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cutecurly-hair · 8 months

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Hearts Unleashed (Part 2)

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Black!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Body Shaming

Words: 3117

Please interact and comment to keep it going. I always love to know what you think.

This was definitely going to take some getting used to. I stood in front of the mirror, wearing the official Truham Grammar School uniform. The tie felt like it was slowly strangling me, and the color was, well, an acquired taste. But I'd managed to find a pair of shoes that matched the uniform pretty well. Even with all my efforts, it still felt a bit dull.

In an attempt to give it some character, I decided to decorate the blazer with a few sparkly pins. They matched my hair, which I'd styled into a simple wash-and-go, held in place by two vibrant pink hairpins. This way, at least, my hair wouldn't completely cover my face. A little dab of my favorite perfume oil on my wrist, and I was finally ready to roll.

I grabbed a bagel from the pantry, along with a bottle of water, opting for a light breakfast since I planned on walking to school.

"You're up early, and you still have an hour and a half before school starts," my mother said, making me jump a little.

"Yeah, I wanted to check out the school before it gets too crowded," I replied, fully aware that my breakfast choice was about to be critiqued.

My mother eyed the bagel with a hint of disapproval. It was inevitable. "What did I tell you about eating bread so early in the morning? It's loaded with carbs." She sighed, clearly not a fan of my choice. I braced myself, not in the mood for a full-blown lecture on carbs at this hour.

"Yeah, I know, but I'm walking to school, so I'll be burning those calories anyway," I pointed out, hoping it would suffice, even if she still seemed unsatisfied.

"Maybe while you're there early, you can check out the sports clubs they have. It's been a while since you did anything active since you quit ballet," my mom suggested, and I could tell she was about to go down the "you need to be more active" or "this is a fun way to get some exercise" rabbit hole.

"Mhm, I'll look into that and get back to you. Who knows, they might even have a dance club," I mumbled as I made my way to the door. Honestly, joining another dance-related activity was the last thing I wanted. It was pretty clear my mom just wanted me to stay active, but I knew I didn't need it.

My mother smiled. "Perfect! Oh, and will you be walking by yourself? I haven't really scoped out the neighborhood to see if it's safe. What about that new friend you made a couple of days ago?" She rambled on, but I decided to cut her off.

"He'll be meeting me halfway. He just needs to grab a few things from his house," I reassured her, even though it wasn't entirely accurate. Charlie was supposed to give me a tour of the whole school, but he didn't reply to my message this morning. He was probably sleeping. Me and him were talking on the phone until three am. I didn't mind; it gave me some free time to roam around, and I had even brought my camera to take some pictures along the way.

The weather was calm, with the sun not quite making an appearance, yet there was a comforting chill in the air. The walk to school wasn't as bad as I had expected. As I strolled along, the sun's gentle rays peeked through the clouds, casting a soft, inviting glow over the almost deserted streets. It created a serene and tranquil atmosphere that wrapped around me like a comforting embrace.

With an impulse, I retrieved my camera from my bag, eager to capture the charm of the houses along the way. Each home seemed to compete in a contest of vibrant gardens, a burst of color amidst the surrounding calmness. I snapped pictures, hoping to immortalize the essence of this new neighborhood, to make it my own in a small way.

As I continued, I noticed more students in the same uniform as mine. Their presence signaled my approach to the school.

Anticipation bubbled up inside me, adding an extra bounce to my step. Finally, my destination came into view, Truham Grammar School. It stood proudly, its exterior composed of rich, red bricks adorned with intricate details, almost like an architectural masterpiece. The expansive windows allowed sunshine to flood the interior, casting a warm and welcoming invitation.

The school gates were wide open, and a few students were making their way inside. Even though it was early, some kids lingered around. What struck me as odd was that most of them were boys, and they stared at me from the moment I stepped in. It became evident that I might be one of the very few black students here, and I could be the only American in the entire place.

I did my best to ignore the curious gazes and focused on my mission: finding the film department. I had a good forty minutes to kill before class started. And with those forty minutes, I found the library, the lunchroom, the field, and maybe half of the classrooms of this school.

But no film department. Damn, I really needed that tour. I went to message Charlie, who had already sent me loads of text messages.

Charlie: Hey Y/N, I'm so sorry, I overslept!

Charlie: I didn't mean to leave you hanging.

Charlie: On my way now, see you soon! 🏃‍♂️

Y/N: Do you know where the film department is located? I can't seem to find it anywhere.

Seeing the three bubbles pop up on my screen, I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I would finally get some answers.

“Happy New Year, Truman! Uh, don't forget there'll now be students from all school years in your new form groups. I hope you enjoy getting to know some fresh faces in registration each day.”

Time had gone by so fast. I typed urgently to Charlie,

Y/N: Forget about what I said earlier, do you know where our classroom is?

Thank God Charlie and I had the same class at the beginning of the day; I really needed to make a planner.

Charlie: Wait, form has already started?!

Charlie: Tell the teacher that I am using the loo or something. I have to meet up with someone really quick. Oh, and the number is B25.

I couldn't help but chuckle inwardly, realizing that I still had a lot to learn about British slang.

As I walked down the hallway, the school was bustling with students. It was like a beehive of activity. Students rushed around, opening and closing lockers, talking with friends, and hurrying to get to their classes on time. There was a lot of noise and movement, and it felt exciting but also a bit overwhelming.

I saw groups of students chatting and laughing, while others looked a bit shy or unsure. People had decorated their lockers with colorful stuff and photos. The air smelled like coffee from the teacher's lounge, mixed with the scent of breakfast that some students had grabbed on their way to school.

Navigating this chaotic but strangely exhilarating environment, I felt like a tiny fish swimming in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Finally arriving at the classroom, I couldn't help but notice that the teacher appeared completely fed up with this school and everything it entailed. Luckily, I wasn't late; the class hadn't started yet.

Approaching the teacher's desk, I spoke carefully, "Charlie told me to let you know he'll be a little late because he's in the restroom." Judging by his facial expression, I had worsened his mood, which was already not great.

He sighed heavily and said, "Charlie, oh Charlie, what should I do with that boy? It's the New Year, and his first act is to be late for my class." He rubbed his nose like he had a headache. Then, he turned to me and asked tiredly, "What's your name?"

I hesitated but replied, "My name is Y/N L/N."

He shuffled through a few papers, searching for something, and seemed increasingly frustrated with each passing moment. "Judging by your accent, you're a new student, and I don't see you anywhere in my assigned seating. Since Charlie had the pleasure of being late, you can go ahead and take his seat," he pointed in the direction of Charlie's seat.

My seat was right next to a boy with perfectly combed blonde hair. He sat there, looking relaxed, like he didn't have a single worry. Yet, there was something about his boyish charm that drew me in, making my fingers itch to take a picture.

What surprised me even more was that I could see the outline of his muscles even though he was just sitting. British boys, I thought, can be dangerous.

As I got closer, he looked up from his book, and our eyes met. His hazel nut eyes glistened like brown sugar under the sunlight, and even though our eye contact was brief, I couldn't help but notice their warmth and charm. He was the first to look away, leaving me wondering about our silent interaction.

With a sigh of relief, I placed my book bag on the desk, sinking into my seat as the lively chatter of the classroom enveloped me. The walls were adorned with colorful decorations, instantly transforming the space into a welcoming and joyful environment.

Not wanting to seem impolite, I turned my gaze towards the boy next to me, only to find that he was already looking my way. Uncertain of what to say, I mustered a simple, "Hi."

He responded with an amiable "Hi," accompanied by a warm smile that, I had to admit, sent a pleasant sensation coursing through my stomach. Before I could utter anything else, Charlie rushed into the room, his face flushed and slightly sweaty, clearly in a hurry as he took the seat in front of me.

"Sorry I'm late. Did you find everything okay?" Charlie asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I found everything except the film department," I explained, feeling a bit frustrated.

"You're looking for the film department?" the blonde-haired boy asked, raising an eyebrow. Even his voice sounded pleasant.

I nodded, glad to have someone to share my frustration with. "Yeah, I was wandering around like a lost puppy, trying to find it. It's like it's playing hide-and-seek."

The boy couldn't help but chuckle, and his cheeks turned slightly pink, which was cute. "My mate tried to get into the film department, but he didn't make it. He mentioned something about a secret room at the back of the school, but now that I say it out loud, it doesn't sound too helpful," he admitted.

I laughed too, appreciating his honesty. "No worries. At least I'm not the only one who's feeling clueless."

Charlie watched our conversation, unsure if he should join in.

As the classroom buzzed with increasing noise, the boy leaned in closer, his curiosity evident. "I'm sorry; I didn't quite catch your name," he confessed.

I couldn't help but lean in a bit further and playfully retorted, "Well, I didn't quite catch yours either."

We exchanged friendly smiles, and for a moment, the bustling classroom around us faded into the background.

With the sly smirk on his face, I could tell he was not going to let that one slide, but before he could say anything, the teacher's voice cut through the noise.

"Attention, everyone! We're about to kick off our first form of the day. But before we dive into it, I'd like to introduce a new student who hails all the way from the United States. Her name is Y/N," the teacher announced, his last words barely audible and frankly, quite unnecessary.

My internal feelings were a swirling mix of embarrassment and mild amusement. If only my face could reflect the shade of red I felt inside. If I were a bit lighter in complexion, I'd probably resemble a ripe strawberry. The entire class erupted into laughter upon hearing my distinct American accent. Well, it seemed like being different had earned me some brownie points, at least in the humor department.

I chose to respond with a modest smile, allowing the teacher to continue, "Would you like to share an interesting fact about yourself or perhaps something about America?"

Maintaining my pleasant smile, I replied, "One thing I truly miss from home is wearing regular clothes to school, rather than these dreaded ties." My fingers reached for my tie, and I theatrically stretched it out to emphasize my point. A few students joined in the laughter, understanding the sentiment all too well.

The teacher brushed off my comment and proceeded with the lesson, and I began to feel more at ease, grateful that the attention had shifted away from me.

The boy sitting next to me returned to our playful banter, his friendly demeanor putting me at ease. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, "Nice to officially meet you, Y/N."

I couldn't help but smile back and replied,

“Likewise”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

As we walked down the hallway on our way to the next class, Charlie playfully nudged my shoulder and asked, "So, how was your chat with Nick Nelson?"

I furrowed my brow, a bit confused. "Who?" Our first class had just ended, and I wanted to find my locker to avoid carrying these heavy books around.

Charlie grinned, thinking it should be obvious. "You know, the guy you were talking to in form class today – that's Nick Nelson." Now that I understood, I nodded and said,

"Oh, so that was his name." Finally, I located my locker and began putting away my books.

Continuing with my day's tasks, I couldn't shake the feeling that Charlie's watchful eyes were trained on me. Slightly irritated, I couldn't help but question, "Is there something on your mind?"

Charlie responded with a sly, knowing look and a teasing tone, "Oh, not much, just finding it quite amusing that you're not going to acknowledge the 'moment' you had with Nick Nelson."

This caught me off guard, and I quizzically raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you talking about?" I inquired, genuinely clueless about his insinuations. Charlie appeared flabbergasted by my obliviousness and couldn't hide his astonishment.

He let out an exaggerated sigh of disbelief, "Are you being serious right now? I endured an entire hour of form, and I swear, I could practically see sparks flying between you two. I nearly went blind!"

Brushing off his teasing comments, I calmly explained, "There was no 'moment,' Charlie. We just had a regular conversation, like any two people would."

Closing my locker and gathering my belongings, I redirected our focus, asking, "Are you ready to head to art class? I'd prefer to get there before the hallway becomes too crowded." I looked over at him, but he seemed lost in his phone, furiously texting away.

Waving my hand in front of his face, I couldn't help but jest, "Charlie, are you on Mars? Earth to Charlie!" My sudden interruption startled him, and he offered an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he admitted, "I have to meet up with someone really quick. But don't worry, I'll meet you there."

Concerned about his punctuality, I pushed back, "No way, Charlie. You can't afford to be late again. I don't want another teacher upset with me." I exclaimed, but Charlie casually waved away my worry.

"Don't fret," he reassured me, his hand patting my arm comfortingly. "You'll be just fine. You have Mr. Ajayi, and he'll certainly like you." With a smile, he walked away, disappearing into the sea of students.

Walking to class alone again, something was definitely up with Charlie. Perhaps it had something to do with that guy Ben he couldn't stop talking about lately. Charlie had been going on and on about Ben last night, and it made me wonder if there was more to the story.

Finally arriving at the art class, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were getting a bit more complicated than I had anticipated.

Walking into the art class, I felt like I had stepped into a creative wonderland. The room was bathed in soft, natural light streaming in through large windows, casting a warm glow over everything. Canvases adorned with colorful paintings leaned against the walls, and sculptures of various sizes were carefully displayed on shelves.

The scent of freshly mixed paints and the earthy aroma of clay filled the air, creating a sensory experience that hinted at the artistic possibilities within this space. Easels were set up with canvases in various stages of completion, each one telling a unique story through brushstrokes and colors.

In one corner, a potter was working at a spinning wheel, shaping a mound of clay into a graceful vase. The rhythmic hum of the wheel added a soothing backdrop to the artistic symphony.

Mr. Ajayi, our art teacher, stood at the front of the room, engrossed in conversation with a student who was passionately explaining their work. His warm and encouraging demeanor set the tone for the class.

I found an empty seat and prepared for class. As I settled in, I noticed a student chatting with the teacher. When she finished, she strolled over to me, wearing a friendly smile. With her light brown curly hair tied up in two big ponytails, she looked effortlessly stylish.

She took the seat in front of me and said, "I love your pins, by the way. It's refreshing to see some fashion sense around here. They really go well with your hair."

I couldn't help but smile, appreciating the compliment. "Thanks, I guess we have to get creative with these uniforms, right?"

She smiled back, saying, "At least someone gets it. Oh, and the name is Elle, by the way."

She smiled warmly. "Oh, you're Elle! Charlie has told me so much about you," I quickly exclaimed. Elle's eyes lit up with recognition.

"Oh my god, you're Y/N! I should have known; that accent gave it away," she said with a friendly chuckle.

I grinned. "Guilty as charged," I replied. "And honestly, Truham's been an interesting experience so far."

Elle laughed. "I can imagine. Well, give it some time, and who knows, you might even come to love it here."

I nodded. "I'll keep an open mind."

Before we could chat further, Mr. Ajayi began the class, and Elle mouthed, 'We'll talk after class.' I nodded in agreement and turned my attention to the lesson at hand.

Part 3: https://www.tumblr.com/cutecurly-hair/732678051495870464/as-mr-ajayi-delved-into-the-art-lesson-the-class?source=share

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm just starting this series, and if you'd like to stay updated, please let me know if you'd like to be on a tag list as I'll be creating one.

#kit connor #black reader #nick nelson x reader #black!fem!reader #heartstopper #nick nelson x y/n #nick nelson fanfic #nick nelson x fem!reader #nick nelson x blackreader #charlie spring #heartstopper fanfic #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper fandom

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emilythezeldafan · 1 year

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Hello Puppets Headcanons: Movie Night

A/N: Last night I was watching The Adventures Of Pinocchio [an old live-action adaptation version, not the Disney one that everyone knows /lh] with my mom and naturally, I thought of these guys. Tagging @graceandtheidiotsquad because she's the one I usually yell about Hello Puppets to.

Everyone has a different favourite genre. Nick likes romance & drama aswell musicals, Bella likes, obviously, ballet [she saw one once back at the studio and was entranced by it], although she shares most of Nick's favourite genres, Riley will never admit to it but she loves Disney movies aswell as horror movies, Ashley's is action. They take turns picking movies.

Bella is the one most likely to fall asleep during a long movie. Most likely on Owen or Nick's shoulder, or on Michael's shoulder or lap if he's with them [it took the others a while to get used to him, but as long as he makes her happy /lh] [ @graceandtheidiotsquad ]

Bella's favourite ballet is Swan Lake. She performed it once, and, pulling a page from Nick's book, dragged everyone into it.

Nick is the one most likely to cry during sad parts of movies. Riley might choke up but refuse to admit it and Bella is the designated comforter /lh

Riley is the one who picks out factual errors and historical errors.

Ashley probably showed Scout her comics and a bunch of action movies.

Nick annoys the hell out of Riley [on purpose] by singing songs from musicals as loud as he can. Him and Bella duetted defying gravity once and she almost strangled them both. [/jov]

Riley actually enjoys musicals, she just doesn't want to admit it in front of Nick. [I think I might've seen this headcanon somewhere before? Anyways, yeah]

The Favourite Musicals of the theatre kids: The Phantom Of The Opera [Nick], Into The Woods [Bella], The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals & Black Friday [Riley] [ @graceandtheidiotsquad you're gonna have a field day with this]

Bella once saw Pinocchio on an old TV [it's canon that somehow they have a working one there since Scout mentions watching TV] and decided to show the others. They have a tradition of watching it now, ever since they became human.

spite-watching puppet shows and kids shows other than Mortimer's Handeemen ever since Mortimer was - ahem - disposed of - is a habit, although they sometimes watch their old show too.

movie nights can get very chaotic [especially with Nick & Riley bickering, Bella trying to break it up, and Ashley and Owen being worried parents], but they're always fun!

#Bella The Ballerina [OC]#Ashley Anderson [OC]#Nick Nack #Riley Ruckus #Hello Puppets #Hello Puppets: Midnight Show #Owen Gubberson #Daisy Danger #Hello Puppets Scout

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scarletslippers · 3 years

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Congrats on the 100 followers!! Am i too late to the request party? If not could you do Touch - 17? :)

Unashamedly used this is as an excuse to write something I've wanted to do forever. 2x08 kidnapping with established Nace (that moment was just crying out for a hug!)

Angsty, because, obviously. --- I hope you like it!!!

And I swear these just get longer the more of them I write. Rest is under the cut or Read on AO3

Touching #17 - Holding the other’s chin up

His heart has far surpassed his throat and is practically climbing out through his mouth by the time they reach the door. Nick smashes the glass before he can do it himself, and he’s practically bouncing on his toes, vibrating to get in and save her.

“Be careful, there’s gasoline on the floor!” Nancy’s voice carries through the busted window and the sound of it makes him weak with relief. She’s awake, she’s alert, she’s calculating.

He’s running as soon as the door is open, focus entirely on the flame. But he can’t miss her - the way she’s starting to struggle in fear against her bonds. The way she mutters oh god, like this is it.

Fortunately, they are just in time, his hands stopping the skitter of the rope and the largest breath he can muster extinguishing the candle. He shudders out a shaky sigh as he shares a look with Nick, thoughts plain on their faces. What a sadistic bastard to set this up, and how close they came to losing them.

Nick is frantic and honestly so is he but he knows what Nancy needs now is calm. Withdrawing his pocket knife, he moves in steady steps towards her.

“Hey, be careful - careful. They’re constrictor knots,” she warns.

Ace wants to laugh and smile and kiss her because of course she knows that.

“So if you pull on the ropes we’ll get strangled.”

And he wants to destroy the man who tied her in them. Put him inside this decrepit building and watch it burn.

“Good thing you brought an Eagle Scout.” He aims for light, joking. Hoping desperately for that breathy, shaky, nervous laugh he loves but he misses the mark, coming off far too worried.

She’s not panicking, yet. But there’s that wild edge in her eyes that tells him she’s on the brink, so he begins. Uses her Nancy Drew Mystery Brain against her to keep her calm. Both to instruct Nick on what he’s looking at and to fill Nancy’s head with visualizing how to untie this thing so she does not think about the way the rope is pressed against her throat.

But her breath is still stuttering and her eyes are closed tightly as he works. Clearly his steady stream of chatter about ‘riding turns’ is only half working.

Finally his knife slices through the last thread of the rope and Nancy is scrambling to loose herself from it, coughing and choking a bit at the release. His hands join her trembling ones and soon she’s free. She shoots to her feet and he half pulls her up as she launches herself into his arms.

They just hold each other for a moment, clinging tightly. Arms tight enough around her back that he can feel the hitch of one silent sob. Arms tight enough around his neck that he can feel the few tears that drop there.

They’re forced apart to help calm George, making sure Nick gets her free. But he can’t stop looking at her, can’t stop looking her up and down to be sure she’s really unharmed. His stomach gnaws a hole in him when he sees her pull a hand up to brush lightly against her neck, and he makes a mental note to check on that later. For now he slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him again, lips firm against her temple.

----

Later, at her house, she walks in front of him as they gather to comfort Bess, heading for the other armchair. He snakes a hand out to grab hers, tugging her to sit before she reaches it, needing her close. She settles for sitting on the arm instead, leg brushing his, entwining their fingers and settling their joined hands on her knee.

Ace swallows thickly and closes his eyes as she jokes, wasn’t my first chloroforming.

