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retrodreamgirl · 2 years

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take your pic | jonathan byers x fem!reader

summary: you find an old box of photos under jonathan's bed OR he always noticed

wc: 1.4k

warnings: fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, best friends to lovers (ish), not proofed, lmk if i missed anything!

⤜♡→

“This photograph makes me severely uncomfortable.” You hum from where you lay splayed on Jonathan’s floor, pulling loose contents from the underside of his bed. The rug is scratchy against your cheek, but you’re far too invested in things lost to Jonathan long since.

So far you’ve procured an array of thread bracelets, scoffing when you realized they were the ones you’d gifted him a few summers ago when he was hard pressed to find you without the thick imprint of tight string clinging to your sore fingers. Some old mixtapes were shoved to the base of the wall just below his headboard and you just pulled free an old shoebox filled with polaroids.

The snap of interest is one you weren’t even aware he took, very candid and unflattering in your opinion. You’re laying beneath a large oak that swallows your front yard, nose scrunched and eyes squeezed like you’ve just swallowed your mother’s extra sour lemonade. You can tell it predates your relationship, back when you were nothing more than his closest friend, pining down the collar of his old Ramones t-shirt much to his obliviousness.

Jonathan leans over the edge of his bed, his attention previously occupied with photos he’d taken with his newest camera. You don’t have time to roll away before the frame is between his fingers and he makes a funny face.

“You look beautiful.” Less of a thought and more of a sure statement, one that sets your cheeks aflame despite his insistence to tell you as much everytime he sees your face.

Your relationship is easy in that way, reassurances such a constant that it confuses you when anyone comments on the unbridled affection. It existed before you were rewarded with goodnight kisses and the shy scrapbooks Jonathan took to haphazardly putting together when he realized how much you loved to mark the pages with your own recollections in the way of construction paper and gel pens. He spoils you and somehow you’re still greedy for his tenderness, unsure how he hasn’t gotten sick of you by now.

“Ugh!” You’re so sudden, Jonathan throws himself backwards to avoid your foreheads colliding beside his navy bedspread. He watches you pull to your feet slightly pacing before turning to his taken expression. “You know, you can’t say that right?”

“That my girlfriend is beautiful? I think I’ve earned that right actually.”

“No.” You drag the word out, sing-song and matter of fact. You snatch the photo back, scrutinizing the lick of pink protruding from the strap of your tank top, memory resurfacing. “I remember this day! I wore this cute top and a pretty white skirt for you and you didn’t even notice.”

“I’m sure I noticed, I noticed everything you did!” He argues, nonchalantly lifting his camera and taking a shot of you now, like this is a moment he wants to remember.

If someone were to penetrate the recesses of his brain they would find seventy five percent of it is you, the rest reserved for the things he finds less important but still a necessity for survival. If it weren’t for the way your arms have a habit of shielding your face or your neck finding space in his chest he would have more photos of you than he already does. He’s nearly positive that’s the reason you find the photo in question so unflattering.

He’s horrified to admit that rather than the ignorance you claim he held to you that day he remembers it and you with as much brilliance as a film projector. The way you were twirling around the yard in your new skirt when he rolled up on his bike, ears covered with headphones spinning your newest cassette.

Your hands were covered in bracelets and your finger glistened with the ring your parents gifted you for your birthday. It's a family heirloom, I think that means it’s important but it’s just so pretty I have to wear it forever. He glances now and finds it still wrapping your skin, albeit fitting much better than it did back then.

He remembers your outfit because it struck him in that moment what it meant to love someone. He found it in the way your hand shot out to the protrusion of his nose, gently tapping the buttoned edge before your headphones dipped to your shoulders and richhoched against your collarbones amidst your laughter.

It followed everything you did that day, looming like the luscious branches of that thick oak that stopped you from burning in the sun. He recalls the chanting in his head that stopped the words that pushed at his cheeks, inquiring about the lump in his throat as a side effect for the sudden cadence thumping in his chest.

He didn’t notice because he couldn’t notice and the remembrance of your pout when you insisted he go home early brings him back to where you’re currently crawling into his lap, straddling his legs.

“Where’s your head at?” You hush, hands settling on either side of his face to push at the corner of his lips. You soothe the tightness of his muscles with your own lips pushing at each edge, tasting the cherry of his chapstick at the tip of your tongue. “It’s not a big deal, I know you didn’t like me when we were younger. But you love me now so it’s okay.”

His hands settle at your waist, tracing circles where your shirt rides up to expose bare skin.

It simply won’t do. The thought that you believe him to have been a young boy too interested in everything but the one thing in his life that he believes to complete the whole.

“You were mad at me that day, that’s why you made up that excuse about your parents wanting to have a family dinner?”

“Of course I was. But it doesn’t matter, alls well that—”

“But I did notice.”

“I believe you.”

“You don’t, but I can prove it.” Jonathan discards you gently to the mattress, pulling the box you abandoned onto the bed. He pushes it forward, imploring you to have a look at the memorabilia stocking the inside. You reach for another photo, this one nearly the same as the last, unflattering, but this time because your back was turned and you were seemingly in the middle of dancing to whatever song was humming in your ears.You pull a few more before the outfit changes to a pretty spring dress you wore to one of Will’s birthday parties.

“Are all of these…”

“Of you? Yeah.” He realizes how weird it sounds, the implication of a box filled with photos you never knew he’d taken so he backtracks sheepish, cheeks burning with a flame somewhere between passion and mortification. “It’s not anything weird, I promise. Just photos I took when you weren’t looking.”

“I don’t think you’re helping your case, but I don’t think it’s weird.” You manage a nervous chuckle, shuffling through all the times you thought Jonathan didn’t notice. Like the first time you tried makeup or when you bought a t-shirt with The Clash on it because you knew he was into them.

It’s a timeline of your worst moments because in your mind they were all fruitless, just another failed attempt to get your best friend to see you as anything more. But to Jonathan they were your best, unawares of the way you were trying to catch his attention, far too taken with the girl who had somehow taken hold of his heart without his knowledge or intention.

“I always noticed.” He mumbles, sliding the box aside, placing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I just never knew how to tell my best friend I was wildly in love with her. It always seemed wrong, like I could only have one and I didn’t wanna lose my best friend.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing someone knocked some sense into you.” You rest your forehead against his own, lips ghosting where you both smile like absolute idiots. “I’m burning all of these photos though because I look ridiculous.”

“You’re not touching my photos.” He chimes, swiftly tackling you to the bed, knocking the box from your reach. He buries his nose into your neck, planting kisses against the sensitive skin, reveling in your childish laughter beneath him.

“Jonathan, they’re so bad!”

“But they’re just so good!”

#jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers fic #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers scenario #jonathan byers drabble #jonathan byers x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things drabble

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kellinrk800 · 3 years

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toko fukawa comphet no i don’t take criticism

nobody will even see this because my account just. doesnt get traction but here have a ramble abt toko’s backstory and how much i firmly believe her attraction was comphet.

spoilers for thh, sdr2 and udg

tw// ab/se, n/glect, severe bullying

toko was severely neglected and unwanted when she was a child. she grew up with two mothers and one father due to both sleeping with the same man and neither wanting their child which caused her to be mistreated. once she was locked in a closet and forced to stay there for three days without food. clearly, she grew up in a household completely devoid of healthy love. genocide jack’s development was likely a response to cope with the traumatic experiences.

her time in elementary was no different. in third grade, she was used as a scapegoat for stolen money and her classmates tied her to the jungle gym with a garden hose as punishment.

her first real “love” was with a boy who she had been friends with since elementary but when she finally confessed through a letter, she found it pinned to the bulletin board to mock her. this was genocide jack’s first kill, leading me to believe that her murders were actually a form of protection.

on one occasion (and most likely more considering her difficult relationship with understanding rejection) she was ghosted halfway through on a date after spending three days and nights planning it so that she would not mess it up. she later found out that the boy only asked her out because he lost a bet.

the most likely only healthy representation of love she ever has was through media, which is arguably extremely heteronormativity and the actual healthiness of how relationships are presented in media is debatable.

she internalised all of these things happening to her and believed she deserved them somehow, building her inferiority complex. she began to assume that people only expected bad of her and self victimises herself almost on instinct despite her nature to express opinions without care for others most of the time. her self esteem is extremely low and she often worries about being considered an “old hag” in ultra despair girls.

toko fell in love with the idea of love, not an actual person. at some point she turned to novels and writing as a way to express her emotions and she used that passion to create works of art through her novels and created a toxic idolisation of the perfect relationship with nothing but media, her family’s relationships and her past experiences to go off.

she began to let herself get hurt and internalise it which ended up building her inferiority complex even further to the point of becoming unhealthily infatuated with anyone she saw fit as a stand in for the dreamy perfect people that made her books succeed.

time and time again genocide jack and toko were mistreated in their relationships, causing their system to suffer greatly. jack began to kill anyone toko saw fit as a perfect romantic interest to protect them both, but this most likely caused her own mental health to decline as well, leading to the aggressive, startling and manic personality we saw in the games.

toko began to both idolise and fear falling in love. while she knew they would most likely be killed and she would have to cope with knowing that the police could come knocking any day if they put the pieces together, she also still purposed her life around being in a perfect relationship because it was now causing her to gain traction through her novels.

this only furthered her unhealthy infatuation with relationships. she became determined to find a man who fit her description of the perfect man and would not mislead, use, mock or hurt toko in hopes that he would not be killed and she would finally achieve her dream.

enter byakuya togami. blonde, blue eyed, rich, cold and most importantly, entirely unattainable. he was an ideal stand in, especially considering the circumstances of the killing game (jack’s unique killing style would immediately be found out). she was able to fantasise from afar without ever really getting as severely hurt as she had in the past because he simply did not care to provide her his attention.

jack had two options. kill byakuya and get executed, or suck it up. clearly you can tell which option she chose. in addition, she had all of her memories from prior to the game which most likely slightly numbed her thirst for blood. by the end of ultra despair girls, she has grown a respect for toko, a softness for komaru and even calmed jack down to the point where it’s suggested that she no longer uses her skills to murder but instead fight despair.

in fact, near the end, toko is acutely aware of what is happening despite the fact jack was fronting (they don’t usually share memories, only emotions), suggesting they may have slightly integrated but i don’t really want to make assumptions considering i do not have did and am not educated enough to speak confidently about did.

ironically, the killing game was actually good for both of their mental health’s. i’ll only be talking about toko but in ultra despair girls she was emotionally stronger and more mature. she believed she finally had a purpose other than romance and that she could fight against all odds. she even credits makoto for her newfound courage. she criticises cowards and those that remind her of her past self. she is willing to challenge her fears.

komaru had an amazingly powerful and positive effect on them both. her softness, optimism and empathy help toko’s character develop even further. when komaru tries to give in to despair, toko encourages her to face her fears. toko, who was before extremely afraid and uncomfortable with being touched, is now willing to comfort and even hug komaru. she claims she’s finally found a true friend (that’s actually human, can’t forget kameko the stinkbug) and that she found hope in her.

komaru admires toko and doesnt really mind her split personality, instead just considering it “a bit strange”, which is a noticeable difference from how she was treated by everyone else for it. toko is protective of komaru during chapter two due to her suspicion of shirokuma. later, they even sleep in the same bed.

however, when toko risks komaru’s life for byakuya, they get into an argument in which toko accuses komaru of manipulating her with terms such as “friends”, which leads to komaru showing that she really does trust her.

later, this arguably resolved after servant forces jack and toko to fight against komaru for byakuya. they fight back against servant and komaru forgives her because they are friends, which makes toko extremely happy, so much that she blushed and admits she has never had a real friend before. she thanks komaru genuinely for the first time and they try to become real friends.

toko swears she will help komaru with anything she can’t do by herself, just like komaru would do for her.

toko even stays by her side to the point of rejecting the opportunity of going to future foundation to stay with komaru :)

in the end of danganronpa goodbye despair, which is set after ultra despair girls, kyoko reminds byakuya that someone is waiting for him and he jokes that she shouldn’t remind him of “something so horrifying”. and honestly i think the fact he was able to joke about it shows that perhaps toko and byakuya found a somewhat healthy relationship as friends, acquaintances, or even just bearing eachother’s presence.

a notable addition that didn’t really fit anywhere else is toko’s scrapped execution. “first kiss prank” is the title and it consists of byakuya running towards her before toko gets hit by a roller. that says enough about her biggest fears and how badly her past memories affected her.

in conclusion, toko fukawa’s obsession with byakuya was comphet due to pressure from the media and her toxic ideals. the fact she was able to form a healthy relationship with komaru is hhh and i could talk about them for hours. tokomaru is the second closest thing we have to inmedia stated canon (fuck kodaka’s statement me and the homies hate kodaka’s statement about naegiri /j)

sources: toko fukawa’s fandom wiki, genocide jack’s fandom wiki, free time events, transcripts

#danganronpa #toko fukawa #fukawa toko #touko fukawa #fukawa touko #tokomaru #syomaru #toukomaru #trigger happy havoc #ultra despair girls #character analysis #in which i am unhealthy obsessed with toko fukawa

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

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Promises

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: After you have an unpleasant encounter with Lucius Malfoy, it leaves Draco in fear of losing you. Though he can’t seem to keep himself from you.

Requested by @kiiramalfoy : “i would like to order something with Draco where the reader is Slytherin, and they date, and Draco’s father hurts the reader, and Draco cries a lot for fear of losing her.”

Warnings: mentions of injury, scars, anxiety, fluff

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request!

You exhaled a quiet sigh, one of many that afternoon though the sun was beginning to dip lower into the sky and turn over to evening. It’s golden rays still cast its beauty, however, coloring everything it had landed on in varying hues of a warm orange the more time that goes by. It had always been your favorite time of day for that very reason, that and it was when you could spend most of your time with Draco.

His midnight black blazer had long since been discarded in a crumpled heap in the grass next to you, the top two buttons of its matching dresshirt undone and its corresponding tie loosened around his neck. The light breeze caused a ripple in the water of the Black Lake, the edge not more than a few feet from where the two of you resided against the same old tree you claimed as your own.

This very location was one the two of you had claimed as a whole for that matter, a place that was secluded and nearly unfrequented by most. Despite that fact, Draco had always felt he’d been a target for prying eyes as of late, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself away from you for very long. He’d tried. He’d tried so hard to withdraw himself and keep you away, if only to keep you safe was his reasoning. But his reasoning quickly became overshadowed by his desperate need to be near you, to be with you. So he broke the promise he made to himself not long after it was made.

He lay in the grass with his head in your lap while you sat there, tucked comfortably between the thick roots of the familiar old oak tree. Unseen grass stains litter his black slacks but he couldn’t bring himself to care about such trivial things, instead focusing on the warmth of the sun on his skin or the sweet smell of your perfume wafting his way every time the wind blew. A few stray stars had begun to twinkle directly above the two of you as evening slowly crept in, lightning bugs flickering like glowing yellow dots along the waters edge as they flutter aimlessly through taller blades of grass.

Your hand had been absentmindedly running through his hair as you read a new book, making sure to miss the few sections where a wildflower or two was carefully woven into it. They offered a burst of color in contrast to the iciness of his hair. It took everything in him not to fall asleep at the comforting feeling, because he wanted to take in every single second he had with you in fear that there wouldn’t be more. Though sometimes the task of staying awake wasn’t very difficult when his hair pokes in his eyes or you gasp upon reading something surprising in your book, your hand pausing its movement right over top of his face. Still, he wouldn’t trade these moments for the world.

“Are you going to talk to me, Love?” He asks softly, peeking one eye open to look at you.

“After this chapter, Draco,” you say, though you weren’t entirely sure what he’d said, your eyes focused on the tattered pages as you run your hand down his cheek gently.

“You’ve said that three chapters ago,” he huffs, though he isn’t truly angry.

He sits up quickly, the sudden movement causing the delicate petals once tucked in his hair to tumble lightly to the ground like feathers. You laugh down at your book and shake your head, turning to the next page. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, smiling softly when he sees the pink blush beginning to appear on your skin. However, your attention doesn’t seem to falter from the pages you read from, so he kisses your cheek once more before settling his head on your shoulder with a sigh.

His smile widens a fraction when he feels you rest your head on his though, the small action appeasing his need for your attention momentarily. He takes in his surroundings, the reflection of the pointed rooftops of the castle not too far away, rippled and distorted on the lake. The puffy clouds colored with pinks and oranges and yellows, and the grass swaying gently in the breeze. Yet with all the beauty set out right in front of him, it all paled in comparison to you. And surely someone had to have been wondering where the two of you had been all day, but that wasn’t of any importance to him.

Truthfully, he’d abandon any and all things just to be with you.

His attention is soon focused on your hand, more-so the scar that rests atop it. His fingers brush over the pale scarlet splotch on the back of your hand, one that blossoms slightly further up your arm. One that he’s cast numerous Episkey spells on, and several healing potions gathered from Madam Pomfrey. But not even his rather vast knowledge on healing could permanently fix it. He doesn’t think it makes you any less radiant, never, but he remains horrified by the means of how it’d been put there. His very own father. The thought still taunts him with each day that passes and he fears it might never go away.

7 Months Ago

You walked through Diagon Alley in search of the few items left on your list in preparation for your seventh year. It wasn’t as extensive nor did it feel as important, but you still wanted to go. The pathways were crowded with excited young students experiencing this place for the first time. Though you weren’t as worried this time around because you had taken this trip by yourself now that you had been old enough to.

