#was searching for a quote to possibly add and i just fell in love with her again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asset35-maya · 3 years

Text

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

#tw: alcholism #reed900 #happy ending #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #dbh #my writing #my work #long post

165 notes · View notes

caratmagic · 3 years

Text

—jung wooyoung—

contains: arguing, pretty offensive words, explicit content

word count: 2.3k

mika's blog🌻 @marigold-sunflowers & yale's blog🦋 @yateez

🌻taglist🦋: @nikkell @yunsangoveryonder @sunwooyoung @hwanderlands @multidreams-and-desires @reeateez @snacksonwang @sunsethw4 @nevieatiny

Let us know if you want to be added to the taglist!~

Enemy Territory 🌻chapter 4🌻

You hate that you find yourself dragging your feet slowly—yet quietly— to Wooyoung’s door. Hoping that the noises you hear from behind it aren’t those of pleasure.

There’s an exchange of them chatting, audible enough to hear but not enough to make out the words. As if snooping like this wasn’t enough, you press the shell of your ear against the door. Using the frame of it to steady your body from making any unnecessary movements or noise.

A rustle. Then several more. You think you hear the sheets move.

They’ve stopped talking.

More silence, then a loud thump onto the floor.

Your heart races out of your chest and you have a hard time picturing what could possibly be going on inside Wooyoung’s room.

Footsteps hurry to the door and before you could get more than halfway down the hall, Wooyoung’s body peeks out from behind his door.

“Snooping on me now?” He scoffs with that annoyingly charming sneer. “I thought we were supposed to stay out of each other’s business? Now look who’s breaking their own rules.”

You shut your eyes tightly while your back faces your ex.

Fuck.

A breath quickly fills your lungs as you turn around in efforts to compose your expressions. You’re somehow confused as to why he was suddenly wearing a shirt.

“I— I was just about to knock and ask you what type of meat you wanted to grill, you idiot.” Your mouth moves faster than your thoughts and you’re so glad that your brain was quick enough to pull something straight out of your ass. “I didn’t want to… interrupt.”

Wooyoung holds the door open slightly for you to catch a small glimpse of the girl politely seated at the edge of his bed. Blinking curiously at you with a content smile on her face, although her tears still stain her cheeks. “It’s not even noon yet y/n, I’m smarter than that to start having rough sex knowing that you’re in the apartment.”

This thought somehow makes your stomach turn and not in a pleasant way. You didn't want to imagine Wooyoung like this with someone else. Yet, an image of him bare and in his sexual glory flashes across your mind and for a second you forget that you aren’t single. You forget that you have a neglectful boyfriend who likes to have sex with you once a week then proceeds to avoid you until the next weekend arrives.

Does Wooyoung have sex often when I’m not around? Did he have to use the word ‘rough’? Do they have rough sex together?—

Why was the thought of Wooyoung having sex with someone else more distressing to you than the entire problem of your boyfriend literally using you as a weekend booty call?

Not a single soul should know why, because the reality of it all is that: One, Wooyoung is single. And two, you are not.

So you had no right to be bothered about it.

Right?

“Uh. Right,” You subconsciously mess with the tips of your fingers to think of what to say next since you didn’t expect that his comment would throw your mind into a loop. “Just text me when you’ve, um, decided what you want. I’ll head to the store now since you’re busy… so you’ve got 20 minutes to make a choice.”

“No need to wait 20 minutes for me to text you, y/n,” Wooyoung slowly pulls his lips into a gentle smile. A smile that sets off a million bursts of fireworks through your chest. “You already know what kind of meat I like to grill.”

Instantly you blink away the feeling—or at least try to ignore it. “People change. Just wanted to ask in case you had a change in taste.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together before nodding his head slowly. Clearly catching your composure and deciding not to point it out due to the guest on his bed. “Uh, nope. My tastes are constant, y/n.”

The worst part of it all is, your conversation was being monitored by a ditsy flower, just waiting for Wooyoung to come back and take care of her… You hated it. Everything about this set up.

Now, heading out of the apartment to get groceries seemed like a much better idea to you than twiddling your thumbs to wait for Wooyoung’s pretty guest to leave.

“I’ll head out then.”

Upon grabbing your purse and your keys, you curse at yourself mentally for getting caught snooping. Even scolding your heart for causing your mind to lose control of your emotions.

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

It had only been half an hour since you left to get ingredients for the meal with Wooyoung, yet a familiar vehicle pulls into the apartment complex parking lot.

A few flights up and your boyfriend is back at the front of your door. Sure to himself that your car has left and that you’d be gone for a while.

San punches in the code of your apartment door. When it opens, a girl stands on the other side peering up at San with a shocked expression.

“Oh hey, It’s y/n boyfriend.” She smiles before turning to Wooyoung who, at the moment, keeps a straight face.

They had finally completed their 30 minute rant session, where she comes to him for help with her loneliness. Which was a topic to talk about for another time since Wooyoung felt like it wasn’t even his place to do it for her— also, considering he’s rejected her multiple times to be something more than her emotional support friend.

He never felt like a new relationship was something he needed.

As far as relationships are concerned, Wooyoung has enough on his plate to deal with considering the ugly truth he’s recently discovered. And of course, his unsettled feelings for his gorgeous ex.

“What are you doing back?” Wooyoung asks San, holding the door open for his emotionally unstable friend.

“Uh, coming to see my girlfriend??” San exchanges an offended glare at Wooyoung.

“Oh, I thought you already had your fill for her last night… What happened? Fell asleep before you could finish the job?” Wooyoung’s words are calm yet sharp like knives. Attacking San with precision as he tilts his head in accusation. “She’s out getting groceries.” He adds.

“You know,” San narrows his eyes, striding to level his face right in front of Wooyoung’s. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you can have any say in our relationship considering you’re her fucking ex.”

“We only broke up because I decided to switch colleges last minute without telling her.” Wooyoung doesn’t back down. He’s aware that his choice was the reason why the two of you broke up and that he should’ve told you sooner he wasn’t going to go to the same college as you guys had planned. “At least I never snuck out of bed after having sex with her.”

San scoffs at the gall. “Don’t act like you fucking know me.”

“I don’t.” Wooyoung shifts his weight and sticks his hands into his jean pockets. “But I know every part of y/n way better than you do. Every. Single. Part.”

San’s hand clenches into a fist and right before he draws it back to swing at Wooyoung. The girl awkwardly standing beside them in the threshold of the door raises her voice. “Hey, as much as I like the drama, I kind of have work so if I can just pass through…”

San doesn’t steer his eyes away from Wooyoung as he takes a step to the side for the girl to get around his body. Too peeved to realize that he was blocking the door.

“…I’ll see you later, Wooyoung. Thanks for helping me out again.” She waves before disappearing into the hall.

San huffs through his nose. It’s upsetting to him that Wooyoung doesn’t even seem the least bit affected by the situation. “Why aren’t you packing your shit? Isn’t this your last week?”

As if his train of thought derails, without even waiting for an answer to his own questions, San pushes past your ex and heads straight into your room.

Looking for what he left so recklessly before sneaking away that morning.

Wooyoung, with his hands still in his pockets, calmly follows San. Watching your boyfriend’s frantic search for whatever he’s misplaced.

Since Wooyoung respects your privacy, he stops right at the entrance of your room. “Did you wait for y/n to leave the apartment?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” San tosses a pillow off your bed. Not sparing a single glance at your ex.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung leans against the door. “I mean, if I had something to hide, I guess I’d want to wait until she was gone too.”

San stops completely. His heart drops to his stomach when he turns to your ex standing in front of your room. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Wooyoung shrugs with a playful smirk etching onto his face as one of his hands pulls something out of his right pocket. “You tell me.”

There. What San was looking for.

His phone.

“Where did you find that!?” San yells as he practically dives for it.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Wooyoung shoves it back into his pocket. Placing his hand in front of himself defensively. “Question is, why are you so upset?”

San swallows and processes quickly before clearing his throat. He couldn’t understand why his palms were so sweaty. “It’s—Because it’s fucking mine! Hand it over!”

Wooyoung shakes his head, angling his body away from your boyfriend. “It can’t be yours.”

“Are you fucking mad?” San yells again. Smacking Wooyoung’s arm away from the position he’s guarding his pocket. “Of course, it is. It’s my phone!”

“No, no, no.” Wooyoung’s stupid, playful smile begins to boil hate into San’s veins. “This can’t be your phone.”

“I’ll drop kick that fucking smile off your face, you son of a bitch, give me back my phone!”

“Dude,” Wooyoung chuckles, loving how riled up your shitty boyfriend is getting. “I swear this phone has got to be someone else’s… because when I saw it on the couch, ringing at 4 am, someone named Eunji was calling to ask if her ‘daddy’ was still going to—and I’ll quote her on this, “Rearrange my guts like you always do on Saturday nights.” And you're telling me you’re certain that this is your phone?”

The reality settles into the air and San realizes that he’s been caught cheating on you… by your ex.

This is when Wooyoung’s twisted smirk turns into an angry scowl. He’s disgusted that you found a man so indisputably vile and unloyal.

“You really think you’ll get away with this? Lying to y/n like this and fucking her once every week just to make up for how shitty a person you are?”

San’s gaze falters to the floor and he snatches his phone from the unguarded pocket of Wooyoung’s jeans. “What are you gonna do, huh? Tattle-tail on me?” He shoves it into his back pocket, scoffing. “She’ll never believe you. She hates you.”

“Even if she does,” Wooyoung turns on his heels and enters into his room across the hall. “She’ll wish you were dead after figuring out that you leave her in the mornings just to be in some other woman’s bed the very same night.”

San follows Wooyoung a few steps into the hall. “You wouldn’t dare tell her.” He spits.

An exasperated sigh paired with the front door swinging open, startles the two men away from glaring at one another.

*********

After 30 minutes of shopping, you head home.

The entire time in the parking lot, you were gathering the courage to talk yourself into confidently walking back into your house.

So what if he was having sex? You have sex all the time with San while Wooyoung stays in the room across the hall from yours.

How is coming back home knowing that he’s having fun with a woman be any different?

Equality at its best example for it. You remind yourself as you exit the elevator.

To your dismay, You were unpleasantly greeted by a very voluptuous woman with intruding questions as to why you were going to enter into her boyfriend’s home.

You push past the nuisance at your front door. Sighing as you lazily drop the groceries onto the floor.

You can only assume that this other girl— an entirely different girl compared to the one from this morning—is Wooyoung's little problem.

This boy must be cheating… What a waste. “Taste’s are constant” my ass.

You pray that Wooyoung’s ditsy girl toy from earlier this morning has left. Though you liked witnessing drama, you didn’t want to see two girls fight over your ex. “Wooyoung? I think you have a guest.” You call out as you take off your shoes.

To your surprise, Your boyfriend is staring at you from the hallway— eyes wide and stunned.

Wooyoung steps out of his room to stand in the hall next to San. A flat smile sets on his features as he stares at you and eunji. “I won’t need to…” He seems to be talking to San when he speaks. “Next time, set a better password on your phone. You never know who’ll scroll through your messages and send people your girlfriend’s address.”

This confuses you. Immensely. More so, when San’s face drains of all color.

“Baby! Who the hell is this girl?” Miss voluptuous checks your shoulder as she rushes past you. Headed towards Wooyoung with her arms stretched out.

What rattles your world from it’s axis isn’t that Wooyoung doesn’t hold her, it’s that the girl doesn’t even look at him. She doesn’t even acknowledge that Wooyoung’s standing there.

Instead,

She’s all over your boyfriend. Calling him “baby’ and glaring at you as if you were nothing more than a disgusting insect.

No, no… I must be dreaming.

“Sannie, who the hell is this girl and why is she coming into your apartment?”

[ chapter 5 >> ]

#wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez #ateez imagines #san imagines #ateez x reader #ateez smut

68 notes · View notes

rufousnmacska · 3 years

Text

Only You

A manorian arranged marriage fic from an anon request.

Thank you to @itach-i for beta reading and helping plot this out! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

PART TWO

Manon refused to look in the mirror. Giselle, a Blueblood serving as both sentinel and attendant on this trip, adjusted the drape of her dress then inserted more pins into her hair. She had successfully avoided wearing a dress at Aelin’s coronation, as well as her own. But for this event, she’d finally given in to Glennis’s appeals for formality. She told herself it was due to her grandmother’s surprisingly ruthless demands. But if a dagger were held to her throat, she might admit there was a small part of her that wanted to see Dorian’s expression at the sight of her in a dress. So, they’d packed two. While Manon had initially toyed with the idea of wearing all black to Dorian’s wedding, she knew she’d never go through with it. The black dress would be worn at tonight’s royal banquet while the more modest, light gray frock would be worn at the ceremony.

Glennis was supervising and when Giselle stepped back, they both nodded.

Manon turned away from her reflection. “You act as if the world will live or die upon my appearance tonight.”

Through a combination of luck and will, she’d managed to avoid seeing Dorian this morning when they arrived. When she was shown to her rooms, she hadn’t left them, indulging her cowardice just this once. Unfortunately, there was no way she could get out of tonight’s banquet.

“It just might,” Glennis mumbled.

Manon caught her eye and demanded, “What does that mean?” With a nod, she dismissed Giselle.

“I’ve learned Prince Fennick is here.” Glennis made no effort to hide the accusation in her voice.

“I’m surprised he was able to make the trip. I thought the seas were impassable this time of year.”

“I’ve been told he was very motivated.”

“What else have you been told?” she asked, walking around to pick up her traveling clothes that had been thrown about the room. Manon had kept the contents of Fennick’s letter a secret from Glennis, passing it off as an introduction to a possible trade alliance. On top of everything else, she didn’t want to deal with her grandmother’s nosiness. It had been easy to convince herself that he wouldn’t show up. All a mistake, she realized now, as she would have Glennis’s anger to manage along with the questions.

“He cornered Giselle and Lara earlier to ask about your attire for tonight. Among other things.”

Manon scowled in confusion, hiding her irritation that he’d approach her witches like that. “What? Why would he want to know that?”

“Why? So he can, and I am quoting him here, ‘dress accordingly.’”

“And what other things?”

“Lara said he was asking about our capitol. If there had been much rebuilding or if it was new construction. And what sort of trade we exported.”

Manon remembered how he’d framed his interest in terms of a mutually beneficial alliance between her kingdom and Doranelle. Those questions at least made sense to her. “We have nothing to hide,” she said dismissively. “Building a kingdom from ancient ruins, nothing to trade except grains and unrefined ore. I still don’t understand about the dress though,” she confessed.

“He wants to match. Apparently he’s decided to court you at the wedding of the man you love. And, apparently, you’re going to let him!” Glennis growled.

And this was why she’d not shown the letter to Glennis. A sudden rage consumed Manon and she hissed back, “Isn’t this what everyone wants? For me to move on and produce an heir for the Witch Kingdom? Why is it that when I consider doing exactly that, I’m made to feel like some sort of traitor? Dorian has accepted his future, grandmother. Shouldn’t I do the same?”

Glennis had no reply, only an immensely sad expression on her face. While she had never pushed Manon about an heir, almost everyone else on the council had, their efforts doubling upon the news that Dorian’s betrothal had left their queen alone.

Alone. She was well and truly alone now, she realized. Dorian was the only person who had known her Thirteen for their true selves. Petrah and the other witches, even Glennis, really only knew the masks her sisters had worn. Dorian had seen them at their most vulnerable, trained and fought with them, laughed with them. The sudden breaking of that connection left her breathless with pain.

And just like that, Manon’s anger disappeared. She fell into a chair and gazed out the window at the darkening sky. She could see the ocean from here, and she knew that Dorian’s rooms were only a few short flights above hers. So close. “Does anyone else know why he is here?”

“I don’t know,” Glennis said. “I believe he’s kept to his rooms for the most part. If he’s fool enough to speak about it in front of his host, then he deserves whatever happens to him.”

Manon huffed a laugh in agreement.

“I hate that this is happening,” Glennis said, her voice miserable. “I hate it!” Manon looked up to see tears in her grandmother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s not fair of me to add to your torment. I know you blame yourself, but you shouldn’t. His awful lords are to blame. Dorian had no choice.” After a long moment, she added, “If you want to move on with a fae prince, I won’t stop you.”

“Of course I don’t want to,” Manon said, fighting against the tears building in her own eyes. “I want to be with Dorian. I want him and no one else to father my witchling, to rule by my side. But that’s not possible. Not anymore. I waited too long to tell him that. That’s why I blame myself. I thought we’d have time, but I was wrong.” She lost the battle with her tears, letting them run down her cheeks.

Glennis rushed over to hug her, murmuring words of consolation that, while unable to change anything, still helped to soothe her. Eventually, Manon pulled away to clean her face.

For the first time in a long time, since those desperate final days of the war, Glennis looked ancient enough to match her age. It was the tears and sadness and regret. It made Manon wonder why her grandmother never spoke of her own mate. Had he been a love match? Or an arrangement that settled into a simple happiness that allowed them to become mates? If the latter, would that be enough for Manon?

With a courage and strength that she didn’t think she had, Manon stood and grasped Glennis’s hand. “Let’s go down. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

***

Dorian’s nerves grew increasingly worse as more guests made their way through the receiving line. He had yet to see Manon. He hadn’t been surprised that she’d sequestered herself in her rooms all day, but that didn’t stop the disappointment from almost overwhelming him. Only Chaol’s insistence that it might cause a scene had kept him from visiting her. Now, the idea of introducing her to Eveline made him want to throw up. He knew he wasn’t making a very good impression on the guests. Luckily, Eveline was a talented conversationalist, taking some of the attention off his own shoulders.

The next person to approach gave Dorian a shock. A fae male stood before them, tall and silver-haired, handsomely dressed in black and gold. He was the spitting image of Rowan, if Rowan had long hair. At the expression on Dorian’s face, the male broke into a laugh.

“Your Majesty. Lady Frey,” he said, bowing gracefully. “I am Prince Fennick Whitethorn. Queen Sellene of Doranelle regrets not being able to attend, but she sends her dearest wishes for a long and happy union.” He then exchanged brief introductions with Chaol and Yrene, who shared in Dorian’s surprise at the resemblance.

“Thank you, your highness,” Dorian said. “We are close friends with your cousin Rowan. Sadly, he and Aelin were unable to attend.”

“Ah, that is sad. I haven’t seen him in years and had hoped to catch up.”

“How was your voyage here?” Eveline asked. “I'm relieved that you avoided the winter storms.”

“The sea travel was harrowing in spots. But nothing to prevent me from daring the journey.” At Eveline’s quizzical look, he grinned a bit sheepishly. “I grew up listening to my grandmother spin tales of fae meeting their mates at weddings. I’m afraid I’m a romantic at heart and when Sellene asked me to represent Doranelle, I could not pass up the opportunity.”

Eveline laughed. “Well, perhaps you will find them tonight. Though, I don’t think there are any other fae present.”

Not acknowledging the encroachment of a noble couple wishing he would move along, Fennick said, “Lucky for me, Lady, the fae mating bond has been known to happen with humans. I believe your king’s ancestors were such a pair, yes?” Before Dorian could reply, Fennick continued. “It is rare, but it happens. I’ve even heard tell of fae sharing mate bonds with witches.”

Maintaining a pleasant air, she said, “Ah, is that so? I’m afraid I’m rather ignorant on those matters.” With an eye to the rest of the line, she said, “Please enjoy yourself this evening.”

“Thank you,” he said with another quick bow. “I intend to.”

Dorian had stiffened, his fists clenched so tightly his skin was white at the knuckles. He gave the prince a dismissive nod, then watched as he mingled with the crowd that had formed at the entrance to the ballroom. He very clearly overheard Fennick ask someone if the Witch Queen had made her appearance yet. Yrene heard too, and Chaol had to grab her arm to keep her from going after the male.

The next guests passed by in a haze. Dorian smiled prettily and welcomed them. He could think of nothing but the arrogant fae male in search of a mate and was wondering if Fennick had been trying to goad him into some sort of confrontation. When a hand pinched his arm, he looked over to see Chaol, wearing a wild-eyed expression that screamed for him to focus.

He spun back around to find Manon standing before him.

Unable to stop himself, he just stared at her. It had been months since they’d last seen each other, let alone spoken. While Dorian had seen her in flying leathers and other basic clothes, had seen her in every state of undress, he’d never seen her wearing a dress. Until this moment, he’d thought she’d never looked more beautiful than when she’d had on one of his night shirts. How wrong he was.