That is not as comforting as she thinks it is.

----

She’s seeing George and Nick out, closing the door behind them as he descends the stairs. Bess has been sufficiently comforted to sleep, at last. Nancy smiles when she turns, mouth opening to say something but he finds he just can’t. Suddenly feeling immeasurably worn and frustrated and so damn tired. Ace turns before he can see her face fall, heads to the kitchen and pours his frustrated anger into filling the tea kettle, finding the first aid kit.

“Sit down,” he tosses over his shoulder, knowing she’s followed.

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. Cocks her hip against the table and crosses her arms and fixes him with a stare that shows she’s spoiling for a fight.

Good. He is too.

“I’m fine, Ace.”

“You are not fine!” He whirls on her. “You were kidnapped from this house today and tied up. Left to calculate how much time you had left before you were going to die!” She hasn’t said as much but he knows. Knows how she operates. Knows she would have been unable to stop herself from piecing that together as she tried to compile solutions for their escape.

She blanches. “How do you know that?” So he’s right.

Ace stalks over with the first aid kit in response; fits his hands firmly about her waist to lift her to sit on the table. Fingers delicate beneath her chin as he lifts it, tilting this way and that to get a good look at her throat. It’s angrily red with rope burn, the dark purple bruising just beginning to bloom beneath it.

He drops his hand and leans forward, pressing his palms into the table on either side of her thighs. Anger draining as suddenly as it came. “Is this what it’s going to be like?”

“Is this what what is going to be like?”

“Loving you. Am I always going to live in this fear?” He busies himself with the first aid kit to hide how his hands are trembling, pulling out a topical pain relief cream. “How many times am I going to break into an abandoned building with you inside about to be set on fire?”

“Ace -“, she protests, voice beginning to quiver.

“Don’t.” He lifts her chin again but doesn’t meet her eyes. “Please. Please don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Nancy tries to pull herself out of his grasp but he slides his fingers gently around to the back of her head to hold her there, applying the cream in light strokes. “It’s fine, I just -“

“Apparently it’s not fine.”

Ace sighs. “It will destroy me every time. But I don’t know how to not love you. So can we find some middle ground? Some compromise?”

This time she lifts her hands to his, cold fingers curling around his wrists to pull him away from her. “I’m hard to love, Ace. It’s why no one ever sticks around for long. I am relentless to the point of recklessness. I know that. And for every time I wish I wasn’t that way there’s a time where being that way makes me successful.”

She pauses. Drops her eyes to stare at her fidgeting fingers in her lap, picking at a loose piece of skin. “So if you need to go, I understand.” Her voice shakes. “But please do it now then. Because I have been relying on you for a long time already, as my friend, my partner. Please don’t let me learn to lean on you and your love only to snatch it away at some last straw I never see coming. I don’t think I could handle that.”

He breathes deeply to gather his thoughts, gently tugging her fingers apart before she makes her finger bleed. Feels his heart break at how easily she’s preparing herself to be broken, abandoned. “I’m scared, Nancy.”

“And you think I’m not?” Her voice is still trembling, the day finally catching up to her. “I was terrified today.”

He knows. Saw the look in her eye, heard the shudder of her breath, felt the clench of her cold fingers on his arm.

“But today wasn’t even really about me and I still got caught up in it. And people are going to come after you too, Ace. Either because of whatever case we’re on or as a way to get to me. Does that make us even? Because that scares me all the more.” A few tears drop on their hands and he wipes them away with his thumb. “Whatever happened to ‘sometimes you have to just let fear be’?”

Ace leans forward to settle his forehead against hers. “I think I’m learning that doesn’t apply when it comes to you.”

The shriek of the kettle pulls them apart and he busies himself with making the tea, throwing in a splash of -

“Are you putting whiskey in my tea?”

“It’s an old wives’ tale remedy for pain. And if it helps soothe your throat and sleep without nightmares, I’m all for it. Not to mention the pounding headache I know you’re trying to hide.”

She grimaces as he brings her the cup. “I told you Ace, this wasn’t my first chlor -”

“Okay, we really need to have a conversation about this. You keep saying things like that and you are not as cute as you think you are.”

Her grimace transforms into a wicked grin. “You’re right. I’m more cute than I think I am.”

He sighs in fond resignation and presses a kiss to her lips. Can’t argue with that.

#I've wanted to write this for so long #established nace is so personal #nace #nace fanfiction #nancy and ace #nancy drew cw #my fic #fic rec #100 followers celebration #help me celebrate #touch prompts

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oitommothetease · 3 years

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Invisible String (9/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2k words

You weren't a morning person, hell, you weren’t even a person in the morning. Therefore, when you woke up to two kids playing with your hair and jumping on your bed, you wanted to strangle them or shove them on the floor. But again, you loved those little demons so you just groaned loudly, clearly irritated and you decided to keep your eyes closed, hoping that your ignorance will make them leave you alone. You squeezed your eyes shut and didn't open them until you heard a familiar voice chuckling.

“Carol told me you aren't a morning person, but this-” James didn't finish his sentence, his lips breaking into a cheeky grin, and as much annoyed as you were at his teasing, you kind of thought he looked gorgeous. Who looked so gorgeous this early in the morning? A smile made its way to your face and you instantly wiped it off, feigning offense.

“Carol? You're already on a first-name basis with my sister?”

“Aw, don't worry, doll. I'm just trying to be friendly with your family or should I say my future family as your mother reminded me ten minutes ago,” he pestered, moving towards you to hand you the cup of coffee in his hand. Bucky winked teasingly when you accepted it, and you mumbled a ‘thank you’.

That pet name made your stomach do some somersaults and you didn't trust yourself enough to speak. It's not like the first time he called you ‘doll’, in fact, he had been calling you that the moment you started fake dating. But it was something about the way he said it as if the word was made for you and nobody could say that word unless it wasn't voiced by him for you. He didn't notice the flush in your eyes and even if he did, he didn't mention it.

“That’s it. You’re done hanging out with my family,” you articulated, “You are officially infected.”

“Don’t be like that, doll. Come on, breakfast’s ready.”

At the age of 18, when you were finally a college girl, you decided that breakfast was a myth created by Satan. When you lived with your parents, the breakfast consisted of extravagant food like pancakes, waffles and fruits. Once you moved away for college, your breakfast shifted to coffee and maybe a toast if you had the time before your first lecture. And the second you were independent, coffee became your boyfriend, keeping you up at night and also, your best friend, keeping you up in the morning without dozing off in classes.

So, sitting again at a dining table with your family and fake boyfriend/boss was very awkward, to say the least. But of course, your sister had the magical ability where she took an awkward silence and converted it into an uncomfortable conversation.

“We hope we didn't wake you up last night. Nick and I tend to get loud sometimes,” Carol joked and you coughed, choking on your food, and James laughed awkwardly.

James' hand instinctively came to your back, running calming circles with his palm and you shot a deathly glare to your sister.

“Oh, we know all about that,” James teased, bringing your chair closer to him. Your eyes widened and you whipped your head towards him so quickly that your neck hurt. What was he saying? This man, your boyfriend, fake boyfriend was a completely different person than your boss (not that you were complaining). He was funny, charming, he made you feel comfortable and something else you weren’t ready to point out just yet.

You could see yourself falling for a man like James. No, he is your boss and sort of criminal. Get your shit together, you told yourself.

After the very awkward breakfast, thanks to Carol. Your mother told you to show James around town and you would have said no but that meant you’d have to stay at home with your family, which was worse. So when James accepted your offer to go to your favorite burger place nearby, you were relieved.

“This burger is amazing, but nothing compared to Barry’s,” James stated.

You nodded your head, chewing the remnant of food in your mouth properly before speaking, “Nothing compares to Sally and her food.”

You liked being with James, everything about him made you want this, the real thing with him, not the whole faux boyfriend play. You wanted him and you were sure that he didn’t. One look at him was sufficient for anyone to know how handsome he was, and how oblivious he was to the waitress ogling him. He didn’t spare her a glance, he was probably used to the attention that he stopped caring about it. Of course, if you weren't overthinking at the moment, you would have noticed that he didn't care about anyone else - well, except you.

“The waitress was totally checking you out,” you informed James. You were very jealous, but you wouldn't stop your crush on your boss to stop him from living his life. He had already sacrificed a lot for you, you didn't want to cock-block him on top of that.

“No, she wasn’t,” he huffed, looking at you for any sign that this conversation displeased you the way it did him.

“I swear she was,” you said, “You should ask her out. She’s cute.”

“No, I’m taken.”

“But you’re not taken, James. This isn’t real,” you retorted and it hurt you so much to say. Sometimes you wished you could be a selfish bitch but you couldn’t do that to James. He deserves someone who would cherish and love him, not give him a faux relationship. “You should ask her out.”

“Do you want me to?” James asked, his voice was laced with desperation that you couldn't understand. Why would he care about your opinion?

Bucky hoped that you would say no, he needed a sign to know that you wanted him too. His tone was despondent because he was hoping that this could be more. He really wanted it to be. But when you said yes, everything came shattering down for him. You didn’t want him and God, he was so frustrated that he could cry. What sick game was the universe playing with him? He felt like a rat stuck in a cage with cheese right outside, in front of him. Even though he was so close to you, you were still out of his reach.

“You know what?,” he pondered, “Now that I think about it maybe I should ask her out?”

“Like right now?” you questioned, taken aback by his sudden and unexpected change in demeanor.

“Yeah!” he cheered enthusiastically, “No time like the present, right? You can get home by yourself?”

He didn’t wait for your answer, already walking back towards the restaurant, and you murmured a ‘yeah’ which he didn’t even notice because he was already jogging towards the burger place.

When you reached home alone, tears welled up in your eyes, and you ran up to the bathroom to avoid stumbling upon your family. Maybe you shouldn't have pushed him, maybe if you didn’t then he wouldn’t have pursued the waitress. He wouldn’t have gone if you didn’t shove him towards the cute waitress. Why were you such a good person?

Your thoughts were brought to a halt with frantic knocks on the door. Instantly, you wiped your eyes and opened up the door to be met with your sister’s kids. Izzy and Alex didn’t give you any time before getting a hold of your hand and rushing you outside to help them set up the trampoline.

Your family was already out there, and you hoped your face didn’t say, ’I've been crying in the bathroom.’ Your sister and her husband were seated on a blanket which was spread out on the grass, sipping wine, and your parents were admiring their grandchildren.

“Auntie Y/N!” Alex exclaimed and Izzy added, “Help us fix the trampoline please.”

You agreed because those two were the only people in the world that considered you their friend without asking for anything in return. Moreover, it was a good distraction, if you stayed in a room thinking about James, then you would probably lose your sanity. So, once you started setting up the trampoline for the kids, it became somewhat fun, and you almost forgot all about James, and how he must be talking to that girl and how that girl must be flirting with him. You hoped he didn’t call her doll, you knew you were being unreasonable and immature, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Izzy and Alex made their way towards their parents and whispered something about you being so in love with James that his absence made you angry.

You ignored them and the way your sister smiled, you were so focused on fitting the trampoline spring that you did not realize someone was standing behind you until two strong hands came around you, taking the spring from your hand and attaching it to the corner.

You knew it was James, no one would touch your hand so gently, any other man would have snatched the spring from your hold and mansplained it’s process to you. But James wasn’t doing that, he wanted to be near you, to have your attention fully that is why he took the spring from you. He didn’t undermine you. No, he desired you to notice him, the guy who has been trying all weekend to get you to like him. He wanted you to see Bucky, not your boss, James.

You could feel his head looming over your shoulder, you dared to crane your neck in his direction to find him already looking at you with a smile on his face. You were so dazed in his eyes that you didn’t notice that he was wearing a white shirt instead of the one he wore in the morning. You did not notice that he didn’t leave you to get the waitress’s number, instead he got a customized shirt that read 'I heart Y/N'. You only noticed him.

Furthermore, you didn’t care about anything else at the moment, just him. Bucky eyed your lips longer than he should have and leaned a bit towards you; a question. You answered his question by closing the distance between you and crashing your lips with his. His hands engulfed around your waist, flushing your back against his chest and he kissed you feverishly.

The kids were right.

You were in love, and that love was reciprocated by the man who was holding you like you were his archer and kissing you like you were the source of his last breath. But both of you were too unaware to realize that the other felt the same way.

Everyone could see that, your mother looked over at your father and your sister looked at her husband, smiling, reminiscing the way they fell in love just like you and Bucky. The kids looked at you both with hope, aspiring to have a love like that in their future, the kind they saw in movies and in the couples around them.

What you didn't realize was that there was one other set of eyes watching you from a car in the distance. Rumlow finally found his rival's vulnerability, and he was going to do everything in his power to exploit and eventually kill Bucky’s weakness, his love, you.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407 @mybuck @priii @coffeebooksandfandom @ladydmalfoy @shaking-a-jar-of-bees

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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thran-duils · 3 years

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And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (P.4)

Title: And Those I Can’t Charm, I Can Kill (Part Four) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Tony Stark. Too many fringe gangs were making ties and your father noticed. He reached out to the Stark mob for an alliance, offering up a piece of his territory at first. When Stark told him he had enough land, your father offered up the next best thing: you. He knew Stark needed a wife and what better way to solidify a relationship between the two mafia families? You were not naïve, you knew the life and you were trained with guns and negotiations. Your father had made sure of that. The two of you had seen each other on multiple occasions at mafia get togethers and knew of each other. Stark accepted the transaction but little did he know he was going to get a little hellion handed over to him that would not kiss the ground he walked on. He would grow to love it too. Words: 3,561 Warnings (more WILL be added, I am sure): Eventual smut, power dynamics, sexism, smut, public sex, fingering, dom/sub powerplay, kidnapping, violence, death, knife kink, gun kink, angst with a happy ending

Part Three || Part Five || Masterpost mobile || Fanfic masterpost

You and Tony had stared at each other – you down at him and him up at you. It had felt good, fucking him. You had surpassed the real intimacy of a relationship – something the two of you had never had – straight to physical. It was how you normally did things, but it had just taken longer this time than a one-night stand.

But this was different. This was your husband.

You had a deeper connection now. You were startled out of your desire for this to be continuous.

And suddenly by your own doing, the two of you were apart, you standing yourself and him sitting, and you brushed at your hair, uncomfortable before turning for your clothes just to try to escape this unfamiliar territory. Normally, you would say something witty, grab your clothes, and leave. But there was no leaving him. You slept in the same bed. Even if that bed itself had not been christened by the two of you yet.

Tony was off the couch and came up to grasp your arms, stopping you and you looked up at him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

The words fell around you. And your breath was short, working yourself up again. Tony saw it too and his thumbs caressed your arms, peering in closer. It was not threatening the way he was acting – comforting more than anything.

“I’m here… I’m here to be with you,” he started slowly, stumbling though. He was a man after all in the mafia, raised with the toxic masculinity that came with it. He was trying to navigate his feelings and be soft with you as well. “I want you to feel safe with me. In all aspects.”

It was intimate. And it was reassuring to know that he was making the effort to move even deeper with it. It was exciting. But you still wanted to be guarded.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you answered. Your eyes shot down and then you said, thinking on your feet, “We are both just naked in this room… standing in front of each other. I want my clothes. In case someone walks in.”

Tony’s eyes shot down and he gave a strangled laugh. “Right.” He let you go.

You gave a half smile before you ducked down and grabbed your bra, doing it up. Tony followed suit, beginning to dress himself back up. And then you grabbed your dress. You pulled it over your head and turned around promptly, “Zip me?”

The complete opposite of what you had asked merely ten minutes ago.

Tony cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

He zipped it up and his hands rested around the base of your neck. You were only suspended for a few moments before you turned around to face him again, your faces close. His slacks were back on, belt done, but his dress shirt half buttoned up, that drew your eyes for a split second.

“This is awkward,” he acknowledged sheepishly.

“Yeah,” you agreed and then cleared your own throat. “Um, let’s exit separately. That would seem normal to everyone else. Don’t want to shock them and all.”

He was amused, giving a little laugh, “Right. Don’t forget your thong though.”

“And there you go being the ass that I know,” you retorted, going to grab it and shimmying into it as he gave another laugh.

<><><>

You saw Bucky and Rhodey watching you come back out, curiosity painted on their faces. They had seen how angry Tony had been taking you back into the room and now that you were coming out alone, that was sure to draw their attention. Shit. Tony should have walked out first. You looked away quickly walking past their table and going back to where your friends were sitting before they could stop you.

Moving through the center of the group, you sat back down, adjusting your dress but did not miss the white-hot stares you were receiving from your circle of friends. You met their gazes and leveled them before giving an expectant shrug.

“Where did you go?” one of them asked.

“Nowhere,” you answered simply. You picked up one of your bottles on the table and began pouring shots. “Let’s drink.”

Another friend answered with a giggle, “She went somewhere with her husband.”

You glowered, stalling in pouring the shots, and asked, “So?”

“Did you finally give it up then? Because you’re being defensive. Oh, look, here he comes.”

Following their gaze, you saw Tony walking out now. He was being as normal as you, no sign of a smirk on his face. But then he did give it away. His gaze did flick over to you and the two of you locked eyes for a moment before he looked away again.

“You totally did,” your same friend crowed.

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to kick you out of the VIP section!” you threatened her.

“Touchy, touchy! Fine, I’ll drop it. It’s done. And so is your honeymoon officially!”

“Ass,” you snapped as you passed the shots out.

<><><>

Tony sat down at the booth and straightened out his suit jacket. “Where are the shots?”

“Well, we took them without you because you were gone for so long,” Natasha said with a twinkle in her eye.

“There’s plenty of alcohol in this bar. I should know. Where’s our bar—”

Someone showed up at the table, dress in the staff uniform and asked, “What’ll it be, Mr. Stark?”

“A round for the table. Bourbon.”

Natasha and Bucky protested. “No, vodka, please.”

“Fine, bourbon and vodka. Just bring two bottles, everyone has their glasses already. Blanton’s and Grey Goose.”

The server nodded, “Of course, Mr. Stark.”

As soon as they walked off, Tony looked around the table again. And they all averted their eyes. Sighing annoyed, he asked – even though he had a good idea already what was going on – , “What is it?”

Clint took the dive for everyone else and tried to say as nonchalantly as possible, “You look… not pissed off.”

“And?” he asked with a sharp edge to his voice. “Do I always look pissed off?”

“Yes,” came the chorus around the table and he frowned, displeased.

Unable to help himself, Bucky chortled, “You fucked,” as Rhodey cracked a wide smile at his statement.

“Be respectful,” Tony snapped at them.

Bucky closed his mouth, biting his cheeks as Tony took a long swig of his drink.

“Respectful? You’re the one that’s been complaining she sleeps turned away from you!” Rhodey said, still laughing lightly. “I was frankly getting tired of hearing about it. This is good news for everyone.”

“You’re welcome then,” Tony muttered to everyone’s continued amusement as the server came back with their bottles. He thanked them and took the bottles, beginning to pour everyone their own respective shots.

“To the King and Queen then,” Natasha proposed, holding up her shot glass.

<><><>

A few weeks later, there was commotion at the front door, and you put your book down before sliding out of the recliner you were in. You could hear Tony; he was angry, ranting. You came into the entrance hall cautiously and found him storming up the stairs. He stopped and was shouting still back at Steve, something about making sure that the car was destroyed and far from the city.

He noticed you were standing there suddenly and that is when you got a full view of his face. He was scraped up.

“Christ, what happened?” you asked him worriedly, coming closer to the bottom of the stairs between him and Steve. Steve took the hint and told Tony he would make sure it happened and turned on his heel to leave.

To you, Tony said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” He began to turn to go up the stairs further.

You followed quickly, “You don’t look fine. Here, let me help.” He started to protest but you were already there, going past him. You stole another glance and saw there were scraps by his eyebrow and upper cheek, bleeding still. “There’s a kit in the guest bathroom. That’s closest. Come on.”

Tony followed you and you told him to sit on the toilet. He did as you said, looking hesitant. You dipped to grab underneath the sink and pulled out the first aid kit. Working quickly, you got the hydrogen peroxide as well and used the cotton balls to wipe at his face. He hissed and you apologized gently, dabbing with care.

“What happened?” you asked again as you wiped at the cuts.

“It doesn’t—”

“Tony.”

He ground his teeth for a few seconds before saying, “I almost got run over.”

You stilled and pulled away to meet his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“One of Weston’s guys.” You knew Weston. He ran an outfit outside the city, smaller but it was influential for keeping the borders secure.

“Weston?” you asked in disbelief. As far as you knew, he did not have any issue with Tony.