You were startled by the firm grip placed heavily upon your shoulder, your gaze quickly and dreadfully meeting icy blue eyes when you look to your left.

“Mind if I have a word?” Lucius asks, his smile far from friendly.

Of course he knew you’d be there, and you were starting to regret coming here alone.

You swallow thickly, though you remain calm as you try and control the spike in your heart rate. You barely have the time to give a nod in response before he veers off into an unfrequented alleyway, the sneer on his face now completely gone in favor of a more hardened expression.

“Do you think I am blind to what you have been doing?”

Your eyebrows knit together in faux confusion. “Blind to what?”

His jaw clenched at your apparently clueless words and he took a step closer. His stare was intense as he seemingly towered over you, as if he was reaching into the very depths of your soul to pull out whatever secrets you may have been keeping. Ones you fought desperately for him to be unaware of. “Whatever it is you think you have with my son must come to an end.”

Your heart had froze in your chest at the statement, and you clench your fists at your sides to keep your trembling hands from becoming obvious to the man in front of you. “I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about, Mr. Malfoy.”

He laughs bitterly, his eyes scanning your expression as if he could detect the very fact that you were lying. You took a step back from him. “You are merely a distraction and nothing more, you would only bring disgrace to the contuation of the Malfoy name and you know it. You’ve already brought shame to yourself.”

You try not to let his words have any affect on you, though the task is proving to be far more difficult than expected as stinging tears press just behind your eyes. But still, you were becoming angry at his taunting words as he tried to antagonize you. “How so?”

You’re startled by his sudden grip on your wrist, and he tugs it up to eye level. “You might have the purest magic running through your veins, but that does not make you worthy of anything at all. You and your family’s infamy and regrettable choice to defy the Sacred 28 have no place here, you don’t belong,” He says, teeth gritting, “Either you listen to my words now or I’ll just have to do something about it. Won’t I?”

You flinch at his harsh words as you try and pull yourself from his grasp. It only tightens, unrelenting as his nails dig into your skin and you suppressed the urge to cry out. However, it still hadn’t stopped you from speaking your mind.

“Regrettable? My families morals and their ability to defy your terrible ideals and not frown upon individuals you deem to be less than you is not regrettable. At least my family knows what love and kindness is,” you quip, narrowing your eyes up at him.

You watch the anger twist his face into a threatening glare, the pressure on your wrist almost becoming too much to bear. It felt as though it’d snap in two if it got any tighter and you couldn’t suppress your tears as one rolls down your flushed cheek.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounds behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to find Draco, having difficulty masking his surge of emotions as he catches sight of the tears lining your eyes. Then his eyes bounce to his fathers face, furious and so full of venom he couldn’t bring himself hold his stare. Then his eyes landed on your arm.

His worst nightmares seemed to have been coming true right before his very eyes, and he mulled over his next actions quickly. If he protects you from his father, it’d confirm the relationship the two of you held in secret and he would more than likely lose you. If he doesn’t, he’d singlehandedly destroy your trust and lose you that way. The thought made him sick to his stomach and his head spun with worry as he made up his mind.

“Relashio!” Draco utters, his fathers grip on you faltering. You tug your arm away and rush to his side, though your attempt isn’t all too easy.

A searing pain scorches the back of your hand, the sensation traveling up the top of your wrist as you recoil your hand to your chest and peer out from behind Draco. The flames extinguish from the wand in Lucius’ hand just as quickly as they appeared, the very flames that kissed your skin in his spiteful attempt to hurt you. To scare his son with the consequences of his love for you. The horror was apparent on Draco’s face as he drops his wand, looking at his father through glossy eyes.

“Draco, you’re doing it again,” you sigh quietly, marking your page before closing your book and setting it aside for the first time since you’ve been out there.

“Doing what, darling?”

“You’re thinking about it again. You’ve got that look you always have when you do,” you say, knowing he’d try and convince you otherwise. “I know that look.”

His thumb brushes ever so gently against your hand despite the tension in his jaw as it clenches. He closes his eyes and takes a breath to steady his emotions. “Sorry.”

You sigh lightly and press a chaste kiss to the corner of his jaw, lingering there for a few moments before you spoke up softly. “I’ve dealt with worse, you know.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He asks, more so a scoff, the idea of you experiencing anything worse than that moment making his stomach churn and twist in knots. He turns to look at you with furrowed brows and a slight frown, though you remain positive.

“Ideally yes,” you say with a soft laugh, one that makes his heart flutter in his chest as you take his hand in yours, “though I take it it’s not working.”

He’s quiet after that, frustration simmering in his stomach as he tries to control his temper for your sake. His gaze shifts to the sky above him once more as he rests his head back on the crumbling bark of the decades old tree. It’s not his fault, not entirely and he knows that. You knew that. It was his fathers doing and if he had been there sooner he wouldn’t have let it happen. You knew he’d protect you, right?

He could only hope that you knew he’d endure a lifetime of pain just so you never had to experience a single drop ever again. It was risky of him to defy the promise he made to his father, never to see you again. It was a deal he’d made before storming back to his room in a bout of angry tears that persisted for the entirety of the night. He doesn’t believe he’d cried over anything at all quite like this. But you’ve etched yourself in every part of him so much so it’s made it impossible to deny the profound love he feels for you. He could only last three weeks without you once your final school year had started again, barely that, his lingering stares only increasing his longing for you until he cracked.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the feeling of you twisting the ring around his finger, the cold silver band sending a shiver up his arm. It’s a habit you’ve picked up, he hadn’t been sure of where it came from, but you did it. Much like the way you often button and unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirts; he can’t remember how many he’s had to replace because they eventually fall off.

Regardless, he doesn’t mind the habit, but the very ring you’re playing with is one he’s grown to dislike considerably. The swirling metallic snake only reminds him of his father, his family, and the mistakes he’s made up to this point. Most notably, what it’s put you through. He’ll get another ring for you to twirl, but he cannot bear wearing this one a moment longer.

He slips it off his finger and stands to his feet abruptly, walking over to the waters edge.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, getting up and wandering to his side. You watch as he examines the ring, running his thumb over the silver snake curling across the front.

He lifts his hand and throws the ring, watching as it bounces once across the shimmering water before disappearing with a small splash. His lip curled up in anger as he grabbed his tie, hastily plucking the matching house pin from the black fabric and throwing it with more vigor. It goes farther than the last, though the action does very little to release the animosity towards his father.

“Draco stop,” you say, grabbing his arm and turning him to face you. It wasn’t until the water calmed again that he looked at you again. His chest heaved slightly, cheeks tinged a soft pink as he stares down at you.

Tears line his eyes as he stands before you. “I don’t want to stop. I want to rid myself of everything that has to do with this place.”

“Would you just calm down? For me?” You ask quietly, offering a patient smile as you grabbed his hands gingerly. “Being angry and upset isn’t making matters any better, Draco. You’re only souring your mood.”

You reach up and wipe a frustrated tear before it could fully roll down his flushed cheek, your thumb tracing over it in a way that set him at ease almost immediately. He closes his eyes as he finds himself leaning into your touch, trying to focus on the warmth of your hand on his skin rather than the anger pressing insistently within his chest.

You have a way of doing that, he realizes. He feels you could take any situation, no matter how miserable, and make it brighter. You could take his sorrows and change them to utter happiness. Perhaps that’s why he was so attached to you. You’d always be there to keep him from sinking, it didn’t take much effort on your end. He could get through anything if you were there to pull him through it.

“How are you so care free? About all this?” He asks once he’s calmed down a bit, both intrigued and envious as he brushes your hair behind your ear. The tips of his fingers trace down your neck, grasping the green tie dangling from it softly as he sighs, his hand running down your arm until it envelops your own tenderly.

You smile up at him, the contours of his face becoming more apparent the lower the sun sets in the sky. “I’ve spent the entirety of my life under scrutiny for my family’s choice one way or another,” you start, brushing the blonde strand away that dipped in his eyes. “It grows tiring after a while, and you learn to tune it out.”

His crease between his brows deepens slightly as you wrap your arms around his neck, his arms quick to hold you close to him with the intention of keeping you there for a long while.

“Words only hurt you if you allow them to, Draco. It’s not always going to be easy, but it’s true,” you say, reaching up to smooth the worry between his dark brows before your hand slides down to rest on his chest, the other tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m scared for the future, I think we all are. But I want to focus on what’s here right now. With you.”

A soft smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, another to your jaw, and perhaps the softest just below your ear. Your perfume was sweet and enchanting as it flooded his senses and left him lingering there for a few fleeting moments, his remaining anger subsiding completely.

“Tell me we’ll be okay,” he asks, barely just above a whisper. His reluctantly pulls away from the crook of your neck, pale blue eyes bouncing around every inch of your face in search of doubt.

You smile sweetly at him, gaze flickering up to his eyes before you lean on your toes and press your lips on his, gentle yet firm as your hands settle on his cheeks. Any traces of tension he had left dissolves in that very moment, his arms caging you tightly against him as your shirt crinkles under his grip. It’s as if nothing else mattered, and to him nothing ever mattered more than you. When you parted, he chased after your lips for another kiss, soft yet full of love as he smiled softly.

“We’ll be okay.”

—

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fic

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mysticpetals · 3 years

Note

Sorry for bothering you, but I had another idea! :D If you don't mind me sending two requests, how about a headcanon (or imagine if you want, you can choose what you like best) where Jake will meet MC's parents and he is super nervous because he is afraid of what they will think of him and if they knew that he is a hacker. But when Jake and MC arrive at her parents' house, they are quite different than Jake thought.

I'm sooooo sorry that this is super late but life got in the way and I just couldn't bring myself to write. And when I did have the time, I was almost ashamed of how long it had been and delayed it even further.

So this is me, finally writing what I should have done months ago. Thank you so much for your patience!!! ❤️

Jake and f!MC headcannons

(meeting the parents)

There aren't a lot of things that phase Jake

In fact, he's seen so much over the years he was on the run, done some illegal things too

But nothing and he meant nothing, could terrify him more than when his girlfriend told him that her parents had invited them over to have dinner together the next week

"next week? Like....like seven days later?"

"yes." she nodded and his brain short circuited.

"oh my god, oh my god."

MC amused herself by looking at Jake panicking about it for a few minutes and then grabbed his shoulders and made him look at her

"relax, babe. You don't have to. I can tell them that you're busy or something."

Jake calmed down for a moment but then he noticed the sad smile on MC's face

And he doesn't like seeing her sad

At all.

So despite his nervousness, he steeled himself to do this

"why don't we go? I think it'll be fun."

MC's face was priceless.

Shocked beyond belief, she cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward, eyes wide

"are you sure, honey? You don't have to force yourself."

She looked so hopeful and excited to hear his answer

And they had been dating for a while. So it was only natural that they meet each other's families

And since MC had already pretty much met his (only the people he considered as one!), it wouldn't be fair if he didn't make an effort too

"yes. We should go," he smiled and MC squealed excitedly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips

"oh my gosh, I'm so excited!! I'll go call them right now!!"

:))))

Did he make the right decision?

Wellllll, standing in front of MC's house, he was sweating profusely

He had worn his best outfit, a white button up shirt and black jeans

And they had already been late because MC liked his look a little too much

Anyway!!!

He was anxious about making the best impression and he really hoped that they wouldn't be put off by his shyness

Or his profession

About which they didn't know

It's fine it's fine it's fine—

MC's hand slips into his, she gives him a soft smile and the world around them fades away

"I'll be with you the whole time. Tell me if it becomes too much."

Jake swears he's never been more in love

Okay, he can do this!! Absolutely!!

He nods resolutely and MC leads them to her parent's doorstep

Jake's heart is pounding but he's ready

The door opens and he's immediately engulfed in a bone crushing hug

He thinks he can't breath and he looks at MC with wide eyes, asking what to do and she just rolls her eyes in fond exasperation

"really feeling the love here, dad. Not like your daughter is here."

And the weight immediately lifts off of him and turns towards his girlfriend who is laughing as her father hugs her to himself

She squeezes him tight in return and Jake feels himself smile

"it's been too long. I wish you'd come by more. And Jake! Welcome home, son!"

Jake is flabbergasted by the warm welcome. Especially coming from MC's father.

Aren't fathers supposed to threaten the boyfriend?

The flashcards he used to prepare for today did not cover this

"Um, thank you," he stammers out somehow and the man laughs

"My daughter here did say you were shy but no matter! Come on in, I won't bite."

He led them inside and Jake just knew that MC was enjoying all this a little too much judging by the amused tilt of her lips

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw a stern woman sitting on the couch, watching them walk in

"mom! How have you been?"

MC immediately went in for a hug while the older woman kept staring at him and MC's father leaned close to him and whispered

"She's a tough cookie to crack. Good luck, son."

He was so screwed

Jake gulped and watched the smallest of smiles cross her lips as she regarded her daughter, who was talking excitedly

"and this is Jake! My boyfriend!"

Jake literally felt the temperature inside the room drop, when her mother looked him in the eyes

"h-hello ma'am."

She nodded at him and well, that meant she acknowledged who he was, right?

She immediately turned away from him and started asking her daughter how she had been

Well, apparently not

"sorry, Jake. She's not trying to exclude you. She's just....a little hard around the edges."

He appreciated MC's dad because at least one parent didn't seem to hate him

"I appreciate that, sir."

He looked horrified at being called sir

"please don't call me that. Makes me feel old. Call me dad!"

Jake was once again astounded by the man's openness and not wanting to offend him, nodded hesitantly

He smiled widely and Jake was immediately reminded of MC's face when she laughed

"that's more like it! Come on now, the ladies shouldn't be left alone, they'll talk the night away."

MC smiled as soon as Jake entered in the kitchen where both the women were cooking and bringing out the cutlery

"had a nice chat, you two?" MC asked and her father nodded enthusiastically

"I like him! He's very nice, I approve."

"you've known him for two seconds." MC's mom deadpans and Jake smiles nervously

"can I help you with anything ma'am?"

She appraises him for a few moments and then nods

"then please help MC set the table."

Jake literally sighs in relief when the two of them come out from the kitchen

"your mom is scary."

MC laughs and pinches his cheek

"only because you look terrified of her. She enjoys making you squirm."

"well I almost wet myself because she looked at me like I murdered her dog or something"

MC laughs loudly and her father pokes his head out of the kitchen

"alright you two?"

Jake fights off the blush he knows he's sporting and prays that neither of her parents heard what he had said

Table was set quickly, with MC telling Jake about her childhood memories and her parents brought out the food

Jake thought he might have seen MC's mother smile when he made MC laugh but he wasn't sure

Dinner was a loud affair, with MC and her dad competing about who remembers the most about MC's childhood and Jake and her mother listening quietly

He definitely knew where MC got her charisma from

MC's dad was sweet to include Jake in their conversation, addressing him directly and asking him about his own experiences

He slowly found himself relaxing in their presence and telling them about his own hobbies and pet cat

MC's mother gave an approving nod at his choice of pet and asked him to bring him along the next time

Next time

Jake's brain short circuited at the thought that she wanted Jake to come over again

Does that mean tonight was successful?

"so Jake, you didn't say what you do for a living."

Ahhh

Well, it had to go wrong somewhere, right?

Jake froze and looked to MC to see her in a similar state and immediately deduced that she had not told them about his profession

Well

He knew this was going to come up eventually

"I'm a hacker."

Pin drop silence

You couldn't even hear anyone breath over the quietness

MC's mother put down her spoon slowly and opened her mouth to say something but Jake interrupted her before that

"I know you might think it's not a respectful job but it's what makes me happy. And MC supports me every step of the way and I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to honor her confidence in me. Keeping her safe and happy and healthy is my priority and I'll give my all to make sure that she's never unhappy with me."

Everyone at the table looked at him, MC with tears in her eyes and her father looking very proud

Her mother's expression was still unreadable until she smiled at him

The first smile directed at him

"I was going to say that's very interesting. I myself work in cyber security so I've had dealings with hackers. I've found that they're usually very polite."

What

The

Fuck

Jake blinked slowly and MC shifted guiltily in her seat

"haha what a coincidence, right?" She smiled nervously and her dad picked up quickly at her hint

"oh definitely! Why don't you two talk about work stuff and MC and I can clear up the table?"

MC and her father practically fly out of the dining room and Jake and her mom are the only ones left

It was MC's mother who initiated the conversation this time and Jake replied to her questions

He found it quite pleasant to be honest

It was not a regular occurrence that he could chat with someone who knew about computers so this was a nice change

And MC's mom was quite knowledgeable

She even offered to hire him the next time her company had a need of someone to check their software

Jake had no problem agreeing to her wish

He found that she was actually a very kind but fair woman who loved her family dearly, judging by the way she spoke of MC and her father

His heart warmed to know that MC had grown up in such a loving household, even if his heart gave a twinge at never having felt something akin to parental affection

"okay, you two. I think that's enough chatting for today," MC's father said and Jake looked at the time

Holy shit

How is it so late??

MC gave him a discreet thumbs up behind her mother's back and he had to stifle a laugh

"as much as we loved having you two, you should probably get going if you want to reach the city before midnight."

The goodbyes were a little sad and Jake found himself getting a bit emotional too

He really felt like he belonged here and not like an outsider

And MC's parents are so nice and inclusive

No he did not cry

Not at all

To Jake's surprise, MC's mom pulls him into a hug

"take care of my daughter."

And then he's getting roped into another hug, this one much tighter by her dad

"you hurt her, I'll kill you."

And when he stepped back, he was smiling as usual and Jake almost thought that he imagined his words

Anyway!!!