The black dress hugged her body, flaring out at the hem and pooling on the floor. The low neckline would have been scandalous if not for the jewel-encrusted golden collar that wrapped around her neck and extended out to cap her shoulders. Though she did not have it on tonight, he knew the jewels matched those that blazed in the stars of crown. Her hair was twisted up, held in place by golden pins, a few silken strands hanging down around her face.

As the silence grew, and as others around them watched with eyes greedy for drama, Dorian swallowed, hoping he could remember words, any words, to get him through this moment.

But it was Eveline who spoke first. “Your Majesty, thank you for making the long journey to celebrate with us.” She curtsied to Manon, then smiled in greeting to Glennis and the witches standing behind their queen. “When I was in the stable yard earlier, I checked in on your wyverns to make sure they were comfortable. I confess I’d never seen one so close before. They are truly amazing.”

Manon dipped her head. “It is my great honor, Lady. And yes, our mounts have been well attended. I hope they were on their best behavior.”

“Oh yes,” Eveline said. “The smaller one seemed very gentle. One of the yard hands told me he loves flowers.” She gestured to the large bouquets decorating the hall. “I requested some be sent down to him.”

Almost imperceptibly, Manon’s eyes flared at the mention of Abraxos’s gentleness. As if his approval of Eveline meant something beyond his usual love of a pretty face and kind nature.

Eveline hesitated, looking between Dorian and Manon. “I hope that was acceptable. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Manon smiled reassuringly and said, “No, you did not, Lady. I appreciate your attentiveness, and I’m sure Abraxos did too.” Turning to fully face Dorian, her eyes glittered in the light of the chandeliers. He searched her face, awestruck as always by her beauty, but now hoping to see some acknowledgment that this was as torturous for her as it was for him. With a steady voice, she said, “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

I’m princeling to you, he wanted to say. Maybe that would break through the ice-cold mask Manon had donned. But instead, all he could manage was a pathetic, “Thank you.”

Manon waited for a moment, as if he might have more to say. But when nothing came, his mind reeling with everything he couldn’t speak aloud, she made her way towards an anxiously waiting Yrene. The healer ignored protocol and pulled Manon into a hug. Dorian watched them speak quietly together, until a strong hand squeezed his, drawing his attention away. He looked down to see Glennis smiling sadly. She’d become as much a grandmother to him as she was to Manon, and he realized suddenly that she would soon be taken out of his life too.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I don’t …” But he couldn’t finish. And Glennis wouldn’t let him anyway.

She bowed, offering Eveline a kind smile as she said, “My congratulations, Lady.”

Eveline, gracious as ever, dipped her head in return and thanked Glennis for her well wishes.

And just like that, the witches were gone and there was some merchant family standing in front of him. Dorian’s senses were overloaded, and he simply ignored the next influx of guests, selfishly relying on Eveline to chat with them. He should have turned away, should have focused on his duties, but his eyes followed Manon towards the ballroom. Before she could enter, Fennick presented himself to her with another dignified bow, then extended his arm. Dorian couldn’t hear what they said as she accepted and he escorted Manon into the room. In fact, he could hear nothing at all.

Chaol appeared in front of him, mouthing something to Eveline, then pulled Dorian back down a hallway to a deserted storage closet. Dorian’s knees nearly buckled, and he fell against the wall. Covering his mouth and trusting the noise down the hall to drown it out, he let loose the scream he’d been holding in for months. Magic exploded through the room, leaving the walls and floor coated with a thick sheet of ice. The temperature dropped so low that Chaol’s lips and eyelashes frosted over. But his friend said nothing, just let him yell, let his magic overtake them until there was nothing left.

*****

Manon barely registered what was happening as she let the fae prince lead her into the ballroom. She knew he was speaking to her, but she only picked up pieces here and there, relegating the words to nonsense. Numbly, she turned back, searching for Dorian, but he was gone.

Her mind was caught on a moment ago when she’d been standing before him, drowning in the familiarity of his scent, his eyes, all of him. She was used to seeing him in formal clothing, but tonight, Dorian had outdone himself. In Adarlan red and embroidered with shimmering gold and silver wyverns, his jacket fit snugly across his broad shoulders, the back hem extending to his knees. It flattered his figure in such a way that he seemed taller, even more commanding than usual. His ebony hair had grown, curling at his ears and around his crown, a reminder of how long it had been since she’d seen him.

In a sparkling golden gown that complemented her dark hair and eyes, Eveline was lovely. As Manon had expected. What surprised her was the gratitude she felt for Eveline’s quick ability to relieve some of the tension. The truth was, if not for her, Manon and Dorian might still be standing there, entranced and speechless and desperate for each other’s presence.

“Your Majesty?” The fae was holding a chair out for her.

Manon spun around, shocked to find herself on the opposite side of the ballroom. She had no memory of getting here. Adarlan’s nobles and upper class shuffled around them, making a show of looking for their seats. But they were all watching her, some more brazenly than others. She stared back, forcing them to look away or bow their heads. With a tight smile, she thanked Fennick and sat down, her sentinels taking their positions along the wall behind her. He held out a chair for Glennis, who grumbled a thank you, then took the seat on Manon’s other side. Two couples claimed the remaining spots at their table and she could tell by their attire that they were foreign dignitaries. The older of the men introduced himself as the ambassador from Melisande and began speaking to Glennis, who looked both annoyed at the distraction and overjoyed at not having to converse with Fennick.

“I apologize,” Fennick said quietly. “This must be very difficult for you, Your Majesty.”

Manon blinked as she tried to imagine him calling her witchling. Never, came the shouted reply in her head. No one would ever call her that again. Yet another connection to a happier time that had been severed.

“I’ve lived through worse,” she said without thinking. It was true. And yet, also a lie. Losing her coven had been worse. But this was its own special misery. To lose Dorian now, after she’d begun to heal, after she’d chosen to live … this new wound cut long and deep, reopening all the old hurts from which she’d just started to recover.

Fennick was watching her carefully, no doubt unsure of how to respond. But he surprised her by saying, “Yes. They are legends in the fae lands. If not for the bravery of your witches, the world would have been destroyed. Sellene and Endymion speak highly of them. Truly, I am sorry for your loss.”

Manon attempted a smile, hoping that would be the end of it. People often didn’t know what to say when the topic of the Thirteen was broached. That Fennick said anything, let alone kind words, was a comfort. Yet she had no desire to discuss it further and add salt to her wounds.

In a cruel bit of luck, they were distracted by Dorian and Eveline entering the room. They made their way to a dais at the front of the crowd as everyone applauded. Pretending to clap, Manon tried in vain to focus on Chaol and Yrene, who’d already taken their seats at the head table. She felt Dorian’s eyes on her and for a brief instance, their gazes met. His smile was fake, she knew. But the recognition in his stare made her feel seen, known in a way that so few did.

When he saw who was next to her, his look turned almost feral. But then Eveline leaned close to say something to him and he turned away. The smile he gave his future queen appeared more genuine, enough so that its sincerity gave Manon pause. Quickly losing interest in the spectacle, she turned back to Fennick.

“You can’t have come all this way just to meet with me,” she said, holding her wine glass for a server to fill. She almost asked the man to leave the entire decanter at the table. She wasn’t one for drink, but tonight might be a perfect time to start.

“I can assure you, I did.”

“And why is that exactly?”

He laughed and leaned back in his chair. It was only then that she saw he’d actually matched his outfit to hers. She glanced back to Giselle and Lara. The witches had the good sense to look ashamed, but Manon wouldn’t punish them. Instead of anger, she was biting back a laugh. It was a decent attempt, but if Fennick thought she would be impressed by such things, he was an idiot. While she could appreciate the way Dorian dressed, it wasn’t a thing she noticed on anyone else.

“In my letter I mentioned having gone through a similar experience,” he said, gesturing to the dais with his glass before taking a sip. “I once loved a human. But it ended badly.” He didn’t volunteer more information, and though Manon was curious, she didn’t ask for more. “When Sellene got the invitation and seemed shocked by who the king had chosen to wed, I saw a possible kindred spirit in you. The more she told me about you, the more intrigued I became. Though, her description of your beauty was lacking to say the least.” With a flirtatious half smile, he added, “The fae are known for their otherworldly beauty, but I can officially say that witches,” he nodded to her, “have far surpassed my kind.”

Manon had to turn away to hide her laugh. People flirted with her all the time. But after so long with Dorian, she’d grown used to his playfulness and subtlety.

Mistaking it as shyness, Fennick went on. “You don’t believe me? Look around this room. They are here for a king’s wedding, yet all their eyes follow us.”

She considered telling him it had everything to do with the humans’ love of gossip and nothing to do with their looks, but he knew that. This was just a game, one she didn’t feel like playing no matter how entertaining it might be.

The ambassador’s assistant asked Fennick a question, thankfully taking his attention off her. Ignoring the conversation, she gazed up at the dais. Chaol and Yrene were seated to Dorian’s left and a sour looking man had appeared to Eveline’s right. She narrowed her eyes on Lord Frey. The way he held himself, looking down his nose and sneering at the guests, reminded her of the Blackbeak Matron. It made sense. They both possessed a cruel desire for power that left others at risk.

As if a light had been shone on it, she noticed that Eveline kept herself as far from her father as possible. Or was she just trying to get closer to Dorian? Manon didn’t think it was wishful thinking. The girl clearly hated her father, and justifiably so. For the first time, Manon considered that Eveline may not want this union either. She’d never blamed the girl outright, but she’d never spared any sympathy either. But even sympathy couldn’t quell her desire to be in Eveline’s place. Maybe not in front of this crowd. But by Dorian’s side? At this moment, Manon wanted nothing more. As she sank into the feeling, her favorite blue eyes found her.

A charge passed between them and it felt like the entire room had been emptied. A crazy urge almost took her, to get up and take his hand and just walk out. Leave everyone and everything behind. Others could rule their kingdoms. Clean up the mess they’d leave behind. Manon blinked and the noise and people surged back. Dorian was perched on the edge of his chair, as if he’d had the same vision of escape. But with the return to reality, that vision faded into darkness. Where she knew it belonged.

Fennick said something to her and she twisted in her chair. He was speaking animatedly to the ambassador, his assistant, and their wives, trying to pull Manon into the conversation. “We were just talking about wedding gifts. It’s difficult enough trying to get something for people who aren’t royalty. Whatever do you give a king and his queen?” he asked.

Manon held back a flinch at that description of Dorian and Eveline and glanced at the others. The women seemed to be too polite to point out the rudeness of Fennick’s topic.

Glennis wasn’t. “I would think it’s not proper to discuss such things,” she said, earning a nod of agreement from the ambassador’s wife.

Fennick laughed airily, failing to see Glennis’s nasty look. “It’s just in good fun. Doranelle is well known for our gold and metalcraft, so Sellene commissioned a music box that is embossed with the Havilliard crest. She thought it appropriate to send a gift representative of our wealth.” His face reddened, as though his queen’s arrogance was embarrassing.

The ambassador cleared his throat, ignoring his wife’s glare. “Melisande is well known for our textiles, so we gifted them an assortment of our finest silks.” As if wanting to be saved from his wife, he looked to Manon, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

She wasn’t going to reply at first. No amount of pleading from the ambassador could draw her into this. But then, despite the crone’s earlier disapproval, she saw the curiosity on Glennis’s face and found herself saying, “I’ve given them a book.”

With a contemptuous smirk, the assistant piped up and asked, “A book? Does it hold some sort of secret witch knowledge to make it suitable for a king?”

If she wasn’t still reeling from the moment she’d just shared with Dorian, Manon might have told him to go to hell. But this whole night had left her out of sorts. And besides, she would not be the cause of a scene. Glaring at the man, she said, “It’s called a memory book, the pages left blank for commemorating special events. Weddings. Births.” She waved her hand, dismissing the topic as much as the nausea that suddenly struck her.

While the men looked confused, as if an empty book were the worst gift in the world, the women smiled, agreeing it was a lovely idea. She found Fennick looking at her, his head tilted slightly, as if trying to decide between the two possibilities. Finally, he gave her a soft smile and said, “I’d not thought you the romantic type, Your Majesty. That is indeed a beautiful gift.”

Manon thanked him with a nod, sitting quietly as the others continued talking and studiously avoiding Glennis’s eyes on her. She’d had no idea what Manon had brought to give Dorian and Eveline. What would she think if Manon told her she’d left the name plate blank? She had not been able to bring herself to write Eveline’s name next to Dorian’s. A cowardly deed. Just as it had been a cowardly urge earlier to run from this night.

By the time dinner ended and the music was starting, she was silent and numb, burying herself in dark thoughts and wishing she had never come. Glennis had done her part in keeping the conversation at the table going, but once the last course was cleared, she excused herself to go speak to Yrene. When Fennick stood and offered his hand to dance, Manon just stared. He sat again, his smile fading and a concerned look in his eye. He’d tried to improve her mood during dinner but to no avail.

“Go dance, Fennick. I’m fine.”

“You’re the only one I want to dance with, Your Majesty.”

She sighed, but her mouth twitched upwards. “Just call me Manon.” She had no energy for maintaining airs.

As they sat and watched the dance floor fill, he said, “I was ready to give up my immortality for the woman I loved.” Manon turned towards him, her foul mood momentarily replaced by curiosity. “During Maeve’s reign I spent as much time as I could outside of Doranelle. I met her in Wendlyn. She was a seamstress, beautiful and kind.” He glanced at Manon, frowning. “I think I fell in love with her the instant our eyes met. There was this inexplicable connection. Fae can mate with humans, but it’s very rare. I thought that if I waited, the bond would snap into place and she would be my mate.”

Manon turned her attention back to the dancing. She hid her trembling hands under the table, remembering she had once thought the same thing about Dorian. Witches had mates, but not in the fae sense. The connection was not magical, it wasn’t something feral and uncontrollable. A witch chose her mate, their bond forged on love and respect. Nothing more. But, there was something more with Dorian. A tug towards him she’d felt when they’d met, a pull that she could never truly explain. Once, she’d almost asked Glennis if having two witch parents gave her more fae blood than most witches. But she’d talked herself out of it, eased by the thought that she and Dorian had time. And the knowledge that ultimately, it made no difference. She loved him either way.

Fennick laughed, a soft, humorless sound. “You can guess that she was not, in fact, my mate. When I spoke of giving up my immortality to be with her, she tried to talk me out of it.” Another laugh. “That raised my suspicions and I discovered she was in love with another man. A human.”

“You laugh about it,” Manon said. “How long ago was it?”

“Almost two hundred years ago. And yes, I laugh, but the pain of it still surprises me sometimes.”

She could understand that. In comparison, practically no time had passed for her, but she couldn’t imagine a future free of the pain of losing her coven. Despite his arrogance and formality, she could admit they did share some things in common.

They sat in silence again, watching the dancing. Her head was full of voices urging her to accept things, move on. Live. With a glance to the dais, where Dorian was staring at Eveline, Manon said, “I’m not a dancer. But perhaps this evening doesn’t need to have a miserable end.”

Fennick smiled, stood, and offered her his hand again.

She took it, and despite the voices she’d listened to, Manon felt like a traitor as he led her to the dance floor.

***

It had taken longer for Dorian to make himself presentable after his little explosion in the closet than it did to release his rage. Luckily, he had enough magic left to heal the burst blood vessels in his eyes. And warm Chaol, whose fingertips had taken on a purplish sheen from the cold. Neither Eveline nor Yrene said anything when they returned, and by that point, it was time for dinner.

Godsdamn this entire farce, Dorian silently yelled, plastering a grin on his face as they made their way to the dais and took their seats. He tried not to be obvious in his search for Manon, but he knew it was useless. When he saw her, his wild mind quieted, his breathing evened out. She always had that effect on him. Even in the midst of lovemaking, when it made no sense for her to do so, she somehow calmed him.

His eyes caught the site of Fennick sitting beside her and the calmness disappeared in a flash. Of course the bastard was there. Dorian had no right to be angry or jealous. He knew it. But that meant nothing when he saw the fae’s proximity to Manon. What little magic remained in his veins growled and he fought to stifle it.

Eveline leaned towards him then and said, “We could claim he was never invited and have him thrown out.”

As the dream of tossing Fennick on his ass played out in his head, Dorian couldn’t help but smile. “If you have yet to get a wedding gift for me, that would be perfect.”

Laughing, she replied, “Sadly, I already got you a gift. That is, if it arrives on time. But it’s one I think you will actually enjoy more.”

Desperate to keep his mind and eyes off Manon, he said lightly, “More than pummeling Fennick Whitethorn? I can’t imagine what it must be.”

Lord Frey sauntered over and took his seat on Eveline’s other side, effectively killing their conversation. Eveline stiffened, inching closer to Dorian. They both ignored the lord and the slight at taking his seat after the king. Chaol glared at the man and Yrene leaned forward to silently examine Dorian. He winked at her, and though she didn’t believe his playfulness, she was satisfied that he was not hurt by his magical outburst.

Eveline asked her about Josie, who was under the care of Chaol’s mother. As the two women talked, Dorian couldn’t help himself and watched Manon. She sat with her back to him, so he couldn’t see her reactions to Fennick’s ridiculous attempts at flirting. The male looked to be laying it on thick. He hoped that Manon might get offended and slap him. But instead she ducked her head away and smiled. His head told him it was fake, or an attempt to keep from laughing at the male. But his gut churned and soon, the possibility that she was enjoying it overtook any common sense he had left.

Forcing himself to look away, he couldn’t chase the thoughts from his mind. Did this fool actually think Manon could be his mate? And just like that, the notion dug itself into his brain, taking hold and refusing to let go.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” Chaol demanded.

Dorian turned, eyes still narrowed, jaw clenched. He sat his wine glass down before he shattered it.

“Oh, never mind. It’s written all over your face.”

“And if that were someone flirting with Yrene? You’d just pretend it wasn’t happening?”

Chaol sighed. “No. I’d punch him in the face.”

“Thank you!” Dorian said, feeling momentarily victorious.

“Hell, I’d gladly punch Fennick on your behalf. But Manon would be livid if I robbed her of the chance,” Chaol said.

Dorian thought the sight of Manon beating the fae to a pulp was much better than his earlier vision of doing it himself. Unfortunately, his hopes looked to be dashed. “That is not livid,” he said glumly, gesturing to where she sat talking to Fennick. Nodding his thanks to the server who filled his plate, he stared at the food, not bothering to reach for a utensil. His appetite had been absent for weeks and there was no chance it would return tonight.

He looked up to find golden eyes upon him. Dorian stopped breathing, and suddenly time and space felt infinite. Or, was that her eyes? Something flickered between them and he inched forward, as if he might jump up and flee with her. Escape this nonsense and the suffocation of their crowns. As quickly as the moment had taken him, it faded, leaving him about to push himself off his chair, ready to bolt.

Clearing his throat, he settled back into his seat, his gaze back on the food before him.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Eveline said, dipping her spoon into her stew, “it might help to act as if you’re in a play.”

He gave her an apologetic look for what she had just witnessed. “A play? Is that how you survive court?”

“It is. Sometimes I pretend that I am part of some grand production, acting out a role.” She was smiling as she spoke, but Dorian couldn’t help but feel saddened by her confession. She must have noticed so she said, “It’s quite fun. Especially when I can play into people’s preconceived notions about me. Lady Thorn thinks me an idiot. But when I feign ignorance, she is the one who must always explain her snobbish jokes and insults until they are no longer funny. She is the one left looking a fool.”

Dorian laughed, clinked her glass with his and said, “Well done. I wish I could have witnessed that.”

Eveline eyed him, “That was well done too.”

“I wasn’t acting just now. I would truly love to see Lady Thorn taken down a peg or two. The woman is abominable.”

She laughed and they continued talking, sharing opinions about the worst of the nobility, excluding Lord Frey only because he was within hearing distance. Although Dorian barely ate, the courses passed by quickly. When the quartet that had played during dinner became a larger ensemble and started playing dance music, members of the crowd looked to Dorian and Eveline. But she begged off the attempt to have them open the dance floor, and Dorian waved for the guests to begin without them. He didn’t mind. Manon had never danced before, and he would rather sit out this part of the night too.

