#a vision came to me in my dream and told me to draw the cat and sheep duo so i forcefully woke up to draw them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purselover2 · 3 years

Text

Title: Going Once, Going Twice…….

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None that I can see, but please let me know if there are and I will add them.

This is for @amythedvdhoarder. Happy Hoelentine’s Day!!! I hope you like it. Its based off a picture I found of Seb and Hemsworth. I used my magic brain waves to turn them into Bucky and Thor and this is the result.

Mood board by the amazing @constantwriter85

❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜❤️💜

As you stood backstage watching the other models get ready you found yourself wondering not for the first time why you were here. Surely there was someone who could have filled the spot left vacant when Maria got called away on an assignment. But no, they had come to you, said you had to, it was for the puppies and damn if you could ever resist helping puppies. Or the kitties, or any other animal. So that’s how you found yourself backstage getting stuffed into an evening gown that cost a small fortune getting your hair primped and your makeup caked on waiting to go on stage and walk down a runway, trip and fall more like it, to hopefully sell the high end clothes you wore to the highest bidder.

If that alone didn’t make you nervous there was the other part of the auction, the bidder got to take the model out on a date wearing said outfit. There was no way anyone was going to bid on you. You weren’t popular, not even an agent. You were the IT girl, you know the one no one pays attention too until something breaks.

“Hey y/n! You look amazing.” Nat said and she and Wanda joined you. “Don’t be nervous. You’re going to do fantastic.”

“Yes. This is going to be a great night. We’re going to save all the puppies!” Wanda was way too happy.

“Thats easy for you two to say. You have guaranteed bidders. No way are Bruce and Vision going to let you two go without bidding. I’m the one who’s gotta stand up there and hope for a pitty bid.” You said.

“I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.” Wanda hugged you.

“Yeah, you never know, Mr. Right could be here tonight.” Nat agreed.

“Well lets hope he doesn’t get held up trying to find a parking space.” You joked. You made your way over the curtain and peaked out. There on the front row was the one person you never expected to see at a charity fashion show. Bucky Barnes sitting right next to Thor dressed like a million bucks. What the hell? Could this get any worse? It was bad enough to embarrass yourself in front of the other Avengers, but you at least taken comfort in knowing that the one Avenger you had a secret crush on, wouldn’t be there to witness your humiliation. But no, fate had other plans. There he was front and center sitting next to the fucking god of thunder who couldn’t hold a candle to Bucky in your book.

“Hey y/n.” The backstage coordinator announced. “You’re going to be the last one to walk okay?”

“Yeah sure.” You thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, maybe everyone would just leave after they bid and you wouldn’t have to even walk on. Walking over to the puppies and kitties that the rescue had brought to show off and hopefully get adopted you saw a white kitty that looked as nervous and out of place as you did. Bending over you picked it up and began to pet it.

“Well hey there little one, you look like you want to be here as much as I do.”

You saw Nat come back through the curtain and hand the puppy she took on stage over to a handler and you motioned for her. “How did you do?”

Taking her hands and smoothing them down her dress she shook her ass and replied. “A date with me cost the gentleman $5000.”

“Damn girl you go. Bruce is a lucky man.” You winked.

“Who said it was Banner?” She smiled.

“That smile.” You giggled. “Here comes Sharon. I’m guessing she took some of Cap’s social security check tonight.”

“Those age jokes never get old.” Nat laughed. “Hey Sharon, how much did grandpa spend?”

“$5000!” She yelled. “He got into a bidding war with some guy from the Pentagon. Apparently Steve doesn’t like to loose.” She chuckled.

“Great a bidding war.” You held the kitty tighter as you stroked its fur.

“Y/N! You’re up.” The handler bellowed.

“You go girl!” Nat said pushing you forward. Wanda high fived you and Sharron patted you on the shoulder.

You stood just to the left of the stage and waited for the MC to announce you.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, its time for our final model. Please welcome to the stage Ms. Y/F/N, Y/L/N!

The curtain parted and you took the first step, then another then you realized that with the lights in your eyes you couldn’t see anyone in the audience. This was perfect. You’d just pretend you were out for a walk holding a cat and everything would be fine. You had already during rehearsal counted the number of steps to the end of the runway. You’d walk down, stop, let them get a good look at the dress and the cat and turn around, walk back and not see a single face. Especially Bucky’s.

You counted the steps and reached the end. Stopping you made a point of petting the kitty and it nuzzled your face and tried to curl up closer to you, taking a pink tipped paw and placing it on your lips drawing an awe from the audience and a few chuckles. You took the moment to snuggle him some more and then hold him out for everyone to see. Finally you turned and walked back down the stage to the MC.

Once you reached him, you stopped and stood waiting for the torture to begin.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, lets start the bidding shall we. Do I hear an opening bid?”

You braced yourself expecting to hear silence, when out of the crowd you heard a familiar voice yell, “$1000!” This was a dream. There was no way Bucky Barnes was bidding a $1000 to take you out.

“I have $1000, do I hear $2000?” The MC continued

“$2000!” Came a voice from the other side of the stage. Squinting you could just make out the smirk on Brock Rumlow’s face. Great. He had asked you out a couple of times and you had politely tuned him down. He gave you the creeps in a major way and you didn’t want within ten feet of him.

“I have $2000, do I hear $3000?”

“$3000.” Came Bucky’s reply.

“$4000.” Brock countered without even waiting on the MC.

“$5000.” Bucky returned.

“Well it looks like we have quite the bidding war here tonight ladies and gentlemen.” The MC was obviously unable to contain his excitement. “I have $5000, do I hear $6000?”

“$7000!” Brock yelled.

“The bidding stands at $7000, do I hear $8000?” The MC asked. You couldn’t believe this.

“$10,000!” Bucky yelled louder and you almost hit the floor. Holy shit, ten thousand dollars. That was going to go a long way to help the puppies and the kitties. In your arm your new fury friend must have sensed your nerves because he again started rubbing your face. Taking your hand and rubbing his ears, you waited.

“$10,000 ladies and gentlemen! This is indeed a record setting bid. Do I hear another bid?” He motioned to Brock, who took a moment before shaking his head no and you released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Relief that you wouldn’t have to endure a night with Brock Rumlow, only to relize that it meant you’d be enduring a night with Bucky Barnes. Even if it was a different kind of enduring.

The crowd went crazy as the grand total for the evening was announced and you made your way back stage, where Wanda, Sharon and Nat were all waiting for you.

“Oh my god girl!” Wanda exclaimed.

“And here you were worried about no one bidding.” Nat teased you.

“I’m so excited for you.” Sharon replied. “I swear to God though if Rumlow had won I would have insisted on a double date so that you didn’t have to be alone with him. That guy is major creep.”

“I was scared there for a while. But damn, how did that even happen? Why in the world would Bucky Barnes ever want to go out with me?” You shook your head at the thought, not noticing the girls looking over your shoulder as someone approached.

“Well doll, I can give you about ten thousand reasons if you really want to know.” You heard Bucky say from behind you.

Turning around you saw him standing there with the other Avengers as they came to collect the other ladies. As each couple paired off and made their way to the door you suddenly found yourself alone with Bucky. You still had the cat in your arms and he was sleeping contently.

“Hi Bucky.” You smile at him. “Thank you for not letting Rumlow win.”

“You’re welcome, but if you think that’s the only reason I did this, then I have some making up to do.” Bucky walked closer to you and used his flesh finger to stroke the cat on top of the head.

“Making up to do?” You asked.

“Yeah, I thought you knew that I wanted to ask you out.” He explained.

“Uh you did?”

“Yeah. I just never thought you’d go. So Thor talked me in to coming tonight and taking my chances. His thought was that if you had to go out with me, it would give me a chance to show you what a great guy I am, his words not mine, and that I could woo you.” Bucky chuckled at the last part.

“Woo me?” You giggled. “Well, I appreciate the effort to impress me, but you could have saved yourself some money and just asked me out the old fashioned way. I would have said yes.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you.

“Yeah.” You answer. “BUT now that you’ve told me about this mighty plan you and the god of thunder have cooked up, I’m wanting to see it play out.” You move to walk towards the handler to give the cat back. “Let me just give this little guy back and we can go.”

“No need.” Bucky tells you and you look at him. “I adopted him. He’s obviously a very smart fellow for picking you to cuddle up to. I only hope he can teach me his moves so that I can get some cuddles.” Bucky took him from your arms so you could find your coat and bag.

“Cuddles, Sargent Barnes come AFTER the proper wooing, not before.” You replied as you walked off.

“Well then let the wooing commence.” He said following after you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #happyhoelentines2021 #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes valentine exchange

162 notes · View notes

abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

Text

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 3

Masterlist / Playlist for reading in this chapter, the reader is fighting an infection and making a furry friend.

CW for phsyical injury, bodily fluids, extreme pain, loss of consciousness and being pinned down by someone (this sounds terrible but I promise it gets more fluffy halfway through!)

This beautiful screencap of Valka was shared in our discord and I don’t know who took it, please let me know if you know the artist so I can credit them and check out their other work!

Healing

You woke up crying, the pain in your cheek threatening to split your head in half. Your cheek was wet from your tears and sticky from the wound that had been seeping all night. Eda stirred next to you and you both stared at each other in utter horror. William’s daughter looked like a corpse. Her cheeks and eyes had sunken deep into her skull and her face was a greyish color. You probably didn’t look any better, if her shock was any indication.

The cell opened and you got your first round of water and bread for the day. The man feeding you gave you a pitiful look but did not say anything about your state. There was still alcohol on his breath and he looked annoyed about his task, probably wishing he was still in bed like the other warriors. You did not dare to ask for help.

You drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few hours as the last few other prisoners were taken to Randvi and questioned about their knowledge and alliances. There was an aura of hopelessness in your cell. No one was speaking, everyone was staring at their feet and flinching at any loud noise. Eda ate a piece of bread and got terrible stomach cramps but managed to keep it down. At least one good thing.

People were going in and out of the longhouse, you could hear horses outside, swords clashing in the distance - probably training - and a few servants sweeping the big hall and cleaning up last night’s mess. Suddenly something small and white moved into your field of vision. Were you dreaming again? You were sure you had a fever by now.

But this was real, Eda saw it too. She had straightened up next to you, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. A scrawny white cat was cautiously circling the cell and apparently scouring for leftovers. You quickly skimmed the ground for anything you could offer the little animal. And yes, there was a big crumb right next to your heel. You carefully pushed it closer to you with your foot and managed to get it all the way into your hands’ reach.

Quietly whispering and purring to the cat, you tried to lure her closer. And sure enough, the little white lady slowly came closer to your hands. You stayed completely still and held out the crumb on your open palm. Carefully, the cat stuck its paw through the bars and pulled the crumb back toward her. She devoured it right away. Softly meowing, she looked up at you, asking for more. You smiled at the sweet animal, a silver lining on this terrible day in this terrible cell.

“Birna! Where are you, you little rascal?” a familiar raspy voice called out, this time in the sweetest singsong, making you smile even more. The cat did not move from its spot next to you, instead meowing back louder to call to her mistress. You slowly stretched out your hands and she watched them curiously, beginning to purr as you drew your fingertips over her soft fur.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Eivor rounding the corner, wearing nothing but a thick grey knee-length tunic and fur boots. She froze in her tracks when she saw the scene before her. You quickly pulled your hands back, thinking she was angry at you for petting the cat. She suddenly rushed to the guard that had fallen asleep on his chair, slapping his chest with the back of her hand and ripping the keys to your cell from his grasp. He jerked awake, but Eivor had already opened the door and squatted down next to you.

“Fuck the gods.” She sounded astonished and extremely worried at the same time. “Damn you, Dag, how did you not see this? Her wound has festered!”

Eivor’s voice got louder and angrier with every word. She placed a hand on your forehead.

“She’s burning up! I’m taking her to Valka.” With one swift motion, she had unbound your hands and picked you up. You hung in her arms, too weak to move. As she carried you out of the pen, she shot Dag a warning look and hissed: “We’ll talk about this later.”

The tall warrior almost ran out of the longhouse, whispering to you to stay with her and that she would take you to the best healer she knew.

“Don’t you worry, little bird. You just have to fight and recover. I will take care of you from now on.”

You arrived at a smaller hut and entered the dimly lit room that smelled of burned incense and freshly cut wood. A small, black-haired woman with a beautiful headdress and impressive facial tattoos leaped to her feet when she saw you come in.

“Oh Eivor, what have you brought me now? Lay her down here.” She motioned to her bed, a simple wooden plank with a sack of straw and a number of furs. Eivor laid you down gently, kneeling next to you and squeezing your hand.

“She was struck by her master two days ago. It must have gotten this bad last night.”

Valka crouched down and inspected your tender flesh. You fainted several times as she prodded at the wound but Eivor always called you back to her. The healer was now assembling herbs, burning something, and heating up water in a kettle over her fireplace. She ground up some sort of root and a few herbs and threw the mixture into the boiling water. Then she took a clean cloth and ordered Eivor to place the hot kettle on a wooden plate next to the bed.

She dipped the cloth into the hot, sour-smelling brew that stung in your eyes and nose, then she pressed it on your cheek. It felt like she had stabbed a dagger into your skull, the pain ringing in your ears and making you see nothing but burning white. You were too exhausted to scream, fading in and out of consciousness. Instead, your body started violently shaking and Valka yelled at Eivor to pin you down before dunking the cloth into the scalding hot liquid and repeating the procedure again and again. Thankfully, you lost consciousness completely after the third time. The last thing you felt was Eivor’s big, warm hands on your upper arms and her knee on your hip, holding you down as you convulsed in pain.

When you woke up for the second time today, you were still lying on Valka’s bed. You wore a long linen tunic and the women seemed to have washed you, freeing you from the sweat and dirt that had accumulated in the last days. The room smelled better than before, the kettle was over the fire again and the small woman stirred dried flowers and other herbs into the water. Eivor was sitting next to you and wringing out another piece of cloth over a bucket. You braced yourself for more pain, but the water was cool and the blonde gently wiped your forehead and healthy cheek, your neck, and upper chest, humming softly to herself. She dampened the towel anew and folded it to lay it on your forehead. It was only now she realized you were awake.

“Little bird.” She laid a hand on your cheek. “The worst is over.”

Valka came over with a mug and put it down next to you. She gave you an exhausted but encouraging smile.

“I apologize for hurting you this much. The infection was spreading across your face, I needed to draw it out. You will need at least a week to heal.”

You raised a hand to your face, but Eivor stopped you from touching yourself.

“We will put on a bandage later. Now there is just a salve,” Valka explained, “and you will have to drink this daily to help your body fight from the inside and give you strength.”

She handed you the clay jug and you carefully raised it to your lips, taking a small sip of the concoction. It tasted sweet and earthy, immediately spreading warmth throughout your body and giving you the strength to fully open your eyes again. The wolf-kissed smiled at you.

“I will leave you in Valka’s care for now. Soon I will take you to my hut and look after you there,” she promised. “I need to go and attend to important business, but I will bring you both supper later.” She took your hand again and softly rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, then she raised it to her lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of your hand.

Before leaving, she put her hands on Valka’s shoulders and sincerely thanked her for helping you. Then she gave you a last smile and left.

The healer forced you to drink three jugs of her wonderful tea, then she helped you outside to relieve yourself and brought you back to bed, rubbing the salve into your cheek again and ordering you to sleep for now. The ointment numbed your skin and made the pain bearable. Taking a final look at the sun setting behind the mountains, you drifted away to sleep again.

When Eivor brought bread and stew later, you felt much better already. The two Viking women sat on the floor next to you as you ate together. The stew was made with thick chunks of fatty meat and big slices of root vegetables, filling your stomach for the first time in days. Eivor told Valka about the raid; apparently the healer had not attended the celebrations yesterday. When the warrior told Valka about Dag's terrible state last night and this morning, the dark-haired woman just shook her head about this much exorbitance and stupidity.

Even though you were still exhausted and not fully present at times, it was nice to sit with the two women and listen to them exchange stories and opinions, talk about plans for the future and a woman Valka was thinking about pursuing. The name Randvi caught your attention at one point, but with a meaningful look from Eivor, the topic was changed.

As it got dark and you couldn't stop yourself from yawning, they debated what to do with you this night. Valka offered to sleep on the floor so you could stay here, but Eivor argued that she had a bed large enough and far more comfortable for the both of you. The healer admitted that you seemed to be stable for now and made Eivor promise to call for her immediately if anything happened with you.

She handed Eivor a bag with the ointment, a few clean bandages, and the herb blend for the tea you should drink for the next few days. The blonde slung the pouch over her shoulder, then she approached you with a suddenly shy smile.

“We haven’t asked you for your opinion on this at all. Do you even want to sleep in my hut?” she asked timidly, seeming almost nervous as she waited for your answer.

You shook your head and smiled. “Eivor, I’m just glad to be out of that terrible cell. I will sleep on the floor if I need to.”

“Little bird, tonight you will fly into the land of dreams on the softest wings. This bed is fit for a queen.”

You held up your arm and wrapped it around the back of her neck as she picked you up again. Valka accompanied you outside, then she said her goodbyes and left for the longhouse. Eivor carried you in the other direction and used her knee to open the door to her big wooden cottage. Red rugs covered the wooden floorboards and a big torch next to the entrance lit the room, drenching it in flickering golden light. Her bed really was gigantic, with intricate carvings on the headbord and furs draped over the mattress.

The warrior gently lowered you onto her bed and laid down an enormous quilt over your body. She lit a candle on her side of the bed and put out the torch. Then she sat down on a big trunk and took off her boots, placing them neatly at the foot of the wooden bedframe. Slowly, trying not to disturb you, she laid down next to you and covered herself with a thin blanket. You raised your head.

“Won’t you get cold?”

Eivor looked at you in surprise, probably having assumed you were already sleeping. She gave you her wonderfully crooked smile.

“I’m very hot blooded. I don’t mind the cold.”

“I admire that,” you sighed. “I’m always freezing.”

She turned toward you and rested her head on her arm, stretching out her other hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Her fingers stayed on your forehead for a moment.

“Your fever has dropped. Good,” she mumbled, “you’ll be better tomorrow. Sleep now, little bird.”

Later at night you woke up from the sound of your own chattering teeth. The cold had entered the hut and taken a hold of you with its icy fingers; your whole body was cramping up and shaking.

You looked over at the warrior lying next to you. Eivor was sleeping soundly, her bare arms thrown over her head and one leg sticking out from under the blanket. She seemed to be immune to the bitter cold.

There was no way you could fall asleep like this, freezing and shivering, your jaw hurting from trying to stop the chattering. You had to take the plunge. Slowly, you turned over to Eivor, scooting closer to her and lifting the quilt to come in contact with her warm body. She was radiating heat.

You snuggled up to her, laying your head on her shoulder and resting your arm on her chest. She flinched at your weight on her, opening her eyes to make sure there was no danger. You two shared a silent look, then she smiled and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in closer and warming you up so quickly that you were asleep again within minutes.

The next morning you were woken by the bustle outside, animal noises mixing with the blacksmith’s hammer and people talking as they walked past. A rooster crowed and reminded you of your old home in Williamsburg. You were still lying close to Eivor, your head in the crook of her arm and your leg intertwined with hers. She hummed in her sleep as she felt you stirring and pulled you in, not allowing you to move.

You noticed that your head wasn’t throbbing anymore. Your cheek still felt tender and the wound stung, but you were sure the salve and the herbal infusion Valka had given you would get you through the day.

Eivor moved again, turning her torso toward you and holding you even closer to her chest.

“How did you sleep, little bird?” she mumbled into your hair. “Did I share enough of my warmth with you?”

You pressed your forehead into the hollow spot beneath her collarbone and inhaled her wonderful scent, a mixture of herbs, tree bark, snow days and a faint musk reminding you of the deer on William’s pasture.

“Without you, I would have frozen to death last night,” you murmured back. She enveloped you with her strong, hot body while her fingers stroked your hair absentmindedly.

Suddenly, the blonde drew her head back to look down at you.

“How is your face? Better?”

You nodded.

“It still burns, but I think the worst is over.”

Eivor let go of you and stretched her arm toward the bag on the wooden trunk, almost falling off the bed when she finally caught it. You grabbed her hand just in time to pull her back up, both of you having to laugh at her clumsiness. She opened the small jar with the rich yellow cream and dipped two fingers into the mixture. Careful not to press down too hard, she rubbed the salve into your cheek, all the way from your jaw to your temple. As she massaged the little dent there, you closed your eyes and leaned into her touch.

After a while, Eivor got up and put on leather pants and a coat over her tunic. She lit the fireplace so you would be warm all day and slipped on her boots, promising to return soon with breakfast and a kettle to make your tea.

You let yourself fall back onto the pillow and pulled the quilt all the way up to your nose. This day promised to be a lot more comfortable than the last ones. There was not going to be much to do except lay around and wait for Eivor to check in on you every once in a while. Maybe she would give you something to do - you could mend clothes for her or sweep the hut or prepare food for later.

It seemed terribly unfair to you all of a sudden, you sitting here warm and fed while Eda and the others were still biding their time in their cell. It was not like you had done anything to gain anyone’s favor, Eivor just seemed to take to you a lot and your injury had drastically changed your path here. You wondered what the others were doing now and what they would be doing in the next few weeks. Eivor hadn’t taken them here without reason, there had to be a purpose to all of this.

A noise at the window made you look up. It was Birna, the white cat from yesterday, shooting you a demanding look through the gaps in the wooden grid that let in some light without leaving a big hole in the wall. Right, no glass windows. No wonder you had been freezing last night. Careful not to lose your balance, you got up from the bed and took the grid from the small opening. You were delighted to see that it had started snowing outside. Birna gave you a satisfied meow and squeezed through the window, immediately heading for the bed and curling up right where you had sat. The spot was probably still warm.

After placing the grid back in the window frame, you joined Birna on the mattress. She stretched and rubbed her tiny head against the back of your hand, demanding to be petted, and you humbly obliged. The two of you sat together for a while, the little lady purring in response as you made her compliments and told her about the cats back at Williamsburg.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. This was strange - why would Eivor knock? To make sure you weren’t indecent? She had already seen you naked yesterday, although it would fit her to still be all honorable and courteous.

Another knock.

“Eivor, are you there? It’s Randvi.”

Your breath caught in your throat and Birna looked up at you, indignant at your sudden refusal to pet her. You did not dare to move or say anything.

“Listen, I know we quarreled yesterday, but does this mean you won’t speak to me now? I just want to talk.” She sounded desperate, knocking harder this time. Fuck.

For a moment, there was silence and you started to hope she had left.

Then the handle turned and the door opened.

Randvi stood in the door, tall and beautiful as ever, her hand still on the doorknob. In a matter of seconds, her face went through surprise, confusion, realization, anguish and then nothing but wrath. You sat stone still, staring at her.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet and ice cold.

“So that’s how it is. I understand now.” She laughed but there was no humor in her voice, only bitterness.

Before you could say anything, she had turned on the spot and slammed the door shut. You could hear her steps fade away on the path to the longhouse and finally dared to release the breath you had been holding this entire time.

Birna had jumped at the loud noise, but now she rolled herself up in your lap and began to purr again. You let your head fall back against the headboard and stared up at the ceiling, trying to gather your thoughts.

Jesus Christ.

You jerked up when you heard steps at the door again, but this time it was Eivor that entered. There were snowflakes in her hair, her face was flushed from the cold and she had brought a well-filled jute bag and a dark metal cauldron. A bright smile was on her face as she stomped her feet to get rid of the snow on her boots and threw the bag on the bed.

“First snow!” she pointed out the obvious and took off her coat before letting herself fall onto the bed next to you and giving Birna a big smooch, which the cat took with an annoyed grumble.

“How did she get in here?” Eivor laughed and ruffled the cat’s fur. “She doesn’t like the snow. The little Viking princess is a sensitive one. She stays in here all winter and complains until the thaw comes.”

You cleared your throat. “I let her in through the window. But…” Eivor seemed to finally sense something was wrong and gave you a questioning look.

“Randvi was here.”

The blonde closed her eyes and sighed, then she blinked up at the ceiling just as you had done minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s complicated.” She shook her head.

You bit your lip and gave her an apologetic look. “She seemed displeased.”

This was a vast understatement, but you did not want to get involved in this, whatever it was.

“I’ll talk to her later. This has nothing to do with you,” Eivor promised. Exactly.

You shared a breakfast consisting of bread, goat cheese and dried fruit while the water over the fireplace had started boiling and the herbs inside filled the entire room with their pleasant smell.

When you had finished your meal and started sipping your brew, Eivor propped herself up on her elbow next to you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Eivor?”

With her fingertips she drew patterns into Birna’s fur, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Do you think you could take another look at the map? I am planning on raiding Fort Winton tomorrow or the day after. The time is right, we are experienced in fighting in the snow and cold. I want to get this done.”

You swallowed hard, thinking of the life you had led before. If you supported this raid, you were betraying all your previous affiliations and fealties. Winton’s Steward was a terrible man. He had scared you when you were younger and he scared you now. You were sure that there was not a single person under his rule that enjoyed his company or thought him a good sovereign. You took a deep breath.

“I will. But under one condition: I do not wish to be seen as subject to English rule and fealty. I owe them nothing. I will give you all my knowledge and skill and I will swear my loyalty to you, only you. I will no longer be an English prisoner but your servant and by extension, a part of this clan.”

Eivor listened to you intently and considered your proposition for a moment, then she nodded.

“I would not have let you come into my house and sleep next to me if I did not trust you already. I do not know how, but it sometimes feels like destiny brought us together.” Her hand moved toward yours, then she pulled it back and continued to pet Birna.

“I will speak to the council about this tonight. Tomorrow you shall help us strategize, so we can leave at first light the next day.”

You agreed, stretching out a hand to stroke Birna’s fur and just so happening to brush over Eivor’s knuckles with your fingertips. Both of you had to smile, feeling as if you shared a secret, one that had not fully revealed itself to you yet.

The warrior actually had a few tasks for you that you could take care of in bed: a few of her tunics that had tears and holes, a pair of pants which had ripped at the back - she went crimson red and mumbled something about a drinking contest and a wrestling match - and an old fur coat she had grown out of but gave to you to mend and wear.

You spent the day with Birna, sewing and patching up Eivor’s clothes while telling the cat stories about Delia and Henry and your favorite adventures from your childhood. Eivor came by later, dropping off some more fruit to pass the time until supper. She seemed slightly irritated, but when she saw your work on her clothes she rejoiced.

“You’re an artist, little bird! With you by my side, I will soon look like a queen!”

You laughed and clutched the fur coat to your chest.

“I will take this as my first payment, then. Thank you. Maybe I will finally be warm for once.”

“Y/N, are you telling me you were cold last night? You must be made of ice if my heat could not pierce you,” Eivor teased you playfully.

“Oh, it most certainly did. It seems you are the only one capable of doing so.” You smiled at her. She grabbed your hand and rubbed her thumbs over your palm.

“I need to go now and meet the council. I will come back to warm you later.” She stroked Birna’s fur one last time, then she got up and in leaving threw you a last look that sent blood into your cheeks and made your stomach flutter.