They are in the car and MC is already planning their next trip

And before he would have been scared but now, after spending time with her family, he knew he had found people worth considering his family

#duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #jake × mc #duskwood jake × mc #jake × player #duskwood headcannons #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fanfic #duskwood fic #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake fic #everbyte studios #everbyte game #duskwood player

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 17

March 1067, Norman Conquest of England

Masterlist

A/N: Drama!!

gif from demivampirew

For the first time in a long time, Thomasin felt safe.

Henry made her promise never to remove the pendant he gave her. It seemed terribly important to him, though Thomasin didn’t know why. Still, she agreed without question.

Henry never did shout at her. He didn’t like being angry, especially with someone he loved. Instead, he sat his wife down like a child and looked very deeply into her grey eyes while simply telling her she would never disobey him again, nor would she disagree with him in public. She was welcome to shout and scream and call him all sorts of names when they were alone together, but their situation was precarious. They had to present a united front so no one – just Lawrence, really – would think to pit them against each other.

Lawrence, though, seemed the same as ever. Maybe even scarier. He always had that awful grin on his face. He never got red; that’s what really worried both Henry and Tom. He was too calm, too self-assured. He planned out what he would do to them; now they were stuck in fear until he decided to act. It had only been a week since the wedding, and there was no telling how long Lawrence would wait. But he wasn’t a patient man.

Henry didn’t let Thomasin see his fear over Lawrence’s retribution. Since the wedding, she’d become all soft and willing. He thought she showed something akin to vulnerability. When they were alone, she would sit on his lap or press herself right against his side. They needed to be touching when they went to sleep, either with Henry spooning against her back or Thomasin lounging across his chest. She demanded his attention and affection. Henry obliged her, even going beyond. He’d kiss her in public when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t even mind.

He met her vulnerability with steady confidence. He’d sworn to look after her more times than he could count, and now that she was finally allowing it, he didn’t want to show any weakness. That was what husbands did for their wives – they remained strong and sure.

Henry asked a baron sailing back to Normandy to deliver the message to his family that he was wed; he was quite sure his mother would cry upon hearing the news.

“Should we send someone to tell your family?” he asked that night as he and Tom lay in the dark together. He was pressed tightly against Thomasin’s back. She used one of his arms as a pillow, and his free hand roamed over her body.

“I haven’t got a family,” Thomasin replied.

Henry nuzzled her rosy gold hair. “Yes, you do.” He kissed the back of her neck and sighed into her hair. “And you’ll never be rid of me.”

When the king finally summoned Henry, it wasn’t to chastise him. If he did mean to shout at Henry, it was low on his list of things to do. Henry found himself in something of a war council among other barons and knights of high praise.

“It is time to execute the Saxons,” William announced. “I’ve kept them alive for too long. It will embolden other rebels to attack if they believe I won’t kill them.”

“The rebels are all but gone,” a middle-aged baron said. “Even that young baron from the north has disappeared.” He looked at Henry from the corner of his eye; everyone knew he was referring to Hammond.

“Permanent imprisonment is not much better than death,” another put in.

“All the same,” said the king. “The surviving Saxon prisoners will be put to death by hanging this afternoon. I expect you all to bear witness.”

“What about our wives?” a knight asked. Henry was grateful someone other than him asked the question. “Should they attend?”

William shook his head. “Tis no sight for a woman’s eyes.” He took a deep breath before declaring, “It is warm enough now to travel. We will hunt down the other rebels. If we cannot capture or kill them, we will at least run them out of England and keep them in exile for the rest of their lives.”

The men started shuffling out, murmuring to each other about the Saxon threat. Henry lagged behind the crowd, too lost in his thoughts to keep a fast pace. He was so distracted that he didn’t even notice when Lawrence sidled up beside him.

Lawrence made a sound like a sigh. “I do hope poor Tom won’t be too broken up over Cerdic’s execution.”

Henry felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. How did he find out about Thomasin’s relationship with Cerdic? How much did he know about it? What execution? Was that why the barons and knights were gathering?

But the true source of his fury was the fact that Lawrence had referred to his wife as Tom.

Lawrence looked at Henry from the corner of his eye. “Are you broken up, dear Henry?”

He turned his gaze to the other man, a savage look in his eyes. “You will never speak my wife’s name again. Do you understand me?”

Lawrence bowed his head in mock apology before moving along.

Henry paused in a nook in the corridor and ran his hand over his face. Damn.

Coming to England was like stepping in dog shit that one could never quite wipe away. Meeting Thomasin was like stepping in dog shit. One bad thing followed another like a cloying stink with that poor girl.

No, Henry realized. Thomasin meeting him when the troubles started.

***

Thomasin was grateful that Henry had been able to spend both his days and his nights with her. She knew it could not last forever, but she was sad all the same when he was called away, no doubt to discuss matters of war.

Now she would have to spend her days embroidering with other ladies or pursuing some other womanly hobby. She was never terribly good at that, though. At one point, her governess simply gave up trying to make Thomasin a proper lady. Her father let her have free reign of the estate so long as someone was always nearby and she returned to the keep by dark.

She imagined having a similar arrangement with Henry, but they first needed an estate of their own. Everyone assumed the king would give them the estate Thomasin grew up in, but she secretly hoped he would not. It would be haunted, at least for her, and she was sure she would never feel comfortable there. It wasn’t her home anymore. Just another conquered fortress.

The couple spoke a little of returning to Normandy so Tom could meet Henry’s family and there were some vague mentions of estates near his brothers that might be suitable for their needs, but they hadn’t had a real conversation about it. What they wanted didn’t matter; William would likely keep Henry in England to fight his endless war against Thomasin’s way of life. Maybe they would be dismissed in a few years when things were calmer.

She would have to figure out how to spend her days. Her only true friend at court was Elaine, but the healer was often busy during the day. Thomasin accompanied her on a meeting with an elderly baroness with a horrifying rash; she would never do so again.

She was returning from a brisk walk when she nearly crashed into her husband and his friends on their way out.

“Henry!” Thomasin bounced forward and grabbed onto his hand. She waited for him to kiss her while Charlie and Roger were pretending not to look. She knew something was wrong when he didn’t. “Are you well?”

Henry’s expression was as hard as it had been the day Thomasin tried to escape from him. She resisted the urge to step back. “Thomasin, go back to our rooms. Wait for me there.”

His clear agitation alarmed her; she spoke as calmly as she could. “Is something amiss?”

“Do as I say. I’ll be along soon.” He turned to Kal. “You go with her.”

Something must be truly wrong if Henry was willing to part with his shadow, even for an hour or two. Thomasin’s eyes flickered to Charlie for some hint of what was happening, but his expression was as stony as ever. Roger hadn’t stopped when Thomasin intercepted them so she could not look to him for clues.

She glanced at Henry one more time. He didn’t look all right. She wanted an explanation here and now, but she remembered her promise not to disobey him in public. Staying and demanding something from him would certainly count as disobedience. “Of course,” Thomasin said, forcing a mild tone of voice. She gave a shallow curtsey.

She was chattering to Kal as they walked up a tight staircase when she heard a ruckus outside. There were no windows in the stairwell, only thin slats from which archers inside the castle could shoot at enemy soldiers in case of an attack, but they would do.

Thomasin rocked up on her tiptoes to peer through one of them. There was a large cluster of men spread out across the field. They stood in clumps of three or four, talking among themselves as a handful of servants erected some makeshift structure she couldn’t quite make out. Perhaps if she had something to stand on, she would be able to see more clearly . . .

Kal made a grumbling sound.

“I don’t mean to ignore you, Kal,” Thomasin said. “I just want to see what’s going on.”

She never thought it unusual for one to speak to one’s pets, and Henry regularly held complex conversations with the bear, so she wasn’t embarrassed to talk to him in public as other women might be.

Thomasin pushed up a little further and caught a glimpse of fresh scaffolding, then of a handful of shackled men making their way over to it. The Saxon prisoners were finally being executed, then. Thomasin couldn’t blame Henry for not telling her. He was only trying to protect her.

She was about to turn away when she glimpsed a familiar silhouette and an even more familiar red beard. She squinted into the fading light as the hangman put a rope around the Saxon’s thick neck.

She hated that neck. She once joked to Justina that she’d like to strangle him, but his neck was as sturdy as a thick branch on a tree. She’d only tire herself out trying to kill him.

Cerdic.

Thomasin was so shocked and upset that she pushed away from the window too hard and fell backwards; Kal softened her fall somewhat.

For a moment she couldn’t move or even draw in a lungful of air. Kal was breathing in right in her face, but she didn’t care. She felt removed from somehow, as if she weren’t truly in her body.

Cerdic was a ridiculous oaf, but she’d known him all her life. She’d cared for him not as a lover or brother or even a friend, but in the way a woman was expected to care for her husband-to-be. And he was all that was left of her life before.

It was easier when she thought he was dead, that he’d died in the fray along with most of the other Saxon men. She’d grieved him in her own strange way and put his memory behind her, but now everything swelled up again and tightened her throat.

This was the last straw. She was strong but she wasn't made of ice. There was only so much someone could endure before they broke.

And Thomasin truly did break.

She ran to her rooms barely holding back tears. Her throat was sore with the effort of holding in sobs and her hands were shaking so hard that she almost couldn’t open the latch on the door to the antechamber.

She barely made it through the antechamber and into the bedroom before she fell apart. She slammed the bedroom door before Kal could follow and fell forward on her hands and knees into the rushes scattered on the floor; she couldn’t hold herself together a moment longer, not even long enough to reach the bed. She began to weep so hard that she could barely breathe. She made choked, ugly sobbing sounds she couldn’t control that shook her shoulders as snot and tears ran down her face.

Kal whined and scratched at the door, desperate to comfort his mother.

Thomasin kicked the door hard enough to shake the hinges. “Go away!” she shrieked. Her throat was already raw.

She was too tired to move anymore, even to get into bed. She fell to her side and curled in on herself, shivering like a dog left outside in a storm, still whimpering and gasping for breath.

***

Henry stood with Charlie and Roger as they waited for the executions to begin.

“You look unwell,” Henry remarked to his brother-by-law.

Roger heaved a sigh. “It’s always said when something beautiful dies.”

“What, the men?” Charlie asked.

Roger turned to face his friends. “Their lives. Their spirits.” Their physical forms, too, of course.

“That’s the nature of conquest,” Charlie said. “The old ways must end for the new ones to begin. If people cannot accept change . . .” He shrugged.

“I do not like the end part. You must feel some grief on behalf of Thomasin, Henry,” Roger said. “I cannot imagine. . .” he trailed off.

“I didn’t tell her,” Henry said.

“She’ll find out,” Charlie said neutrally. He still didn’t like Thomasin by any stretch of the imagination, but he was coming to accept her. “Assuming she hasn’t already.”

Henry knew that, knew it would be better to tell her himself. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I know,” he said.

***

Cerdic had no last words – or if he did, Henry didn’t hear them.

The men were strung up all at once, the nooses looped around their necks and the wooden bench kicked out from under them. A crueler king might have removed their heads one by one to heighten their fear, but William just wanted the business done with. He’d likely cut their heads off afterwards to mount on spikes near the city gates, though.

Henry left the first moment he could. Thomasin was probably fuming quietly in their room, probably repeatedly stabbing herself in the finger as she furiously embroidered something or other. He hoped so.

Charlie was right: Thomasin had probably found out about the executions somehow. He prayed that she didn’t know Cerdic was among the dead. He wasn’t sure what reaction to expect.

He tried to enter the antechamber quietly, but the room was deathly silent; every small sound he made seemed to echo. The first thing he saw was Kal stretched out in front of the door that led to the bedroom, his chin resting on top of his paws. He looked downright pensive.

“Kal.”

The dog leapt to attention as Henry knelt to scratch his ear.

“Good boy,” Henry murmured.

Kal whined, trying to communicate that something was wrong with Thomasin. He’d been guarding her as best as he could, but she wouldn’t let him into the bedroom.

Henry scratched Kal one more time before steeling himself. He opened the bedroom door. His wife lay on her side on the floor, still sniffling and hiccupping from weeping.

“Tom?” he knelt on the ground beside her.

She moved her head the slightest bit to look up at him with bloodshot eyes. “You knew that Cerdic was here. That he was alive.” She was too exhausted to inject an accusatory tone into her raspy voice.

Henry took a deep breath. A lock of her rosy golden hair had gotten free of its braid; he gently tucked it behind her ear. “Yes.”

Her chin quivered as her eyes filled with tears. She shut them and turned away. “It was easier when . . .”

“I know.”

Her chin still moved. “I wish William had never come to England,” she said, voice high and tight. “I wish I’d never laid eyes on a Norman.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Tom, you can’t blame every Norm –”

“Yes I can!” She shouted, jumping to her feet. Henry stood, too. On the other side of the door, Kal whimpered. “It’s your fault! You came here and you took what wasn't yours and you killed the men and raped the women. My country is dead!” Her voice cracked. “I have nothing left! You took everything from me!”

Henry’s voice was low but strong. “You have me.”

“I don’t want you!” she shouted. Her words cut Henry like the blade of a knife. “You or your bastard king and your merciless countrymen! I wish I’d never met you! I – I –”

I want to go home.

“Enough, Tom,” said Henry. “You’ll give yourself a fit.” Thomasin reached for the back of her neck; Henry caught her hands in his and stopped her before she even touched the necklace’s clasp. “Don’t,” he said softly.

Thomasin shoved away from him so hard she nearly fell backwards. Henry, who had the build of a stone wall, hardly budged. That made her so furious that she slapped him – tried to, anyway. Henry caught her wrist in his hand and used it to tug her close.

“Let go!” she shouted. “Henry, let me go!”

But he held her to his chest and would not unlock his grip. She kept shoving and hitting him until he finally released her – only to capture her again.

Somehow, she was suddenly lying back on the bed, her wrists firmly locked in Henry’s grasp as he pinned them above her head. He hovered over her on his knees, locking her legs between his strong thighs to make sure she didn’t try to kick him in her anger.

“Thomasin, enough!” he shouted.

Exhausted, she finally gave up the fight. She sank limp against the bed and started to weep.

She’d never cried in front of him before, Henry thought. He wasn’t even sure if she cried when she was wounded on the road. There were tears in her eyes on their wedding night and the day she tried to escape from him in the forest, but he didn’t think they ever spilled over.

He couldn’t stand to watch but he couldn’t look away. Thomasin needed him now. She was in mourning – for her father, her former betrothed, her relationships with her siblings, her country. She was mourning her own life, too, and what it might have been if William had never come.

“I hate you,” Thomasin whimpered through her tears.

“No, you don’t.” Her husband’s voice was tired but kind as he released her wrists and climbed off of her.

Her eyes were already shut; her outburst at Henry and fit of emotion after seeing Cerdic hanged drained her of all energy and she was on the very edge of sleep. “I hate you, Henry,” she insisted weakly.

Henry knew she wasn’t sincere, that she was just speaking out of anger, but the words still stung him all the same.

It wouldn’t hurt him at all if she’d just say out loud that she loved him. He only needed to hear it once. None of her accusations or insults would bother him if he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him even half as much as he loved her. With those words, he’d be invincible.

But she didn’t say it. Maybe she never would. She loved him, Henry was sure of it, but she was too proud to admit it.

Tom’s tears had slowed and turned from sobs to sniffles to deep, loud breathing.

Henry stayed beside her in bed, both of them still fully dressed, and soon drifted off. She turned to him in her sleep, unconsciously taking her rightful place in his arms and against his chest. Henry didn’t wake; his body knew instinctively to put his arms around her.

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camdentown-library · 3 years

Text

How Ivarr behaves when he falls in love with the reader || Headcanon

𝕺𝖍, 𝖆 𝖇𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖋, 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖊?

Requested? How about a hc with Ivarr on how he behaves when he falls in love with the reader please?😊 -anon

Ok this is going to be fun.

Ivarr is the kind of man you should never introduce to your parents.

He’s the type that during family dinners if you ask "Daddy can you pass me the salt" both he and your father will take the salt, I don't know if I made myself clear.

He's certainly not an easy guy.

He is: proud, moody and a great-damn-talker. For heaven's sake, he tries to be a good-boy but as we all know (cough cough CEOLBERT) his best part doesn't always win.

Initially when you asked him to be less vulgar or contain his answers were "Oh piss off, y/n" or "Damn love, i'm a fucking drengr not a fucking child“

Sometimes if you scolded him in front of the other Vikings (like: Ubba, Sigurd or Eivor) he would reply, wounded in pride like a lion without a mane: "If you like dandies so much, then why don't you get warm the bed at Sigurd's or Eivor's? Tsk...I'm going to piss"

Initially Ivarr would behave in this way so unfriendly because he is convinced that you are making fun of him. I mean, how the hell can a beautiful and intelligent girl like you be with a beast like him?!

He knows perfectly well that people don't approve of your relationship, he heard your friends straight that you could aspire to better, and that such a horrifying monster didn't deserve even a second of love from you.

He doesn't deserve your love.

That's why when you try to give him a little affection, he dodges you in an unkind way, grabbing you by the hips and walking away from his way and muttering a "Get out of my way, woman"

But when returning from a battle where he was badly wounded, you took care of him day and night, his opinion changed.

After awakening from his so-called "coma" after the battle, the first thing he saw was your tired face with dried tears on your cheeks, resting on his bandaged chest, collapsing into a deep sleep after assisting and medicating him for hours.

He was, to say the least, incredulous...Did you really come to save him? To medicate him? Have you cared for him all that time, enough to faint from fatigue on his chest?