“I don’t know. We were working at a site and all of a sudden I heard someone coming in quick and Thor shoved me out of the way.” Your heart clenched and he saw. “He’ll be fine. He got nicked and it sent him spiraling. If it had been one of us, we would have had broken bones. He’s shaken up and bloodied, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s good,” you said dropping the cotton balls into the trash and moving towards the bandaids and antibiotic ointment. “But, did Weston send him?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said honestly. “I don’t think so. The guy is someone who had an issue with me personally. Seems his brother got killed or something in a recent raid. Wanda and Rhodey were interrogating the guy after Steve forced me to come back here in case there were other people gunning for me.”

“That was smart of him,” you said tapping the ointment onto the cuts. “I’m glad he brought you back.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony asked with a small smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, I would like you to always come back alive if you could manage that for me,” you retorted, opening up a bandaid. You bandaged up the worst of it and added for good measure, “And if you could be more cognizant of your surroundings that would be a good place to start to make sure that happens….”

Turning away from him, you heard him give a light chuckle at your quip. You felt the air shift behind you, and you closed the kit, pushing it back further on the counter.

You made to ignore how close he was and walked towards the door, but he was quicker, grabbing your arm and stilling your movement. His other hand grasped the door, and he threw it closed before turning you around and holding you against it. Staring up at him, you stayed still, waiting for him to make his move.

“I’ll take that into consideration, just for you. I’ll keep my head on a swivel. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a good plan.”

Tony’s lips curled into a smile before he leaned in and you followed his movement, coming in to kiss him softly. He hummed in approval, his hands ghosting up your sides. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you wrapped your arms tight to paw at his ass through his pants. He liked that by the noise he released, and you sucked in at his bottom lip. Pinning your wrists above your head, his lips dragging roughly over yours. You bit at him now in a mock threat, and he chuckled before capturing you in a passionate kiss. Your pelvis ground towards him and your tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling. The two of you were locked in a passionate dance.

Tony groaned, pulling away as you brushed his length through his slacks with your thigh. He turned you around in a fluid motion, keeping your wrists pinned and pressed himself against your back. Your neck was sucked and peppered with eager kisses, him dry humping you. You dragged your teeth across your bottom lip, a wanton whine escaping.

He let go of your wrists and made quick work of pulling your sun dress up and freeing himself from his pants. Working with him, you spread your legs and arched your back, anticipation crawling over your skin. Pulling your underwear aside, he drove up into you, holding tight at your hips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasped as he picked up speed.

Anyone walking by outside the room would be greeted with loud, pleasured moans and the sound of skin slapping skin with how hard Tony was driving into you. You hardly cared; it was your damn house after all.

The two of you found a slow rhythm to relieve the intensity, a needed break. You rolled your hips, riding him with precision. His hands flexed, one coming up to cup your breast, kneading at it through your dress. He leaned forward enough to suck at your earlobe, whispering filth into your ear before he gave a rough nip.

You pushed back roughly and hissed, “I’m so close. Please.”

Tony’s hand fell from your tit and found its way between your panties and wet pussy. His fingers worked at your clit, and you groaned loudly, begging for him to not stop and he promised you he was going to fuck you good. He was working fast again, his breath coming quick and hot.

“I…I…” you stuttered moments before you clenched, your heat enveloping him tighter.

“Oh, god, that’s it, baby,” Tony praised in a low groan, his fingers faltering on your clit. But he thrusted quicker for a few seconds before he was pulsating. His hand fell to your thigh, fingers digging in as he stilled, emptying completely.

His head rested on your shoulder, the two of you breathing heavy. He found his breath again and laid a soft kiss at your neck.

“Well, that helped my stress,” he breathed.

Leaning back, you turned your head to be able to see him well enough to give him a kiss. Against his lips, you smiled, “Glad I could be of some assistance.”

<><><>

Erick was walking beside you, checking his phone. He suddenly stopped, holding out his arm to stop you as well. “We should go to another store.”

You furrowed your brow and said, “What? Why? I’m done. And they said they would be at the café now for lunch.”

“They’re going to be late.”

Shooting a look across the street, you spotted Bucky inside and slid your eyes back to Erick, looking completely unimpressed. “Nice try. Bucky is already inside.”

Erick swore underneath his breath and you frowned, sensing you were being kept out of the loop about something. You had been surprised when Bucky and Natasha had asked to ride along with you and Erick when they learned where you were going to be going shopping but had told them to come along. They had made it clear they were going somewhere else but would meet back for lunch.

You began walking again and Erick said more firmly, “Y/N, we should find another store to go into.”

Pressing the crosswalk button, you crossed your own arms, your bags bumping up against your middle. You always insisted on carrying some of the bags. Erick was your bodyguard, not your servant.

“Y/N.”

“I heard you. And I’m choosing to ignore you.”

Erick sighed loudly as the light came on to cross and you did so, hearing him follow you despite his protesting. Bucky spotted you through the window and his eyes shot back to Erick, giving him a disappointed glare. It only served to encourage you to move a bit quicker. Upon entering the café, you saw Bucky staring directly at you and Natasha looking at you over her shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be shopping,” Bucky said as you approached the table.

“I’m done. I thought we were having lunch,” you told him, sitting down beside him, placing your bags on the ground. “What’s the hold up?” Natasha was tight lipped as was Bucky as Erick sat down next to Natasha. You exhaled deeply and said in a quieter voice, even though you were alone in the corner, “You can trust me. You know you can. You’re doing a drop off, aren’t you?” Bucky cocked his head and you picked up his coffee and took a sip. “I know Salazar likes to do business in that building. You must need some new toys.”

Natasha and Bucky exchanged a look and for once, you noticed Erick actually looked amused at the fact you had forced yourself into the situation. He knew you were not stupid and he was probably feeling a little sense of pride that they were noticing that as well.

Adjusting in his seat, Bucky admitted in low tones, “Yes. And someone who isn’t gonna be happy about it has people set up inside watching to see who goes in and out.”

“I can do it.”

“It’s dangerous, Y/N,” Erick told you immediately before the other two could respond. His amusement was gone.

Seriously, you asked, “For me? They’re not even to think twice about me walking in. Sure, I’m married to Tony and my dad is a boss. But people really don’t pay attention to me except thinking about getting me on my back.”

Natasha ground her teeth at that, uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said, shrugging. “They’ll think I’m just going in to look at the back jewelry room. All I care about is shopping anyways, right?” Natasha cocked an eyebrow and you said with a smirk, “Yes. I do know about that too, and I’ve been inside. Problem is I’ll have to actually go up to the room and that guy — Tucker — is a sleazebag.”

“You think I’m gonna let you go alone?” Erick asked.

You patted his arm, “Look at you being chivalrous.”

“Tony would have my balls if I let you around Tucker without me.”

“Wait, we did not even agree to this,” Natasha cut in, holding up her hand.

“Give it to me,” you told her, holding out your hand. “I can carry it in my purse. Go upstairs, get something small from Tucker or act like I was not impressed with the selection, and then come back down a back way to drop it into the chute before circling back and coming back out the front entrance.”

You flexed your fingers after they did not react quick enough. “I have concealed carry if anything goes wrong. And you know Erick is a great protector.”

“I have to ask Tony—” Bucky started to say.

“Bullshit,” you told Bucky. “This needs to get done. I’m assuming it’s time sensitive. And you had an unexpected snag and you have the solution sitting right beside you. Not acting on it is going to make you miss your goddamn window. I have gotten my hands dirty before and involved with this type of shit. It’s nothing new.”

Natasha nodded at Bucky stiffly and he sighed, reaching into his jacket, pulling out a thick bag and handing it to you. You felt it was money and put it into your purse swiftly. It was concealed by the fact it was hidden in a grocery store bag, not see through. Picking the menu up, you quickly scanned it.

“Erick and I both like breakfast sandwiches, his with ham and mine with bacon,” you told them putting the menu back down on the table. “I want an orange juice too. You?”

“Water,” Erick answered before following your movement to stand up.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Hopefully before the food gets here. Mind my bags, please,” you told the pair before striding off and not waiting for their answer.

Tucker was a sweet talker as always, commenting on how nice your jumpsuit looked. His hands trailed along your own and you pulled away naturally, not forcing it. When you politely brushed off his advances, he congratulated you on your recent marriage since he had not seen you since it happened. You bantered back and forth with him about how he was always able to find out the latest gossip. He told you that it was big news that Tony had gotten married; if you did not know it, you were not keeping your ear to the ground at all.

To your surprise, he had something in stock you really wanted. And it was for Tony. A nice new ring and you took it happily. Hopefully if Tony caught wind of this – which he certainly would, you doubted Bucky or Natasha would lie to him – this would soften the blow.

On the way down, you did exactly what you said were you going to do and you dropped the bag off in the chute and came back around. Walking right past the people that you knew were watching for whoever it was that Natasha and Bucky were worried about. They only glanced at you and looked away when they saw the small signature bag of Tucker’s business.