Lord Frey, having been ignored the entire night, stood and threw his napkin on the table. Before he made his exit, he bent between his daughter and Dorian and growled, “Do not think I am blind. If you dishonor my daughter any further by staring so lewdly at the witch, I may be inclined to take back my offer of peace.”

Without looking at Lord Frey, and with a surprisingly hostile note to her voice, Eveline said, “If you renege on this agreement, father, you might very well lose the support you barely manage to cling to.”

Dorian looked back and forth between them, annoyed when Lord Frey took his leave before he could put the noble in his place. To Eveline, he asked, “Are there weaknesses in his alliance that I should know about?”

She only smiled, looking blankly out over the ballroom. “I don’t know. I just wanted him to leave.”

He watched her for a moment, unsure what to think. He’d been somewhat charmed by her earlier stories of play acting at the expense of the other members of court. Was she doing that now? Or did her father have that much of an effect on her? He truly didn’t know.

A low, collective gasp drew him from his thoughts, and he looked out over the ballroom.

Once, when he was young, he’d fallen, running up a flight of stairs in the castle. He’d landed hard, striking his chest against the edge of the next step up. The blow left him gasping for air for what felt like hours, the shock and pain of it lingering even after he could breathe again.

That’s what he felt now. But he hadn’t fallen. It was the sight of Manon being led onto the dance floor by Fennick that knocked the breath from his lungs. He searched desperately for Chaol or Yrene, but they had disappeared. Eveline was watching him with concern, murmuring in shock at the sight of her own breath in the air. He was paralyzed, watching this nightmare unfold and unable to stop it. And finally, Chaol was there, blocking his view of the dance floor.

“Do you need to leave?” his friend asked, glancing at Eveline, who seemed to be in favor of the idea.

“No,” Dorian said, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes and try to make sense of what was happening. “No. I will stay.”

After a long moment, Chaol reluctantly walked away, coming around the table to take his seat in case he needed to get Dorian out of there.

But somehow, Dorian remained calm, his face a perfect mask with a winning smile and bright eyes as he and Eveline oversaw the rest of the evening. The only sign of his inner turmoil was the arm rest of his chair, which had been reduced to a pile of splinters on the floor.

He focused on anyone and anything but her, too terrified of what he might see if she came into view. Terrified to see her laughing, learning to dance in another’s arms. But it didn’t really matter. That first sight of her, held close by that smirking son of a bitch as he helped her with the foot movements … it was seared into his brain. When he closed his eyes, it was there, his imagination threatening to go wild.

He felt a light touch on his hand. Eveline said, “She has left. It’s safe now.”

Dorian stared at her, unable to speak, to even say thank you. And she deserved to be thanked for putting up with him this night. Again, he wondered who she really was. Certainly not a fool. But he’d been one to think she was simple and docile. It didn’t make him feel better. Only worse for dragging her into this mess.

“I believe I’ll retire now,” he said flatly.

“Yes, of course,” Eveline said, standing as he pulled her chair out. “It’s been a long evening. And we have a big day tomorrow.” It was spoken with her usual lovely smile, and loud enough for some guests mingling nearby to hear. They bowed to Dorian and Eveline as they stepped off the dais and made their way out of the ballroom.

They walked to her rooms in silence, Dorian remembering all those times he’d asked Manon to dance, and Eveline likely thinking of what was to come the next day. He said goodnight and turned away before she closed her door. As he began the long climb up the stairs of his tower, his feet felt heavy, shackled with regret. When he reached the floor where Manon was staying, he stopped. The guards behind him stepped back, giving him leave to walk down this hallway instead of his own. But her sentinels were nowhere in sight, leaving Dorian to imagine where she might be. With a head full of useless wishing and his chest somehow both empty and aching, he continued to trudge up the steps to his rooms.

*****

With Glennis having already retired to her room next door, Manon bid her sentinels goodnight, leaving them outside in the hall. Fennick had insisted on walking her to her rooms, choosing a circuitous route that ensured they’d have more time together. He’d spoken of everything from stories of his travels to gossip about his extended family. She’d reacted when necessary, secretly reliving the way Dorian had looked when she’d stepped onto the dance floor.

Dorian had asked her to dance with him at the official events she attended in Rifthold. But she’d not had the training he did. And to expose herself like that in front of so many people had been too frightening. After that, Dorian never pushed, and he offered to teach her in private. But the promise of lessons had gone unfulfilled. They always seemed to find other uses for their precious time alone.

She couldn’t explain what happened tonight. Perhaps it was pity for Fennick. Or a desire to stop wallowing in her own. The instant she started walking to the dance floor, before seeing Dorian’s reaction that felt like a punch to her gut, she knew it was a mistake. But it would have drawn more eyes if she’d returned to the table. So instead, she let Fennick take her in his arms and spin her around a bit. He laughed when she stepped on his feet and tried to keep her up there for another round. On the verge of letting her iron teeth snick free, Manon had glared at him until he knew not to press her any further.

And now, after a round-about journey to her rooms, she was finally alone.

She tugged the pins from her hair and tossed them on a table. Unclasping the golden collar of her dress, she shrugged out of it and threw on a long, wool shirt. Despite the roaring fire, the room felt cold. And despite her fatigue, Manon knew she wouldn’t sleep. After staring out the doors to the balcony for a while, she caught the shine of moonlight on dark feathers. It took only a small flick of her hand to unlatch the handle. Before she could reconsider, she walked away, leaving what might happen next to fate.

Minutes later, from the other side of the room, she heard the door softly close. Her heart suddenly racing, she turned to find Dorian. He too had changed out of his formal clothes, and without the jacket, she could see he’d lost weight. They stared, taking all the time to drink each other in that they weren’t granted earlier. For as fast as her heart was beating, she heard his pounding faster. It made her love being a witch, this ability to sense the way his body reacted to her. There was never fear from him, never a look in his eyes that marked her as a monster.

She took a step towards him right as he said, “You danced with him.”

Manon flinched, the last word hitting her like a slap to the face.

Dorian’s face crumpled and he turned away, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I just …” His voice caught, turning into a rough whisper. “I always thought I’d be the one to teach you how to dance.”

“You don’t get to be upset,” Manon said, trying to swallow her anger.

Spinning around, he yelled, all pretense of calm gone. “I don’t?! I don’t get to be angry that the one thing in my life I freely chose has been taken from me? The one thing I vowed to never do has been forced upon me?”

Manon tensed, expecting her guards to rush in at any moment. When they didn’t come, she realized he’d shielded them with his magic. Free to yell, she did it too. “You chose to take responsibility for your throne. No one forced you to do that. You could have walked away, abdicated and left this country for someone else to rule.” It was utterly ridiculous, and she didn’t mean a word of it, but it let her vent, let her throw something back in his face.

“What happened to ‘you’ve never given up on your people and you won’t now’? Or was that just another excuse to leave? Like my mortality or our kingdoms’ need for heirs? You didn’t even fight for us! You just told me to marry her and left. And now you’re dancing with someone else!”

She snarled, unwilling to hold back. “And you’re marrying someone else! What did you do to stop this? You act as if you exhausted every alternative, but you didn’t. The wedding invitations were practically written up and sent out the day after I left.”

“Because I didn’t want my friends to witness this circus!” He pointed to the cold night outside the doors. “That’s why I rushed it. To have it in winter so no one could come!”

Manon blinked, then covered her face with her hands and started to laugh. And then, Dorian was laughing. The release of screaming at each other felt good. Even if the words held some pieces of truth, they knew each other well enough to know how tiny and insignificant those pieces were. They knew that in this situation, faced with war or an unhappy future apart, there was no choice for either of them. As their laughter died down, they were left standing and staring at each other again.

Dorian took a step towards her, his face open to her as it had never been. “The moment I truly understood what my life would become, that it wouldn’t be my life at all, I was six years old. I didn’t cry or complain. I accepted it. Accepted the tutors and the training and the beatings. When I was fourteen and my mother began parading girls in front of me, persuading me to select one as a wife … I wasn’t strong enough then to stand up to my father, but I could resist her. I made a promise to myself that I would only marry for love. Nothing would keep me from it. Not my mother’s manipulations or my father’s cruelty. Not the weight of my crown. And even when I fell in love, even when my crown and his cruelty took those loves away, I held on to that vow, knowing that whatever else I gave up for Adarlan, I might at least be with someone I loved. A queen who loved me, who would erase every nightmare, help me battle every hardship. A queen who would stand beside me. That queen is you. It’s only ever been you.”

That was where Manon wished to be. Beside him, offering her strength and taking his when she needed it. Trusting him as she’d trusted no other. Saving him and letting him save her. Just as they’d always done. Dorian was everything she wanted and needed in a friend and lover.

“Seeing you with him tonight, I couldn’t stand it. I know I have no right to feel that way. You don’t belong to me. But I belong to you. No matter what happens tomorrow, I am yours, and always will be.”

Manon closed her eyes, not knowing what to say and trying to keep the tears at bay. He was right. About all of it. She’d let herself fall into that same trap these past two years. That instead of being forced to have an heir with some random ally, she might have a choice in the matter. And her choice had already been made. From that moment she’d dragged Asterin along to Rifthold, hellbent on warning his friends that Dorian had not succumbed to the valg within him.

Yes, he was right. But what did it change?

***

“It was hard for me to see you with her,” she said, her eyes boring into him, as if searching for a sign that he wasn’t as miserable as he claimed. “Laughing and talking together.”

When she started to walk away, Dorian reached for her arm, turning her to face him. Instinctively, she pushed back, taking a fistful of his shirt to hold him in place. But he kept walking, slowly forcing her backwards, closing the distance between them until she was stopped by the wall behind her. Dorian boxed her in, his hands flat on the wall, barely an inch from her shoulders, their faces almost as close. He did not touch her, knowing that if he did, all his meager control would be lost, and he’d fall to his knees and beg. Her chest rose and fell with each jagged breath, their eyes locked like magnets.

“I hated the way you looked at her,” Manon rasped. “I hated dancing with him.”

Dorian’s fingers twitched and suddenly, he had a handful of her hair. Manon’s gaze dipped to his lips and with that single look, that soft tug of hair, the wall they’d tried to hold up between them collapsed. Still grasping his shirt, she pulled him to her. When their lips touched, they both sighed, as if arriving home after a long journey.

The kiss was like a fire ignited within them. One of his hands dropped and grabbed her hip, pulling her to him. His other hand shifted and wrapped around her neck, his thumb running along her jaw. Manon groaned and took his bottom lip between her teeth. Hitching a leg up around his hip, she drew him closer. All Dorian’s senses flashed on and the only thing he was aware of was her.

Everything, he had missed everything about her. The way her hair felt like the purest silk, the way her gold eyes darkened with desire, the sounds she made when he took her in his arms. And though he was losing himself in this kiss, he knew that more than any of those things, he’d missed simply being near her, talking to her, confessing his deepest thoughts to her. Manon was the only one he could do those things with.

“I missed you witchling. So much,” he whispered roughly against her mouth. “I love you.”

He felt the ghost of a smile as she said, “I love you too, princeling.”

His whole body shuddered at the sound of that word from her lips. Hearing it, holding her, everything about this moment reinforced that feeling of calm and rightness. Of home.

They’d never said it before, substituting that word with others, or with actions. Manon had changed so much since he’d first met her, learning to open herself to new feelings and experiences without losing any of her hard edges and steel. But he’d always assumed she was afraid to say it, to give all of herself in that way. So he’d been patient, keeping the word bottled up until the right moment. That overdependence on time had kept them from declaring their love for one another. Until now.

A tear had escaped her eye and he brushed it away with his finger. Desperate for more, for all of her, he leaned down to kiss her again, but she covered his mouth with a trembling hand.

“You can’t be here,” Manon said. “I love you but …” She pushed him back this time and walked quickly away. “You are right. And I want nothing more than to be the one to fulfill that vow you once made. But you’ve sworn an oath to your people, and tomorrow, you will uphold it.”

Devastated to have their perfect moment shattered by the harshness of reality, Dorian didn’t follow her. She was only a few feet away and it felt like an ocean, the distance filled with an empty cold that left him numb to the bone.

Tomorrow he would keep his oath to Adarlan, forsaking his vow to himself.

The sight of her in the arms of another had tested him in ways he’d never imagined. What then, if one day she married the fae prince? Had a witchling with him? The thoughts cleaved his heart anew, and again, he was surprised to find anything left to break. This brief reprieve with her had restored it, only for it to fall apart. Dorian wondered when that damaged part of him would finally give way and disappear altogether. What shell would be left in its place? What kind of king would he be without a heart with which to love?

For all the evil he’d committed, even his father had felt love enough to bestow his own name upon his son, to hide Dorian’s magic from Erawan for as long as he could. A familiar doubt crept out of the shadows and into his head, crowing about how much weaker he was than his father. He knew he was acting like a fool, as overly dramatic as any fairy tale he’d grown up reading. But logic held no power against the depthless dark overtaking him.

Manon still had her back to him. Her shaky breaths were barely audible, but he felt her misery as sharply as he felt his own. Fighting every urge to go to her, comfort her, and in turn comfort himself, Dorian walked past her to the balcony door. He paused for one moment, watching her reflection in the glass. But when she didn’t look up, he unlatched the door and walked outside.

A second later, Dorian was a raven, flying into the frigid night. He didn’t go back to his rooms yet, choosing instead to soar higher for a while. The bite of the air at this altitude didn’t penetrate his thick feathers, so he let himself go up and up and up, leaving the world and thoughts of tomorrow behind.

To be continued...

***

Thanks for reading! You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m not sure who all is still out there. So if I missed you, or you’d like to be tagged/removed for parts two and three, let me know.

@itach-i @bookishwitchling @manontrashbeak @awesomelena555 @jimetg98 @over300books

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #yrene westfall #chaol westfall #glennis crochan #manorian fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #my writing #anon ask #only you

60 notes · View notes

notmymainblog · 3 years

Note

if you're accepting requests, could you do a post-azkaban sirius x reader where she's the same age as tonks so they're in like a more secret relationship but somehow the whole order finds out?

I just deleted all of my progress, and I’m ready to die.

Idk if you see responses to your asks unless I tag u so I'm tagging you @msmb

I believe the age gap between Remus and Tonks is ten years?

I put Trewlany in the order to add some spice

If i forget a member of the order: no the fuck i didn’t.

TW: stressed Sirius </3 fluff, mentions, of war, them making out cause it’s literally unavoidable. uuuh that's it.

Master list

InteractiveFics

To use:

Download obvi. Click the icon (upper right by the search bar) in the first box to enter your name. If you did it correctly y/n should read as your actual name. Under that it will say something along the lines of “need to change something other than y/n?” there you can change anything you want.

y/h/c and y/h don't work together so please enter y/ho if you're inputting your Hogwarts house

Here’s a song I like:

There was a war coming. A dangerous war against a dangerous man. Everyone was freaking the fuck out, especially Sirius. The boy he was supposed to be protecting was caught up in the middle of it all.

You were the best method of stress relief. Your y/h/c hair, soft skin, smell, taste, voice, laugh, everything about you made Sirius slow down, take deeper breaths. Sometimes you were the only way he could fall asleep.

But he was old, or so he thought, ‘I’m thirty fucking six, and she’s in her twenties. This is ridiculous. She can’t really love me,’ he’d think.

But time and time again, you proved him wrong. Showing him how much you loved him with every kiss, with every touch, with every word, with every breath. And he gave your love right back. You were there for him, and he was there for you.

As you were lying in bed, you turned to face him, “I want to tell them,” you said.

He pulled you close as he whispered, “I know you do, but what would Molly think? Or Remus? Or Harry? Hermione would flip her shit and Arthur-”

“Ok, ok, I get it,” you grumbled.

He made up for it by placing a kiss on your nose. He moved to your mouth, and one kiss turned to three, turned to four and five, as you made out. His beard tickled your chin, and his mustache brushed your cupid's bow. Your hands made their way to his hair. God, you loved it when it was long. Threading your fingers through it and pulling gently.

As he moved to your neck, and suddenly the tugging wasn't as gentle. Small gasps and mewls escaped your mouth. His hands rubbed your sides, slowly moving your shirt up your body. He was in no hurry, but you were.

“God, Sirius, please just touch me, baby. I love you so much,” you gasped.

“I love you too, y/n,” he whispered.

“My word!” Molly exclaimed, dropping her laundry basket.

“Molly, I am so sorry, just please don’t...tell,” you trailed off, seeing she had already left.

You turned to Sirius, “what do you think?” you asked.

“I think,” he began, “that she’s going to sit with Tonks after the kids have gone to bed. I think she’s going to get a little tipsy. I think she’s going to tell Tonks. And I firmly believe the whole Order will know by the end of tomorrow.” he said.

You smiled, “would that really be the worst thing in the world?”

He kissed you, “no, but the lectures will be.” he laughed.

You groaned, “I don’t wanna think about it.”

A knock on the door startled you both into sitting positions, “y-yes, come in,” you stuttered.

Fred opened the door, “Mum wants you downstairs for dinner, dunno why she didn’t tell you herself,” he smirked, “nice side part Sirius, please get rid of it as soon as possible it makes your face look asymmetrical.”

“oh my god, Fred and George are going to kill us,” you whispered after he left.

“what’s really scary was the side part you gave me on accident, never again y/n,” he smiled, nuzzling the side of your face affectionately.

“no, that tickles, hey! Quit it! I’m serious, oh don’t you dare,” you warned.

“hmm, I’m pretty damn sure that I’m Sirius,” he said, looking at you for a reaction.

You clenched your jaw before getting up and walking down the stairs. You and Sirius refused to look at Molly the entire time, and Molly did the same.

“I’m sensing an energy,” Trewlany began. You internally groaned. She closed her eyes and raised her hands above her head with her palms facing upward.

“A nervous energy between two, no! Three people. At this,” she pointed away from you, “end of the table,”

Hermione glowered at her.

“Hermione dear, I can feel that it is radiating off of you specifically from your heart,” she said.

She got up from her chair and put a hand over Hermione’s heart, “Ah, yes. So sad, so hopeless, and suddenly angry, whatever could have caused that?” Trelawny pondered.

“I’ll be back with black sage and crystals, dear. I can help you become at peace with the darkness inside yourself,” Trewlany said, walking away from the table.

“She is absolutely batshit,” Hermione whisper shouted.

“I dunno ‘mione she might be right,” Ron said, shrugging.

“Oh shut up, Ronald,” Hermione groaned.

“Hey, you two,” You said, pointing at them, “break it up. Now I’m feeling the negative energy too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes before going back to her food.

The rest of dinner was quiet until Trewlany shuffled into the room, “there, there, dear, I’ll fix it in a millisecond,”

You gave Hermione a glare. She clenched her jaw and let Trewlany get to “work.” A few minutes later, Hermione was “cleansed,” and dinner came to an end.

You and Sirius took a seat on the couch. He looked around before pressing a firm kiss to your lips which you returned gladly.

You both chuckled when you pulled apart.

“Sorry, just couldn’t resist,” he whispered.

“It is more than alright,” you whispered back.

Little did you know the youngest ginger girl residing in the house was watching with a hand clapped over her mouth.

She rushed upstairs, “Ronald, get out of my room. You’re such an asshole,” Hermione said.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender, “Oh hi Ginny,” he said.

As soon as he left, Ginny closed and locked the door.

“You’re never going to believe what I just saw,” she said, grinning.

“Well, go on,” Hermione said, obviously impatient, “spit it out!”

She took a deep breath, “I just saw y/n and Sirius snogging,” she gushed.

“No,” Hermione gasped, “You’re fucking with me!”

“y/n and Sirius?” George said, from behind the door. You looked down to see an extendable ear.

“George, what the fuck!” Hermione said.

“When Ginny ran up the stairs, I knew it was gonna be good, but this, this is amazing, this is priceless, this is- I gotta tell Fred,” he said, running away from the door.

“do not pester that poor girl, or I’ll hex you!” Hermione called after him.

“No promises!” he called back.

She turned to Ginny, “I think one of their only talents is eavesdropping” she nodded.

Meanwhile, in the boy’s shared room, Fred’s mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide.

“No!” Fred exclaimed, as George nodded, “But he’s so old!”

George elbowed him, “he’s not that old. He’s only...I have no clue how old he is, but he’s not old,”

“Oi, do you still have an extendable ear?” Fred asked.