“I long for it,” you whispered after she had closed the door behind her.

#eivor x reader #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #lady eivor #lady eivor x reader #ac valhalla #assassins creed valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolf-kissed #eivor fanfiction #angst #fluff

178 notes · View notes

anightflower · 3 years

Text

Come and Find Me Chapter 6: 24 Hours

Hello my darlings, here is chapter 6 FINALLY. Thank you for letting me work on my mental health, I can’t express how much every interaction I’ve had with you has helped, whether it be a like, comment, or reblog, you guys have brought me SO MUCH JOY.

Masterlist

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mentions of rape

Spencer clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. “What do you mean never see her again? Don’t you dare fucking touch her-”

“Tsk, tsk Doctor, there is a lady present. Though she can’t hear us at the moment.” The voice murmured condescendingly. “But I am a fair man Doctor, I will let you speak to her, eventually.”

“Let me speak to her now.” Spencer growled.

“So demanding Doctor, but I suppose I’ll oblige you, if only because she looks so broken right now.” The voice cooed.

There was silence on the phone for a moment, the beeping of buttons and then, your voice.

“What do you want now you sick bastard?” You sounded tired, defeated. Spencer felt his heart break.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” Spencer asked urgently. On the live feed, you head shot up and looked around.

“Spencer?” Your voice broke and tears blurred your vision. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, no! I’m coming to find you baby. I promise, this sick bastard is not going to win-” Spencer said encouragingly.

Hope filled your eyes, but quickly disappeared behind nerves. You had to tell him the last place you were. He had to find you and you didn’t know how much time you had left.

“Spence, I made it to Florida, call the hotel I was at. They might have security footage-” Your voice was cut off.

“Now, that’s no fair. She can’t help you.” The voice said angrily.

“No, put her back on the line you sick f-” Spencer yelled into the phone desperately. He could see that you were still talking on the video feed. Tears slid down his face as he watched you mouth “I love you.” You didn’t even know that he couldn’t hear you anymore.

“24 hours doctor.” The voice said and hung up. The live feed went black.

“It’s a burner phone. I could triangulate it to two cell towers, but that could put it anywhere in Miami.” Penelope explained.

The room was silent as they waited for Spencer’s reaction. His shoulders were tense, he still eyed the screen, his back completely turned to the team.

“Spencer?” JJ asked, gently coming up to him.

“JJ, I’m going to give you the number to (Y/N) hotel. I need you to get any security footage you can from them. Penelope will use face scan and analyze it.” Spencer ordered, his body still tense and unmoving.

“I’ll contact them and the local police down there, have them start looking for (Y/N) and set up a place for us at their precinct.” JJ reassured.

“I’m going to call Hotch and Rossi, I’ll tell them to meet us at the jet.” Emily said. “Maybe they got something out of Curtis that can help us out.”

Spencer nodded, unable to form words around the tightness in his throat.

“We’ll get her back Reid, and then we want a proper introduction.” Morgan teased, trying to ease Spencer.

As they all began to move to grab their go-bags, Spencer’s phone rang again.

Spencer took a deep breath, as he glanced at his phone. It was Ava’s contact.

He quickly answered it. “Ava?”

“Spencer,” Her voice sounded terrified. “I need you to come to this address, I think (Y/N)’s in danger.”

________________________________________________________________

You jumped as the door to your “room” slammed open.

“You stupid bitch!” The voice wasn’t as deep now without it’s automated assistance, but his voice was still muffled behind a mask. It was a cheap plastic Halloween mask, the one you get so you can decorate it however you want. It’s blank white stare covered his whole face.

He stalked his way toward you angrily, causing you to push yourself further back onto the bed. There was no place for you to go.

“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut huh? You are so moon eyed over your Doctor that you fucking cheat. You whore!” He grabbed your ankles and pulled on your chains, dragging you down the bed, causing you to scream. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises.

“Do you know what happens to whores?” He growled. “They get what they deserve.”

He tried to push your legs open, but you clawed at his arms, hard enough to break your nails and draw blood. As he tried to draw his arms back, you scratched at his face, ripping the mask off and catching one of his eyes.

He let out a pained scream and backhanded you across the face. You yelped as it sent you flying back against the bed.

You quickly pushed yourself up, readying yourself if he tried to advance on you again. He was hunched over, grabbing at his face, blood leaked from where your nails had dug in.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” He said enraged.

Your body froze at that voice. A voice that you knew all too well. A voice that didn’t speak much, but when it did, there was always a smile on his face.

“No.” You whispered softly.

________________________________________________________________

Andrew Curtis, 29 years old, 6’4. Auburn hair, brown eyes, and a friendly smile that had made women trust him when he had come into their home.

The man in front of him was smug, too smug for someone who is going to be behind bars for the rest of their life. Hotch wished he could tackle him to the floor and wipe the gleeful look off of his face.

5 innocent women, almost 6. Women with families and lives just wiped from the world because of the sick bastard in front of him.

“Oh Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi, what brings you to my humble abode? I’ve recently redecorated, I hope you like it.” Andrew Curtis laughed.

Hotch and Rossi didn’t deign to respond, hiding their disdain behind a stern blank mask.

“Ouch, so cold as always, here I was hoping something interesting happened for you to come visit me.” Curtis said with a pout.

“Rumor has it you’ve been receiving letters from an outside anonymous fan, care to enlighten us more about him?” Rossi said, voice cold.

“Not even a greeting, a little catch up? How is the rest of the team, Prentiss, JJ,- oh and my dear favorite doctor Reid.” Curtis purred.

“I did always find your connection to Reid fascinating, you only let him talk with you and a little bird told us you keep newspaper clippings about him and much of his thesis and research work.” Rossi pushed, ignoring Curtis’s taunts.

“Oh my guards are such gossips, but I suppose there's not much else to keep them entertained around here.”

Hotch let out a growl. “Let’s skip the games Curtis. You know you have nothing over us, you’re locked here for the rest of your miserable existence and then some. We will not be your source of entertainment. Who have you been communicating with?”

“You know, I never thought you guys would catch me, and it truly took a toll on me when you did. But I had a small victory knowing that you had gotten some of my profile wrong.” Curtis smiled and it made ice fill Hotch’s veins.

“Oh and how is our profile wrong? You’re still in a cell aren’t you? Everything we said turned out to be correct.” Rossi said confidently.

“You might have profiled me correctly dear Rossi, but I am afraid you missed a small crucial detail.” Curtis hummed proudly.

“And what would that detail be.” Hotch urged.

“The kind that costs ya Hotchner. Maybe a nicer cell, with a little less security.”

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look. Could it be worth it?

Hotch dipped his chin in agreement. Yes, if only for Reid.

“We will see what we can do.” Rossi said slowly.

A smug look crossed Curtis’s face as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He looked like the cat that got the cream and the male Agents across from him hated it. “Allow me to let you divine profilers know, that you were wrong and that you might have caught me, but you did not catch my prodigy.” His victorious laugh bounced off the walls, grating the tense room.

“Your prodigy?” Hotch probed, his voice dangerously low, a sign that he would explode if he wasn’t careful. Rossi gave him a side glance, an attempt to remind Hotch to keep a steady head.

“Oh yes, it’s a thrill really, knowing that he is still out there, maybe he already has a new victim! But guessing by the fact that you are here, he already took someone, didn't he? Did he leave a calling card?”

Rossi and Hotchner remained silent and stern faced.

Curtis cackled, ”He left my calling card didn’t he? Your faces say it all! Oh boy, he really is my best student.”

“Who is he Andrew? We need a name-”

“He finally did it, he got the girl didn’t he?”

“Got who?” Hotch asked. “Curtis is a narcissist, play to that and he will give everything up in no time.” Rossi reminded him before they went into the room.

“Your dear Doctor’s girl! He left hints, but I wasn’t sure that the kid had it in him to be honest, he always seemed too soft.”

“You sure talk a mean game for someone who doesn’t know what’s going on.” Hotch growled, knowing this would rouse up Curtis.

“Oh come now Hotch, don’t play coy with me.” Curtis growled, “He’s got (Y/N), pretty (Y/C/H) haired thing, who if my little brother didn’t care so much for, would have been one of my own victims.”

“This prodigy is your little brother?” Rossi asked, not allowing Curtis to find out if he was right or not.

“No, not blood related, just someone I took under my wing.”

The door to the interrogation room opened and a guard popped his head in. “Agent Hotchner, you have an urgent call from an Agent Prentiss?”

“Of course, excuse me.” Hotch said, getting up and making his way out of the room.

He came back less than a minute later. “Agent Rossi, they’ve found a lead.”

Now it was Rossi’s turn to smirk. “Looks like we won’t be needing you after all Curtis, but do enjoy your current view.”

Curtis growled and yanked at his chains.

Rossi rolled his eyes as he got up to leave.

Right as Rossi was about to leave the room, Curtis’s voice piped up, “Nothing brings me more joy than knowing I tricked you, that you profilers failed to figure out that I didn’t work alone. Your devout profiling method was wrong and now my prodigy lives on, achieving his dreams, and ruining you and your doctor in the process.”

Rossi slammed the door shut to block out Curtis’s manic laughter.

________________________________________________

I was thinking of doing a permanent taglist for all of my fics, if you’d like to become a part of it please let me know!

TAGLIST

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl @bravegirl221 @messyhairday-me @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @abbeypaw7 @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @ajeff855 @astronomynous

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #anightflowerwrites #anightflower writes #anightflowermasterlist #anightflowers masterlist

112 notes · View notes

veiledsilver · 3 years

Note

Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

#asks #there you have it #i feel like I'm confessing my sins to the pope

18 notes · View notes

fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 7 - Memories

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, was it a memory?, 2.6k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

“Don’t look down ‘cuz we’re still rising up right now...and even if we hit the ground...we’ll still fly, keep dreaming like we’ll live forever but live it like it’s now or never…”

Willie bobbed along as the song played from the tinny radio speaker outside the bodega. Sheldon was curled on his lap, purring contentedly as Willie pet him absentmindedly.

“You gonna take any chamoy candy, amigo?” Escobar asked, peeking his head out the door.

Willie shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

As Escobar disappeared again, Willie kept nodding to the beat of the song. It wasn’t exactly like being at a concert, but he had been happily surprised to hear the local station playing their songs - they’d been repeating them, in fact. By now he’d been able to assign faces to the voices singing different parts, and hearing Alex’s come through in the harmonies and the occasional solo was comforting.

“We ain’t searching for tomorrow…’cuz we got all we need today…”

The lines were strangely fitting. If Willie could’ve chosen how to spend his last day on Earth, he knew he would’ve spent it just like he had yesterday without question. If only that could make the Alex-sized hole hurt a little less than it had today.

“Can we turn it back to my station now?” Escobar called out. “We’ve heard the same songs, like, four times.”

“It’s Alex’s band, though,” Willie contested. The radio was already playing rancheras. As he stood up, Sheldon leapt off of his lap and went to eat more food.

“Que tiene este muchacho, anyway?” Escobar asked. “You knew him for, like, five seconds and he didn’t leave you a number.”

There was no way to properly express in words the feeling he got about Alex. Their interactions weren’t based on words, even when they had spoken.

“You don’t have to get it, Escobar,” he said, grabbing his board and helmet from leaning against the counter. He hadn't let himself hope it would magically last forever, but the memory was worth it. “I’ll see you later.”

“Adios,” the man said, sweeping up the store and singing along to his music. “Una piedra en el camino...me enseño que mi destino...era rodar y rodar…”

Shaking his head and smiling, Willie kicked off into the late night. He’d spent all morning cleaning hotel rooms, and he tried to remember which number had been the one for Alex and his band, but he never figured it out. The rest of the day, he’d run errands for Caleb and let the one memory he had regained play on loop in his mind. There was nothing that specifically indicated that the man in the truck was his dad, but he simply knew it was. They had the same squint when they smiled.

He hadn’t bothered telling Caleb about it. It would’ve been irrelevant, since he’d apparently been in the foster care system for quite some time. Those were some of the important details he’d gotten from him, but Caleb was rather stingy about the rest - he’d said it was so Willie could live unbiased and make himself into whoever he wanted. It didn’t feel that way, though. Eventually Willie had stopped trying to weasel things out of him and accepted that he might never regain his memories. Of course, it was different now that he knew they could return.

The wind in his hair was nice, but lacked something he couldn’t put a finger on. As he came upon a large home, he skated onto the driveway around the back. He was headed past the pool in the backyard toward his shed and was surprised by a sudden voice from the water.

“William, I’ve asked you so many times not to skate around the pool,” Caleb said, wading over from where he had been doing some laps. Slowing to a stop and picking his board up, Willie gave him an apologetic nod, continuing toward the shed.

“Wait,” he heard from behind. Turning, he saw Caleb climb out of the pool and move toward him.

“You’ve been running around all day, so I’m sure you want some rest. I’ve just been worried about where you go when it’s so late. That’s two nights in a row. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

Put on the spot, everything went blank in his mind. What was there to worry about? Did he know about Sheldon? Even if he did, it wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong keeping the cat at the bodega.

“Not anything to tell,” he replied, trying to mask the strange guilt that had arisen. “Just been skating around.”

Caleb looked down at him, and Willie could never tell what was making those gears turn in his head. He knew he was just looking out for him, but sometimes he just wanted not to give some kind of report at the end of the day like he was doing business.

“I just think about what would happen if you were out there and something were to hurt you,” Caleb told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Or someone. Wouldn’t want another accident.”

Willie nodded solemnly. Caleb’s tone was serious, but for the first time he just felt that it was...insincere. His stomach flipped at the thought and he drove it down into the depths of his mind. That was an awful thing to think about the person who literally provided everything for him, especially when he wasn’t blood-related.

“I’m being careful, I promise,” he said, not meeting the man’s eyes.

“I’ll take your word,” Caleb said. He let go of Willie’s shoulder and strolled back toward the pool.

Walking to the shed, Willie shut the door behind him and confusion swept over his whole being. His dad’s face rose to the front of his mind again. If only he knew more about him to compare the two men, then he could understand why he felt so strangely about Caleb. Looking around the shed, he wondered if an answer could be found.

It was big enough for his bed, some shelves and a desk, with a small closet and bathroom. Apparently he had been living in there instead of the house even before his accident. In his first memory of seeing it, it was the bare necessities and nothing else. While Willie still wasn’t much to keep lots of clutter, he had dozens of sketches that he’d put up on the walls to make it feel more at home. It was quiet and thankfully Caleb didn’t bother him too often in there.

Sitting at the desk, he picked up a pencil and opened to a blank page in his sketchbook. Slowly shaping out a face, he tried his best to remember the details as clearly as he could. Willie wanted it to be as close to reality as possible, even though it wasn’t his usual drawing style. That way if his memory slipped, he could have something to keep him steady. So far the best thing about it was the eyes, but it wasn’t hard because all he had to do was check his own face in the mirror every once in a while. The smile was a little more crooked and wrinkly, and it took several attempts, but he was determined to get it right. He knew it was probably a good idea to get some sleep, since he had a full day of work in the morning, but this was more important.

Hours into the drawing, making sure everything was as close as he could get, Willie looked down at the portrait of his dad, steering wheel in hand, happy as could be. It was a really nice image, and if this were the only way he would ever remember him, Willie was glad it was happy. Checking the time, it was a little past three in the morning. He’d probably hate himself later for staying up so late, but it didn’t make him any less proud of his work. Aside from preserving his memory, it had been a great artistic challenge.

Finally climbing into bed, Willie tried to focus on something else. He brought Alex’s eyes to the forefront of his mind and let himself get lost in the soft crashing of the waves again. It had been rhythmic, which was so fitting for Alex. Allowing the rhythm to repeat continuously, he eventually nodded off to sleep.

Sirens blared and red and blue lights surrounded his vision. Willie was lying on the pavement, not moving and fading in and out of lucidity. The pain in his head was overwhelming. For a few moments, he stayed that way, watching the lights flash indefinitely. Slowly, he watched as all the lights and sirens pulled away, and above his face, the front bumper of a car came in view. A man that he couldn’t see clearly appeared, moving backwards, going from the side of the car to kneeling over Willie’s motionless body in a panic.

After a few moments, the man went back to the car in the same backwards fashion, and Willie’s body lifted in the air. His vision tumbled and he made contact with the car a few times, and when his head hit the pain vanished. Strangely, he landed perfectly on his board and it was like watching the city in reverse. Aware this was a dream, he felt so puzzled by the whole thing. This was a part of the city he could’ve sworn he’d never been through before. Willie had his corners that he’d memorized, but Vegas was big enough to confuse him still.

The backwards skating seemed to be endless, until finally he was running back into Caleb’s home. Caleb was yelling, and Willie couldn’t make out what he was saying at all. Then suddenly they were at a social worker’s office, and Willie looked down at a file with his picture on it. He couldn’t make out anything it said, but he simply sat there as Caleb and the social worker blabbed in backwards gibberish.

The scene changed again, and Willie found himself sitting in the shed, crying. He was repeating a name but it made no sense. A deep loneliness filled his entire body and a strange force seemed to try to compress him into as small a space as possible. The tears and the shaking only intensified, ringing loudly in his ears. Everything was miserable, overwhelming, and he just kept crying out into the dark.

Willie opened his eyes and sat up in his bed. Looking around his room, there was too little light to make out any shapes, and after blinking his eyes he found they were wet. Huddling his knees into his chest, he just sat there in his confusion and fear, breathing in and out. Had those been memories? It was so hard to tell, especially since watching everything in reverse had been so trippy. If they had been, he wondered if they were warped in any fashion. Who would have their memories return through a dream in reverse, anway? The frustrating thing about amnesia was that it had very few absolutes and every case was different.

A pit of anger grew in his chest. Willie felt like some higher power was having fun at his expense. The tears that fell were more from quiet fury than pain. Glancing over at his desk, he saw the drawing of his dad smiling back at him again. Unfolding himself and laying down on his side, Willie stared at the picture and let the tears run until either his eyes dried up or he fell asleep again, whichever came first.

Loud banging on his door was what woke him up. Rising groggily from his bed, he opened the door to find Quetzal, one of the girls from the diner.

“You just woke up?” she was saying. “Come on, Willie, Caleb doesn’t know I rushed over here to get you, you better hurry up.”

Sighing wordlessly, Willie pulled on some clothes, followed Quetzal to her car and clambered inside.

“You’ve been off the past couple of days, you okay?”

Willie took in a deep breath and tried to blink himself more awake as they drove to the diner.

“Just in a funk, that’s all,” he breathed. “Thanks for coming to get me, though.”

“Let’s just pray we don’t get caught.”

“We won’t get caught, he’s doing some kind of new deal today. I heard him on the phone a while ago about some record label he was thinking of buying.”

“A record label? How many businesses does the guy own now, like five?”

“I stopped keeping track. Anyway, Dolores is probably managing today.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed. “You had me so worried when you didn’t show up on time. I was ready to get fired for leaving during my shift. At least we don’t have to worry about it now.”

Willie didn’t respond. He knew Quetzal was one of those people who would go out on a limb for anyone, but it still surprised him when she did it for him. He never felt deserving. As they parked at the diner and hurried out of the car, he shook his head. It wasn’t always successful but he always hoped it worked like an Etch-A-Sketch, to get rid of the many things cluttering up his brain.

That was it. Enter the kitchen, punch in, grab an apron, and he was in his corner by the dishwasher again. He ignored the eyes of everyone else who clearly wanted to express their upset by his tardiness. He was there now, right? Heaven forbid. Willie’s mind, of course, only remained cleared from the shaking for a few minutes. As he got into the groove of spraying and moving things into the industrial trays, he tried to remember more details of the dream, but most had been forgotten. All that was left were sirens and lights.

He’d walked back home at the end of his long shift, since he hadn’t taken his board like usual in the morning. That also meant he couldn’t go to the bodega for lunch, and he desperately needed to check on Sheldon. Willie had peeked into the house and called to see if Caleb was home at all. His own voice echoed back followed by silence. Taking that as a confirmation the man was still busy, he gathered his board and helmet and made his way out to the street.

The wind wasn’t its usual soothing sensation against his face. Willie knew he was tired, but was disappointed to feel that the one thing that felt most freeing to him wasn’t doing its job. It should’ve been enough to lose his thoughts to the sound of the low roll from the wheels, only interrupted by the gentle clacks here and there. There was too much noise inside of him. Suddenly, he understood why Alex had chosen to play drums.

Sheldon was already pattering toward him as he came through the doorway. Scooping the cat into his arms, he held him close and stroked his fur in an attempt to find some comfort. When he started purring, Willie made a little sigh of relief.

“Busy day?” Escobar asked as he organized a shelf.

Willie only nodded. Sheldon was rubbing his head against his face, and it did more to soothe him than the wind.

“Sorry I didn’t come for lunch,” he apologized. “I haven’t been doing my part for Sheldon and I owe you.”

“I would like it if you could be around more,’ Escobar said. “But he’s a pretty good cat, so it isn’t too much, amigo.”

Nodding again, Willie finally heard the music playing in the background. Was it…?

“I thought you were tired of their songs,” he commented.

Escobar shrugged.

“Eh, I had an idea you wanted to listen to them. And they’re not all too bad.”

A surprised giggle came from Willie’s throat, and he smiled for probably the first time that day. He went to give Sheldon some food and let his mind replace the red and blue lights with soft green eyes.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #caleb covington #viva las vegas #memories #fiddlepickdouglas #memory

18 notes · View notes

seiya234 · 4 years

Text

thunder only happens when it’s raining

for @feferipeixes, even if they’re a big jerk who calls me out on my tropes.

Prompt: “Dipper, pre-2012, has intermittent visions of the far, far future. He doesn't understand them and he's scared.”

To be honest, by the time the twins were two, Anna slept through any noises that she heard from their baby monitors.

Not that she thought that they really needed them any more but it had taken them such a long time to get the kids on a decent sleep schedule, and they were still having to give a bottle to Mabel to get her to sleep and shit her teeth were going to come out all fucked up and it made Mark feel better and...

Well. Anyway. Being the mother of twins meant as a defense mechanism Anna Pines had trained herself to sleep through any weird bed noises she heard the kids doing at this point in order that she could get some sleep.

The bloodcurdling scream that came from Dipper’s monitor at two am however? That not only had her awake, but tripping over the blanket in her hurry to get out of bed and into his room, her heart thumping painfully in her chest because what was wrong with him, what was wrong with him?

(this wasn’t I woke up and I don’t like it. this wasn’t even I had a nightmare. this was adult fear. Anna couldn’t tell you how she knew that until it was far too late.)

She ran into his room and turned on the light, not even caring about keeping the light low to help ease him back to sleep, she needed to see him, she needed to make sure he was okay.

Outwardly, he was fine, though he all but leapt out of the crib in his attempt to get at her, soft baby fat cheeks glistening with tears. She picked him up, and he nuzzled into her chest. Anna laid her face on Dipper in turn, smelling the sweat of the playground in his hair, the spit on his pajama collar, the playdoh under his nails...everything that made him him.

“Baby, did you have a bad dream?”

“Reh!”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying... red?”

“Reh! Reh! Red! Reh!”

That was definitely what Dipper was saying. But what could he have dreamt of that was red that scared him so? A fire truck? Strawberries? Blood?

Wait. Blood? No. No that was ridiculous. He had barely ever seen blood, how would Dipper know what that was?

Anna sighed as she sat down in the rocker with her still crying son. “I told your daddy that Clifford the Big Red Dog was going to scare you. It’s okay. Momma’s got you now.”

(if Dipper was twelve instead of two, he could have told his mother that he had a dream where he was covered in blood. swimming in blood. drinking blood. drinking and laughing and crying blood and everything, everything was fucking blood.

But Dipper was two and all he knew was he didn’t know what he just dreamt about, just that he didn’t like it.)

----

"Fuck, kid, you look like Ford at this age.”

Dipper looked up from the blocks that he was stacking impossibly tall. “Bad word,” he said primly.

The woman in the long purple dress started and looked at him. She looked different than anyone Dipper knew in his life. She had big chunky gold earrings and smelt weird and had a short stick in her hand that gave off smoke like one of the candles Daddy would occasionally light.

“Kid, you shouldn’t be able to see me.”

“Why not?” Dipper knew that dreams were a time where he could do whatever he wanted.

(”ah, lucid dreaming my boy! a valuable skill,” a grand uncle told him years later, before the world ended)

“Because you don’t have the right eyes,” she said. “Look, I’m going to go and figure this out, you be a good boy now you hear?”

----

“WELL WELL WELL WELL WELL IF IT ISN’T PINE TREE.”

“You’re a triangle,” Dipper pointed out, slightly disgruntled. He had been having a very good dream, one where he was allowed to eat a second and third slice of cake, and he wanted very much to return back to that.

“WHAT’S THE MATTER? CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?”

Dipper knew without knowing how that as soon as the weird triangle snapped his fingers something bad and owwy would happen to his mouth. Dipper did not want that to happen. So he looked at the mountain in the distance and pulled stepped back before the triangle got near him.

The triangle snapped. Then he snapped again. Then his eye got angry looking when Dipper just started eating cake while watching him.

“SO! YOU THINK YOU’RE CLEVER DON’T YOU?”

Dipper didn’t answer. He wanted to take advantage of eating as much red cake as he could before he had to wake up.

“WELL, I GOT PLANS FOR YOU DIPPER PINES! B͟I͙G̱̖̭̞̩̗̙ ̴͚̹̘͚̝̥P̩̝̞LA̕Ņ͍͇̤̮̘͔̳S͈̜. A STORM IS CO-”

“Are you going to keep shouting or do you want some cake?”

The triangle stopped talking for a second, twirling his cane in thought, and then said, “SURE. I’LL HAVE SOME CAKE. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BURN SOON ANYWAY.”

“You make no sense.”

“I MAKE PLENTY OF SENSE! YOU JUST DON’T KNOW IT YET!”

----

At the end of every month Dipper and Mabel’s teacher would pack up all the drawings they did in their pre-k class and send it home with them.

Mark was of mixed feelings about this. On one hand he enjoyed his children’s drawings and seeing what was going on in their heads. On the other hand, they insisted on having all of their drawings either pinned on all the walls or saved.

(anna threw a few away once, mabel found them in the trash, and there was no living with the twins for a week after.)

And then there was the subject matter....

For Mabel, everything was on fire. Everything. Every thing. She drew an apple tree... but on fire. She drew their visit to their grandparents... on fire. Their kitchen... on fire. Mabel and Dipper playing... with a fire in the background.

The teacher assured them that was normal, a lecture on fire safety having stuck in Mabel’s mind....

He couldn’t explain Dipper’s drawings to Mark however.

There was blood (it was very definitively not just coloring with only the red crayon.) There were rudimentary organs (and how did Dipper know what the liver looked like? Mark asked and Dipper was uncomfortable and then started to cry and Mark felt like a dick.) There were knives and candles and shapes that made Mark’s head hurt.

Mark knew what the problem was.

He resolved to ask his Dad to stop letting the kids watch Unsolved Mysteries.

