Today was not one of those days.

“What’s the matter with you?” You finally ask. The question had been lingering on the tip of your tongue for the past hour.

He makes a face and shrugs. “Nothing...What’s the matter with you?” A smile curves at his mouth. He’s lying.

“You’ve been oddly quiet,” you say in a sing-song tone, glancing up at him. The tip of his nose is pink with the autumn chill.

He takes a bite out of his pizza, stalling, and struggles with the melted, stringy cheese.

“Buck, c’mon.”

Bucky’s smile grows wider. “What? I said nothing!”

“I knew something was wrong with you the minute you showed up with all that food yesterday, so just spit it out. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You urge. “Is it your mom? Are you sick?”

He stays silent, there are crinkles by his eyes.

“Oh God,” you say, grinning too at your sudden realization. “Is it...Marissa?”

“Melissa.”

“Same thing! Is it her?” You have to stop yourself from laughing. “Oh—It’s her isn’t it? Did y’all breakup?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday? Before you came over?”

He makes a face and tilts his head up to the sky in a show of mock exasperation, “Yes.”

“So that’s why you’ve been acting like such a crybaby,” you frown sympathetically, looping your hand beneath his arm to gently rub his bicep. “Aw,” you coo, “That’s so cute.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but his smile never leaves his face. He looks down at you. You’re wearing his hat and eating his favorite pizza. You are grinning widely and seem so amused by the unfortunate turn of his so-called ‘relationship’, touching him in that friendly and sympathetic way of yours. You think you have him all figured out...but you don’t. How would you ever know that he had broken up with Melissa last week? How could you know that he had now decided that the breakup was the perfect excuse? The perfect reason to spend more time with you? You couldn’t know and you wouldn’t know because he would never tell you.

“I thought you didn’t get heartbroken over girls.”

“I usually don’t.”

Through a mouthful of crust and melted cheese, “You must’ve really liked her then, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs, and you only halfway believe him. It’s typical of him to say something like that.

“Wanna bake cookies when we get home?”

“See, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got you to do corny shit with?” He looks down at you fondly, bumps you gently with his arm. “Maybe I should date you.”

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry anything?”

“Just hurry up and open the fucking door before my arms fall off.”

When you get the door open, after jiggling at the janky doorknob for what felt like forever, Bucky stumbles his way to the kitchen, and thrusts the brown paper bags of groceries onto the counter.

“Watch my eggs, dumbass!” you call from the other room.

“I did, they’re fine,” he lies in return.

After shedding his coat and shoes he leans against the counter and watches as you move back and forth through the kitchen, putting away groceries while simultaneously leaving out ingredients for cookies.

“You know,” you begin as you place a blue mixing bowl on the counter, “I still can’t believe you and Mar—Melissa,” you right yourself this time, “broke up. Did you break up with her or she broke up with you?”

“She broke up with me,” he lied coolly. When you turn to look at him he allows his face to drop just a little, really putting on a show. It’s hard to keep his satisfaction at bay when he sees your sympathetic expression.

“Why? What’d you do?”

His brows furrow, he mocks surprise, “Why do you assume I did something wrong?”

“Because you probably did.”

“She just said it wasn’t going to work out or something like that. I was too hurt to really listen to her.”

“That’s your problem right there,” you grab the eggs that sit just behind him on the counter and thump his forehead in passing, “You don’t fucking listen.”

“I do too.”

“Not to her you don’t.”

“I listen to you.”

“Yeah...like twenty-nine percent of the time.”

“Pretty sure it’s at least thirty-four percent, doll.”

“Either way, this isn’t about me, this is about you and Marissa.”

“Melissa.”

“Dammit, I thought I had it...Are you gonna try to win her back?” You bring the mixing bowl to the counter he leans against, so you can look at him while you mix.

“I might, I don’t know. Probably not, I think there’s someone else.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Nope.”

You lift a brow and narrow your eyes, your mixing coming to a slow halt. You hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. There is a twinkle in his eye. Who will smile first?

It’s Bucky, and his smile is like the sun. You cannot help but grin too.

“Just put the chocolate chips in, dumbass.”

You wonder if he was serious about that other girl.

You sit atop the counter after mixing in the chocolate chips, watching as Bucky rolls the sticky mixture into spheres between his hands. He drops them down onto the parchment paper covered tray with a plop.

“There’s this party I’ve got to go to for work next Friday—” he pops a bit of cookie dough into his mouth “—I was going to bring Melissa, but, uh, you know...So do you wanna come? It’s a costume party, we can do one of those couple costumes you’ve always wanted to do.”

Halloween was the holiday that the two of you looked forward to the most. It gave you both an excuse to laze around with one another and eat candy while watching scary movies. A few times you had tried to convince Bucky to actually go out to a party and get dressed up, but somehow every year he had managed to convince you to stay at home with him and watch movies all day.

“You were going to bail on me on Halloween for a costume party?”

Bucky grinned. Like an asshole. “It’s not on the actual day of Halloween, so it doesn’t count.”

“Right,” you nod skeptically. “Well how come all of the sudden you want to go to a costume party? You hate dressing up?”

“Look, doll, you wanna go or not?”

“Fine,” you huff.

“Alright,” his voice is a slow drawl as he grins triumphantly, “That’s my girl.”

thanks to all u homies for reading and being cool. if u wanna be tagged pls send me an ask

swag tags: @bambamwolf87 @princesse-de-ravenclaw @thunderous-flower

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #bucky fluff #marvel imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you

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fandomshipping · 6 years

Text

within your universe

[Summary: Silent Hill doesn’t end with the initial ordeal. But for two of its survivors, it’s a way to heal.]

When Henry Townshend awoke one morning, he was gasping for air. Pausing, he noted the sunlight from the window, kept ajar—the walls, a pastel hue of green—and the radio humming in the background, left open the night before. There was no static. He couldn’t remember what the dream was all about, or why he felt so agitated, but as soon as he got up, he pried the window wide open, just to make sure that he could.