Sliding back into your chair, you placed the bag on the table and said, “It’s done. Also, do you think Tony will like that?”

~~~

Marvel tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld @holl2712 @agustdowney @biiskuitx @buttercupfangirl @namjoonwatcheshentai @kaylamcd2000 @damntonystarkandhissmile @aditimukul

Fic tags: @patheticallysentimental @suchababie @downeyreads @teenageregression

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fic #mob tony stark #mob!tony stark #my shit

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 16 part one

(Masterpost of All the Recaps) (Canary’s Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

All righty, this one is going to be a laff riot...not. Let's do it.

The first half of this episode is like a beautifully executed standalone tragedy, while also threading together all sorts of themes and paying off all sorts of relationship building that's happened in the previous episodes. My hat is off to the writers, while I also shake a fist at them for making me cry an unreasonable amount.

We’re Sailing on a Strange Boat

The episode starts right off absolutely DESTROYING me with the Yunmeng brothers holding hands, fingers interlaced, in the first of many hand-touching moments that punctuate the episode.

Jiang Cheng has to be pretty far gone to accept this degree of comfort and tenderness. I think, from their positions, he is also holding Yanli's hand out of the camera's view.

Zidian finally lets the trio go, and they immediately turn the boat around and head back to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian gets the clever idea to turn the benches into makeshift oars but nobody gets the clever idea to use magic to push the boat like they do literally every other time they are in a boat.

Their emotional need to go back to Lotus Pier is understandable, but they are being disobedient and irresponsible by doing it. Jiang Cheng is the future of the clan, and should not risk his life, particularly after his mother chose to sacrifice herself to protect him and after both of his parents told him to go hide with his sister and personal bodyguard brother.

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian, as clan leader, probably had a duty to go into hiding himself rather than go home to die romantically, so his authority is questionable at this point. Anyway, this is the Jiang Clan, they get to kind of do what they want, except when that pisses Jiang Cheng off.

Lotus Pier Massacre

Back at Lotus Pier, the Wens are kicking Jiang ass. The fight choreography is pretty good, taking full advantage of walkways, railings, pools, and other features of the environment.

Using the set this way always makes fights feel more kinetic and real, as opposed to simply sparring in an open area.

(more after the cut)

Yu Ziyuan is fighting adequately with a sword, having given her preferred weapon to her son. She's clearly been at it for a while, and is tiring; the Wen soldiers are starting to land more and more sword blows but no critical hits yet.

Wen Zhuliu is kicking ass and possibly melting cores, although we don't see him do it to anybody yet. Later we'll hear from Jiang Cheng that he crushed the cores of his parents, but it's not clear when that happens.

Sixth young master replays Jiang Fengmian's entire archery lesson in his head while he waits, and waits, for Wen Zhuliu to finish strangling a dude the right moment to shoot an arrow at Wen Zhuliu.

Homicidal tart Wang Lingjiao notices him lining up a shot, strolls over, and stabs him in the back while he's still thinking about what Jiang Fengmian said. One could wish that JFM's archery lessons weren't quite so wordy.

Wang Linjao normally doesn't carry a sword because of her low spiritual power, but apparently can use one just fine when she's killing kids.

If you start feeling like this episode is unreasonably painful, just think of it as building up calluses so you can handle Yi City when the time comes.

Jiang Fengmian to the Rescue

Jiang Fengmian shows up very far past the nick of time, although he is not actually useful, so it's questionable whether arriving earlier would have helped. But his wife is glad to see him.

Netflix subtitles say that Jiang Fengmian calls Yu Ziyuan "My Lady!" which sounds courtly and romantic in English. His actual words are "San Niangzi" which hunxi-gullai breaks out here. I might render this as "lady wife!" rather than "my lady" but I don't think English really has a perfect equivalent.

Jiang Fengmian sails across the courtyard, knocking down a few Wen soldiers and becoming a young, slender man in the process.

I mean, come on, that stunt double does not look like a boxy middle-aged man from any angle.

The Dying Bit

The episode splits up the big death scene for dramatic effect but I'm recapping it all together to keep things simple.

Within moments of arriving, Jiang Fengmian gets shanked by Wen Zhuliu like Scatman Crothers in The Shining (or Groundskeeper Willie in The Shinning).

Wen Zhuliu stops a Wen soldier from finishing JFM off, just so that a different Wen soldier can deliver the killing blow from the back, which is kinda harsh. With all this spin-fighting there is probably not an implication of cowardice when someone dies from a stab in the back, but still. Too rude, Wen Zhuliu.

Yu Ziyuan sees Jiang Fengmian fall, and after having a moment of sorrow and despair, she stabs herself in the heart, falls down, crawls to him and interlaces her hand with his. He revives just enough to give her hand a squeeze and say "San Niangzi" one last time before dying.

She dies next, with a smile on her face at the end. The soundtrack plays that amazing "horribly emotional death scene" music that isn't one of the tracks available on the OST, argh. This same music appears at the end of Xue Yang's story.

Of the many things I love about the Untamed, the complexity of all the minor characters is possibly my favorite. These two people suck at parenting, and suck at being married, and ultimately suck at protecting and leading their clan, making stupid, selfish choices at every step of the building conflict.

And then they have this incredibly romantic death scene, in which they both face the inevitability of failure, and find comfort in failing together. Yet their death scene is totally in keeping with who we know them to be, and who they are to each other; the drama doesn't cheat by making them ideal lovers or great people at the end. But they have a great, great moment.

Jiang Yanli, waiting in the woods while her brothers are presumably running toward Lotus Pier, drops her lotus pendant, which is made of the loudest jade ever discovered, and it breaks with a crash.

Yanli, who is a well educated young lady, knows a moment of doomy symbolism when she sees it.

Jiang Yanli: Who put a giant rock out here in the woods? What are the odds I’d drop my pendant directly on it?

It’s all Over Except for the Crying, Running and Choking

The brothers climb up on the roof and are shocked to see nothing but Wen soldiers and piled up Jiang corpses...

...including one child who is either about to become a zombie or who is being played by a young actor who can't control their curiosity, judging by the way this eye is sneakily opened while the camera is running.

There's a moment where Jiang Cheng is saying they must have spared his parents, they must be okay, where Wei Wuxian's face is just...wow. You can see right here the gulf in life experience between these two.

Wen Zhuliu roams around looking troubled while searching for more people to kill. He’s an interesting villain; someone who believes his loyalty to his boss makes him a good guy, but knows his boss is a bad guy.

Then we are treated to a hell of a camera move, where it tracks over Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian together on the floor, heroic in death and still holding hands, and then sweeps up to show their killers sitting on the lotus throne.

The dead couple were at odds for their whole lives together, while the evil people who killed them are acting like devoted lovebirds. It's a stunning shot and a terrific thematic contrast. When Wei Wuxian eventually comes to take his vengeance, he will spend some time turning Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao against each other, before ending them.

The camera shows us JC's reaction, then shows his mother, then WWX’s reaction, then JF; each reacting to the death of the person who loved them. Some folks may feel that Jiang Fengmian actually did love Jiang Cheng but was just bad at showing it. But Jiang Cheng doesn't think so, and I don't think it's a given that parents love their children.

Side note: Macroexpression king Wang Zhuocheng is able to open his eyes so far that a giant strip of white shows above his irises, and keep them like that, which is quite a trick. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao gossip about YZY and JFM's bad marriage. Wen Chao admires YZY's beauty, and Wang Lingjiao insults her character, and announces that she's going to stab YZY's body a few extra times. Jiang Cheng briefly faints at this, taking a page from Wei Wuxian's book, and rolls off the roof.

Run Run Away

Both young men run, and run, and run away from Lotus Pier while Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao mistreat the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan

The stabbing happens off camera, because it's ok to stab a live child on camera, but not a dead adult. (As always, there are cultural reasons for "what's ok" in any country, and I'm not saying anybody's wrong about these choices).

Wen Chao follows this up with pouring a cup of wine across their faces. He does this in the style of a libation for the dead, but as a desecration, combining mistreatment of bodies with profaning a ceremonial rite. In a world where ghosts are real and have sharp fingernails, this is deeply, deeply stupid.

Yu Ziyuan’s actress Zhang Jingtong is able to have liquid poured INTO HER EAR without flinching. Mad props.

The brothers eventually finish running and arrive in a field with an extreme purple photo filter on it. Which I've done my best to remove for these gifs, with variable results.

Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and go back to Lotus Pier. He says he wants to retrieve his parents’ bodies and to take revenge, but he's devastated and it seems likely he just wants to die with everyone else.

Wei Wuxian pleads with Jiang Cheng to calm down and stay safe, while Jiang Cheng gives himself over to anger and shock as the brothers shout at each other.

Punching and running ensues, and Wei Wuxian tries to hold his brother back, grabbing him around the shoulders him in a gesture that painfully echoes the many hugs he's given over the years.

This time Jiang Cheng doesn't just push him off. He turns around and chokes his brother for nearly a full minute, while screaming at him and blaming him.

Just as when Madame Yu beat him, Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back; he pulls on Jiang Cheng's wrists but doesn't hit him or try to break his hold.

Finally Jiang Cheng lets him go, and cries out for everyone he's lost, while Wei Wuxian weeps silently next to him. Eventually they fall asleep in the grass together, their bodies curled up in the form of a heart.

Damn, this episode really brings it.

Side Note: during their argument, Wei Wuxian says, among other things, that "revenge is a dish best served cold," according to subtitles. It's a French saying from the 1800s so it's probably not precisely what Wei Wuxian is saying. More importantly, as a longtime Star Trek fan I can't help but hear James Kirk yelling "KHAN!!!!!" whenever I encounter that phrase.

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

When they wake up in the morning, Jiang Cheng is still in his feelings, but now his feelings have moved along to despair, from anger.

I feel bad for noticing how handsome they both look in this scene. Let's all feel bad about this together.

Jiang Cheng is free to have this level of emotional breakdown because Wei Wuxian is there keeping his own shit together and focusing on what matters.

When Jiang Cheng refuses to get up, Wei Wuxian reminds him, very, very gently, that they have a sister, who has waited all night to know what happened.

At this, Jiang Cheng gets up, but won't look at Wei Wuxian, continuing to blame him for everybody else's actions, as he walks onward to find Yanli.

Wei Wuxian follows, hurt and bereft, as he gets to work internalizing everything that he's being accused of. This is good practice for his future as a widely reviled bogeyman.

Part two will be slightly less awful! Coming soon!

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #yu ziyuan #wen zhuliu #jiang fengmian

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saltymiraculer · 4 years

Text

Ceremonial Kisses (Part 1 of 3)

Part 2

So I decided to try my hand at the “Marinette, the princess of China” trope and see how I did! Tell me what you think?

Also, the first chapter is going to be fluffy, the second chapter’ll have a sprinkling of salt, and the third chapter will be a mix of piles and piles of salt and some fluff. Be warned!

“I’ve got a big, big, big announcement for you today, class!“ Bustier chirped, clapping her hands to get their attention. “China’s princess will be coronated in a week and a half, the day she turns 18, as many of you know, and one class from the school will be selected to travel to China and watch the ceremony. Guess which class it was?“

“Uhhh…Mme. Mendeleiev’s!“

“Ooh, M. D’Argencourt’s? They’ve wanted that trip for weeks!“

“No, class, it’s ours! In three days, we’ll board the plane to Asia and have a few days to sightsee and explore, then attend the coronation on the second-to-last day!“

“Wow! Why our class?“ Kim asked.

Marinette knew exactly why. Marc had told her that the entire school was sick of Lila’s lies and wanted to enjoy the coronation without her butting in in the middle of the assembly to tell a ‘story’ about herself.

But she couldn’t just say that.

“You know, I actually know the princess,“ Lila said, immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “But her identity is being kept a secret for now. That’s how we landed the trip!“

“Wow, Lila!“

“That’s amazing!“

“So cool of you.“

“They know that’s stupid, right?“ Alya stage-whispered, earning a glare from Lila’s new puppy–more commonly known as Kim. She shrugged. “I’m just tellin’ the truth!“

Alya, who was now her only other supporter next to Nino (and technically Adrien, but she’d discuss that later–it was very complicated), had decided to Google Lila’s name during a sleepover and found…some rather incriminating Facebook posts.

After that, she was 100% team Marinette and an amazing friend, along with Nino, who had decided that he needed a theme song. No one knew why.

But they loved him anyways!

So while Bustier was rattling off facts about Chinese emperors and kings and queens, Nino was showing them his latest idea to expose Lila.

“Okay,“ he started. “First, we go to China. Then we do our sightseeing and shit, and then. I did some research, and we can ask the princess questions if we’re with a national news channel. Alya’s blog counts. For real, we can talk to the princess of China. And we ask her if she knows Lila.“

“Brilliant plan, Nino. I wonder how the princess will react to a few teenagers in the middle of a crowd of famous people.“

Nino frowned. “The princess is only, like, 17. She’ll probably notice us, Als.”

“Oh, that reminds me, your birthday’s on the same day as the coronation, Marinette! Weird, isn’t it? That you and the princess have the same birthday?“ Alya asked, pulling out her phone and swiping through something.

“Huh, yeah. You’re right. Maybe we can invite her to my birthday party?“

“Ooh, the wiki page says she likes custard buns, and I’m not sure how they know that,“ Nino chuckled. “but make sure to stock up on those.“

“Noted,“ Marinette said drily as Bustier turned to them with a condemning look on her face. “Alya! I hope what you’re doing on that phone relates to the lesson!“

“China’s princess’s identity is being kept a secret because the last two were sent death threats, dangerous items, highly innapropriate items, and several other things that prompted them to not reveal the princess until it was necessary.“

“C-correct, Alya. Good job.“

“Nice!“ Marinette mouthed, high-fiving Alya, who flipped her phone around to reveal a website about the princess.

-🌸-

The final bell rang as several of the students cheered. One school day until the trip over, three more to go. Alya swung her bag over her shoulder and bumped Marinette’s elbow. “We goin’ to your place to hang out?”

“Yeah, my dad’s out anyways and mom closed the bakery for the afternoon. let’s go!“ Alya took Nino’s hand and walked the short distance to Marinette’s house. They entered and immediately felt something off.

Ah, there it was.

Sabine was leaning over the counter with a cup of very strong-smelling peppermint tea beside her. She was rubbing her temples and muttering to herself in rapid Mandarin.

“Maman? Are you alright?“ Marinette asked worriedly. Alya and Nino stood by the door–they had only seen her like this once before, when her cousin had been run over and killed.

“Yes, dear, everything’s okay, it’s just–there’s something I need to tell you.“

“Oh, no, did something happen to someone?“

“No, no, everyone’s just fine. I can’t not tell you without there being serious problems.“

“So what is it? What’s so important you had to close the bakery?“

“You’re the princess. China’s princess. The one nobody knows about.“

“I’m what?!“ Marinette screeched, grabbing at her hair. “I’m the heir to the throne of the most populated country in the world, and you waited until a week before the coronation to tell me?!“

“Holy shit.“ Alya and Nino said simultaneously. Sabine stared at them, likely just realizing they were there.

“Oh. They know now, too. Perfect, that’s just what we need, a reporter knowing who–“

“Maman! Alya wouldn’t tell a soul, I know she wouldn’t.“

Sabine turned to Alya. “I’m sorry, dear, I’m just stressed. With that trip to China in a few days and all that, we’ll have to close down the bakery for about a week.”

“And we never close down the bakery.“ Marinette finished, putting a steady hand on her mom’s shoulder. “But I know just the person to run it while we’re gone.“

As she was about to say who exactly would run the bakery, Nino backed into the door, wide-eyed.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. My best friend…holy shit.“

“Nino, I know this is a lot, but we’ll have to stay calm,“ Alya said, grabbing his hand. “So we don’t spill her secret. That’s top priority, all right? Don’t–tell–anyone.“

Nino sighed. “Sorry, babe. This…“ he turned to Marinette. “Do you have any cookies?“

Marinette grinned and led them into the kitchen. “Of course! Chocolate chunk or raspberry frosted?“

“Raspberry, all the way!“

“There’s the Nino I know!“

After a quick cookie interval, Marinette pushed her plate away and sighed. “Anyone up for an impromptu sleepover? You all left a bunch of your clothes here the last few times.”

“Marinette. If you know us, you will know our answers.“ Alya said solemnly.

“Hell yeah. Wanna go choose which terrible rom-com to watch this time?“

They ended up settling on The Kissing Booth, one of Marinette’s personal favorites (”To lighten the tension, you know?” Alya had said. “Although the tension in here probably weighs the same as an obese hippopotamus at this point.”) and made a bowl of caramel popcorn, with a tiny bag of sea-salt Skinny Pop for Nino.

“Sugar on popcorn is a crime, man. I ain’t touching that.“

“You’ve tried it once, Nino.“

“Yes, and I hated it. Is there anything else to be said?“

So they spent the next two hours in a blanket fort that was made almost entirely of throw pillows laughing over Elle and Noah and Lee being idiots, with a few highlights such as the iconic “Ninth grade skirt, eleventh grade body” scene, where Alya snorted and said “You know, Lila’s skipped so much school, might as well be ninth grade brain, eleventh grade work.”

“Too true,“ Nino agreed. “The other day, she called Chloe’s mom Aurora Bourgeois. That was a pretty major mess-up.”

“Shhh! Let’s just watch the movie!“ Marinette said, effectively quieting them down.

They watched the rest in silence with the usual laughs., ending up falling asleep halfway through the second movie, snuggled up on their respective couches. Marinette mother shook them awake the next morning, telling them to take showers and eat breakfast and get dressed and for god’s sake, Marinette, finish your homework.

“Crap, crap, crapcrapcrap! Nino, we’re going to be late if we don’t get ready fast!“ Alya shouted as Marinette ran up the stairs to change. “Can I use your shower, M?“

“Sure!“ was the muffled reply.

After about 10 minutes of running around and shoving waffles in their mouths, they grabbed their bags and ran off to school.

They burst through the door in the nick of time, the bell ringing just as they plunked down their things.

Bustier wasn’t there five minutes into the class, so they started talking.

“Marinette, you have to listen to Nino’s latest track, it’s–“ Just as she was about to describe Nino’s latest track, a bouncy-ball the size of a walrus snashed through the wall, nearly taking off Kim’s head.

There was a cackle from outside. “I am Gradack! You will all feel the same sorrow that I did!“

-🌸-

The fight was over relatively fast, and everything was calmed down and restored before their next class. Turns out Chat Noir didn’t show, so Marinette had to ask Alya for assistance.

In hindsight, she probably should have picked a better place to transform.

“Tikki, spots on!“ After she transformed, she was about to go to Fu to get one of the Miraculous, when she heard a strangled gasp.

“…shit.“

“My best friend is the princess of goddamn China and Ladybug? What the fuck?! Who are you? How did I not know? When did–“

“Alya, I know the feeling, but you can’t tell anyone. Got it?“

“Nino?“

“Well,“ Marinette paused to think. “Yeah, I guess. I trust him enough. Now, take this and transform!“ she tossed Alya the hexagonal box, and after a quick transformation, they ran off to defeat the saddened graduate of an akuma.

As she said, it was an easy fight.

They comforted the victim with four minutes (each) to spare, then ran back to the locker rooms to transform back.

Time Skip!

It was the morning of the flight to China, and she was ecstatic. Of course, she had to get up at 3:45 in the morning, but it was worth it–the flight took off at six in the morning, of course.

She could see the logic of wanting to arrive at 12:00, but she would’ve much preferred a red-eye.

Then she wouldn’t have had to stay up all night reading, because no way in hell would she just wake up at 3:45 in the morning.

The alarm would’ve had to go off for hours.

But back to the morning, she poured herself a sasquatch-sized mug of coffee, with about a gallon of cream and enough sugar to put an entire city of diabetics into shock, she started getting dressed.

Trudging around and haphazardly pulling out shirts, she finally decided on a simple red-and-orange flannel, a white t-shirt, and a pair of cropped jeans.

The she downed the rest of her coffee with an apathetic “Bottoms up!” and slapped her cheeks.

She grapped her suitcase and walked outside to where her mother was typing away on a laptop in the pitch-black night.

“Mom, why are you up?“

“Because I have to drive you to the airport, that’s why. And no alarm would be able to wake me up at 3 in the morning.“

“Preach. I’m ready to go, so can we get in the car now?“

After driving to the airport and saying goodbye to her mom, she walked into the airport and immediately saw the group of sleepy teens (and a certain disheveled teacher) leaning on their suitcases, trying not to fall asleep.

Nino and Marinette were already there, their eyelids drooping. The only person who looked properly awake was Sabrina, who was–inevitably–holding a saucer out to Chloé, who was sipping from a teacup.

Alya rolled her eyes and walked over to Marinette and Nino. “Who’re we missing?”

“Kim and Rose. They’re carpooling, so they should be here any minute.“

Just as Marinette had said, a few seconds later, Rose and Kim walked into the airport. Kim was still wearing pajama pants.

Another Time Skip!

“Marinette.“ Alya groaned, shaking Marinette’s shoulders. “Marinette, wake up, we’re here.“

Marinette’s eyes fluttered open. “No. Five more minutes.”

“Everyone else is already off the plane!“

“Shit. Let’s go!“ Marinette said, jumping up, grabbing her purse (which she had recently learned concealed a kwami) and scrambling out the door.

Alya picked up the mini-backpack she now carried (which held Trixx, cookies, and some grape jelly) and followed her out the door.

Almost as soon as they stepped off the plane, they heard a loud wail.

“Great. She’s back on her bullshit.“

“I just can’t believe she would steal that, Lila! It’s so unlike her!“

“M-maybe, but there’s p-proof! Look!“

“Oh, great, what did we do this time?“ Alya asked exasperatedly. They watched as Lila held out the remains of–from what they could see from a meter away–a sketch of an orange mermaid gown with a black lace collar, ripped into quarters and laid out on the ground.

Marinette gasped beside her.

“That’s your dress, isn’t it?“

A small tear made its way down Marinette’s face. “It was going to be for you,” she said softly.

Alya threw her arms around Marinette and rubbed her shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetie. Once you’re princess, we’ll sue her for all she’s worth.”

Marinette detached herself from Alya and wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Alya.”

-🌸-

Nino stormed up to where Alya and Marinette were standing with a furious expression on his face.

“That fox,“ he seethed. “that bitchy little fox of a liar stole your drawing.“

Marinette chuckled wetly. “Yeah, we know.“

“Are you okay? I know how important they are to you.“

“I’m fine, Nino, and o–who the hell are you?“ A man in an oddly formal suit was standing next to her, holding out a small red envelope.

Marinette plucked the envelope from his fingers, opened it, and read the contents. She looked up and nodded at the suit-wearing guy.

“Good. In that case, Miss Dupain-Cheng, I’m going to need you to come with me.“ Alya and Nino immediately stepped in front of her in a protective shield.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?“

The strange man looked surprisingly amused. “Not at all–but you might want to come with us, too. You as well, headphone-boy.”

Nino put a hand on his chest and gasped in offense.

“Nino. He’s going to drive us to the palace. You’re coming, too, ya doof!“ Nino made a noise of realization and followed them out to where a black limousine was waiting.

They climbed in and drove off.

About five minutes into the drive, he moved his foot to the side, accidentally kicking a black box.

Just as he was preparing his final goodbyes, it sprung open, and inside was a junk food lover’s heaven.

“Dude.“