(but he knew deep inside that that wasn’t really the reason why.)

----

“Dipper there’s a lady here.”

Dipper looked up to see the lady in the purple dress again.

“Hello,” he said politely, before going back to building a sand castle with his sister.

“That’s... that’s really your sister.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Mabel murmured, filling a bucket with wet sand.

“Huh.” The lady tapped out her weird smoking thing, and brought it to her lips before speaking again. “I should have guessed there would be some bleed over. Any way kid- look, what’s your name?”

“He’s Dipper and I’m MABEL!” Mabel said, pulling Dipper around the neck for a big hug.

“Huh. And you two are-” her eyes unfocused for a second- “Shermie’s kid’s kids.”

“You know Grandma?!”

Dipper didn’t know until now that a smile could be sad. “Yeah, I sure do. Look, I came here to say that I figured out your-” she pointed at Dipper, “deal.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, because he didn’t understand and he knew Mabel would do it for him.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, so, your shit’s fucked darling. Totally ass over teakettle bad. Sorry lovey but, that’s just how it’s going to be. That’s how you can even see me.”

None of this made any sense to Dipper, though he saw Mabel mouthing along to what the lady in purple was saying and saving the Bad words for later.

There was a moment of silence and then Mabel asked “So.. Things bad?”

“Yes.”

“Why you tell us then?”

The lady in purple looked at them for a solid minute without saying anything. The stick in her mouth dropped on the ground and she ground her foot over it.

“I...Fuck, I’m sorry kids. Look, do you want a candy cigarette?” She proffered two sticks to them and they took them.

(yes she was a stranger. But this was Dipper’s dream and they would always be safe in here, and also...Dipper had the feeling she was and wasn’t a stranger. Not really.)

The weird lady ran her fingers through her hair.

“Look kids... Christ, I was never good with talking to kids. Barely managed talking to my own, and look how-”

She saw their blank looks, and said “Never you mind that. I guess just... look, not gonna lie Mason-”

“Dipper.”

“-Dipper, things look really, really rough for you going ahead. But-” And now she kneeled down until she was eye level with him, and her hands were on his shoulders, and her nails were digging into his skin and it was uncomfortable but he didn’t let it bother him because he knew, somehow, that this was Important.

“The bad? And trust me, there’s a whole lot of that, but....It’s outweighed by the good, I promise.”

She turned to look at Mabel, who was currently eating sand because she could get away with that in dreamland.

“She’s a lot of your good. But remember to not only rely on her for your good. That’s not fair to her. And that’s not fair to you. Promise... Can you promise me to remember that?”

“I promise.”

The woman in purple looked into his eyes, then grimaced. “No. No. No, you’re going to forget that, you won’t remember, you won’t listen-”

Her hands began to hurt.

“I’m- I’m sorry-”

She paused. Her hands released from his shoulders, and instead she grabbed him into a hug.

“Bubbeleh. My love. You never, never have to apologize to me, okay? There’s.... there’s so much that will happen to you but here and now, don’t apologize, okay? It will be okay, okay?”

She was crying and Dipper didn’t understand, and he looked at Mabel and he could tell that she didn’t understand either so all he said was, “Okay,” and let the weird lady who was weird yet kind of like Grandma Shermie hug and cry on him.

---

By the time Dipper was in kindergarten, the dreams had ended.

That was probably for the best.

#transcendence au #seiya writes!

58 notes · View notes

trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

Virgil's Post-Halloween Adventure With Roman

Virgil has been really down since Halloween came and went. So, Roman creates a full Halloween city so Virgil and some of the other sides can bring their Halloween fantasies to life.

This was requested by @puppysparkles03. You wanted drastic measures, so: HAVE AN ENTIRE HALLOWEEN TOWN! XD Hope you like it!

Virgil had been in a sad mood since November started. Virgil got his chance to dress up and be his scary self for halloween but...now that Halloween was over, Virgil had grown sad. He loved halloween. Why couldn’t it be Halloween for longer than an evening? The only things that have made Virgil somewhat satisfied was his Halloween candy. Virgil’s been eating tons of halloween candy as of late. From sweets to mini bags of chips, to juice boxes and candy corns, even a rice crispy square ended up in his halloween bag. That was a nostalgic moment for him. It was nice to eat a rainbow (gay) rice crispy square.

One day, Roman managed to get Virgil out of his room for a little adventure in the mind palace. Despite enjoying being out of the room, Virgil did grow annoyed by all the walking. “Can’t you conjure up a train or a car? Or, maybe even a horse and buggy?” Virgil asked.

Roman giggled. “Come on, Virgil! It’s such a pretty day for a walk. Wouldn’t you agree?” Roman asked. Virgil only let out a grunt as a reply. Roman turned to face him. “Come on, Hallo-whiner. I think you’re gonna like the special place that I conjured up, just for you:” Roman told him, grabbing his hand.

Virgil looked up at Roman with the smallest glimmer of hope in his eyes. Roman summoned some black eyeshadow, and help Virgil touch it up. “There ya go. And some blood…” Roman started drawing liquid red face paint dribbles that ran down the corners of Virgil’s mouth to the sides of his chin. “There! Maybe some red lipstick-”

“No red lipstick.” Virgil told him.

“Oooor no red lipstick.” Roman changed up his wording before putting the lid on his lipstick. “Okay! Looking all halloweeny!” Roman declared.

“I thought Halloween was over?” Virgil told him.

“Not unless you want it to be over. And something tells me you don’t want Halloween to be over just yet.” Roman admitted.

Roman picked up Virgil and walked up a hill. Soon, the luscious green grass disappeared from his vision and dark purples, oranges and blacks filled his vision. Virgil’s eyes widened when he realized what it was: It was an entire halloween city!

“What do you think?” Roman asked.

“Are you kidding?!” Virgil reacted. “I LOVE IT!” Virgil yelled, grabbing his shoulders with a big smile on his face. Roman giggled and looked over at the halloween city. “Now: I have given you the ability to snap into the halloween costume of your dreams!” Roman explained to him. “For example:” Roman snapped and watched as a bunch of material surrounded him before disappearing with his costume on himself.

“Oooooh! A roman emperor?” Virgil specified.

“Indeed! A Roman emperor who must rule with an iron fist!” Roman explained. His clothing consisted of a white robe with a brown rope tied around his middle, and a long red sash that was wrapped around his left arm and flowed down the rest of his lower body. To top it off, Roman had a golden laurel wreath on his head! He looked amazing, to be honest!

“Do you have a costume preference of your own, Virgil?” Roman asked.

Virgil nodded and snapped his fingers. A whole bunch of material surrounded Virgil, and soon flew away and disappeared to reveal Virgil’s brand new costume.

Roman gasped and dropped his jaw. “OH MY GOSH- SWEENEY TODD! YESSS!” Roman reacted, covering his mouth.

Virgil was dressed up as Johnny Depp’s version of Sweeney Todd. He had his brown hair spray dyed black and gelled back, with a white big streak in the middle left of the hairline. He had the slightly tattered vest tuxedo with a belt on a pair of striped pants, male ankle boots and a pair of fingerless gloves on his hands. In his vest pocket were some plastic traditional barber knives, and in his pants pocket was a vintage pocket watch.

“HELL YEAH! I LOVE Sweeney Todd! Classic musical!” Roman declared.

Virgil looked at his own costume and started acting a little like a fanboy. “I’ve always wanted to dress up as this character, but it’s a really hard costume to pull off.” Virgil admitted.

“Oh! You forgot something!” Roman told him. Roman summoned a long black coat and put it on Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil smiled and put it on. “It’s gonna be a little cold in there.” Roman let him know.

Virgil blushed a little. “Thank you.” Virgil replied.

“Now come, my killer barber! We shall visit Halloween City!” Roman declared, pointing to the city. Suddenly, a big horse and buggy came rolling up right beside them. Virgil and Roman hopped into the horse and buggy before the horse was signalled to start clop-clopping to the city.

The city itself was FILLED to the brim with stereotypical halloween stuff. There were stores for buying and trying on halloween costumes of large variety, big towers with witches and cauldrons so you could make your own spells, a big library filled with horror, thriller and grotesque-themed books and movies in them, a cemetery filled with floating ghosts, skeletons and zombies, and there were even caves surrounded by dead forest that housed the cats, snakes, bats and vampires. The more that Virgil saw out the sides of the horse and buggy windows, the more excited Virgil got!

“You made all this?!” Virgil reacted.

“Yes, I did!” Roman replied.

Virgil gasped and looked around more as the horse and buggy dropped them off in the middle of the city. The middle of the city has a simple, run down fountain in the middle with vines circulating the brick water pit. In the middle of the water fountain, was a few skulls lined up like a square with an infinite waterfall running through their eyes, nose holes and mouths, that fell into the water pit below. It was kinda creepy, but...strangely beautiful to look at.

Virgil almost immediately ran up to the big victorian library. “COME ON, ROMAN!” Virgil yelled to him.

“I’M COMING!” Roman yelled, quickly catching up to him.

Virgil walked up the stairs and quickly opened up the library door. The Victorian library was just as vintage-looking as it was on the outside. Only change being the place looked like a clean kind of vintage. The metal looked polished, the huge shelves looked old but not dirty or super run down, the ladder was wooden but stable and well made, and the middle aisles of shelves had movies and VHS tapes that you could borrow! This wasn’t just a victorian era library...this was a super old building that had been well kept and updated throughout the centuries!

Virgil happily looked around. “Logan would be over the moon about this.” Virgil told Roman.

“I know! He already IS!” Roman told him, before pointing to the ancient kids stories sections. There, hidden within the aisles, was Logan reading a Brothers Grimm fairytales from the 1800’s!

Logan looked up and smiled. “Hello, Virgil. I love the costume.” he greeted, giving Virgil an excited smile.

Logan was dressed up as Charlie ‘The Tramp’ Chaplin. He had the large bowl hat, the mustache, the large shoes, the suit and everything in between! He even had a bamboo cane perched up against the library shelf while he read.

“Hi Logan. Charlie Chaplin, huh?” Virgil reacted.

“Indeed. One of the most well known actors of the silent era.” Logan replied.

Virgil smiled and decided to ignore the bad things about Chaplin...for now. “Enjoying the book?” Virgil asked.

“Yes, I am! This is simply a collection of the Brothers Grimm stories compressed into one novel. It’s very interesting understanding just how much grim topics they could handle back in the day.” Logan told him.

Virgil nodded and started to look around himself. He found an aisle filled with classic novels like Little Woman, The Pride and The Prejudice, the Nancy Drew series, the Frankenstein novel and the original Dracula, an aisle filled with Shakespeare books, an aisle filled with outdated nonfiction books on multiple subjects, an entire aisle dedicated to the decades of encyclopedias, and even an entire aisle dedicated to the Marvel comic books throughout the decades! Virgil practically LOST it when he found Edgar Allen Poe novels, and quickly bought them. To make things even cooler, Roman summoned some 1800’s original bills and coins so he could pay for them! Virgil owed him a huge hug for that one.

After visiting the library, Virgil was brought to the cemetery to take a walk with Roman. “You are gonna LOVE this!” Roman told him. They only got a few minutes to walk around the cemetery before the huge clock tower struck 12.

Suddenly, a bunch of skeletons came digging out from under the graves and started dancing! The skeletons were very cartoon-like, similarly to Disney’s skeleton animation! And the best part? They were listening to ‘Spooky Scary Skeletons’ on a big radio as they danced around!

Virgil was smiling through the whole thing. “This is awesome!” Virgil reacted.

“I’ll say!” someone said, walking up to him from behind. Virgil turned around and widened his eyes. “Oh my…Are you Ed Gein?” Virgil asked.

Remus chuckled. “You bet I am!” Remus replied.

Virgil rubbed his nose, but chuckled a little. “You couldn’t go for leather face? Or Norman Bates?” Virgil asked.

“Nope! Gotta go all out!” Remus declared. “And what better than a guy who does more grave-digging than murdering?” Remus joked.

Virgil nodded, but awkwardly looked away. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Remus’s costume.

“WHY HELLO THERE!” someone yelled behind him. Virgil yelped and turned around. It was one of the dancing, singing skeletons!

“O-oh...You talk?” Virgil reacted.

“You BET I do! Call me Skelly!” the skeleton introduced, holding out their bone hand.

Virgil raised an eyebrow and chuckled at the name. “Virgil.” He replied, shaking the bone hand.

“What’s so funny? Is my name rib-ticklin’ to ya?” Skelly asked, showing off his ribcage.

Virgil stifled a laugh and pushed their shoulder. “Knock off the puns. You’re not as humerus as you think.” Virgil told him.

Skelly frowned at first, but quickly caught on. Skelly pointed to his own shoulder and smiled widely, before laughing. “Not bad, ol’ chum!” Skelly reacted. “Now tell me: Are you a skeleton too?” Skelly asked.

Virgil thought for a moment. “Well, not exactly. I do have a skeleton in me, but it’s filled and covered with flesh and organs.” Virgil explained.

“Wow! So, you have muscles?” Skelly asked. Virgil nodded. “A heart?” Skelly asked, pointing to the left side of his own chest. VIrgil giggled and nodded. “Oh! What about a skull?” Skelly asked before knocking on the top of Virgil’s head.

Virgil yipped at first and flapped his hands above his head. “Oi! My noggin’s not for knockin’!” Virgil warned.

Skelly chuckled at that. “What about ribs? Do you have a ribcage too?” Skelly asked, poking the left side of his ribcage.

Virgil jumped and stepped back, throwing his hands up in defense. “Okay buddy...No poking.” Virgil warned.

“Why not? Ticklish ribs?” Skelly asked, poking his ribcage again. Virgil wheezed somewhat and flapped his hands at him. “Dohon’t you dare…” Virgil warned.

Roman walked up to Virgil and picked the man up before throwing him at Skelly. “Have fun!” Roman told him.

Virgil squeaked and reached his arm out. “NO!” before landing into Skelly’s arms.

Skelly caught him perfectly and held him like a baby. “What a cute little fleshy skeleton I have! I could tickle you here,” Skelly started poking and prodding his ribs. “Here, here,” Skelly poked his front ribs. “Here, Aaaand HERE!” Skelly placed its claw tips onto Virgil’s belly and started skittering his fingers on his belly.

“What thehehehe- HAHAhahahaha! Whyhyhyhy thihihihis?!” Virgil asked, falling into a fit of giggles.

“Oh! It’s quite simple, really. I remember hearing from a certain someone, that your black makeup turns a dark purple when you’re all flustered! Isn’t that right, Emperor Romulus?” Skelly explained.

Roman giggled and shook his head. “It’s Roman, Skelly.” Roman corrected.

“Oh yeah…” Skelly muttered as he moved his fingers to Virgil’s sides.

“WAIT! NAHAhahahat myhyhyhy sihihihides! Lahahay ohohoff, mahahahan!” Virgil ordered.

“Lay? Okay.” Skelly laid Virgil down onto the dirt ground and resumed squeezing his sides.

“ThAHAHAt’s nahahahat whahat Ihihi meheheant, ya doohohohofus!” Virgil reacted.

“Really? When you said ‘lay off’, you didn’t mean ‘put me onto the ground and continue tickling me’? I could’ve sworn that was what you meant.” Skelly teased.

“Thahahat’s NAHAHAT whahahat I meheheant, ahahand YOHOHOHOU knohohow ihihihihit!” Virgil shot back.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so harsh on me. Looking at my point of view, you’d be confused too.” Skelly lightly argued.

Then, Skelly decided to pull a move that would drive anyone mad: Skelly started quickly spidering his fingers up and down Virgil’s ribs and sides. “NOOO! NO, NONONO- SKEHEHELLYHYHYHY! STAHAHAHAHAP!” Virgil laughed. Virgil’s eyeshadow color started to change the longer that he was tickled. And the higher up that Skelly’s fingers went, the more hysterical that Virgil’s laughter became. “WAHAHAITWAIT! DON’TGOAHAHANY- AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! CUHUHUHUT IHIHIHIT OHOHOUHUHUT!” Virgil pleaded through his laughter.

“But why? You seem to be having so much fun! I can see it in your eyes!” Skelly proclaimed. “Well...below them, anyway.” Skelly followed up. Virgil’s eyeshadow had turned a pretty hue of purple rather quickly. Roman’s mouth widened excitedly as he gazed upon Virgil’s flustered face. “Roman was right! His eyeshadow CAN turn purple when flustered and happy!” Skelly reacted.

Roman smiled. “So Virgil Sanders enjoys being tickled?” He asked.

“IHIHIHI DOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOT!” Virgil tried to protest.

Roman just giggled at this. “Your eyes and eyeshadow marks give you away. Not only are you flustered by tickling, you seem to love the affection!” Roman explained out loud.

“Well! Rattle my bones and call me Skelly!” Skelly declared in surprise. “This Sweeney Todd is kinda cute!” Skelly declared.

“AHAHAHAM NOHOHOHOHOT!” Virgil protested.

“You really are, Virgil.” Roman replied. “Right, Skelly?” Roman asked.

“You are indeed, right!” Skelly replied.

As much as Skelly wanted to keep tickling him, Roman soon gave him the signal to stop. Skelly followed what he said and retreated his bony fingers. Stepping aside, Skelly let Roman walk up to him and help Virgil up.

“You okay?” Roman asked. Virgil nodded and took Roman’s hand, allowing him to help him up. Virgil’s eyeshadow was still quite purpley after all that. Roman giggled at this and rubbed his cheek. “Still flustery purple.” Roman told him happily.

Virgil giggled and shook his head as he pushed Roman’s hands away. “Stahap that.” Virgil told him, still quite flustered. Roman, Remus and Skelly all laughed at this.

Soon enough, Virgil and Roman moved on, to explore the rest of the city. As they left, Virgil and Roman gave Skelly a goodbye wave. “Bye Skelly! Have fun singing!” Roman yelled to him.

“Will do!” Skelly replied.

“Thank you for the fun time, Skelly!” Virgil said to him.

“Not a problem at all!” Skelly yelled back.

Virgil, Roman and Remus went to a special costume shop next, where he happily got himself a pair of bat wings and a vampire cloak!

By the time the clan got back, Virgil and the sides were feeling as happy as could be. They quickly started showing off their stuff to each other.

Remus got a fake skeleton from the prop shop, a witch potion bottle filled with thick blood, and a big black victorian portrait from the vintage market! He was non stop talking about having his room all halloween-y, till Remembrance day comes around.

Logan got himself a dozen books, a vintage writing book, a fountain pen and multiple ink reloading viles! He was all set for some journaling.

Roman got himself a classic king crown, an empty treasure chest to fill with items, and some vintage, expensive-looking jewellery for himself! He looked super excited to look like he was covered in riches.

Besides the bat wings and the cloak, Virgil also got himself some ruby red lipstick, a pretty black vampire choker, and a pair of black formal shoes.

With how the day went, Roman could proudly proclaim that Halloween City was a big success! Roman placed the entire imagined place into a pretty notebook and carved the words ‘Halloween City’ and ‘open on November 1, 2021’ into the front before placing it onto his book shelf...

#halloween #imagination #ler!skelly #lee!virgil #virgil is a sweetheart #emperor roman #1900s logan #ed gein remus #sweeney todd virgil

28 notes · View notes

scripts4dreamers · 4 years

Text

Not Your Hero. Chapter 3

Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Y/N finds out that this second trip to the capitol may leave her with as many scars as the first but, is anything really different? It feels that way.

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation, alcohol abuse and some unhealthy coping mechanisms

Prompt/Inspiration: Pretender (acoustic) - AJR and Miss Americanah and The Heartbreak Prince - Taylor Swift

(Note: the song Y/N is hearing is A Very Good Year from Robbie Williams’ Swing When You’re Winning album)

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

Your knuckles were white where you clenched the balcony’s railing, whether from anger or shock you couldn’t yet tell. The night air was cold and refreshing against your skin but, as usual, you wished the city wasn’t always so...loud. Even now, at nearly three in the morning, the din hadn’t subsided and the sound of trains, cars, music and chatter seeped into your pours like a toxin. You took a swig from the tumbler of whiskey beside you, wincing as it burned its way down your throat like fire. You hadn’t gotten used to the taste yet but you’d been working your way through the bottle for the better part of the night and by now it was more than half gone. You’d run out of ice hours ago, not that that was going to stop you. You weren’t doing it for the flavor, you were doing it because you didn’t know what else to do. Your mind was whirling, so you drank, plain and simple.

It made sense now, you supposed, all the secrecy, the dread that had been following you for weeks, the thinly veiled looks of sympathy and concern on your friends’ faces, all of it. You took a deep breath in, trying to muster up some sort of emotion and finding none. It made sense, it was reasonable, you understood, but you should be angry, right? No one warned you. They all knew, but they said nothing, wasn’t that wrong? Shouldn’t you be angry about that? Shouldn’t you be scared? Disgusted? Heartbroken? Shouldn’t you feel something right now? Slowly, you exhaled an exhausted sigh, taking another sip from your tumbler. Well, you reasoned, you guessed not.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the shock wore off and the alcohol had faded and the world came back into focus, maybe then you’d feel it. In the background an old Robbie Williams record crooned on about a very good year and suddenly the sound of violins rose up through the floorboards and drowned out the noise of the city. You closed your eyes and soaked it in like a dream. For a moment, the first in a long, long time, everything was good. You were full and clean and healthy, the alcohol made you feel light and unburdened and strong and, just for that moment, it was a beautiful night. Just for a second, it was a beautiful night and nothing could touch you except the wind. Tomorrow, you promised yourself, tomorrow you would deal with Snow’s ultimatum and everything that came with it. Tomorrow you would be afraid but tonight was your night; tonight you were well and truly a Victor.

His footsteps gave him away, even though you knew he could be silent as a cat when he wanted, but you didn’t turn, holding onto your fragile perfect moment. Finnick’s profile appeared in your peripheral vision, sharp and striking against the city skyline and, without saying anything, you slid him the bottle. He took a swing of the whiskey, barely flinching, and passed it back.

“So I guess you probably hate me now,” he finally said, trying to hide the quiver in his voice, “not that I blame you, of course.”

You smiled to yourself, still facing out over the city and glancing at Finnick out of the corner of your eye. Someone had prettied him up of course, same as you but, no matter what they did, there wasn’t a stylist or prep team alive who could take more than partial credit for Finnick Odair. His skin, the way light caught on his auburn hair, the cut of his jaw, those piercing eyes; they were almost comically perfect, like someone had dreamt him into being. Sometimes stylists interfered more than they needed to and it became too much but, you noticed without meaning to, tonight they’d got it right. He was in a simple black suit, with a stiff collared white button-up, which he’d unbuttoned slightly and a bowtie, which he’d obviously undone at some point during the night. Overall, the effect was casual and debonair and let Finnick’s natural beauty take center stage. In short, he looked good, really good, so good that it made you slightly breathless. But right then, more than anything else, he looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot and tensing his jaw as he stared determinedly forward. You knew that look. He was bracing for the impact, waiting for the rejection he was sure was coming.

“No,” you answered, “I don’t hate you, Finnick. I understand why you did what you did.”

Even from your periphery, you saw his double take and you smiled to yourself again, meeting his eye for the first time since his arrival. Your smile seemed to confuse Finnick even more and the look on his face was so sweet and endearing that it made your heart pinch.

There was a brief pause where you just looked at one another, sizing each other up like strangers, before Finnick managed to ask, “Why not?”

The alcohol in your blood thrummed and pulsed, keeping you happy and light and you shrugged, taking another sip from your tumbler, “What would telling me have done, really?” you answered, “I already knew something bad was coming, I just didn’t have the specifics figured out, that’s all.” You continued, turning back to the city, “And, even if you did tell me, we couldn’t have done anything about it. If Snow wants me to be his personal whore, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. He could have blown my head off in that office and no one could have done a damn thing about it. Compared to that, I’d say I got off easy.” you finished, smiling ruefully.

Finnick nodded, “I did want to.” he said, “Tell you, I mean. That first night in your room, I really considered it.”

“But?”

“But I wanted you to have a few more days.” he admitted, “Once you know-” he shrugged, “well, you don’t really forget a thing like that, do you?”

“No, I don’t imagine you do,” you laughed, earning a tired smile from Finnick.

You lapsed into comfortable silence, ruminating on the night together, as you had done on many nights over the last few days. After that first night, when you realised the depth of your affection for one another, you and Finnick had fallen into a sort of unspoken routine. During the day you socialised and mingled, you smiled and joked with the others and kept your distance but every evening, as night fell, you would inevitably find yourselves drawn back together, back to the safety and comfort of your room. Once, you’d simply stayed up through the night talking, swapping stories from home and fears for the future but, more often, one of you would succumb to sleep and be tucked in by the other, who would then sleep in the comfortable armchair. Usually the nightmares would draw you out of sleep at some point but, when they did, Finnick was there and maybe that made it easier, maybe you weren’t so afraid of sleep anymore, so long as he was with you. And maybe it helped him too, maybe that’s why he kept coming back.

You looked over at him again, turning your body so you could study his profile intently. He looked sad, you noticed, so sad that it hurt to look at him and you wanted to reach out, close that distance between your bodies and touch. That was one thing you never did. Not after that first day. Whether it was because you were both victors and physical contact was something of a trigger, or it was some sort of instinctual sense of self-preservation, clinging to that separation like a safety net while you bared your souls didn’t really matter. The fact remained. The only time you and Finnick ever touched one another was in the moments just after a nightmare, when the panic was fresh in your blood and you needed an anchor to bring you back into the present. Only then, under the cover of complete darkness, would either one of you reach out to the other for comfort and, even then, he would only rest his hand on the small of your back for a moment, for as long as it took for your breathing to even out. As soon as that happened, Finnick would pull back and reinstate the distance, as though your skin might burn him even through your clothes. Just another unspoken rule, another limit, something you were more than happy to stick to if it meant keeping Finnick around.

But tonight, with the alcohol and the music and the lights, it felt different. Tonight you wanted to close that distance, to feel if his skin was as smooth as it looked, or if his hands were as rough as you remembered. You wanted to touch him, to see if it felt as electric and thrilling and dangerous when the lights were on as it did in those few stolen moments in the darkness. More than that, you wanted him to let you, and to touch you back.

You shook your head to clear it, your heart pounding in your chest as you realised how far your thoughts had strayed. It wasn’t your place, you reminded yourself sternly, Finnick was your friend. He trusted you. You watched him take another swig from the whiskey bottle, long and deep this time, and tried not to focus too hard on his lips.

“You done staring yet, kid?” he asked with a hint of fondness, shooting you a look that made you blush and look away.

“I told you not to call me kid,” you said, settling in to the old, comfortable argument.

“But you are a kid,” Finnick smiled.

“I’m two years younger than you,” you protested for the millionth time, “if I’m a kid, you’re a kid too.”

He shrugged, “True enough, but I’m still less of a kid than you, kid.”

“Yeah well, I’m less of an ass than you.” you shot back without any real malice.

Finnick chuckled; a soft, rolling sound that always sent a shiver down your spine, “That’s also true enough.” he answered quietly.