He sighed as the breeze hit his face. The world was alive around him, and he could hear every chirp, every rev, every sound from his open window. Somehow, knowing this comforted him a little. He wonders if he should call Eileen, but it might not be a good time—she had, after all, just gotten married the week before. He sometimes thinks about what could’ve been, but there’s no time for that now. Instead, he heads to the bathroom for a shower, thinking about the strange dream. Somehow, he had a feeling that his life was about to change. And recalling the last time he felt that way unnerved him.

Today’s assignment was care of a certain Douglas Cartland, thanks to an acquaintance’s referral. He didn’t typically take these assignments. But he was a little short on funds, and the said acquaintance happened to be Frank Sunderland, so he couldn’t help but feel a little bit obligated. Fortunately, it was a dull spot session with no fancy lighting needed. Douglas said he wanted some items photographed for a report, which Henry estimates would take a good two to three hours maximum, had it not been for an unexpected guest.

She had a pleasant face, Heather Mason. She was also busy bombarding Douglas with some anecdotes about her day before noticing he was there. She came up with some choice expletives, and Douglas just chuckled, like he’d seen this happen many times before.

When they made their acquaintance, he felt a certain chill down his spine, as if she was someone familiar. Something was unsettling about it, a hazy reticence at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t think about it too much because he was suddenly dragged to the storage room, preparing for the shoot.

Wordlessly, Henry watched Heather lay down the items on the table, arranging them by shoot order. He tries to remember what his dream was about.

They stay there in silence as he takes the photos, but the girl is visibly impatient, tapping her feet and fidgeting when things get too monotonous. She tries not to take it out on him, however, and for the most part, she keeps cordial, coming up with ways to mask her boredom.

“So... you’re a photographer,” she says, and it’s apparent that she doesn’t do small talk that much. Usually, he’d brush it away—he wasn’t much of a talker, either—but they were the only people in the room, and it would’ve made things painfully awkward if he didn’t reply.

“Well, yeah,” he said, plainly.

Eventually, she pries a bit more, seizing the opportunity to keep her boredom at bay. It’s clear to him that she was the precocious type, eyes inquisitive and knowing and voice sharp and smarting. But it was endearing, in a way, and when they actually did talk about the work at hand, she was fully lucid, keeping things brief and professional.

When he holds up a familiar-looking seal, however, he notices the sad look in her eyes, as if it meant something to her.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, and she takes it and cradles it in her palm.

“Just some janky cult,” she says, voice soft. But there’s rancor in her eyes, as if the cult had taken something valuable from her.

He’s waiting for her, counting the minutes since her last phone call. Cheryl, he thinks, They’re here. They’ve found us. Please don’t come home so soon.

The memory—if he could call it that—feels so raw and vivid that he almost drops his camera.

“Hey, are you alright?” Heather asks, and he looks at her, painfully, like he’s seen her for the first time. My darling. My baby girl. My Cheryl.

“I’m... fine,” he says, maintaining composure. “I guess I just got a little light-headed.”

“I’ll get some water,” she says, urgently. Before she turns to leave the room, however, Henry calls out to her, without really knowing why.

“Heather,” he says, and she turns around like a gracious host.

“Yeah?”

“Have we,” he says, trying to eke out the words out of his mouth. “... have we met before?”

The conversation after that turns his three-hour maximum into five.

He sees her again a few days after he dropped off the prints. He doesn’t know how she found him, but she’s trying to play it cool, trying to not make a scene. Their eyes meet, and she sits across from him, macchiato in hand.

“Hey,” she says, like everything's perfectly fine. Henry’s pretty sure everything isn’t, because the last time they met she had stomped out of the storage room and Douglas politely asked him to leave. He nonetheless greets her back, and she’s fiddling with the cup before taking a sip out of it.

“So... how have you been?” she says, and at this point, he knows this is probably her way of apologizing.

“Um, fine, I guess?” he replies. “You?”

“Good. Uh, very good.”

The silence is awkward and deafening and heavy.

“So, um, about last week...”

“Yeah?”

She fiddles with the cup again, nervousness notwithstanding. Suddenly, she bursts, and the words spill out of her mouth and stumble over each other

“I’m super sorry I freaked out,” she said. “It’s just... you know? My dad’s kinda a touchy topic, since... you know...”

She gestures wildly as she rambles on, and Henry finds it cute, if not a little sad. Because if what she says is true, then the fact of Harry Mason’s death is a trauma she could never entirely escape from.

“Hey, it’s fine, really,” he says, in his usual soft-spoken way, giving her a small half-smile.

At this point, she’s hiding in her hair, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yeah?” she says, looking through her bangs.

“Yeah.”

“Well, sorry again for last time,” she says, picking up her posture. “It’s just... it’s been years since he died, and I thought I would’ve been over it by now. I guess I wasn’t.”

“I guess not.”

Death never felt as nice as knowing she’d still have her chance at life.

“But he’s happy, you know?”

She snorted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. That you’re alive. Safe.”

A few tears managed to stray from her eyes, which she flicked instantly. She gave a mangled chuckle. “Well, that’s dad for you.”

It’s nice to see Heather feel better, he thinks to himself, noting the curve of her smile and how her eyes dance beyond the tears. It somehow calms the nagging behind his head, something that extends beyond his previous night’s nightmare.

“And what about you?” she says, suddenly, and he finds himself at a loss for words again.

“... me?”

“Yeah,” she said, spunk coming through her words. “Frank said you were quite the tenant back in South Ashfield.”

Chains. Blood on the wall, Walter’s crucified corpse. “He did?” Henry says, stuttering a bit. “How do you guys know Frank?”

“That’s mostly Douglas, actually. Some years ago he was hired to look for Frank’s son and daughter-in-law in Silent Hill.”

Right, he heard about that. “Did he ever find them?”

“Well,” she said, eyes shifting.”He did, eventually. I helped him a bit with the investigation.”

“And?”

“We kinda found their car at the bottom of Toluca Lake.”

“Oh,” said Henry, and for a while they remained silent, sipping their drinks in between.