“how do you think I heard it, dummy?” he said as Fred rolled his eyes.

Fred and George crept down the hall to your room. When they discovered you weren’t there, they crept up to Sirius’s room on the third floor. The ear wriggled under the door to hear soft voices.

“You have to be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen y/n. I am so lucky to have you. I have to be the luckiest man on earth,” he whispered into your ear.

“oh, hush,” you said, they could tell from just your voice that your cheeks were pink, “Besides, look at you. God, you’re fucking artwork, Sirius,” your hand ran up and down his chest.

The twins heard his lips press to your forehead. Of course, they had no idea it was your forehead. They could definitely tell when his lips hit yours. The kisses sounded wetter, and your laugh was muffled. They quickly pulled the ear back from under the door making disgusted faces at each other and shaking their heads.

You and Sirius fell asleep pretty quickly, Fred and George debated bleaching their ears, and Molly did, in fact, get drunk with Tonks. At breakfast, you and Sirius felt five new pairs of eyes on you.

‘what if I just kissed her right now?’ he thought, ‘in front of everyone.’

He shook it off, deciding against it. Towards the end of breakfast, he felt your hand squeeze his, bringing a smile to his face. After breakfast, you sat in the living room with Harry and Ron. It seemed that the only people who didn’t know were Ron, Harry, Remus, and Trelawny. You and Harry had always gotten along well. He saw you as a protector, someone to help and comfort him.

Your heart warmed every time he came to you for advice or just to vent. He was funny too. It was rare when no one laughed at his jokes. Ron liked you a lot also, mostly because Harry liked you and you “weren’t mean like Hermione,” Ginny and Hermione saw you as their best friend too. You had sleepovers at least once a week.

You were joyful and youthful, and everyone wanted to be near you. Even Fred and George would (rarely) avoid pranking you or ask for help. You didn’t get on as well with Tonks and Molly. Ever since Remus rejected her, she had been depressed. Now that she knew you were with Sirius and that the age gap between you two was the same as hers, there was a coldness in her tone. She may have even slightly resented you.

Molly was lovely but quite judgmental, and things were just...awkward. Arthur was kind, but you didn’t have any overlapping interests. And, to quote Hermione, Trelawny was “absolutely batshit,” You got on well with Remus, which always made Sirius smile.

Two ginger boys ran in being chased by a brunette and another ginger girl.

“Fred and George Weasley, don’t you dare!” Hermione said.

“Oh, we dare!” they said in unison.

They stopped in front of Harry and Ron.

“Boys, what are you-” you began.

“y/n and Sirius are snogging,” they said together. They were pretty damn good at it.

Harry was processing the new information very slowly and, well, we all know that look Ron gets when something confuses him. Then they turned to you and Sirius. He sat back on the couch with a small smirk while your eyes were wide with blush covering your cheeks.

“You look so cute like that, y’know,” he said, grabbing your chin to face him.

“Sirius,” you hissed.

“What? They all know,” he shrugged.

Much to his delight, your cheeks grew even warmer.

“So you're, ” Harry started; his reaction was the one you were most worried about, but a large smile graced his face, “y-youre gonna be like my godmother, right?”

You looked at Sirius who nodded, “yeah, yeah I am, ” you smiled.

Harry got up and hugged you, “hey, were not engaged or anything everyone calm down, ” you joked.

“Well actually y/n, ” Sirius smirked.

“Youre fucking joking,” you said.

“Yeah, I'm joking, but someday I won't be, ” he laughed.

Remus just leaned on the doorframe, watching this all go down. When everything calmed down, he walked through the room, stopping to pat Sirius on the back.

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

Ok, msmb, I have a warning about the next request of yours I'm posting: it fucking sucks. I mixed fandoms with MHA because I have an obsession with a wrinkly psychopath and man who looks like burnt toast that I just needed to get out of my system. I will ONE HUNDRED PERCENT rewrite it for u love <3

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #harry potter marauders #x reader #marauders era #fan fic blog #fan fiction #fanfic #fluff #sirius orion black #sirius x you #sirius black fluff

74 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Maybe We Meet Again

My Masterlist

In Another Life (prequel to this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: The first part (of two) of the sequel of In Another Life, set in a Modern!AU.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death, descriptions of violence and death, major character death (past), nothing else I can think of.

A/N: Hi, idk what you guys were expecting when it came to the follow up for In Another Life, but I hope you like this. Thank you so much for your support in that work and all the others, none of this would be possible without you guys keeping me sane motivated. Love ya.

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

Ivar’s gaze is focused on his phone, awaiting his brother’s answer to finally know how much longer will it be before he gets to the café, but something makes him lift his gaze, looking out the window.

He sees you looking positively overwhelmed on a street corner, eyes squinting at a sign, trying to read the name of the street.

Ivar doesn’t know what it is that makes him adjust the crutch in his left arm and stand up to approach you. He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t deny the pull, the whisper that if he doesn’t at least learn your name he will regret it.

“Do you need help?” He asks as pleasantly as he is able to, and based by the grateful smile you offer, even if twinged with embarrassment, he isn’t quite the mannerless grump his brothers make him out to be.

“Is it that obvious?” You huff a laugh at yourself, and continue, “I’m trying to find…”

Your eyes lower to your phone, and with an adorable frown in your nose, you give up on whatever it is you must say, and just show him the screen. The name of the university is familiar, but you are very much lost, it seems, for it is almost on the other side of town.

He tells you that, and tries not smiling at the expression on your face. Gods, you are cute.

“You are not from here.” He states, and you shake your head.

“Here on a scholarship, I’m going to be an assistant investigator in…” Your words die again, as you seemingly try to remember the name of the place you are supposed to be at. But you shake yourself out of that soon enough, and offer a smile, “I’m Y/N.”

The name makes something in him react, awaken. For a moment he tries to remember why, to understand, but it feels like trying to run in a dream, in feels strange and hopeless and out of his reach.

Before you can think him too strange, he tells you his name, and desperately tries thinking of something to say in the awkward silence that follows.

He finds himself asking if you have time for a coffee, motioning absently to the shop behind him, and by some turn of his luck, you say yes.

Ivar finds out soon enough that it is incredibly easy to get you to talk. It works for him, he doesn’t always know what to say, and he knows to most people he seems cold.

But you, you are warm and alive and expressive, and soon enough you are moving your hands excitedly, speaking of finally being granted the opportunity to assist in a dig on a ship burial site. Ivar frowns, and interrupts you with a mumble of your name, still not over the strange thrill that goes over him when sounds out the syllables.

“There’s no sea nearby, how w-…”

“A ship burial doesn’t mean one at sea,” You interrupt softly, eyes shining. After a breath, where it seems your smile trembles on your lips, you add, “Things are not as literal as you think they are, Ivar.”

He tries returning the smile, but his lips part and his breath stutters out.

Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something?

He shakes himself out of it, and leans forward on the table, resting his elbows on it and looking into your eyes.

“So, why all this? Why chase a love story all the way to Bække?”

You shrug your shoulders, a smile that Ivar tries not finding devastatingly adorable playing on your lips, “I don’t like secrets.”

“I don’t think they are keeping it particularly from you.”

“Still. I…it’s a story no one else knows, something that can change how we see the world.” Your eyes are shining in a sort of wonder, of excitement, he has never seen before.

Still, because he cannot help it, he reminds you, “How we see one man.”

“A man that changed the world,” You argue without hesitation, gesturing with your hands as you continue, “Strip away the atrocity, the cruelty, the…otherworldliness of those who are remembered as monsters, and the tale we tell changes, the world changes.

You place your hand over the worn book he saw you carrying, that when he asked you told it was your favorite copy of historical and archaeological records detailing the last years of the Golden Age for Vikings, your eyes fiery as they meet his,

“All we have to remember him by is the legend, the war stories, the chaos he sowed and the death that followed. Even his grave is one of magic, of superstition.”

“But not this one you are working on.”

“Not this one. If I can prove that she was his wife…” A breathed laugh leaves your lips, and Ivar clings to the sound. You bite your lip before insisting, “I just need her name to be the right one.”

“The right one?”

You shrug your shoulders, moving both hands so they are wrapped around your cup of coffee, though your fingers are anxiously tapping at the plastic covering. “His last breath was a whisper of a name. It may not mean anything, but it’s the one lead I have. He may have been a monster, but…he died with a name on his lips.”

“The name of his wife.”

You correct with a shake of your head, “Presumed wife, Rus records only speak of a shieldmaiden that was found dead in his room, before he tore the Rus apart from the inside. Sentimentality makes you think he was avenging her. Logic, on the other hand…”

When your words die with a gesture of your hand, Ivar finishes for you,

“Makes you realize he killed her.”

You nod, a twitch of sadness, a shine of grief in your eyes, before you shake your head at yourself with a sigh.

“The night the world ended.” You quote with a smile that trembles on your lips.

____

If someone were to ask him how life turned out this way, how he got to be here with you and have you love him and let him love you back, Ivar wouldn’t know how to answer.

He’s told you before that maybe it is Fate, that maybe, just maybe, you two were meant to be. Each time he speaks of it, you smile softly, usually shaking your head or kissing him to shut him up, but he sees the tremble in your smile, the curiosity in your gaze, the wondering.

Regardless of how he got here, he for once refuses to overthink this, refuses to let himself be twisted into knots by his own thoughts.

So, because he finds himself missing you -because he wants to, because he can, because he asked you to move in and you said yes- Ivar goes in search of you.

He finds you on the couch, your eyes closed and breathing deep even if your laptop is still open on the coffee table, expecting you to continue work you probably fell asleep doing.

More than a year you’ve dedicated to this dig of yours, this investigation. More than a year, you’ve A part of him torments him with thoughts that you may look elsewhere -both when it comes to a home and when it comes to him- when it is done, but he tries not dwelling much on it.

He whispers an endearment as he presses a kiss right under your ear, a gesture and softness a year ago he never would have believed himself capable of.

“C’mon, wake up, Princess. I can’t exactly carry you to bed.”

“There’s a…bed right here,” You make a vague gesture to the tiny space you leave for him to apparently sleep in, “And there’s a me, and a you.”

Ivar tries replying with a whisper of your name, but Gods, you have him wrapped around your pinky, and your smile stops whatever he was going to insist with.

With a sigh, he sits on the small space you leave, and discards the crutch on the floor at his side. Trying to move you so he can lay down and have you rest on his chest, he once again meets resistance.

“No, no, no,” You mutter sleepily, and stiffen so he can’t maneuver you. “I’m comfy. You leave me be, Lothbrok.”

Our arms lift weakly, inviting him to lay partially over you with his head on your chest. It is inviting, especially with the promise of your fingers running through his hair.

So, he desists and settles in place, pressing a kiss to the center over your heart and laying his head on your chest, his arms going underneath you and wrapped tightly around you.

Ivar closes his eyes, and he can hear it beating under his ear, can hear its rhythm as if he could know it by memory.

He turns his head, and presses another kiss to the skin over your heart.

What he wouldn’t do for that heartbeat.

____

You wake him in the early morning whispering excitedly about the chance to finally go to the site, and insisting that he has to come with you.

“It’s her.” You whisper, and your smile is fucking blinding. When he apparently dwells too long on the warmth of that smile, you insist with an excited pitter-patter of your feet that he gets up.

He does, and gets in the car with you, around curses about the cold that you giggle at, an annoyed furrow in his brow you kiss away, and grumbles about how far away it is that you soothe away with soft kisses.

You get ahead of him when you walk towards the stones embedded on the ground you said are in the shape of a ship, and Ivar limps behind you as you approach the biggest of the stones.

Your hair flows everywhere in the wind, and your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself to ward off the cold.

“The one thing that made him human is here,” You say, and he watches as your left hand raises as if to press your palm against the old stone, before you stop yourself. “The one proof that he wasn’t a…a monster. Just a man.

You chuckle, but it is bitter, sorrowful, pained; and your gaze lowers to the ground.

“Or…he was, until he killed her.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, to that look in your eyes, to that pressure he feels deep in his chest. So, Ivar grabs on tighter to his crutch and moves closer to the pillar.

“‘She will return victorious’.” Ivar reads slowly, feeling a pit of dread at the base of his stomach, like he’s at the edge of a cliff and about to fall, like he knows what it feels to have the world end, like…like he-…

Those that followed him, those that chose their Viking roots over Oleg’s Christian ways, stay quite a distance away, they know better than to approach.

Ivar doesn’t know how much time he has spent sitting on this cold grass engraving with shaking hands the words he tries remembering how to spell.

He knows he’s lost a lot of blood, can feel it, sticky and colder by the minute, pooling underneath him. The one blow that managed to land on him, he wishes he could remember who it was, how it happened.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened between your lips breathing a last kiss over his and the light dying in Oleg’s eyes as his body surrendered to the torture.

Even his hand is bleeding, Ivar notices. He remembers faintly of holding on to a small statue when he was told his father died, he remembers the feel of it breaking the skin.

He could die here, he knows.

If he doesn’t let them approach him, if he doesn’t let them stop the bleeding, he will die here, tired and worn and alone, under a pool of his own blood before a monument of his worst mistakes.

He can close his eyes and he can still feel the fathom touch of your hand on his cheek, can still taste the warmth of your smile pressed against his own lips, can still see your gaze filled with love and the promise of forever.

He can still hear your voice, soft and gentle, the whispered hope that maybe Valhalla is another chance to meet again, that maybe in another life there’s hope for…hope.

He finishes the last of the letters, and he sways forward, brow resting against cold stone.

It would be easy, he gathers, to close his eyes and give in to the lull of the memory of your voice, your touch.

But he refuses to.

Because he can also feel your hand giving one last caress before you sentence you both to die, can still taste the tears in your lips as you promise only death will stop you against his own, can still see your dead eyes staring back up at him, his knife deep in your heart.

And so Ivar drops the blooded iron tool before the words he will pray to his very last breath are true: She will return victorious.

He vowed once he would make the world remember him, but the world ended the night he put a knife through your heart. The world -his world- ended, and he finds with cruel clarity that he wants them all to know what it feels.

He will still be the most famous Viking who has ever lived. He will make them all suffer and pay and die. And they will remember the pain and death and chaos. And he will be a legend, if only one they will whisper in fear for the rest of time, if only the legend of a monster in a man’s skin.

Ivar crawls away from the boat made of stone, certain many will try to stop him, even more will try to kill him. Certain they will fail.

They can’t kill him, don’t they know who he is?

“Are you okay?” Your hand on his back, touch making him realize how quickly his breaths are coming out of him. Bu the can’t-…he can’t get his breathing back under control, he can’t…

He moves back, away from the stone -the monument, the grave- and his hand doesn’t grip correctly at the crutch on his side. Almost all his life with these things, he’s never failed to use them, they work as an extension of him by now.

And he realizes with dawning horror he wasn’t reaching for the forearm crutch he’s used to, he was expecting to find a rougher one, wooden and metal and…Gods, he can feel the pain of those iron braces, he can feel the pressure of the bones that try to break under unfitting contraptions.

He cannot keep the scream from leaving his lips when they set the bone back into place, the pressure building from the inside of his leg and the pain threatening to pull him under.

He feels faintly of your hand on his face, trying to help him feel anything other than pain; hears choppily of your voice by his ear, trying to drown out the beat of his own heart.

He can’t tell how much time passes, all he knows is that your touch and your voice prove to be the only thing keeping him conscious.

“I hate those things.” You mutter sometime in the night, and he opens bleary eyes to watch you gritting your teeth at the iron braces that lie somewhere on his left.

“Necessary.” The word leaves him in a gasp, and is all he can say. Still, the Gods would sooner sew his mouth shut for him to refuse arguing.

You have the look of wanting to argue, he knows it, he knows that fire like he knows himself; but you say nothing.

The fire is a different one, but still scalds, when you press your hand over his chest.

He hears you say his name, or…or he thinks he does, and when he looks at you, your eyes are the same. And…how didn’t he know?

His lips form the shape of your name, but he only rasps out grief, horror, regret, his regret.

Your expression falls, your eyes fill with tears. He knows that look, that shine of devastation in your eyes.

You look at him and he sees it written in your eyes, the plea that he doesn’t ask you to make this choice.

But he cannot go on while the threat of them taking you away from him looms over him. Either he loses you for good now, or they do.

A part of him dreads your answer, and another is already certain what your choice will be.

“I’ll stay,” You sentence, and it feels like breathing for the first time in a century, when he fills grateful lungs with air. “Out of love for you, not for the world you want to build.”

But he cannot keep the coldness of his voice, he cannot keep the venom from his lips. Because even if your choice was to stay, he wants to punish you for even thinking about leaving him behind.

“A world where you happen to be one of the most powerful women. Convenient, isn’t it?”

But even as ice cuts and bruises and breaks the skin, your smile is warm.

“I choose this world not for power, but because I cannot fathom a world without you in it.”

“You remember.” Is all you whisper. And he recognizes that expression in your face too, all he knew was the feeling behind it once. You have the look of someone whose world just ended.

____

Sooooo, what do you think? I’m sorry there isn’t much fluff, I’m not good at it. And I’m sorry it ends in a cliffhanger, that isn’t nice, but the last part (which takes place from the Reader’s perspective) will hopefully come soon.

Thank you so much for reading, I would love to know your thoughts on this one!! Love you!!

Maybe Death Gives Up On Us (sequel to this)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

100 notes · View notes

a-singleboat · 4 years

Text

Virtual Reality

Word Count: 2.4k

Request: hi! if your taking requests, i was wondering if you could write a damien x reader, where they meet through Twitch? add anything else you want i always love everything you write, thanks so much!! - anon

Warning(s): like, one swear

It was a Thursday night when you first met him, or rather, heard of him. You had been streaming for five hours heading into your sixth when you decided it might be time for you to log off for the night. As per usual, you took at least thirty minutes at the end of your stream just to talk with your viewers, usually about how their lives were going in exchange for a story from your own day.

Tonight, however, there was an influx of people asking if you’d ever heard of a streamer by the name of Damien Haas, which you hadn’t, and if you would do a collaboration with the man anytime soon. Apparently, your content was eerily similar and you were, and I quote, “Practically the female version of him, looks aside.”

“Damien Haas…” you rolled yourself back closer to your desk, hands settled on your keyboard. You typed his name into the search bar, patiently waiting for Twitch to pull up his account. You clicked into the first one, making an impressed face at the purple checkmark next to his name. You squinted at the screen. “Is this him? In the profile picture with the LEDs in the background?”

You glanced at your chat, chuckling as the viewers started spamming ‘yes’ and ‘oh my god it’s happening,’ and your personal favorite, ‘mom come pick me up the best crossover of 2020 is happening and im SCARED.’

“He plays a lot of Animal Crossing,” you observed, clicking on one of his videos and dragging the tab onto your main monitor so the stream could see it. You skipped through the beginning part, biting into a pretzel as you watched.

“He’s kinda cute,” you commented, laughing as your stream freaked out once more. There were a few people commenting what looked like it could be a ship name though you ignored it. “Shame I’d never meet him, though.”

You paused his video, taking note of the time, before rolling out your shoulders. “I think it’s time for me to head out so I’m gonna end this stream with a huge thank you to you all for sticking with me through this entire stream and if you didn’t stay the entire time, I’m glad you decided to join in on the ride even halfway through. I’ll see you guys next time.”

You ended the stream, waving goodbye to your viewers before the light went out and you could relax the smile off your face. Don’t get it twisted, you loved streaming and you loved your viewers but just like any other job, it could get exhausting at times. You shut down your monitors, the screens turning blue before fading to black. You stretched, taking your phone up from its charger and launching yourself into bed, opening your phone and clicking on Twitter.

Much like staying thirty minutes after you were done streaming to talk to viewers, you usually went on Twitter right after to answer questions and respond to DMs. This time, however, instead of opening the app to see a bunch of post-stream questions, your mentions were filled with the video clip of you saying, “He’s kinda cute,” as well as maybe a million people tagging both you and Damien in them.

Well, shit.

Soon enough, that was all that filled your timeline. You couldn’t move in one direction without running into another screencap of you admiring the man. God, you knew the consequences but something in the back of your mind was urging you to reach out to him.