You let the silence stretch on for a second but, now that you’d started talking, it was like you couldn’t stop and words just kept bubbling up in your chest, fighting to slip out into the cool night air.

“I was just thinking,” you finally said, taking a half a step closer, one hand still on the railing.

“About?”

“Your nightmares,” you answered honestly, “this is what they’re about, isn’t it? It’s not the arena, it’s Snow and his...customers.”

Finnick sighed, looked back at you and then down at the whiskey, “This stuff is disgusting.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment but you shrugged, “It’s all I could steal on my way out of Snow’s office, and I didn’t want to go back down to the party after that.”

Finnick nodded like he understood and pushed himself up off the railing, “Wait here.” he commanded as he vanished back into the mansion.

You wanted to shoot back something clever and snarky about how he wasn’t the boss of you, but your heart wasn’t in it. Instead you took a seat at one of the two sun loungers someone had forgotten to remove and listened to Finnick’s footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time and disappeared back down into the thrum of the party. As soon as you couldn’t hear him anymore, you pressed your hand to your chest and swore loudly when you saw that it was shaking.

“Get it together, Y/N,” you whispered, resting your forehead in your palms, “it’s Finnick. It’s just Finnick.”

Up until tonight you thought you’d had your feelings under control. They were confusing and inconvenient and messy and wonderful but they’d never been dangerous, they’d never been so strong that it felt like they were pulsing just under your skin, itching to get out. It was scary but, a small voice in your head whispered, it was also sort of thrilling. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t even hear Finnick return with three bottles of champagne.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he said without meeting your eye, “had to sneak into the kitchen to get these. I figured, since it’s technically your party, they wouldn’t mind.”

You forced a smile, taking a bottle without brushing his fingers, “They aren’t missing me?”

“If they have any brains at all they’re missing you terribly,” Finnick smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the lounger you were on and getting to work opening the bottle he was holding, “but between you disappearing into Snow’s office and 98% of them being roaringly drunk, I don’t think they’ve noticed; no.” He finished, “Ah, there we go.”

As he said that, he managed to pop the cork and bubbles spilled over the neck and onto the lounger. You laughed and leaned forward, grabbing the bottle and sucking up the sweet bubbles without thinking. Finnick laughed, shaking his hand dry as you drank. The champagne made your head feel light and airy, but it was undoubtedly better than whiskey and it was only once the bubbles had subsided that you passed the bottle back to Finnick.

“Not bad, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “not bad at all.”

“For a kid, you mean,” you teased.

“Of course,” he assured, “for a kid.”

You shrugged, “Spillage is sippage, Haymitch taught me that.”

“Terrible influence, that one,” Finnick smiled, taking a swig from the open bottle, “I love him.”

“Me too.”

Finnick sighed, steeling himself for something unpleasant, and passed you the bottle. You drank, but kept your eyes on him, not pushing, just waiting. Eventually he turned to face you and pulled his leg up onto the lounger, so his knee was brushing yours. It was unintentional, you reasoned, but that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat like a rabbit and staying there as you held his gaze, passing the bottle back. As you did, you shivered and Finnick’s brow creased with concern.

“Shit, Y/N/N, you’re cold,” he said, pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders before you could do much more than mumble that you were fine.

“Thanks,” you blushed, pulling the blazer tighter around yourself.

He nodded and looked down at the bottle in his hands, tensing his jaw thoughtfully. In one fluid motion he raised it to his lips and he drank deep.

“It’s both,” Finnick finally said, “the arena and Snow, in my nightmares.” he explained when you looked up at him questioningly, “Sometimes one, sometimes the other, but usually both.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Finnick smiled ruefully, examining the bottle in his hand, “fuck Y/N/N,” he swore, looking up suddenly and meeting your eye, “I’m so sorry. I never-I wish I could-”

His intensity shocked you but, as he looked down again he looked so defeated that your heart ached and he suddenly seemed fragile. Without giving yourself a moment to doubt or second guess, you leaned forward and touched his forearms gently. He flinched, but didn’t pull away, meeting your gaze head on, a question flickering at the edge of his piercingly green eyes. Whatever he saw in your eyes must have been enough because you felt his muscles relax under your palms.

“I’m sorry, Fin. I can’t even imagine how hard these last four years have been for you.” you said gently.

Finnick flushed and, when he did, he looked young, “They couldn’t really touch me for the first two years,” he explained, “they had to wait until I was of age.”

You shook your head and tightened your grip slightly, “That doesn’t make it better, Fin. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, looking at you with some unidentifiable emotion, “Thanks, Y/N.”

You shivered. Something about hearing Finnick say your name, your full name, always made you feel vulnerable and exposed. Maybe it was because, when he said it, you knew he was seeing you, like really seeing you. Maybe it was because you liked that. Maybe you just liked the way he made it sound.

You knew you should pull your hands back, end the moment, go back to joking and laughing with one another but you didn’t. It felt too good and you were just drunk enough to be selfish about it. There was a sincerity, you realised, to the way Finnick was looking at you right now, like you were something precious to him, something valuable. It felt heavy and meaningful and...warm. But there was also a sadness there, a longing for something, like he wanted to talk but couldn’t, a fear. Fear of what you weren’t sure; rejection? Hurt? Cruelty? You were sure he’d never looked at you like that before.

Or maybe he has, a voice in the back of your head whispered, maybe you just couldn’t see his face in all that darkness.

You opened your mouth to talk but paused just before the words left your lips. Instead you just moved your hands down Finnick’s forearms, until your fingers brushed over his palms and you were gripping his hands. Some small part of your brain noted that they felt exactly how you remembered them, but it was quickly silenced by the rush of electricity that shot through your fingertips the moment your skin touched his. You heard his voice catch and looked up just in time to see the flash of fear that ran through Finnick’s eyes.

“Was there another reason,” you asked quietly, your heart pounding in your ears, “that you didn’t want to tell me about Snow?”

Finnick looked down at your hands, swallowing hard and squeezing your hand tight, as though he was afraid it might slip away.

“Finnick,” you pressed gently, “talk to me.”

If Finnick saying your name had had an effect on you, hearing you say his shook him to the core.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” he said quickly, avoiding your eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like a capitol plaything,” he answered, his mouth curling like the words tasted bitter, “like Snow’s puppet.”

You frowned, “Fin, I’d never-I don’t see you that way. That’s not what you are!” you insisted. Finnick gave you a disbelieving look and you felt that rush of protective fire in the pit of your stomach again.

There were so many things you wanted to say at once that you couldn’t decide, so you did the only thing you could think to do to get your point across; you leant forward and kissed him. For a horrible second Finnick just froze and you were convinced that you’d made a terrible mistake but then, like a switch had flipped in his head, he melted into your arms and pulled you tight against his body. You sighed into the kiss, revelling in it like sunlight because kissing Finnick...wow. Kissing Finnick felt like injecting liquid light directly into your veins; it felt like looking out over the ocean right before a storm. It drowned out everything else; every car, every train, every bit of ambient noise that could distract from the man in your arms faded into nothing and you lost yourself. If it wasn’t for Finnick’s steadiness, his surety, you were sure you would have simply burned up and ceased to exist. It was too much and not nearly enough. It was electric and passionate and gentle and good and and and…And it was over too soon.

You broke apart, breathing heavily, with your foreheads resting against each other. Finnick opened his mouth to speak but, before he could say something self deprecating and untrue, you pressed your fingers to his lips and met his gaze head on.

“Finnick Odair, you are the bravest, funniest, kindest and most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” you started, “You are not a plaything, or a puppet. You’re doing what you have to do to keep the people you care about safe. That’s all any of us can do, that’s what it means to be a victor and-and now it’s my fight too. We’re in this together, okay?”

Finnick nodded, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, “Okay.”

You went to move away but Finnick kept you close, his eyes glinting with steely determination.

“Fin?”

“I won’t let him hurt you, Y/N,” he swore, “not like he hurt me. I won’t, I’ll-”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, “don’t-don’t promise me that. Just promise you’ll be there for me when he does, okay?” you asked, feeling, for the first time, the prickly hand of dread on your back, “Promise I won’t be alone?”

Finnick looked sad but he cupped your cheek and nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, soft as a petal.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Mhmm?”

“It’s nearly the end of the party, before we go, will you dance with me?”

You looked up, shocked by the depth of emotion you felt in Finnick’s eyes. He reached out his and you took it, letting him pull you up and guide you back inside. You were halfway down the staircase before you realised you were still wearing his jacket but, when you tried to give it back, he just shook his head. Something was bubbling in the pit of your stomach now, like the champagne from earlier, a blend of anxiety and anticipation all swirling together and making you alert. Every step brought you closer and closer, made the music louder and louder, made your heart beat faster and faster. And, all the while Finnick stood right beside you, steady as ever. From the base of the staircase you could see it all, the corridor across from where you were that led to the president’s quarters, the gardens behind that and the grand mahogany stairs standing between you and the dancefloor.

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

Finnick stopped on the last stair, taking a moment for himself, just one; to remember you in exactly the way you were in that moment, windswept and free and totally his, with smudged lipstick and his blazer around your shoulders, holding his hand like he was some sort of lifeline. It was surreal, everything he’d been dreaming of since the moment he’d seen you all those days ago. Could it really have only been nine days? He hardly felt like the same person now that he was then. There was so much he wanted to tell you, so much you needed to talk about and workout before this could be anything real but, god he wanted it to be. He wanted to take you home with him right then and press a thousand kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your neck, your collarbones. He wanted to touch and hold and protect and claim. He wanted you to be his, like this forever. Something stirred in his chest, strong and undeniable, like a tidal wave poised to crash onto the shore. There would be time, he promised himself, lots of time but for now, he just had to get you through tonight.

You were still clutching his hand, worrying at the inside of your cheek as you looked out across the seas of brightly coloured people drunkenly swaying around the dancefloor.

He kissed you then, because he couldn’t not, and the look in your eyes when he pulled away was sweet enough to sustain him through the next three years at least.

“By the way, you look beautiful tonight, Y/N,” he whispered, “I don’t think I mentioned that earlier. I should have.”

You blushed and something near his heart pinched, “You look beautiful too, Fin.”

“Yeah but that’s a given,” he teased, slipping his jacket from your shoulders and wishing, more than anything that he could just walk out there with his hand in yours and his head held high, “you’re the unknown entity, kid.”

You laughed and took the elbow he was offering, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief as the tension leached out of your body, “Remind me to never compliment you again.” you smiled.

“It was a horrible decision on your part, I can feel my ego swelling as we walk.”

You laughed as he led you to the top of the second staircase. Heads were turning in your direction rapidly now and, not for the first time in his life, Finnick wished for anonymity. He wished he was just another man, staring up at you in wonder, hoping to catch the attention of a pretty girl at a party.

As if you could sense the shift in his mood, you leant up and whispered in his ear, “Also don’t think you can call me ‘kid’ anymore, since you had your tongue in my mouth like five minutes ago.”

It took every ounce of poise Finnick had to not just break down and ruin the whole act right there but he managed. Just.

“Remind me why I want to dance with you again?” He said softly as you reached the dancefloor, placing your right hand on his shoulder and lifting your left in his.

You shrugged and followed his lead, “You guess is as good as mine.”

As you looked up, Finnick felt his breath catch in his throat. You were so close. Close enough that he could see each of your eyelashes, and smell the sweet, fruity perfume that you sprayed in your hair every day and your lips, god your lips. He would never be able to look at them again, not without wanting to kiss you until they bruise. What would happen if he did? Surely whatever happened would be worth it for one more taste of that heavenly adrenaline.

“Fin,” you whispered, snapping him out of his daydreams, “Why did you want to dance with me?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he answered honestly, “and because, it’s your night and-” he smiled sadly, “and because I’ve always hated this place and now, no matter what happens, I can say I slow-danced with someone I cared about, in a beautiful house, surrounded by beautiful people, none of whom could hold a candle to her, and enjoyed it before I died.”

“One good memory here,” you agreed.

“Yeah, one good memory, to help cancel out all the bad.”

And Y/N Y/LN, he thought to himself, you’re the best memory I’ve got.

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

taglist: @i-love-you-green , @heatherhollowayst, @givethnofucketh, @gnvve

153 notes · View notes

krispydefendorpolice · 4 years

Text

Once Upon A Miraculous - Part 1

Okay so this prompt got away from me and now you all get a two parter. Yay me,😭😭😭

Also you guys are freaking amazing because I was not expecting the responses I got from everyone on my preview post. Especially since all I said was “hey I got a new story who wants to hear it”.

This is for @pepelachanel for the story idea. Oh my goodness, the brain worm you gave me have led me to write over 3,400 words of Jasonette goodness. And angst. Sorry for that.

I hope this is enjoyable.

Next Masterpost list

————————————

“Dan?” She asked the car with the plate that matched the ones on her Uber App.

“Marinette?” The man asked. He got out of the vehicle and opened the trunk for her bags when she nodded.

“Welcome to Gotham,” he said when they were both back in the car. “Is this your first time to the city?”

“No, I’ve been here before, a few years ago.” Marinette said looking out the window at the buildings they passed.

“What brings you back then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m on my way to school in New York and I just thought I’d stop and see an old friend.”

“You’re close with this friend?”

“I was, but he died a couple years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said apologetically.

“Thank you. I wasn’t able to come for his funeral.” She smiled sadly, “This is the first time I’ve been able to come and properly pay my respects.”

They grew quiet as the driver continued to navigate the traffic in Gotham and Marinette’s thoughts drifted to that long ago summer.

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

Marinette was 15 years old the first time she went to Gotham. She came at the request of Jagged Stone to work as his costume designer for his American tour. Marinette’s parents had agreed when Sabine’s old roommate from University had agreed to act as Marinette’s chaperone.

Selina Kyle was impressed by the girls creative mind. Everywhere they went the girl brought a sketchbook and she was drawing every time she had a chance.

They were at the Wayne building as Selina had set a lunch date with her fiancé and they had agreed to pick up the man and his son there. Marinette was sitting in the downstairs lobby where she could see the stained glass over the entrance doors while she waited for Selina to collect the men.

“What are you drawing?”

Marinette jumped at the voice but looked at the speaker. He was a big man? Boy? He looked about her age really so boy was probably right. He had a large build, about the size of her classmate Ivan. The same black hair too, but his eyes were blue like her own.

“A dress design,” Marinette answered looking back at the beginning sketch on the page.

“You’re a designer?”

“Yes. I mostly work on commission right now but I do some designing for myself.”

The boy nodded and looked from the sketch up to the windows she had used as inspiration. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve walked past these windows a lot and never seen them this way before.”

“Most of the world does,” Marinette says, “I’ve just trained myself to look at the things we mostly take for granted in new ways for inspiration .”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“My guardian. We’re going to lunch with her fiancé and his son.”

The boy’s face brightened as he smiled, “You must be Marinette then.”

Marinette was surprised and it showed on her face.

He laughed, “I’m Jason Todd-Wayne. My father Bruce is Selina’s fiancé.”

“I didn’t say her name.” Marinette argued.

“My dad knows everyone that works for him and if someone else had gotten engaged we would know about it.”

“Marinette, Jason! I see you’ve already met. Are you ready to go?” Selina asked as she walked up to them with a man behind her.

During her time in Gotham Marinette ended up spending most of her free time with Jason. As he was on summer break as well he helped her when she needed to do work for Jagged and attended the concerts with her as her assistant.

They grew close, sharing jokes and stories. He showed her around the town and all the best places to go. He shared how he was an outcast in school for being a former street kid thrown into the world of the prestigious upper crust elite. Marinette shared how she was an outcast because of a liar who turned all her friends and the entire class against her. It was one of the main reason’s her parents had even agreed to let her go on tour with Jagged and Selina.

It was a week before her return to Paris that he kissed her for the first time. They spent the last week together going on dates and spending as much time together as they could.

Before she got on the plane to take her back to Paris he gave her a small wrapped package and said to hold onto it until he told her to open it. She agreed and placed it in her bag before kissing him and getting on the plane. She waved to him from the end of the flyway (the goof had purchased a ticket just so he could walk her to the gate but Bruce had refused to actually let him fly off to Paris).

Once home Marinette settled in. She took the box and placed it on a shelf above her designing area.

Then a crash outside had her transforming and running off to fight yet another Akuma.

The next day at school Marinette found out that some of the American news agencies had gotten pictures of her and Jason together. Many were from when they were just friends but a couple were taken after their kiss.

Her so called ‘friends’ jumped her when she entered the classroom asking when she had gone to America, why didn’t she tell them, could she introduce the Waynes to them?

Marinette ignored them, pushed through the crowd and took the seat in the back of the class. She pulled out her phone and sent a message and waited for his response.

Marinette jumped when hands slammed on her desk.

“Girl, why are you ignoring us. That’s not being a very good friend,” Alya said.

“We’re not,” Marinette answered.

“We’re not?” Alya looked confused by the words. “Not what?”

“We’re not friends,” Marinette said standing from her seat. “I haven’t heard from any of you in months. Not one of you sent me a message at any point while I was abroad. But even before that none of you talked with me, or have hung out with me in months. If that’s how you treat friends then I want no part of it.”

The class looked away from her, ashamed of how they had treated one of the kindest girls in the class.

Marinette took her seat as the teacher came into the class and the lesson began.

That exchange set the tone for the rest of the school year. A few, Nathaniel, Rose and Juleka, had apologized and did their best to rebuild their friendship with Marinette. They did get to meet Jason during one of his trips to Paris with Bruce when he came for business.

He wasn’t thrilled that Marinette had forgiven their treatment of her but was glad they were showing true remorse over it. They continued to talk or message daily with an occasional visit back and forth for the rest of the year.

It was a bright and sunny Saturday morning when

Marinette saw Bruce again.

“Mr Wayne, come in we weren’t expecting you were we?” She asked when she found the man at the door. He looked a mess but she didn’t want to be rude and mention it. “Did Jason come with you?”

He flinched at her question.

Marinette stilled at the unusual reaction.

“I. There.” He stopped and swallowed harshly. “There was an attack. The Joker, he took Jason.”

Marinette gasped, “is he okay? Was he hurt?”

Bruce shook his head, “I’m sorry Marinette. He didn’t make it.”

Her vision clouded over as tears filled her eyes and she dropped to her knees and cried.

Bruce pulled her into a clumsy embrace as he cried with her and just repeated “I’m sorry” over and over again.

The funeral was a week later. Bruce had offered to fly her to Gotham for the service but Marinette had to turn it down. The fights with Hawkmoth’s Akuma’s had increased and she and Chat Noir were fighting them on a near daily basis.

At 16 she grieved for a life, a love, a dream lost too soon.

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

Marinette accepted Adrian’s proposal. They had been dating for about six months at that point and she wanted to move on with her life. She couldn’t keep it on hold over a memory of a boy who would talk stained glass windows with her.

She took that old, little box, still in its wrapping and placed it in a drawer where she could keep all the memories it held with it.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had been fighting for four years by that time. It was a long battle but they were beginning to make headway. They had clues now, a new AkumaApp was produced that allowed the citizens of Paris to report when they saw the black butterfly’s. Using that information and the information provided by the Akuma victim’s themselves they were narrowing down the location of Hawkmoth's lair.

Soon they would have enough information to find the villain.

She was 18 years old.

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

Hawkmoth was unmasked and Gabriel Agreste was arrested.

Emilie Agreste was found in a coma under the house. Life support was stopped and she was pronounced dead five minutes later.

The first few months post Hawkmoth’s reveal, Adrian and Marinette worked to keep his company from folding due to the negative press while Marinette tried to keep Adrian from falling apart from losing both his parents the way he had.

Once things were beginning to settle and the company was evening out Adrian asked for a divorce. He wanted to end their marriage because there was someone else, someone he had promised himself he’d pursue if he ever had a chance.

Marinette moved back with her parents in the apartment over the bakery. Two days later Chat Noir and Ladybug met on top of the Eiffel Tower to say their final goodbyes. Back where their partnership had really begun with Ladybugs declaration that they would defeat Hawkmoth.

When Adrian revealed himself, Ladybug took the ring of the black cat and said she’d never agree to date someone like him.

Marinette was 19 years old.

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

“We’re here miss,” the driver said as he pulled up in front of the gates to Wayne Manor.

Marinette leaned out the window to press the call button on the gate box.

“Can I help you?” The voice not the other side asked.

“Oui, monsieur. Is Monsieur Wayne home?”

“He is out at the moment. Is he expecting you?”

“No, my name is Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. This was a rather impromptu trip I decided to make at the last minute. Perhaps you could help me. Would you be able to tell me in which cemetery Jason Todd was buried?”

Marinette was worried she wouldn’t get an answer when silence followed her question.

“Please drive up to the house.”

The gates opened and the car drove up. At the house the doors were opened by an elderly gentleman who walked to the car and opened the door for Marinette when they stopped.

“I am Alfred Pennyworth. We did not get to meet when you were last in Gotham Miss, but I did hear a great deal about you from Master Jason.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you monsieur Pennyworth, Jason had a great many things to say about you.”

“Do you have your things with you?”

“Just the bag in the trunk,” Marinette admitted.

Alfred went around and when the driver opened the trunk he picked up her bag.

“This way Miss Marinette.”

Marinette gave the driver a quick thank you before she followed Alfred into the house. He placed her bag down in the entryway, “I’ll make up a room for your stay and bring the bag up in a moment. Follow me please.”

“Oh, that’s okay I have a room at the Comfort Inn monsieur. I didn’t expect monsieur Wayne to put me up. I just came because I was never told where Jason was laid to rest and I was hoping someone could tell me.”

“The grave stone is in the Wayne family cemetery on the grounds Miss Marinette. It will be no trouble to give you a room for your stay. If you still insist after seeing Master Wayne and the others I will, of course, understand and drive you to your hotel myself.”

“Merci monsieur Pennyworth.”

“You may call me Alfred Miss Marinette,” he said with a kindly smile.

“Merci monsieur Alfred,” Marinette returned the smile as she followed him into what looked like an office.

Marinette was confused when Alfred walked to a grandfather clock and opened the glass door to move the hands on the face. She was startled when the wall next to the clock opened up to reveal a hidden door.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor Miss Marinette,” Alfred said and walked inside and down the stone steps.

Marinette considered it for a moment, the man could be leading her somewhere where he could kill her without risking her alerting someone after all, but everything she had heard about Alfred from Jason had said he wasn’t that kind of person.

Of course this man could be an imposter, she thought to herself as she followed him down the stairs. But well, cats weren’t the only ones that curiosity killed.

At the bottom of the stairs the room opened up into a large underground cave. The space to her immediate right was filled with glass cases each with an empty mannequin inside. A second row above had cases with costumed mannequins inside. They were various costumes worn by Gotham’s Dark Knight and his partners.

To the left was a large computer and various machines that would have been at home in a police forensics lab. In the center was an open space with a couple vehicles parked. The open spaces between the bike and cars could have been held for additional vehicles.

On the far side of the parking space was a giant coin and a dinosaur. Around the base of the dinosaur were a variety of cases that held other mementos from past battles.

“The family should be home soon. Would you like some tea while we wait?”

Marinette looked at the elderly man in surprise. Looked around the cave. And looked at the man again. She mutely nodded her head in acceptance.

After taking the offered cup, Marinette sipped it before asking the question she’d wanted to since she’d seen the insignia on one of the costumes.

“Monsieur Wayne is the Batman?”

“He is.”

“Was Jason... Did Jason die because he was a Robin?”

Alfred closed his eyes in grief, “he did. Joker got a hold of him. He tortured Master Jason before leaving him locked in a warehouse with a live bomb. Master Bruce was unable to make it in time to save him.”

Marinette paled at Alfred’s words. Though she teared up at the pain he must have gone through she was sure that Jason would have been a hero even if he had known what would happen to him. He’d had that edge of protectiveness he’d developed as a street kid when the younger kids were being harassed or bullied by older kids. He was a hero to the core. In or out of costume.

Marinette sniffled as Alfred poured fresh tea into her cup to give her a moment to collect herself.

“I do believe we’ll have a full house this evening,” he said to distract her. “Master Dick is in town following an arms dealer from Bludhaven. Master Jason is assisting him and Master Damian has insisted on helping as well.”

“I’ve heard about Dick from Jason. He was monsieur Wayne’s ward, a son to him yes? But the other’s I’ve never heard of.”

“Yes Master Dick was Master Bruce’s ward and son. Master Timothy was in a similar situation, when his parents died a few years ago Master Bruce took him in and later adopted him. Master Damian however is Master Bruce’s biological son. He came to us about a year and a half ago. He was almost as wild as Master Jason when he first came to us.”

Marinette giggled. Jason had told her about what a little shit he had been when he first came to the Wayne house. He had been convinced that Bruce was some kind of pedophile and had adopted him as some attempt to get a living sex toy. Jason had decided if that was the old man’s game he’d have another think coming to him.

It took a couple of months before Bruce and Alfred were able to convince the former street kid that that was not the reason why they took Jason off the streets. Of course that was not before Jason had managed to set every alarm and clock in the house to go off at noon everyday or change the passwords to every electronic device to Batmansucks****!

“That must have been an adventure,” Marinette offered.

“Quite,” the man said.

The quiet after they settled to their thoughts was broken by the roar of a motorcycle.

A man in a black costume with a blue bird insignia across the chest was the first to arrive.

“Alfred, I didn’t know we’d have a guest?” He looked at Marinette curiously.

“Master Dick this is Miss Marinette,” Alfred said by way of introduction.

He looked at the older man curiously, “I haven’t heard of a Marinette before. Sorry,” he apologized to her when he realized he was talking about her in front of her.

Marinette shook her head in dismissal, “I wouldn’t expect monsieur Wayne to have any reason to talk about me so I understand that you wouldn’t know of me.”

Before they could say anything else two more bikes and the batmobile pulled into the cave.

“Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Damian, Miss Cassie,” Alfred called as they got off bikes and out of the car, “come greet Miss Marinette.”

Tim looked to be average height, about an inch or two shorter than Dick. Both had black hair and their eyes were hidden by the domino masks.

The girl looked to be closer to Marinette’s height but taller than Marinette herself, so probably average for a woman at 5’4 or so. She too had black hair and a mask.

The youngest looked to be no more than a child. Marinette would eat her hat if he was older than 12. Again he had black hair though it was hard to see and his eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hood as well as by a mask.

The Batman, one billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne, was the tallest and walked up to her.

“I didn’t realize you were coming,” he said as he removed the cowl hiding his features, “or that you knew our secret.”

“I didn’t know until Monsieur Alfred brought me down. I made a last minute decision to come visit Jason’s grave before I go to New York for the new school term.”

She didn’t miss the way Dick and Tim stiffened at the mention of the grave but didn’t know why. Did they not want strangers to go to the cemetery? Alfred had mentioned it was a family cemetery. Surely they could allow her a few moments to pay her respects?

“Mmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement.

“I believe I made my opinion clear on the matter years ago Master Bruce,” Alfred said. As he left the cave he said over his shoulder, “Now you may handle this yourselves.”

Marinette watched him go with a frown but another engine coming into the cave drew her attention.