“Well,” he said again. “It’s good to know Frank doesn’t have to wonder anymore. He was a pretty nice guy.”

“Yeah,” she echoed. “I guess so.”

Another round of silence. Henry wonders if this was always the case when it came to talking to her, but he reckoned it was just him. He suddenly hears a muffled ringtone, and Heather takes her phone out of her bag, quirking her lip. “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” she says, grabbing the macchiato and waving her fingers at him. “See you when I see you!”

“Um, bye,” he muttered, close to a whisper, before watching her walk away. As she leaves, he wonders if they’ll meet again.

He somehow hopes they do.

He gets another assignment from Douglas. This time, he meets him at a convenience store where a robbery took place. He also sees Heather again, looking a little tired.

He too felt a little sleepy, in no small part thanks to today’s nightmare. In the days following the Walter incident, they were always so hazy, an unnamed terror that eluded definition. Now, they were clear as day, eking into his senses as if he had lived them.

She’s in the backseat, but he doesn’t know for how long, exactly. Maybe days. Maybe years. All he knows is that a life without her is a life not worth living.

He could see the lake amidst the setting sun. It’s absolutely breathtaking, a sight she would’ve loved. But she can’t see it now, and it’s all his fault, but at least it’s a beautiful place to die.

Eventually, he readies the stick, readies his acceleration. He closes his eyes right before they hit the water.

“Hello there, the angel from my nightmare,” comes a voice, and it’s Heather, smiling cheekily. She’s cupping a cup of hot coffee and handing it to him, yawning as she does so. “Here. You might need this.”

“Thanks,” he says with a smile, taking up the coffee. It’s surprisingly okay for convenience store coffee, and he sips it with gusto. Henry wonders if he should tell Heather about his latest nightmare, or if he should keep it for later, but then Douglas calls him and gives him a brief and before long he’s taking photos everywhere.

In the background, he could hear the older man converse with the store manager, asking questions about the crime scene. Heather’s there too, keeping tabs, sometimes wandering around the store taking notes. When their eyes meet, however, she gives him a playful wink—and suddenly he’s out of breath, and he doesn’t know why.

Henry tries not to show how flustered he is as he moves to the next location. He starts to negotiate with himself—maybe he should tell Heather about the dream, he’s told her the one before—but in the middle of his worrying Douglas taps him on the shoulder, asking if he’s done taking pictures. When he stutters a yes, he notices Heather chuckling at how startled he is, and relaxes himself a bit.

As they prepare to leave, she nudges him in the ribs. “You doing anything later?”

He briefly looks at his watch. It’s 11:21 in the evening.

“No...?”

“Wanna go to the cemetery with me?”

It was a strange request, but he’s seen stranger things, and somehow going to a cemetery with a new acquaintance seemed better than waiting for a new nightmare to come.

He says yes, and Heather makes a short fist pump while trying to contain her enthusiasm.

Harry Mason’s grave is a little hard to spot, but Heather breezes through like clockwork, knowing exactly where to go. She moves so fast that Henry sometimes stops to catch his breath, a little exhausted.

When he arrives at the grave, she’s already sitting down, patting the patch of grass next to her. “This is dad,” she says, voice in a little singsong before motioning for him to sit. He does so a little cautiously, stumbling as he wills his creaky limbs to move.

“Hey dad! This is Henry, he’s a photographer,” she says to the gravestone, smiling. “Remember how you were looking for a photographer for your new book? Too bad we didn’t meet him then, huh?”

He’s a little confused but understands it’s her own personal ritual, a way to cope with her father’s death. “New book?” he asks, and she gives him a smile.

“Yeah! Dad was this big crime novelist before he...” she says, the smile disappearing. He could hear the rustling of leaves, the incoming breeze.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” she says, sitting up again. “But how about you? You never did answer me back at the café.”

“Me?” he says. “There’s nothing really... much to be said...”

She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Oh, come on! Silent, reserved type with a mysterious past? I’m pretty sure you’ve got some stories to tell.”

He rubbed his shoulder a bit. “Really, I’m not that interesting of a person.”

Her eyes held an impish glint. “I don’t believe you.”

He sighed, looking at the landscape. The cemetery looked beautiful under the blue light, the moon.

“Well, I...” he started. “There was that one time. I was locked in my apartment, and I didn’t know why.”

“Yeah, Frank told us about that one, ” Heather said, resting her chin on her knees. “Did you try calling a locksmith or something?”

“No, I mean...” Damn, why was it so hard for him to speak? “It was a little more than that. There were chains on the wall, and nobody could hear me when I called for help.”

This time Heather kept silent, entranced.

“Then there was this hole... it kept getting bigger and bigger, and every time I entered it, I was in a strange world, like our world but different.”

“Different?” Heather said.

“Yeah. Dirtier, and a little rusty. There were monsters there. I saw people getting killed,” he continued, feeling his heart beat a little faster. Why was he feeling this way? It's been years, hasn’t it? “And there was this guy, Walter Sullivan. He... he was the one killing people. He was trying to complete this ritual so he could get to his mother.”

“The 21 Sacraments,” she said, gasping. He looked at her in astonishment.

“How did you know?”

“It’s... kinda a weird story,” she said, cupping her cheek in her hand. “But then you have your own weird story, so I guess it’s fair if I tell you mine. Well,” she continued, sighing. “Remember the janky cult I was talking about? There was a girl there, once—her mother was the high priestess of one of its sects, who believed that God would come through a heavenly birth. But there’s another sect that apparently believed that God would come through a sacred ritual. I think your guy comes from the latter.”

“I see,” Henry said. “But what does any of this have to do with you?”

“You won’t believe me, but,” she said, hugging her legs. “I was the girl, once. Or at least, a part of her. So sometimes I remember the things she’s seen, the things she experienced.” She turned to look at him. “Does that make sense?”

It did, strangely enough. Henry still couldn’t wrap his head around everything that’s happened, or why it had to happen to them in the first place, but for now it was enough to understand. To know neither of them were going crazy.