After a few moments of contemplation, the lonely side of you won out, forcing you to message him against your better judgment. Without even thinking about it, you found his Twitter and sent this message:

Hey, I’m sorry about your mentions blowing up because of me tonight. My viewers recommended your Twitch to me and I spoke without thinking about it on Live.

And with no expectation of his response, you fell asleep right there with your phone on your chest and the DM still open.

You woke up the next morning with a sore neck and a dead phone, which was a terrible way to start your day. You rolled over, plugging your device into an outlet before crawling out of bed to start your day. When you weren’t streaming, you worked as a freelance editor for different YouTubers, helping their editors with their workload or even staying on as a Temp for different companies. Occasionally you edited the odd commercial here and there, but those gigs were rare.

Most recently, you had received some material from a group of YouTubers, Smosh. This job was different, however, because if you did well on this you could be looking at a permanent place of employment through their parent company, Mythical Entertainment.

You knew Mythical Entertainment, it was hard not to, especially since your aunt was one of the producers within the company, but tended to ignore everything the company did. The last you’d heard, they’d onboarded another YouTube group (which you did later find out to be Smosh, the same YouTubers whose video you were hired to edit).

After a quick shower and a half-assed attempt at a proper breakfast, you were ready to start your day. You situated yourself behind your monitors, opening the video clips that had been sent to you. The first was a sample video, something that gave you insight on what their editing style was actually like.

But imagine your surprise when you’re staring down the same man you have called cute the night before, his approximately five-eleven stance taking up one-sixth of the space. He was standing next to a blond, who had been marked as “Shayne Topp.”

Despite there being five other people in frame, your eyes kept moving back to Damien’s figure, watching his mannerisms through the screen and laughing along to his jokes when they fell upon deaf ears.

Your eyes slid over to your phone, now decently charged after sitting for so long. On your screen were dozens of notifications. There were maybe two from your mom, asking if you’d be coming home for dinner sometime that week but the majority came from Twitter. You picked up the device, unlocking and responding to your mom with a, “yes,” before opening Twitter.

Nothing much had changed from the night prior. Your mentions were still being flooded with the video from last night but newer content had been ushered in, namely fan edits using footage from your streams and, you assumed, his.

The only major difference, however, was the fact that Damien had responded to your DM from the night prior. The first message read:

It’s really no problem! My stream had mentioned your name before, too.

Followed by the second:

P.S. I think you’re cute, too.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Mr. Damien Haas, the man that you had made a thoughtless comment on stream about, also thought that you were cute. Suddenly, the fact that you had been staring at him for the past hour seemed less stalkerish and more like a blooming crush. You wrote back:

Aw, thanks! Have you seen the newer fan edits? They’re all so talented.

You cringed at yourself. A cute boy started talking to you and you’ve suddenly forgotten how to be suave, not that you really were in the first place. But still, you liked to think you had some tact when talking to people that you found attractive.

Not even a moment later, there came a response.

Yes, I have, he responded. And I agree! They are all very talented individuals.

You looked from the monitor in front of you. You had about a quarter of the footage left to go through before you could start editing but this technically wasn’t due until the following night. Feeling emboldened by the fact that he had actually responded, you replied:

Are you going to TwitchCon on Friday? We should meet up or something.

Anxiously you awaited his response, taking his silence as an opportunity to watch a bit more of the footage and take down notes according to the sample they’d given you. Roughly thirty minutes later is when the next response came in, reading as an affirmative to both questions.

You didn’t respond, choosing to leave your social media for after you’d finished editing the video. Your heart still pounded, however. Just the thought that there was a possibility for the two of you to meet was, simply put, insane. You’d just heard of the guy the night before and decided that he was going to be your latest hyperfixation.

But who could blame you? He was a nice, funny guy that showed the slightest bit of attraction towards you. It didn’t help that you were a sucker for guys that were nice to you.

Fast forward to the Friday of TwitchCon, also known as the first day of TwitchCon. You and Damien had been talking steadily over Twitter DMs and just last night you had gained his phone number, giving you even more access to the man than you had before. But of course, who were you if you didn’t tease your fans with the prospect of you meeting.

The night before, at the end of your stream, you’d given your fans the little tidbit of information that you and Damien were, in fact, planning on meeting up sometime during TwitchCon and would be greeting fans together for an hour at your booth.

That sent Twitter into a frenzy, both of your combined fans getting your ship name to trend within the hour, which confused the hell out of a bunch of locals.

It was nearing the time you and Damien had set to meet up. The plan was you’d meet around twelve for lunch, take an hour for yourselves, before going back to your booth and meeting with fans for an hour or so as promised.

You had never been more nervous than you were in that moment. Not only were you about to meet your three-day-old crush but apparently a very popular YouTuber. You tried not to let the thought mess with your head. One of your friends, Wilbur Soot (who you played Minecraft with from time to time) was poking fun at you for being nervous about meeting a popular YouTuber.

After three years of streaming and gaining a solid following, you’d think you’d be used to meeting other popular content creators. But because it was him, you found yourself unable to think straight.

“What if I fuck up?” you asked Wilbur anxiously. He’d flown in from London for this event at your insistence and because you’d offered to pay half his airfare to get there and back. He didn’t have his own booth as his arrival was very last minute, but he didn’t mind. He signed the occasional poster though his main purpose was to provide you mental and emotional support.

“You won’t fuck up,” he comforted, leafing through one of the comics a fan had given you. The entire thing was hand-drawn, which was an insane fact in itself. It looked professional, which was what blew you away when you’d received it. “Well, you won’t fuck up as badly as you did when you first met Schlatt.”

You groaned in embarrassment. “Don’t remind me.”

Long story short, you’d dumped a red in color slushy on the man accidentally after tripping over an unmarked cable. It really wasn’t your fault but the boys hadn’t let you live it down since then.

Half a moment later, Wilbur was poking your side. “Is that him?” he asked, jabbing his pointer finger into your side while looking in the opposite direction. He was looking at a familiar figure walking down the hallway toward your booth. He stopped for a moment to take a photo with a fan, talking to them about something, before continuing on his way toward you.

Your eyes locked and you gave him a smile while trying to beat Wilbur into no longer poking you. He stopped when you slapped his arm the first time, sticking his tongue at you before going on his phone. You rolled your eyes at his half-assed attempt of pretending he wasn’t about to start listening in on your conversation.

“Hey, Y/n, right?” Damien asked as he approached. You nodded, reaching out for a handshake but becoming pleasantly surprised when he instead pulled you in for a hug.

“You ready for lunch?” you asked glaring slightly at Wilbur as he made kissy faces over Damien’s shoulder. Luckily, Damien hadn’t noticed your moron of a best friend.

“Yeah, I saw this sushi place on the way in if you wanted to try that?”

“I’d be down,” you agreed, reaching behind your table to grab your bag. Wilbur was set to meet with a few other Minecraft streamers, meaning you didn’t have to worry about him while you had lunch. You looked over your shoulder, making sure everything was set for you to leave before saying goodbye to Wilbur.

Over the course of lunch, you and Damien had gotten to know each other pretty well. Once the conversation moved away from your fans and, well, work, and more into personal details, you found that you actually weren’t all that similar. For starters, Damien loved watching anime while your guilty pleasure was Gilmore Girls. The one show you both had a love for, however, was Avatar the Last Airbender, which made sense.

Another thing was that he actually enjoyed being in front of the camera while you tolerated it on most days, really only putting on your face cam for the last thirty minutes on most days. Despite that, he still classified himself as an introvert.

You returned back to your booth much later than you anticipated, thoroughly shocked at the line that had formed with Wilbur at the front of it, entertaining the fans that had shown up early to meet both you and Damien.

“Y/n!” one fan called, pointing in your direction. Immediately, the entire line turned and gaped at the sight of you and Damien walking together. You greeted them happily, stopping for pictures and verbally promising that you’d stay until you got to meet everyone personally.

“You really love your fans,” Damien observed as you put your things back down behind the table. Wilbur had set up shop on your right side, chatting with a few people at the front of the line.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without them,” you admitted, pulling a silver sharpie from your bag. You handed a gold one to Damien. “I also wouldn’t have gotten to meet you without them, which I’m still sorry about, by the way. Your feed must have been chaotic.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. “But everything happens for a reason.”

You nodded, grinning up at him. “Yes, they do.”

Permanent

@beautiful-holland @toms-order @starlightfound @grandmascottlang @positiveparker @bippity-boppity-boopa @caswinchester2000 @andreasworlsboring101 @imladylunaticbitch

308 notes · View notes

tartagilicious · 4 years

Text

love is blind / lucien x reader

so. due to recent events, lucien is now tied for #1 on my list. I wish I was kidding 😪 i’m at ch34 and at this point in the game whoever's on the screen immediately has their heart in my hands. It's such a mess. inspired by his infamous quote, “love can make you blind. right now, you still have time to run.” // w.c: 1821 // requested by anonymous:

“hiiii ! can i request mc x lucien where he’s crying (omg idk if he can cry already) thank you ! if you can’t then i understand”

[tribulation by matt maeson]

In, out. In, out.

Each unsteady breath you take reminds you of the chaotic situation you’ve gotten yourself into. Lucien stands in a similar condition next to you, supporting himself on your apartment’s door frame as his eyes flicker up to you untimely.

His expression falls. You look exhausted.

Your hair is an unbridled mess, and the distance you ran certainly shows in the way your chest heaves. But what catches his attention the most is the way your eyes squeeze shut, as if wishing something away.

Lucien’s face contorts as a thousand emotions run through his eyes. He never wanted this for you. Not any of it. But the man you gave a chance to exists only in your perfect narrative, while in all others, he exists as Ares -- a gruesome identity neither of you can evade.

He reaches out tentatively to brush your hair, damp with sweat, from your face. You whisper your quiet thanks before meeting his eye, and Lucien can barely guard his expression when he recognises the fading terror in your gaze.

“___…”

He trails off quietly, his voice a rare self-deprecating tone.

“I’m sorry. I should have known better than to take you there.”

The destination he speaks of, a large camphor tree standing in the same place it had when you were children, is your safe place. Even up into your adult years, it always has been -- you just didn’t think anything would ever change that

Only, the Special Task Force was unfortunately thorough in their attempts to weed you both out.

“It was just luck that they found us, not your fault.” You shake your head, gaze softening as you place your hand over where his has slid to cradle your cheek. “Besides, a little running doesn’t hurt anyone does it?”

Your hopeful joke falls on deaf ears.

He seems to be bothered by something despite your reassurance, but you don’t have to ask to guess what’s on his mind.

“Lucien.” You say his name quietly but firmly, successfully garnering his attention. “ I don’t blame you for any of this, and I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it. If sticking together means danger for who we are -- then I've accepted it a long time ago.”

Lucien is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“My little fool…”

His smile is small, but the sight of it relieves you.

“When have you started looking at me with such eyes?” He murmurs, his thumb swiping in a tender motion over your cheek. The fear previously taut in your expression melts like an ice cube under the sun as the seconds pass, leaving a suitable tender glow in its place.

“Lucien....” You laugh silently as you shake your head, leaving his rhetorical question unanswered. Time is fleeting as his glossy eyes hold yours, though it crawls by in the world you’re reduced to; one where your vision is zeroed in on the man in front of you alone.

His thumb’s motions abruptly stop as his gaze flickers down, eyelashes only slightly shielding the tears you know he’s trying to hide. Something inside of your chest weakens at the sight of it, but in response, you don’t freeze much like you expect yourself to.

You instead use both hands to reach out to him, leading his eyes up to yours. You notice your own eyes growing misty as they lock once again, yet you don’t so much as pause -- because in that moment, there’s no room for hesitation.

“I love you,” Your head tilts forward slightly as his teary eyes widen. It seems you aren’t completely incapable of surprising him after all.

But, Lucien suddenly pushes out a self-pitying laugh, hesitantly tilting himself away from your hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not someone that deserves love, ___. Especially not yours…”

“Don’t say that,” You make an effort to reach back out, but your hand pauses midair when you notice Lucien’s expression. It’s not one of a man who is resolute -- not quite yet.

“I hurt you, ___. I betrayed you. Do you really want to love someone like that?” His eyes carry the weight of his words beneath them, and for a moment, you don’t know what the right response is.

Your brows quirk bitterly. “You talk like I was the only one to fall in love at the wrong time.”

Lucien doesn’t respond in words, yet the way his hands slowly fall away from your face says enough. He turns away as if the simple action will mute your voice.

“Do you want me to remind you of all the times you saved me?” You ask, head tilting as your eyes bore into the side of his face. “Of how you continued to keep an eye on me even after you turned your back on me? And how you returned to me even after that--?”

You end exasperatedly, eyes finally fully meeting Lucien’s firm ones.

“I fell in love with every part of you.” You shake out a whisper, plagued by the silence that fills the room afterwards.

“...A murderer?” He speaks after what feels like eons of silence, his lips curled into a pitiful smile. “A liar and a manipulator? Is that the man you love?”

“Ares has held me in the same ways Lucien has.” You spit.

The dark entryway is so quiet that you’re able to hear cars on the streets levels below.

“No matter what identity you take on, you will always remain the same person to me.” You sigh and continue in a softer manner, hoping an extra nudge will push him in a positive direction.

Yet, in his eyes, you see all of the sadness of the world. Reflected in his gaze are the stars in the sky and the lights in the distance, all with those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“You shouldn’t trust me so easily,” He whispers, guilt still prominent in his voice even as he begins to walk deeper into the apartment. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver, though, Lucien seems too preoccupied to notice.

“Then give me a reason not to trust you.” You blurt, the underlying meaning of your words daring but sincere. Lucien’s steps falter, as if your grim suggestion has hit him right where you intended. “If you’re as ruthless of a person as you say you are, then show me that you mean it.”

“I’ll accept what you say only then. But until the day that happens, Lucien, I won’t--”

A guttural sound escapes Lucien’s throat, and for a brief moment, you’re stopped in your tracks. His face is completely obstructed from where you stand, and the only visible continuation of his reaction is how he cards his fingers messily through his hair.

You don’t dare speak and ruin the delicate silence -- while it’s fairly obvious Lucien isn’t angered by your words, there’s nothing more you could possibly add. The decision he makes will be reliant on his own contemplation alone.

Supporting yourself quietly on the wall behind you, a gentle breath joins your eyes in a patient demonstration. Lucien’s back is utterly still, making not a single movement to allude to even a detail of his stance. Between gaps of silence and hints of his breathing, you drown in the atmosphere for what feels like an eternity before he speaks.

“...I would never hurt you.” He finally says this croakily, his voice somewhat weak from disuse.

Your tensed shoulders fall as you smile at the floor, nodding even though he can’t see you. “I know.”

You begin to make your way over to where he stands, searching for any reaction as you do so - but, no matter the distance you close, there is none. There’s a brief moment when you stand in front of his back that you’re unsure of what to do, even if the staggering beat in your chest reminds you of just who you stand before.

Lucien remains still even as your delicate arms run around his torso, landing evenly to rest in a familiar intimate position.

“...I trust you.”

His broad shoulders stiffen visibly, as if your words are not those he wanted to hear.

“You’re very persistent, ___.” Lucien’s voice is small, lined with a laugh that seems slightly more open than before -- though it may just be your own speculation.

You murmur out a reply, words muffled by his sweater. “Apparently, I have to be.”

The body in your arms seems to be trembling slightly, though he doesn’t speak for a long time. The silence you’ve created remains still before he takes a deep breath. A far part of you considers drawing back your arms for fear of having crossed a line, but the moment you try, Lucien suddenly places a decisive hand over yours.

Your breath hitches as the pads of this thumbs wander curiously over your palms and wrists, thoughtfully tracing the familiar nooks. It feels like ages pass by until you notice Lucien’s head turning back to look at you, his body shifting in your arms as you take in his faintly swollen eyes.

“Lucien…” You trail off, expression deflating as your frown instinctually deepens.

There are too many mixed emotions in his eyes, but in the end, uncertainty blooms into a faint light.

“You don’t have to be.” His soft words allude to what you’d mentioned beforehand. “Your hand over me is much stronger than either you or I know.”

You don’t know how to react to the information he’s given you, but politely, you decide to disregard it. There’s no need for unscrupulous pushing -- love isn’t something to be forced.

“Then you have to listen to me.” You plead softly, your hands leaving the carefully situated position around his torso and slinking into his own hands. “I can’t even begin to explain how much you’ve done for me, either as Lucien or Ares. But, you separate these identities so much that you seem to forget they’re both you when it really matters.”

Your lips raise up in a telling hopeful smile, forcing him to realise the significance of your words. “And because I love you, that means--”

You don’t even get the chance to finish your words before being taken tightly into his solid arms, bound in place by the soft yet intelligible beating of his heart against yours. His embrace takes you by surprise, almost forcing the breath out of you, but at that moment, only a faint sadness remains in your chest.

You can’t even fathom that you were originally supposed to be enemies, much less only acquainted by your dangerous labels alone. Because the man that holds you gently in his arms, as if you’re a butterfly he’s afraid to let fly away, is so much more than that.

93 notes · View notes

therealsaintscully · 3 years

Text

[TJLC] Distracted by AGRA (or the many hints about personification of death in The Six Thatchers)

PLEASE CONSIDER THIS A WORK IN PROGRESS. IT’S NOT PERFECT BUT I HAVE SOME GOOD IDEAS HERE, I THINK, SO KEEPING IT FOR NOW.

A FEW DISCLAIMERS: - I’m not a native English speaker and this wasn’t betad, so excuse the less-than-perfect English (although you’re about to find out what native language actually is). - I’m very new in the fandom and in reading/writing meta, this would be my second meta post tbh, so excuse the amateurism. - Everything I’m about to write here is based on very quick and easy Google searches. I’m BY NO MEANS AN ACADEMIC! I’m not well versed enough in any form of literary analysis to claim more than that, but perhaps this post will be a breeding ground for new ideas. If you are an academic and you find these interesting - please go ahead and expand on them. - Lastly, this may have been picked up before by other meta writers and if so - I’m not aware of it, as I’m quite new to this fandom.

tl;dr: The Six Thatchers seems to be full of hints about the personification of death and cultural/religious representations of it, in a way that may even hint that that Mary = death, and/or that Moftiss were very preoccupied with the idea while writing it. It should be noted that I find these tidbits interesting in the context of well-established TJLC theories I’ve been reading up on a lot lately, namely EMP and M-Theory. I found these details interesting in the context of reading TST as something that’s happening in Sherlock’s MP as he’s dying and suspecting that Mary is dangerous and perhaps even linked to Moriarty.

AGRA > Samarra > The Four Angels of Death

As these things always go, I’ve been re-watching episodes while researching my WIP fic ‘Turned’. I have this new habit these days of only listening, instead of actually watching the episode in search of a fresh perspective. This time I was blown away, once again, by Sherlock and Mycroft’s conversation about AGRA. It’s a VERY odd conversation considering the topic, and what caught my ear this time was Mycroft mechanically reciting facts about the city of Agra. Why Agra, I asked? What’s so important about it? Nothing, the way I see it. One search led to another and I looked up Samarra, thinking perhaps I’ll find some connection between the two cities, but couldn’t.

The search for Samarra and the parable about it led me to the Appointment in Samarra wiki page, which mentions that the title of the book comes from a retelling of an ancient Mesopotamian tale by W. Somerset Maugham (the source of the next quote is here):

"The Appointment in Samarra" (as retold by W. Somerset Maugham [1933])

The speaker is Death

There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture, now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me. The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threating getsture to my servant when you saw him this morning? That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

There is also a very interesting study guide link from this website, which asks some very interesting questions about tale, such as Maugham’s decision to make Death a non-omniscient narrator of this tale, as well as a woman. I’ll return to Death being referred to as a woman later. However, since I have no expertise in literary readings, I’ll leave it to others who might be to add some more here.

More below the cut:

The version of the story in TST is a bit different; the servant is absent from the tale; it is instead the merchant who has the nighttime appointment with Death in Samarra after being startled to see Death that morning in the Baghdad market. (This note was taking from a wikipedia entry about another - apparently- very deterministic play by Maugham, Shepey.)

Anyway, the Appointment in Samarra wikipedia mentions that Maugham’s story comes from a much older version recorded in the Babylonian Talmud, Sukkah 53a.