The man getting off was the biggest of all the Bat themed heroes, even Batman. He wore a leather jacket and a red helmet. He removed the helmet as he walked to where everyone was gathered by the computer but stopped when he saw everyone sitting there.

When no one moved, Marinette stood and walked to the new person. “Hi. Monsieur Alfred introduced the others but I haven’t gotten your name yet. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she held out her hand for him to shake.

The man’s jaw worked as he looked to be trying to find the right words.

He finally settled for removing the mask he wore under the helmet. Marinette gasped her eyes going wide and her hands covering her mouth.

“It’s me Nettie. I’m alive.”

At 20 years old Marinette’s dreams, her love, was brought back to life.

————————————

Ok thoughts on the story? I’m gonna try to have Part 2 up sometime this next week. If you want off the taglist let me know. If you’re not on but want to be for part two let me know that as well.

@mellownieice @kris-pines04 @zebrabaker @two-faced-biatch @vixen-uchiha @mandy984 @shamefullove @mycupisbroken @dawnwave16 @abrx2002 @mochinek0 @tbehartoo @fertileleaf @thanks-captain-obvious @ravennightingaleandavatempus @hinata3487 @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @zalladane

I cant find blogs for: @slytherinsheashire

#jasonette #marinette x jason

316 notes · View notes

elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

December Contest Submission #20: Never shall you ask me

Words: ca. 4500 Setting: Viking AU / late 9th century Norway Lemon: no CW: strong language, mentions of animal sacrifice, blood

Elsa Agnarrsdóttir had never minded the cold. It was warmth that made her shiver.

The cold had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember: at first, long days spent by the seashore, waiting for her father’s drakkar to fly into Arnardalr’s harbour laden with riches from foreign lands, ocean breeze tearing at her braid and gown and salt wash speckling her skin. Then, after, silent marches through wintery woods, white as far as the eye could see, with no companion save the darkness and the numbing chill in her bones.

The warmth, though? Loge’s flickering child had danced through the straw and thatch and rafters of her father’s hall like a hungry houseguest as, below, her kinsmen had fallen to the storm of shining battle-flames. The warmth had seared her, marked her for its own. Even now she feared it, for it meant the din of cups and the laughter of men in the feast hall, the company of ravens and the courtesy of wolves.

Her maidservants shuddered as they stepped out into the cold from the heat of the mead hall and drew their furs closer, but Elsa stood proud and tall as a mast. She breathed in the sea breeze, felt the chill through the fabric of her dress. The guards outside—Hans’s—gave her respectful nods as she passed and fell in after them.

In silence, they proceeded outside the village and climbed the Thing hill, a bare, rocky knoll overlooking the harbour. Her grandfather, King Rúnharðr Rauðskeggr, had erected a runestone there, praising his deeds, but Hans had allowed the painted runes to weather away, so that only faded carvings remained. As the women and their guards ascended the hill, they passed through the crowd that had already assembled: housecarls and freemen from all around the valley, some with their sons, wives and thralls in tow, all arrayed in festive garments according to their means. They ringed King Rúnharðr’s runestone like waves in a pond, but made way for them. Some nodded respectfully as she passed. Others—far more—hid their faces and would not look at her.

Jarl Hans Haraldsson, called Hans Suðeyingr, stood at the top of the knoll, leaning on the runestone. Part of Elsa bristled at the desecration, but she knew there was no point in protesting. Hans gave her a wide smile that looked disconcertingly genuine, and one of her companions gasped with barely-veiled delight at the sight. Elsa resisted the urge to scowl at the swooning girl—even she had to admit that Hans was handsome, the very image of a young hero. His flame-red hair and beard were elegantly braided with golden ringlets, his mail shirt merrily glittered in the morning light, and his clothes were richly embroidered with gold and silver thread. His father’s many crowns certainly did not hurt his appeal, even if he was the youngest and least storied of King Haraldr’s many sons. Yes, Hans’s smile had an uncanny ability to make women swoon and fluster, there was no denying it—except, of course, for his betrothed, the woman he had swornhis eternal love a hundred times.

Well, former betrothed. Hans spread his arms as she approached, his smile widening. Elsa scowled at him. She knew better than to be taken in by his smiles and promises. “There she is! I’m glad we did not need to drag you here in chains.” Without paying her any further heed, he looked around. “Men of Arnardalr, you have heard my charge, and I have presented my witnesses. Now hear what she has to say for herself.”

The lawspeaker of the Thing stepped forth from the crowd. She knew Kai Lǫgmaðr well—he had served her father as a housecarl, once. Of course, he had then gone on to serve Hans as a housecarl, but he was not a southerner like the others—a good and loyal man, and wise, just like Gerðr his wife. She thought he cared for her wellbeing, but she had the feeling that would not help her today. “Lady Elsa,” he addressed her darkly, “Jarl Hans has accused you before the thing of murdering your sister, Anna Agnarrsdóttir, by drowning her in the sea five years ago. How do you respond to the charge?”

Elsa ground her teeth. She had been thirteen when Anna—aged ten—had disappeared. That had been less than a year after the southerners had come. With their parents slain and their foes living in their hall, the sisters had only had each other. They’d been inseparable. Except for that day. Elsa could not even recall why she had been mad at her little sister—something foolish involving Hans, no doubt. She had always resented the way Anna had idolised the son of their parents’ killer for every little kindness he had thrown their way like scraps to his dogs. Some stupid argument had sent her running back to the village while playing in the woods, leaving Anna behind. Her sister had not returned that night, and days of searching had come up with nothing.

Many years, Elsa had held on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, Anna might still be alive. I would have felt it, she had told herself and any who would listen. But as the years passed, this certainty had faded away, leaving only a dull ache and yearning, and the dreams that robbed her of her sleep. They had never found the body, but there were all sorts of danger in the woods for a little girl, from wolves to brigands. It was no use thinking about it—only regret remained: that her last words to Anna had been spoken in anger, and that Anna had never been baptised. Elsa prayed that meant Anna had gone to Fólkvangr, as her parents had taught them, not hell.

“Lady Elsa?”

She startled at Kai’s voice. “I reject the charge,” she then said. “I swear by the Virgin that I am guiltless. Moreover, I accuse Hans Suðeyingr of perjury, and call him a liar.”

A gasp went through the crowd, but Kai nodded. “You have that right. What witnesses do you offer?”

Elsa lowered her head. This was it. “None.” The crowd murmured, and Hans chuckled quietly to himself. “But,” she raised her voice, “I do not need any. I challenge Hans Suðeyingr to defend his lies. Is there anyone here who will brave the holmgang for me?”

The crowd fell silent. She looked around at weathered warriors who had raided with her father and stripling boys who had never held a sword. God, please. “Is there no drengr who will fight for me?” There was no response, and her heart sank. “Hear then how I will reward my champion! He shall take everything my father owned. And—” She swallowed. She knew what she had to say, but that did not make it harder. “And if he pleases, he may take me to wife.”

Still, there was silence. Hans’s hot breath brushed over her shoulder and she shivered. “Sounds like no one wants your frigid little kunta, dear. They know who owns you.” Elsa wanted nothing more than to draw her knife and stab him. If she was to be killed as a kinslayer, she’d happily take him with her. Even so, she knew he wasn’t wrong—year after year, she had refused one of the most eligible bachelors in Norway. People talked.

Silence. Elsa hung her head.

“I’ll fight for her!” The high voice had come from the edge of the crowd, where the thralls and younger sons stood. “Oh, sorry—excuse me—coming through …” Her heart sunk. Then, it leapt, as a vision of her father emerged out of the crowd. No—not her father. Still, for a moment, she had been fooled. The stranger was beardless and scrawny, scarcely fifteen winters under his belt. He had her father’s bright copper hair, though, worn long and gathered in a ponytail at the back, and large, eager turquoise eyes. He was simply-dressed in a green tunic and blue leggings, and had a small axe on his belt and a shield slung around his shoulders. An iron broach in the shape of a swan held his cloak. She had never seen him before.

The stranger grinned at her with such obvious enthusiasm she found herself returning a faint smile, even as her heart sunk. No, you fool, she wanted to shout, Hans is going to carve you up like a slab of meat, but no words came across her lips.

“I will fight for you,” he repeated, and took her hand in his. She nearly flinched from the touch, from the warmth of his skin. “But there is something you must promise me first.”

“What?” The question died in her throat.

The grin disappeared. Bright turquoise eyes stared at her, insistent and piercing. His words were like an incantation. “Never shall you ask me, nor trouble yourself to know, whence I have come, nor what my name and clan.”

An outlaw, then. A fugitive thrall. She wanted to laugh in his face. She whispered: “I … swear it.”

The stranger beamed, pure bliss in his eyes. “I love you, Elsa,” he blurted out, rushed in and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, she froze as warmth sent shivers down her entire body. Then, she stumbled, jumped away from the kiss. The stranger seemed utterly unperturbed, but her face—and her lips, and something else—burnt like fire. “Now hear, Hans Haraldsson!” he shouted so all could hear. “Elsa Agnarrsdóttir is without guilt or fault—let it be known to you through Valföðr’s choice!”

Later, Elsa could not have said why she had ever underestimated her champion. Hans was a mighty drengr and an experienced viking, true, but the stranger moved with the grace of a cat and attacked with the ferocity of a wolf. Three times they met upon the island, and three times the stranger’s axe cleft deep into Hans’s shield. When the third shield split, the first drops of blood flowed. “Through Odin’s word, your life belongs to me,” the stranger had called out, the blade of his axe at prone Hans’s throat, then helped him up to his feet. “Take it as my gift, and use it well.”

And then it was over.

Even as an outlaw, no one dared lay hands on Jarl Hans or his loyal housecarls, so he quietly left the valley. Part of Elsa wished she had gotten her revenge, but at least this way he was gone. That left the oath she had sworn to save her life.

She barely spoke to her drengr over the next three days as they feasted and drank. The stranger sat at the head of the table, talking to jarls and þegns thrice his age like he had been born to it, while Elsa sat silently at his side, poking at her food. She loathed the heat and smoke of the mead hall. The flickering fire at its centre made her eyes water, while the shouting and laughter of the guests felt like horses galloping through her skull. But every time she caught the eye of her betrothed, he would smile at her, eyes wide and bright, as though she was the most precious hoard in the nine worlds. He would say something, and more often than not it would make her laugh, and by the time another well-wisher or petitioner came up to the high table it was easier to bear.

After three days of feasting, it was time for the ceremonies. Her groom bade her farewell with a chaste kiss as they parted—him heading for the grove, Elsa for the church with the other Christians. It was no more than a brief peck on the cheek, and yet the spot his lips had touched burned for hours afterwards. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? A few boys had tried to kiss her in the past, not the least of which was Hans, but she had always been repulsed and nauseated by the sensation. This was … pleasant. It made her burn, yes, made her body heat up like all the fires of Múspellsheimr were burning in her chest. But maybe, just maybe, the warmth was not all that fearsome anymore.

All warmth fled when she saw Hans Suðeyingr, standing at the front of the church. With clenched fists, she took her place next to him as the priest began his liturgy. “You’re an outlaw, Hans,” she hissed once the sermon had begun. “What in Loki’s name are you doing here?”

Hans gave her a sardonic smile. “I could hardly miss the wedding, could I? I have to say, I didn’t think you’d have it in you. How long have you been letting that thrall boy do you behind my back?” Elsa wondered if God would punish her for stabbing a man to death during Mass. “No matter. Tell me, though, how did he beat me? Did your thrall mother teach you Finn seiðr, or did you fuck a boar for Vanadís?”

“Maybe you’re just not as formidable as you think,” she hissed back.

He only smiled at that, handsome and infuriating as ever. “We’ll see.” Then: “So, which is he? A thrall or an outlaw? If he were an honest man, he wouldn’t have forbidden you to ask his name.” He smirked. “We wouldn’t want people to think your boy toy had beaten me through magic or trickery rather than God’s judgment. Don’t you think he looks a bit Finnish? Ah, no matter. Just remember when you try to wash away his stench—you could have had a king’s son. Pater noster qui es …”

She went through the motions of Mass. Hans left her alone after this, but his words lingered. The stranger—her husband, by day’s end—was a nobody. He might as well be a Finnish sorcerer, though she did not think there was more of her mother’s people in him than in her. He had no allies, no housecarls, no clan that she knew of, nothing but what she brought into the marriage herself. And yet, he had fought like one of the einherjar, and spoke well and gracefully like a jarl’s son. Had his family fallen prey to a blood feud, like her own? Would his enemies come after him? Whatever the case, she had to know. He’ll tell me once we’re alone. He must.

Her groom and the other pagans of the valley awaited them as they left the church, keeping a respectful distance from the churchyard. The stranger, hands and cheek covered in the fresh blood of sacrificial victims, beamed when he saw her, and Elsa’s cheeks warmed. But then, his face fell as Hans stepped from the church behind her, and he hurried towards them. “And here comes your pet,” Hans drawled.

Her champion paid him no mind. “Is he bothering you, Elsa?”

She ground her teeth. “It’s fine. Hans was just leaving.”

Hans gave her groom a pleasant smile, as false as any he had ever shown her. A crowd of spectators, churchgoers and pagans both, had gathered around them. “I merely wanted to congratulate you on the wedding. It is not often a man so young, or so lowly, marries the daughter of a king.”

Her groom’s hand went to his axe. “You call me lowly, níðingr?”

Hans spread his arms as if to address the thing. “I call you a thrall, and a seiðmaðr, who on the holm blunted my axeblade with evil galdrar. You spared him this question before the shield-clash, so now let me ask it before all the people: what is your name, your clan, your rank?”

Part of Elsa felt oddly flattered that the stranger’s eyes immediately shot to her, even as the crowd around them gasped at the allegations. But she could not deny that the question had made her prick up her ears. Would she know her husband’s name after all?

“I need not justify myself to an outlaw and a perjurer,” her groom exclaimed, keeping his eyes on Elsa. She thought she could detect a faint quiver in his voice. “Even were you a king, I would owe you no response. There is but one I must answer. Elsa …” The words died on his lips as he stared at her, pleading.

She could end it all right now. The stranger might have powerful enemies, but she was certain he was nobly born. The judgment of the holmgang would stand. Hans would be still be outlawed, and she would be free of both men, free to—at last—inherit her father’s estate in her own right. The stranger would, no doubt, have to flee his foes, but … she barely knew him. What was he to her? Big, turquoise eyes looked at her, a faint, nervous smile. Warmth rose to her cheeks. She said: “You all saw his good deed and his manly mettle. I trust my—my husband.”

No one had looked at her like that in years, and as Elsa beheld the overwhelming love in his eyes, she felt very strange indeed.

And then, they were wed.

With the ale-horn emptied, the swords exchanged and her bridal crown removed, the revellers had wasted no time in escorting them to the bedchamber in a flurry of bawdy jokes and flirtatious banter. Her husband gave as good as he got, but by the time they were left on their own in the bridal chamber, Elsa was on the brink of panic. This was the part she had been dreading. The bedding—and the liberties some of the men had taken in relieving her of her outer garments—had not helped matters. She sat on the edge of the bed, decorated with flowers and ribbons, hugging herself despite the heat of the hall, her shoulders pulled almost up to her ears. She was dressed only in a wool shift, and felt naked and small.

Her husband closed the door behind the last of the revellers. Then, he sunk against it and exhaled a sigh. “Alone at last,” he muttered, and turned to look at her. “Elsa …” She retreated further into herself, and he sat by her side, carefully keeping a thumb’s distance from her body. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again.”

“Of course,” she murmured. Quietly, she cursed herself—a sane woman would have counted herself lucky to have a husband so considerate, kind, even. This was simply part of the bargain. A sane woman would have taken Hans up on his offer. “Let’s … let’s get this over with, shall we?” That probably wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear.

Her husband sighed. “Elsa …” Abruptly, he rose and unclasped the swan broach. His cloak dropped to the floor, and he pulled up his tunic … Elsa pressed her eyes shut. She did not need, nor want, to see this.

Eventually, the rustling of cloth ceased. “Elsa,” her husband said. His voice was low, gentle. With her eyes closed, she let her imagination run away with the sound of her name on his lips. To hear it spoken with such love and affection might have made her giddy with delight if it was not her husband speaking it. “Elsa, look at me, please.”

She forced open her eyes. Then, she gasped. Her husband’s body, naked but for a small silver necklace, was toned, every muscle well-defined. More scars were carved on his flesh like battle-runes than befitted one so young.

It was also, quite obviously, womanly. A pair of small, well-formed breasts speckled in freckles sat on her husband’s … wife’s? … chest, and a thin patch of red hair between … her … legs not only drew attention to what wasn’t there, but also made her body tingle. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. Her breath hitched. “You … you’re a …” The word died in her throat. A valkyrie? A seiðmaðr, like Hans had said?

“A woman,” her … spouse replied. “Like you.” The stranger knelt in front of her, took her hands. Elsa tried not to flinch from the touch, even as it sent shivers down her spine. She’d noticed herself reacting in this way to other women’s bodies before, but never with such intensity. No doubt, the solitude of the bridal chamber and her shock had heightened her emotions.

“Forgive me,” her naked drengr explained. “I’m sorry for the deception. I intended only to protect you, not rob you of a chance at marriage.” She bit her lip. “I understand if you’re alarmed, but I promise that I’m not going to touch you. If you like, we can …”

The words fled her lips unbidden, like an evil curse. “What if I want you to?” She shut her mouth and flushed. So did the stranger. God, what a fool she was—maybe if she played it off as a joke? She opened her mouth to respond …

Once more, her drengr’s lips found hers, and her whole body lit on fire.

“I … I love … ah!”

“You look conflicted.” They lay facing each other, their bodies bare, sore and hot. It had been some time since the flood of their passion had ebbed, and it felt as though a sword’s blade lay between them, as each had suddenly grown hesitant to touch the other.

Her drengr bit her lip at Elsa’s question. “I feel like we’ve made a terrible mistake,” she murmured.

“Maybe. But it was a good mistake.” Once more she noticed the freckle right between her lover’s eyes, which she had so enjoyed kissing.

The other woman remained silent, so Elsa reached across to take her small silver hammer pendant in her hand. Elaborate knotwork decorated Mjǫllnir’s head. She had once owned a similar piece, but it had been reforged into a crucifix after her conversion. “You keep the old gods?”

“As your father did.”

She startled. “You know of my father?”

Her ‘husband’ flushed as though caught in a lie. “I know men who sailed with Sea-King Agnarr Rúnharðsson. They told many tales of his exploits.” She grinned. “And of his beautiful daughter.”

Elsa hid her red face in the pillow. She was clearly teasing, but still. “My father had two daughters,” she muttered, quietly, then looked once more at her lover. What would Anna look like now, had she lived? It was difficult to square the child she remembered with the woman she might have become.

“It’s strange,” she whispered at last. “When I first saw you, it was like waking from a dream. You seemed so familiar. Like I have seen you every night of my life.”

“Elsa, let’s not … let’s not go there.” Somewhat hesitantly, where before there had been only eagerness, her drengr leant in to kiss her, gentle and chaste.

“I don’t even know what to call you.” Hearing her name on her lips always sent shivers down Elsa’s spine. She wished she could repay that. Sitting up, she looked down at her drengr. “Now that I know you’re a woman …”

“No.” The response fell like an axe-blow. More softly, she added: “I cannot tell you who I am. Just … just know that I am no thrall. I am your equal in every respect, and my home is glorious. If King Haraldr himself offered me his crowns, I would rightly scorn them.”

“So what is this?” Flames rose in Elsa’s chest. “Do you just go around the countryside, saving maidens for sport? Is that why you won’t tell me, because you’ll abandon me for your glorious home?”

The drengr jumped up. “Never …”

“Then tell me!” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lover seized her wrists, she struggled. “How can you claim to love me, when you won’t give me even that? How can I trust you’ll stay with me when every day I live in fear?”

“Elsa, please!”

“Tell me!” She freed herself, stumbled backwards, raised her finger at her. “Tell me your name!”

“Stop!”

“Whence you have come!”

“I beg of you!”

“And what is your clan!”

The woman staggered as if struck by a hammer-blow, collapsed on the side of the bed, hid her face. Elsa lowered her outstretched finger. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Woe,” the drengr whispered, “woe to our bliss.”

Once more, they dragged her out to the thing hill. This time, it was the woman who only yesterday had made her feel like a goddess who stood before King Rúnharðr’s stone. There was nothing but disgust in the eyes of the men around her, disgust for her, the oathbreaker who had asked the forbidden question, even as Elsa stood in the mud and snow unable to look her beloved in the face. “I could refuse Hans,” her drengr said, her voice flat, “but never you.” She closed her eyes. “Hear then how I answer her forbidden question—and hear if I am not as noble as you.”

“In a distant land, far across the swan-field’s roar, there stands a fortress which is ‘Jómsborg’ called. Five score ships lie at anchor in her harbour, and a thousand men feast always in her mead hall, who call themselves Jómsvikingar. Of their number, one in ten goes bear-skinned, one in ten wears the skin of Viðrir’s hounds, and one in a score with boar-skin bristles. Each of their ranks is blooded in the sword-din, and many men to Valhöll they have sent. Those who from Jómsborg go a-viking, who fight in foreign fields for fame and wealth, bring glory to them all.

“Now hear how I honour my wife’s forbidden question: a Jómsvikingr am I, raised from childhood on. My fathers were Brynjulfr Sløngvandbaudi, who killed Fúlnir Ímisson on Orkneyjar, Engill Rúmfari, who died in Grikkland, and Strut-Haraldr, who taught me manly arts of war. But before that, I was sat on the knee of Styrbjǫrn Ólafsson, known as Styrbjǫrn Sterki, who rules as jarl in Jómsborg.

“When I was a child of ten, I was lost in the woods and set upon by three wolves. I grasped a sharp rock with which I slew one and drove off another, but the third would have killed me, had not Styrbjǫrn Sterki found and saved me. He took me to Jómsborg and raised me a Jómsvikingr. I was an orphan girl ere he made me a shieldmaiden, as I am now. My mother’s name was Iðunnr in Finna, who was the freedwoman and wife of my father, King Agnarr Rúnharðsson, but I myself am Anna Agnarrsdóttir called!”

Elsa hung her head, and Anna left.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Me neither,” Elsa confessed. Anna grinned at that and pulled her into a deep embrace. Her body was warm, soft, inviting. “But I am here.”

The snow on the holm creaked under their feet as they gathered their things. “You didn’t bring much,” Anna pointed out. “It’s a long journey to Jómsborg.”

Elsa gave her a faint smile. “I had to pack in a hurry. Besides …” she leant in to kiss her—chastely on the cheek, for now. There would be time to renegotiate their new relationship later. “I’ve got my sister back. That’s all I need.”

A cold north wind flew over the holm, tearing through their cloaks, and Elsa shivered. “I ought to have brought more furs,” she said.

Anna smirked at her, and that smirk shone more brightly in the night than Surtr’s sword. “That’s alright,” she said. “I’ll keep you warm.”

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #cw: animal sacrifice #cw: blood

12 notes · View notes

moons-and-stars-and-shit · 3 years

Note

Hii! May i ask for a slice of cake? (If you can ofc)

So im a INFP-T virgo im also 4"11 i have dark brown hair it because wayy lighter near the sun. Also dark brown eyes my hair is cut kinda like a shag like the front is cut but the back isn't (bc of my parents) my style is grunge ig? Im very inlove with fairy style Smm but because im broke i cant really fulfil my love for that style (also probably because of my parents). My body is???? Okay my boobies are medium size and no unfortunately I don't have a fat ass 😕 im not chubby but at the same time im not skinny. Like the most fat goes to my tummy I get rolls when I sit down bath blah you get my point (im pretty insecure about it lolol). One of my two main dreams is to study abroad and become an interior decorator.

I dont know how to describe my personality but I will try. My best friend always tells me that my sense of humour is downhill BAD. I would laugh at the dumbest shit ever for example i laughed one of those pixilated bugs pics with random names on the bottom 💀 also I laugh at my own trauma and stuff that shouldn't be laughed at. I kinda have anger issues 😕 I get unmotivated pretty easily. I rant to my best friend alot and she says that im ✨depressed✨ and have ✨anxiety✨ and that i need therapy. Im scared to rant to my parents because im "too young and its just my hormones". Something that I found out about myself this year is i have chill tics 😦 (from anxiety). Outside im nice and sweet but on the inside my mind is just saying other things. Im SOMETIMES cold and say what's on my mind but thats to my close ones like my mom dad or friends. I dont lie going Outside alot I think school is kinda useless. I like to draw and listen to music my fav artist are mother mother and mitski.

I hope i didn't say TOO much anyway thank youu I hope you have/had a great day :)

🍰 for @shotosimp2

Romantic Matchup

Oikawa Tooru

How yall met

Ok im ngl

Y'all had know clue who each other were

Well that's a lie

Of course you knew who Oikawa was

But you just didn't care

Now Oikawa always saw you around school

You know...in the school uniform

But one day

He saw you outside of school in all of your grunge glory

And apart of him was like bitch wtf

And the other was like ok queen i see you 😗

So he approached you and complimented your outfit

And you said thanks and then ran off to wherever you were heading

Wait

You just said thanks???

No fan girling????

Not even a blush??????

Nothing????????????

OIKAWA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING

Ok he would understand that reaction if you were just a stranger on the street

But you went to school with him?

So you had to know who he was right?

Yeah my mans had a whole ass crisis because you didn't have a bigger reaction

The next day he went to Iwa and told him about his interaction with you

And he was just like not everyone was to like you ya know

Oikawa: >:o

Then Iwa had a brilliant idea

Get this

Maybe

Oikawa should BEFRIEND you before expecting you to want to talk to him

Wild theory I know

So now Oikawa had a new goal

Befriending you

It actually wasn't that hard since you both had a lot of classes together

Soon enough you guys became close friends

And oikawa was happy with just being your friend

At least...he thought he was

But everything changed when you told him you were going to study abroad for 3 months

And even though you had each others numbers

Everything without you just seemed so dull

Omg

Did he really have feelings for you?

The more time that passed by the more he was sure that he liked you

Like LIKED liked you

So the day you came back to Japan is when he confessed to you

And well you'd be lying if you said you hadn't caught feelings for him too

So you said yes

What they love about you

He loves how normal you treat him

Now hell admit when he first met you he kinda wanted you to treat him like a celebrity

Expected it even

But the more time he spent around you

The more he realized how much he liked being treated normally

Ok screw what your friend says

He loves your humor!

Yall will laugh at the dumbest shit

If we were to look at you and Oikawa's messages

85% of it would be dumb ass memes

And honestly

This boy makes jokes about his trauma too

“Hey Y/N you wanna hear a joke?”

“Sure”

“My existence”

“...”