A tentative hand came up to your cheek to caress it with its knuckles, while Ivarr's rough thumb brushed your wet lashes in an attempt to wipe them away.

Even if your expression showed all the signs of your emotional destruction, Ivarr found it to be nothing short of enchanting and from that day on he promised himself that he would take care of you too.

"Oi y/n"

"Mh?"

"Here, I polished your ax"

Ivarr polishing your weapon?! Ah well they were small but important steps.

You smiled very happy and approached him you left him a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, Yeah whatever" he would never admit it but when he puts his lips in a sharp line, he is just trying to hide a smile

Ivarr goes to feelings, in what sense? That is, one morning he wakes up and pretends to teach you how to shoot an arrow, or some fighting move.

Let's talk honestly, he's just doing it to touch you.

"Ah what a careless you are, little drengr! You're holding the bow badly. Let me help you" he said, smiling gloatingly, approaching your body from behind. His calloused and sturdy hands would slide over your arms and then plant themselves on your small hands, like strong roots, and then guide you to make a perfect shot.

And after catching a deer straight in the head with an arrow, the Viking would smile with satisfaction "See? With a mentor like me, you will become a formifable hunter"

A playful spanking as a reward lmao

If by chance someone bothers you, or insults you, well rest assured that a nervous Ivarr would appear on the horizon to teach him a lesson.

"Today I'll take your balls and feed them to the pigs, you idiot!"

Sometimes Ivarr remains what he is, that is, a somewhat rough and rude dregr. But it doesn't bother him if you scold him.

"By Thor's scrotum, Ceolbert you're more of a fool than I thought"

"Ivarr!"

"What?!"

"You are incorrigible..."

"You love me for that too" * wink wonk *

"You should train Ceolbert, but in the same way as you do with me"

"If that were the case I would have to be with him the same night in our bed to fuck, so I won't do it"

"IVARR!"

Ceolbert being a traumatized child

#Assassin's Creed #assassins creed #assassin's creed valhalla #assassins creed valhalla imagine #assassins creed valhalla #assassin's creed valhalla imagines #assassins creed imagines #assassin's creed imagines #assassin's creed valhalla imagine #assassins creed valhalla imagines #ivarr #ivarr ragnarsson #ivarr the boneless #headcanon #headcanons

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feirceangel · 3 years

Text

Imagine | Skinwalker pt. 2 (Lost Boys)

Pt. 1

Imagine being a skin-walker and protecting the boys.

Word Count: 1351

You were dozing peacefully by the entrance to the boy's sleeping area when they arrived.

Michael, Sam, Edgar, and Allan.

Edgar and Allan enter first, making comments on the newly proclaimed 'Vampire Hotel' with wide eyes. Stakes in their hands, they seem ready for a fight.

In canine form, you observe them, gauging the threat they pose. The two comic shop workers dash up to the bed where Star lies asleep.

"Let's get her!"

Michael stumbles in with Sam, "No! Don't you touch her!"

"Fine, jeez, vampires have rotten tempers," Edgar quips before running to investigate the rest of the cave.

No one notices you.

Michael takes Laddie out of the cave and then comes back for Star.

By this time, you stand to your feet and let out a low growl. The younger boys look at you in fear and curse.

"Hellhound!" Sam shrieks as the Frog brothers grip their weapons tighter.

You growl again. Hellhound? Really? You're not some lowly hellhound, you are so much more.

"Stay back," Michael demands.

Flattening your ears, you bare your teeth in defiance. There's no way you'll take orders from the half-vampire who betrayed his newfound family.

You take a threatening step towards them. Allan throws a stake at you like a javelin but you sidestep it with ease.

They curse.

Internally chuckling, you bark sharply at them, making them squeal in fright.

You've seen these boys around when you walk by their shop on on the boardwalk. They act all tough, but they're just children.

Michael is about to make a move, but before he can, you transform in front of their eyes.

Bones pop and crackle as your body rearranges into the form of a woman.

Flabbergasted, the boys stare at you in shock. The younger three are in more shock, seeing as you are completely naked. This is their first time seeing a naked woman in real life.

"Holy-" Sam yells before Michael slams his hand over his younger brother's eyes. "Hey! Mike!"

You chuckle at Edgar and Allan's heated faces as they try to keep their eyes from wandering. Michael seems to be doing a better job than them and Sam finally wrenches from his brother's grasp.

"Hello," you say in a singsong manner, crossing your arms.

"Werewolf!" Sam exclaims.

You shake your head, "No, not a werewolf. I'm a skin-walker."

They stare at you blankly.

Laughing, you step towards them. They step back as you do so.

"Not very educated on your supernatural species, I see."

"Stay back," Michael demands again.

You roll your eyes, "Mikey, I don't think you're in any position to order me around."

"Last I checked, we have all the weapons," Edgar remarks in his gruff voice.

You sneer, "Those weapons don't work on me, boy."

They share a frightened look.

"I'm feeling generous today," you drawl, "So, I'll make you a deal."

"Deal?" Michael echoes sarcastically.

"Yes. Take Laddie, take Star, but leave my boys alone."

You never liked Star anyways: her priorities were never in line with the coven's and she would pick Michael over them anytime. Laddie was fine, but Star wouldn't leave without him and Laddie would never leave Star.

"We need to kill the head vampire to change back," Michael states.

"Yeah," Sam adds. "I can't live with a blood-sucking brother the rest of my life!"

A sly smile forms on your lips, "Kill the head then."

"You just said we couldn't hurt 'your' boys," Edgar accuses.

"Yes, I did."

They look confused.

Another sharp laugh from your mouth, "You probably think David is the head, don't you? Oh, how misguided you sweet little things are."

Edgar and Allan bristle at being called sweet and little.

"I'll make a pact with you: you leave my boys alone, and I'll tell you who the head vampire is."

"How can we trust you?"

You flash your teeth at the youngest Emerson child, "Look at it this way, I could just kill you all here and now."

His face pales and Michael growls at the threat.

"Make the deal, and you walk out of here. Stay, and the boys get an unexpected feast. By the way, a howl from me will have my boys awake in a second. And, they don't take well to intruders."

"They can't come out here, it's light out," Sam points out.

"I know that, but man do they love a show. Especially the bloody ones," again, you flash them your pearly whites. "You have five seconds. One, two, three-"

"Fine!" Michael yells out.

You smile, "Good."

Walking to the coffee table, you grab some paper and a small knife.

"What's that for?"

"Our pact. It isn't binding unless it's written in blood," you grin at their horrified expressions. "Relax. Just a pinprick of blood from both parties and the deal is done."

You stab your finger and smear the blood on the paper before handing it to Michael. He takes it hesitantly and follows your example.

As he finishes, you smile.

"His name is Max. He owns a video store by the boardwalk. I believe he has grown quite close to your mother."

"Liar!"

You snarl at the insult, fixing a cold stare upon Sam, "I do not lie."

"We tested him and he's normal!"

"He has ways of deceiving people. Trust me," you glance at the cave entrance to see it darkening. "Leave now. And, I don't want to see you around here ever again."

They share a look and depart quickly.

Not even a 'thank you'.

You sigh and settle down on your blanket. You're gonna have a lot of explaining to do when the boys wake up.

A low cat call wakes you from the bliss of sleep. You open your eyes to see Paul smirking down at you.

"Heya, babe," he grins.

You grumble, realizing that you forgot to change form before falling asleep.

"I have news for you boys," you say before snatching a shirt from Dwayne's hands. He looks at you with a smile, as if he knew you'd do that. You're always stealing his large, warm shirts.

"Someone," you say, referring to yourself, "Has been busy all day while you were safely tucked away in the darkness of sleep."

"What'd you do?" Marko asks, tilting his head adorably.

David makes his way over so that the boys stand in front of you.

You relay the story back to them, finishing with, "You're welcome for saving your asses."

David doesn't look too pleased, "You snitched on Max?"

His growl would have terrified lesser beings, but it does not affect you, although you feel sad that he is upset.

"It was him or you. Face it, you've never liked him anyways," you reason.

Quick as a flash, he presses his hand around your throat, claws out. The other boys hardly dare to breathe as they observe.

"Da-"

"Quiet!"

You stare down the temperamental vampire, your own rage growing by the minute.

"I protected you, David. They would have killed you. I saw it in their hearts." Your voice is as cold as the stone surrounding you.

He hesitates, his grip relaxing.

"What about Star and Laddie? Why didn't you protect them?!"

"They were weaknesses. Star betrayed you and Laddie would do anything for her. They're not dead: Michael wouldn't let the Frogs or his brother hurt them." You pause, smiling a bit, "We all know they would haven't have made good additions anyways."

With that, David releases you, shoving you back. You are pushed into Paul and Marko's arms as David storms off.

"A simply 'thank you' would be nice!" You call after him. He ignores you.

You shrug, "Well, boys, looks like Dav's in a mood."

Paul laughs, "Yeah."

"Thanks, sweets," Dwayne says, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head.

Marko echoes the sentiment.

David doesn't stay mad at you for long. He even apologizes and gives you a gift to make up for it.

The gift being a leather choker with silver spikes all around it. Needless to say, you love it.

#80s movies #the lost boys #polyamarous #marko #david #dwanye #paul #xreader #reader insert #female reader #skinwalker #shapeshifter #michael #frogs

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romeulusroy · 3 years

Text

Vulcan (Arthur Shelby Oneshot) Pt. 2/12

Character/s: Arthur

Word Count: 1,145

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes

A/N: Hello I'm a liar I stayed up v late to write this and I'm too impulsive and impatient not to post it asap!!! I hope this one is as good as the first!!! And makes you want to read more!!! Again this is my first BIG series which is kinda scary considering there was a time I thought I'd never be able to write more than 500 words! Look at me now :D Anyways, be sure to check out part one my loves and I just really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

ROMAN GODS SERIES: Jupiter /Juno / Mars / Vulcan / Mercury / Minerva / Neptune / Venus / Pluto / Janus / Caelus / Apollo

You are no more human than himself.

Nothing, though, more human than mans own emotions. The very things that beat and pound against the cage of his ribs, breaking every bone, tearing through himself in an effort to conceal until he is nothing but ruins himself, until there is no fight left. The very things that rule him. Control and berate his spirits better than any blood could. It's not their words spoken behind closed doors, or the distance they put between themselves, but their expressions. The pity. The disgust. The horror. As if he is less, as if he were mortal. Atop their pedestals they are in power, in control, their true selves hidden behind masks. He lives truthful, exposed, waiting for infection. Begging for it. Few can understand, fewer sympathize, but from the moment you looked at him, watched the lines in his forehead crease, his mouth fall, his entire outward being change, you knew. How could Gods possibly live among their people and not pick up a few habits? Not just the things they mirrored with ease. Joy, sadness, even anger became second nature. He was burdened with more, with complications. Anger became fury, rage, bitterness, even destruction.

They were scared not because they could not understand what it felt to hurt so deeply, to bleed to freely, but because pride lived in him where they felt nothing but shame. Shame for screaming, crying, sobbing. For finding their knees weak, breakable, their spirits broken, their worlds shattering before their eyes. Shame for falling, shattering, letting themselves be weak, vulnerable, human. He was not. Openly, he let these things seep through his words, his actions, carrying it on his back when there was no where else to put it, never daring to put up a front of invulnerability. Gods could be fragile, too.

And just as they could be fragile, they were dangerous.

Not once would he let you forget that.

You never saw it. Not when it was happening. When his arms grew tired, when his back ached, when his eyes saw red. The myths, the stories, the thing of nightmares. Horrifying. Truly horrifying. In his prime, nothing left unharmed, untouched. Pushed to the edge, he didn't just fall, he put on a goddamn show. Sometimes you wished to watch, see for yourself what it was that made others shake, what made them leave everything they had in his name, praying for joy. Sometimes you decided it was better to leave it up to your imagination. You were there after though, ordered to clean up, collect his pieces, hold him together until someone more familiar put him back together again. He trusted you, for what reason you still questioned. Let you get close enough to hush his own unrecognizable sobs, plucking the gun, knife, pipe from his weak hand, wipe the red from his cheek. Still wet. It wasn't a fall from grace, not exactly, but a taste, a glimpse of how fragile ones world really was when immortals lost their grip. Just as they could play nice, offer riches, they could leave nothing but ash in their wake.

Little fires everywhere.

The ruins were magnificent. Shocking, and amazing. Homes unrecognizable. Bodies shredded, anonymous now, without worth. The grass and trees blackened, smoking even as the sun rose, welcoming a new day. You never could get used to the smell of burning flesh, the stinging in your lungs enough to bring tears to your eyes. The clouds grey, moody, as far as you could see. A reminder, as if the unsettled silence weren't enough. All that's left is the quiet cry of the crackling fire, weaker and weaker with every passing second. He could not bear to look. A man gone blind in his rage. You'd seen it enough with the mortals to know. Humans had a funny way of wanting to protect themselves, their psyche, even at their most destructive. Funny, and odd. He possessed these same traits. Weakened by what he's done, exhausted, there is not another threat of this for a long time. But when it comes, because it always does, he'll scorch the new earth, this new life, without hesitation.

Sometimes, it's not an outward cry, but inward. A gun to his head, the metal kissing his temple goodnight. The rope around his neck, soft against his skin. The booze sweet, tempting, making his steps light and careless. Someone is there before it's too late, before there is no God left, easing him off the ledge the way they think they'll always have to. This you do not see. You do not hear. This is kept among gods, another secret they are sworn to, another thing they can use against one another. But you know, as you would. And again, you understand. Stitched across his features. A crime not yet committed. In due time, he promises, without a single word, and you believe him. Succumbed to his emotions. He does not berate them, or belittle, but joins them, knowing, despite how much it hurts, how beautiful they really can be.

Something none of them could begin to understand.

All of this is worth the euphoria, the tears of joy, walking the thin line between elation and madness, even if it only lasts one second.

Lower on the ranks, the impoverished class, fresh blood, sent to do the work no one else wanted because you had no other choice. Unlike the rest, he was eager to join, to help, anything to rid himself of his own guilt, gain back the respect he's lost. A glance is all you share. That of secrecy. Those moments, where he is shattered, the source of so much heartache, kept between you. Not out of personal gain, for leverage, but because you, too, have found yourself the cause, not the affect. The rest underestimate, overlooking, never meeting your eyes, but he is careful. He doesn't know, none do, but he is one of few who see man and God all the same. Strengths and weaknesses. Pain and suffering. Love and war. A multitude of pieces, each worthy in their own right of respect, of understanding and patience. One is not only their mistakes, their faults, all the things that keep them awake at night, just as they are not only their vigor, their vitality, all the battles they've won. They are all of them, and more, things he cannot even see, nor begin to comprehend. So, he looks you in the eye, as he does the others, regardless of who they take orders from.

As long as he's concerned, with that cap, you're one of them. The rest of the family, they differentiate, they seclude, they draw a line right down the middle. Us and them. Worthy and unworthy. Those that decide and those to be disposed.

Not Arthur, though.

He is different.

#writing #arthur shelby #arthur shelby drabble #arthur shelby oneshot #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #arthur shelby x reader #arthur x reader #x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic #arthur shelby fic #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #series

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slocumjoe · 3 years

Text

2 headcanons per companion

Cait:

- Touchy person. After learning and understanding that it doesn't inherently mean pain, learns to speak and hear it as a love language. Her touches are very jock, though. Shoulder slaps, light punches, hair ruffling, kind of an older brother form of physical affection. Often gets into play-fights with MacCready.

- Has a lovely singing voice, but no one knows because she never sings. Ever. If she sang, it would be a quiet, raspy croon. The type of singing you'd expect to hear in a castle ruins at the coast during a storm. Haunting and enchanting.

Curie:

- Amazing baker, not so good at cooking. Baking is a science, cooking is more about intuition and creativity. She's a by-the-books girl, and unless she has an exact recipe, her cooking is going to taste like anxiety. Great at breads, burns eggs. Always makes delicious muffins, her soups and stews are flavorless and soggy.

She has no idea. Thinks it's fine, and no one will dare tell her to stick to dough-based foods.

- The first time she got drunk, it was off wine. She woke up with her head in agony and on the roof of a shack about 50 miles away from Sanctuary. And with a tattoo on her back. Doesnt know about the tattoo. No one knows about the tattoo. It's a spoon. A very poorly done spoon. Possibly a ladle.

Danse:

- This man may as well be a bear. He has a big appetite, sleeps like he's hibernating for winter, is covered in thick body hair. Danse will wake up only for his natural alarm, his clock alarm, or someone walking up to him and telling him to get up. No noise or physical disturbance will wake him. Nothing. As for his stomach, he isn't a glutton, but look at him. Big guy needs fuel. He can eat a normal amount and be fine, but could get himself kicked out of Golden Corral.

- Speaking of food. He eats everything with no reaction regardless of if he likes it or not. It looks like he's bored even if he's eating the rare good meal. Food is just something neutral, with cons to certain things. He prefers plainer flavors, but is immune to spice. Can drink an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce, Sriracha sauce, and a chile sauce with no expression. The blank stare and spice immunity aren't synth things, Curie and X6 are just the opposite.

Deacon:

- Takes long walks at night through settlements. Feels at peace in liminal spaces. The ruins of Boston and all the other destroyed cities don't have the same effect. Something about being the only one aware, living unnoticed in a place filled with people. It's lonely, but nothing gives the same clarity.