“Yeah, it does,” he said, and she smiles.

“Thanks,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “And yours... yours makes complete sense too. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into silence once more, but this time it’s the pleasant type, a kind of unspoken understanding. Rain eventually came to the cemetery, making the tombstones glisten in the moonlight.

They then found themselves walking in the drizzle, flashlights in hand, talking a little more about their experiences. Sometimes Henry finds himself a bit conscious of how he speaks, hoping he doesn’t slip up, but Heather doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she’s listening, nodding, helping him out with the tricky parts.

Eventually, they hitch a ride with a late-night morgue driver when the rainfall got too intense. He called himself Travis, and when Heather saw him, she held an odd look of astonishment and wistfulness. He said he drives hearses when he doesn’t have truck assignments. Sometimes he has the craziest dreams. But he’s charming enough to trust, and Heather seems to get a kick out of his jokes, so Henry tries to relax in the man’s presence.

“So you’ve got bad dreams too, boy?” Travis asks him, and Henry just nods, a little shyly. The trucker laughs.

“Yep, they’re a dime a dozen, those dreams. You should hear about the one last night,” Travis says, making a turn. “Crazy, I tell you. Dreamt I was locked up in this apartment and some Kurt Cobain look-alike was trying to kill me. Weird, innit?”

The two paused, sharing a look. “An apartment?” Heather asks.

“Yeah. With all those chains and shit. But hey, they’re just dreams. I’ve heard somewhere they’re actually parts of your subconscious trying to tell you something,” said Travis. He chuckled. “Maybe I just don’t like Nirvana.”

Heather gave the trucker a responsive smile, before looking over to Henry. She finds him staring out the window.

“Yeah, just a dream,” he muttered.

It’s been some time since he last heard from Douglas—Heather told him he’d been busy working on an exposé of some sort—so, for the most part, he’d been staying at home, developing pictures in his own personal darkroom. Every now and then he’d be called to do some fashion shoots, but they were few and away, usually taking one day every two weeks before he had time to develop them. Fortunately, they paid well, so he didn’t have to worry too much about his budget.

The only problem was that the extended resting period often brought the nightmares back again. Eventually, Henry found himself once more in fits of listless sleep, haunted by specters he couldn’t comprehend.

It’s also given him terrible bouts of panic attacks, palpitations in the middle of the night that just won’t go. He considers seeing a shrink, but he’s not so sure if his budget would allow him—he had three more payments to make that week alone.

The thought of it just suffocates him further.

It’s in the middle of this paralyzing stupor that he hears his doorbell ring, which jolts him up a bit. Maybe he should ignore it? He looks at his clock and raises an eyebrow. Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?

He eventually hears the door open, and he starts getting goosebumps, breaths becoming more ragged and shallow. He wonders if it’s Room 302 all over again, if Walter isn’t actually dead, if the figure happens to be him waiting to kill him out of spite and revenge. But that would mean he got Eileen, and oh god, what if he got Eileen—

“Henry?” came a voice, and his breaths began to relax a bit. “Open up, it’s Heather. Sorry if it’s super late, but Douglas wanted me to give you something, so I hope you don’t mind...”

Shivering, he takes a shaky hand and pushes his bangs out of his eyes, trying to breathe a little easier. He finds that it’s a lot harder than it seems, and eventually he’s still heaving as he opens the door to the blonde woman.

“Hey, Heather,” he says, in between breaths. “I... wasn’t expecting you...”

She notices this and immediately looks concerned. “Hey, what’s up? You don’t look too good.”

“N-Nightmares,” he says, barely pulling out the words from his mouth. Heather holds his shoulder and guides him to the bed, turning back to the door.

“I’ll get some water,” she says, but as she’s about to leave he grabs her wrist, almost pleadingly.

“No, please,” he says, and he’s wondering why he’s so agitated, so on edge. He’s expecting a sharp reply from her, but instead, Heather holds his hand, smiling reassuringly.

“Alright, I’ll stay here. Do you want me to sit beside you?”

He can’t say it directly, so he nods instead, muscles rigid and stiff. Heather helps him lie down and sits beside him, back against the headboard and fingers folded into her lap.

He turns away from her as a little private courtesy, but he still shivers, still breathes doggedly. The room feels colder than he knows it to be, and he wonders if it’s all part of his attack or if he’s being haunted by the past.

He hears her slide down the headboard until she’s lying down, turning to him gently. “Henry?” she says.

It takes a while before he could manage a reply. “Yeah?”

“Do you need a hug?”

He feels himself retreat into himself, growing smaller, curling tighter. It’s weird enough to have Heather here, on his bed, at such an odd hour. But his ragged breath makes it hard to breathe, and everything feels unreal, and perhaps some human warmth wouldn’t hurt him one bit.

He nods from where he’s at, and Heather reaches out to him, sliding her arms around his torso in a soft embrace.

He feels a bit of relief, feeling her forehead on his nape and how close she is. A thought agitates him once more, however—in his wildest imaginings she turns into Walter, Walter with his arms around his throat, Walter ready to gouge his eyes out—

Immediately he turns to face her, and she’s there, she’s real; he could tell by the freckles on her face and her hazel eyes. They lock eyes momentarily, and Heather could tell how scared he is, how deep Room 302 had scarred him. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, this Henry Townshend. He never meant for it to happen. And for such a solitary individual, it must’ve been hard keeping all of those demons to himself.

She lets him lean into her shoulder, keeping her arms as light as possible. She makes sure he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating, like he could hallucinate Walter Sullivan at any given moment. She feels his arms limp, hanging on either side of him, unsure of what to do. “You can touch me, Henry,” she says, reassuringly, and he freezes a bit at the suggestion.

Should he? Would he? What was he afraid of, anyway? Perhaps he had been so deprived of contact for so long that he couldn’t entirely trust himself with it. Maybe he was unsure of whether it was what he needed.