#ml #ml salt #ml salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #marinette deserves better #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #alya sugar #nino sugar #lila rossi #lila salt #lila bashing #adrien agreste #adrien salt #adrien bashing #marinette the princess of china #WHY ARE YOU READING THE TAGS

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jaggedlittleteacup · 3 years

Text

Three Acts

Note: @call-me-moo I guess it’s not three acts anymore?

Act Four

“It’s not like it is in the movies. There’s not a great big spurt of blood and you go flying backwards.”

Mary, cold, lifeless, her eyes empty, her smile taunting. She’s taunting me, laughing, she won’t stop laughing oh god-

STOP LAUGHING AT ME

Blood, blood, BLOOD-

Scared little boy, that’s what you are…it’s what you’ve always been…

DID YOU MISS ME DID YOU MISS ME DID YOU MISS ME

No, no, no, no…Oh, Sherlock, you know nothing…

Where did the blood go? Where did it go where did it go where did it-

Did John check? Did he check her? He’s a doctor, but DID HE CHECK?

My eyes fly open, and I can’t remember where I am. I feel…frozen in place. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, and my throat is so dry I can hardly croak out the word “John”, yet still I manage.

John, wake up, please.

He doesn’t stir.

“John,” I whisper, louder this time. My chest is heaving, and my fingers have drifted to the barely-healed scar on my ribs.

He makes a small noise and turns to me, half-asleep. “Yeah, Sh’rlock…?” he mumbles. “Wha’s wrong…?”

Everything everything is wrong I can’t breathe-

I’m shaking, and I can’t force myself to stop. “John, she…she was…she…” I can’t get out the words. My eyes are burning.

“Oh, Sherlock…” Suddenly, John is wide awake and running his fingers through my hair. “She’s not here, Sherlock. She’s…” He swallows. “She’s dead. She can’t hurt you. Not anymore.”

My eyes flicker over to him frantically, searching for any trace of- God, I don’t know what.

Heart rate quickened left hand shaking hasn’t shaved half asleep worried scared afraid-

“Sherlock,” he says sternly, his voice cracking the smallest bit. “Come back to me, please.”

I’m panicking, and he knows it, and I know it, but I can’t stop myself. “John, she’s here. Something’s wrong, John, I can feel it!”

“She’s not here,” John murmurs softly. “Sherlock, please…go back to sleep. I’m here. Whatever you dreamt, it wasn’t real. I promise.” He pulls me against his chest, and suddenly my thoughts are flooded with John.

“Okay,” I say, hushed. “Okay, I’ll…But…what if I see her again?” The thought frightens me. My chest hurts.

Her betrayal scarred and marked me. Forever. Every day, I will see this ugly scar and be reminded of what she did to me.

“I’ll be here every time,” John reassures me, his hand still absentmindedly stroking my hair. “Go back to sleep, yeah?”

I nod and move to lie down. John’s arms don’t pull away from my body.

Wholly, unequivocally John…

It’s a comforting weight. One that helps me fall into a more relaxed sleep, one unperturbed by nightmares and glimpses of something that couldn’t possibly be real.

I’m awoken by a sliver of light peeking through the curtains and falling on my eyes. All and all, it’s still far better than being woken up by some sort of awful nightmare.

John is clinging to me tightly. It makes it rather challenging to get out of bed, but I manage after a slight bit of difficulty.

I should thank him. Would it be odd if I thanked him?

I look at his softly sleeping form.

Is this what…couples do? Are we a couple? Was he simply being a good friend? Do friends kiss one another? Have I misread this whole thing-?

“Sherlock…” John grumbles from his pillow, “I can hear you having a bloody breakdown from here.” He groans and sits up, rubbing his hair back into its proper shape. “C’mere, you big idiot.”

I chuckle and slide back into my- our?- bed. He wraps his arms around me and smiles into my back.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say back.

I twist around and look at him.

He should shave.

I push the thought away and sigh, before touching my lips. “John, I’m quite sure you’re aware of the awful after-effects of stubble burn…”

John pulls away, a flat expression on his face. I’m almost worried for a moment, but I see a spark in his eyes. “Sherlock,” he asks, “do you want me to shave?”

I glance away. “Perhaps.”

“Self-advocacy, love,” he sighs, a smile playing on his lips as he moves off the bed and heads for the loo. He might have said something after that, but I believe my brain temporarily stopped working, a rarity for me.

‘Love’…?

Love, as in…denoting a romantic partner?

Love meaning he doesn’t mind my celibacy, that he still wants to be with me, that he…cares about me?

“Sherlock!” John shouts from the sink. “Stop overthinking!”

I shake my head, still smiling like a fool, and pull on my favourite blue dressing gown so I can attempt to make breakfast. ‘Attempt’ being the operative word. The last time I cooked, I nearly burned down the kitchen, so I’m not really holding out on the idea.

I estimate I have seventeen minutes, based on his prior established grooming habits- but, then again, they may have changed while living with…her. I have noticed he uses considerably more product in his hair now.

It’s like déjà vu. My mind is swiftly and suddenly pulled back to one of our first cases together.

“With that level of personal grooming?”

“What, because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair!”

“You wash your hair, there’s a difference.”

The memory is fond. I wonder if he was trying to tell me something, or if that was a Freudian slip of some sort. I open the bedroom door, smoothing some of my unruly curls out of my face. “Of course, then there was the whole matter with Carl Pow…”

I’m stopped cold in my tracks.

No. No, I’m seeing things, I’m high, I’m sleeping.

He can’t be…

“Oh- um, hey!” Jim Moriarty lounges in my chair with not a care in the world, his feet resting on my coffee table as he slowly eats a biscuit. He swallows down his bite. “Sorry, were you expecting more? A big show of some sort?” He grins and puckers his lips. “Oh, Sherlock…did you miss me?”

He’s not here. He’s dead.

“You…shot yourself,” I mumble, almost drunkenly in shock. “You’re dead…”

“Well, you hurled yourself off a roof, honey.” Jim shrugs as though his mere presence isn’t an act defiant of nature. “It’s safe to say more than one miracle happened that day.”

“How did you do it? How?” I demand, my vision dizzy with horror.

I didn’t check no-one checked Mycroft didn’t check

“Ah-ah-ah…!” Jim tut-tuts and slowly drags his tongue along his finger to catch a bit of jam. “A magician never reveals his secrets…”

I shake my head viciously, praying that I can get rid of the manifestation of evil in front of me. “I’m dreaming,” I say weakly.

“You’re dreaming? You’re the one standing in front of me in pants and a dressing gown, I think I’m the one who’s dreaming, Sherlock.” His smile is cruel, vindictive. “Oh, how vulnerable you are right now…! I could stab you and lick the blood off the blade, and the Good Doctor wouldn’t know until he had a sniper’s sight on him.” Jim lowers his voice to a growl. “Bang.”

Not again, please, not again…

“You wouldn’t.”

He makes an exaggerated frown with his fingers. “No more Joooohn…” he whispers.

“Leave him out of this,” I snap, regaining some of my confidence. “This is between you and I.”

Jim giggles. “You know, I heard the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. What if I chopped up John Watson and fed him to you, piece by piece?” He slides his tongue over his lips and smiles blissfully. “Heaven.”

I want to throw up. I want to strangle him. I. Want. Him. Gone.

I take a deep breath, even though I can tell I have already paled at his suggestion. “Get out of my flat,” I say calmly, unable- or unwilling- to force myself to move.

Jim looks more amused than disappointed. “I thought you’d at least let me stay for dessert. I suppose I’ll have to settle for takeaway, instead.” He strolls over to me, maddeningly slow, and presses his lips to my neck, just barely nicking my skin with his teeth. “It’s so good to be back. I can’t wait for all the fun I’m going to have with you.”

I don’t say a word, my eyes fixed on watching him leave. When the front door closes, I finally shudder, still frozen in place, before collapsing on the sofa.

He’s back.

(Well, that was a ride. Act Five coming soon.)

Epilogue linked below:

https://benaddicted-linfanuel.tumblr.com/post/657054522939686912/three-acts

#bbc #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #jim moriarty #post reichenbach #the fall #mary is not good #she’s actually pretty evil #did you miss him #he’s back #nightmares

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sjjdkdkwo · 3 years

Text

I think while Stephen was a pompous doctor during his pre accident days, he’d actually be a really sad person behind closed doors? He probably doesn’t even realize it but he’s such an empty person for so many reasons at that point like the loss of literally his whole family. And he doesn’t really strike me as a social butterfly even then, like he doesn’t really have friends, he has colleagues but in his warped sense of companionship that’s enough and means he’s not a sad lonely person. At least in the movies they don’t show you any friends he might have besides Christine? And it really makes me wonder if he even has them to begin with, and if he didn’t I feel like he’d do all these little things to overcome loneliness he doesn’t even know he has? You get me??? Anyway—

—

A thirty-four hour shift wasn’t the longest Stephen had endured since becoming a surgeon, but it was draining all the same. Especially when it seemed he was the only capable surgeon at Metro General half of the time he was working there. Stephen swore if he had to fix Nick’s mistakes on more time he’d push him from a fifth floor window; and make him operate on himself just to make him see how incompetent he really was. He’d already come close once earlier that week.

He stifled a yawn as he made his way toward the elevator in his building but stopped when he felt something barrel into his legs. Nearly tripping over the thing he looked down with scowl and found a familiar furry face looking up at him. Stephen forgot any irritation as the little dog before him barked and got up on it’s hind legs to paw at Stephen’s own longer ones. He broke out into a large grin as he crouched down to be closer to eye level with the dog and reached out to run his fingers over the animals soft silky fur before sticking out one hand for the dog to shake.

“Well hello, Bandit.” He greeted. “How are you doing today?”

Bandit let out a high pitched bark and placed his paw into Stephen’s waiting hand. After giving the dog a gentle little handshake he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a small bag of dog treats before holding one out for the dog to eat. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as Bandit scarfed down the treat and he let his hand linger so his furry friend could lap up the residue left on his fingers.

“I know, I know, bacon flavor is your favorite. I didn’t forget.”

Stephen held conversation with the dog for another minute before a tall man ran up to them calling out the dogs name. When he saw Stephen a look of relief passed over his face as he made his way toward them.

“Doctor Strange, thank God.” He huffed before his gaze landed on Bandit. “And you! What have I told you about running off like that? Your lucky you ran into Doctor Strange, mister!”

Bandit barked again, wagging his tail and jittering about between both men. Stephen shook his head fondly and stood back up.

“Marcus, how are you?”

“Great, listen I’m so sorry, Doctor Strange. I don’t know what comes over him whenever he sees you.” Marcus said scratching his chin in thought.

“Probably these?” Stephen laughed holding up the bag of dog treats.

“I see now, trying to bribe my dog into leaving me for you, huh?” Marcus joked.

“Hardly. If anything, he’s the one trying to con me with that adorable face of his.”

Marcus laughed and settled a soft, kind smile on his face and leaned down to hook Bandit back on his leash.

“I get what you mean, I’m practically starving with how often he whines for table scraps.” Marcus huffed again. His phone chirped then and he quickly fished it out from his pants. His eyes widened when he stared at the screen and he looked back up at Stephen with a sorry face. “Shoot, I gotta go, Doctor Strange.”

“Oh…right course, it was nice seeing you, Marcus. You keep a close eye on him, he’s a slippery one.”

“Oh I will.”

“I was talking to Bandit.” Stephen teased.

Marcus rolled his eyes and gave him a wry smile. “Very funny, Doctor Strange. Bye now!”

Stephen waved them both off with a slack smile before making his way back toward the elevator door and to his loft. He often thought about getting a dog of his own, but then he’d remember he hardly had time for himself most days and would eradicate the thought from his mind completely.

Walking through his front door Stephen slipped off his coat and shoes and placed them neatly on by the door and on the coat rack. He rolled his head side to side a few times and walked into the living room quickly switching on the television. The loft would be to quiet otherwise and on days were things were less ideal than usual; it almost felt like there was someone else there. Not that Stephen needed the comfort, certainly not. It was merely a habit he often told himself instead. Stephen turned his gaze to the table settled against the wall and the two frames placed meticulously there.

“Donna, Victor. I’m home.” He said to the frames then trotted to the kitchen. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I swear it’s like Nick was placed on this earth just to annoy me.”

It was a stupid habit really, one that Stephen would never admit to anyone to save his life. It had started thanks to an old college roommate who had once confided in him that he could speak to the dead. Of course Stephen had laughed at him and had deemed the whole ordeal sheer lunacy. His roommate had hadn’t taken much offense though and had continued to hassle Stephen with tales of psychic powers or special cards one could use to speak to the deceased. Sometimes one could merely talk into the open air and if they were lucky a loved one would be near by to hear it, he’d said. Stephen had taken everything with a grain of salt though, and hadn’t cared much for the conversation.

After a particular nasty phone call with his father however, Stephen had been reminded how strained things were with his family at the time, and how broken they’d all become since Donnas’ death. And later that night in a bout of deep dejection he’d called out her name when no one was around. Before he knew it he’d spent six hours talking into thin air about anything and everything, and from then on he simply hadn’t been able to stop. A few years later he’d ended up doing the same with Victor.

Stephen reached the kitchen counter and opened one of the cabinets beneath the sink to pull out a silver pan. Opening his fridge next he rummaged through before pulling out a stick of butter and single cut of steak. “He nearly misdiagnosed a patient with a brain tumor. Can you even believe that? If I hadn’t stepped in and run a few more tests who knows what would’ve happened? Sometimes I just want to—“

Stephen stretched out his arms and clenched his fingers as if strangling an imaginary person. He sighed and went back to the items lying on the counter and heated up the stove.

“Honestly some days I think it’s not just the patients who’ve got something wrong going on in their brains.” Stephen laughed at his own words and dumped a scoop of butter into the pan before placing the steak in. “It seems like there isn’t anyone there who hasn’t gotten on my nerves. Well…there is a new surgeon, Christine. It’s kind of endearing really, when she first met me she could hardly find the right words to even say hello. I’m not surprised though, it’s not everyday you meet someone of my skill and talent.”

Stephen walked away from the stove and found his way to the living room and turned on some music.

“We actually have a date this weekend at dinner I’m speaking at. She was so excited when I told her; I bet she’s kept up with all my work...” Stephen said, drumming his fingers on his armrest with a lofty smirk. A slight smell of smoke made it’s way over to him but Stephen decided to ignore it in favor of talking some more. Before he could continue his ramblings though the next song played and he let out a jovial laugh. “I can’t make you love me by Bonnie Raitt, 1991. Oh god, I remember when you played this song for days on end after Brian Williams broke up with you, Donna. You didn’t stop moping over that halfwit until Victor and me practically dragged you out of the house.”

Stephen smiled softly to himself, looking over at Donna and Victor’s pictures on the table in front him. “We went to the fair that day, remember?”

Donna had been a wreck when Brian had decided she simply wasn’t the right person for him. She’d cried and ran into the family room to declare that true love was a lie and that her life meant nothing anymore. Stephen and Victor had tried not to laugh, and instead set about planning ways to get back at Brian for making her cry regardless. She was their sister and they loved her too much to let her tears go to waste after all. After more than a week of hearing the same sad song behind her closed door though they’d decided enough was enough and had tugged her out of bed and into Stephen’s car. She’d been steadfast in her sulking demeanor the entirety ride there regardless of what Victor or Stephen did however.

It wasn’t until two rides in that Donna had cracked her first smile after Victor had screamed so hard he’d almost cried while on the rollercoaster ride. She’d babied him after, but still teased him about it as they’d made their way around before she dragged them both to see a psychic. Stephen had groaned and begged her not to indulge in the nonsensical fake mysticism but she’d made a show of almost crying herself and Stephen knew had no choice. He had often thought Donna could one day convince him into murder if she’d tried hard enough, and thanked anyone who would listen that she was kinder than that.

Stephen had stood off to the side as his siblings received their readings, not paying any mind to what the supposed psychic was telling them and making faces the whole time. He’d been relieved that they’d finished till Donna had insisted that he get a reading of his own. This time he hadn’t relented when she’d pouted—until Victor had joined.

He’d sat in front of the psychic with an air of skepticism and superiority, nodding with feigned interest with at each word he heard. He would admit that his ego had been stroked when he’d been told that great things awaited him in the future, and had turned back to his siblings with a smug grin. His mood has quickly shifted though when the psychic had told him that sorrow and hardship would also follow him for the rest of his life. When he’d been warned that he would come to associate large bodies of water and automobiles with pain and death Stephen had scoffed and demanded their money back. Donna had smacked him on the shoulder and scolded him for his rudeness, apologizing to the psychic while Victor rolled with laughter behind them.

Though it had left him annoyed, Stephen didn’t think on it beyond that day and resumed life as usual. He didn’t believe in discernible tales of the supernatural and mystical beings or the occult, not when science and logic could easily disprove them.

And then a year later, Donna drowned in the lake.

Stephen had been to overcome with grief to make any connections between the two events at first, and when he could finally think on it had merely become angrier with himself for belittling his own sister’s death in such a way and pushed the thought from his mind.

Victor’s death hadn’t hurt any less. And looking at his brother’s mangled dead body beside the parked car he nearly laughed at the fortuity of it all, before breaking down and cradling him in his arms while he cried.

Stephen had become deathly silent as he let his mind wander further into the tragedy that seemed shadow him through life and wondered not for the first time if perhaps he was cursed. Pain had become an old friend by now, and sometimes Stephen didn’t know if he was truly happy or simply passing by as best he could. All his thoughts were interrupted at the sound of the smoke alarm going off however, and he cursed as he ran back into the kitchen to turn of the stove and look down at his now burned dinner. Glad for the distraction Stephen laughed into the empty loft and turned his head slightly as if someone were really there.

“Guess that’s a no go. You know what means, take out.” Stephen said throwing out the steak into the garbage been before grabbing his phone. And if anyone else were really there they might have said he looked almost relieved and eager at the thought of ordering out. Almost like he’d planned for the dinner to fail since starting it. “I think I’ll order Ruffian’s tonight, the delivery boy, Tim always gives me extra utensils.”

Stephen didn’t need extra utensils. Who would even use them? No one, not when he lived all alone.

A few hours later Stephen practically rushed out of his seat to get the door when he heard the buzzer. Swaying his way to the entrance he opened it with a casual smile only to drop it when he saw a stranger standing there.

“Uh, food for…Doctor Strange?” the man before him said, squinting at the paper in his hand in disbelief before looking up at him.

“Ah, yes. That’s me.” Stephen responded. He furrowed a brow. “Tim’s not working tonight, huh?”

The man gave him an odd look before nodding. “Yeah he’s um—he’s off tonight. Anyway here.”

Stephen reached out to grab the bag as it was offered to him, and gave the made a teasing grin.

“Thanks, I needed this.” He said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Let’s just say my cooking is so good even the smoke alarm cheers for me.” Stephen snorted. The other man didn’t laugh. So Stephen did it for him, admittedly awkwardly though. “You get it? See I’m so—“

“Yeah listen I’ve gotta go to my next delivery, but uh, you enjoy your food Mister—“

“Doctor” Stephen corrected.

“Right, well. Bye now.” The man said in grimace before hastily making his way away from Stephen.

“Yes…goodbye now.” Stephen said to the empty hallway.

Stephen ate his meal in relative silence after, only finishing half and talking out loud only a few times in between bites. After finishing and placing the leftovers in the fridge he stood in the middle of the empty living room.

“Well, I’d better head to bed. Early day tomorrow, and I can’t be late.” Stephen said, rocking back on his heels. “You know they’d be completely lost without me otherwise.”

He laughed, but no one was there to hear it. He gave a strained smile before shutting the television off and heading to bed.

After changing into his sleeping attire Stephen settled into the large vacant bed under the warm thick blankets and shut off his bedside lamp.

“Today wasn’t so bad. Saw a few people today. And of course I did excellent work.” Stephen spoke into the dark solitary space around him. “Yes, thing are looking pretty good for me I’d say. Right Donna, Victor?”

Stephen smiled to himself but couldn’t help but think about what his siblings would really say in that moment. He knew of course, he could still remember every detail about them well enough to be able to guess. He could see Donnas’ pitying glance and Victor’s desolate stare.

Aren’t you lonely, Stephen? , Donna would probably ask.

Stephen scoffed into the air.

“I’m not lonely.” He mumbled. “I’m not, I’m perfectly fine with my life as is. I have everything I ever wanted you know.”

He was speaking louder now he knew, but it didn’t matter. He had no one to wake up anyway.

Are you sure?

“Don’t be ridiculous. Lonely…I can’t be lonely.”

Stephen shifted in bed, suddenly realizing how quite the room was and frowned deeply. He sat up and beat his pillow; it felt to stiff in that moment. The whole bed felt uncomfortable then really, but Stephen didn’t give in and settled back down with an angry huff.

“How can I be lonely when everyone knows my name.”

He lay there for a moment in the heavy stifling silence before he couldn’t handle it anymore and flung himself from out of the bed to open his bedroom window, letting in the harsh cold air as he did so. Along with the cacophony of voices and cars and whatever other noises lived on constantly in New York.

Stephen let out a shaky breath and made his way back into bed. He didn’t bother getting comfortable this time, instead curling in on himself and shutting his eyes tight as he let the raucous noise from outside shelter him from the suffocating stillness of before. Only then was Stephen finally able to sleep.

That night he dreamt of bright flashing lights and drowning. Deep, deep into a pool of black ooze until he could no longer breath.

In the morning, Stephen wouldn’t give the dream a second thought. He didn’t need to, not when he already knew.

There was no such thing as magic.

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itstittycitybaby · 4 years

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From the Ashes We are Born (Part 6)

A/N: I apologize that this is very late. I have been going through some things recently and haven’t had the energy to write or post anything. But, here we are.

Summary: You wake up late at night without your vigilante boyfriend by your side. Just where did he go?

Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

The spot on the bed next to you was empty. The sheet was crinkled and cool to the touch. Where was V? The night was still high; the moon peeked through the curtains. His blanket that he used was rumpled and carelessly thrown to the side. It was unlike V to be so careless and messy. A week had passed after the night you had kissed V. You smiled at the thought. Though, you felt a pang of loneliness that your masked vigilante had disappeared. Stretching over to the side of your bed you tugged on the lamp cord. The bulb flickered for a second before your side of the room became flooded with light. You squinted to adjust to the sudden change of light. The bedside tables were barren; V would warn you ahead of time if he had to leave either writing a note or telling you himself. So, where did he go?