“Ayyyyy”

He loves how easy it is to talk to you

Like he's told you things he hasn't even told Iwa before

And Iwa is his CHILDHOOD BESTIE

So yeah

Trust between you two

ASTRONOMICAL

What you love about them

You love how supportive he is

If you say you wanna do something

He is right behind you cheering you on

You could tell him you want to commit arson

And he'd just be like

Period queen ill bring the gasoline 💅

You can always count on this man to be in your corner

Speaking of

You can always count on oikawa period

Which is another thing that you love about him

If oikawa is anything

He is a man of his word

If he says hes gonna do something

You know he's gonna do it

He's just overall a really reliable person

You love how he just seems to motivate you to do better

Fr after you guys started dating your grades went

Partly because you felt like you needed to compete with him

But mostly because he just motivates and pushes you to do better

And if you do improve on something

He is HYPING you up

“That's my baby! I knew you could do it!”

Favorite things to do together

Yall love to just go to the store and window shop

Im sorry but yall are some broke hoes

So most of the time it's just you guys trying on clothes in the dressing room

Taking pictures of your outfits

Then leaving

Yeah the store employees kinda hate you…

But who cares what they think

And if you two do have some pocket cash you'll buy one or two things

Then blow the rest of your money on that good mall food

Cause why not

Random Hc

He makes fun of your guys height difference ALL THE TIME

But like, can you blame him????

You're not even 5 feet tall!!!

“Imagine being the size of a 10 year old, couldn't be me”

Imagine being taller than the national average height 😐, couldn't be me”

“Touche”

He let you dress him up as an E-Boy ONCE

Ngl tho he dug the eyeliner look 😗

He called you every day while you were studying abroad

He even sent you a oikawa plushie

You may or may not have sent him a video of you drowning it

When you came back to Japan he legit TACKLED you in the middle of the airport

Astrology

Virgo + Cancer

Compatibility 80%

Cancer and Virgo can have a wonderful connection and are usually brought together by sexual understanding.

The main problem of their relationship is in the possible conflict between emotional Cancer and reasonable Virgo.

If they manage to overcome this, accepting each other’s shortcomings and learning to incorporate some rationality or some emotion into their lives, they could end up in an inspiring relationship that will last for a very long time.

In a way, they complement each other as much as the heart complements the mind.

If they share a spark of love, it would be a shame to miss the opportunity for happiness just because of someone’s irrational expectations or someone’s closed heart.

If someone can help Virgo build their trust, it is their Cancer partner.

Although Cancer is a cardinal sign, they are stable by nature, especially when it comes to emotional decisions they have made.

If they have chosen Virgo to be their loving partner, they will have no reason to lie or cheat.

This behavior would only endanger their vision of a shared life and a loving family they want with the partner they chose.

This is also a reason why Cancer won’t have an initial problem with trusting Virgo.

Their convictions are stronger than their doubt.

Overall Aesthetic

Grunge Glamour ✨

Songs -

Tia tamera (Doja Cat)

Verbratem (mother mother

Literal Legend (Ayesha Erotica)

Hayloft (mother mother)

Stupid (ashnikko)

#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu fandom #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu matchups #oikawa hcs #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa headcanons #oikawa tooru

7 notes · View notes

theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Waves of Fate (A Silvaze Modern/Soulmate AU)

Beaches were supposed to be happy places, books always described them that way at least. People came to the beach to have fun, to play games and relax. It was supposed place of joy, where smiles supposedly reigned supreme and you could count on the sun parting the clouds to grant a blue sky.

A grey sky hung over the pale white sands of the secluded, manmade, beach the belonged to the Sol estate. A family made wealthy through inheritance and investment; the sole monarchs of the estate had built themselves a high castle, separate from the common rabble, to settle and grow. Unfortunately for them however, perhaps due to their greed, the pair’s first and only child had arrived with a certain abnormality. That grey sky also hung over that very child, the twelve-year-old Blaze the cat, as she stared down at her workbook.

It was peculiar for her to take lessons by the beachside but, with some effort from her tutor to convince the feline’s parents, a bizarre and impromptu lesson had been quickly organised. Sat atop a thick picnic blanket, wearing a smile so caring that the young girl could practically feel it, was the in-house tutor for the estate, Vanilla. Contrary to the scowl Blaze wore as she carefully considered what to write next, the youngster didn’t dislike the rabbit. She had in fact, even at this young age, come to truly appreciate the role the tutor filled. The feline’s parents were always either distracted or busy, she couldn’t particularly tell or care which, but Vanilla, a mother herself, always found time to listen and care. Even in situations like this… even when the young girl claimed that she wanted nothing more than to be alone.

“How’s it going Blaze? Are you stuck?” Stubborn as ever, trying not to listen, the kitten bit her tongue, “You don’t need to write too much, just think of this as practice writing letters.”

Attempting to make a show of it, the feline (dressed in dungarees rather than her school uniform) silently continued her cursive work until she harshly dotted the end of a sentence, “I’m fine Vanilla,” As she looked up and caught the rabbit’s eyes, Blaze realised that, though she had technically answered the question, something further had been revealed. Of the people she knew, Vanilla was the only one who could peer into her heart and see the truth. The child’s eyes returned to the page, “I’m writing fine I just… you know…”

“I know you don’t believe in this and you think it’s foolish but that’s fine. A hint of whimsy is just what you need right now. Just think of it as a break from boring maths questions and everything else,” It was fortunate that the words everything else were cut off by a certain rummaging sound and a bread triangle entering the corner of her vision, “Gardon made these while I was talking with your parents, would you like to partake?”

Unable to resist her gentle charm any longer, regardless of how arduous today had been, Blaze set her book aside and claimed the wrapped meal with a muted, “Thank you.”

“It’s not the best day for a picnic, but it’s far from the worst,” Vanilla mused, claiming a sandwich of her own, “Not too windy and the forecast doesn’t call for rain, it’ll be smooth sailing for your letter.”

“Assuming it doesn’t just wash back onto the beach,” She glumly shrugged, undoing the wrapping and taking her first bite. Salmon, probably fresh from this morning. Once she’d swallowed, Blaze couldn’t help but look up to her tutor again, “Is it really cold? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no, dear. It’s not that cold, just a little chilly. I’ll be fine, honestly,” Blaze met her smile with an incredulous stare. The rabbit’s face somehow grew even softer, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind just a little warming up,” Without even hesitating, the tutor reached across again; this time an empty hand was extended.

Blaze took the comparatively large hand in her own and, trying her hardest to be gentle, allowed a few small flames to build on the back of her knuckles. The heat immediately began to radiate, even though the flames were stagnant in terms of both position and size. Absentmindedly, ears drooping without their owner’s consent, she spoke, “It’s not hard to control them when I’m comfortable. It’s easier when it’s just you and me.”

“I know dear but, one day, it’ll be easy all the time. I’m certain of it,” Vanilla promised, drawing back her hand and pressing it to her cheeks, “That was lovely of you, thank you.”

A half mile behind them, in the estate’s main building, cindered remains were likely still being swept up. An attempt to set up a playdate with the children of another wealthy family hadn’t gone over well, but the issue wasn’t as mundane as that. To say Blaze didn’t get along with the other children was certainly an understatement, the feline’s very first encounter with those infants had ended in tears and a ball of fire. Today, when her parents refused to see reason, a similar explosive display had ignited the living room couch before spreading to the wallpaper. Of course, plans were in place for this sort of occurrence, the house’s sprinkler system had gone off, but it hadn’t cooled her parent’s scorn. She’d scarcely been able to dry herself and change before Vanilla had plucked her from the house.

“You’re welcome,” Was all she could manage to mumble.

“And whoever gets this letter will surely love you for your gift,” A seriousness lingered in the rabbit’s tone, despite the multiple layers of foolishness behind her claim, “Not despite it.”

Blaze scoffed before quickly finishing her sandwich, not yet returning to her work, “Who even thought this superstition up? I know I’ve read about it before but never like this…”

“This one in particular was thought up by the wives and children of widow sailors, as tragic as that is,” The bunny half cringed, “As I’ve told you, when a destined pair send messages out to sea, they’ll receive a sign of their connection. The ocean will take you letter and, just and only this once, deliver it to your soulmate as long as it meets the right conditions.”

“It has to be fully written by one person, it can’t include that person’s name, physical description, hints to find that person or to try and organise a meeting. It also has to be the first message a person sends to sea and no one else is allowed to read it until it reaches the intended individual,” Blaze recalled aloud, “Making it seem all the more pointless. All you can really tell them is what you’re like and what’s happening to you and, regardless, it’s not going to reach anyone. How are you even going to mark this if you’re not allowed to read it?”

“Come on Blaze, when I was your age, I wanted so badly for a handsome prince to sweep me off my feet. I must have rewritten my letter a hundred times,” Vanilla chastised, plainly ignoring the kitten’s question, “You can tell them what you think loving them will be like, your hopes and dreams. No one else will ever get to read it, only you and them,” Admittedly, that was true. Whatever she wrote down here would likely be lost to the sea, “And even if it doesn’t work, no one who finds it would ever know it came from you. It’s a thought exercise as much as it is a writing one, a way to air your frustrations and ambitions.”

The kitten claimed her journal again, trying her hardest to ignore the cloudy sky above. For whatever reason, her pen felt heavier than it had just a moment prior. She let her thoughts flow onto the page, their pace kept by a modest barrier of consideration, and tried her hardest not to overdo it. In truth, she’d never really considered what she wanted from a partner or what a partner might want from her. Did she even want a partner? Part of her didn’t, and she was certain that would come across in her writing, but she couldn’t deny that she saw the appeal. The idea of someone loving her for her flames was more than a little farfetched but someone who could see past them and still love her? Someone who actively, genuinely, wasn’t afraid of her? How could she say no to that?

Finally, Blaze clicked her pen closed. Vanilla perked up, “Is it done?”

“I think so…” The young feline hummed before drawing her eyes to the page and giving it a final read.

To whomever comes to possess this note,

I hope we can meet and that, when we do, that the reason behind our link becomes clear rather than being the mere whim of coincidence. I have been instructed that, in this letter, I am to tell you about myself. While I was born into fortuitous circumstances, I have not lived the most fortunate of lives: though I am privileged in some ways, I am far more socially handicapped than the majority of my peers. I handle criticism poorly as I always try to give my all, regardless of the actual importance of any given assignment.

My peers don’t think too highly of me, many of them fear me, but the few truly close to me claim that I am mature for my age and intelligent. I’ve recently started to play the violin and have practiced ballet for as long as I can remember. As for other interests, though they’ll undoubtedly change by the time we meet, classical literature and music has always appealed to me. If we are destined to be together then I doubt you are a pilot, so this is probably unimportant, but I do have a fear of heights. I’m sorry if you wanted more details but I’m quite confused as to what is safe to include, in accordance with this dubious tradition.

I don’t think I’m the easiest person to love, both for reasons that should become clear to you and my inherent defensiveness. Though my investment in this idea of soulmates may be limited, the thought that there is someone out there who will love me for who I am is, undeniably, appealing. I may not be the best at displaying how I feel but, if we are to care for each, I will try my best to show you that I care. To be honest, I don’t know what to expect or to ask of you beyond that you keep an open mind if we do meet. Perhaps, just as this rumour being true would, you will surprise me.

Please stay safe and write soon, from your soulmate.

“It’s a little… melancholy,” Blaze admitted, trying not to wince, “But I don’t want to rewrite it. It’s good enough.”

It was all written in her neatest handwriting, entirely cursive and eloquent. There wasn’t a single spelling error, not one that she could identify at least, and it looked professional enough? She’d written it in the manner she’d learned to write all of her letters and, perhaps, that was a little too formal for the occasion. Then again, it wasn’t as though it would actually reach anyone.

And, of course, she hadn’t mentioned her flames; not in explicit terms at least.

“Is it how you truly feel?” Vanilla questioned, “Is it how you want to introduce yourself to them.”

Blaze took another moment, considering it for just a moment more, before tearing the paper from her jotter and rolling it into a tight scroll, “Yes.”

The tutor turned to rummage through her bag again, this time drawing forth three things: a ribbon to bind the note, a small (cleaned and untinted) glass bottle and a whittled down cork from an old wine bottle. Blaze took the ribbon first, gently securing her note, and trying not to crumple it, before gingerly sliding it into the bottle’s narrow mouth. She let Vanilla secure the cork in place, not much trusting that it’d hold if she did it. Then though, curiously, the rabbit produced another object from her bag. A small violet tealight, brand new and untouched.

“I think it might be nice to seal the bottle in your own, unique, way,” The rabbit explained, tilting the cantle upside down and holding it above the now sealed bottle, “With a little bit of fire, we can make a wax lid.”

The tealight exchanged hands, Vanilla held the bottle in place. Just as her prior heating, the tutor was likely the only one who would trust her to do this. Well, perhaps Gardon would too on a good day. Blaze snuck her forefinger around the tealight’s metal casing and birthed a burgeoning flame directly into the wax. The reaction was almost immediate, purple, lavender scented, wax began to drip down in gooey clumps and gather atop the cork. It took a while, and some shifting, to completely cover both the entryway. Most of the candle was diminished by the time it was done, the bubbling mass gradually cooling on the glass.

Vanilla drew it back, gently blowing on it, “Good job, Blaze. That’s perfect.”

In the silence that hung as the wax cooled, Blaze couldn’t help but dwell on her future a little. She knew she was young, far too young to be seriously considering these things, most children her age would still be focused on becoming a pop singer or filling some other extravagant niche. Her parents wanted her to focus on law, become a judge or an attorney, but, despite how important those callings were, they didn’t appeal to her. The only thing she knew that she wanted was to be away from here, to find somewhere that she could settle herself and actually be free to think, but that was so long away. She was bound to this place, bound to her parents, for the-

A gentle hand pushed up the feline’s chin and brought her to look the elder rabbit in the eye, “You might not meet whoever gets this letter for some time, but I promise you, Blaze, you will find them. You won’t be here forever; you feel so trapped forever. With their help or otherwise, I know you’ll do great things.”

The tutor rose, passing the bottle to its first owner. The kitten stumbled to her feet, taking it but quickly reaching out and holding her teacher’s hand. Barren white sand crunched underfoot, the clouds refused to part even now. It wasn’t long until she was at the cusp of the water, the lapping waves mere centimetres from the toe of their shoes. The older of the two drew up the hem of her skirt, Blaze awkwardly fumbled with her dungaree’s legs before retaking the rabbit’s hand. Vanilla took the first step into the foamy waters, but Blaze was quick to follow after. They waded until the sea reached the young feline’s knee, a glance from Vanilla informed her that was far enough.

Gently, Blaze set the bottle in the water. They stood for a moment, just to see that it would leave their sight. The tide was receding, they’d see the bottle bob above the waves every so often as it was gradually being carried towards the horizon. It was off to either meet with a watery grave or find some person somewhere else in the world.

“Well, now we just have to wait and see,” The rabbit smiled, turning and gently retaking her hand, “I’m sure it’ll reach someone wonderful. I can’t wait to see you two together. Its been so long since I’ve seen young love, I’m sure your Prince Charming will be wonderful.”

“M-Miss Vanilla,” The little girl couldn’t help but whine, “I don’t want a Prince.”

“Oh? What is it you want then?” She asked, nearing the water’s end.

“I don’t know…” Blaze murmured, giving it just half a moment’s thought, “I just want a friend. I just want someone else who will be nice to me.”

“Can’t they be both?” Vanilla laughed, taking the first step onto dry land.

The young girl hadn’t considered that, but she wasn’t sure that she liked it. She was about to speak up in defiance when she felt something peculiar. A wave had passed behind her, lapping just above her heels, but it had hit differently somehow. It’d almost felt too hard.

Turning to look over her shoulder, Blaze frowned as her eyes scanned the water. Among the waves, hitched in the sand, was a bottle. Had her note followed them back? Breaking off from Vanilla, the young girl crouched to get a closer look. Something about this bottle looked different. It wasn’t sealed with wax, it had a screw on lid. What’s more, this bottle was tinted green. Dumbfounded, without so much as thinking, she reached down and plucked the bottle from the water.

“Miss Vanilla?”

-----------

Butterflies flapped in her stomach as though they were giant eagles pursuing some sort of endlessly evasive prey. Blaze the cat, age twenty-two, had just spent the last twelve hours traveling with three overstuffed suitcases and a violin case. She’d departed a train forty minutes ago and had been walking ever since but, prior to that, she’d endured two different taxi rides and a full four hours failing to ignore a window seat view on a flight. To say that she was exhausted would be an understatement, she’d travelled further from her home before but never on her own and never like this, but to say she was unhappy would be entirely false. Blaze the cat was free, free from the Sol estate and free from all that came with it. She had finally claimed control over her life.

She’d never thought that the violin would be her escape; music simply been her hobby, but it had borne an unimaginable fruit. She’d managed to land herself third chair in an orchestra with a high probability of moving further up the ranks. The concertmaster was apparently reaching her elder years, looking for a protégé and to breathe new life into the group. A well-placed audition tape and a handful of politely worded emails had secured her the position. Sure, the job as it was now wasn’t enough to fully support her, but with her education the feline was certain she’d manage to pick up another form of income.

That orchestra job had led her here, Station Square; a city filled to bursting with opportunity which just so happened to also contain a cheap apartment-share near the city’s centre. An application for said lodgings had brought her to the door she was now standing outside of, an entrance to the supposed accommodation that persisted above an old pizzeria. She didn’t know where she’d anticipated her life to restart but the fact it was somewhere this plain honestly excited her. No more private beach; she had to build her own luxury.

First impressions were important, she’d been chastised about them her entire life. She’d tried to dress modestly, what few of her more expensive outfits she’d brought she intended to sell online. Her hair was fixed into a tall ponytail that almost crowned her head, a ponytail that she’d already remade five times today. A long brown trench coat, the brown top button of which she redid, was successfully obscuring a comfortable striped t-shirt and (surprisingly expensive yet unassuming) bootcut jeans.

Once she was certain everything was in place and she had some form of greeting in mind, she dared to press the grimy electric buzzer. Almost immediately, a slightly overloud and static riddled voice answered her call, “Hello? Is that Blaze?”

“Yes, hello. I take it this is the residence of Silver the hedgehog?” She answered.

“Yeah, that’s me! It’s so nice to finally meet you, I hope…” He seemed to catch himself mid-sentence, though he went quiet, the buzzing persisted, “Oh, oops, I should probably open the door. Sorry! I’ll be right down!”

The buzzing finally faded and, once again, Blaze was left alone. That was the first time she’d ever heard his voice and, admittedly, she hadn’t been able to hear it very well. He sounded a lot more excitable than she’d truly anticipated. Their communication up until now had been limited to brief emails and, as a result, she didn’t actually know very much about the man she’d be living with for the foreseeable future. He had no criminal record, the flat itself both looked nice and was affordable, but beyond his job working in the museum and need for an additional housemate, that was the limit of her knowledge. Well, that and the picture attached to his=

Before Blaze could ponder on it for any longer, the white painted door before her swung open and a figure practically burst into view. She wasn’t sure who or what she’d expected out of this museum worker, but she certainly wasn’t this. A set of seven ludicrously long quills immediately consumed Blaze’s vision, followed by a set of excitable yellow eyes and a vaguely sun-kissed muzzle. He was rather peculiarly dressed too; he wore a jumper with a strangely low cut that allowed a seemingly endless flare of white chest fur to slip free. As if that wasn’t odd enough, he wore gloves that were lit by a bizarre cyan symbol on both their front and back.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Blaze!” His smile matched his eyes so very perfectly.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Silver,” She half bowed, already feeling a little overwhelmed. The picture she’d seen had made him look demurer, his quills had been tied back and he’d been in his work uniform. She truly hadn’t considered that he’d be a head taller than her.

Almost immediately, he seemed to notice her luggage. Without even blinking, he gestured past her, “Oh, you must be exhausted. I can help with those!” Blaze’s surprise transmuted into total befuddlement at what happened next. With that wave of the hedgehog’s hand, those cyan symbols began to glow much brighter and Blaze heard shifting behind her. Before she could turn, all four of her bags had taken to the air and hovered above her head, “I’ll take them up and show you around, come on.”

She stood in the doorway for a moment, entirely dumbfounded. She knew people with powers like hers existed, but they were rare enough that she had never met another. To think that the first person she’d ever stay with, the first person she’d encounter, was capable of such a feat though? This Silver was filled to burst with surprises. Catching herself though, butterfly-eagles still running rampant in her stomach, Blaze began to give chase.

The hallway leading up to the flat itself wasn’t very well lit, but it was homely enough. It led up to a landing where (judging by the small pile) shoes were supposed to be kicked off. Following it was a glass door that immediately opened into a small and very well stocked kitchen. It didn’t smell like anything was cooking at the moment but, judging by the drying rack, he had been hard at work.

“I cook quite a lot,” As he called back, Blaze couldn’t help but notice the hedgehog had gone from walking to floating amongst her luggage, “Are you much of a chef?”

“Not particularly,” Blaze admitted, nonchalantly. What few cooking lessons she’d received had gone especially poorly.

“Oh, well, if you’re ever in trouble or want to learn then let me know,” He offered, spinning back around to face forward, “I made a little something to celebrate your arrival, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, thank you,” She said, now doubly surprised at his fast kindness.

Blaze took a sniff but, curiously, couldn’t smell whatever it was he’d mentioned. The hedgehog had clearly done a good job of cleaning up in preparation for her arrival, but then again… she had no idea whether the apartment had been messy in the first place. She passed an open door that seemed to lead into a small combination dining room and sitting room. Two patchwork couches sat near the room’s centre, a modest TV cresting just over them and a coffee table between them.

“Is this a violin case?” He called back, drawing her attention away from the room.

“Yes, it is,” She responded, noticing that he’d turned mid-flight and was now hovering the violin between them, “I’m joining city’s orchestra. I’ll need to practice fairly often, but if there’s ever a time you need quiet then feel free to say.”

“Oh, no, free to play it all you want honestly, the place downstairs just does take away and, apparently, the floor is pretty well soundproofed,” He said, that excitement still clinging to his voice as he landed outside a door, “That’s amazing, I’ve always wanted to meet a violinist. I can’t wait to hear you play, you must be wonderful!”

“I’m well practiced,” She coyly admitted, not used to barrages of kindness (let alone praise). She could feel herself locking up but tried to fight it, “Is this my room?”

“Oh, yeah. It is,” The hedgehog nodded, patting himself down before seeming to realise something. With a wave of his hand up the hallway, Blaze watched as a small set of keys raced their way from the kitchen area to float in front of her, “Almost forgot these.”

“Th-Thank you,” Blaze cursed her stutter, plucking them from the air. They found their way to the lock but, before she dared to push inside, she decided to feed her curiosity. He seemed so very open, it couldn’t hurt to pry, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“For as long as I can remember. It comes in pretty handy around the house, if you ever need anything moved then just say,” He grinned, clearly somewhat proud to have made a positive impression with his powers.

“I see,” She hummed, turning the key. She certainly wasn’t comfortable immediately revealing her power to him but, then again, her name was probably a bit of a give-away. Ideally, he wouldn’t question it, “It does seem rather useful.”

Blaze pushed the door open and found herself faced, for the first time today, with a sight she’d expected. The room wasn’t even half the size of her prior bedroom, its walls were both blank and painted off-white. Unlike the other rooms in the house, a grey carpet persisted underfoot. Blaze watched as her bags hovered through the door and landed inside in a small, neat, pile.

“I know it’s not especially stunning, but the landlord says you can decorate it if you want. I did my room up a couple months ago, before I moved in. It’s easier than you think, I’d be happy to help,” Blaze couldn’t tell whether it was due to her cold expression or some sudden realisation, but the hedgehog seemed to falter and turn away, “S-Sorry, I’ve never had a flatmate before, I guess I’m a little overexcited.”

“You haven’t?” She questioned though, in hindsight, the underdeveloped room spoke volumes.

“I’ve moved from place to place quite a lot, living in tiny, two-room, apartments,” He explained.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to figure this out between the two of us,” She wanted to give a reassuring smile but was fairly certain it would only scare him off. It seemed like neither of them were particularly good at this, “Thank you, Silver.”

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. If you need anything I’ll just be, uh, in here,” He tapped the door opposite, assumedly his bedroom, “There’s an en suite in your room and, um, I think that’s everything? If you need me then just call.”

Blaze nodded and allowed herself the smallest of smiles, “Perhaps, once I’ve put everything away, we could look over the paperwork?”

“Oh, sure, okay! Just say when,” He managed to grin again, ducking back into his room but not bothering to close the door.

Blaze matched him, stepping inside and heaving a sigh of relief. She’d made it through her first interaction with her flatmate, she’d made it to her new home, she was so close to relaxation. There was a small, single, bed against the wall with a tiny wooden bedside cabinet next to it. A reasonably sized, yet still small in her experience, closet was set up against the far wall and she could see the door that likely led to the bathroom. This was liveable, she could do this, it was just the first step in something new.

Unpacking her clothes and amenities took quite a lot longer than she’d anticipated, getting everything onto hangers and into the right place was relaxing albeit slow. There was nowhere especially practical to place her violin so it’d ended up propped against the far wall for the foreseeable future. The final of her bags still sat where Silver had placed it, entirely filled. Vanilla had packed it for her, saying its contents were mere food and cutlery, but she had made the feline promise not to open it until she was settled in her new home. Well, it was finally time.

Blaze hoisted the bag onto her freshly made bed, immediately creasing her work but not especially minding. She quickly brought the zip around, popping the top open, and was stunned by what she saw. The rabbit hadn’t lied, cutlery and non-perishables of all sorts filled the base of the bag, but a small note affixed to an object that Blaze hadn’t even thought about in almost ten years sat atop the other goods. A certain bottle that had washed up on the beach just after she had sent her own message to sea.

Vanilla’s note was short and simple, “Enjoy your new life, don’t forget to write and remember, they’re out there somewhere,” Concluded with a small, winking, smiley face.

Slipping onto the bed, Blaze found herself cradling both the note and the bottle. While that day on the beach stuck out in her mind like a sore thumb, perhaps due to the familial chaos that had come before it, the contents of this bottle did not. She hadn’t thought about that day often, especially not in the latter six of those twelve years, but whenever a book or a person mentioned the concept of soulmates she’d recall but never mention the occurrence. Admittedly, the young feline had long accepted that the note had in fact been written by Vanilla in an attempt to cheer her up following her childish strop. She didn’t believe in such nonsense then and she certainly didn’t now. Still, what was the harm in giving the coincidental note another read for nostalgia’s sake?

Blaze unscrewed the lid, giving the green aluminium top a quick once over before setting it on her bedside table. Wherever it had come from, the bottle had long lost any identifiable markings, but it was more bulbous than that containing any drink she’d ever had. She managed to get a finger in and, with some difficulty, pluck the note free. The sheet felt more like card than paper and was riddled with creases from its initial folding so many years ago. The handwriting was, admittedly, awful. She’d written her note as a child, but this letter looked to have been written with extreme haste. Regardless, due mostly to the large spaces between words, Blaze could make it all out.

It read:

“Hi there! If you’re reading this then I guess you know who I am? Just in case; I’m your soulmate! I can’t wait to meet you, I’m sure we’re going to get along great! I can’t write all that much about myself, otherwise the bottle will sink to the bottom of the sea, but I’m supposed to describe what I think our relationship might be like? But I’ve never been in one before, I’ve never had a soulmate before, so I’m not sure what to do or what to tell you.