But eventually, he lets himself hug her back, arms clumsily finding their way around her body. He tries to breathe a bit more, his erratic breaths against her shoulder, and closes his eyes. Perhaps this time he’ll be able to sleep. Maybe he’ll finally wake up from this living nightmare.

Heather holds him until the break of dawn.

She finds him at the café, a different one this time, and Henry wonders how she manages to see him at the right time. But then again, he was a predictable person, and Heather had been helping with Douglas’ investigations for quite some time.

She notices that he’s a little worse for wear, dark circles sinking into his sockets.

“Hey,” she says, and Henry looks at her slowly, as if in a daze.

“Hey,” he says, a little softer than usual. Heather notices the three empty coffee cups right next to him.

“You know,” she says, sitting down and grabbing one of the cups. “If you keep this up you’re never going to sleep.”

“That’s okay,” he says, still dazed and disoriented. “It's not like I really want to, anyway.”

She folds her hands and rests her chin on them. “Nightmares again?”

He yawns and rubs an eye. “Yeah. Kinda. I don’t... I don’t think I can stay alone in my apartment for too long.”

They stare down for a moment, neither one saying a word.

“That Travis guy,” Henry starts, breaking the ice. “Did you know him?”

“Hm?” Heather says, looking up to meet his eyes. They look so glossy, almost like he’s dreaming. “Yeah. In a way. He saved me from burning to death.”

“As Alessa?”

“Yeah."

“So he knows about Silent Hill?” he asks, extending vowels in between words.

“I guess? I think I—well, she—was guiding him then. Back when she was trying to prevent the first attempt to birth the god.”

“I guess that’s how he knows about the room,” Henry said, placing his elbows on the table. Groaning, he rested his head on his arms and ran his fingers through his hair, slightly tugging on the roots.

Heather looks at him in concern. “It must be getting to you really bad.”

He groaned again in response, and for a moment they sat there in silence. “I sometimes wonder if it’s the nightmares,” Henry said, softly. “Or if it’s the fact that I can’t seem to move on from them.”

“Hey,” Heather says, a little forcefully. “Don’t put yourself down like that.”

Henry sighed, resting his cheek on the table. “But it’s true. You’re okay. Travis is okay. I feel like I’m the only one who can’t move past this. And I don’t know why.”

“Henry...” she starts, although the words seem to fumble in her mouth. She isn’t sure what to say exactly—besides Douglas, she’s never really been in a place to comfort another survivor this way. And Douglas being Douglas, he didn’t really count, either.

“I guess we just process things differently, you know? Like, for the most part, I was just really pissed when everything happened... happened. And Travis might look okay, but even I don’t know what he went through after he saved me,” she said, reassuringly.

He continued to bury his face into his arms. Heather wonders if he’s sleeping, but at that point, it’s apparent they’re at a standstill.

“I watched them die.”

She pressed her lips together. “Don’t say that,” she said, weakly.

“Not just them, though. The others. Your dad. Frank’s son.” He looked up at her from his resting position, and she could see the red veins reaching across his sclera. “Did I tell you about that? I dreamt of James the other night. Right before he killed himself.”

She kept silent, feeling a little helpless as she observed him further.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”

They just looked at each other in silence for a while. Henry exhaled, sharply. “It’s fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I guess there’s nothing that can be done, anyway.”

“Hey, now that just hurts my feelings,” Heather said, attempting a smile. “I was the Holy Mother for a while, after all. It’s an insult to my sacredness.”

Henry then paused for a moment, taking in words slowly. He felt his mouth quirk on impulse, chuckling softly as he ran his fingers through his bangs. “Right,” he said, looking a little lighter than he was a while ago. “I keep forgetting. Twice reincarnated.”

“And a saint,” she said, folding her arms in mock condescension. “Bitches from Silent Hill grovel at my feet.”

He’s smiling a bit more now, and she’s glad, really, because she didn’t think she’d see him as jovial as he did in the short period they’ve known each other.

“Though, honestly,” she says, folding her fingers on the table and leaning a little closer to him. “I get scared sometimes, too. Like, every now and then I feel like someone’s watching me, and it’s fucking terrifying. I sometimes worry I’ll just wake up one morning and see a creepy-ass letter from Stanley Coleman.” She reached out to touch his arm reassuringly. “So you’re not alone in this, okay?”

There’s a glint of hope in his eyes, and she finds it pretty—real pretty—though she reserves the thought in case it turns into something more.

“Okay,” he says, and despite his disheveled self there seems to be a weight off his shoulders. “Thank you, Heather.” Then, a little quietly, “And, you know. For two nights ago.”

She smiled back. “No biggie. And,” she added. “You can call me Cheryl."

A pause.

“I think I might need to find somewhere else to live,” said Henry. Heather let herself laugh.

“You sure do.”

There’s something uncanny about seeing the walls bare, thinks Henry. He’s not entirely sure if it’s the hue or the fact that he’d been used to seeing them strewn with pictures, but seeing them barren felt bittersweet. And necessary.

Sighing, he bent to pick another box off the floor, contents peeking out of the flaps. It’s the Crimson Tome, and it’s funny how some time ago he couldn’t spare so much a glance at its direction. Slowly, however, it’s beginning to feel more like a part of him, and he thinks he should just allow it.

There are a few more boxes left over, but at least he has help this time. He meets Heather—or Cheryl, rather—at the lobby, bringing a pushcart. She spies the tome as he carries the box.

“Ooh,” she says, fascinated. “So that’s the tome, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she pulls it out swiftly, thumbing through the pages.

“But this isn’t part of God’s will! It’s heretical,” she says, affecting Claudia’s voice and pointing upward. He laughs in spite of himself, and noting this accomplishment, Heather smiles and closes the book, placing it back into the box. “Douglas is going to have a field day if you give that to him, though.”

He nodded. Apparently, the exposé Douglas had been working hard on was about the Order.

“Douglas isn’t coming today?” Henry asks.

“Nah, still busy with the thing. Also, he’s been complaining about his back since yesterday, so I doubt he’ll be able to help out with the moving.”

“You sure he won’t mind?”