You stretched your body once you sat up. A sigh left your lips once your muscles became less tense. The room felt empty without the masked gentleman. His presence was charming and warm. Without it, everything felt ghostly. Slowly, you pulled your blanket off of you. Getting caught in the bed’s sheets would cause a disruption. Anxiety pooled in your belly as you shuffled to the bedroom door. V was a light sleeper, so surely there wasn’t an intruder? If there was, he would not leave you defenseless. Not that I can’t take of them myself, you thought smugly. Alerting your boyfriend was not the best idea, for god knows why V decided to leave you. He was watchful of his surroundings, but you didn’t want to get a knife lodged in your stomach, no thank you. With caution you slowly turned the knob and quietly opened the door. Leaving it ajar, you crept through the gallery using your hands as a guide. You laughed silently at the memory of V being so awkward about sharing a bed. “V?” “Yes?” You looked confused as you stood there, looking at him. “Aren’t you coming,” you asked, throwing your head in the direction of the room. “Ah, well you see, my incredible song bird, I didn’t want to make things difficult and awkward. I shall sleep on the sofa.” Your stare unnerved V as he stood there waiting for you to retire to the room. A laugh bubbled from your chest and before long it echoed throughout the gallery. V cocked his head as he stood there. Were you mocking him? “Sorry, sorry,” you huffed, “It’s just so cute. We’ve known each other for seven months now V. Come to bed.” V stood there, gaping underneath his mask. “A-alright,” he stammered. You tried not to laugh at how eager he seemed as he dashed towards the room.

It was silent in the Shadow Gallery. The mute thudding sound in your ears was the only thing you could hear. It was dark, incredibly dark. Your eyes squinted, trying to peer through the darkness. Guiding yourself with your hands you whispered, “V?” Silence. “Oh he is so sleeping on the couch tomorrow,” you scoffed after almost pissing yourself from barely crashing into a suit of armour. Creeping through the living room, that’s when you heard it. Crash! The blood in your veins felt cold as your stomach lept into your throat. You trembled from the adrenaline racing through your veins. Fight, run, or hide. Shit. Where the fuck is V! You jumped at another crash. It sounded like glass shattering onto the floor. “V,” you whisper shouted. Sending a quick prayer to whatever god that was listening, you quickened your pace. Further into the hall the light was on. Its rays were soft causing you to squint. That’s when you heard it: sobbing. “Oh hell no,” you whispered. “I am not getting fucked by a demon.” Something caught your eye to the left. You froze. It was one of those pokey fire things that V used for the fireplace. Your hands slowly grasped it and you held it tightly, just in case. The crying still continued as you creeped to the doorway.

Your eyes widened as you realized: V, your V was crying. Rage bubbled up inside of you at the thought of someone hurting your V. Your feet padded to the room and you came to a halt at the sight that lay before you. The vanities your boyfriend took pride in were now shattered and destroyed. V’s figure was hunched over and cries escaped his lips. Glass was scattered across the floor, glistening in the light. You immediately regretted not wearing shoes. Next to him, discarded, was the guy fawkes mask that was thrown to the floor. You couldn’t see his face,but you knew he wouldn’t want you to. His back was turned to you, but you could him cradling his hands. “V,” you whispered softly, “V what happened.” The makeshift weapon you had brought with you clattered to the floor once you threw it. His hands immediately went to his mask on the floor as he fumbled to get it. Then, you saw how bloody V’s hands were; there were small cuts along the fingers and the back of his hands. Blood had started to travel down the side of his hands. V’s back tensed up once he heard his love in the room with him. This was not a sight you were supposed to see. “Leave it, please,” you said gently. “I won’t look I promise.” You felt your heart break at the sound of sniffles he tried so hard to cover. V’s hand hovered over it, debating, but it fell by his side. Your heart soared; he trusted you. “You don’t have to say anything but I’m coming over to you alright?” Nothing. You were anxious as you cautiously made your way to your lover. Not only because of the glass and your bare feet, but because of what he might do. Would he strike in anger? Would V hurt you?

No. You reassured yourself. He trusts us and we need to trust him. V would never hurt us. You had made your way through the glass and gently grasped his shoulder. You cursed softly as glass nicked your foot. Shaking it off, you carefully trekked through the room. V’s shoulders dropped once he felt your hand squeeze his shoulder softly. “I’m gonna move towards you okay? I’ll keep my eyes closed. Feel free to hide your face with your hands if you want,” you said. V nodded in reply. Finally a response. Your eyes fluttered shut. You were a bit nervous moving around in a dangerous area with them closed, but you didn’t want to destroy V’s trust. Holding onto his shoulders, you carefully bent down to swipe away at any shards at the floor. Your hand felt shaky on his broad shoulders as you made your way in front of him. You cheered silently once you safely made it. “Can I hug you V,” you asked as you kneeled in front of him. It was silent for a few moments before a croaked “yes” came out. Heart sinking, you carefully scooted towards him. You held your hands in front of him and felt relieved once you felt his thighs. V sounded so broken and lost. Your hands snaked up to his chest as you tried to reach his shoulders. He’s too damn tall. You huffed as you tried again. If V wasn’t so upset he would have laughed. Instead, he grasped his hand with yours and pulled you into his lap.

A squeak of surprise came from your lips as V shuffled you comfortably. Thank god my eyes are still shut. You would not betray V and destroy the trust you so rightfully earned. A soft groan left your boyfriend’s lips as you accidentally squirmed in his lap. “S-sorry,” you exclaimed, embarrassed. It was almost as if God was giving you a test. You couldn’t get the thought of your legs straddling V’s thighs and his groin underneath your ass. Stop it! Now is NOT the time! Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and embraced him. Your arms held him tightly and you gave him a nice squeeze. V’s breath tickled your neck and his hands slowly snaked around your waist pulling you close. You would deal with his hands later, but right now he needed you.V tried not to think about how you must’ve felt when his hands touched you. Your skin was soft and smooth compared to his scarred and rough hands. You kept your word; you didn’t try and take a peek at his bare face. V was touched by the notion and how your comforting touches made him relax. “Breathe, just breathe,” you whispered as you helped him inhale and exhale. V’s heart swelled when you gently placed your head on his shoulder. He figured your eyes were open now that his face was hidden from your view. He couldn’t bring himself to care. V’s eyes blurred with tears and his face felt hot. How ugly he must’ve looked, he thought to himself. How disgusted you must be. “Hey, it’s okay to cry,” you cooed, trying to soothe V as he shook beneath you and a whimper escaped his throat. “There’s nothing wrong with crying. I am not going to judge you for it, V.” He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat as hushed tears trailed down his cheeks. He probably looked like a blubbery baby, but the mirrors were destroyed thanks to his fit of rage.

A strangled cry left his throat before he could manage to suppress it. “Do you wanna talk about it?” V shook his head no. “Okay,” you whispered, “That’s okay, I won’t force you. I’m right here and everything is gonna be okay.” V squeezed you tighter and held you closer to him. His chest was pressed up against yours and his hair tickled your skin. Who had hurt V to make him like this? What hurt V to cause him to destroy his vanities and tear the room apart? He was normally so calm and controlled, but now he was so broken. “V?” A shuddering breath left him as he tried to form words. “Take your time honey, there’s no rush,” you said, kissing his shoulder.

“Hm,” V croaked after he regained his breath. “Can I kiss you? It can be with your mask on if you’d like. If you don’t want to that’s fine.” He nodded. You smiled,” Do you wanna put on your mask or?” V shook his head. “Alright, I’ll close my eyes.” You shifted around on his lap, unwrapping your arms. Closing your eyes, you grasped his shoulder. V’s hands grabbed your waist to keep you steady. Heart pounding, you slowly put your lips to his. You missed them. V lightly nibbled your lips, causing you to sigh. His tongue softly parted your lips and caressed yours. Your noses brushed up a bit and he tensed. You pulled away quickly after the mistake you made. V’s nose was rough and you could tell it was scarred like his hands. Your eyes were still closed and you tried to move away but accidentally bumped his cheek. V inhaled sharply. You flinched; preparing yourself to be thrown off of V’s lap and be screamed at but it was eerily silent. “Sorry, I-I-” “It’s alright, my beautiful dove,” V’s voice rumbled. The aura surrounding him seemed insecure and scared. Your fearless V who looked death in the eyes they were friends was scared. “You know, I’m not grossed out with your skin. It’s the exact opposite. I think you’re beautiful, V.” He stared at your closed eyes and swept his fingers across your waist. You shivered at the touch. You perked up at the sound of the rustling of his mask. V’s hands left your waist as he slipped his mask back on.“You can open your eyes again, if you’d like.” The sight of V welcomed you as your eyes opened again. It was a bit unnerving seeing the smiling mask staring at you, when V was far from being joyful. At least he felt a bit better, though. Giving him a peck on the cheek you slid off of him. You tippy toed around the glass as you stood.. “You should’ve told me you were barefoot,” V said once he stood. “I don’t mind, but I need to get your hands cleaned.” “I won’t allow it, I can tend to them myself.” You gave V a look. “Go in the kitchen and wait for me so I can clean your cuts V,” you said sternly. He sighed and nodded as he left the room. You tried not to laugh at the way he reminded you of a scolded child. “Well, this is gonna be one hell of a mess to clean up.”

The kitchen light illuminated your masked boyfriend sitting at the kitchen table. The lights were dimmed making V look so soft and vulnerable. The first aid kit sat patiently on the table waiting for you. Before you tended V’s hands you made sure to put raspberry tea brewing on the stove. You didn’t really like hot tea, but it was V’s favourite. “Helps soothe the soul,” he had told you one lonely night. You set the kettle on the stove top and sat in the chair in front of him. “Would you like me to wear gloves for this,” you asked. V still wasn’t comfortable with the fact of you seeing, let alone touching his skin. Slow progress was being made, though. Slow and nervous touches at night without his gloves. “It’s alright, you don’t have to,” he replied softly. A smile crossed your lips, “Thank you for trusting me, hun. I really appreciate it.” Gently, your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your fingers stroked his wrists as you dabbed a cotton ball into some rubbing alcohol. “This’ll sting good,” you warned, trying to prepare him. V let out a soft hiss as you gently swiped the cotton onto his wounds. “Sorry,” you murmured. It was silent in the kitchen as you worked but you didn’t mind. Once that hand was finished you grabbed the bandage and wrapped it around his fingers and hand. “Should I be disheartened at your skill of tending wounds,” V asked as you secured the bandage. He was a bit surprised. Granted, anyone could swab alcohol onto a wound, but bandaging one was tricky for most people. But you weren’t most people, V told himself. You chuckled. “My dad was bat shit crazy. I’d have to clean and wrap myself sometimes and the children in the church. He and the congregation were recognized by Sutler. If you make a mistake….,” you trailed off.

V knew all too well of what happened. His skin was a prime example of what Sutler was capable of. Something V had to be reminded of for the rest of his life every time his reflection stared back at him. “I’m very sorry,” he said after a while. You sighed, carefully lifting his wrapped hands to your lips. “It’s okay, he can’t hurt me anymore.” Gently, you kissed each of his fingers and knuckles. You carefully turned them over and kissed the inside of V’s palms too. “I had a nightmare,” V said a bit breathlessly. God, you would be the death of him. No words were said, you just held his hands for some sort of support. “They had taken you. I thought I was alone again.” You didn’t have to ask who they was;you already knew. “You aren’t alone, V. You don’t have to hide from me. If there’s something upsetting you I would like to know. You don’t have to tell me what it is, just please let me help you. You are not alone anymore.”“I know. It’s difficult for me to believe this is real, that you’re real. I’m afraid that..” You let go of his hands and towered over him, giving him a tight hug. V sunk into your embrace, his arms resting across your back. You kissed the top of his head before pulling away. “I promise that I’m here V. This isn’t a dream. I’m real, I swear.” “Thank you,” V said softly. “Of course. Go in the living room and put on a movie. I’ll bring you a cup of tea and we’ll watch it together.” V nodded before leaving the kitchen. Sighing, you grabbed two mugs and prepared them. You grabbed one sugar for V and three for you. Carefully, you wrapped your fingers around both mugs and hurried to the living room.

You smiled at the T.V. screen. Count of Monte Christo, how surprising V. Setting the mugs on the coffee table, you hopped onto the couch. A giggle left your mouth once you noticed V was already glued to the screen. “What,” he asked, turning to you. “Nothing love,” you chuckled. You took a sip of your tea. V’s mug was still left untouched, which wasn’t unexpected. He’ll probably drink it in the morning. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see V glancing at you. His mask would continue to watch the screen, but you could feel his eyes watching you. Sighing, you reached forward and set down your mug your onto the coffee table. “C’mere.” Almost instantly, V softly placed his head onto your lap, facing the T.V. once more. A smile graced your lips as you rubbed his back soothingly. How funny this must have looked; London’s most wanted criminal being taken care of by his girlfriend. You almost laughed at the thought. How scary they thought V was when really he was just a big old bear. Your heart swelled as V quoted the movie and intently focused on it. What a nerd. Eventually, the soft breathing from V caught your attention. “V?” A snore escaped from the mask. You snorted. Carefully peeling your boyfriend off you, you made your way to the kitchen. V’s soft snores filled the room. You snorted, usually he would wake up instantly without your presence next to him. Grabbing the broom and dustpan you hurried to the mess that waited for you.

V was still sleeping as you made your way to the living room. His body looked more relieved. Finally, he could get some rest. “V,” you said gently, shaking him awake. “V.” His voice sounded sleepy as he mumbled a “yes?” V noticed the telly was off and both mugs had left the table. He was a bit disheartened at the idea of time passing as he slept. “Let’s go to bed, yea?” V nodded as he got up. He wrapped his bandaged hand around yours. You shot him a smile as you led him to the bedroom. Dawn was just arising and the both of you needed some rest. V was exhausted and almost crashed as soon as the bed enveloped him. The both of you fell asleep in each other’s arms as the sun kissed London awake.

#V for Vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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write-something-new-again · 4 years

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Second-Degree Burns (Dream Team one-shot)

~DreamNapFound (Established Polyamorous Relationship) ~ Warnings: Burns, Major Character Injury, Crying Nick wakes up to sobbing. It’s a rough morning.

Nick woke up to sobbing. There was a long moment of him laying half awake while his brain revved back to life. While he blinked away the tiredness, he started to notice that the bed seemed short the weight of one person- someone had left. Suddenly he understood what had woke him up.

He shot straight up in bed. Something was very wrong. George softly snored beside him, oblivious. As much as he absolutely hated waking up his boyfriends, this was important. He hesitantly jostled the other boy’s shoulder. “George, wake up, something’s-” A metallic crash and another strangled cry from somewhere downstairs jolted both of them wide awake.

After flinching at the sound, George quickly propped himself up on his elbow. Still wiping the sleep off his face, he mumbled. “Where’s Clay?” The two shared a worried, blurry look. The crying continued. It clicked.

They were out of bed in an instant. With both of them in a frenzy, the doorway and stairs proved difficult to bypass without injury. Minor mishaps and panic aside, they had to find Clay. Now.

It was when the two skidded around the corner into the kitchen that they saw it. Their boyfriend, sitting on the floor and bawling his eyes out. His face was stained red, tears were just streaming right down his cheeks. For a brief second, all they could do was watch him shake with every sob. The sight was just... heartbreaking.

Nick cringed. The boy’s hands trembled in front of him, his fingertips were painted crimson while his palms were singed white. The room was warm with steam, sparkling hot water coated the floor. Not good, not good, not good at all.

In a second flat, George was on his knees and gently holding his trembling wrists. So audibly anxious, he pleaded “Sweetheart, what happened?” It was obvious what had happened, he still felt the need to ask. Clay tried to pull away, tried to curl in on himself and shut all sensory input out. His hands, his head, his chest, everything hurt. Despite the crying and tugging, George held firm.

He had woken everyone up. His hands stung, and so did his eyes, but he had woken everyone up, and that was so much worse.

George didn’t know what to do. His boyfriend was sobbing on the kitchen floor, what was he supposed to do? A hand came down on his shoulder. “Here,” Now Nick was leaning close beside him, a tense smile on his face. His voice was quiet. “Go clean up, I’ve got him.” George cast one more sorrow glance back before letting Nick take his place.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Nick was patient, and he didn’t get frustrated when Clay started shaking his head. He tried again, this time with his hands resting in the wounded boy’s lap. “Yes, it is okay. Let us help, alright?” He tried to ignore it- the sound of his boyfriend choking on his worn down throat. He tried to ignore it and focus on helping instead.

Eventually he was able to wrap his hands around the boy’s wrists without protest. Slowly but surely, the two got back on their feet. As soon as they did, Nick abruptly found himself caught in an awkward sort of hug.

Clay had draped his arms around the boy’s shoulders as best he could while keeping his far away from any kind of touch. He was still whimpering, still wheezing, and still way too overwhelmed. Nick could feel Clay’s chest shuddering. This was torture. He hugged back, trying not to squeeze too hard.

They were both standing up, so at least some progress had been made. While that thought was somewhat comforting, the boy’s hands were still scorched. Nick couldn’t help but grimace, he didn’t know how to treat a burn...why didn’t he pay more attention in health class? He hesitated pulling away, but ultimately decided that the physical safety of his boyfriend was a bit more important than emotional support. Even if Clay was now staring down at him, looking just about ready to fall apart all over again.

“Uhm, let’s go sit down, alright?” A solemn sniff was all he got. Nick squirmed underneath his misery flavored gaze. He bit his cheek and muttered a quick “Good enough,” mostly for his own peace of mind. Immediately, he ushered towards the kitchen table. Wood screamed against the tile as he dragged out a chair.

A few timid steps later, Clay flopped down in his seat. Although he had quieted down, he was obviously no less upset. Nick shifted on his feet. Okay, Clay liked seeing people happy, he knew this much. If Clay saw someone worrying, he’d worry too. It was one of his most endearing qualities, he just hoped it still worked under the current circumstances.

Lowering himself to his knees left him level with his boyfriend’s tear-stained face. Somehow, he managed to suppress his concern in favor of flashing a reassuring grin. “Hey!” It felt wrong to be smiling. Clay’s breaths were heavy and uneven, his face was all shades of red, his hands were singed, and Nick was smiling. Keep it together. “We’re gonna get your hands fixed up. Sounds good, right?”

A moment passed, filled with nothing but the sound of towels sweeping the floor. Then Clay started nodding. Nick almost deflated in relief, they were getting somewhere. He set his hands on the injured boy’s knees and started pushing himself back to his feet. "Alright, I'm gonna go get some stuff to-" Mid-way through standing back up, elbows came down on his hands. His heart skipped a beat as he somewhat stumbled back down to his knees. Nick huffed. "Yes?"

The low-pitched whimper that Clay gave, it only made him feel worse. He didn’t need to hear the words, Nick got the message just fine. Disappointed, pleading, upset eyes begging him please don’t go.

Internal conflict made his head spin. He wanted to do something more than sit pretty. At the same time, Clay’s elbows pressed on his knuckles. How could he leave? Except, duh, he didn’t have to. There were three of them.

Knowing what he was about to ask made his cheeks flush. He brushed his thumb over the hem of Clay’s jeans. “George?” A squeak of acknowledgement, a short hum of curiosity. The british boy’s stare was blank. Nick sighed, this was just pathetic. “Can you...look up how to treat a uh, hot water burn?”

To be completely honest, George didn’t look any more well prepared than he was. “Yeah, just let me get my phone, it’s upstairs.” The boy threw one last towel onto the tile and pulled it flat with a foot before speeding around the corner and out of the kitchen.

For the first time, Nick took a moment to assess the damage. The air was still fogged up with steam, every breath made his nose and lungs warm. A limited array of pots and pans sat in a heap on the counter. As he slowly shifted his gaze down, he couldn’t help but hold a little tighter- Because it almost hurt just looking at Clay’s fingers. It was all just ugly shades of pink, and splotches of red that looked like blood rushing underneath his skin. Hysteria was still on his face with the way his bottom lip trembled. Pale palms, puffed up eyes, not a pretty sight.

Nick took his time adjusting positions until he had his hands gently cupped around Clay’s face. “Love, what happened?” Green eyes stared back at him, dim and gloomy.

The next breath that Clay took shook like an earthquake would LA. “I just…” His voice was undeniably raspy, all sorts of unsteady. “I wanted to make you guys breakfast.”

Ouch. He should have figured that was the case, but still. Ouch. It felt like Nick swallowed a pity-guilt-cocktail, and now his stomach felt sour. Clay wanted to make them breakfast, the sweetheart. Sitting impatiently on his tongue were apologies, kisses, and all the soothing words in the world. The urge to collapse in a puddle of comfort was overwhelming. Unbearably enticing. His brain wanted nothing more than to break down in sympathy and smother everything with unhelpful affection.

He shouldn't. In situations like this, Clay was an emotional mirror. Suck it up, dude. Don't make him upset. Alright, new goal: Keep it calm.

Nick swiped away another one of his boyfriend’s tears before peering back at the kitchen casualties. He couldn’t help but wonder. “Hey,” The pained expression on Clay’s face quickly turned expectant. In the most casual tone that he could muster, Nick cocked his head and asked, “What were you gonna make us?”

The air hissed around them. Clay looked down at his hands. After that, the stove. Then he locked eyes with Nick’s again. His face became unreadable somewhere along the way. “Pancakes...and bacon.” If Nick were to guess, it was grease that did his boyfriend in. Tragic.

But he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. The smell of food was faint, and there was almost no trace of ingredients in sight. Unshelved plates and utensils, they were suspiciously absent. Nick shook his head with a snicker. “Doesn’t look like you got very far,” He teased.

What started out as a wheeze swiftly degraded into a coughing fit. In hindsight, humor might not have been the best route to cheer up someone who had just previously cried away the lining of their throat- but it worked nonetheless! Clay’s feet drummed the floor in delight as he pulled his elbows close to his side. He always did that when he laughed, an adorable idiosyncrasy.

Just as Nick began running a hand through damp and dirty blonde hair, another pair of feet came bounding down the stairs. With it came a subtly panicked voice, “Okay so it says we should run his hands under cool water, not cold, for about 20 minutes.” Eyes still on his phone, George carelessly caught his shoulder on the doorway with a thud. “Ow- uh, it also says we should go to the hospital. Just in case.” Nick twisted around, a frown quickly forming. That’s definitely not what he wanted to hear.

He only noticed that he’d been grinding his teeth when it started giving him a headache. While he himself felt sick with concern, George looked completely lost. With a sharp inhale, Nick did his best to mouth out “Will the water hurt?” It was hard to tell if the message got across or not, because all he got was an overly-bewildered shrug.

“Alright…” His voice held an undertone of dejection, almost defeated. Nick finally rose to his feet, making sure to keep a hand on Clay for solace’s sake. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll go to the sink, yeah?” Green eyes stared up at him, afraid, vaguely betrayed. He tried to ignore it. A lack of protest would have to suffice.

It hurt walking away, it really did. But readying the sink seemed a little more appealing, even if it granted him only a moment of peace. Behind him: hushed words of encouragement, the sound of wood against ceramics, and slightly staggered footsteps. Cool, but not cold. He shook the water off his hand.

Three pairs of arms soon rested on the rim of the sink. A severely restless vibe buzzed between them. Seeing how Clay had himself hunched over with his hands hovering, wobbling above the water, something in Nick’s head told him yes. This would in fact hurt. The morning was really off to a wonderful start.

Both Nick and George leaned so that they could share a look behind their boyfriend’s back. A look that said a lot. One that said ‘Do we really have to do this?’, and ‘I don’t want to hurt him on purpose...’ alongside a million ‘What if?” questions. Nick swallowed hard. Excuses sat in his mouth like lead. Set the timer, see if they had any gauze, go find his keys first. In the end, all they would do was postpone the pain- which was arguably worse.