The Talmud is the central text of Rabbinic Judaism. I’m a Hebrew speaking Jew, though an atheist one who isn’t well-read in religious texts at all, but I was intrigued enough to look up the Hebrew Talmud version of the text (in fact it’s originall in Aramaic, but wikipedia offers a Hebrew tranlsation). A quick Google search led me to the wikipedia page about the personification of death, and that’s when things got interesting.

Under the section about the grim reaper in Judaism, a story from the Talmud is mentioned, which seems to be another version of the Appointment in Samarra story. Here’s the story, translated by Google Translate, because I couldn’t find an English version:

The Babylonian Talmud tells of a sage, Rabbi Bibi, the son of Abiy, whose angel of death was often in his company. Rabbi Bibi heard the angel of death ask his emissary to name a woman named Miriam (Mary) who was a hair dresser (the future mother of Jesus). The messenger of death accidentally killed another woman named Miriam (Mary) who was a teacher. The angel of death said to his messenger: "I asked you to kill Miriam the barber and not Miriam the teacher." The messenger of death replied: Then I will bring Miriam the teacher back to life and bring before you Miriam the barber. The angel of death said to him: If you have already brought Miriam the teacher, leave her with me along with the rest of the dead. The angel of death asked his messenger: How did you manage to kill the teacher Miriam even though it was not her time to die? The messenger of death replied: She was killed before an opportunity to kill her - she was fiddling with the stove with ember in her hand to clean the stove. Inadvertently she caused a burn in her leg - and when a person was harmed and his determination of his time to die was undermined - so I had a chance to kill prematurely. The sage, Rabbi Bibi, asked the angel of death: Do you have permission to kill people before their pre-determined time has come? The angel of death answered, "Yes, for it is written, 'There is no one who has perished without judgment.'

(According to wikipedia, this story is taken from תלמוד בבלי, מסכת חגיגה, דף ד, עמוד ב – דף ה, עמוד א).

AGR(A?M?)

Alright, I said, two Marys, escaping death but then meeting it eventually. It happens.

But as I read on… that Hebrew wikipedia page mentions another personification of death, the angel of death Azarel. Azarel has three ‘colleagues’ (e.g archangel) in Islam (and in some variations, they also exist in Judaism and Christianity): Jibrail (Gabriel), Israfil, commonly thought of as the counterpart of the Judeo-Christian archangel Raphael, and Mīkhā'īl (Michael).

So wait, that’s -- that’s Azarel, Gabriel, Raphael... as in AGR(A)? Whoa. That fourth angel mentioned in Islam is Michael - which doesn’t hold up with AGRA - but could that be a coincidence? We’re told two things about BBCSh’s AGRA, but we can’t really know they’re actually true. The first one is that Mary claims it’s her initials, which we later learn is possibly not true - John gets mad realizing it’s another lie. The other thing is that Mary claims to be ‘R’, for Rosamund, but we can’t be sure about that either. However, another cool detail: in Christianity, Raphael is generally associated with an unnamed angel mentioned in the Gospel of John, who stirs the water at the healing pool of Bethesda. Yes - I know, the M really doesn’t fit there, but M really is a character that stands out in the BBCSH universe, doesn’t it?

Moving on to more cultural references of the personification of death the Hebrew wikipedia page offers, note that I haven’t read the first and it’s been years since I watched the second:

Death with Interruptions

In Death with Interruptions by José Saramago, they mention, death is a woman, and she falls in love with one of her future victims. She decides to spare his life: Every time death sends him his letter [notifying him of his imminent death], it gets returned. Death discovers that, without reason, this man has mistakenly not been killed. Although originally intending merely to analyse this man and discover why he is unique, death eventually becomes infatuated with him, so much so that she takes on human form to meet him. Upon visiting the cellist, she plans to personally give him the letter; instead, she falls in love with him, and, by doing so, she becomes even more human-like.

Chess and The Seventh Seal

Another reference is the film The Seventh Seal, about a knight returning from a crusade, and discovers his land his ravaged by plague. The knight encounters Death, whom he challenges to a chess match, believing he can survive as long as the game continues. Does that remind you of any particular promo pics?

What I find interesting in all these references, is that they all seem to deal with questions regarding ‘dealing with death’ that, in the context of EMP for example, can be seen as Sherlock ‘running simulations’ (or asking philosophical questions) on how to deal with his current situations:

- ‘Do you have permission to kill people before their pre-determined time has come’? (Can people time die before their pre-determined time? Can people escape pre-determined death?)

- Can you interrupt death with love? Was Mary supposed to kill John, fell in love with him and thus his death was postponed? Is John still in danger?

- What can one do to postpone death - perhaps challenging it to a game, hoping for survival as you distract it?

Tagging other meta readers/writers who I think might enjoy this ; let me know if you don’t - I won’t tag you again): @sarahthecoat, @devoursjohnlock @inevitably-johnlocked @possiblyimbiassed @waitedforgarridebs @tjlcisthenewsexy @loudest-subtext-in-tv @therealsaintscully

#meta #bbc sherlock meta #emp #m-theory #TJLC

15 notes · View notes

suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

The Guardian and Saviour (Favored Ones, Part 21.)

Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no-one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group of people left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it be? And why there were so many dead in the end?

Quote for the chapter: “Kill or be killed? What a way to live and to die.” - Shawn James

Part summary: Seattle was just starting to show its true colors to you - the things you were going through were just the begging. It was all going to be worse when you found out that Seattle is in a middle of a war.

A/N: So... I didn’t know we’re going to spend so much time in Seattle, but at this moment, it seems to last at least eight chapters before we even get to Abby? I mean, that’s a lot. But I want to stay true to the cannon... At least partially.

Warnings: Gore, blood, murder, infected, guns, shooting... Bros... This is going to be gross... And it will be worse than this.

Word count: 5.6 K

Tagging: @nemodoren @xxgoldenhour @missdictatorme @peakymarvels @davnwillcome @pickleriiick @jodiereedus22 @gladiosamicitias @tamkashi @eternallyvenus @avengerssstuff @fangirl-inthe-us @avery-miller @mikah-writes @mad-hatter-98 @sadiaafrin99 @flavorishy

Series master list: H E R E

Joel Miller’s playlist for the bonfire occasions: H E R E

Youtube playlists: JACKSON DAYS | SEATTLE DAYS

Seattle, day first - afternoon:

Waking up while your head is dizzy and your body is covered in sticky, warm liquid always feels strange - especially when you can't recall what happened earlier. Naturally, the more you stressed when you realized you're between someone's legs and their palm is covering your mouth. The first instinct was to drag to hand down immediately, so you started to wiggle and jerked around to free yourself because you felt endangered. Soon, you realized you knew material of the jacket you've been tugging on. Joel's thighs tightened around your waist to hold you in place as the man looked behind to corner to see if your awakening attracted some attention.

But soon, it was apparent that the people who Joel heard outside, didn't know about you. So finally, he put his arm down, letting you go. But you didn't move away from him - your eyes got frozen on your jacket covered in the blood. Slowly, you looked around to see the dead animal. It was your fucking horse you've been riding for the last few years you lived in Jackson. Sure, Sadie wasn't your property, but Cat never gave you a different horse than your girl. When you rode out of Jackson, you rode out on Sadie's back. And now, it was dead.

You saw what happened. She ran into a shop window and cut her throat open. But you couldn't recall what had caused it. Slowly, you wanted to stand up, but your stomach turned upside down and you almost fell back on your ass. The man reached out for you and caught your elbow. He put his hands around your face to see what you've been looking like - if you're seemingly alright at least. And you were. But as you slowly gathered consciousness, you noticed a big piece of glass in his upper left arm.

"Are you okay, baby girl?" - The man furrowed at you, smoothing a sweet spot under your eye. - "Do you see me twice, your head spinnin', does somethin' on your body hurt real bad?" - He whispered. Jesus, that guy could be so sweet when he wanted to. And he usually did got sweet around you.

"Just... A slight headache, but I'm fine, I think. What about you? Any other wounds other than this thingy sticking out of your arm?" - You asked back, still trying to remember what even happened back there - there was something that had to happen for Sadie to just run into the glass, right? She didn't panic on her own.

"No, the road blowin' up didn't do a number on me, I swear." - Joel looked at you. Oh, damn, that was what happened. The road under Ellie and Dina blew up - and because you and Joel rode quite back behind them, you were fine. More or less. With a furrow, you walked to the horse saddles and went through it. Your feet were sticking to the floor because of the blood - and Sadie's body was still warm. You couldn't be out for a long time.

"What are you doin'?" - Joel asked and you pointed at his upper arm. - "'s nothin', I swear. We take care of it once we find Dina and Ellie. They took 'em." - The man wanted to stop you just when you took out one of his fresher shirts. His jacket was more or less fine, when you ignored the tear in the sleeve, so that didn't need to be changed. But it was drenched in blood too. No way in fucking hell he would be going after the girls in that state. Your man maybe had the right balls to do so, but he wasn't going anywhere with blood flowing out of his arm.

"You sit your ass down. We'll take care of it and then we head out to search for them. Who took them?" - You asked and waited until he takes the jacket off. For a while, Joel was staring at you with a furrow, but then he sighed and sat down, taking off the jacket so you'd have full access to the wound. It didn't seem to be too drastic or deep, but that didn't mean it was a nice sight. You hoped that Joel would be able to lift his gun at least.

"WLF, I suppose, but I just know it were some strangers." - The man sighed, watching as you just ripper the torn apart sleeve off the shirt to get a good look at his arm. Gently, you pulled the glass out, focusing on being the gentlest you could, but a few grunts left Joel anyway. When that was done, you cleaned it up and waited for the blood flow to stop. There was no time to waste, so you only provided him with quick, yet precise stitches and covered the wound in a few bandages, making sure it's at least cleaned up properly. - "You heard where they're taking them?" - You asked and gave him the other shirt to change into, pulling a few of his and your pieces of underwear and t-shirts out of the bag in case you'd tear some apart or something.

"Yea, some building a mile from here. We should be there quickly. Do you still have the map on you, girl?" - Joel asked back as he buttoned up the shirt. You nodded, pulling it out of a small pocket in your backpack, opening it up. You were both watching it for a moment before Joel pointed in the direction of the downtown - "'kay, so we should be here. And they put them... Here." - He mouthed, looking down on you. You nodded with a furrow, counting the streets.

"How do you know where they took them specifically?" - A whisper left you as you arched your eyebrows, licking your lips. Quickly, you made a small X on the map to remember where Joel pointed. You both put together some basic supplies like ammo, food, and first aid kits for the case of an emergency. - "They weren't exactly quiet 'bout what they were about to do. These people are... Gatherin' supplies to attack some spot near Seattle. Don't know who they are attackin', but that's it. And they put them in one of the hoardin' centers to be sure girls won't try to escape." - The man explained to you. That... Made sense, you guessed. So, this was your first official encounter with the WLFs, huh? They just blow up the road under your asses. You probably weren't even meant to blow up, they prepared the place for someone else - but they took what they could get.

"We're lucky they didn't notice us. We could've been in limbo for hours before they came to check the spot... They probably just noticed Dina and Ellie." - Joel told you again and you had to say that it would make sense. Hunters usually didn't check around their booby traps - the went straight just for the big prize. Sadie rode off the road when Joel lost control over her - she could've run quite far before riding into the glass. - "And 'bout what happened earlier..." - Joel whispered when he put the jacket on, following you outside the building.

"Not now, Joel." - A tired whimper left your lips as you tried to shake the dizziness out of you. Your perception of the reality around was still a bit shaken, but it was slowly getting better and better. But the man didn't seem to want to drop the topic at the moment.

"I want you to know that I will guard you the whole time. At any cost. And even though I'm not an ideal man, I love you." - The man poured his heart out just to meet a wall of a cold stare and emotionless expression. When you said you're not in the mood for this sort of heart to heart talk, you meant it. And Joel had to respect your boundaries. The sight of destruction showed you exactly where the bomb had blown up - and Shimmer was laying there, lifeless as well. Someone had to take everything out of the saddlebags in a hurry. There was no sing of Dina or Ellie ever being there other than two silhouettes of woman bodies printed into the stiffened horse blood.

"Nothing other than Shimmer here." - You told Joel when you inspected the area around the body, hoping Joel knew where you two were going. Every second could cost the girls their lives. There was a while of silence when you walked through Seattle's downtown, trying to find the way to the street. Not even for a second, you let your guard down. Every leaf scratching the road, every drop hitting the ground or just the sounds of corrosion and ruined buildings filling your head. It didn't take too long before you walked to a dead end. - "Fuck..." - You groaned, taking the map out of your backpack to take a look at it. - "The street is right behind it. We need to get through somehow, or walk around the barricade, which can add up hours." - A sigh left you as you noticed that Joel had already left your side. His head was moving as he searched for any possible way - and being the survivor he was, he found what he was searching for. His finger pointed at a hole in the wall which was pretty high up.

"You'll go in and unlock the door for me, okay, doll?" - The man asked you, leaning his back into the wall behind him. Gently, he slapped his thigh and prepared you a small parry space out of his palms. This probably wasn't a good idea, but, what else were you supposed to do? There was no way in hell you'd walk around the city to look for a different way to get to the WLF place. But the house could have some infected inside who would kill you in an instant. The true question was - what other options you had? None. That was the answer. None.

So you nodded, lifting your foot to Joel's palms, catching his shoulders in the process, waiting to be lifted. With that, you caught the old man looking at you. - "What?" - "Just... Open the door for me. No scavaging, if you'd see infected, we'll finish them off together, yea?" - Joel asked which had you nodding against your will. And so, he straightened up, helping you climb through the hole. Yeah, sure, you were caught off guard and surprised with what you've found out about Joel, but... The care he was giving you was making you sure he cares about you a lot.

With a muffled sigh, you slipped into the building, falling straight on your knees because your balance fucked up for a second there. You've stayed silent for a moment to hear if anything has noticed the noises you made, but the house seemed to be silent - until you've heard the silent voices coming from the other building standing to your right hand. - "That was a fucking loud bang, Emily. I'll go to look at what it was." - A man told a woman before you heard first footsteps coming your way. For a second, you panicked, until you saw a big cabinet pushed to cover the door - you could take cover there before the man leaves the building alone. You'd swear that you hadn't breathed so loud ever before. Forcefully, you pushed a hand on your lips to calm down a bit, trembling as a dog kicked into its stomach.

The heavy footsteps were getting closer and closer and you'd swear that you couldn't hear anything but your heartbeat and the blood rushing through your veins. Dina was right - the adrenaline rush was intensive. If Joel wouldn't be waiting behind the door, you most likely would search for your gun or just try to stab him with your knife do defend yourself. But you just pressed your back into the wall more, straightening along the side of the cabinet. Your only luck was that the man didn't go to the back of the room - his flashlight illuminated the floor just a few inches in front of your boots and you tried to hold your breath.

"It's clear here. Let's get done with the crates!" - The man yelled at Emily and the sounds of footsteps started to recede into the silence of the house. When you were sure that he's far away enough, you leaned your shoulder into the door, pushing the cabinet away. Your ears heard it so loudly and clearly - every small sound the wooden floors made, every creek of the cabinet, each of your inhales. But the man or the woman didn't hear you, which made you breathe out when you turned the lock and opened the door for Joel. The man looked visibly agitated, yet as soon as he saw that you're okay with his very own eyes, he let out a long breath. He nodded at you, smoothing your cheek with his palm.

"Can you stop for a second?" - Joel asked you when you made your way throughout most of the ruined and corroded buildings, having a clear sight of the WLFs outside. At least a portion of them. - "If you want another heart-to-heart, I swear to motherfucking God," - "Do you know how to take someone out silently?" - The man whispered back at you, have you completely lost in what he was saying for a minute. When you weren't answering, Joel kneeled, pushing you down as well. - "Listen. It's not as complicated as it seems do be, but if you fuck up any small thing, they know about us, rite? We need to do this simply." - The man slowly pulled your knife out of the holster on your leg, showing you how to grab it.

"Your free hand goes for their mouth. Cover their lips and push your elbow into their shoulder to hold them in one place. Sure, they will be tryin' to wiggle out, but you need to try to get them on the ground, you with me?" - Joel asked, looking you in the eyes. Slowly, you nodded, watching his palms toying around with the knife. - "First, you catch the knife like this," - The man told you and put your fingers around the handle, making sure you're holding it tight. - "And to push it in, lean your palm into the top. Just like when you hammer nails." - His palm moved, showing you what he meant by that. The instructions were too much for you to remember. Of course, Joel noticed the panic in your eyes.

"Listen." - His palms held both your shoulders, his head leaned into your forehead. - "You know most of this. Clickers don't stand a chance against you - but these people have a system and safe words, so you can't let them make any sound. You'll know what to do once you get into it. Stay behind me - see those two?" - Joel pointed with his fingers to show you two WLFs on your right. - "I have the right one, you have the one on the left, 'kay?" - The man asked and gave you the knife back, taking out his knife. He didn't give you a clue when he started to crouch forward, so you followed his lead.

The woman who was showing her back was a human being. But previous experience showed you that she wouldn't waste a second before aiming straight for your head. These maniacs had Ellie and Dina cuffed somewhere inside the building - and they even blew up a motherfucking road. They were something like Clickers. It was you, or them. Survival of the fittest... Of sorts.

So when Joel jumped for the guy's neck, you went to grab Emily as well and tried to do as he instructed you to. You put your palm over the woman's lips so only muffled curses and sounds coming out of her filled the surroundings for a moment. She was struggling a lot, almost pushing you to the ground - and in the passion of the moment, you grunted and pushed the knife inside the side of her neck. It was weirdly stiff when it went in, and again, you've listened to Joel's advice, hammering the blade deeper in. The body was still twitching when you felt the first drops of blood on your fingers. Soon, as you took the knife out, drops changed into gallons of the liquid. And dear Lord, did you want to throw up at the moment. The liquid was hot and sticky on your skin.

To stay quiet, you slowly lowered down with the weakening body, laying it down on the asphalt. Quickly, you wiped the blade into on your thighs, looking at Joel. His expression was unreadable as he nodded at you. You followed his lead through the ruins of an old office complex - you both tried to stay as quiet as possible, motioning in the direction of any WLF with your eyes or your head.

The man tried to take out as many as he could to protect your consciousness and to stop the incoming remorses - but you took out a few more guys who almost detected you. And soon enough, you heard gunshots - and Ellie's voice screaming some loud curse words. A relaxed sigh came out of you. The girls were alive, so none of it came in vain. Any time you got the courage to kill one of the WLFs, you repeated that you're doing it for them and that it's you or them. As soon as Joel was sure that your way will cross Ellie's, he got in his feet and loaded his revolver. Still following his lead, you pushed the knife back, taking the bow off your back. - "Stay back. Hide if you want." - Joel whispered, putting his hand on the doorknob. Yet your daring grin as your finger stretched the bow chord.

"Move forward. We have people to save here." - You whispered and tugged one arrow out of the quiver, getting it ready. This reminded Joel of Maria and of the day when Baldwin happened - just like then, there were two lives on the line. And you weren't giving up on them. Joel led you through another maze of office rooms until you had a girl on your gunpoint. You almost let the arrow go - but in the last moment, you realized you were looking at Ellie. And when that information clicked inside your brain, your eyes teared up as you walked to her and hugged her.

"Jesus fucking Christ." - Ellie mumbled to your hair, checking your face briefly. Your cheek was bruised - which happened when Sadie rode into the glass, but you seemed to be more or less okay. Quickly, you both hid under a wall. - "What's that on your hands?" - Ellie mumbled and leaned out to check on the situation, seeing Joel and Dina already regrouped in the corridor. There was a long silence, but as she looked at you, she saw the numb expression you had on your face. Which told her not to ask more questions.

The escape from the building was hasty, you barely got a moment to take a breath. But when you did, and there was no possibility WLF could follow you, Joel barricaded the door and you fell flat on your knees and tried to puke. But nothing came out of your lips. Ellie was mumbling about some letter she found in some boy's pocket, but Dina wasn't listening to her. She kneeled, helping you back on your feet. - "Breathe for me, come on. In and out. In and out. Just like that, baby, yeah. You did well." - The girl caught your cheeks to her palms, smiling at you. - "If there wasn't for you and Joel, Ellie and I would have died." - She mumbled, kissing your forehead. Ellie followed Dina and kneeled next to you, smoothing your upper arm. - "She's right. You saved our asses. Both of you." - Joel was standing a bit away from you, watching the whole situation. He'd expect that you'd freak out after killing the woman, but you got into it pretty fast.