Heather smiled, giving him a light punch to the shoulder. “Come on, we’ve discussed this already! You’re totally welcome with us. Plus, we kinda need someone to split the rent with,” she says, a little coyly. “Also, the moving van’s here. Guess who’s driving.”

Before he could respond, they’re right next to the van, with a smiling Travis Grady at the driver’s seat.

“Travis,” he said, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

The trucker chuckled. “Serendipity called, I guess. And I owe you an apology,” he said. “Frank told me about what happened. I guess the Nirvana joke wasn’t as funny as I thought it’d be.”

Henry gave him a small smile. “It’s fine, really,” he said, leading with a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t know you and Frank were acquainted, though.”

“Boy, in my line of work, you get to meet all kinds of people,” he said in good nature.

“You got any boxes left to pack, Henry?” came Heather, arms wrapped around another box. She loads it into the van, emptying the pushcart before dusting her hands on her pants.

“Just a few more in the room,” he said. He turned to Travis. “Sorry. I’ve got to— “

Travis dismissed him with the wave of a hand. “Say no more, son. Can’t keep a lady waiting.”

“Henry!”

“Coming,” he said, giving the trucker a nod and heading to where Heather was.

Before he brought down the last of the boxes, he gave the room one last look, gazing at its hollow glory. He still remembers the time he boarded out Room 302 —that tingling sensation as he packed, answering baffled questions from the police and Frank as they searched the storeroom—and wonders what’s changed. The pastel room, after all, had been home to a number of nightmares as well, although they were not as crazy as his ordeal with Walter.

But that wasn’t it, however. There was something else, something in the air, in the atmosphere. Or maybe it was something in himself. Nonetheless, as Henry loaded the rest of his things into the van—boarding along with Heather and Travis, who were already making light banter—he felt, for the first time in a long time, that things were finally normal.

[A/N: I was initially planning to post this after completing The Hydra, but it seems like all my edits were being digested the longer I kept this as a draft, so... here ya go lol! Looking to finish the last of The Hydra saga next, but for now enjoy this little ficlet~]

#silent hill #silent hill 3 #silent hill 4 #sh3 #sh4 #henry townshend #heather mason #cheryl mason #cheryl heather mason #henry/heather #heather/henry #douglas cartland #travis grady #silent hill fanfiction #silent hill fanfic #heather mason fanfiction #heather mason fanfic #henry townshend fanfiction #henry townshend fanfic

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homogrimoire-archive · 3 years

Text

The Remnant Branches

CH. 4 - There Isn't Anything Sweeter Than Revenge, or Love

Part 1: Hazel and Gretel

Hazel happens upon a former guardian of book known as Grimoire Weiss, the one that survived anyways. The two have much in common, and embark on a mission of revenge born from an incredible power. However, that same power threatens their retribution. That power is one they must hold onto no matter what.

AO3 Link

Hazel felt himself land flat on his back after having fell about three feet from the ground. Not the best way to start a mission, but, there had been worse starts to a mission. He got up, rubbing his back as he did so. In front of him was an imposing door. Behind him was a destroyed bridge with an even more imposing drop. With nowhere else to go, he pushed open the doors and entered the structure.

The structure was a building that very clearly managed to withstand the passage of time. It was in a great state of decay, but would surely hold up for the time being. As he drew closer to the center, he was amazed at its beauty. Light filtered down from above, providing specks of warmth in the cold concrete enclosure. A large tree, centuries, maybe even millennia old, stood in the center and rose to the heights of the structure. It would be a nice place to reflect and rest, if not for the shadows shifting about.

So these are shades.

He readied his fists and prepared to fight. There appeared to be about five surrounding him. Three of them wore armor and bore weapons. According to Salem’s information, they appeared to be violent by default. The other two were bare, having nothing but their dark, glowing form to protect them. Before they could swing their weapons, he lunged for the two defenseless shades and grabbed them. With a quick spin, he threw the two of them at the armored shades. Only one was able to dodge the attack.

While the naked shades dissolved and the two that were hit remained stunned, the undamaged one went in for an attack, jumping at the man. Hazel quickly side stepped to dodge the attack and brought a fist down onto the back of the monster, slamming it to the ground with a resonating echo. Despite having lost three comrades in a mere moment, the remaining two were not deterred, to Hazel’s dismay. But, if they wanted to fight, they would get a fight. Together, they slashed at him, but hit only the air. Hazel decided to take his time to note the way they fought.

They tended to remain idle, holding their shields, and were slow fighters. Their movements were easily predictable. They would hop in the air before a jump attack, they would wind up before unleashing a slash of their sword. Such simple fighting would be of little use, so Hazel decided to finish them. With a swift punch, he hit a shade in the chest area, leaving a dent in the armor. It flew all the way until it hit a wall, slowly slumping to the ground as it faded from existence. Even their armor was weak.

The other backed off at this attack. Alone, it paced around Hazel, waiting for his move. It got impatient, and prepared to unleash a jump attack. Before the blade could even connect, Hazel grabbed the sword arm, stopping the shade mid jump to leave it dangling. He brought up his free fist, and brought it down into its unprotected face, sending the monster to its demise. He recoiled as it connected. It felt vaguely reminiscent of aura shattering. This was new information.

“Do these things have souls?” he wondered to himself. He brought up his hand, and saw blood on it. This was expected. For some unknown reason, these monsters bled.

A scan of the floor revealed nothing new, so he headed up the staircase. To another set of shades. Hazel let out a tired sigh. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at them as they stared back.

“Hmm...” Maybe I can just… run past them? So, that's just what he did. He ran straight past them, right through the line they formed. They tried to chase after him, but with their janky movements, they abandoned the chase after a moment. The fact that such a tactic worked astonished him. He continued his ascent through the broken and blissfully beautiful structure, passing by the weak shades who failed miserably at trying to chase him down.