- Hates subway tunnels. Go on forever, too long to see what's at the end, something could be at any corner - they creep him out. If you still, you'll hear something. Machinery even when the place is inactive. Shuffling. Even stiller, might hear breathing echoing from way down a tunnel. Hates it to hell and back. Has to take a long smoke break if he has to go in one alone.

Hancock:

- Weird with kids. Likes them, but worries about himself. He isn't the...best example. He has no filter, they can tell something is wrong about him, and he just doesn't know how to act. They're just tiny humans, but there are rules. He doesn't want to accidently hurt them or inspire them to follow his screwed up footsteps.

- He doesn't care about what people think unless he cares. Some schmuck sneering at him when he pops a mentats? That guy's issue. Nick's frown? Curie's wide-eyed fretting? The way Cait's face goes soft and her eyes crinkle in sympathy?

...that matters.

He starts using less.

MacCready:

- Extravert. He needs his space, but hates being alone. Not having a support to fall back on is terrifying. The most anxious he'd ever been since Lucy died was his time alone in the Commonwealth. Sure, he had people, but not...not people of his own. Not a family. Leaving his boy was hard and being alone just as. Was often nauseous and prone to headaches until the SoSu.

- Hates the acknowledgement of intimate body parts in public. Hancock and Cait went on a tirade of sex jokes and he was just as, if not more, squeamish as the other prudes. While exploring a vault, a sex ed video came on the projector and he was red as a tomato for hours. It didn't help that he was standing in front of it and...well. You know what happens when you stand in front of projectors.

Goes all blushy when more adult talk comes up. Apparently Danse didn't know what m*sturbation was and that moment in that room nearly had him crawling out of his skin.

Nick:

- Has a little switch in his brain that decides if he's capable of math. One day he'll be a walking calculator, another he'll forget that 7 is more than 6. He was a weird math student. Did all the reading and none of the work, aced the tests. You put him under pressure and he'll crank out the craziest equations, but you ask him to multiply two 4 digit numbers and you can see a little blue swirl in his eye before he sighs and goes to fetch scratch paper. Being a good tester doesn't mean he's not a born theater kid.

- Coat pockets are portals to other dimensions. Has everything you need. Bobby pins? Check. Ammo? Check. Food rations? Clean water? Smokes? Check. A small statue of Cappy? A page from a magazine that was never released due to a MLM scam in the publishing company? Half a pair of sunglasses?

Sometimes puts random garbage in his pockets just to screw with Ellie. Other times, genuinely doesn't know where things come from. Once found a yao gui claw in his chest pocket. It's a good luck charm, but he never picked it up and no one could have slipped it in. Jokes about the coat being haunted, but only half joking.

Piper:

- Opposite to Nick, things go missing in her coat. Nick calls it "the washer" for some reason. She'll drop a pen in a pocket and never see it again. Double checks the pockets for holes and splits before heading out. Still loses things. Once lost a whole pistol.

But more interestingly. She lost a purple gel pen.

Week later, Nick pulls a purple gel pen out of his pocket.

Has a corkboard for the theories about the connection.

- Makes an amazing stew of yao gui, carrots, potatoes, stingwing honey, and various herbs. Its a family recipe that just isn't a normal stew, there's something different about it. When asked, will joke that it's human meat. Very few people realize she's joking. Either way, it has a flavor that sets it apart from other stews.

The secret?

There's a mutated form of garlic in the southeast part of the Commonwealth.

Only her family knows where it grows and what it looks like.

Preston:

- Not so much of a night owl as much as he just...doesn't have a steady circadian rhythm. You can find him in the kitchen at 1 pm asleep on the counter in the middle or awake at 1 am making a 3 tiered cake. Doesn't have an alarm clock. His sleeping pattern bothers even the poorest sleepers. Danse is visibly upset when he describes his schedule.

- His history of partners, both romantic and purely sexual, is crazy. He has the most interesting and horrifying stories. One girlfriend was convinced she was the reincarnated Mistress of Mystery. A boyfriend cheated on him with his step grandmother. He was once involved in a multi-person break up because apparently his boyfriend was in a poly relationship that went south on all fronts due to a chem deal's profits going missing as they were about to split the caps.

Don't ask about Marge.

Marge was...probably something he imagined during a fever.

X6:

- His pantries and fridge have nothing but junk food. He likes vegetables and fruit, but they take up valuable sugar space.

Once ate a giant, 200+ year expired cheesecake and puked for an hour. When Nick found out, popped a fuse. X was out of commission for...so long. Turns out he's lactose intolerant.

- Has been flirted with so many times. Each time, turned pink and lost all control of his words. He becomes a stuttering, cherry-cheeked mess at romantic interest. Not because he reciprocates, he just wasn't trained for it. There is no protocol for "Wanna come back to my place?"

Someone kissed his cheek and he actually ran and jumped out of a window to escape. Hancock has it on video and sometimes watches it to produce serotonin.

#fallout 4 #fo4 #paladin danse #nick valentine #robert joseph maccready #gangpost

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

You were all I wanted Part 3

Pairing: mob!Peter Parker x plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, human trafficking, mentions of non-con, minor character’s death.

Words: 1600.

Summary: You are bought by the head of Stark crime family for a kid he cares about.

Part 1

Part 2

P.S. Peter is an adult!

This chapter turned out to be shorter, but it's still pretty eventful. Hope you're going to like it <3

___________

"But what... what if he won't like me? What if he'll take me away?" You sobbed, panic taking over you as you imagined Tony Stark pressing a gun to your forehead.

"No, he'd never do that." Peter left a little kiss behind your ear. "Mr. Stark doesn't take the gifts he's made back. You don't have to be afraid of that."

You sniffed at his words. That's what you were now. A gift. A possession. A pet whose job was keeping its master happy. You had to be grateful you were given to someone like Peter, at least. You didn't know whether he would always treat you kindly, but as of now he had never threatened to hurt you. You could only pray for him to fancy you so he wouldn't throw you away like some garbage - apparently, Tony Stark treated his women exactly like that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Of course, you got upset." Peter cuddled with you some more, but you weren't sure whether he was being sincere. Wasn't he sending you a clear message?

Don't go against me or you'll end just like her.

"Oh, I have an idea. Let's go out! Do you wanna see the movie or something?"

You did your best to wipe away your tears and stared at the boy, perplexed. "What?"

"We have a nice little cinema not far from here. We could go right now, just let me check what they've having today."

"But didn't you say I can't leave this place?"

"I meant without me." He showed you the same smug smirk Stark was wearing all the time, and you lowered your gaze to Peter's chest instead. "With me close you can go wherever you want to."

Funny thing to say. In thruth, you could go wherever he wanted to take you.

"Wow, they're having Beyond Darkness in 30 min! We gotta go, you'll loooove this."

"Sure."

In five minutes you were already hurrying after Peter and trying to look nowhere but your shoes. Regardless of what was there in Stark's Tower, you didn't want to see it, not even mentioning all those guys with guns scattered across the building. Peter was saying his hello to each and every one of them as if he were some mafia's social butterfly.

Whatever. You knew Peter was Tony's favorite not because he had a pretty face. You had never particularly asked what his role in all this was, but it was obviously something way bigger than running errands for the gang. Maybe it was better to never figure it out.

"Hey girl, wanna have fun?" Somebody to your left asked you, and you flinched involuntarily, keeping your head low.

Peter stopped in the very same second and sent the stranger a hard look.

"Mike, you offer my girl drugs one more time and I'm gonna shoot your cute little brother in the leg, you hear me?"

You raised your eyes to Peter's smiling face and regretted it immediately. There was something so dark in his gaze you wanted to turn around and run until you were back to your room, hiding somewhere in the corner.

"Shit! Sorry, Spidey!" The guy's high-pitched voice sounded frightened. "Didn't know you got a girl!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you later, we're kind of busy now." Peter grabbed your hand and pulled you away, heading to the exit. "I forgot to mention before that we don't do drugs. At all. They're good for business, but not for us, ok, Baby?"

"Yes, Peter." You answered and kept chewing your lips, thinking of all the things he had just said. You suspected him to be more ruthless when you weren't around, but never to such extent. How damn scary was real Peter Parker?

"And don't worry, I'd never shoot his brother in whatever part of his body." The boy said it like it was something obvious and you didn't even need to pay attention to it.

Why then did that guy look completely horrified?

When you had finally stepped outside and felt the wind playing with your hair you were ready to cry. Just walking out of the Tower was a fucking torture.

It was already dark, and you pulled the zipper on your pretty blue jacket up, going almost shoulder to shoulder with Peter. Normally you'd be at least a little scared to walk the streets of a big city at night, but the guy your mother had warned you about was already holding your hand.

The place the boy brought you to was truly small but cozy with nice vintage red seats, the delicious smell of caramel popcorn spreading everywhere. It turned out that the movie was something in between Star Wars and Star Trek, which wasn't surprising because Peter was a sucker for anything related to sci-fi. Anyway, it wasn't bad and you actually enjoyed watching it. The movie helped you to keep your mind off your earlier encounter with the drug trafficker and the words Peter said.

The only way to live like that and stay sane was to turn a blind eye to anything that happened around, you thought. It was cowardly and revolting, but what could you do against one of the most, if not the most, dangerous gangs in New York? Surely, even if by some miracle you could flee the Tower and go to police, would they really be willing to help you? No, they would return you to Mr. Stark. You were a hundred percent sure he got it covered.

"Are you feeling tired, Baby?"

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Peter who smiled at you so lovingly it could make any girl cry.

"Just a little bit."

"Want me to give you a massage when we gonna get home?" His expression quickly turned devious, and he winked at you.

Yeah, great, now you'd have him fucking you before your knees were giving out. The kid had such stamina he could be an Olympic athlete, no less.

"Aw, I love when you blush like that." Chuckling, he put his arm around your shoulders and inched closer to give you a quick peck on the lips. You forced youself to enjoy his little signs of affection and start thinking you ought to be thankful he wasn't into heavy BDSM practices or something like that.

While you two were kissing again, you heard someone's loud footsteps as if this person just jumped out of the corner, and then there was a hateful outburst, "Stay were you are. Your wallets, quick!"

You froze, your hands getting cold as you stared at the face of a guy standing in front of you with a knife in his hands. He was clearly unstable, sick - you could see the dark circles around his eyes, the unhealthy color of his skin, and his greasy hair sticking to his forehead. You didn't know what was wrong with him, but he was twice bigger than Peter. The guy would probably have no problem with slicing both him and you into pieces if you didn't comply.

"I said g-"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Peter let out a frustrated sigh before you heard the loud sound of the gun firing.

There was a little black hole in the guy's chest, blood seeping through his dirty white t-shirt and coloring it in a beautiful deep ruby color. You could see the confusion in the eyes of the stranger, his mouth half-open. Slowly, he went down before his legs gave out and he landed at the ground with a loud thud. He didn't move after that.

"Come on, attacking a couple of high shoolers? You're such a psycho, man. Who were you gonna go after us? Kids?" Peter rolled his eyes and hid the gun under his bomber, turning away from the man he murdered and shouting to someone behind him. "It's ok, people! It's just me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Calm down, go home, it's late!"

You were still staring at the large pool of blood spreading beneath the body of a stranger - lack of light made it look like it was an odd black liquid. Before you could take your eyes elsewhere, you felt bile quickly going up your throat and vomitted, moving to lean your hand on the wall of a building. He killed him. Peter killed him. You didn't even see him pulling out the gun.

"Oh Baby, I'm so sorry." The boy gently held back your hair when you threw up again, feeling scared, disgusted, feverish and cold at the same time. "That's why I don't like drugs and what they do to people. That shithead lost his mind, you see? No sane guy would ever jump on me or my girl like that."

Despite him being so tender, you couldn't even turn your head to look at him as you started shaking from his touch.

You kept emptying your stomach a few more minutes before Peter softly wiped your mouth with his handkerchief and took your arm, walking you back to the Tower and saying all those unnecessary things about how terrible some people are and how everyone has to take care in the dangerous world they're living in. You didn't hear half of that, but you cared little for his chattering.

Peter had shot the man without showing even the slightest regret. He'd shoot you the same way if you ever turned against him - he was Stark's favourite, after all.

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @msruchita @opheliadawnwalker3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #spider man #spiderman #yandere #tom holland

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kyuuppi · 4 years

Text

Bad Day

Pairing: Orihara Izaya x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, mild fluff

Word Count: 2.3k

Everyone has a bad day eventually.

In the fast-paced style of Ikebukuro, a city known for its stretches of high rise office buildings where corrupt politicians and businessmen appear to rule by day but a variety of notorious street gangs reign by nightfall, turbulence is almost expected. Whether it be a rainy day without an umbrella or a run in with an angry blond bartender with superhuman strength, there are a multitude of unfortunate events that could occur in Ikebukuro to minorly inconvenience and sour your day.

The problem is when they all happen at once.

What has become possibly the worst day of your life began the night before. The apartment above yours happens to house a group of rowdy college boys who deemed Wednesday night an appropriate time for a party. The constant booms of a heavy bass speaker accented with the occasional slurred yelling ensured a night of restlessness for you and it was not until well after 3am that you finally fell asleep—which incidentally led to you sleeping through your 7am alarm for work. Despite arriving less than ten minutes late—your first time arriving late for work ever—your team manager gave you an earful about the importance of maintaining “a good work ethic” in front of half of your coworkers. Naturally, you were irritated. However, as a generally cheerful and optimistic person, you figured the worst was over and promised to treat yourself to a nice lunch to make up for it...

...until your designated lunchtime rolled around and you found yourself standing in the lobby staring out at the torrents of rain crashing down from the sky.

You didn’t have an umbrella.

After choosing between ending up soaked or starving for the next five hours of work, you stood at the cash register of the nearest convenience store, drenched head to toe with a sandwich and bottled water in hand.

That was when you realized you’d forgotten your wallet in the office.

By the end of the day you were left exhausted, hungry, and with a throbbing headache that left your eyes stinging with suppressed tears as your trudged home, shuffling around leftover rain puddles.

At a crosswalk you were forced to pause as the pedestrian light turned red to let cars pass. Despite being in the middle of the business district on a Thursday evening there were not many other people around. You suspected it had to do with the rain earlier.

To pass time you pulled your cell phone out of your purse and proceeded to check your notifications. There were a few standard messages—one new follower on Instagram, a reblog of one of your posts on Tumblr, your family asking if you’d be coming home for Christmas this year—but there was also a text message sent from a person that had your heart shamelessly skipping a beat.

New Message From: Orihara Izaya

The name alone affects you to an unhealthy degree but, honestly, you’re far from the only one. Izaya is the most dangerous man in Ikebukuro, as an information broker there is not a thing about the city he does not know. Every person, every interaction, every dirty deed—he knows it all. If you didn’t know any better you’d suspect he could quite literally read minds.

Your suspicion was for good reason—when you first moved to Ikebukuro from your small town six months ago you had immediately become a subject of Izaya’s tormenting. From day one he had hired people to follow you, watching your every move without your knowledge and throwing you into mildly traumatizing situations until you felt you were at your breaking point...except you never broke. No matter how many horrible things happened to you, no matter how many nights you spent crying yourself to sleep, you always greeted the next day with a smile. Eventually, realizing you would not be as easy to manipulate as many of his other “precious humans,” he decided to meet with you personally and from there your relationship with each other shifted from bully and victim into...something else.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the melodic beeping of the pedestrian light, signaling it was safe to cross the street now. Stepping off the sidewalk and into the road you look back down at your phone, just about to unlock the screen when you hear the loud screeching of rubber followed by a horrified shout of “WATCH OUT!” You looked up just in time to see a black car skidding full speed right towards you.

You froze, like a deer caught in headlights, as the car got closer and closer until you could make out the terrified features of the driver, equally as helpless to stop the vehicle as you were. You hadn’t even been able to process the thought that you might die yet when a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you just a few paces to the left and out of harm's way as the car swerved to the right and crashed into a light pole.

Your gaze snapped away from the car to the body behind you and found Heiwajima Shizuo, decked out in his usual dark shades and bartending uniform, his arms still wrapped protectively around your waist. He was panting, having obviously run over to save you as you had not seen him anywhere nearby before.

“You okay?” he asked as he let you go, eyes never once leaving the now smoking car a few feet away from you two. Despite your relationship with his least favorite person in the universe, the two of you got along well enough and he seemed to respect you as an unexpectedly kind person among a city of darkness and sin.

You barely managed to stutter out an affirmative before he left your side in favor of approaching the driver—who miraculously seemed to still be alive albeit panicked at an obviously seething Shizuo’s appearance, leaving you to wonder if the driver had been trying to escape the hot-headed blond when he ran the red light. The stacks of money you think you can see in the backseat along with the distant sound of approaching police sirens only further validate your assumptions and you quickly pick up your fallen purse to make a break for it before you get caught up in another dangerous situation.

As you crouch down for the black leather strap of your purse you find your expensive new cell phone right beside it, broken into a million pieces of glass and metal.

…

By the time you reach the door of your apartment there are hot tears rolling down your cheeks and it takes all of your remaining energy to unlock the door through blurred vision. As you stumble through the threshold, weakly pushing the door behind yourself and dropping your purse, the idea of collapsing onto your bed and completely disappearing from the world for the rest of the night is the only thing keeping you sane.

But of course, you’re not afforded even that simple luxury as, before you can make it to the bed situated in the corner of your cramped studio, a shadowy figure exits the kitchen and makes himself known.

“My, my,” he lilts, “someone doesn’t look too happy.”

