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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 2 years

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Chapter Six

Word Count: 3,950

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The library was a bust for quietude; students studying for their winter finals chattered around the tables and no matter how many scornful looks the librarian shot their way, they kept at it. The subway wouldn’t be any better, Y/N reasons when she steps into Blue’s, what with its lack of privacy even midday in the middle of the work week.

But Blue’s is close enough that she can walk to it, and only the bar-flies are around to decorate the corners. The music is low enough to fall to a buzz in the back of her mind and she settles into a booth in her own corner. The pleather creaks when she slides in, welcoming her— if a booth could talk, she supposes. She wipes crumbs to the floor, her hand sticking in dried spots of beer less than normal. They must’ve cleaned recently.

Jenny, the-sometimes-bartender-most-times-gossip, waves in Y/N’s direction without looking away from her phone. Jenny is one of the employees that didn’t really get hired, so much as just started working. While Carter is more often here than she, she belongs here as much as anyone— at least she acts like it.

Y/N takes her notebook and folders out of her bag, spreading them out on the tabletop. The Viper ads go in one stack and her theories in another one next to it. What she definitively knows— very little— is in the notebook in front of her. Her questions are on a separate sheet next to it, which coincides with what she knows.

The Vipers caused the homeless shelter fire— why?

They orchestrate the street shut downs to distract the police and move their exports— to where? And how do they secure new locations?

They are respected enough to integrate into the market without too much contest from other vendors— how? And how are they selling without drawing attention to themselves and buyers if the weapons have a traceable emission?

Actually, if they have a traceable emission, how have the Avengers not found them and apprehended them? Bucky said they wanted to get them all in one go so no one tried to start up again, but they have the means to do so already. The Avengers, while of their own authority— mostly— have S.H.I.E.L.D. to back them up. They could get their teams ready and dismantle the Vipers in an afternoon, leaving enough time to crack open a beer, too.

Y/N taps the end of her pen against her lips.

If this were her own case, she’d have all of the information. But, no, Bucky brought her in as a consultant, and then isn’t giving her all of the information. No one is. She can’t bake a cake with only half of the ingredients, dammit.

Jenny sets a short glass at the edge of the table, scanning the papers spread about with open curiosity. “You looked like you needed this. And maybe a Xanax, but the two don’t mix well. I speak from experience. What have you got here?” She speaks all in one breath but without sounding breathless, like someone who is used to talking fast but enunciating clearly.

“Thanks. And mind your business.” She sips at the whiskey, letting the burn settle in the back of her throat.

Jenny shrugs, leaning against the opposing booth. “You have your business all out in the open and expect me to ignore it? Aren’t you supposed to be smarter than that?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you smart enough to know when to leave well enough alone, Jenny? C’mon, now.” She shuffles the loose leaf together and stacks it in her notebook, shutting it. If only Carter were working; he wouldn’t look twice at Y/N. She regrets leaving her apartment at all, but she was going stir crazy listening to that damn leaky faucet.

Jenny grins, ignoring Y/N’s glare. “I look my best with nose in other people’s business. You know that. So, what are the…” she cranes her neck to look at the ads Y/N didn’t grab in her haste to hide her notes. “Oh, damn! You a car aficionado, now?” She picks up the first one, reading the details. “If you’re looking for a Viper, I’d suggest learning a bit more about their makes. I mean, this isn’t even a real color.” She flips the paper around, finger tapping next to the declaration of dandelion green.

“What?”

Jenny nods, her ponytail swooshing over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Never produced a dandelion green. Actually, speaking of never produced: Vipers didn’t hit the production line until 1989, not ‘87. Hell, they didn’t even hit the market until 1990. Whoever is trying to sell this doesn’t know what they’re talking about. I’d suggest you look elsewhere.”

Y/N leans back in her seat, appraising Jenny, who looks at the ad with furrowed brows. “You know all of this— how?”

Jenny grins and sets the paper back on its stack. “My daddy was a car man, right? And if we weren’t talking about cars, we weren’t talking. So I learned all I could ‘cause at least my sister had her grades going for her— I had nothing. So I made sure I had that. And then it stuck with me, I guess.”

Y/N nods as if paying attention; Jenny has a habit of oversharing and if Y/N tried to remember a fifth of what Jenny says, it would take up most of the free space in her mind. She focuses on the the implications of the false advertisements, instead. She probably talked to one of them: a Viper. Jenny’s smile morphs into a frown, and Y/N realizes she’s been silent too long. “Right, well. Thanks. For the tip and the drink. Goodbye, now.”