Soon, he arrived at a door that led to a walkway outside. As he reached the roof, he was met with an incredible view. The ever-present sun shone above, its warmth making the outside a truly perfect place to rest and relax. Mist swirled far below, leaving a clear sky above. It was a place Gretchen would have loved. He sat down, his legs hanging off the edge, and looked into the distance. He sat there, listening to the wind pass, the water below sway, and the rustle of plant life, just as she would have done.

Hazel doesn’t know how long he sat there. The sun barely moves, so it’s hard to get a grip on the passage of time. According to the countdown on his scroll, its been half a day since he arrived, leaving six and a half days left in the expedition until it ended.

Deciding that he spent enough time in repose, he continued onto the roof, which had definitely seen better days as well. Shrubs and wild plants grew out of cracks, metal rods jutted out of concrete, and in some spots, the roof had collapsed, exposing the interior of the structure. Not to mention that the decay turned it into a maze. Hazel knew he was a big guy, so he tread forward with care. For all he knew, the ground beneath him could give away. Thankfully, such a scenario didn’t happen. It would have been a real pain to have to climb all the way back up.

After exploring what seemed like every corner of the roof twice, Hazel finally found a door, and beside it… “A letter box?” A quick examination of it yielded nothing. However, he started to notice shades beginning to form, and quickly opened the door and entered it. No reason to fight them if he didn’t have to. He let out a sigh of relief as the door shut with a loud echo. However, his relief was short-lived. A crash from above came from the other side of the long room.

A large metal beast with glowing red eyes roared at him. In its remaining arm was a beautiful, large, and deadly looking lance. Its terrifying face took up most of its body. Two tusks jutted from its lower set of teeth and two horns adorned the top of its head, its left one broken. This looked nothing like a typical shade, but it spoke like one.

I will not let you hurt them, vile vessel! It shouted in its unknown tongue. It held out its weapon in front of it, ready to fight, it appeared. Hazel would much prefer the shades outside as enemies, but this enemy could reveal some valuable information on shades, so he entered a fighting stance and slowly but cautiously advanced towards it. This enemy, however, was not slow by any means, despite being somewhat clunky in its bulky movements.

A heavy downward slash of its weapon caused the ground in front of it to ripple upwards into dangerous spikes, but the attack was dodged easily. Hazel moved in for the counter attack and struck its back with great force. However, the shade was unphased, and the armor undented. It felt as if it were reinforced with aura. Hazel quickly dashed away, surprised. Impossible! These things shouldn’t have an aura! He was caught off guard and was barely able to dodge a slash at his torso.

Now a more comfortable distance from the beast, Hazel studied it more. This thing had been a major fight before. What could have caused such damage? He wondered. It was certainly something much stronger than him, in one way or another. He saw it gear up to throw it’s weapon at him, and prepared himself, keeping his eyes on the weapon. At just the right moment, he hit the weapon’s length, disrupting its flow, and allowing himself to catch it. If he could not dent it, maybe its own weapon could. With the large weapon in hand, he faced the monster

How dare you!? That is my brother’s weapon! My brother’s! You will pay for even touching Hansel’s weapon! Gretel wailed. You will perish! With a roar, she summoned her weapon, and began her vicious spinning attack. She moved faster than Hazel anticipated, and he was knocked back against a wall when Gretel struck him. She continued her attack, crossing the room in mere seconds and bouncing from wall to wall like a kid in a sugar rush. This time, Hazel was more prepared and was able to brace himself with the weapon. Each time she struck, he was sent backwards, all the way until he was cornered. She stopped just in front of him, blocking any path of escape.

Now you will perish, vile vessel! She slashed her weapon, but Hazel blocked it with the weapon he had caught. Gretel pushed against him with all her might, trying to impale him with the weapon’s spikes. Even with a single arm, she was overpowering him enough to be right in his face. Desperate, and aura focused on his body, he placed his hand on the metal beast to try and push it back.

“That will─ !” She jumped back in surprise while Hazel also stood there, shocked. You are no replicant. You have a soul! A dozen small shades jumped down from above and landed near Gretel.

Do you know what this means? said one.

We’ll have our bodies back soon! exclaimed another.

We’re finally going to be able to feel the sunshine again! cried a third.

But why was he reunified before you, Gretel? You’re a high priority.

Maybe he was some rich dude who paid his way to the top of the list.

Does he look rich to you? The small shades looked at him, and turned back to each other.

No, he really doesn’t.

When we get our bodies back, please don’t let me end up dressed like him.

While the smaller shades talked amongst themselves, Gretel approached Hazel, who had just sunk down and listened to the odd conversation, thankful the fight was over. She held out her hand, and Hazel took it as she helped him up. Hazel felt a weird wave of energy run through him, giving him a chill that ran through his body. She let go, and they stared at each other.

“My codename is Gretel, though it's been so long I've forgotten my real name, so Gretel will do. And your name is?”

“Hazel.”

“Hazel, you bring good news I assume, being one of the first Gestalts to successfully reunite with their Replicant.”

“What?”

“What?? Did you hit your head? Or perhaps the process was not as successful as thought...”

“Uhh, I’m not from here. I’m from another world.” he told her blandly. Gretel only stared at him. A moment passed.

“I suppose that makes sense. You wouldn’t be the first to come from another world. Although last time, it did not go so well.” Hazel could only be confused as she said that. “It’s a long story.”

“Does it involve magic and you shades?” he asked.

“Yes, actually.”

“Then I have time for it.”

“If you say so. Get comfortable.” She went on to explain the incident at Tokyo with the red dragon that brought magic and the beast that brought WCS, what she knew about Project Gestalt, and some of the problems that were arising with the Project. By the time she finished that, the rest of the day had passed and the small, incomplete shades had since left, leaving Gretel and Hazel alone.

“Me and my brother, Hansel, were brought here by the Leckermaul Organization. As children are more receptive to magic, they had trained since we were young to fight the Legion. Me and my brother were so well skilled, that we were given the task to guard Grimoire Weiss. As payment, they were given high priority in Project Gestalt. We were grateful, but what mattered was that we were together. As long as we had each other, we would be alright. We were the only family we had left after all. For so long, we upheld our duty.“ Her tone shifted. It was much angrier than before. “And then one day, a Replicant wanders in here, a young boy at that, and has Grimoire Weiss betray us! And kills my brother!” She was visibly shaking with rage and sadness, and Hazel knew the feeling all too well.