You hate that regardless of how exhausted you are, the familiar voice sends shivers down your spine and seems to awaken something deep within your gut that resembles the butterflies you heard about in all those Disney romance movies.

Except Izaya was more the sadistic evil villain than the dashing prince charming.

You swiftly rub at your face, as if it wasn’t already blaringly obvious that you had been crying. Sniffling, you force your lips into the weakest smile in history as you face the smug man casually leaning against the counter.

“H-hey, Izaya,” you murmur.

He gazes at you for a few moments, expression unreadable as his eyes dance around your nervous form. You feel awkward and bare, as if he was able to see things about you that even you yourself couldn’t see. You’re just about to speak again, likely a string of nonsensical small talk just for the sake of breaking the tension, when Izaya beats you to it. He uses one foot to push himself off of the counter and take the four steps required to stand right in front of you, his brownish-red eyes glinting almost mysteriously in the street lights outside of the window.

For a moment you feel as if you are under a spell, held captive under the unwavering stare of a man who, despite physically being less than an arm’s length away, seems to be far beyond the reach of any human being, let alone a simple girl like yourself.

He smirks and it sends your heart racing.

“Your mascara is running.”

An embarrassingly loud sob escapes your lips before you’re diving head-first into his chest, wrapping your arms around his slim waist as cries wrack your frame. His words were far from sweet or comforting, and certainly not an invitation for a hug, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. He is dangerous, you think. No matter what he said or did to you, you have a feeling you would always come running back into his arms. The man who hurt you the most in the beginning was now the person who made you feel the most secure.

Izaya chuckles before one hand comes up to smooth your undoubtedly ruffled, damp hair while the other remains deep in the pocket of his fur-trimmed parka. It was always like this. In the six months you’ve known him, the last three of which you could maybe consider you two “dating” (or as close to dating as Izaya would ever get), he never initiated any physical contact. If you wanted physical affection you had to muster up the courage to act on it yourself, whether it be hugging, kissing, or even holding hands. He never initiated but he also never rejected your advances. He would return your actions, oftentimes with a teasing remark about how desperate you must be or how irresistible you must find him. He was always right.

You find peace in the steady thumps of his heartbeat and the gentle fingers carding through your hair until your sobs have finally calmed down into shallow breathing and your headache no longer feels like jackhammer in your brain. Your eyes are just beginning to droop when he pulls back, making you whine pathetically in protest.

“Oh dear, you’re being awfully needy today,” he taunts as he steps back.

However, instead of leaving like you expect, he grabs your forearms in each hand, walking you forwards until the two of you reach your bed. He lets go of you to push the small mountain of rumpled blankets to the side (you had left your bed unmade this morning when you were running late for work) before gently but firmly forcing you to sit on the mattress.

“I believe it’s way past someone’s bedtime. Wouldn’t want to be late for work again tomorrow, hm~?”

You glance at the alarm clock on your bedside. It is nearly two hours before the time you usually go to bed, and you know Izaya is aware of that as well, but you don’t question it. Instead you savor the rare care Izaya seems to be showing you tonight and lie down properly, trying to hold back a giddy grin when he covers you in the blankets like a child.

He straightens up once you’re properly tucked in and moves to step away again but your hands shoot out to grab the hem of his jacket without thinking. He raises a brow in silent question, his unnerving smirk still in place. Your cheeks immediately heat up, silently cursing yourself at your impulsiveness. No going back now.

“Um...can you, uh...stay with me tonight?” you ask weakly, unable to maintain eye contact.

He merely chuckles, easily escaping your weak grasp.

“As much as I would love to keep my little human company tonight, I have some work to do.”

You don’t bother asking what he means by “work’; you already know. At a time like this it almost certainly has something to do with one of the many illegal gangs and drug cartels that run the streets of Ikebukuro during nighttime. You vaguely remember hearing reports on the news recently of a well-known CEO under investigation for money laundering and his connections with a major gang. If the public was just now finding out you know Izaya has known the intricate details for months or is possibly even directly involved in the operation as a catalyst. It was not uncommon for Izaya to stir up trouble among high-profile politicians and businessmen for fun.

You can only wordlessly pout as you watch him slip away and out of your apartment just as suddenly as he had appeared. You succumb to sleep before the door even shuts.

…

The next morning you awaken before your alarm, feeling much more refreshed and alive than you’d felt in a long time. You go about your morning routine as usual but with a visible pep to your step. As you get dressed you contemplate visiting a cafe for breakfast before work with your extra time. Maybe you’ll order the strawberry pancakes, or the blueberry scones...perhaps even both.

It isn’t until you walk into the sitting area to retrieve the purse you had left on the floor last night that you see the object sitting on your coffee table. As you approach you gasp at the realization of what it is: a brand new cellphone—the same model as the one that had been destroyed last night. When hesitant hands you pick it up and watch as the screen comes to life, displaying a single text message that brings a bright smile to your face.

New Message From: Orihara Izaya

>You really need to be more careful next time, y/n-chan~

#Izaya x reader #Orihara Izaya x reader #durarara imagine #orihara izaya #anime imagine #izaya imagine #reader insert #fanfic #durarara fic #izaya fic

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drop-of-infinity · 3 years

Text

Destiel fic part 8! This part is canon compliant with season 11. As always, everything in quotation marks is directly from the show, and any chapter can be read alone.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

<><><><><><><>

Chapter 8: season 11

Out of the Darkness, into the Fire

{“The mark, is it gone?”

“You’re worried about me? After everything I-”

“Dean is it gone?”

“...yes. I’m good.” Cas tilts his head back in relief. The attack dog curse is worsening and he knows if he goes up to heaven he will probably be tortured, but at least Dean is ok. Everything was going to hell, but Dean was alive and nothing else mattered.

{“I’ll do my best.” As Dean wrapped a blanket around Cas’s shoulders he tried very hard not to think about how domestic it was. He failed. Even if he couldn’t have what he craved, and he knew he couldn’t, Dean just wanted Cas in the bunker. He wants his best friend to have a home with them.

{“Cas!” The clouds cleared from Cas’s mind as the attack curse lifted. He clawed his way into wakefulness to find Dean’s worried eyes staring back at him. He is visibly bleeding from cuts Cas can remember inflicting, but Dean is holding his face gently with one hand and Cas can’t help the way his breath hitches or the way he turns his face to capture more of Dean’s warmth. I love you, he thinks distantly, and I don’t deserve you but I love you anyway.

Baby

{“You know, with a hunter? Someone who understands the life?” Dean looks at Sam and tries not to show how shaken up he is by the innocent question. Sure, Dean had thought about settling down. A lot more frequently recently, now that things were good between him and Cas. He wanted to settle down. He wanted a normal, happy, boring-ass life with the angel he was in love with. When did I become so goddamn sappy? But really, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t what Cas wanted. It will never be.

The Devil in the Details

{Cas stands facing Lucifer, side by side with Dean, ready to go down swinging if necessary. He feels Dean’s hand brush against his and he stiffens, unsure if it was an accident. Slowly, keeping his eyes on Lucifer, he pushes his hand up against Dean’s. Dean pushes back. Cas’s heart, previously beating with terror soars for just a second. I won’t let anything happen to him. I won’t let anything happen to this world. When he says yes to Lucifer, he thinks of Dean.

Into The Mystic

{“It may be a good thing.” Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. All of Dean’s defences go up in a second. Cas has been acting strange, and this is definitely on the list. Dean is very aware of every instance of physical contact between them. He keeps them in the back of his mind and replays them over and over at 3am when he’s too tired and drunk to feel guilty. He and Cas pretty much only touch when one of them is dying or has just come back from the dead. It’s an unspoken, unbroken rule. If there’s contact outside of that, it’s a simple shoulder pat, something Dean lets himself get away with. This is not that. This is concerning.

{“If there is one thing I’ve learned in all my years on the road it’s when somebody’s pining for somebody else.” Dean thinks of Amara first, on an instinct she must have implanted in him. His entire being recoils at it. God’s sister only really affects him when he’s with her. Then, immediately after, Dean thinks of the last eight years with Cas, and knows he wouldn’t change a damn thing. He thinks of lingering touches, stolen stares, unspoken agreements, smiles that still make his heart beat too fast, eyes that made him knock down his own 30 year old walls, and remembering what love is supposed to mean. Pining huh? You have no fucking idea.

Hell’s Angel

{“Cas is family!”

“Yes and his choice deserves to be respected!”

“Even if it kills him?!” Dean can’t believe he’s having this conversation. Cas isn’t a weapon or a tool to be used as they see fit, and he isn’t infallible. He’s their best friend. His choice doesn’t deserve to be respected because it’s a stupid fucking choice, and if he dies- if he dies... Dean feels panic rising into his throat and forces it back. Cas won’t die. He won’t let him.

{“Cas!”

“Caaaas!” Dean recoils, horrified. Lucifer’s smile twists itself across Cas’s face. The normally angelic blue eyes were clouded with power lust, and Dean struggled to see any traces of Castiel in the man standing in front of him. But he’s still in there, he reminded himself. He’s still in there and we have to get him out.

{“Well let’s go find that idiot and bring him home.” Dean means the bunker, to some capacity, but it wasn’t the base of his words and he was pretty sure Sam could see it. Home for Cas wouldn’t be a terrestrial place. It would be with his family. More importantly, home meant safety and people you loved. Dean’s home is and always will be wherever Cas is. I belong with you, he thinks. It’s almost a prayer.

{“Lucifer is gone.” Cas finally belongs to himself again. The freedom of no longer having the devil in his head is almost as intoxicating as the steady weight of Dean’s hand on his shoulder. The relief and adrenaline coursing through his veins makes him dizzy, and Dean hauling him to his feet is just making it worse. Better. He doesn’t know. Even after so many years, Cas finds emotions very confusing.

{“You’re our brother Cas, I want you to know that.” It stings somewhere deep inside his chest, a place he thought he had locked up by now. Knowing Dean doesn’t feel the same should get easier with time, but it never does. Cas knows “brother” is one of the highest compliments Dean gives, but it still hurts. He looks away, unable to trust his facial expressions. This should be enough for him. This is enough for him. Still, he can’t help wanting.

{“Cas.” Dean turns to his friend, his gaze flicking down to his mouth, and for just a second considers doing it. Imagines kissing Cas in front of Sam and Crowley and Chuck and everybody, imagines letting himself have it just once. But Dean doesn’t want his last memory of Cas to be the angel pushing him away, so he holds himself back. And then, suddenly, Cas has thrown his arms around him and is molded against his back. “Ok. Ok. Alright.” Dean brings his hands up, shakily, and lets himself melt into Cas for just a second, electricity coursing through his skin. After all, this is his last chance. He forces himself to pull away after far too short of a time, because every second he spends in Cas’s arms, his willpower to walk to his death weakens. “I could go with you,” Cas says, because of course he does, but there’s no question. Dean isn’t letting anyone else he loves die.

{“He’s gonna be a mess. So look out for him ok? Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Cas’s head is screaming at him to just tell him, because this is his last chance, because Dean is about to die. You think I won’t be a mess without you? I rebelled for you! I need you. I need you not to die. Please let me go with you. Wherever you go I will follow. I love you. I love you. I love you. He doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he swallows his tears and answers Dean’s request the only way he knows how to. “Of course.”

{Cas doesn’t know what to do now. The man he fell for in every way imaginable is gone. But, as he trades memories and tears with Sam, he can’t help but think that falling is worth it no matter how much it hurts.

{As Dean walks towards Amara, he suddenly has an idea. This doesn’t have to be the end. His heart soars in his chest. He can do this, because he knows exactly who he’s doing it for.

#destiel #supernatural #spn #deancas #castiel #supernatural thoughts #spn thoughts #spn season 11 #supernatural season 11 #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fanfiction #deancas fanfic #deancas fic

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illicitivywp · 3 years

Text

mal de vivre.

The morning that Harry wakes up and you're not sleeping peacefully beside him is the worst of his entire life.

He can sense that you're not there. The air still circulates whiffs of your caramel shampoo and the breeze of your automatic fan that you always insist on leaving on all night still whirs leisurely and tickles the back of his neck.

Regardless, the room is vacant. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that much.

For now, he remains entirely numb. Immune to the flooding sobs and intolerable agony and festering anger, he supposes it's in his best interest to stay like that for a while.

For a few days, at least. Until he can fully process your absence. He's not certain how long it takes the average person to wholly recognise an entire chunk of themselves missing, but he figures he's already suffered enough.

Surely, the universe isn't that cruel.

Your love is delightedly grand, and with its sudden unavailability, he feels so dejectedly vague.

He's clearly not perceiving time correctly, perhaps it's his distant concentration or maybe even his body's method of rejecting life and the wretched torture of its innate malice.

A few times, he's experienced sleep paralysis. The first, horrifying occasion is long-forgotten, when he was seven or so - it happened only after staying up until one in the morning to watch a horror movie that he'd been specifically warned not to watch and a towering vacuum of danger stood solid as stone at the end of his bed.

If it weren't for his fingertips subconsciously tracing featherlight scribes of your name on his forearm, he might reasonably assume he's haunted with the condition once again.

A clattering of paws on hard floorboards injects a little more reality into his thoughts, and he still can't bear, physically, to turn over and greet the sweet puppy you'd snuck home and surprised him with upon his arrival home from work around a year ago, knowing that his acceptance of a familiarly-shaped void is waiting just inches away.

Eventually, and after another chaotic scramble of claws in need of a cut, Chi is bouncing enthusiastically at his side and attempting an ambitious leap onto the mattress. She fails theatrically, landing in a resounding thud on her back and launching back to her feet, completely unaware of her owner's awaiting grief.

Masking his greatest fears with scooping a palm beneath Chi's belly and hauling her upwards to nestle into his chest, the reposition forces him to lay on his back (she's always detested laying on her side, especially when smothered with adoring cuddles) and, like the coward he truly is, his eyes focus adamantly on a random spot of the pale ceiling. With every minute shuffle, it becomes more and more achingly apparent that you're really not here.

And if everything runs correctly, you'll squirm and giggle graciously at his waking before returning his kiss, to his lips, this time, and he'll suggest applying a little moisturiser, like he always does, and you'll love him like you should.

When his eyelids snap open and his head curves breezily to your claimed side of the bed, he's somewhat unsurprised to confirm that his life truly has transformed to a dreadful bundle of tragedy. In your imposing place, is a neatly-made bed and an envelope.

A single, white envelope, stained by the sweet, flowing cursive that could flow only from your touch.

Chi leaps naturally to the spectacle, sniffing curiously at the letter and nudging it around a little, whilst Harry is so unexplainably pained that he's unable to move. Swallowing thickly, he's not certain word-for-word what lies in the confines of this envelope, but he does know it'll confirm your leaving him, and for some strange reason, he's relieved you left an explanation, at least.

A souvenir of you to hang onto forever, along with the millions of other items and memories of yours in his possession.

Carefully removing it from Chi's vicinity and replacing the object of her attention with a random squeaky toy that he'd discovered burrowed beneath his bed a few nights ago, he traces your exquisite handwriting with his fingertip and reads along with inaudible movements of his mouth; For Harry, mon amour.

In that moment, he realises profoundly that he'll never get to request hearing you say different words in your accent again.

The amount of times he implored relentlessly to hear je t'aime and have it accompanied with an endearing kiss is infinite.

Harry, my love,

I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't handle the pain.

Seeing your face cures any anguish I feel, but not this time.

I really, really tried; I know you did, too. I wanted it to work out, I prayed every day that our suffering would magically end and we could return to our love, I hoped that one day I would wake and cuddle you tightly and describe this awful nightmare I'd had.

Possibly, I may write to you in the future; please, don't try to contact me, it won't work and you know it's for the best. My family and close friends know where I am, where I will be, and they also know not to tell you if you ask.

I wish I could kiss all of your heartache away and protect you from all evil in this world, but I feel my presence is detrimental to your recovery.

My love for you is never-ending. Please be okay.

Forgive me and love someone else like you loved me. Let someone else love you like I loved you. Tellement, tellement.

Forever, I'll think of you and how unbelievably content I felt waking up next to you every day for seven-hundred and eighty (? - I'm estimating) mornings straight.

I will never, ever leave our love behind, and I adore you more than I can express. Your strength and resilience are admirable, and you are truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Mon bébé, I miss you terribly.

Toujours, ton amour.

Chi tugs eagerly on her lead at the sight of the familiar entrance to her home, Harry in tow right behind. Sludgy snow muddies his shoes and soaks the hem of his jeans. His puppy's paws are undoubtedly drenched, too, but her fur is protected valiantly by her favourite jacket. He'd purchased it from a specialist store in France a year prior, and, since surprising her with the present upon his shared return, it'd become her primary option during the winter months.

Retrieving a reasonable pile of letters from his designated section, a rapid flick through displays bills, scams and all of the usual junk he usually receives. He offers his elderly neighbour a polite smile and holds open the door with his knee to construct a clear path for her exit.

He grimaces slightly at the teeth-shaped arc of damp dents into his mail - he hadn't particularly considered the repercussions of carrying it that way - and unclips Chi's lead, allowing her to run rampage through his airy apartment. Absently dropping his keys into its small dish of residence and taking a closer inspection at his post to infiltrate any wrong addresses or scams, he selects an apple from his fruit bowl and steals one firm chunk before noticing something peculiar.

Groomed eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he plucks one particular letter from the bunch and stacks it to the top. Perplexed by the sorely familiar curve of the writing scrawled on the front, his head shakes in denial - you wouldn't have, surely.