“You’re bad at making friends, did you know that? This would be the perfect time to—”

“—Goodbye, Jenny,” Y/N emphasizes.

Jenny’s shoulders drops and she sighs, but she does leave. Y/N will take that as a win, and swallows the small guilt at dismissing her with another sip of her drink. On the ads, she writes the notes Jenny offered.

It’s likely a code for someone that knows what to look for. Something innocuous, that a stranger would write off. Say, in Jenny’s case, a car lover who knows the seller is lying and wouldn’t waste their time trying to contact.

She casts a quick look around the bar before opening her notebook once more.

Jenny’s tidbit opens up a few more avenues to explore, at least to get a look at their operations. She resolves to call the numbers from a payphone later and see if she can get anything out of them. Knowing what she knows now, maybe she could set up a place to meet. She adds that to her list on the page of theories.

A shadow falls over the table and she sighs. Without looking up, she scolds, “I told you to go away, Jenny.”

When Jenny doesn’t respond with her usual quip, Y/N looks up. She sighs, sagging against the backrest of the booth. Bucky leans where Jenny was a few minutes ago, his arm resting on top of the booth. His lips quirk up in a crooked grin. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Y/N motions to seat across from her, too spent and resigned to pretend he wasn’t going to sit anyway. “Here for my spoils, Barnes?”

In an answer, he hums and pulls the stack of ads his way, scanning the top sheet. He flips through the rest, stopping only to glance until he’s through the pile. Only then does he look up. “Amongst other things.”

She sips her whiskey in place of sighing, maintaining eye contact. He says nothing. “Such as?” she prompts.

Bucky exhales, crossing his arms. His back is ramrod straight, even with the support of the backrest. It’s the most uncomfortable she’s seen him since meeting in her apartment. “I’m gonna skip the niceties real quick. You want the truth about what’s going here, don’t you?”

She snorts. “The truth? The whole truth and nothing but the truth, right?”

Instead of his usual jab back, he solemnly nods. “Yeah. That truth.”

She returns his nod, just as solemn under the gravity in his stare. “Okay,” she concedes, albeit unnecessary.

Bucky clears his throat. “We wanted to flesh out an idea— a thread— before we brought you into it. Stark called it paranoia, because we thought we’d irradicated them after D.C. But turns out my paranoia was right. And Steve’s.” He finally looks away, his gaze a thousand yard stare into the alcove holding the pool table. He shakes his head. “We hoped it was as simple as some innovative fucks wanting to make a dollar on alien warfare, but it goes a little deeper than that.”

Y/N tries to dig through his words for what he’s not saying. For a man with a no-nonsense façade, Bucky rambles a lot. “Out with it, Barnes.”

He scratches under his chin. “Turns out you were right: the Vipers picked up where the Vulture left off. Probably derived their name from his, too, to continue to fit the bill. To get his customers paying for their shit.” He looks back at her. “The Vulture was in bed with the dregs of Hydra, what little we left when we thought there weren’t any at all.” He swallows.

“When the Vipers took over, they got that contract, too. So now it’s this street level gang with an arsenal selling to anyone who will buy— which includes the leftovers of Hydra.”

Y/N nods, sorting through the information. “But if you tore them down to their bare bones, what do they have left?”

“Safe houses and bases not on our radar until recently. They kept some places so far removed from their paper trail that only a few people knew about their existence. After Pierce went down, the hierarchy shifted, and I guess someone took his place. Some low level grunt that got all the spoils and took it and ran with it. So now they’re working on building back up; just like they’ve always done.”

“So, what? It’s a two-for-one? Take down the Vipers, take down Hydra? Again?”

He shrugs. “That’s what it’s looking like. They don’t pose a threat on their own that we couldn’t take care of individually, but with the resources Hydra has from a century’s worth of existence in hiding, plus the resources from the Vipers? A whole new ball game.”

Y/N downs the rest of her whiskey. “You think Hydra is trying to absorb the Vipers?”

“I think they wanted to, but—” he pulls a stapled packet of papers out of his jacket, unfurling it and smoothing out the edges before passing it to Y/N. The first page is a copy of the fire at the homeless shelter that killed three people. “This is what I couldn’t tell you before. Flip the page.”