“I get how you feel. I lost my sister, Gretchen. Only real family I had. She was a child then, and was on a mission to hunt the monsters of our world, Grimm. And she didn’t come back. She was failed, and I will avenge her.” The same rage and sadness consumed him, evident in his voice.

“I had thought of revenge too. At first I was depressed. and then I desired revenge. I thought that if I lived to avenge Hansel, I would still be able to live for him just as I did before. But, I ran into the smaller shades you saw earlier, and learned that love is a better thing to live for than revenge.”

“Hmm. To each their own.”

“What do you intend to do with your life once you get your revenge then?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Would your sister want you to say that? Would she want you to live for revenge, or for love?” Anger and realization struck Hazel. He wanted to argue with Gretel with that, but knew she understood him, and knew the answer to that.

“Wouldn’t your brother want you to avenge him?!” he deflected.

“Yes, he would. But I know he would want me to live on and be happy above all else. My revenge would be a suicide mission, so I can’t let him down and throw my life away.”

“Sorry for shouting.” Hazel apologized. She meant no harm.

“I understand.” she said calmly. Hazel took some comfort in the fact that he knew she did understand. They sat there in the quiet until Gretel broke the silence.

“Hansel and Gretel, Hazel and Gretchen, a funny coincidence that our names are similar, hmm?”

“Yeah, that is kind of funny, like fate or something.”

“Fate or not, I am glad. It was nice to talk with someone who understands.”

“I’ll agree with you there.” Hazel said, but turned his head down to think for a moment. “Hey, can you tell me about Hansel?”

“I would love to.” she said. “We were always together, for practically everything. We were twins after all, with me being the older one. He always called me an old lady for that.” she laughed. “He was loud, definitely loud,” she said reminiscently, “but always happy. He never failed to cheer me up or make me smile. I always thought he was too good for his own good. He could have stood to be tougher considering our line of work, but he wouldn’t be Hansel if he were tough as nails. The only thing he ever got serious over was sweets. All the other children knew not to mess with his sweets. Only two people had to learn that the hard way, me and Mrs. Leckermaul, a hag of a lady. He started the rumor that she killed her husband and ate him. And she started the Leckermaul Organization so she could eat children. She was actually convicted of cannibalism. Officially, she died because she tripped and fell into her oven and couldn’t get out. But if you ask me, she just had a little push in the direction she deserved.” Her implication that she killed the hag was not unnoticed.

“Sounds like you two lived quite the life.”

“That, we did. I was just happy we had each other. So, care to tell me about your sister? I’m sure you two lived an eventful life.”

“Surprisingly, our life was kind of boring. At least, it would have been more boring if it weren’t for her. Gretchen actually kind of reminds me of Hansel. She was also my younger twin, always happy and always making me happy. she always knew when we needed some time to relax. We grew up in an orphanage and moved into an academy when we got the chance. There, we learned how to hunt grimm, and we made our own weapons. To everyone's surprise, she made a regular old gun. Most people expected a war hammer-gun, or a sword-gun, or even a Scissor-gun or something equally flashy and loud to match her demeanor.”

“I take it your world likes making other weapons into guns.” She said as she studied her weapon. “Such innovations would have made my job a lot easier.”

“Yeah. I guess so. All the advancements in weaponry in the world can do so much though.” he said, and Gretel thought back to the child that bested her and her brother.

“I suppose you’re right.” another moment of silence.

“Have you…” Hazel hesitated, “ever thought about just ending your life, to join them?” Hazel asked.

“No, I haven't. Have you?”

“No. I─ I just wondered. I was told by a lot of people that I might feel like that, but I didn’t. I always thought that made me a bad brother, in a sense.”

“Like you didn’t love them enough to want to be with them even in death? You aren't a bad sibling for feeling that way. We’re similar, you and I. We have immense will, a will to live and survive, no matter what. We will see our will though, to the very last thread of life we have.” Just then, a loud sound echoed through the shrine.

“What was that?” Hazel asked, on edge from the booming noise.

“Someone is here.”

“I’ll go and check it out.” Hazel said. He knew he wasn’t the best scout on account of how large he was, but he would be better at it than Gretel at least.

“No, I’ll have my friends see to it. They will be much better at it than you, or me for that matter.”

“Hm." he hummed in agreement. With that, she sent out her friends to scout on the intruders. “Any idea who it might be?” he asked once they left.

“I think.” she said. “It could be the boy who killed my brother five years ago. I heard he’s been going around with an odd group, slaughtering Gestalts without remorse or reason.”

“Someone like him isn't worthy of life.” Hazel growled.

“Gretel! It’s him! He’s here! He looks older, but I know it’s him! He still has Grimoire Weiss too!” shouted a small shade that popped up out of nowhere.

“There’s also some lanky man with them. He’s got on a cape and mean face.” added another shade.

“He is kinda hot though.” said another shade.

“Qrow…” Hazel said quietly.

“Yeah, sure, his hair was black like a crow’s.” said another that popped up by his leg, catching Hazel by surprise.

“Gretel, I say we take the fight to them. We have the element of surprise.”

“I can’t.” She said.

“Why?!” Hazel demanded. “You can have your revenge! I'm make sure you live on, just as your brother wanted!”

“I admire the gesture, but... I can’t leave this room. My armor is bound to this room, and without it, I won’t be able to do much.”

“Dammit! Isn’t there another way then?” He pleaded. “You deserve your revenge!”

“There is one…” she said, wondering if it was even worth mentioning.

#Hazel Rainart #Gretel (NieR)#rwby #Nier #The Remnant Branches #There Isn't Anything Sweeter Than Love or Revenge #3.3k words #Here we are!#A fic i really really liked writing #oh yeah back to this format for this series #mostly because i liked hazel's chapter and the part titles

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