With a deep exhale, Nick forced the words out of his mouth. He went ahead and took a hold of the injured boy’s forearm. “It’ll be alright, we just need to get you all cleaned up.” Except this is when Clay decided that he was no longer on board with this whole ‘having his burns be treated’ thing. He definitely made a valiant effort to tear himself away, but weakened and outnumbered, his boyfriends swiftly overwhelmed him.

“Sweetheart, let’s just get this over with.” Nick so badly wanted to cover his ears. The running water couldn’t quite drown out the sound of Clay hissing in pain. In an instant, the boy jerked his hands out of the water and was trying to wriggle his way back to the kitchen floor. Teeth grit, hearts already broken, Nick and George reluctantly pulled his hands back under the water. Twenty minutes of this? He didn’t even know what to think.

Five minutes in, and Clay was crying again. Crying, stuttering, muttering, tearfully giggling his way through the pain. Both other boys took their turns pointlessly gushing apologies and anything heartening that came to their heads. Everything went understandably unanswered. At some point, Clay had downgraded to shaking his head and shuddering, caught in an endless loop of flinching and twitching. While George’s chin lay resting on a harshly shaking shoulder, Nick decided it was time to pull something he for sure would consider a pro gamer move.

Things almost fell apart the second he stepped away. Taking his hands off Clay’s back alone earned him a metric ton of disapproval. Clay’s face whipped around to face him, blotchy, confused, every shade of frustrated. George on the other hand looked helpless beyond recognition. Looked dizzy with uncertainty. They didn’t want him to go but…

Nick held up a finger, silently saying ‘One sec’, before stalking away towards the living room. Despite every event that had occurred in this train wreck of a morning, they still had a failsafe. Something he knew would help (it always did).

Luckily it was right there on the couch. Sitting innocently with her limbs neatly folded under her, Patches. Wide green eyes stared up at him, blissfully unaware of all his human struggles. Her tail swished and curled behind her. Clay loved Patches. A lot. Every piece of bad news, every distressing thought, every failed recording ended with her in Clay’s arms. She didn’t seem to mind.

After scooping her up to his chest, Nick couldn’t help but plant a quick kiss on her forehead before carrying her back to the sink. It was impossible not to, she was invitingly soft. Adorable. Admittedly very huggable. And smart, too, considering that at the sight of her favorite person crying, Patches immediately began to wiggle out of Nick’s hold. He let her hop onto the countertop and watched her trot up to Clay’s face. She leaned far over the water, just to be closer.

Green eyes- they matched. They matched, both pairs of green lit up like sunshine would the day. Even when Clay went briefly silent, the water kept on running. “P-Patches!” Cool, just not cold.

Patches licked her nose, the white on her chest bristling. Both Nick and George carefully wrapped a hand around their boyfriend’s waist. One last sniff of precaution, and Patches rammed her forehead right into Clay’s face. She twisted and rubbed her ears against his cheeks before settling down on the edge of the sink.

For once, the sound of water was drowned out, and elated giggling took its place. “Thank you for the bonk, Patches.”

Second-Degree Burns

#dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #Dream Team #dreamnotfound #dreamnap #georgenap #oneshot #dreamnapfound #write something new again

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

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This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo. It’s a sequel to Chapter 119 - Part 2 - What Makes Up a Monster, in my series, A Beautiful Symmetry.

Part 3 is here.

Warning: Some angst

Prompt: Fake blood

Please review here.

______________________________

Why did she do this to herself? Caroline stabbed the makeup brush into the foundation palette a bit harder than necessary, watching a couple of the extras giggle and fawn all over Klaus. Despite his worldwide fame and countless industry accolades, he’d somehow remained the same generous, down-to-earth man he’d been when she first met him two decades ago. Not that he’d remember her. She’d made sure of that.

One of her fangs dug into the tip of her tongue, pricking it just enough to sate her monster. Monsters shouldn’t have regrets. What they’d had together should’ve been a brief fling, but instead feelings happened, and she ended up compelling him to forget. It had been for the best — he was close with his siblings and he desperately wanted to be famous — that combination spelled disaster for her kind.

But Caroline couldn’t stay away. Almost as though she was doing penance, every few years, she’d find her way onto the makeup team for one of his movies, feeling the need to check up on him. However, she hid behind a wall of cheerful professionalism, making sure not to let him get close again. Her heart could only take so much.

“My apologies, sweetheart.”

Klaus’ accented voice was a buttery warmth that flowed over her. Straightening her spine, she replied dryly, “It’s such a pity to have to drag the Great Klaus Mikaelson away from his fan club so that he can do his actual job.”

“Might want to mind that sharp tongue of yours, love; when you get a bit older, you’ll find that youth and beauty only get you so far in this business.”

Arrogant little bastard. Tucking back a grin at Klaus’ assumption that he was older than her, Caroline tightened the collar of his protective cape a bit more than strictly necessary. “Sharp tongues have their uses,” she muttered, carefully reapplying the coagulated blood gel to the prosthetic gash she’d crafted along his cheek and neck. “You’d be surprised how many movie sets this sharp tongue has talked me onto.”

That smirk of his deepened, dimples cutting into his cheeks. Fake blood had never looked so good. “Perhaps you’re a secret fan of mine? Consider me flattered.”

“I’ve caught a couple of your movies.” No need for him to know she’d been the lead special effects artist on the set of the highly acclaimed paranormal drama, Ghostly Secrets. And the blockbuster sci-fi movie, The Price of Ambition. Or a handful of others where she’d purposely managed the other makeup artists to avoid him becoming too familiar with her face over the years. Fuck, that was pathetic.

He seemed charmed by her terse tone, chuckling as he replied, “I have to admit, I’ve had a good run in this town, but lately everything just feels so predictable. A table at Pearl’s, drinks at Boarding House — the days all run together.” Klaus frowned, leaning forward as he became more invested in what he was saying. “And you should see the scripts my agent’s been sending me. Bloody awful drivel that’s even lazier than my old Hell’s Hybrid movies.”

Caroline’s blue eyes widened, and she hated the way her sluggish heart suddenly began to pick up its pace. It’s just words. It doesn’t mean anything. “Then quit. You’ve probably made enough to last you several lifetimes.”

“But what if I want to live more than several lifetimes?”

His cheeky question made her hand tremble, and she accidentally nicked underneath his chin while carefully trimming the loose edge of his prosthetic. Damn it. She quickly sliced her finger, dabbing a tiny bit of blood in the wound so that it would heal instantly. “Not sure the planet could take the weight of your ego for so long,” she teased, doing her best to strangle the hopeful butterflies that fluttered inside.

“You wound me, sweetheart.” His tone turned speculative as he added, “I suspect my younger brother would’ve enjoyed you.”

Caroline busied herself applying a thin layer of adhesive to the smaller prosthetics, unsure of what to say. A few years ago, Kol’s death had made global headlines when he died in the plane crash that also took their sister. Her heart had ached for Klaus, but she stayed away, knowing that if she saw him grieving, she’d compel him to remember her just so she could comfort him. She couldn’t be selfish with him.

She’d been proud of the way he’d grown from the tragedy, taking the time he needed to grieve, before returning to the spotlight. There was a quiet strength to him now, a matter-of-fact confidence that had been lacking when they first met. “Your family would be proud of you,” she murmured, briefly squeezing his shoulder so she wouldn’t do something stupid like give him an awkward, way-too-familiar hug.

“Thank you.” Klaus paused, gray eyes regarding her in a way that made her wonder what he saw. “You’re very easy to talk to — maybe we could have a drink after we wrap for the day?”

No. You can’t go through this again. “I doubt you’re lacking for company. But I’ll see you tomorrow,” Caroline replied gently, flashing him a smile that made her face hurt.

Undeterred, he winked, telling her, “Challenge accepted. I’ll earn your company eventually, love.”

______________________________

The speedboat revved its engine, the stunt driver taking sharp turns through the narrow canal as he waited for Klaus to get into position. The studio always shamelessly plugged the fact that Klaus was one of the few leading men who’d perform at least one major stunt per film. Why did he always have to pick the most dangerous ones?

Caroline carried the last makeup case to her car, resolutely staring ahead once she saw the safety coordinators and trainers buckling him into his harness. She never could stomach watching those scenes. The first explosion still made her jump, despite her anticipating the loud boom. However, it was the unexpected second explosion and shattering glass that made her gasp. Something was wrong.

She followed the screams to the center bridge overlooking the canal, the crowd pointing at the side of the skyscraper that Klaus was supposed to parachute past and shoot a grappling hook into the speedboat below. Instead, several cables had snapped in the accidental second explosion, and the wall of shattered glass showed her that Klaus had been slammed into the side of the building.

No. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes, and she didn’t bother restraining her strength as she shoved people out of the way. She had to do something. But there was nothing to be done. The crew frantically retracted the remaining cables on the crane, pulling him back to the roof. But it didn’t matter — he wasn’t Klaus anymore. Just a body. She cursed her enhanced senses, hating how the staff still had hope as they watched. Because they couldn’t hear how the air stopped inflating his lungs. How his heart had stilled. Caroline closed her eyes, sending a silent goodbye out into the universe. For he who he was.

______________________________

The morgue was crawling with parasitic reporters, all salivating at the thought of capturing a grisly morgue picture of the famous Klaus Mikaelson’s corpse. Caroline compelled her way onto the hospital’s staff, the heightened security a minor annoyance that she fortunately understood how to navigate.

She brushed aside the curls along Klaus’ forehead, the ghastly bruising much more faint than when he’d first been removed from the destroyed set. Suddenly, his body jerked violently on the slab; Klaus’ eyes opened with a gasp.

There. Confusion clouded his gaze as he stared at her, the compelled memories rattling around in his mind as he sorted through them. “Caroline,” he asked uncertainly, before recognition colored his tone as he exclaimed, “Caroline! It’s been so long and I’ve missed you. I didn’t even realize what I was missing, but I felt it all the same. I felt you.”

Caroline didn’t know when she started crying, but soon she found herself wrapped up in his arms. He murmured against her curls, “What happened?”

Time to discuss those several lifetimes he’d mentioned.

#klarolinefallbingo #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline fanfic #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline #klaroline does hollywood #i love sequels #thanks for the ask!!!

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magioftheseas · 3 years

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Palliate

For @i-demand-a-hug and @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Biting taken from here.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Vampirism with all the implications you’d get from a story still rated T+.

Notes: This is a continuation for Pariah, written for 2/2 also known as the in-game day Akechi and Protag-kun confirmed their love in Persona 5 Royal. But also with Vampire!Akira because lmao why not. However, it’s kinda angsty. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“It’s not a problem, right?” At one point, Akechi had asked that with a perfect and plastic smile. Head tilted, eyes crinkled, a smile emphasized with only soft curves. Not a flash of teeth—until now. “Right, Kurusu?”

The raw Akechi Goro was still such a sight to behold. He wondered if he ever doubted that for a moment. He supposed he should at least be glad for the scarf wrapped tightly around the neck. Somehow, his teeth still ached.

The words before had been like poison.

“Can you stay a bit?”

He knew from the second he asked that he made a mistake. And Akechi’s reaction—

The Detective Prince was perfect and plastic. Always offering a smile. Always assuming an act of innocence even when tucking his hair back to expose his throat. The image of charm, graceful on the line between friendly and intimate. It had only been those eyes that indicated his danger. A soft and sweet front—but there was no hiding that sharp and intelligent stare.

A stare which is now just a glare, lips pulled into a sneer.

“This sentimentality isn’t going to cause problems, right?” Any sweetness that could be gleaned was dripping with sarcasm. Ah, has Akechi always had sharp canines? Maybe that was just projection. “I can trust you to cooperate, yes?”

And, then.

“It’s not a problem, right? Right, Kurusu?”

Of course it’s a problem, he wants to scream. It’s been a problem since the day you shook my hand.

It’s been a problem since the day you came back with a godforsaken cocky fucking smirk.

I’ve been stuck on you like a parasite from the start.

“You didn’t answer the question,” is what he says instead.

“It’s a stupid question,” is Akechi’s blunt response. “What do you expect to get from continuing this?”

“I...” You speak so detachedly. “It’s the last chance I’ll get to taste you.”

With just the right stare of his own, Akechi stills. It’s not like a deer in headlights, not yet, but Akechi does stiffen when Akira strides towards him.

“You knew,” he said. “From the start. And you were curious. You always pressed so close, acting so innocent. If we were both normal humans, that’d be one thing. Maybe I could brush it aside.”

“Even if you were a human, you wouldn’t be normal,” Akechi said, clipped. “But, you’re not much of a vampire, either, are you?”

He’s not. But he can still practically taste the memory of Akechi’s thumb pressed against his fangs. Akechi’s grabby little hands. On his teeth, on his back, on his shoulder. Akechi, who knew and still acted like that.

Akira grips the damn scarf. Akechi doesn’t stop him, but he doesn’t rip it away. The fabric gives under his grip, but he doubts Akechi will care about a few extra wrinkles in the folds.

“You’ve never even bitten a human before,” Akechi said next, and those sharp blood-red eyes bore into him. Reflected back is an unwavering shadow. “I didn’t need to confirm it, although the lack of bite marks on any of your merry gang of thieves did strengthen my conviction. They always showed their wrists and necks without a hint of restraint—how comfortable they were around you.” Akechi’s long lashes lower, and there’s still no falter. “You look at me differently. Full of surprises, aren’t you.”

His thumb hooks into the scarf.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

With that, he pulls, pulls, pulls—

Until Akechi is standing in the attic, staring him down. The scarf has unraveled a little, but the fabric sticks to his throat like a flimsy shield. He has thin bedsheets that would provide more of a defense.

Haah.

“I would have been fine just admiring from afar,” he finds himself saying. “But then you had to go and get yourself killed.”

“And now I’m back,” Akechi says, too unimpressed to muster up a smile, no matter how sardonic. “Don’t you feel indulged?”

This is only the start of that.

He leads Akechi to the bed, seating him, keeping him upright. Tugging at that scarf until, finally, Akechi’s pale neck was exposed.

At the laundromat, I wanted nothing more than to pull you close and sink my teeth in. Just to see if you were really alive, I thought to myself, because I couldn’t believe my ears which picked up not only your voice but your heartbeat.

And what a frantic heartbeat it had been! Even now, it’s beating fast in spite of Akechi Goro’s stoicism.

When fighting you, your heart raced so much that I worried it would come beating out of your chest.

Akechi sighed, tilting his head. His eyes closed, and resignation washes over his features.

His heart is still so agitated.

So much so that Akechi does flinch when a hand comes around the side of his neck.

It’s human to fear death, Akira thought. With his other hand, he plucked off his glasses to set them aside.

“I did find it strange,” Akechi commented suddenly. “Did Maruki not know about your condition?”

“It’s not something I go around telling people.” Not a very good attempt at lightening up the mood. Come on, Akechi, you’re better than this. “Very few people figure it out on their own, too.”

Akechi’s lips pull into the straight, thin line.

On impulse, Akira leans in close to kiss the corner of them. That gets Akechi to jump.

“What,” he growls. “The hell—”

Akechi freezes completely when a fang nicks his jaw. Locked in place. Just like that. His heart pounds against his ribcage, not calming even as Akira rubs his sternum with his thumb.

“Afraid?” he asks. Even if he meant to be teasing, his breath comes out in a chill against the other’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Even if I should.”

Traitor. Killer. Tease. You’re as dangerous to others as you are to yourself.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. “Which makes desiring you a bit of a problem.”

Akechi does blink.

“Goro,” Akira sighs against him, and the spell is broken.

Akechi’s gloved fingers weave through his hair and yank without mercy. And Akechi is the one to bite him hard on the neck, hard enough to draw blood.

“Ah,” Akira mumbles blandly.

His teeth are sorta sharp.

And they dig in so fiercely, too. Grinding in frustration.

How human.

“Oh, Goro,” he murmurs, holding him close, pressing him closer. He feels the tension in Akechi Goro’s shoulders get tighter, precarious like a rubber band holding the blades together. “Please, please stay with me.”

Akechi bites down harder than before. When he pulls back with that defiant glare, his lips are speckled with the same shade of crimson as his eyes. The wound stings, blood beading along the surface. Wiping that away with his thumb, he smears it against Akechi’s mouth. Strokes his puffy lower lip, and kisses him.

Gently. Mouth closed, even when Akechi nips at him.

“You spineless piece of shit,” Akechi breathed harshly, huffing. “What the actual fuck are you doing?” His fists ball up in his coat. “Are you going to bite me or what?!”

He pulls at Akira’s hair, his stare narrowed.

“Well?”

Akira runs his fingers through the other’s hair in return. The soft caramel strands don’t even get tangled. Akechi is still so particular about his appearance regardless of the world’s state. Akira thinks about pulling, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Well?” Akechi repeats, hissing. “What are you doing, Kurusu?”

“How did my blood taste?” he finds himself asking.

“It tasted like shit! What’s your point?!”

Shit, huh? Yeah. Vampire blood isn’t appetizing at all. Appetizing—

Then, something happened.

Akechi bit his own lower lip. Like before, he bit down hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which dribbles down his chin. Immediately, Akira leans in to catch it on his tongue.

Fuck.

He laps it up and tastes Akechi’s vicious smirk with it.

“Goro, you...” Cutting himself off so that his lips can close around that hole in Akechi’s lip. Akechi shudders against him, but he’s still grinning wildly, amused to the point of a soft puff of laugh scraping its way out between his teeth. “God.” Akira wanted to laugh, too. “I hate you.”

“Kurusu—”

Akira nuzzles into his neck and doesn’t wait another second before sinking in his teeth.

“Kurusu,” Akechi pleads, voice strangled. “Kurusu...”

His pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird. Fitting, isn’t it? For all that aggression, Akechi Goro is still vulnerable like any other human, like any other living creature at another’s mercy. And he tastes so great, warm with a hint of spice.

“Don’t you feel indulged?” Akechi had asked then, and he only whines now. He really had no idea—did he even imagine? “A... Akira...”

Warm and alive—there wasn’t a doubt about it, especially with the way Akechi squirmed when a hand slipped under his coat—

“Enough,” Akechi gasped out. “T-That’s enough, Akira.”

He applies a bandage to the bitemark but tells Akechi that it shouldn’t take long to heal.

“It’s not a replacement for proper treatment, but my saliva does have healing qualities,” he says, handing Akechi an opened water bottle. “Don’t move around too much...”

“I know the standard procedure for dealing with blood loss,” Akechi snapped. He takes a swing before Akira can stop him. Even if he chokes a little and swallows it down wrong, there’s not much to do besides let him be.

Akechi’s glove has been rolled up a little. Akira’s fingers twitch when he notices.

“With that, all is settled?” Akechi asks, lips wet with his grip on the bottle tilted. “Are you satisfied?”

Fuck it. Just what does this guy expect when he asks?

“We’re not taking the offer,” he says as he takes that hand with the unruly glove. Rather than smoothing it down, he traces the vein of his wrist. Once, twice, each stroke harder against the skin. Until he leans down and kisses that pulse. The flutter is enough to make his lips tingle. “That should be enough.”

“You’re not the type to go behind someone’s back, for better and worse,” Akechi sighed, and he turns away rather than pulling his hand back. “I can trust you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Akira’s grip on his hand tightened. He thinks of biting both of Akechi’s wrists, to let blood drip from them like severed puppet strings.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Akechi didn’t look at him. He refused, only giving a polite nod.

#Magi fics #bad things bingo #shuake #akeshu #p5r spoilers

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swiftwordsforwhattheyare · 3 years

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What I Took from Colditz

WARNING: SPOILERS. I will be giving out the plot. If you're interested in the movie, better to go watch it THEN read my thoughts and make a post of your own so I can hear what you think.

So I took a rainy day yesterday to watch Colditz, the 2005 British 2-part miniseries starring Damian Lewis, Sophia Myles and Tom Hardy. Let's just say it was a great movie to watch on a drizzly, cloudy, depressing day.

Let me preface this way: I love the WW2 period, and I love reading any book or seeing any movie set in the period. But the driving incentive to see this movie was Damian Lewis (-;) The only thing I'd seen him in was Band of Brothers (in which his performance was STELLAR) and I really wanted to see him in another role. And one quite unlike Dick Winters, which this movie fit the bill. So I probably would have seen this movie had not Damian been in it, because of the historical setting, drama, and let's face it, fascinating storyline, but Damian was the reason I saw it ASAP. So I come to it with a liking for the actor, though he does portray a bit of a jerk. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So even if you haven't seen the movie, chances are you know already the synopsis:

Three escaped POWs escaped from their camp and are about to be recaptured at the border of Switzerland. Only one, Scotsman Nicholas McGrade (Lewis) has a shot at getting away. Before he goes, his comrade Jack Rose (Hardy) asks him to look up his girl whom he met right before leaving London, and tell her... Tell her what? He doesn't expressly say. He'd told McGrade earlier he regretted not asking Lizzie (Myles) to marry him. But he doesn't tell McGrade what to tell her. Just says to find her.

McGrade gets back to London, gets promoted to Lieutenant, and is excited to get back to his life. He looks up Lizzie, tells her about Jack, and we can see he has a liking for her pretty much from the start.

Meanwhile, Jack is taken to Colditz, a castle where Germans are keeping POWs. He and his buddies start escape plans immediately. Their story runs parallel to McGrade's in England, but I'm going to focus on McGrade's.

McGrade sees Lizzie at a club one night and after some conversation about Jack (she can't remember what he looks like and she feels guilty ) and some pretty adorable flirting, they dance. We can see Lizzie is unnerved by Nick, and when he tries to kiss her, she leaves. He walks her home. Of course. Worked up and high on emotion, Nick tells her "we can do anything we want. We can be anything we want. We can have anything we want. I want you." At which point Lizzie kisses him, then runs away, distressed because of Jack.

I think it's important to legitimize that Lizzie and Nick had feelings for each other. He was the bad guy, he did terrible things, but I don't believe falling in love with Lizzie was one of them. I know it was his buddy's girl, but Lizzie also was attracted to him as well. He had much greater blunders to commit.

After their kiss, Lizzie wants to put distance between them. "I don't want you to come here again," she tells him. Here is where Nick makes his first AWFUL error, taken with the desire to have Lizzie: he forges a letter telling her Jack is dead. This is terrible and heinous, no way around it. Did Nick really think Jack wouldn't come back??

Well, his ploy works in bringing Lizzie, right to his door. And here is where I will clarify that Nick does not push or coerce her at all, to his credit. (I mean, beyond making her think her fellow is dead, which is probably worse than coercing her...) One blogger said something to the effect of "Nick convinces her to share his bed" which is not what happened. Lizzie came right to him. And despite his deception and all that, Lizzie does love him. I think that's important.