What was strange was that now you weren't that bothered. The remorse wasn't as deep as it was before, which was almost scaring you more than killing someone. Was your consciousness getting numb to taking someone else's life? That was too fast. No. Maybe it was the rest of the adrenaline flowing through your veins, making your hands shake and stomach contract. But... It wasn't as bad as before.

"You good now?" - Ellie asked when you sat on your ass, waiting before you nodded with an exhale. Quickly, you stretched the back of your next before letting Dina pulling you up on your knees. - "'kay. You still have that map with you?" - The girl asked and pulled out the letter again, showing you a picture of some random girl. Dina chuckled upon seeing that photograph, whistling nastily. - "What? She's hot." - The girl grinned and showed you a photo with her name. Some Leah or who the fuck that was.

"She's with them." - Ellie mumbled from reading the letter and looking at the map. At that, Dina looked at the photograph once more. - "Well, fuck her too then." - Ellie gave the photo back to Ellie as you watched the girls talking about the map and the letter. Slowly, you licked your lips and walked to Joel, smoothing his shoulder, checking on him. Only that alone made him smile at you, kissing the top of your head as he pulled you closer.

"The TV station. It's here, behind the tall buildings. Does anyone see tall buildings?" - Ellie turned her head back at you. To look around, you both turned your heads from the collapsed wall, but Dina was already pointing back to the downtown. The redhead snickered, nodding at that. And so, you were set on your way once again. You were walking through Seattle at a fairly fast pace - there were for of you, so you could overcome barriers easily. With meeting some infected and one small group of WLFs, it took you two hours before you saw the horse. Some bodies were shot - the blood was fresh and it was mostly the infected laying around. You walked straight to the dead horse, closing your eyes when your fingers graced over the burnt in mark on the animal's thigh - this was Tommy's horse. And the saddlebacks were empty.

Yet when you woke up from the small trance again, Dina was puking on your right hand, having Ellie smoothing her back. - "This isn't too old, so we better stay sharp. Maybe Tommy isn't that far off and maybe we'll meet him inside the TV station." - You looked at the others. Because there was no reason to stop, you continued forward - and the TV station was closer and closer. Oh boy, the road to the building was filled with booby-trapped explosive - one wrong step and you all would end up in pieces. But Joel and Ellie gladly took out the bombs for you, since they had some experience with it already from someone that they called Bill.

In the end, you were all climbing inside the building. First, it seemed that it's just empty... Until you noticed the small puddles of blood on the ground and drops of it on the walls. Ellie noticed too and both figured out the same conclusion - someone was there recently. Which was confirmed when you walked to the former TV news studio. Your breath hitched when you watched the scenery. Four people were hanged on cables coming out of the big camera machines. Each of them had their belly sliced, so there was another big puddle of blood under them. - "Did... Did Tommy did this?" - Dina mumbled, watching the dead people. - "No." - Joel mumbled, and just when Ellie was about to ask why is he so sure, he pointed on some form of a ritual symbol drawn from the WLFs' blood.

"This doesn't look like Tommy's work." - Joel assured all of you, still looking at the hanging bodies. This was bestial, brutal almost. Ellie came closer to the scenery, looking at it. - "They said they have some... Kind of a problem here in Seattle." - She told you and Joel when you left the place, searching for where to go next. - "Listen, I didn't hear all of it and I certainly didn't know what these fuckers are talking about, but there's someone called the scars. I've seen a drawing back there, so I tried to draw it." - She said, getting her notebook out for Joel and you. It was some old, black-haired woman inside white flowers, doing some religious mumbo jumbo. - "I have a feeling this is her people's doing." - Ellie put the notebook down and you all got silent again.

As you made your way through the building, there was a lot of fucking stuff on your mind. So, there wasn't only the WLFs in Seattle. There was another group that you didn't encounter yet - some religious motherfuckers, as it seemed. Dear Lord, were these shooting on sight as well? You hoped that at least with these people, you might have a chance to talk it out somehow. That would be just perfect. What you'd stubbled into? It seemed that the WLFs are at war with someone. Which sucked shit in your opinion.

And dear Lord, you found Leah in the next five minutes. She was laying there in a huge puddle of blood, her body was pierced with arrows. Which somehow managed to look even more savage than the ones Joel taught you how to make. - "Jesus, the universe wanted this girl dead, huh?" - Dina mumbled upon watching the dead body while Ellie went straight for the bag. - "Is this the girl who..." - Dina looked at you as you kneeled beside Leah as well. Quickly, you shook your head, watching her. Someone wanted her dead and it was plausible that it could be the religious sect who hanged the people on the lower floor. It was a more probable solution.

"Look at this. Y/N... Can you come here?" - Ellie asked upon finding of ten Polaroid photographs in Leah's bag. There were the people who managed to escape them. And these photos were taken near Jackson. Each of them. Dina looked on the photo as well, stopping Ellie at one particular one of a short-haired woman who was sitting there in a tight winter west, sending the camera a big smile. She was the one who asked you if you're doing okay.

"This one. Jesse, Diego, and I met her just a moment before we found you down there. She wasn't armed and she looked so scared that before any of us rose our guns, she managed to get away." - Dina told you the small backstory. - "If she wasn't with the people who had done... That to you and Tommy, she'd be quite nice." - The black-haired girl assumed, looking the woman's face. Her name was Melanie. Melanie.

For a moment, Ellie went through the other photos. And when you saw their fucking faces fairly close to each other. Both of them were smiling, looking straight into the camera. Ellie was the first to realize who you've been looking on. The corners of your lips started to twitch as your brain searched for any word that would come to mind.

"Owen and Abby." - She whispered when she leaned in to inspect the picture over your shoulder. Gently, her fingers took away the photo, looking at these two fuckers smiling into the camera. She already felt her breath hitching as anger started to cover her consciousness. - "We hunt them down like fucking animals. I promise." - The girl whispered just when you heard sounds coming from the lower floors. The WLFs had arrived after the massacre done by the cultists.

Joel wanted you to stay back for the sake of your mental situation - but you weren't planning on staying back. Seeing Abby smiling, being happy just hours before she massacred you was offending you. It had woken up hatred inside of you.

Each life you took brought up a different set of feelings. You weren't as shaken as you were the day you've met the hunters in the woods with Joel. Sure, you still weren't feeling the greatest about taking someone else's life - but these people were affiliated with Abby. All you were going for was leaving a message for the woman. You were after her and you weren't slowing down. Each of them met her at some point, they had joked around, greeted each other, or ate their food together.

The anger woke up the animalistic side you didn't know you had inside of you - with every stab to the neck, you desired to hear them scream, beg for their lives just to feel the satisfaction growing inside of you. Thank God the more rational side didn't leave you, telling you to cover their mouths properly. And in the end, when the building finally got quiet, you were just standing there and looked at the path of the dead bodies you left behind. This was all Abby's doing. She got inside your head, making you thirst for revenge. The thirst wasn't even that strong until you saw her fucking face again. With a sigh, you massaged your face, taking in a deep breath without realizing that you're smudging the blood all over your cheeks and forehead.

"Are you good, baby girl?" - Joel asked you, making you look at him. Tiredly, you nodded, cleaning the knife on your trousers again. - "We need to leave. Let's go." - The man told all of you, already making his way out of the place.

You hadn't been tired as much ever in your life. Seattle was taking its hold on you - the whole day, ever since you arrived, you hadn't stopped to take at least a shallow breath. Your muscles hurt for a fair amount of time and the more you were walking, the more you were feeling the horse incident taking a hold on you. Again, your stomach was clenching and your head was aching. But you met another group on your way and crossing the former subway track was a living nightmare since it all concentrated there - Jesus, you'd swear you'd never seen so many enemies in one place.

"'kay, we have spores ahead, so keep your masks on." - Joel turned to everyone and in the next minute, each of you adjusted the masks on your faces. Yet this time, Ellie took the role of the group leader on her shoulders again, leading you through the old subway wagons. It was probably for the better there was four of you. Dina was puking a lot, you were feeling as if you'd pass out any minute, Joel had fucked up upper arm and Ellie was just fucking tired. But even if you were all done in a sense, you could still help each other to overcome the barriers. The day way settling down, so you needed that you had to find some safe place where you could rest. As you looked around on the empty wagons, suddenly, one of them collapsed under Ellie.

"I'm coming!" - Dina screamed and ran after he immediately as she saw the some infected ran to her girlfriend laying on her back. Joel first checked on you and then, he helped you down from the steep, wet metal. Dina fired a few rounds, but when you climbed down, she was looking at Ellie in shock. And you saw Joel's eyes widen as well. Soon, you realized why.

Ellie's mask was broken. She was breathing in spores that were everywhere around you. But, weirdly, she wasn't coughing. The words that were said? You couldn't catch one because you were just staring at Ellie taking off her mask - and the sounds of incoming infected were making you unfocused as well. - "I'm immune. I'm immune. Fuck." - Ellie muttered out, holding Dina's palms as you changed the magazine inside your gun and Joel did the same with his revolver rounds.

"Kiddos, y'all need to talk about this later. Can y'all run?" - Joel asked, shooting the first infected on sight to their leg. Each of you nodded, both the girls taking out their guns as well. - "Then run!" - The man yelled at each of you, which turned some switch inside of you again. You still were tired and your thigh muscles were on fire as you ran on escalators and stairs with Dina right behind you, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. It felt like a miracle when you saw the exit. There was a horde of Runners and Clickers tight behind your fucking ass, you couldn't stop to take at least a short breath. The sounds were getting closer and closer as your body crashed into the security gateway. Just after you ran through it, you fell on the ground and crawled away so the others could come through it as well. All you did was that you put your head down on the ice-cold wet tiles of the subway station floor, closing your eyes.

So, to recapitulate the whole day... Your horses were blown up, you lost and found Ellie and Dina, you killed at least twenty people, found out Ellie was immune and were almost killed by the horde of the infected. Well, when it thrives, it doesn't slow down, does it?

40 notes · View notes

slutforgoodliterature · 3 years

Text

Something Wicked - Part 2

Chapter Two - Dead Poets Society

Warnings: angst, descriptions of extreme violence, swearing

A/N: thanks for all the love on part one! I had actually finished writing this second part last week but then I accidentally pressed Control-T and the whole thing deleted so... don’t press Control-T basically 🙃

Also, this is what I imagine Natalie to look like! I always like having a visual, ignore this picture if you don’t want her to look this way I guess ahaha (Rose Salazar for anyone who’s wondering)

The drive to the police precinct is super uncomfortable. Spencer’s leg is pressed against mine the whole way, and because I’m stuck in the middle there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. He seems like he’s trying to position himself as far from me as possible as well, but the freaking spider has too-long legs that barely fit in the back of this SUV.

When we arrive, Immediately put as much space between him and I as possible and seek out Chief Willoughby.

“Hi, Natalie Hart, public liaison for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. This is my…” I sense Spencer hovering over my shoulder, “colleague, Special Agent Spencer Reid.” I hold out my hand for the chief of police to shake.

He ignores my hand and instead scans me head to toe, staying silent.

“We’re here to assist you with the recent string of home invasions and murders?” I raise a brow at him.

Willoughby huffs. “Well, I can tell you it wasn’t my choice to get you guys to come on down here, but my second in command seems to have a lot of faith in your mind-reading mumbo jumbo.”

I drop my hand. This will be fun.

“Actually, Chief Willoughby, the job of the BAU is not to do any mind reading. We instead study cues and behaviour and use these skills in situations such as these to give insight into the people who commit these crimes. From there, we create a profile that aids your people to narrow down a suspect pool-“

Spencer is cut off by an aggressive cough from Willoughby.

“Yes okay, okay. It’s good you’re here. I got one of the officers to clear out an office for you, just that door there.” He points and we start to head over. Before I shut the door behind us, I look back at him and give him my best glare.

“I can only help as much as you let me, Chief. We want to stop this just as much as you do.” He stares back at me, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let your ego get in the way.” He nods once and turns on his heel.

“What did you say to him?” Spencer asks as I enter the office. He’s already got a map tacked to the wall and is circling specific points, I’m assuming where the murders happened.

“Does it matter?” I sigh, already at my wits end from dealing with one asshole. I don’t need another one on my back.

“We need to be courteous to these people, Natalie. If they ask us to leave because you snapped at him, then-“ He begins to berate me but I whirl around and point a finger up at him, seeing as he’s at least a head taller than me.

“Thanks for the lecture, John Lennon. Funnily enough, as a public liaison, I know how to deal with people. He needed to know we would take it seriously, and men like him never respect women who don’t stand up for themselves.” His eyes widen as I almost yell at him.

Before he can respond, the ringing of a phone breaks us out of our glaring contest. He picks it up quickly and exchanges a few words with whoever is on the other end before finally saying “We’ll be there in 10.”

He avoids my eyes and slings his back over his shoulder. “There’s been another family discovered. Same killer, Hotch wants us there ASAP.”

I nod wordlessly.

The second we arrive, journalists and TV crews flock the car.

“I’ll deal with them, meet you inside in a minute.” I wave Spencer off.

“You sure you can-“ he starts but I cut him off.

“Stop doubting me for one second and get your ass inside before I become your next unsub.” I smile sweetly at him, but he must see the rage in my eyes because he hurries away.

As the press clamours for information, I stand stoically in front of the cameras and answer their questions in the limited way I can.

“Yes, the FBI is here to assist in the investigation into the current string of murders. Yes, we are doing all we can to apprehend whoever is behind this. No, I will not be discussing the details of the case.”

One question in particular catches me off guard.

“Can you comment on the rumour he’s leaving written messages at the crime scene?” I search the crowd for whoever said that, but whoever did has faded into the crowd.

“As I said, I will not be discussing the case. Nothing more to be said at this point in time.” I turn on my heels, ignoring the yelling behind me, and disappear into the house.

I find the others in the living room and I’m confronted by blood. So much blood. The bodies of the family are strewn across the floor. I balk and cover my mouth in a fist, knowing I’d let out and embarrassing sound. I turn to face the doorway, avoiding the gore.

On the wall across from me are bright red words that send a chill down my spine.

Written in blood reads: I will drain him dry as hay

“You handled the press well. Hotch was impressed.” Rossi sneaks up behind me and I jump slightly at the sudden voice.

“Just doing my job.” I mutter. He pats me on the shoulder knowingly and turns back to the group.

I tune out their conversation as they discuss the bodies before them. I don’t need those images in my head. The bodies haphazardly covered by sheets is enough for me.

“The quote is another one from Shakespeare. Same play as the last one.” Spencer states, studying the wall.

“Yeah, Macbeth. Like Natalie said.” Emily smiled at me warmly. Spencer swallows thickly and shoots me a short, cold look.

“Exactly. Both quotes are actually from the three witches, who basically curse Macbeth for becoming so power hungry. In fact, Macbeth himself is the ‘something wicked’ that the first quote references.” He continues.

“So the unsub is attacking people he thinks are power hungry and successful?” Derek asks the room.

“I think that’s highly likely. So far, all the victims have been relatively wealthy families.” Hotch says without emotion.

“But if the unsub is targeting the man of the house, how come they’re the only ones that aren’t beaten.” Emily says. “They seem to get the most merciful death. The mothers, on the other hand…” everyone turns to look at the brutalised woman on the ground.

“In the play, Lady Macbeth is actually seen as the one controlling Macbeth and pushing him to be so ruthless.” I add quietly. Every head swivels to me.

“That’s a good point Natalie.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Spencer even looks impressed with my observation. “The unsub might be targeting the women he believes are pushing their husbands to be successful.”

“Maybe a wife of his own left him because he didn’t achieve her standards? That could be the motive.” Derek says.

“And a stressor.” Emily sighs.

“So what, we just search up every guy in Memphis who’s recently been through a divorce?” Rossi scoffs. “That’ll take days. We need to narrow it down more.”

“Shakespeare seems to have a significant meaning to this unsub. I suggest we take that into account.” Spencer offers and I find myself nodding in agreement.

Derek pulls out a phone and dials quickly.

“You’ve reached the goddess of all things tech. How can I help you?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker.

“Babygirl, we need a list of all antique book dealers and shops that sell old books. Pay special attention to those that deal a lot with Shakespeare.” Derek instructs. The sound of rapid typing then a beep follows.

“Ok, I’ve got around 78 bookstores and dealers that match that description. Anyway I can narrow that down for you?”

“Look at the men who have recently gone through divorce or have fallen on financial problems recently.” Rossi says into the phone.

More typing, then: “Ok, I’ve got three. A Joel Macpherson who runs an antique bookshop, Carl Thompson who specialises in selling first-edition Shakespeare and to complete this triad of potential mass murders is Leopold van der Fell. His shop is on the other side of town and he runs a book club that exclusively reads Shakespeare."

“Send us the addresses please, baby girl.” Derek says and Garcia scoffs.

“Oh, yee have little faith. They’re already on your phones.” On more thank you and Hotch scans us.

“Rossi, you and Derek speak to Joel Macpherson. Reid, take Natalie and see Leopold. Emily and I will visit Carl Thompson.” Without a second word, everyone begins filing out of the room and into their respective cars.

Spencer looks at me and sighs. “Let’s get this over with.”

I roll my eyes and make my way to the car, hopping into the drivers seat.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Spencer asks as he gets in the passenger side.

“My god! Can I not do anything without you questioning me?” I cry, turning in my seat to face him. He stares at his hands.

“I meant that seeing that inside probably shook you up. I don’t want you driving if your head is elsewhere.”

I’m taken aback by his thoughtfulness. I swallow loudly and put the car in park, backing out of the driveway.

“I could use the distraction.” I answer after a stretch of silence.

I see him nod out of the corner of my eyes. “Okay, I get it.”

I allow myself to relax in my seat. “Thanks.” I mutter.

“But if you crash because you’re distracted, don’t say I didn’t want you.” He adds.

“There’s the asshole I know and love.” I turn the radio on and drown out his response. “Now, shut up and give me directions.”

2 notes · View notes

x0401x · 4 years

Note

Why do you think the writers of the Tsurune anime decided to tone down masamina and outright cut out kaisei while pushing for sei/mina instead? It's just so baffling to me why they would alter the canon content from the novels so much. Like, what was even the point?

I’ve answered this question quite a few times before, but I’m not sure if I’ve ever made the point entirely clear, so here we go one last time. Sorry that it turned out so long.

So, in novels and manga or any written medium, creators normally have more freedom to do what they want, but when it comes to TV series, animators have been developing the habit of toning down whatever they can. Most of them have this conviction that the viewers only want to watch calm and relaxing stuff nowadays. Other than this, we get adaptations of popular works that basically exist to promote the source material, most of which rush up towards the end like crazy. It does seem like the Japanese audience has an obsession with comfort animes now, since life in Japan gets more and more stressful with each passing year, but it’s not like they’ve abandoned other genres. This general belief that creators should water down the contents however they can is pretty much destroying the industry, and it’s probably what the animators of Tsurune had in mind when changing the novel’s events into a much less dramatic versions or just cutting them off. That’s issue number 1 with the anime.

Issue number 2 is that animators of adaptations tend to ignore the reader demographic in favor of making the series neutral to please all audiences lately. But that’s only when the majority of the readers are women and girls. If it’s guys, you’d rarely see alterations. It feels like the general conception is that making the contents less “cringy” for men means more people will be watching it and having a positive opinion. It seems to completely slip the staff’s minds that the fans they disappoint mostly won’t feel willing to buy the DVDs or merchandise. This is where most of these adaptations fall flat, by the way. It’s kind of really obvious to me that these series are more prone to succeeding if the studios animate what the readers fell in love with, because the originals are popular for a reason, and it’s that people liked them the way they were. I think it’s only the expected when readers are disappointed not to see animes live up to the expectations, and that whoever picks the source material will feel the difference as well. Still, if the anime isn’t a BL, there’s this unsaid rule that you can’t show too much gay between male characters unless you have an excuse for it. Normally, nakama power and rivalry is what does the trick. I don’t think I need to mention that this is the standard in sports animes.

In the Tsurune novel, most of the gay doesn’t have an excuse. Of course, it’s not officially gay unless canon states it, but the books not only don’t give any justification for it, they get rid of possible justifications, so while you can’t say it’s not fanservice, you can’t label it as just fanservice, either. For a studio that banks off fanservice like KyoAni, that’s a problem, especially since the novel is packed with heavy scenes and even heavier quotes.