People tell me that I’m a little blunt and that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that I’m pretty gullible. I’m not so sure, but I guess they’d know better than me? I really like sweet food! I can’t have a lot of it, we can’t really afford it, but that’s okay because it’s not good for me anyway. I also really like history books. The lost worlds of the past are so interesting to me and I’d love to discover more of them. I hope you like them too! I guess I can’t write about this too much, but I have a special skill that comes in useful quite a lot. It helps me tidy up and cook and get to all sorts of places, even ones I’m not really supposed to.

I don’t know you yet, but I hope you’re nice. I don’t really know a lot about love, a lot of my friends think it’s gross but not me! I think it’s nice knowing that there’s someone out there for me and I’m just waiting to meet someone. If I can make a difference, even if it’s just for one person, then I’ll be happy, so I’ll try my hardest to make you happy! I’m learning to cook and bake so you don’t have to worry about that, I can already make spaghetti!

Please stay safe and I can’t wait to read what you send me!

From your soulmate”

Blaze’s nose wrinkled as she reached the end of the note. She’d decided years ago that Vanilla had written this note, perhaps with her left hand so as to forge childish writing, but something was bothering her. The feline’s eyes traced back up the note, specifically lingering on the mention of a special skill that helped the individual to cook and clean. A foolish thought entered her head, a quiet whisper that was still loud enough to break the otherwise peaceful silence. Reading over the page again, the bluntness and earnestness mentioned further loudened that quiet voice.

Catching herself in her own stupidity, Blaze quickly rerolled the paper and returned it to its bottle. Not quite knowing what to do with it now, feeling a bizarre heat on her face, she set it on her bedside cabinet and threw her gaze to her lap. Attempting to escape the heat, and realising she’d been too distracted to do so earlier, she undid her jacket and shrugged it from her shoulders.

The occurrence ten years ago was just one of many bizarre occurrences in the flame producing feline’s life, she’d seen her fair share of oddness and coincidence. There was absolutely no way that this bottle had come from the person she was now living with, she’d long decided it was a forgery made to keep her happy. It wasn’t like anyone was pulling at the strings of fate. Even if Vanilla hadn’t made it, for a bottle from someone else, someone who clearly believed in the superstition, to have drifted to shore while she was out there... that was possible, wasn’t it? Just as it was possible she’d seen some vague familiarities between the man she’d just met and that note’s writer.

She took her head in her hands, she was being ridiculous. It must have all been induced by her nerves, she was in a new city and living with a stranger, of course she was going to overthink things. There was no way she’d just stumbled into living with her soulmate; she didn’t even believe in soulmates. She’d never believed in soulmates and now, of all times, wasn’t the time to start. Blaze rose from the bed, collected the goods from her remaining suitcase and made a beeline for the door.

When she stepped into the hall though, her eyes were unintentionally drawn through the askew door of his bedroom. Though she could only see perhaps the smallest quarter, assuming that their rooms were the same, she’d locked eyes with a corkboard. A corkboard with many sticky notes tacked to it but also a small, curled, notebook page stuck to it rather than pierced by a tack. With each passing second Blaze felt her face grow hotter and heard her thoughts grow evermore foolish. It was as though fate was tempting her to burst into the room and look at it, or at the very least ask him about it. But that was the height of foolishness, she’d surely sound insane or rude at the very best. What self-respecting adult believed in such a fairy-tale, let alone would discuss it with a new flatmate on the first day they’d even met! She couldn’t ask about that leaflet now of all times! That would look ridiculous!

His mention of always wanting to meet a violinist metamorphosed in her mind from a show of kindness to a potential deeply held honesty. She didn’t recall much of the letter she’d written, but Blaze knew that she’d listed some of her hobbies. She’d only just started to play the stringed instrument, it’d surely been included.

Finding herself lost and dazed in the hallway, Blaze couldn’t help but call out, “Silver?”

She heard what sounded like the hedgehog falling over before he rushed into the doorway, quills wildly tossed, “Hey, is everything alright?”

Blaze swallowed, “I’ve just got some stuff to put in the kitchen and I think I’m ready to sign the papers, as long as you’re not busy?”

“Oh no, don’t worry; I was just doing a little reading, let’s do it,” He beamed, taking to the air again and leading the way to the kitchen.

She felt an immediate impulse to enter his room, he’d left the door open, but Blaze knew that was foolish. No, the much louder thought in Blaze’s brain was questioning what he was reading. The hedgehog worked in a museum; it was likely that he liked to read about history. Even if he was, it would have just been another coincidence… but things were lining up more and more. What was today? Was this all just some bizarre dream?

Blaze begrudgingly followed the white hedgehog, finding herself analysing him more than she probably should. His fur and quills were unkempt but it wasn’t as though he was dirty, just fluffy. She supposed his fur must just have grown out like that. The strange cyan energy he produced seemed to let him guide both himself and objects through the air… perhaps even other people. Blaze could certainly see how useful this power would be for cleaning… it probably let him make multiple dishes and clean at the same time too, pending how it worked.

Heat flashed across her face again and, reflexively, she balled her fists. Though she’d long learned to keep her powers under control, their connection to her emotions was a constant worry. Embarrassment, of all emotions, was one she hadn’t yet managed to control. While it lacked the ferocity and excitability of anger, it was still especially important to keep it subdued. If she let them, these thoughts would do much more than reveal her power. She might burn down her new home before she could spend a night-

“Blaze?” His voice tore her from her thoughts, he’d made it to the kitchen while she’d frozen up in the hall, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine I’m just,” She scrambled for the right words, marching towards him, “I’ve not settled yet, I’m still getting used to this arrangement. Just getting my bearings.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” He nodded, still smiling so very brightly, “Take all the time you need. You said online that you’d never lived away from home before, right?”

“I’d visit hotels with my family but, outside that, yes,” Blaze answered, stepping into the kitchen, “I know I’m a little old for that to be the case but…”

“No, no. Don’t worry, I get it and I know it’s pretty scary,” He smiled, leaning against the kitchen counter, “I’ve moved around a lot and your first night in a new place is always weird, let alone your first time anywhere new,” His smile faltered just a little, he began to scratch among his quills, “I’m sorry if I’m making it worse. I’ve been trying to make things more comfortable but I’m probably going a little overboard, right?”

“N-No, no, you’re doing fine,” Blaze quickly replied but she knew that her stutter betrayed the truth. Her failure to convey what she was actually feeling was simultaneously a blessing and a curse this evening. She tried to smile, “Thank you, Silver.”

“It’s no problem. You can put your stuff wherever you want, but I cleaned these two cupboards out for you. I keep the pots and pans in the big drawer and the cutlery in the one above that,” He pointed, his grin slightly returning, “Oh and there should be enough fridge space, I hope?”

Setting the bag down again, Blaze quickly began to unload Vanilla’s parting gifts. She kept the hedgehog in the corner of her eye, watching as he pulled a magnet from the fridge and slid free a small bundle of papers. Assumedly, that was the lease. He then, seeming to realise he didn’t have a pen, gestured up the hall again. The face he, likely unknowingly, pulled as he reached for the pen was far too serious, his soft features barely allowed for it. He seemed very innocent, harmless even; judging by his apologies, despite his attempts to appear confident, this was surely all very new to him too.

“Is something wrong? Is there not enough space?” He asked, catching her staring.

“N-No, no. It’s fine, there’s more than enough,” She quickly looked away, shoving bushels of pasta into the cupboard as she tried her damnedest not to ignore the little voice screaming inside her. The voice that kept repeating the line in that note, that the writer was often described as wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Too many pieces of this non-existent puzzle were lining up, far too many. As she shifted to put away her cutlery, lost in thought, she very almost knocked into him. Even if it was all somehow true, even though that was entirely possible, then that didn’t actually mean anything. It wasn’t like just knowing some miraculous coincidence had happened meant they were bound to stay together forever or fall in love or whatever. She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her either! They’d hardly even talked!

As the last pan clattered into place, Blaze dared to throw another glance his way. The hedgehog had set the paperwork down on the unit and entered the fridge. Blaze hadn’t ever looked for a relationship before and she certainly hadn’t intended to now. She hadn’t really looked at boys or girls or anyone for that matter, but something was bothering her. Perhaps it was just a result of his earnestness, perhaps it was because he looked so fluffy and soft, but there was something almost… charming about him. Was he attractive? Was he cute? Beauty was supposed to be in the eye of the beholder and this beholder had literally no idea what she found attractive.

The moment his bright yellow eyes hit hers, she understood that aspect of herself just a little better. He’d leaned out of the fridge, having not actually taken anything, “I noticed that we need a witness, do you know anyone else around here who you’d like to be it? I can witness it if that’s okay with you but, you know, don’t want to impose or anything. Landlord owns the place downstairs and said you can just leave it there.”

“I-I’m fine with that, yes,” She quickly rose to stand straight, taking the pen and papers from him, “Don’t worry, Silver. I’m just getting my bearings; you’ve been nothing but helpful.”

His smile returned, the spark of joy in those eyes rocked Blaze to her core, “If you’re sure. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Blaze quickly threw her eyes toward the document. She’d read it before online, of course she had, but it was her only escape! She quickly filled in her share before blindly passing the sheet back to Silver for his witness confirmation signature, pretending to be distracted by the spice rack.

When she finally dared to look at him, Blaze found that Silver had casually let go of the objects he’d gathered and left them to hang in the air. Though she’d tried to fight it, Blaze couldn’t help but peer at his handwriting. He’d signed his name twice, both on the landlord’s copy and her own. It’d been at least ten years since the message in the bottle had been written, of course the writer’s handwriting would have changed over that time, but Blaze couldn’t help noticing the slightly scrawled nature of his penmanship. His handwriting wasn’t bad per say but it wasn’t in cursive, and it certainly wasn’t what you’d call neat. Though she longed to think of it in any other way, that was yet another strike in the soulmate column.

“Oh, um,” The hedgehog’s hand returned to his quills, “I don’t know if you’ve had dinner or anything, and you don’t need to eat it if you don’t want it, but I was so excited for you coming so,” He gestured into the fridge, “I made a cheesecake. Feel free to grab a slice whenever, it looks like it's properly set now.”

The hedgehog couldn’t just cook, he could bake. Alone that fact would mean nothing but, with all this compiling evidence, Blaze felt her head spin and more heat jumped to her face. She shifted by him, glancing into the fridge, and sure enough, there it sat. A biscuit base topped with a creamy yellow mass and decorated with what looked to be some kind of cherry or strawberry jell or jam. She took hold of the door to steady herself, feeling the heat gather and gather on her face until a single spark ignited near the tip of her nose and, with a small pop, burgeoned into a flame. Blaze ran her free hand down her face, snuffing it immediately, but the thoughts that prompted it still ran rampant in her mind.

“Eh, Blaze? Are you okay?” She heard him shift and felt him looking over her shoulder, standing so very close, “You’ve gone all red.”

She had no idea how much of that he’s seen but, regardless, his innocence was astounding. His reaction to that pop and a palpable burst of heat from the fridge wasn’t to question what had happened but if she was okay. His concern for her was so very plain, his heart truly was fastened to his sleeve, he truly was very naïve. She had no idea what his life had been like up until this point, no idea who he really was just as he had no idea who she truly was. They were just a pair of very socially awkward individuals, albeit in very different ways, who happened to have collided due to the machinations of either fate or coincidence. She still couldn’t just up and tell him about these thoughts or the message she’d received but, regardless of them and whether this was fate or not, it was only right that she got to the bottom of this.

“I-I’ll have some if you will,” She blurted out, turning away from the fridge and towards him. Though embarrassment was surely twisting her face into a grimace, he still looked so kindly, “Maybe we should have a sit down and… get to know each other a little better?” The day’s travel had run her ragged, but nothing could compare to this past fifteen minutes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #soulmate #fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

parkmuse · 4 years

Text

Cat Got Your Tongue Pt. 2 (M)

Word Count: 7,474 (Reposted) (Wonhopes Masterlist)

Taco ain’t your innocent kitty no more.

cr.

You let out a heavy sigh, flipping through channels out of boredom in your living room. You keep glancing over at your phone, biting your lip as you gave in and opened the lock screen.

No new messages.

You swipe open the phone and you’re met with a photo of you and Namjoon from your anniversary. Both of you are smiling like idiots, him with his chin resting on your shoulder with his arms wrapped tightly around you with the big Christmas tree brightly shining in the background. You smile at the memory, but it finally dawned on you that this was all in the past.

You roughly chucked your phone to the opposite side of the couch, expecting a loud thump but instead a cry of pain erupted from beside you causing you to jump in your seat. You looked over to see your precious little fluff ball curled up, ears faltered and then you realized exactly what you just did.

“OH MY GOD TACO I’M SO SORRY!” You scooped him up into your arms, showering his face with kisses as you profusely apologized to your poor cat.

You bring him onto your lap, stroking his head as you scratch behind his ears. In turn he purrs, snuggling up against you as a gesture to say he forgave you, then licked at the exposed skin on your thigh.

You smile at him when he looks up to you and meows, lifting himself up until you’re face to face with him. His paw lightly strokes at your cheek, then he brings his face to caress against yours. You giggle, lightly stroking his back as you start playing with his tail.

You were really happy to have Taco alongside you especially at this point of your life. When you feel sad he makes you feel better, and when you’re lonely he’ll be there to comfort you, licking your face and cuddling with you until your tears dry up and your memories of your horrible ex-boyfriend fade away.

“You’re so cute, Taco.” You continue playing with his tail, letting it glide through your fingertips as you use your other hand to stroke his back.

All of a sudden his purrs are overpowered by what sounded like heavy grunting, making your eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

“Are you okay Taco?”

He continues to make those deep, heavy grunts, then changed to what sounded like panting as if he had just run a marathon. Suddenly your vision blurred, your surroundings oddly morphing into some weird spiral that ended up turning pitch black.

You groan in your spot, slowly opening your eyes as the sun’s warm rays shine brightly in your face, slightly pulling you out of your dream state. You’re still half asleep, still tired from all that craziness that occurred in your dream last night when Taco turned into some hot naked dude in your bed. God, you must have been so desperate to get over Namjoon your brain whipped up some really weird ass shit.

You attempted to stretch, but something constricted your movements. You tried moving your arms, then you realized one of your hands was grasping onto something warm and fuzzy. You curiously squeezed it, stroking it between your hands with half lidded eyes but froze once you heard a guttural moan right in your ear.

Slowly you realized you weren’t alone in bed. Thick arms were tightly wrapped around you, legs were tangled along with yours, and hot breaths panted against your ear. You were still slightly in a daze but woke up immediately once you felt a hot, slick muscle swipe against the shell of your ear followed by another deep groan.

“Y/N, mm, don’t squeeze too hard,”

He pulls you closer to him, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck before latching his lips onto it. He ran his wet tongue along the expanse of your neck, slowly running upward towards your ear. He catches your lobe between his lips, nibbling lightly causing shivers to run up your spine.

By reflex you squeeze the object in your hand again, making him buck against you and moan your name aloud in a raspy tone.

“Fuck Y/N, I told you not too hard!”

Your eyes widen and you turn to look at him, emerald eyes stabbing daggers into you. You were about to say something but realized the object just twitched in your hands, then you frantically pull off the covers.

You were mortified to find him naked against you again, dick out and rubbing against your leg. But what really caused you to want to faint and leave this world for good was what was in your grasp. A brown tail in your hands; a brown fucking tail that came from between his legs.

You screamed aloud then quickly shoved him off of you, kicking and thrashing until you succeeded in throwing him off the bed.

You hear a loud grunt from below, then you slowly peek over.

“What the fuck was that for?!” He says as he sat up. His ears flop down as he rubs the back of his head.

You stare at him in shock, realizing your figment of your imagination didn’t come from your dream.

This is real.

He’s real.

Taco’s not your small cute little fluff ball anymore, he’s morphed into a human man. A hot but naked pervy little-

“God, is this how it’s gonna be every morning from now on? It’s barely 9, let me sleep some more,” He moves to stand up but he jumps in his place when you scream again.

“NO! Y-YOU’RE NAKED!”

“Y/N, you’ve seen me like this all the time. Why are you so shy now?” He quickly shoots you a suggestive smirk. “Oh, is it because it’s the biggest you’ve seen-“

You slug a pillow straight into his face causing him to fall back to the ground with a thud, groaning aloud again.

You jump from the bed and run over to your closet, opening the bottom drawer and pulling some of Namjoon’s old clothes out. You curse to yourself as you can’t help but inhale the remnants of his cologne that lingered on his shirt. You really have to get rid of these.

Once you kick some sense into yourself you turn to Tae and toss the clothes at him. “I don’t care if you were a cat or are a cat or whatever the fuck, if you’re staying with me you’re not walking around naked so put those on.”

He pouts at you, giving you his big, glossy eyes as his ears falter. After a good few seconds he realizes you aren’t going to give in, rolling his eyes dramatically and letting out an annoyed huff. He throws on the t-shirt and immediately groans in disgust, “God, this smells like shit. I always hated whenever baboon would come over and stink up the whole place.”

“His name is Namjoon,” you blatantly corrected him.

“Same thing! Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re together anymore-oof!”

You quickly swung another pillow straight into his face, making him fall back again. He rubs his head and groans, “What the hell was that for?!”

“Just hurry up and get dressed! We’re going somewhere.” You stomp out of the room and head to the restroom, slamming the door on your way in. You can’t lie and say that Tae didn’t just hit home. Why did you care? Why do you still care about that cheating asshole?

You hate that you let tears fall for someone that did you dirty, that would throw away years of a relationship; for someone that wasn’t worth it. Why were you still in love with him?

Soft scratches against the door stopped your sniffling. “What?” You said after clearing your throat and trying to sound as normal as possible. You rubbed your eyes as the door slowly squeaked opened, cat ears peeking through the door. You quickly looked away not wanting him to see you pathetically falling apart. “What is it? I’m almost done, we’re not showering together if that’s what you’re here for-“

He turns you toward him, grabbing your hands to lower it from your face. Once he gets a good look at you his eyebrows crinkle in distress, head tilting to the side. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not, I just washed my face and got something in my eye-“ Before you could finish he grabs ahold of your chin in his hand, swooping down to run his tongue along the side of your cheek. He runs his slick muscle upward, lapping up your tears before kissing the side of your eye. He moves back to look at you again, visibly upset.

“You were crying, I could hear you from the other room.” Damn those cat ears. “Did I say something? I’m sorry if I made you sad.” He bites his lip, then brings his head to the crane of your neck. He rests both of his hands on each side of you, trapping you between him and the sink. He runs his nose along your flesh, lightly nipping at your soft spot making you relax. Your heart was beating a mile a minute at the sudden contact, but it felt…nice.

“Will you forgive me?” He slowly draws circles with his thumbs along your hips, lightly ghosting his lips along your jawline. He rests his forehead onto yours, bringing his hands to your face. You two stare at each other for a long moment in silence, your breathing being the only thing echoing along the walls.

Tae was very, very, very handsome, and sometimes you forget for a moment that this guy is half human. At least that’s what he says—he probably somehow broke into your house, kidnapped your cat and cosplays as Taco. But a big part of you feels as though he is really telling you the truth, that he’s being this gentle because he’s your best friend and has always been with you from thick or thin. His emerald eyes show pure concern, kindness and love that you really need at this moment.

You instinctively lick your lips and his eyes quickly dart down to your mouth, causing him to slowly lick his own as well. The concern over his face quickly changed to something much darker as his eyes stared daggers into you.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

He slowly moves in and you close your eyes, heart about to jump out of your chest. He swipes his tongue along your top lip, the sudden warmth making you moan a little. He licks the corner of your mouth, then nibbles on your bottom lip causing you to groan and clench onto his shirt tighter.

“Tae,” you say breathlessly as he brushes your hair behind your ears, tracing a finger down your jawline before grabbing ahold of your chin again. He takes his thumb and rests it on top of your bottom lip, pulling it downward.

“Open up for me,” He says in a low grunt, grinding his hips into yours, “Open up for meowster-“

You move forward and quickly bite on his thumb, causing him to yelp and back up. “What the hell Y/N?!”

“Meowster? You’re ridiculous,” You spew as you shove past him with flushed cheeks and out the door.

“Like master! But I’m half cat, get it? Don’t you have a sense of humor?” He pouts while sucking on his thumb.

“Just hurry up and get ready!”

After what felt like ages to force Tae to suck it up and put on the rest of his clothing, you two took off. You whacked his hand each time he tried to touch the beanie you took 20 minutes getting both his ears to fit snugly inside, and he always responds with a hiss and a pout back at you. A part of you is a bit happy you chose his attire, having his fringe out of his eyes and showing off his beautiful emerald eyes. You never noticed how his eyebrows were so defined and having his forehead shown made him ten times more attractive than before.

"You know you don't only have to look, you can touch too."

You didn't realize you were shamelessly checking him out, a smug smirk plastered on his face as you catch a glimpse of his pink muscle dip out from his mouth, making his bottom lip glisten.

"You're so full of it," You scoff, turning away as a blush creeps up your cheeks from being caught red handed.

"I think the one who's going to be full of it tonight is you-OW!" You give a hard left hook into his side, making him gasp out in pain.

"Keep it up and you'll be a prune by the time I'm done with you," you say as you roll your eyes from his exaggerated cry of pain.

"K-kinky...it's okay, I like it rough," He manages to wink at you as he clutches to his side.

You sigh in annoyance, "Okay hurry up, I don't want to run into crowds." You pick up the pace on the sidewalk, him following suit and catching up with you.

"Where are we going anyways?"

"To the mall. I wanna see if that Santa is still there. Maybe he knows why the fuck you turned human." You quickly dodge a group of teenage kids on their phones, not even bothering to look at their surroundings as their eyes stayed glued to the little lit up screens in their hands.

"Why do you want to talk to a mall Santa? What would that fake perv even know?"

"Just shut up and follow me!" You finally reached a crosswalk and clicked the button on the pole. You stand there, tapping your feet impatiently as you watch cars speed past you. After a few moments you realized that for once, Tae actually listened to you and really did shut his god damn annoying mouth. How surprising, he should be like this more often. It makes him a lot cuter-

You turn your head to talk to him but he's nowhere to be seen. You panic for a moment, hoping he didn't just run off and have a wardrobe malfunction like flashing his long ass ugly tail in public. You're about to take a step back but your feet kick onto something on the floor, halting you. You look down, not expecting to actually find what you're looking for.

Tae is on the floor in an inhuman crouching position, staring intently right above him. You have no fucking clue what the hell he was doing, and his strange posture is catching everyone's attention around you.

"Tae what the fuck are you doing?!" You hiss at him, reaching for his arm to get him to stand up again. He quickly dodges your hand by hopping strategically over to the left side, eyes still glued right above. You can't help but get even more irritated, "Tae, seriously, you need to-"

"Shhhh," He whispered back, eyes still staring at the sky, "You're gonna make it aware."

You look at him like he's gone insane, then follow his eyes up to the top of a tree. You see a tiny bird there in its nest, resting on top of a large branch.

"Dinner is on me tonight-"

You whack him on the back of the head and before he can yell at you for hurting him again you pull him by the arm and across the street. He groans as he clutches the back of his head, "Y/N, I know hitting me turns you on and all but you can't actually hurt me-"

You turn to face him, a vein already popping out of your temple as you let go of his wrist. "You seriously have to stop with this bullshit. You're human now! At least the majority of you...but try to act like a regular human being, especially in public. I don't want someone to call the cops on some cosplaying, bird hunting weirdo."

"Did you see the feathers on that one?! It was probably so juicy, you're seriously missing out-" He stopped speaking once you cracked your knuckles, preparing to hit him again.

"Fine, fine," He huffed, "I'll be human for you."

"Thank you." You two start walking at a steady pace again, a few blocks away from the mall.

"I'll show you what a real man is like since you want me to so bad," You heard him whisper huskily under his breath, brushing his hand against your side. Your eyebrows crinkle in distress and you're about to turn to give him another knuckle sandwich but all of a sudden he lets go, pouncing forward onto a passerby, knocking both of them to the ground. Everything happened so fast you don't understand what could have possibly happened, but could Tae seriously not even act human for two fucking seconds?

You see the man in a black hooded sweater groan from underneath Tae, his jet black fringe covering his closed eyes. He's making a move to get up but Tae has him pinned down, inching closer to his face. Everyone nearby stops again, waiting for a fight to unfold.

"I knew it was you. Still ugly even in human form," Tae chuckled. The man finally opens his eyes, looking up at Tae before his eyes popped wide open.

You're about to pull him off and just buy a damn leash for the guy since he can't control himself, but then you hear him talk.

"What the fuck? Tae?" He finally moves off of him and pulls him to sit up, crouching in a cat like manner in front of the stranger. Once people in the surrounding area realize nothing is going to happen, they continue on walking.

"I guess my good looks still run strong when I'm in this form, huh?"

The stranger brushes himself off, still observing Tae from head to toe. "You didn't have to fucking tackle me down, you could have just said hi. When did you turn human?"

You were still standing there beside them, completely lost at what was going on. Did Tae know this guy? Who was he? Maybe some old neighbor that would leave some milk out for him at his windowsill at night? You were trying to figure out who this mystery man was, then his hood slipped off his head. He immediately pulled it back on, but not before you were able to catch a glimpse at the top of his head.

Without a doubt you saw a pair of cat ears, ones similar to Tae's but the back was black and the inside was a bit more pink. Your jaw dropped and he saw your reaction, a hint of amusement on his stone cold facial expression. You didn't miss the side of his mouth twitching upwards a bit, but then his attention turned back to Tae.

"Just yesterday man, still not really used to all these free form movements." Tae arranges his fingers to form the word "blood," then proceeds to shoot little finger guns at him.

The man nods, then pushes himself to stand up. "Well, try and act a bit fucking normal next time. Damn, that hurt." He rubs his lower back, then turns his attention at you. "Who's this pretty little bird?"

"Y/N," you answered, trying to ignore his weird little nickname for you. When he smiled he actually looked really cute, a lot different than his intimidating expression from earlier.

"That's a sweet name, suits its owner." He took a step over to you, "Ever wonder what it would be like to stroke a hybrid Persian's-"

"Fuck off Yoongi, get your own owner!" Tae hisses, shoving himself in between yourself and the black haired boy. He clutches onto your sides, blocking you from him. Were his shoulders always this broad?

Yoongi chuckles, "I was just playing around Tae. Jeez, you get so possessive sometimes." He puts his hands in his pockets, then begins walking the opposite direction. "Seems like you were in a rush somewhere so I'll be going now. I'll see you two around." He winks at you, making Tae growl under his breath.

"Fucking Persians, always think they're top notch breeds," He says once that Yoongi guy was out of earshot.

"Look who's talking," You respond, "Anyways, who was that guy?"

"Some dude I knew awhile back. I didn't even know he was in this form now, but I recognized his scent off the bat. He always reeks of coffee and mint."

"So he's a cat too?"

"Yeah, hybrid. I wonder if anyone else we've known are human now too." You didn't know that Tae wasn't the only one who could have possibly changed like this. You thought this was all by chance, all because of your dumb wish you made with Santa last night.