With Jack out of the way, Nick has Lizzie all to himself. They appear to be quite happy together. And then a Colditz man escapes, to the anxiety of Nick. He sees Nick and Lizzie together and recognizes her from a drawing he did for Jack in Colditz. Nick keeps falling lower and lower, meanwhile, mistake upon mistake. The escapee from Colditz knows his dirty secret and says so, and Nick kills him. He doesn't mean to. But it's done nonetheless, and Nicks wrongdoing strangles his happiness with Lizzie.

Jack escapes from Colditz. Nick finds out, and gives up the name of the safehouse he's staying at, betraying his country and their cause. Knowing he's soon to be caught, he asks Lizzie to marry him and go with him to America. "I want to be wherever you are," she replies, sealing their engagement with a kiss.

They don't make it out of the country. Jack finds them, and the two men have a face off. Nick ends up shot by fellow soldiers for treason, and it's Lizzie who comforts him, calling him a bastard even as she holds him close as he dies.

Jack pursues Lizzie, but she is shaken, distant and confused. "I don't know if I have any love left to give," she tells him. Her love affair with Nick haunts her, as I'm sure it did the rest of her life. As I said, I'm sure she really did fall in love with Nick. What they had was much different than the attachment she had to Jack, whom she met only three weeks before he left for the war. There is not a defined ending for Lizzie and Jack.

People who are at all familiar with the history of Colditz as well as the old Tv show are usually quite disappointed in this movie. Many claim it was basically just a setting for a dramatic love story, and it did history a disservice. I enjoyed it because I watched it just for the love story (hey, it pays to be honest) and I like stories set in WW2. I will say though that it gave more screen time to the plight of the POWs than critics led me to believe. Anyhow, I enjoyed it for what it was, being fond of romance, drama, angst and oh, yeah, Damian Lewis. It was nice to see him in a role where he was exuberant, outgoing, and yeah, human (cause face it: Dick Winters is a heavenly being of some sort). And he did a Scottish accent that was quite impressive to me. (Gee whiz, I've heard this Brit American, and Scottish now! How does he DO that?!)

It's a heck of a dramatic, frustrating, depressing story. Remember it on the next rainy, gloomy day.

#damianlewis #damian lewis #colditz #colditz2005 #sophia myles #nicholasmcgrade #tomhardy #wwiimovies #bbcdramas #BBC miniseries #BBCdrama

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overthegravityfalls · 4 years

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Bodies and Beasts

Hey, so, this fic I mentioned off-hand 5 years ago?

I finished it!

...Better late than never?

(please heed the warnings)

Rating: E Word count: 4,300 Pairing(s): Bipper/Beast!Wirt, Bill Cipher/The Beast Summary: "Those that enter shall become part of my forest. No matter how long it takes,” the Beast says, his eyes glowing with colour. “Oh, don’t worry, pal, this flesh-sack can spend an eternity here. You can have him. All I’m asking is to have a little fun with it first.” “Oh?” The Beast tilts his head, feeling the weight of his antlers as he does. Warnings: Main Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Cannibalism, Coerced Suicide, Child Death, Torture, Unhappy Ending, Self-Mutilation Read on AO3 here

There is a body in the woods. He discovers it on a day when the air is cold, despite the brightness of the sun. In another time, he would have receded into the deepest, darkest parts of his domain in such conditions, but he no longer needs to be so closely tied to the night and shadow; now, the plainness of day could serve him just as well.

The body reminds him of his own still-new form: made of flesh, bones, skin. Teenaged, brown-haired, slim. It is more similar to him than he realises at first.

It lies there motionless until he approaches it. When he leans down, its eyes open wide, and he can see through them that the being inside it is not one who belongs. The amalgam grins, and it continues to grin even as he wraps his hands around its neck and clenches hard. Such a body can usually be coerced into becoming a part of his forest, with muscle and intent being just as effective as the deceit and patience he was once limited to, but this one seems to warrant a different approach. It seems to enjoy the ministrations he is putting it through. Unconcerned, his fingers twitch and their grip loosens; he comes to a stand. After all, his lantern is still burning strong from that younger brother's oil, as little as his Edelwood tree had been; and he has, too, a heart within him which beats black around his body.

"Don't they teach you manners in this plane of existence?"

He stares at the being with white, narrowed orbs.

"As it happens, you're actually not that far off from what I want from you. But an introduction wouldn't hurt, pal! Here, look. Name: Bill Cipher, occupation: this kid's flesh sack. See how easy that was? Haven't even tried to strangle you yet!" It—he—rubs a hand across his neck and bares his teeth again in a facsimile of a smile.

"How did you come by that vessel and to my woods?"

'Bill Cipher,' as he calls himself, sits up, putting his weight on his forearms. He watches closely in case Cipher tries to do anything as unpredictable as his nature seems to be. "Oh, me and Pine Tree go way back. Introduced him to an awesome apocalypse before he and his family had to go and ruin everything." His voice lowers, and his face contorts into a scowl at those words, but, like lightening, it passes in an instant. He brings himself to his feet and dusts himself off, then meets his eyes. "Take it from me, do not wish on Shooting Stars, no matter what people tell you.

"Buuuut I'm getting sidetracked here. Point is, he was mine to control a few years ago, and after all those difficulties he and his family caused, I thought a little payback was in order. That annoying little pest took his time in dropping his guard--honestly, had more forms of protection than a Trojan factory! —but my waiting paid off. Eventually, he awakened my statue. Curiosity killed the cat, am I right? And so, here I am!" Cipher does a little flourish with his hands, and he notices that his white sleeves are stained heavily with red. “Now, you wanna introduce yourself, Beast boy?”

“…You know me. Therefore, you know that the Unknown is my domain. Those that enter shall become part of my forest. No matter how long it takes,” the Beast says, his eyes glowing with colour as he remembers the thrill of finding the brothers in his woods again. They had carried freezing water in their lungs ever since their fateful journey, and it had dragged them back to the forest from a pair of white-sheet beds. One to bear his weakened being, one to fuel his flickering soul. He blinks, his eyes white again.

“You got a bit of personality in there, huh? Yeah, yeah, I know you—got my mitts in all sorts of dimensions. The Unknown is a funny name for Purgatory, but, whatever. Just thought you could be polite about it, you know?”

He cares not for how much this being talks. Underneath all of the blabber, he wonders what he means to gain by coming here. If he thinks he can saunter out, he is mistaken. “You are… intriguing, but your vessel is still young enough; here, it will remain,” the Beast says, his voice soft.

“Oh, don’t worry, pal, this flesh-sack can spend an eternity here. He’s already suffered a punishing fate in his physical reality, but I am not satisfied with just making him kill himself and leaving all of those Pines heartbroken. You can have him. All I’m asking is to have a little fun with it first.”

“Oh?” the Beast says, tilting his head, feeling the weight of his antlers as he does.

“He’s in here. With me. Pine Tree. First time around, I kicked him out, but now, we’re roomies in this here head of teen angst. And hoo boy, he is not happy about it. See, I love pain, and I love how much squishy and breakable stuff is inside these gross human bodies. It’s hilarious! I had to rush through everything in the physical realm, but now…” Cipher grins so wide it looks like it could split his face in two. “I can take my time in torturing him. Care to explore with me, Beast?”

He follows along well enough with the story this demon tells, as strangely as he tells it, and his ideas stir something sadistic in him. He wonders, though, “Why would you simply dispose of the body when you could utilise it, Bill Cipher?” He himself enjoyed that shadow of consciousness within him and the empty, hollow sadness and regret it emitted. Wirt’s emotions had burned through his being initially, as heated as the fire of the lantern, but once the Edelwood branches were all ash, the boy gave himself fully to the Beast. There was nothing else he could do.

“Eugh, when I take over the world, it will be with my equilateral perfection. No, no, the slow torture and crash course in forestry will do just fine for Pine Tree—or should I say Pine-Edelwood Tree?”

“You should not.”

“You’re right, let’s just get on with it. Here, I have something that’ll help,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a knife coated with red.

The Beast plucks it from his hand, running his slim fingers along the flat steel. He taps on the point and a pinprick of black blood swells from his digit. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

“Why don’t I just lie back and think of England?” the demon says with a wink. He spreads his arms out like a cross and falls back, hitting the ground with an “oomph.” The Beast straddles him, taking his time to get comfortable, but Bill Cipher is impatient. He squirms and pulls at his shirt collar, making the button strain until the Beast carefully nicks the thread with the blade and sends the button flying.

First, he can cut his shirt open, then, he can cut his chest open.

Settled in place, the Beast works on revealing this Pine Tree’s milky skin. It is dotted with bruises and old scars here and there and looks unnaturally pale. His ribs are just about visible, his body skinny. Delicate.

“Get on with it, I’m vibrating in place here!” Bill Cipher urges.

He rests the blade on the centre of his chest, making Cipher still, and applies a bit of pressure to it. Blood oozes out and continues to do so as he pulls the knife down, past his ribs and across his stomach. It is only a shallow cut, surface-level damage. Enough to sting.

Cipher lets out a breath, sounding satisfied. The Beast repeats the motion horizontally, vertically, diagonally, until there are lacerations all over his chest.

“Mmm, this would pair perfectly with some lemon juice.”

The scarlet rivulets look too inviting to resist, and he leans down and licks his tongue up the red stripe. The bright, coppery taste delights his senses, and he collects more blood with his fingers and sucks them clean.

“Hey, think you missed a spot there,” Cipher says, his voice taking on a raspy tone. He props himself up and grabs the Beast’s face, swiping his tongue across a smudge of blood on his cheek. Cipher surprises him by twisting his face forward and invading his mouth, wrapping around his teeth and gums and all the inner spots he has missed. It is less of a kiss and more a cannibalistic instinct he cannot seem to help. The Beast allows it, closing his eyes and waiting for him to finish his exploration.

“Yum,” the amalgam simply states, then leans back without any further comment.

He notices he has spots on his cloak, though that is nothing compared to how many stains are on Cipher’s shirt, the contrast of red on white stark and harsh. Cipher decides to do away with it, taking the clothing off completely and discarding it besides him. The Beast can clearly see, now, the ugly gashes that had stained his sleeves, following his veins from his wrists down his forearms.

He wants to excavate this body.

The Beast takes a hold of Cipher’s hand, resting the knife where it had carved a path through skin in the physical realm. This time, though, he will take it deeper. He lets the knife feel its way down the path, then pushes, pushes, pushes, until bone scrapes against the blade. Cipher laughs dementedly, then screeches, then his voice takes on a different tone; it is agonised, raw and rough.

“Stop, stop, stop, PLEASE, I—AAAAAAAAH,” he yells. Cipher has lost control, and Pine Tree thrashes and fights against the Beast as he sobs and wails. He drops the knife, protecting himself against flailing attacks. Spittle and blood flies between them. Pine Tree finds his face and tries to dig his thumbs into the Beast’s eye sockets, but his hands tremble. His pain makes him uncoordinated. Cipher takes advantage of the unclarity; with a spasm, Pine Tree’s eyes roll into the back of his head and when his pupils appear again, they are elongated and unquestionably demonic.

“Woo! Did not anticipate how much he would push back from a little bit of torture like that. We are just getting started, pal,” Bill Cipher says casually.

The Beast has to pause for a moment, because he can feel his own storm inside him. Emotions that are not his own are flaring and twisting in his chest. He can tell Wirt yearns to save this poor creature, to bring himself a moment of redemption—but there is no redemption for him. Not after he failed to save his own brother. With this in his mind, the Beast lures him back to despair and resignation; he was so much easier to coax than that blasted brother of his, a boy good for nothing but firewood. It does not take long for his emotions to wither and dull. It is so comforting to feel nothing at all, is it not, Wirt?

There is no answer.

“Perhaps I should utilise the idea your host so kindly gave me,” the Beast murmurs, hovering his thumbs over Cipher’s pale, yellow eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah, I wanna see these innards, thank you very much. Shoo,” he says with the accompanying motion.

“Very well.”

“Why not reveal this Bleeding Heart’s bleeding heart instead?”

“Hmm…” the Beast considers, gazing at his chest. “Yes, that would do.”

He chooses not to pick up the knife again. He wants to do this himself.

With supernatural ability, the Beast buries his fingers into Pine Tree’s chest, buries into flesh and feeling around bone. He yanks back and rips him open. Skin and matter tear off in large sheets, Cipher’s cry piercing his eardrums, until there is revealed his ribcage and lungs holding a frantically beating heart hostage.

It is beautiful.

Even Bill Cipher needs time to adjust to this onslaught—he pants and lies there, presumably also keeping Pine Tree at bay more carefully this time around. With drool pooling from one side of his mouth, he says between gasps, “See, Pine Tree? Told you we were just getting started.”

The Beast drops his skin, leaving the amalgam spread open, a creature in the middle of a vivisection. Fluid coats his hands. The temptation makes him hunger. He cradles Cipher’s face with both palms flush against his cheeks, then drags them down over his neck, his grip tightening and then releasing. He wants to crush this human, but he has to remind himself to take it slowly. Cipher, now painted with shades of maroon and scarlet, licks his lips.

“So nice to find a kindred spirit. Just bros being bros, bonding over some good old-fashioned gore. Maybe I should come back here with Shooting Star sometime,” he contemplates.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I want to appreciate what I have right here.” If he felt he could have another plaything, he really would crush this human all too soon.

“Oh, you’re so romantic, Beast,” Cipher says with a grin.

He traces each of his ribs, squeezes around the heart to feel the atriums and ventricles straining to keep this body alive. In the Unknown, it can work all it wants, beat until all the blood is drained and the skull is caved in and the body is in dozens of pieces that will never be reassembled. If it believes it needs to keep beating, it will.

Bill Cipher bites on his fist, like he needs to keep his thrill toned down to savour the intensity of the situation. Then, with a lightbulb moment, he remarks, “Apparently, the force needed to bite through a finger is the same as biting through a carrot.” Without waiting for a response, he sticks his little finger in his mouth and snaps his teeth around it. “Ow. Okay, that’s not true.”

The Beast picks up his knife again with his musical fingers, twirling it the same way Wirt would do in marching band. His body still has the instincts his mind has failed to overrun. “Allow me.”

“With pleasure!” Cipher agrees, stretching out to him like he is asking him to dance.

He takes his hand, caressing delicate skin, then lays it flat on the leafy ground, pushing down hard on his wrist. With his other hand, the Beast holds his knife with the tip squarely aimed at Cipher’s pinkie finger. In one swift movement, he drives it through air, body and into the soil, and holds fast against Cipher’s flailing to keep his hand in place. When he raises the weapon again, there is a neat severing right at the knuckle, the finger laying meekly as blood collects underneath it.

Bill Cipher tugs his arm back, and the Beast relinquishes his hold in order to allow the demon to appreciate his handiwork. It is strange how one small removal can so change the appearance of the extremity, the wrongness of the missing part highlighted by the bloody stump.

“Again! Again!” he cries, waving his other hand around.

The Beast grabs it with annoyance, and instead of placing it on the ground, digs his knife in between ring and pinkie and scores right in the middle. The gash in the connective flesh hangs open obscenely.

“Yeowch—not like that,” Cipher admonishes.

“Well, if you demonstrated some patience, maybe I would have a clearer understanding of your wishes,” the Beast replies tersely with a shake of his head.

“Oh, fine, fine, yes, take your time, just get the damn fingers off,” he says.

This time, the Beast acquiesces, repeating his earlier action, and Cipher yelps at the removal. He brings the cut-apart hand up to his mouth, placing his lips over the wound and sucking. Cipher moans weakly as the Beast looks at him from under half-hooded eyes.

The demon bites his lip. “Sexy.”

“Shall I continue to work?” he says once he pulls away, saliva and blood mixed on the abused hand.

“Yes, yes, yes, but just the ring fingers, alright? I still wanna be able to do some shit while we play. Just don’t ask for a pinkie promise or for my hand in marriage.”

“Duly noted.”

The Beast hacks away the two fingers with ease, then collects the four severed digits and contemplates them as he holds them.

“Feelin’ peckish?”

“I desire something…more substantial,” the Beast finally says, placing the digits back besides their tortured body.

“I hear thigh of Pine Tree is especially succulent,” he suggests with a leer.

White eyes meet pale yellow as he considers this, and then the Beast decides to cut up the trouser leg to reveal more flesh, from calves to thighs. The smell of viscera is heavy in the air, emanating from such an array of exposed organs, but when he presses his face against the amalgam’s leg, there is a faint scent of mechanical oil. He knows just a little more about Pine Tree’s life outside of the Unknown now, he supposes. Not that it matters anymore.

He bites down hard enough to pierce the skin with his canines, and then, wretchedly, demonically tears off flesh. His heart squirms with Wirt’s revulsion as he feasts, a visceral reaction from the usually placid boy to his monstrousness. It is pleasing to the Beast to use this human’s body to eat another. Even more so since he would not yearn to cannibalise if it were not for humans in the first place. Every time they told their stories, every time they believed him to be more and more malevolent, they transformed him; their beliefs became his truth. And, sometimes, the people of the Unknown called him another name—wendigo.

And a wendigo he would be.

With the heightened pleasure from the textured, delectable meat in his maw, he almost forgets to notice Cipher’s reaction at all. His eyes flicker open. He pulls away and swallows. Cipher has his hands—what is left of them—inside himself, squeezing his own intestines to deal with the pain as he gasps. The ropes of gore squirm around his fingers, coiled snakes twining around and around each other in the cavity.

“It hurts…real good…” he says weakly, the nasal quality of his voice reduced to a quiet whine. All of their machinations are starting to add up—or, rather, take away from him; with chunks taken out of his leg, body parts missing and a red pool underneath him, Bill Cipher is fading. In a broken voice, he whispers, “Please…let me go… I just…want to go back to my family…” before he passes out. He hopes Pine Tree will not be the one to wake up.

The Beast places his slack leg down and dabs his mouth and chin clean with his shirt sleeve. As he straightens up, he can see that there are Edelwood branches starting to grow around the amalgam, reaching up from the ground and tipped with autumnal leaves. As much as Bill Cipher wants to enjoy this, his body is beginning to give up. It is inevitable. There is only the forest, and there is only surrender.

The Beast lets him rest. He trails a finger down one of the branches by his hip, a drop of oil leaking out. Then, he picks up his lantern from the nearby spot he had placed it. As he stares into the flickering firelight, what had once been rendered an ember by the Woodsman, he feels a strange sense of gratitude to the brothers who had changed everything for him. Were it not for them, the Woodsman would have never disposed of the lantern, would have never allowed the Beast to reform and take control of his own soul again. When he decided to fuse himself with Wirt, and become Beast and Lantern-Bearer, he gained entirely new ways of growing his forest. He still remembers how it felt to wrap his arms around Gregory’s neck until the twitching stopped and the wood grew. Though some aspects of his human form were tiresome, he knows he would not go back to his old trypophobic self.

Bill Cipher stirs, groaning and lifting his head up. He blinks one eye, and then the other, and shakes himself awake. “Whew. Did I miss anything?”

He puts his lantern down and gestures to the Edelwood.

“Oh, man. Guess we’d better wrap up, huh?” He lifts his leg to inspect the damage. “Had your fill?”

The Beast puts his hand in his hair, rubbing the base of his antler as he considers. “For now. I will have your heart after we are through.”

“Good choice. So, what next?” he says, feeling up his stomach and ribcage like it is a salacious act.

After a moment, the Beast’s hands join his, appreciating the slippery, warm texture of his organs. The colour in his vision intensifies as he realises he can now anything to this body; he no longer needs to hold back. His hands ball up into fists so tight they shake as he says, “I want to break you.”

Cipher’s eyes widen. “Then break me, Beast.”

He spreads his fingers wide over Cipher’s ribs and locks his arms straight. Pushing down from his shoulders, he applies enough pressure to make the bones fracture, only showing small amounts of damage at first, but as he pushes harder, they crack and break apart completely. The splintered bones pierce Cipher’s lungs as the Beast’s breathing becomes heavy and feral.

“I c—I can feel—,” Cipher attempts to say before he starts to hack up blood, decorating his already-painted face even more. The hacking coughs become laughs, as much as he is able to laugh. With his lungs filling with fluid, even this chatterbox has to admit defeat. The Edelwood branches are growing before their eyes, working their way around his limbs and intruding into his body bit by bit.

The Beast looks at Cipher’s smile and, wanting to give him one last thrill, takes his drenched hand back and picks up the knife again.

Cipher gurgles as the Beast positions the tip of the blade at the corner of his lips, a rough hand grabbing his chin and forcing his face to the left. His eyes squint with delight, elongated pupils staring straight at the pink, yellow and blue glow in the Beast’s. The Beast curves the knife up as he slashes across his cheek, making Cipher’s face-splitting smile literal. Warm blood gushes over his fingers as he turns Cipher’s face to the right and finishes the look.

The gashes pull apart and squeeze together as the amalgam works his jaw. He attempts to say, “Why so—,” before he’s coughing up blood again.

The Beast gives him a rare smile. “Why, this is the first time I have been able to hear my own thoughts since you arrived here, Bill Cipher.”

Cipher’s eyebrows lower, and the Beast chuckles darkly as he moves his hand down to his neck and his knife over his heart. “Now, it is time for your host to become a part of my forest.”

At the instant he drives the weapon into that frenetically-beating heart, a golden spirit somersaults out of the broken body. Triangular, with one eye and a black top hat. Bill Cipher’s true form.

The Beast flickers his attention back to his task, and he twists and rips the heart free of the veins and arteries holding it in place, takes it off of the blade and holds it in his palm. It beats once, twice, before giving up the ghost and stilling.

“Oh, Pine Tree, it sure did take some time but boy, was it worth it!”

Pine Tree’s body looks so bereft, so utterly fragile. His skin is starkly pale now, and his head is tipped onto the ground, his eyes closed and his mouth ajar. His arms, encased in branches, lay with his cut wrists facing the sky. All of the movement in his chest—the writhing intestines, the inflating and deflating lungs, the beating heart—have come to a stop. White, fragmented ribs are threaded with earthy Edelwood. His shredded clothes lay soaked in his own blood around him, flicked with bits of flesh and cut-up parts. He looks… small, in death.

“Yes. The destination is all the more sweeter when the road is long, is it not?” the Beast says, touching his own skin with his fingertips.

Cipher floats over to put an arm around his shoulders. “Ab-so-lutely. And hey, you’ve been swell, such a great guy. Thanks for hooking me up with this awesome venue for torture! Love what you’re doing with all the trees and whatever. But I’d best be going, things to do, chaos to enact, you know the deal. And we’re both great with deals, aren’t we?”

The Beast inwardly sighs, then admits, “I would not object to having more dealings with you. I have not felt that kind of pleasure in many moons. Thank you. For now, I shall bid you farewell.”

Bill Cipher blinks—or winks—and spins out of his hold. “Have fun burning up this sad-sack and chomping on that ol’ ticker. See you on the flip side. The universe is a lie, buy gold, bye!” he shouts before flashing out of this existence.

The Beast pauses, raises the heart, murmurs to himself, “The loveliest lie of all,” and bites into it.

Wirt is just as drained and deadened as this boy lying in front of him; he cannot even feel disgust anymore. He cannot feel anything at all.

#Over the Garden Wall #gravity falls #bipper #beast!wirt #possessed!pinescone #the beast #bill cipher #dipper pines #fan fic #crossover #gore #bad end friends #who knows maybe one day I'll finish that sequel to Some Books Just Swallow You Whole #never say never :')

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