Discarding of all other mail on his kitchen counter, he's puzzled beyond belief; you'd left with no verbal warning and a letter that, admittedly, had been the source of several bouts of severe depression and, in spite of its awful affects, read dutifully every single day since your disappearance.

Rashly, he wishes you hadn't changed your phone number and email address shortly before leaving so he could possibly contact you regarding this mystery. However, he knows just as well as you clearly foresaw; his topic of discussion wouldn't be only the letter.

Tearing open the corner cautiously, he's incredibly delicate with checking inside the envelope once open to ensure it contains only his presumed note. Reviewing the front with a scouring gaze of disbelief, it really, truly has come from you.

He can't remember how many times he read each postcard that you'd gifted him with at the very beginning of your relationship. You'd recently made the permanent move from France to England, and, in a new country with limited knowledge of the native language, Harry had unintentionally become your beacon of comfort here.

With his fluent French and English, he was the perfect contender for kindly correcting your terminology and educating you on the essential etiquettes of Britain. Within weeks, however, your sweet smile had changed from an enjoyable sight during your frequent coffee shop meetings to something he craved.

He misses reading your silly, awful puns based around your home country, especially his favourite. A laughably unfunny joke paired with a matching scribble of the two of you; what do french fries do when they meet? They ketchup!

Harry,

I feel awful for waiting so long to speak to you again.

Your voice and your hugs. I've imagined them every single day.

I miss my Chi. How is she? I hope she's not missing her maman. Give her a kiss from me.

And the biggest kiss to yourself, because you deserve it, mon tout.

I'm inexplicably sorry for leaving so abruptly; I just couldn't take much more. The reminders were too much. Seeing your inconsolable pain every day was too much.

I'm so, so selfish, but I still believe allowing you to heal without my troubles was the best and easiest path for both of us.

I'm sure you noticed, but I may have stolen one of our pictures. It was your favourite, and that's why I had to choose that one, I suppose. Horrible, again.

I miss your dimples (and irritating you by poking them all the time). I miss your lips, they were so soft. No wonder you always bossed me around with the lip balm - I have my own now, I take it everywhere with me.

It smells like caramel.

Most of all, I miss your love. I've never known someone to love like you do. You were, are, and always will be, incredible.

Have you found someone to love yet?

Do you still think about me? If yes, please don't.

It's not fair of me to appear out of nowhere like this and not allow you a chance to reply. If you wish, post your letter to my maman's house - I'm not there, just to crush any other hope you have, but I'll receive it.

I'll be sorry forever, mon amour.

Sois gentil avec toi-même.

Câlins pour toujours, your baby.

Auriele,

I'm so thankful you decided to reach out again. I've missed you. Tellement, tellement.

Chi is brilliant, still eating everything and constantly in need of a haircut. She does miss you.

My hurt is still prevalent, I've accepted that it always will be. I truly don't believe it can be fixed again, but I'm still trying.

I spent the two weeks after your leaving searching for every single picture in existence of us. I cried so many times, I wish I could tell you that I'm wholly recovered and that you're fully forgiven, but I can't.

I think I counted them all. It's either three-hundred and seventy-seven or one-thousand, one-hundred and two (I have two sticky notes labelled pictures, I'm not sure which is correct.)

No one could ever love me like you do, tu es le meilleur.

I suppose that answers both of your questions.

Thank you for the chance to respond. I was incredibly confused when I received your thoughtful letter. I'm assuming by this one's destination being your maman's house, you're in France? You don't have to answer that. I would understand.

Mon bébé chéri, je t'aime.

Harry x

Harry,

It was the least I could do. I hurt you doubly and you never deserved that.

Tell her I love her. Buy her an ice cream for me (note the two dollars also enclosed in this envelope!)

There aren't enough apologies in the world to properly cover the extent of my mistakes, but I'll continue gathering as many as I can. And send them straight to you.

I also wish you could truthfully claim that you're okay, and I hope, with time, that you will be. It's all you ever deserved, mon chéri. You don't ever have to forgive me. I understand entirely if you hate me.

I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers were both low counts. I loved your face, as superficial as it sounds, but it truly was prettier than anything, and my favourite thing was always surrounding myself with it. Aussi longtemps que je pouvais.

My baby, I only tried my hardest to love you, and I sincerely hope I haven't ruined your idea of love so much that I'm your standard. Please, travel, find people to connect with, fall in love with a place, if not a person.

I bet Chi would love Spain. Australia, maybe? Thailand? Your choice entirely. You always were smarter than me (i.e. I left you - doesn't get much dumber.)

I am in France, feel free to ask any question you want about my current life if you decide to write back - you really don't have to. It's okay. You're still perfect.

Just not my address. It's so selfish of me to hide away from you when you're the one who deserves closure, but I'm not ready to share that information. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Tu me manques. Tu me manques ma maman et mon père. Tu me manques au cœur.

All my love, Auriele x

Every day, his thoughts are plagued with ideas of how to write his next letter. Your previous few communications ran smoothly; you seem incredibly apologetic and, as much as he would've gladly ignored the past tense use of 'love' in your most recent letter, he can't help but realise the difference from your first each time he reads it.

He's not certain why his first letter practically poured from his pen and before he knew it, it was sealed, posted and received. This time, however, he can't even construct a way to greet you.

Has distance and time really weakened your connection that much? His favourite childhood Disney movies would be ashamed.

The heartache you've endured together is insufferable, the bitterness remaining fresh and the misery continuing to roll onwards with him, and yet, you're both still alive. Perhaps, he should be a little more thankful.

He's tested out various support groups over the past few months; they appear to help in the moment, but once he returns home to a completely empty house, - aside from Chi - he realises all of his progress to be entirely fake.

How can he realistically recover from his insurmountable loss in solitude?

An apartment which used to breathe vibrant life and excitement for the future, diminished to nothing but silence.

He might as well have lost his house, too. Every second he spends there, surrounded by reminders of his grief, is draining. Of course, if he were a millionaire, he would've discovered a lovely, one bed flat with wide, open floors and windows. If he were a millionaire, though, maybe none of this agony would've ever happened.

He could’ve fixed it.

Regardless, he didn't, and now he returns home every single day, monotonous and finding solace only in rereading your letters and running through his local park with Chi, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, he hears the faint echo of your melodious voice ringing in his ear; mon doux bébé. For a moment, he believes you may be talking to him, but with a resounding giggle of contentment, you never were.

Within a month, he lost both of his sweet baby girls, and the pain is simply too much to comprehend.

Elle, mon cœur,

Firstly, I apologize for my late reply. This letter was, for some reason, incredibly difficult to write.

You hurt me never. Life hurt me, and it hurt you, too, and I'm sorry it's so cruel.

Chi adored her ice cream - vanilla, your favourite - and said thanks! (complimentary picture attached, for you).

Sympathy and apologies aren't a cure. I've received enough of them to know. I hope you have, too. We might not accept it and it might not heal our pain, but it is nice to know you have people by your side.

Mon amour, I would/could never come close to hatred for you. You are my entire heart, and you own everything within it.

I hope, one day, I can forgive you. I hope you can forgive me. We both made mistakes. We're both accountable, and so is fate. Unfortunately, it wasn't on our side, and we have to welcome that.

Your face is certainly Top Five list of physical attributes, which goes as followed:

1. your lips. I know I complained about them being dry all the time, but I miss them, still.

2. your eyes. Somewhere between the ocean and a cottage filled with flowers, they were paradise.

3. your thighs. I am a man - a broken one, but a man nonetheless - and they are certainly the most family-friendly feature I could think of.

4. your smile. Even on my darkest days, your smile was heaven. I hope you're smiling right now. I wish I could see it.

5. your face? All of the above and everything else. Was that cheating?

I wish I could leave here. I wish I could find a small, tropic island where Chi and I can get tipsy on Virgin Mary's and surf all day, but I feel it wouldn't be fair for both of us to run.

Although, Chi would certainly have a great time in Thailand. She told me so.

Did I mention she misses you? We miss you.

I have more questions than you can imagine. This is only my second letter, however, so I suppose I'll stick to three for now, (sorry for all the lists!)

How are you? Mentally? Physically?

Have you made new friends whilst you've been out there?

Would you ever visit London again?

I miss you forever.

Ton bébé.

Harry x

Harry,

It's more tough to write my letters than you might assume. No need to apologise, I understand.

Life is shit. I thought I had accepted that. I never imagined how evil it could be.

Chi, my baby, looks so pretty. I love her haircut (number 8694743? out of infinite).

I have heard my fair share of sympathy. At first, I felt bitter. They didn't understand what I had suffered, they didn't understand the pain I felt. With time, I realised that, sometimes, sorry is all you need to hear to feel a little better. To feel like you're managing life, at least.

I wish I could believe I deserve it, but I truly don't.

My mistakes seem perpetual. I'm constantly remembering new ones. Things I could've noticed faster, signs that I should've recognised. Yours are nothing. You made no mistakes, mon amour, please believe that. As much as fate has been my least favourite higher power for the past year, I agree about welcoming our own.

I would make a list of my personal favourites of your appearance, but I'd be here all day, and I'm meeting with a friend in an hour (your second question - check).

It wasn't fair for either of us to run. I think it's turned out for the best, however.

I can imagine Chi passed out on the beach. You both deserve a holiday. Go to Scotland, or something, at least. Just away from London.

I miss you both. Much more than I can express.

I'm well. Mentally; it's a struggle, but that's just life, I suppose. Physically; my sickness stopped a while ago. I hope your headaches did, too, but I've been searching for cures for those for a long time.

Yes! I've made quite a few close friends. They all know and love you. I'll tell them you asked.

London holds far too many memories for me to bear. You're the only one I can stand. Maybe one day.

Tellement de câlins.

Auriele.

The second your letter arrives and is read fully three times over, Harry's scrambling to collect his fancy paper and ink pen, thousands of ideas about how to reply brimming in his head.

Pen to paper, however, his mind is entirely blank.

You're inching closer to addressing the subject of your pain, and so is he. So far, the only discussions you've had regarding that difficult topic have ended either in awful arguments or uncontrollable, endless crying and they all occurred before your disappearance.

Since then, you've had ten months and seventeen days shared to mature from and process the situation. Perhaps, if you were to have a conversation about it now, it would be beneficial.

Harry is aware of the solution to his strange writer's block and urges to attempt to fix your hurt, but he's not quite sure if he's ready. Physically forcing himself up from his cluttered desk, he tries not to think of the main event when changing his sloppy t-shirt and joggers to jeans and a jumper; it's February, so the wind is still well and alive but, luckily for Chi and the duration of her walks, the temperatures are beginning to rise.

His destination is barely a thirty minute leisurely stroll through the city away, and he feels shameful to admit that this is his first visit in ten and a half months. Several times, he's gathered his courage to stand on the pavement, surveying the vast area but never making it closer than the protective fences.

This time, though, he's determined to make it. And he will, with je t'aime's and sweet giggles bubbling in his ears.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

Auriele,

Life will continue to surprise us. It may be malicious, but it's also given me you, so I guess there are a few reasons to be grateful.

I think it's more like *8694744 out of infinite, and I'm sure she'll have many more unpleasant trips to the groomers in the future.

You are handling life impeccably, considering all. You deserve showers of recognition for just being here.

No one has ever been more deserving of my love, and no one ever will.

Please, don't blame yourself entirely. Yes, there were signs. Signs that we both should've seen earlier. We knew as much as everyone else. We can't know if things would be different if we'd noticed them, because they're not.

I'm glad you're enjoying life in France. Is it peaceful? Is it too far to ask if you're living with one of your new friends? What're their names, if you don't mind my asking?

If I were to go on holiday right now, Paris would be my first choice.

I'm glad you're feeling better, I hope you continue to improve mentally in the future. I wish you nothing but true happiness.

If you're ever here, I'd be honoured to see you again.

This might surprise you. Before I wrote this letter, I went to visit her.

I haven't since we were there together.

I talked to her for hours about my life and my pain and your letters and your pain and anything I'd love to say to you if I knew how. Meline always was the best listener, no offence to you. She just understands.

I miss her. I miss you. I miss my babies.

Please, send me a picture of you (always topping lists) in your next letter. I need to see you now. I bet you're glowing.

Toujours, Harry x

Harry, mon amour,

I feel as if I should address the end of your letter first, because I certainly wasn't expecting it. I cried a lot. I'm still crying as I write this.

It feels nice to feel.

I've been so numb to it all. I know I should sob every day, think of her every single second. I don't. That may make me an awful person, but I always preferred not to lie. Especially to you. I don't think the gravity has quite hit me yet.

Back to the normal, top to bottom of your letter.

My family is a gift. My parents, you and Meline, specifically. I've never admired anyone more.

I miss Chi. Especially today, for some reason. Send more pictures of her when you next write. (I enclosed an updated picture of me in town, if you hadn't noticed! It was taken last week.)

I had concerns. Concerns that I didn't follow up on. We knew something was wrong, but we did everything we could, right? We found help. We found medicine. Why didn't it work?

How fucking cruel can life possibly be?

It's much quieter than London. The air quality is visibly better. I am, actually. My closest friends are Leon and Aline. I'm living with them!

Paris is about as good a holiday as you can get. If I'm ever near you, whatever country it happens to be in, I'll be sure to see you.

The last part of your letter. I already touched upon it but not nearly enough.

I haven't said, heard or read her name in eleven months. I miss it. I miss your voice. And her laughs. She was so, so lively and enthusiastic for life.

It's so unfair that she didn't get the chance.

And I agree; she always was a fantastic listener. I told her about our issues more than I should've.

I wish I could hear her again. Her name wasn't Meline Risette Styles for nothing. Her laughs were so pretty. I could've listened on repeat.

I did. For a year.

I miss her.

I miss you. I miss your warmth. I miss your heart and your love and your smile and everything about you.

I miss normality.

When we thought things would be okay.

We were wrong, and hindsight, that's okay, too.

We will heal eventually, I trust that life can't take much more away from me.

Tout mon amour, Auriele x

Since that day, Harry's visited Meline every Sunday without fail - it's only been three weeks, but going in the first place was an unimaginable step.

He even combined Chi's walk with the most recent, and each time, entering, staying at and emerging from the cemetery becomes easier.

The first time, he paced through the gates several times before building the bravery to even step inside without running back. His flight or fight instinct had been touchy the whole time, bias towards flight the entire time.

He just wanted to be as far away from the source of his pain as possible.

At the same time, he just wanted his daughter back. Alive and healthy.

Once he'd settled, laid on the ground like a madman next to her grave, he never wanted to leave her again. He even brought her flowers and a little teddy bear from a shop he'd passed on his hurried journey there.

It was well and truly dark by the time he even considered returning home, because he'd rather be with his sweet baby than alone at home.

Now, Chi sniffs inquisitively around at the bundles of flowers placed on surrounding graves whilst Harry converses with his dead child's grave like she was as animated and eager as he remembered.

It's a little questionable for his sanity, but extremely helpful for his own mental health. And he's trying to fix them both.

He just wishes so much that he'd pushed for more tests in the hospital. If he could, he'd reject their diagnosis and prescription of heart medication and an inhaler for when her asthma flared up.

They claimed she had a weakened respiratory system and, subsequently, her heart didn't deal well under stress, mostly due to her premature birth.

They were correct.

However, they were entirely wrong when they sent you all home with a tub of medicine and advice to lower any potential stressors around her.

Harry remembers scoffing to himself; she was one, what could possibly be stressing her that much?

Apparently, a lot of things.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

There's truly nothing better.

Auriele,

I understand completely about any emotion feeling refreshing. For a while, I felt immune to it. I cried and I got angry, but nothing ever really set in.

I'm thankful that I can feel now and it doesn't destroy me.

You're not at all a bad person, or a bad parent. Often, I wish I could forget about her. And not just to remove the pain for a day or two. Also, I appreciate the honesty.

Important things must be talked about first. And while this paragraph isn't quite at the top of my letter, it certainly is my most admiritive.

You're so, so unbelievably beautiful. Even more so, now.

Your eyes are still paradise. That picture is stuck onto the cork board in the kitchen forever.

We did absolutely everything in our power to help our baby. As soon as we noticed an issue, we took her to the hospital. Maybe they accidentally underestimated her condition, maybe they just assumed it'd be treated with that medication.

Either way, we helped her as much as we could. And you were, are, and always will be the most incredible mother.

Meline was lucky, truly. She loved you so much.

As it turns out, life can be our greatest enemy. It's difficult to control and even harder to accept, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

Leon and Aline sound wonderful. I know it's not my place, but tell them I said thank you for being there for you? You don't have to.

I've never known someone deserve a full, healthy life more than our sweet girl, and it's an injustice to steal that opportunity from her at such a young age.

She would've been two next week. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but I'm still trying to handle my feelings about it. I already know her birthday is going to be the worst day since she died.

Meline Risette Styles deserves the world, as do you. Please don't be afraid to take it. You've earned it.

Her name still brings me so much joy; little honey, pleasant little laugh. It was such an apt description, in her short life.

Life can always take more, but it gives things that are so wonderful. Sois optimiste.

Tout mon amour et câlins, Harry x

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jenliliscripts · 4 years

Text

Chapter 219

June’s POV

The ride to her apartment was awfully quiet, too quiet that it's already frightening. How do I begin telling her? Should I thank her for a night filled with warmth and intimacy, for creating an imaginary world for me? And another thought crossed my mind—should it remain a fantasy when I could make it a reality before this ends?

The soft whirring of the engine resonated within corners of my car as I pulled over in front of her building. I parted my lips, desperate to break the silence that hung over us, yet nothing came out. Another minute had passed and not a word was said.