"So you're telling me this has happened before?" You groan. What's the point in even going to the mall now? This definitely didn't happen because of a wish upon a star, so there's no point in talking to the fake Santa that gets paid minimum wage to falsely make dreams for idiots like you to believe will come true. You two just got there too.

"Yes, but a while ago. But don't worry Y/N, I still know how to use it! I made sure last night-“

He cries in pain when you kick him in the shin, “I don’t know why I haven’t put a muzzle on you by now.”

“S-save that for the bedroom, I love being gagged.“

You were getting real tired of this kid, or cat, whatever. What the hell were you going to do now? You have no idea how this happened, why this happened, and why this especially happened to you.

Why did the universe hate you so bad they turned your cat into a pervy, obnoxious little half human?

You pause at the front of the mall, watching as kids run by into the winter wonderland. Your eyes get lost as they travel to the big Christmas tree above, still as beautiful as ever when you saw it yesterday. Memories start flooding again back to when you and Namjoon would go on dates there, your hands intertwined and bodies molding perfectly against each other as you gaze across the twinkling lights above. You two would stand there, counting all the stars that dangled along the tree before it got so cold both your teeth would chatter. He'd surprise you with hot chocolate at your favorite cafe, the sweet aroma filling your senses and the silky texture spreading warmth throughout your soul. Then he'd pull you closer, pressing a chaste kiss on your temple before whispering sweet I love yous as he rakes his hand through your hair, turning you around to plant a passionate kiss over your lips. Every moment with him always felt so right, and you always felt safe tucked into his arms.

Two arms suddenly wrap around you and engulf you into a hug. A broad chest is pressed flushed against your back as a chin rests on top of your head. You immediately recognize the all too familiar scent, your body slowly relaxing as you inhale his musky cologne.

You were in Namjoon's arms.

You two are here on your date, the one you both planned a few weeks back. He hugs you tighter from behind, bringing his lips to your temple once more as you close your eyes and bask in his touch and all his warmth.

Everything else was a dream. Taco is at home, sprawled on the floor and napping as usual. Namjoon never left you; he was here with you now, forever and always like he said. You slowly reach up and grasp onto his long sleeve you loved seeing him wear so much. You smile softly and turn towards him, "Nam-"

You're met with a head that immediately clashes to your forehead, making you groan out loud. Before you can say something his head automatically drifts upwards, his nose and forehead brushing roughly against the side of your face. Your cheeks rub against each other and soft purrs fill your ears.

Your eyes finally adjust to see Tae in front of you, continuing to rub his face onto your skin and into the curve of your neck. You can't imagine how weird this must look in another person's point of view, some dude just rubbing his entire face all over your damn head while you stand there and let it happen. You forgot that you gave him a pair of Namjoon's old clothes, and you not seeing him from behind earlier just made everything seem so real.

You snap out of your thoughts when you feel a squeeze against your ass, followed by a warm tongue swiping at the corner of your mouth. "Mm, I bet you taste way better than catnip-"

You shove him off of you, quickly wiping your mouth as your cheeks heat up again. "Stop rubbing yourself all over me!"

"You always let me do it before! I don't get why its’ a problem now," He huffs. "You're so soft and you smell so good, I can't help it."

You blush harder than before, but chose to ignore his statement. You take a good look at him in your ex-boyfriend's clothes, and the remnants of his scent just makes it hurt even more. Once you compose yourself you grab him by the sleeve and drag him towards a store nearby.

"Since we're here anyways, let's buy you some new clothes. Those really do reek."

You enter the first clothing store you see and walk over to the men's section. The racks were filled with plaid button ups and neutral colored shirts, all of which would probably look amazing on Tae but you didn't want to boost his ego. You skim through some clothes and pull out a nice cream colored long sleeve, followed by some slightly baggy black pants that could easily hide his tail.

"Here, try these on." You toss the clothes over to him and he catches them in his arms.

"Why do I have to wear clothes? I'd be doing everyone a favor if I graced everyone's eyes with my naked body," He huffs.

"Can you stop being gross and just try them on?" You roll your eyes, turning back to look at some more clothes for him.

"Y/N?"

You immediately freeze up. You knew that voice anywhere.

"I knew it was you!"

Your eyes unwillingly meet his in front of you. He's wearing the exact clothes last time you saw him, but they're actually on his body rather than strewn all over the living room floor. He's wearing a beanie so his fringe doesn't cover his eyes, that same smirk plastered on his face that you knew too well and fell in love with.

"Namjoon." You didn't know what else to say. You couldn't think of anything else to say.

Right after you spoke someone comes and grabs him by the arm, flinging herself onto him. "Babe, I thought I lost you! Why did you run off so- Y/N? What are you doing here?"

This was your worst nightmare come true. The two people you never wanted to see again were standing right in front of you, holding hands and probably on a date. Namjoon was here with Yoona, your ex best friend that also went against your back and broke your trust. You had so much you wanted to say, so many questions on why they would ever do this to you but nothing came out.

"Helloooo? Earth to Y/N? I asked you a question," Yoona said. She smirked when you were still frozen on the spot, not a peep out of you. "Cat got your tongue? You always seem to be out of words when it comes to us. Just like last time when you caught us, all you did was stare," She sneered. "You don't even have a boyfriend anymore, why are you even shopping for men's clothes?"

You feel like you couldn't breathe. Did she really just bring that up? It felt like a punch in the gut.

"She's here with me, I'm her boyfriend."

Tae partly shields you behind him, stepping in between again. He grabs your hand and intertwines them, pulling them up to his face to place a soft kiss before bringing them back down. He turns to you and gives you a soft smile, squeezing your hand once more.

Yoona's jaw drops, ogling Tae like he was some model that jumped out of a GQ catalog. Namjoon looks surprised as well, his smirk slightly faltering as his eyebrows crease. He quickly regains his composure, smiling back at you two once more.

"I see you've already moved on Y/N- wait, are those my fucking clothes?"

You see Namjoon's eyebrows raise, looking Tae up and down. You curse to yourself, forgetting that you gave him those clothes to wear and he hasn't changed out of them yet.

"Why are you wearing my clothes? Wait, did she ask you to wear them?" He laughs out loud while Yoona giggles beside him, clutching harder onto his arm. "Wow Y/N, I didn't know you were that obsessed to actually have your boy toy play dress up as me."

He takes a step forward, clutching onto the neck hole of Tae's shirt. "I've been meaning to go get these back, but seems like she needs it more than I do."

Tae smacks his arm away before saying, "You can have them back. They fucking stink anyways." He lets go of your hand and pulls his pants down in front of you three, right in the aisle in public inside the store. All three of your jaws drop, and he continues by taking off his shirt and throwing it at Namjoon. He reaches for the hem of his boxers but Namjoon quickly stops him, "NO! Dude, keep those on." Tae huffs, slightly wishing Namjoon would want them back, but reluctantly keeps them on. You're glad he didn't go that far since his tail is still out of view.

All three of you are standing there staring at a barely clothed Tae bewildered, people nearby throwing out disgusted remarks or covering their eyes as they pass by, but the silence is broken when Namjoon lets out another hearty laugh. He clutches his stomach as he keels over, wiping a tear that slipped from his eye.

"Damn Y/N, where'd you find this one? Quick fucks on Tinder won't give you two year relationships, you know. Just freaks, and it seems like you've got a perfect one in your hands."

You don't even know the guy standing in front of you right now. Never in all the time you've known Namjoon has he ever spoken to you like this, let alone implying that you're some easy slut when he knows all too well he was your first for everything. He was your first date, your first kiss, your first love. All you wanted to do was get out of here and hide out at home to cry your eyes out for the rest of eternity.

"You can't ever find someone like me, even if you tried to make one with your sick fantasies.” He turns to Tae. “Does she tell you to fuck her like me too?"

"Don't ever fucking talk about her like that." You hear Tae snarl in front of you, talking a step forward and into Namjoon's face.

"I don't know what this girl's told you man, but I'd be careful with her. Don't listen to cheap sluts-" Next thing you know Tae pounces onto him, knocking him to the ground. He's got one of his hands pressed onto Namjoon's chest, his face a mere inches from his, heaving over him. His stance is like that of a lion's, about to end his prey.

"Call her that again and I'll fucking kill you!" Tae growls over him, digging his nails into the flesh of Namjoon's chest. Namjoon groans in pain, and Yoona is screaming uncontrollably behind a rack which brings all the attention back to us. Her annoying cries brings you back to your senses, and you immediately rush over to pull him off.

"Tae, stop!" You attempt to grab his arm but he doesn't budge. He pushes Namjoon further into the concrete, reaching with his other hand to grasp onto his throat. The beanie on his head slides off, revealing his two ears at the top of his head.

Namjoon is still fighting against him, but freezes once he catches sight of his head. "W-What the fuck?" Tae's ears twitch, standing tall as he continues his attack on Namjoon, but before he can crush his neck you quickly slide your hand down his boxers, grabbing his tail harshly. Tae lets go of his throat and moans aloud, hands shaking as they're planted on either side of Namjoon's head on the concrete.

"O-Oh my god," He moans, suddenly moving his hips against the boy to relieve some kind of friction.

"What the-" Namjoon looks confused as ever, but immediately screams once he feels something hard against his thigh. "DUDE GET OFF ME!"

You squeeze his tail harder, stroking it as you grab under his shoulders to pull him off of him. You finally succeed, Tae still being affected by your touch. You quickly shove his tail back into his boxers, pulling his beanie over his head but not before you catch Namjoon staring intensely at what was in your hands.

"What-"

"Come on Tae, let's go." You don't let Namjoon finish, pulling you two across the store as people watch you drag a half naked man into the dressing room. You lock the door behind you, putting the clothes on the hook as Tae leans against the mirror, huffing.

You glare at him, "Why the hell would you-"

"Did you hear how he was talking to you? What he called you? I'll fucking kill him," He growled under his breath once more. You've never seen him look so angry, so hostile and his eyes just showed how serious he was about what he was saying. He took a step closer to you, "Move so I can finish what I started with that jackass."

"No! They're just words, I could care less!" You say as convincingly as you could, trying to push him back but his strength was too much for you.

"Don’t lie! They hurt you! I could feel it. He hurt you, and I won't let anybody ever do that to you." He tried to make his way around you but you wouldn't budge away from the door.

"Please Tae, don't do this." You pleaded.

"I can still smell that asshole, he's still nearby. Now move." You saw how determined he was, and you knew he wasn't planning on stopping until he got to Namjoon again.

You brought your hands to his head, the beanie slipping off again. You pulled his head downward to look you in the eyes. He was livid, you can see his emerald eyes staring daggers and his nose flaring. You brush one of your hands upwards and to his ear, scratching lightly.

Your touch makes him falter a bit, making him grunt. You continue your actions and he puts his hands on each side of your head, scraping the door lightly.

"Just let me-"

"Please." You bring a hand to his back, releasing his tail from his boxers. You tug at the base lightly, making him groan and rest his forehead on your shoulder. You continue to stroke lightly while scratching behind his ears, making him moan huskily into your ear.

"Fuck," He groans, his hands moving to rest on your hips, mouth latching onto the side of your neck. You moan lightly, craning your neck to the side to give him easier access. He laps at one of your sensitive spots and you press more firmly on his tail, making his hips rut into yours. The thin fabric of the boxers leaves little barriers and you can feel his hard length press against you, making you mewl out his name.

He starts grinding into you at a steady pace, a few harsh thrusts here and there that brushes deliciously along your core, your stomach tightening at the feeling. He nibbles on your neck, then sucks harshly making you grasp onto his hair.

"Tae," you moan. You feel the sting on your neck when he bites down, lapping up the spot where he marked you. He hikes you up and you bring your arms around his neck, your legs on either side of his waist.

"You’re mine," He grunts, driving his hips into yours, groaning your name in your ear as you do the same with his.

You watch through the mirror across at how Tae is ravaging you, pressing you firmly against the wall as he laps over the dark purple mark on your neck. His hips keep a quick pace, your fingers digging further into his broad shoulders as you let out quiet, choked moans.

The dressing room is nothing but the sounds of your mewls and his heavy breathing, constant thuds of the door clacking back and forth each time he drives you into the wall again. He picks up the pace and his moans get louder, desperation spilling out of his mouth. The cords in your stomach are snapping one by one, just a bit more to have you falling over the edge.

"Fuck Tae, I think I'm gonna-"

Two loud bangs vibrate against the door of the dressing room, making you two jump.

"EXCUSE ME, THIS IS A BUSINESS. WE MUST ASK YOU TWO TO LEAVE THE STORE IMMEDIATELY OR WE WILL CONTACT THE POLICE," You hear from the other side of the door.

You're embarrassed as ever, letting out a small sorry as you hear the angry footsteps get fainter and fainter. You two are still panting, trying to catch your breath.

Your hands are still wrapped around his neck and he still has you pinned to the door. Just the sounds of your regulating breaths was strangely comforting, and you lock eyes with Tae once more. You lean forward and kiss him on his nose, caressing one of his cheeks. He stares at you with wide eyes, his ears twitching and flicking upwards.

"Do that again."

You lean forward, kissing him on the nose again.

"Again."

You leave another peck on his nose, seeing his ears standing straight and eyes practically boring into you like you just gave him the best present he could ask for. You giggle at his cute reaction, then he leans in to swipe his tongue along your top lip. The momentary warmth felt so nice, and a part of you is craving for more. He moves to leave a kiss on the top of your nose, then rests his forehead on yours.

His lips ghost over yours, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"Meowster thinks we should continue this in your bedroom," He says as he licks his lips. You smash your forehead against his, making him groan and release you from his hold. "What was that for?!"

"You're dumb, now put those clothes on so we can leave!" You say as you open the door and walk out of the dressing room.

After paying for the clothes and being frowned upon by everyone in the store, you two decided to head back home. Tae begged you for some ice cream after seeing a huge sign in front of the store that read "It's meownificent!" (owners probably had a cat fetish), so you stopped in and got two cones. You walked in silence as you licked up your melting dessert, Tae lapping his up and getting it all over his face. You passed him a napkin but he insisted he didn't need one, wiping it on his arm and licking it off himself.

“Napkins are for muggles,” He says as he continues to clean himself with his tongue. You roll your eyes, then go back to eating your ice cream.

It’s melting really fast, some of it dripping onto your hand and down your index finger. You try to prevent it slipping further down your fingers with the napkin, but Tae’s reaction was more quick than yours. He grabs your hand and brings it to his face, taking your index finger into his mouth and lightly sucking on it. His tongue twirls around it, lapping up all the sweet cream.

“Mmm,” He moans as he still has your finger in his mouth. He finally releases it, making a popping sound, “Tastes so good.”

You whip your hand away as you furiously blush, accidentally pushing the cone toward your face. The ice cream smears a bit on your cheek and your lip, and before you can reach to wipe it off your chin is grabbed and Tae’s tongue is lapping up the mess. He swipes up your cheek, then turns your head so you’re face to face with him. He’s so close his breaths are fanning against your face, then he leans in and licks your lips. His tongue dips into the crevice of your mouth, making its way to get every bit of cream off your lips. You unintentionally whimper at the feeling, clutching his sleeve as he continues his ministrations. He nibbles on your bottom lip before letting go of you, “There, all clean! I told you no one needs napkins-“ You punch him in the gut, making him groan.

“Y-you can’t just do that!” You blush as you try to give him an angry look over your embarrassment. He huffs something along the lines of it’s a free country as you wipe your hands with the napkins.

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a feeling of dread suddenly surging through you. Tae turns over to you and his eyebrows crinkle once he sees your facial expression, “What’s wrong?”

“What are we going to do now?” You sigh. “How do we get you back into a cat?”

You toss your cone into a nearby trash can, “I don’t even know why this is happening, and why to me? What did I do? Why was I cursed to be stuck with your pervy little-

“Why do you want me to turn back into a cat so badly? Is it that bad to have me this way?” You look up, surprised to see how somber his face looked.

“But you’re supposed to be-“

“Who says I’m supposed to be a cat? And when I was, you’d always tell me how much you loved me. We’d sleep together, eat together. You’d always talk to me, tell me everything. And now when I’m like this, you treat me lower than a fucking pet.” He turns away, and you could see how genuinely upset he is.

“I can’t help this happened, but all I ever did was love you. Why does it matter how I look?” He says in a broken tone.

You bite your lip, feeling bad at how you’ve been treating him. He’s right— all Tae has ever done was stay by your side, helping you when you needed it, comforting you when you were sad. Even if he’s human now, he’s been the same sweet, caring friend you’ve always had. And all you’ve done since the incident was be a dick to him.

You walk up to him, reaching for his hand. He’s still looking away, so you bring your other hand to his cheek, making him look over. It breaks your heart once you see how sad he actually was, and it made you feel like the worst person on the planet.

You caress his cheek, squeezing his hand lightly, “I-“

“Tae?”

Both your heads whip over to a women standing a few feet in front of you. She has long, wavy black hair that cascades past her rosy cheeks and milky colored skin. Her makeup is nice and light, but you can tell she would be beautiful even without it. You see her surprised facial expression, and you’re confused as ever. How could she possibly know him? She must’ve confused him for someone else, there’s no way-

“Youngji.” Tae whips his hand away from you, causing you to flinch. You can’t help but feel a little hurt since he’s never shied away from your touch. He turns his body so your other hand is away from his cheek, moving his hands to his pockets as his eyes never leave the woman.

She gives him a faint smile, “Long time no see.”

#taehyung fic #tae x reader #taehyung x reader #reader insert #kim taehyung #bts fic #tae fic #wonhopes

59 notes · View notes

vake-hunter · 4 years

Text

Light Fingers Lore Post

Moon-Misers

Normal Moon-Milk is a poison they use to make their prey walk right into their mouth. It’s not meant to last for long.

Babies are rare, only born about once a decade! “A Moon-Miser can only be born when the stars align. It must also be coaxed from the womb with a Song of Birthing.” Once born it must be fed special nectar extracted from stalactites. Who knows what that’s made of! “At birth, Moon-Misers are wrapped in their mother's silk, forming a protective membrane while their carapaces develop.”

Here, have some NEAT Red Science quotes: “You are forging a new link of a great chain. This is the most impossible and unforgiving of occasions: the creation of something new. In this tent, you usher a brand new species from the vaults of possibility. You are spitting in the face of the gods. You are violating laws written in starlight before the world began.”

This is VERY important Lore: the baby has your eyes.

(If Baby is more human) As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. As you listen, a thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up in the song, you experience a vision: in your mind's eye, a blazing-bright king unites the tribes of the Starved Men under one banner, and harnesses the Moon-Misers as steeds. He leads his subjects on a crusade against the city below - a city that is no longer London, but that still harbours the Moon-King's greatest nemesis, now much embittered at the failure of its schemes. The resulting war will prove its final undoing.

Mr Fires

Is trying to bankrupt the Bazaar in a way.

If it makes a bunch of fake love stories, that can trick Wines and Spices and the Bazaar, eventually the Bazaar won’t know what love is real and what isn’t, thus, hopefully, discouraging the Bazaar and the other Masters.

“A bitter edge creeps into its sibilant voice. "Once a suitable love story is found, it’ll be the end of London. Can you imagine?" The lamp trembles in its hand. Its voice rises an octave. "The end of London! I couldn't bear it! I love this city. It's my sole comfort, the greatest joy I have discovered in all my centuries. I'd do anything to preserve it."

“In the longer term, the Hybrid's milk is the only thing that can save the city. Once seeded across the populace, all love stories will be rendered suspect. Any love, no matter how pure or moving, could simply be the symptoms of an aberration's venom. Love will be robbed of its allure. The Bazaar will not know which stories it can truly believe in."

"If my plan succeeds, the other Masters will abandon London as a failed venture." Mr Fires holds up its lamp; here at the bottom, the shelves are lined with leather-bound volumes. "They shall depart, and I shall make arrangements to preserve the city."

It is very defensive of what it did at the Orphanage, in a way that almost makes it sound like it's guilty. It does insist it would do it again, and it doesn’t care about the people, just London as a city.

Confirmation Fires likes science.

More evidence Masters can shapeshift to change their sizes and when they are upset, they have trouble staying small.

Its very fucking excited to burn things down and upset Wines.

(Giving the baby to Fires) "One day, London will be a city glutted with love," says Mr Fires, returning its gaze to the Hybrid. "Or at least, reliably-replicable facsimiles of it. The effect will be subtle. A modest adjustment, year on year. Wines won't suspect a thing until it is too late." It glances at you. "You and I, [Addressed As], have saved London today."

Boil of Calamities

Possibly the first Fingerking or at least a very very old and strong one.

Seven Heads like the statue at Irem.

The Sun and the Spire that connects it are sacred places to the Fingerkings and the Boil protects them. “They may allow your kind to trespass across the rest of their kingdom, you slumbering oafs, you mortal morsels, but not here, not the hallowed spire. Insolence! Blasphemy!”

Huge coils that appear in the sky. Black scales, a knot of snakes or just one massive one. Like storm clouds with huge fangs. Tongues flicker like lightning.

It once took tributes and accepted people as servants but the the door to its Chamber seems long abandoned.

The Chamber is found in the shadow of the Dome of Scales. “Inside is a cavern that smells faintly of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon. Heavy silk banners hang from the walls, depicting battles between cats and serpents. Seven braziers burn merrily with viric fire. Plates of delicious-looking food have been set out: pomegranates, bloody steak, bunches of plump indigo grapes. At the centre sits a majestic basalt altar, carved with dozens of runes and symbols, a silver bowl waiting atop.”

If you make a Pact with the Boil, you must shed your skin. Don’t worry, there’s more skin under there. Better skin, you’re told. You peel yourself with a Ravenglass knife and it uses the same wording as in my Kingdom for A Pig and the Third City Deal :)

“There is indeed new skin underneath. It is tender and dry, with the faintest silver sheen. The effect is subtle. Only a lover or a doctor would notice.”

“You look up to the Boil, your skin flashing silver, and bow deeply. The overbearing tangle of coils slips apart, separating, loosening. You find yourself breathing more easily.”

Court of Cats

The Duchess is capable of calling a meeting with the Court.

They slew the seven daughters of the Boil.

They have a spear made from a Fingerking’s fang that is capable of piercing the Skin of the Sun. However only cats are allowed to wield it. So if you want it you must become an Honorary Cat.

“The Lord High Seneschal pronounces you the 'Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary,' officially a cat, and thus entitled to take possession of one of the cats' greatest trophies.”

“As they fall quiet, you ask why they have never wielded this spear against their enemies in the past? "Because cats do not have thumbs," says the Knight Marshall, with a haughty look.”

“Hephaesta draws back her Herculean arm and hurls the spear of the Sleeping King, putting every hard-wrung ounce of her strength behind the throw. It flies, like a shell from a cannon, cracking the Skin of the Sun and sinking a foot deep. At the point of impact, the glass buckles and twists and shrieks. Hephaesta and the tiger roar in triumph.”

“A great, hollow crack rings across Parabola. A shadow mars the cosmogone sunlight passes over the sun.”

Parabolan Sun (Not strictly Lore just from Light Fingers but Important)

Parabola was not always bright. It seemed to be in perpetual twilight before the Second City Sisters rose the Sun.

“This is a place that is not. It was not always light, though once it was brighter. The sisters found it in twilight and in dreams. The night was thus sacred to the Second City. They would not be pursued here. The ushabti were created to help in the construction of the Palace. The Second City could have lived here forever.”

This also seems to imply there was no moon either, as the moon is a cat. It probably came with the Second City as well. "Look, there are patterns there, just like the surface's moon. Only... these don't resemble a man, or anything else so much as a cat, curled up asleep."

The Sisters of the Pharaoh (minus the Duchess) fled to Parabola when the Third City fell to avoid being killed. “We four survivors fled. One remained with the City, while I retreated here.”

"The Palace of the Rising was to be a refuge from the Masters and the Bazaar. A new sun was raised in the sky so the citizens might walk in light again.”

The thing is. The Sun was built with the help of what appears to be the God of the Fingerkings. "the Boil of Calamities, Lord of the Seething Sky, wept a drop of shining glass..."

The Boil protects the Sun and the Cats hate the Fingerkings. It seems the Four Sisters betrayed the Cats and their other sister, the Duchess, in order to make the Sun. "It also is the mother-father of the egg that is the Parabolan sun," adds a dark-faced tabby. Its reflection is that of a snarling puma. "Though others played a part in that, too." The Duchess' lips tighten.”

Physically: A huge glass dome held to the land by a stone pillar. Even the sky around the dome appears to be glass. (Interesting given how the Second City imprisoned the Masters was to cover the Neath in glass. From The Mind Of A Long Dead God: “Glass Walls Everywhere! They surround me. They reflect one realm inwards and keep me from the other. These barriers should be fluid!” Note that the Neath IS Storm’s corpse.)

NORTH

Rubbery Men plan to fly north. “They take off again in an instant, heading North, waving you farewell. Where do they ultimately hope to go? Again, it's impossible to tell. Perhaps they hope to find their way home.”

If baby is more Moon-Miser: As the zeppelin ascends, the Hybrid raises its voice in solemn song. A thrill runs down your spine. For a moment, swept up by the song, you experience a vision: a blazing-bright king of Moon-Misers leading its glimmering subjects on a pilgrimage across the roof and through a door far to the North. Below, in a city that is not London, the citizens point and murmur in fear as their false-stars crawl into the distance and blink out one by one, leaving only darkness behind.

Item Rewards

Lyon Pursuivant of Arms Extraordinary: For the purposes of having legal custody of a famous war trophy, you have been made an honorary cat, with the associated title, privileges, and dignities. [Affiliation; Shadowy +3, Persuasive +6, Dangerous +2, Respectable +1]

Tatterskin Shawl: Once, you offending the Boil of Calamities. To make amends you offered up your own skin as a gift. The Boil was thoughtful enough to return your old skin to you, though it no longer fits as snugly as it once did. [Clothing; Shadowy +6, Persuasive -2, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1]

A Loyal Nightmare of Poor Edward: You married what remained of Poor Edward. Now he is a nightmare, bound by the miser-milk to the dreams of the Orphanage. Sometimes, you visit him there. [Affiliation; Shadowy +2, Persuasive +1, Dreaded +1]

A Kitten-Sized Diamond, Liberated from the Mountain: It was torn from the Mountain that looms on the Elder Continent. If set near wounds, they heal. If left in one place for too long, flowers bloom around it. If left near lesser diamonds, they will hatch. [Home Comfort; Persuasive +10, Respectable +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

A False-Star of your Own: Above London, false-stars shine. One is your bastard child, a Hybrid, a diamond the size of a cow. It is a hundred times brighter than its fellows, a blazing pinpoint; every month or two, for just a few days, it passes directly over the city. For that brief period, London's gloom eases into a velvety twilight. (In addition to the stat advantages, this Companion allows you a unique opportunity while zailing.) [Companion; Watchful +6, Shadowy +12, Shapeling Arts +1, Bizarre +2]

#fallen london #mr fires #parabola #light fingers spoilers #lore

36 notes · View notes