I mean, in Masaki and Minato’s case, they don’t have the nakama power or rivalry elements, so one possible excuse for them being so close would be that they’re master and disciple. But Minato makes it clear quite early in the story that Masaki doesn’t have to be his master because just having Masaki’s company is enough for him, and all in all, the two of them have a much more affectionate relationship than the other teacher-student ones from the books. Another excuse would be the found family dynamics, but Masaki already shares that with Kaito, who canonically sees Masaki as the older brother he never had, and their relationship is unlike Masaki and Minato’s as well. Kaito also has a monologue in volume 2 about Masaki treating Minato differently from everyone else in the club, and the way he describes it denotes that Minato is Masaki’s favorite, and that Masaki doesn’t bother hiding it. Just as a cherry on top, Minato often loses his rationality when it comes to Masaki despite being a serious kid, and he’s very verbal about wanting to monopolize Masaki. Add fate to the mix and you have the perfect recipe for anything except an ordinary mentor-pupil relationship.

As for Kaito and Seiya, there was a lot going on between them since the beginning, but the nakama power excuse only starts applying late in volume 1, because they didn’t get along very well at first. And even then the nakama stuff hardly applies to their interactions, where Seiya often acts like Kaito has a thing for him, for no reason other than Kaito’s reactions being amusing. Their relationship also does some big strides in the middle of volume 1, and Seiya literally migrates to Kaito’s side at some point. They don’t seem to have a friendship as strong as the one between Seiya, Minato and Ryouhei, but it’s Kaito who Seiya interacts with the most in volume 2 and he’s also the one that Seiya leans on whenever he needs any sort of assistance. There’s other unexplainable things here and there, such as Seiya taking a peek at Kaito’s sleeping face when it’s just the two of them in the room, or him implying that Kaito is jealous of the motherly attention he gives Minato. It goes on as far as the novel does. There’s literally no scene with the two of them that doesn’t make it look like Kaito is really into Seiya and that Seiya owns his ass but he’s the last one to know.

Back to the main point, it’s really hard to animate all of this without giving people “ideas”. For KyoAni, any gay exists ultimately for the sake of fetishization, and they often follow the “ship whatever you want, even yourself with the characters” model. If being gay is canonically a character trait in the original, it’s out (Violet Evergarden is probably the best example of that one), and if the gay can’t be interpreted as something else, it’s either out or downplayed. In Seiya and Minato’s case, that’s perfectly feasible. Not only are they best friends, they also have a familial relationship where Seiya treats Minato like a son. Minato has sworn eternal friendship to Seiya in the novel, and both he and Kaito describe Seiya as something like a helicopter parent. There’s more than enough counter-argument to remind the viewers that, whatever happens between Minato and Seiya, it’s all a product of their childhood friend bond. Anyone is free to interpret it differently in fanon, but the viewers (at least the Japanese ones) are ultimately aware that the anime is in its “safe zone”, portraying a friendship. Nobody on the Japanese side of the fandom actually believed that there was romance going on in it. On the other hand, if you search in Japanese for people’s impressions of MasaMina, you’ll notice people often saying that the novel makes you wonder if Minato and Masaki aren’t actually dating, or if Minato doesn’t have a puppy crush on Masaki, at the very least. Basically, everyone seems to agree that what goes on between those two is hard to define, but whatever it is, there’s this very particular, “special” air about them that differs from the rest of the characters, which normally manifests when they’re alone together.

As you can tell, this overall view is the opposite of the animators’ ideal. If the novel had been animated the way it is, it would’ve probably felt like a BL for the people watching. Not only does it come with practically set ships, it also doesn’t give much space for the proverbial “ship even yourself with the characters” option. To put it bluntly, the animation went through those changes so that it could fit the mold. It gave us SeiMina and even some NanaKai (the latter being honestly disturbing, since they’re cousins), while either toning down or erasing the rest of the duo and trio interactions. It made Minato’s accident with his mom actually seem like Seiya’s fault and didn’t really take the burden off his shoulders but instead swept it under the rug. It also made Masaki seem like a two-faced bastard who only became a coach for the sake of revenge, which means he was using his students (actual 15/16-year-olds) for his own personal gains. Shuu and Minato’s friendship went down the drain, Ryouhei was pushed aside as if Seiya was Minato’s only childhood friend, Nanao was never depicted as his own person, and the girls didn’t even exist 90% of the time. So yeah, none of the changes served any good purpose for the characters’ images. All it did was (try to) fill a quota.

Personally, this whole thing feels like we’re being told to the face, “we’ve given you what you want, now give us your money”. It brings me back to interviews I’ve read featuring Stars Align director Akane Kazuki and his statements about the anime industry being in a pinch, specifically because animators nowadays keep trying to make a fool out of the audience for monetary ends. Seems clear to me that the staff thought the female viewers would latch onto anything as long as it looked remotely gay, and that’s why I was so angry back then. Being looked down on like this by people who expect us to consume their media is pretty offensive, in my opinion. I’m glad there’s at least one creator speaking up about this matter and using the exact same arguments as I have been for more than two years now.

#tsurune #tsurune kazemai koukou kyuudoubu #narumiya minato #takigawa masaki #onogi kaito #takehaya seiya #wow i can't believe i'm getting asks about tsurune in 2020

64 notes · View notes

vulpese · 3 years

Text

So I am likely going to have several different post Khux/ post KH3 verses, as there are just tons of potential ideas as to Ava’s whereabouts. However there is this one theory that I’ve had for little while now that I’d absolutely love to turn into a verse and plot out more with those that are interested!

So near the end of KH3 we learn about the power of waking. About how powerful of a force it is, as well as how dangerous it is to its user if not used with care. We see Sora abuse its power to bring to life his friends who have fallen due to the shadow tornado, and essentially rewrite fate. Now, who else should possibly be dead but appear alive and well at the end of KH3? Who were apart of a war, with casualties all around, but apparently survived with nary a scratch?

The Foretellers.

You could say that they merely survived because they’re that powerful or something or other, but from what we see of the keyblade war in Khux, no one is pulling their punches. With quotes like “which is exactly why you’ll die here,” “we settle this now,” and “I’ll at least make sure you go quickly/ peacefully.” People kids are dying all around. The Foretellers are fighting each other, with Aced and Ira in particular going hard against one another. I personally find it unlikely not a single one of them fell. It was a battlefield, after all.

Now, what if they’re alive because someone used the power of waking to save them.

What if they’re alive because Ava used the power to save the people she holds dear from a war she was never able to accept, for even until the bitter end do we see Ava trying to find a way to stop this war before it can happen what with her disappearance, her search for answers.

“That heartless exists to usher hearts down to the depths of darkness. If you chase it, you will condemn your heart to that same abyss,” and “you’ve paid the price, and it lies at the bottom of the abyss." We hear Young Xehanort say this to Sora, and by the end do we learn that Sora did indeed pay the price for using its power.

What if she saved them, and paid the price. She couldn’t have met up at the graveyard like them even if she’d wanted to, because she’s gone. She saved her friends, just as Sora, but in turn doomed herself.

( The following was, like the rest of this post, written a year ago and doesn’t exactly stand anymore, with the release of ReMind. Though I still think it could be an interesting plot to write sometime nonetheless! )

On another note, one thing that I personally think adds a shred of credibility to the idea is that, in Nomura’s 15th anniversary artwork for KH, Sora is sitting on a throne with a fox in his lap… A fox that, in later pieces, was hidden behind giant pieces of text. Now, why would that be hidden unless it was important?

We also see the symbols of the Foreteller’s animal/ union on the chessboard as the darker pieces, but not Ava’s. Her piece is nowhere to be found.

Going forward, I think that Sora and Ava are going to meet in this "abyss” and that she is going to become his ally. Our two heroes helping each other, and escaping together. Which, also, inevitably means that she will be on the side opposing Luxu and the Foretellers in the coming battles.

#✿∴∵ —— ⊱ petals of hyssop | martyr of fate ⊰#( just dragging this over from my old blog #even tho i fully expect khux to disprove this once the story concludes i'll still keep this around as a fun/ sad verse! )

3 notes · View notes

writerwrites · 4 years

Text

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Introduction: October 2016

--- BANNER SCIENCE TECHNOLOGIES (BST); MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

“Anything? Anything at all? Bueller?” Rosemarie looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to spot some sort of subtle difference in her appearance. Though she had been searching for a job in her field for months, the ‘spooky’ elevator music chirping through the bathroom was an indication that she was just shy of that November 1st tuition payment start up. Her May graduation felt like a distant memory and all the years of hard work and applications to various schools, and even scholarships for being gifted and a minority hardly made a dent in the mountain of debt that came with attaining a doctoral degree. So, the prodigy looked, hoping for even a crinkle in the corner of your twenty-two year old eyes or a crease in her forehead. A little guilty knot formed in her stomach, as she thought no one ever wanted to ‘grow up’ faster than she did.

Rosemarie had been an intern for Stark Industries during her undergrad and worked a part-time research position for Stark while she looked for the right fit. It had been the CEO and his wife, Pepper, who had tipped you off about Dr. Banner’s small new company, Banner Science Technologies. No amount of ass kissing or overtime seemed to get the young woman a chat with Tony Stark, who was providing significant financial support to his friend and her boss’ endeavor, and she had all but given up until three weeks ago. That fateful email felt more like an unexpected termination. The fear of going ‘upstairs’ for that meeting amused Tony, he’d told her so much when he cackled that he had watched her self-talking on the journey up.

Now at BST, Rosemarie was leading a medical research team that rivaled Elon Musk and every major university in neuroscience. But there she was, leaning into the mirror on Day One, wishing she felt like she knew what she was doing, like she didn’t look like a dork in your square black rimmed glasses, or that she would look older than she was because she wanted to be taken seriously. The young doctor hadn’t realized that her accomplishments had already done that for her because almost no one ever blew through a public education, let alone Yale, like she had. The emotions tied to repeated social rejection; however, began to bubble in her chest like poison before her badge glimmered on her hip and snapped her out of the trance.

Oddly, in that interview for BST, Banner didn’t ask the doctor about her research. He asked Rosemarie about her mental health, how she balanced work and life, and what her definition of world peace was. It had somehow never occurred to her that both Banner and Stark shared the unnatural gift of intellect since they were young too and that, at least to some degree, could relate to her experiences. There was a steady and natural intimidation that came with working for an Avenger like Bruce, but seeing the rest of them in passing at the lab in Stark Industry’s famous tower made the young woman slowly catch glimpses of their humanity, taking off the rose colored glasses placed on every stranger’s face by the media’s interpretation of them. Nevertheless, Rosemarie was a nobody, a lab rat, scientist, doctor, dork, and perpetually invisible to everyone at work. In fact, she had been her whole life, special but not special enough to warrant connecting with on a personal level. She told herself you’ll learn to appreciate the anonymity, but after being an academic shining star in college and spending a half a year looking for a job in the field, any semblance of confidence left in her small frame had certainly faltered.

Before Rosemarie could hit the ‘wallow in self pity’ button on her emotional circuit board, the bathroom door opened. Quickly straightening up and without looking at who came, she turned on the water to wash her hands and only upon reaching for the air dryer did she realize that the woman was the curvy redhead Avenger known for her skills in espionage, linguistics, weaponry, and combat; Black Widow. Rosemarie blinked, making a mental note to not call her that if she managed to speak at all. She looked at the young doctor curiously, her eyebrows slowly drawing together in confusion. “Are you really going to the party dressed up as Bruce? We try not to do ‘the Avengers’ at this thing every year.”

Whether it was from Agent Romanoff’s use of air quotes or the fact that she was speaking to a person that saw themselves as invisible, Rosemarie’s mouth bobbed open and closed, head tilting to the side like a confused puppy. “Party? Bruce?” Please, Rosemarie, save yourself from chronic rambling, she mentally monologued, only showing she was in her head through the pursing of her lips and a fleeting nod of acknowledgement; both of which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the spy.

“Bruce really forgot to invite his top dog? Typical. I swear I told him three times this week alone.” She walked around toward Rosemarie with speed and grace. Her gaze was analytical of the body in front of her, despite the majority of it being tucked underneath a pristine new lab coat, as she kept talking, “The annual Halloween costume party is tonight and you and the other two department leads…” she waved her hand when she realized she’d forgotten their names. “Anyways, it’s a party Tony throws every year and it’s always been Stark Industries, Rand Corp., and some other companies in Stark’s pocket that get all the big faces together for a few drinks, laughs, and a good time. Banner Sci. Tech. has Tony at the table and Bruce in bright lights. You’ve got to be there,” Just as a protest was about to pass the girl’s lips a finger went to them, “No excuses, Rosemarie. Consider it a part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ clause on your employment agreement.” She wiggled her fingers dramatically, but there the lab rat stood, utterly dumbfounded. A new question was on her mind: What could she possibly add to a conversation with a bunch of brilliant wealthy CEOs and superheroes? “Soooo, naturally, the people that are the glue of this place should come and rub shoulders. You know, show ‘em why you’re so fantastic. Get to know the people your tech will likely be used by, little like that.”

“But, I’m… me?” The words were quiet, disjointed, and felt like you had more confidence giving your first valedictorian speech to a crowd of Seniors that had bullied you for walking with them at the age of twelve.

“Exactly, Dr. Smarypants. You’re you, which is why we’re going to mine and getting you some costume that doesn’t make you the laughing stock of introductions. How old are you, anyway?” Natasha opened the bathroom door and the doctor walked out feeling like she was about to get the Princess Diaries treatment with some sort of Nightmare on Elm Street plot twist.

“I turned twenty-two last February.” The answer was offered up in the tone of an apology but she disregarded the awkward timbre and stuck to the facts, making Rosemarie’s shoulders relax just a little.

“Well thank God for that,” The Avenger’s laugh echoed through the hall. “I was half worried you wouldn’t be able to drink and then you’d be both bored and silent at the party.”

With a finger up she skipped over to the main lab’s window where Bruce was squinting at four screens and banging on a tablet. When he finally looked over at the redhead, everyone in the vicinity noticed his expression quickly melting, something Rosemarie had certainly never seen. Natasha pointed to her watch, to Rosemarie, and gestured little walking legs with her fingers. Dr. Banner acknowledged her with what looked like a mouthed ‘I love you’ but before Rosemarie could even smile at the site he offered her an apologetic nod, unnerving her once more. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was dragging her out of the office, arm in arm, and out of midtown Manhattan.

--- BRUCE AND NATASHA’S LIMESTONE; UPPER EAST SIDE, MANHATTAN, NY ---

Despite asking a few times over what she had in store, Nat, as she asked to be called, gave her little to go on. Sitting on a bench at the foot of her boss’ California King bed, she watched Natasha rummaging through the walk-in closet. “Clint’s daughter dragged me to Disney a few months back. She insisted we go ‘Disneybounding’ and I have more wigs than I’ll ever need.” She was processing her choices and more than once Rosemarie picked up something that flew out of the walk-in closet at her head. A shimmering ruby red dress landed to the left and her mouth fell open in horror at the plunging neckline and thigh extra-high slit. Nat came out with a few things on her arm and laughed at the look of pure exasperation, “Don’t worry, babe, that’s mine… and this,” She plopped the garments into her victim’s arms, “Is your get up. There’s a bathroom down the hall, the only door on the left. I’ll be over in a bit to help with your makeup.”

Rosemarie wasn’t sure if she should take offense to the fact that it wasn’t a question, but remained too intimidated to say anything. Once in the bathroom with her back to the mirror she took off her white lab coat and untucked the seafoam green tie-neck satin blouse and skinny black slacks. As she folded the discarded clothes, she sighed at how proud of the outfit she’d been just this morning and how it now felt like a bland choice by the time she saw half of the spy’s closet. Like the pang of emotions set off a bomb, Rosemarie was self-talking about how nice Nat was being to her and to see this as a professional opportunity rather than a terrifying obligation. The mental chatter was enough to get her into the outfit which, surprisingly, required no sucking in, tucking, or wiggling to get on. It wasn’t until she turned to the mirror that Rosemarie registered what ‘Disney bounding’ was, immediately placing the character the ensemble was meant to resemble.

The high-waisted yellow shorts with their two panels of brassy buttons hugged Rosemarie's hips and made her see the curves of a defined hourglass frame for the first time in clothing other than yoga pants. The off the shoulder royal blue crop top had enough draping and a built-in bra to make her comfortable about wearing this around other professionals, just the tiniest hint of the tan skin of her upper stomach when she raised her hands or posed, neither of which she planned to do tonight. The red bow against black hair was the perfect final touch to make it obvious the outfit was a modern Snow White. Before Rosemarie could overanalyze going to a work event in the getup, there was a rhythmic knock on the door and, even though she thought she’d locked it, Nat was walking in, items in hand. At first she whistled, taking Rosemarie’s hand in hers and spinning her around. Nat smiled when she saw the heat rise up the bashful doctor’s neck and color flooded her cheeks. “I have one last thing.”

Until Nat pulled black heels from behind her back Rosemarie hadn’t even noticed Natasha had changed, but when she did her mouth went dry. “You look…” With a knowing smirk, she put her hands on Rosemarie’s hips and spun her back toward the mirror, her chest pressed to the doctor’s back as she studied her features, the pouted lips and high cheekbones, the long eyelashes underneath the ridiculously hipster glasses. Rosemarie felt naked in front of her, no one having ever really looked at her that way before and her body naturally reacted with a shiver that caused her hips to roll back into her host. As Rosemarie was about to apologize, Nat simply smiled and shook her head no, getting to work on their makeup with both expertise and speed.

Rosemarie thought she had gotten away with the embarrassing and obvious moment of unrequited attraction when the Avenger popped the lipstick into a wristlet purse that looked like an apple. Then she leaned in like a panther pouncing on her prey and, somehow, the doctor didn’t cower back. Nat was intrigued by that, a little curve found its way to the corner of her crimson lips, two shades darker and glossed compared to Rosemarie’s, “Let’s have a good time tonight, Snow. Something tells me it’s going to get very interesting.” She bit her lip, noticing that Rosemarie was holding your breath and assumed that it was a combination of her looking great and being the girlfriend of the girl’s boss, she wasn’t wrong. Nat still dipped down between her legs and slipped the heels onto the young woman’s feet, letting her fingertips tickle her ankle before they were holding hands and heading to the party.

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, NY ---

The closer they got to Tony Stark’s ‘Tower’ the more Rosemarie wanted the stroke of midnight to hit so she could get out of dodge. Nat worried, even if she hid it well. She’d playfully asked her a few casual questions about her time at Yale, what the parties were like, and what the doctor liked to do for fun. She quickly and accurately surmised that the twenty two year old had been in love once and upon some bad sex and the dropping of the ‘L’ word, she’d been dropped like a fly. The pity never reached Natasha’s face, but it was there. It reminded her of more than one person that would be at the Tower tonight, and as she cooed compliments to the anxious new girl in town, she hoped that offering the invitation was the right thing. Rosemarie nodded and blushed, hoping accepting was the right choice too, though she didn’t hide it well at all.

As Natasha entertained that young woman with pleasant little stories about how harmless everyone was, she couldn’t help but think that, with the tension of the Sokovia Accords, you might not be up for the mental olympics the attendees would undoubtedly be going through. As the elevator doors closed behind them, Rosemarie didn’t notice how worried Nat was and instead tried to calm herself down in the bustling room. Her matte dusty rose lips pressed into a closed mouth smile as she tried to remember little details about the people in front of her, people that she had only heard about on television or seen through a lab window. “Here we go,” Nat spoke with surprising pep and with a sigh, Rosemarie followed. She was glad Natasha let her walk down the stairs behind her as the crowd funneled in both in front and behind them. You can do this. You’re smart, a good person, you can do this. This is totally normal. Just smile and nod, fake it to the bar, fake it ‘til you make it. The doctor’s gaze brushed across the room after Natasha moved away toward Bruce. Immediately Rosemarie froze, a few heads that had turned to greet Nat now turned toward her. Well, shit.

CHAPTER 1

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes

#bucky x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic: bucky barnes #fic: steve rogers #writer: writerwrites #bucky barnes x reader

7 notes · View notes