"Lia"

"June"

We said in unison, looking at each other with uncertainty. I couldn't read her eyes—they're expressing different emotions at once that I couldn't pinpoint which one she's feeling right now. Is it sadness? Pity? Regret?

"You go first," she prompted, soothing her arm then turned away.

I cleared my throat, mustering all the courage I have before speaking. "Thank you for today, Lia. For being someone else for a night."

"It's nothing. You paid a lot for this," she answered, breathing the words out.

"…for laughing at my silly jokes. For answering every question I threw honestly. For chasing me outside the ice cream shop. For holding my hand every chance you could. For not letting go until we needed to."

Dipping her head down, she began playing with fingers. "Why are you saying all of that? You don't need to list everything down."

"I just want you to hear it."

Silence.

Where do I go from here? How do I let her know?

"Lia I—"

"Thank you for tonight too. It was a long week and I've been having a rough patch myself. I guess this is somehow my escape from the issues I was dealing with."

She collected her purse, glancing at me again before she pulled the handle. "I'll go inside now, okay? You know what comes after this."

Divorce, my mind whispered.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, digging my nails onto my palms. There are so many things left unsaid. Can we talk about the way you look at me? The way your eyes showed affection after pushing me away not so long ago? Like you wanted me to stay, like you wanted me to fight for whatever this is. Can we talk about the way you hold me? How tender your touch is against my skin? Am I the only one feeling it? And how can I forget about the kiss? The goddamn kiss. The way you gasped as I claimed your lips. The way every calculated move had you pulling my shirt, how it crumpled around your fingers as we got lost in the moment. If I hadn't stopped, where could we have ended? What will you make of us then?

Questions ceaselessly flooded my mind and despite that, I only managed to nod, letting my thoughts dangle at the tip of my tongue.

"Good night, June."

"Good night, Lia."

She stepped out, walking to the entrance slowly. I watched her shiver as the wind whipped past her. Should I let her go like this—admit defeat before the battle even started? Fuck it. I've seen enough to believe that she feels the same. She just needs a wake up call and I'm giving it to her now. If shit happens, then shit happens. It's all or nothing.

I frantically climbed down, jogging behind her. I snagged her wrist, her head quickly turning to me. I immediately released it and took a step back. "Lia. I have to tell you something."

Her expression shifted, fear washing over her in an instant. It seemed like she knew what I was going to say and that made her want to run away yet her feet were glued to the ground. "J-june, whatever that is, keep it to yourself."

"I—"

"No. Stop. I don't want to hear it."

"So you know?"

"I don't know anything. I have no idea what you're talking about and I don't want to know."

Lie. Your eyes say otherwise.

"I don't care if you refuse to hear it, Lia. I'm going to say it regardless." I exhaled audibly. The dreaded moment has come and I have no other choice but to go through it. "I love you, Lia."

She stumbled backwards, unable to respond to my confession. "I loved you for a while now and I wasn't sure if I should tell you because I know it will change everything. I was going to last time, but you said you're seeing Tyler again, so I decided not to. I was discouraged after knowing that, to be honest. I was almost convinced that I didn't have a chance."

My lips curled up to a smile as I look at her lovingly. Although she's evidently horrified by the revelation, I still looked at her with so much adoration. "But I thought again. How could I even have a chance at getting you if I don't tell you how I feel? At some point, you might have been confused. Your head must have been all over the place."

"No, I wasn't confused," she retorted, her brows meeting in the middle. "You're making things up."

"Lia, don't run away. I know you feel the same. Tell me I'm wrong. You can't deny these assumptions after everything that had happened. You, holding my hand, visiting me at home when I was sick—"

"I don't, okay!" she exclaimed, cutting me off, her face turning red as exploded in anger. "Stop twisting things. I don't like you that way. I never did, I never will."

Her words hurt—they're tearing every piece of my heart—and I felt helpless. But I have to keep going. I will not go home until I convince her to leave him for me. I'm sure she's only enraged at the fact that I'm right, that she wants me as much I want her—that she has fallen in love with a girl.

"Then why did you kiss me that night? If that was just an empty gesture, I would have known. I've kissed so many people Lia and no one has ever done it like you did. Not even Bailey who clearly liked me for quite some time." I moved closer to her. "Look, the more you try to hide it, the harder it gets. Fall for me. Fearlessly. Head first."

She was clenching her jaw, her eyes turning glassy. Her breathing was shallow and labored. "I would never, June. Everything about you scares me. I mean everything—your status, your family, your job, your history, the world you are in. I'm scared that being associated with you in any way could potentially destroy everything that I've worked hard for. A week ago, I committed a mistake at work all because I was too occupied thinking what I did wrong for you to act in such a cold way and I couldn't fully understand why I'm so concerned. For the love the of God, why should I care, right? I was out of myself and it didn't sit well with me. From that point on, I had to re-assess, June. I can't let you do this to me."

She sighed, biting her lip for a moment. "You're just going to make things harder for me. I was fine without you. I was completely okay until I woke up in your hotel room and you told me I got married to you. What followed after that were a series of unexpected turns that I wasn’t ready for. I don't need something new. I want what I already know and you—you're just too unpredictable and it's terrifying."

I remained quiet, not sure of what to say. I'm afraid that one wrong answer would serve as the final straw.

She shut her eyes, a line forming in between her brows as her frown grew deeper. "Our relationship is so unclear to me that I started to think of things that I shouldn't be. I didn't like those thoughts, June. Those possibilities and what ifs keep me up at night and as much as I want to deal with them, I'd rather push them away."

Lia avoided my gaze, blinking rapidly to keep her tears from falling. "It was nice playing pretend with you. It was nice that I could hold your hand and not think of the consequences. It was good that I could make up excuses when I become soft for you. We're two people who were fated to meet and that's all there is to it. Somewhere along the way, we need to say goodbye. We live in different worlds. You, of all people, should know that."

Before I realized it, tears started falling from my eyes. I've held them long enough and now they're crashing down one after another. "We don't have to end it. We can still go on. If you just trust me, we can make it work. I'll do everything to make it work."

I wiped my tears from my face but it was useless. My eyes became a flowing stream and the situation isn't helping at all. "You don't have to be scared about anything. Just give me something to hold on to and I'll do everything in my power to protect us. Tell me you love me too, Lia."

She shook her head, a lone tear escaping her eyes. "I don’t. How many times should I repeat myself? Allowing you to come close was a mistake. I should've kept you in a safe distance. I should’ve hated you until the very end.”

"If you can't tell me you love me, then," I cupped her cheek. She briefly recoiled against my touch, but she eventually gave in and let me keep my hand in place. "Can you answer this truthfully please? Do you love him?"

She held the hand that's latched on her face. "Don’t make it difficult for yourself, June. Just go. Leave."

"But I love you. How can I? I can't just stop here. I'll go against him if I have to. Do I need to beg you to choose me?"

She squeezed my shoulders with her other hand then moved towards me, resting her forehead on my chest. "June, what I want you to do is set me free. I need my old self back. I don’t like who I'm becoming because of you. If you really love me, you'd let me go."

"Even if you love me too?"

"I never said I did."

"You don’t need to. From what you said earlier and what I see in your eyes, I know you love me too. I get that your future is at stake. I get that you don't like exploring the unknown—you're not a risk taker. You never were. You always come back to what brings you comfort. But you're making the situation more complicated than it really is just because you don't want to admit the truth. We can easily sort this out, you know."

"June, please," she pleaded, sobbing softly as she banged her head against my chest.

I slowly reached for her nape with one hand and slipped the other behind her back, then pulled her in, her face now pressed against my chest. My lungs burned at every intake of breath and my heart was slowly sinking as time ticked away. "Shhh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I continued apologizing, stroking her back until she stopped crying. "If I disappear from your life, will it make everything better?"

I felt her nod and I drown further in the waves of pain brought by her response. "And you won't regret your decision?"

She shook her head, her fingers clutching the hem of my jacket. Her actions were always contradicting from the very beginning and even now that we are nearing the end, she's still behaving in the same manner. She wants me to go yet her hands says something different. She said she doesn't love me yet there was a hint of sadness in her eyes whenever she denied it.

I breathed out before loosening my embrace. I leaned slightly backwards to get a good look at her face. I tipped her chin up and looked at her lovingly, as if it was the last time I could be this close and maybe this is really the last. "Are you sure?"

She sniffed, her eyes unrelenting. "Yes, I am."

I flashed a somber smile as I tucked the strands of hair on her face behind her ear then planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Okay, then. I will do as you wish, Lili."

I retreated and stood at arm's length. "I'm still glad I got to tell you. At least I won't walk away with regrets. I respect your decision and because I love you, it's enough reason to listen to you. You know I normally wouldn’t accept rejection, but many things changed since I felt this way for you. I've completely lost the old me and I'm happy with who I am now. I even like myself better. How I wish you share the same sentiment, but as you said earlier, you don't like who you are becoming because of me and that's just so sad. Nevertheless…"

I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for the pain that's about to crush me after I say these words to her. "I will live as if we hadn't met. If I see you somewhere, maybe in your office, I will walk past you like I never knew you. I will be out of your life from here on out, Lia. You’re free from me."

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infantbluee · 4 years

Photo

title: count to eight

summary: in another timeline, maka is killed on the moon and the world descends into madness. five years later, a reclusive soul stumbles across a girl who claims to be his dead best friend.

pairing: soul/maka

rating: explicit

warnings: angst, smut, canon-typical violence, sort of love triangle (though not really because it’s just between maka and two souls)

links: ao3 // ffn

—

oh my gosh, this is my second resbang fic ever and i still can’t believe i got so lucky! this year i was paired with the amazing, brilliant, hilarious, and adorable @ochako999 and @maevenneverland who had a full-time job making me laugh-cry over their shenanigans while also making GORGEOUS art for my fic. (links can be found here and here respectively.) please excuse me while i sob over their talent for the next 84 years because they are perfect.

even more hugs to my ridiculous discord family for keeping me insane, as well as all the other wonderful people i’ve met on tumblr, twitter, and even just by exchanging reviews on fanfics! there’s a reason i’ve been so glad i joined this fandom and it’s because of every single one of you that make it so warm <3

please enjoy the short excerpt below!

—

It’s surprisingly cold this year.

Soul blows into his hands, rubbing his palms together to retain warmth. Normally he can escape Kid’s annual Christmas party and hide out in the gardens without any sort of penalty, but apparently Mother Nature decided she was bored this holiday season and wanted to take a turn punishing the antisocial hermit.

That, or she’s calling him a coward.

It’s probably that last one.

“Hiding already?” a familiar voice calls. “This must be a record.”

Holding back a grimace, Soul maintains a blank expression as he turns his head to see his girlfriend approach him along the cobblestone path.

She’s too pretty to be real in this setting, surrounded by glazed tree branches and the twinkling lights strung all over to make up for the blackened moon. Wearing a dress like that with her hair so long and loose, she might as well have “serenade me, you coward” plastered all over her forehead.

“Idiot, you’re going to get frostbite,” he scolds instead, already scowling as he shrugs off his suit jacket to drape over her shoulders. “What are you thinking, coming out here without a coat on?”

Maka smiles sweetly. “I was thinking my weapon always takes care of me.”

Stupid. He thinks the word twice, both times so pathetically filled with affection. “Did Kid send you to hunt me down?” he asks. “I swear I was gonna go back inside. Continue wooing those foreign emissaries or whatever the hell he expects me to do. I just needed a break.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s Christmas; he doesn’t expect you to spend the whole time working.” Her eyes twinkle. “Besides, I already handled it. The dignitaries love me.”

He snorts. “Of course they do.”

“Hey, one of us has to be doing our jobs right,” she teases.

“Suck-up.”

“I prefer the term eager to please.”

Soul is incredulous. “How the hell did you manage to find the one phrase that’s dirtier than suck-up?”

Her smile is angelic. “It’s a talent.”

He responds with a growl as he nuzzles his face against her skin, his hands sliding under the jacket he covered her with to trace the artfully exposed curves underneath.

“Soul, stop!” she giggles. “We can’t do it out here. It’s cold.”

“So keep me warm then,” he grumbles. “And anyway, is that really the first thing you worry about when I’m trying to cop a feel? Not ‘oh, someone might catch us’ or ‘what if your dick shrunk too much in this weather for me to feel it?’”

This time when she laughs, he hides his own smile against her skin. She doesn’t stop him, letting her head fall back with a sigh as he presses kisses along the base of her neck. Even when it’s this cold, she’s so soft. It’s really unfair. He’s seen her moisturizing routine. She hasn’t done anything to deserve this level of silky perfection.

“Soul,” she gasps when he nips particularly hard at her throat. Her hands grip at his shirt, desperate, and he decides that maybe getting a little dirty on a garden bench wouldn’t be the worst thing after all.

But then the lights flicker.

That in itself wouldn’t have been enough to tear his mouth away from her skin, except that it’s accompanied by a deep tremble beneath the earth which causes Soul to stumble into his meister. She catches him, always so impressively steady on her size-five-hidden-by-giant-boots feet, and the speed at which she goes from horny girlfriend to calculating meister is seriously impressive.

And hot. Really hot.

Soul’s never been as adept at switching off his hunger as she is.

“A pre-kishin attack?” she asks with a frown as they rush back towards the party. It’s been a long time since they’ve encountered a pre-k without actively hunting one, and even longer since one has existed within the walls of their city.

“Maybe a demon,” Soul guesses. They’re also rare these days, but they still exist. Though the Witch Treaty has significantly put a damper on their confidence.

As they approach the mansion, they can already hear a commotion brewing. Plenty of shouts, glass shattering. A horrifying, almost unearthly slithering sound as fluid shadows spill out of the windows like overflowing bath water. They pick up their pace.

When they finally burst into the room, they’re horrified by the sight in front of them.

“Kid!” Maka cries.

The chandelier is history, now scattered around the dancefloor in a million tiny little pieces. The decorations are torn; the tables cracked and thrown about. The civilian guests have all been ushered to the sides of the room as several witches hold up a barrier to keep them safe, but the real terror is the enormous entity in the middle of the room that seems to have no problem fending off the advances of half a dozen meisters.

It’s like nothing Soul’s ever seen before, even during the worst of the war. A giant, oozing ball of shadowy flesh with these sharp, jerking limbs that regenerate and extend from its body whenever someone tries to attack it.

Accompanying it is this smell, putrid and awful—but even worse are the low, chittering moans coming from its repulsive form, over and over and over again, filling the room like a sickening hum.

“Maakaa. Maaaaaaaakaaaa.”

Soul feels his blood run cold.

Kid, who is currently trying to hold back several of its limbs from further attacking the civilian barrier, jerks his head up at her call for him, his face flashing with horror. It’s obvious how long the creature must’ve been moaning her name by the intensity of the reaper’s panic.

“Maka, get back!” he screams.

In the same moment, she gasps as Soul tackles her to the side just in time to avoid getting pierced by a flurry of sword-like limbs. He then rolls and grabs her hand, jerking her to her feet as he starts off in a sprint, squeezing to get her attention. “Maka!”

“R-right!”

He shifts into weapon form just in time for her to swing him in defense. She manages to block two of them, slicing off three more, before being forced to jump back as another wave rushes at her. The monster seems to have forgotten about the others completely now that it has her in its sight, its several dozen eyes turning to train directly on her.

“I don’t understand,” she says as she blocks more of its attacks. “Why does it keep coming for me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” growls Soul. “I’ll die before I let it take you. The only priority now is to kill it.”

“But how?”

“To your left!”

She twists to the side, barely dodging the next stream of violent hands as they scrape off Soul’s blade. But instead of relief, he can feel her horror, because those same regenerative limbs that had just tried to rip into her heart somehow jerk to the side with enough force to shatter one of the barriers protecting the guests.

He hears Angela among the screams.

“Maka, no!” he cries out.

Too late. She flips over one of the creature’s arms to run against it, slicing at the others with a ferocity that would impress him in any other circumstance. At the end of her sprint, Maka dives, pushing Angela out of the way from an attack and twisting in a way that cushions the young girl’s fall.

Through their bond, Soul can feel the pain shoot up Maka’s spine and he cries out for her, demanding to know if she’s hurt.

She forces a smile as she sits up. “I’m fine,” she lies terribly. She glances down at the young witch and looks relieved that she’s unharmed.

Before she can say anything else, she’s yanked away so quickly that Soul is literally whipped from her grip and clatters to the floor. He shifts back to human form in an instant, scrambling for her with a cry, but it’s too late.

The monster has Maka dangling by her ankle over its main form, the rest of its extensions retreating as well. Black Star and Kid both try to charge at it only to be swatted away like flies and held back with the pressure of mutated shadow limbs.

Then it does the worst thing possible.

It drops her.

“NO!” Soul screams.

It’s like a detonator is pressed. The moment Maka’s body is absorbed into its inky flesh, the creature begins to twitch a jerk violently, pulsing and moving so rapidly that even the meisters have no choice but to back up.

With a horrifying screech, it’s sucked into the earth through an invisible exit, like some sort of oversized blob of goo being sucked through a vacuum or forced down a drain. The whole fleshy monstrosity continues to be pulled through that tiny unseen gateway until it has completely disappeared from the ballroom. Gone.

And Maka along with it.

[ read more on ao3 or ffn! ]

#soul eater #soul x maka #soma #soul eater evans #maka albarn #resbang 2019 #chloe writes #this was the most stressful forty-eight hours of my life and i am so glad we made it T___T

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