She does. A forth of it is a gray and pixelated picture of a man’s face, his lips downturned and his eyes narrowed. He looks mean; like Chuckles. Next to the picture is his name and personal information. Daniel Harding, age thirty-four. His education stops in the tail end of an uncompleted bachelor’s degree for U.S. History, with a focus on World War Two. Y/N looks from the page to Bucky and back.

Beneath his picture and short biography is a list with his last known whereabouts from the moment Hydra went down in flames to the homeless shelter. He worked as a janitor in the Triskelion before it fell. After he lost that job, he took another position at a bank in downtown Manhattan, relocating his entire life from D.C. to New York.

According to the list, surveillance caught footage of him entering and exiting the abandoned shelter on numerous occasions before the fire, linking him to the Vipers— at least for those who knew what to look for.

Y/N flips the page again, and on it is a similar synopsis for one Justina Matthews. On the next is another, this time for Alexander Kristof.

The last page is every place in common between the three.

“So the Vipers killed three Hydra agents?” She slides the packet back to Bucky.

“We think it’s because they tried to take over; maybe the Vipers wanted to set an example. They’re a fully autonomous group, it seems like, but with enough reach for Hydra to want to partner up.”

The silence that settles is heavy.

Y/N taps the table from pinkie to pointer finger and back. There’s not much she can do from here; Hydra is Avenger territory and she wants nothing to do with it. She supposes this isn’t too different from the circumstance before them: a fully autonomous body wanting to work alongside another, rather than be absorbed.

And how funny is it, that she admits she wants to work alongside them? It seems so small, when she thinks about it now, to pretend she prefers working alone. If Steve never approached her, she wouldn’t notice the difference, but she doesn’t mind Bucky bothering her at every turn, anymore. Hell, she even anticipates it, although she’ll be hard pressed to admit that aloud. Returning back to a solo agent looks lonely; feels lonely.

She’s tired, but even more of being alone.

She shakes her head to clear it, her melancholy thoughts having no place at the table right now. “I’ll keep working on the Vipers. I found some more information about the ads that may lead to something; I was gonna check them out later. I’ll be honest, I want nothing to do with Hydra.”

“Well, that was easier than I thought.”

“Huh?”

Bucky shrugs. “I was gonna say the same thing; thought you’d fight me tooth and nail on it, too.”

Y/N snorts. “As if you could tell me what to do.”

“I’d’ve tried. And then I’d’ve followed you around when you ignored me, anyway.”

Y/N purses her lips, tilting her head to this side. “Bucky,” she says slowly and deliberately. “Did you— did you follow me around after you guys asked for my help?”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he looks away. “Well, technically Steve and Sam did, too. So…”

She laughs. “Ohmygod. You total stalker!”

“Hey!” he protests. “You seemed harebrained and impulsive. I wasn’t about to be the reason someone killed you.”

Instead of answering, Y/N stacks her papers together and puts them inside the notebook, shutting it with a dramatic slam. She slides inside her bag before shouldering it. Bucky’s gaze follows her out of the booth, a small frown on his lips. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by—”

“—Shut up, Barnes.” She rolls her eyes, nodding to the door. “I’ve been bothered twice here, so I’m clearly not getting any work done. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” he asks, but slides out of the booth and follows behind her.

“Well, my faucet is leaking. Has been for way too long. It’s why I’m out at all.” It’s a small fib, but he doesn’t need to know she was going stir crazy and carving too many grooves into her table. The door opens to a too bright street. She turns on her heel to face Barnes and points at him. “You, mister stalker, are going to fix it.”

His perpetual frown deepens. “I— what? How the hell—”

She talks over his would-be protests. “You lived in the forties, old man. I’m sure you can figure something out. Besides— hey!” she yells when Bucky grabs her bicep and yanks her to the side. She hits his solid chest, rebounding before his grip pulls her back in.

“Watch where you’re going, for Chrissakes!” he reprimands, gesturing to the pedestrians she almost ran into for having faced him. He grabs her shoulders and turns her forward, patting twice before gently pushing her on. She shoves an elbow into his stomach for his effort. He huffs before digging a knuckle into her lower back.

“See, this is why I have a laundry list of things you owe me. First you break into my apartment, then you steal my stuff, then you break into my apartment again, and then—”

“Do you ever shut up?” He knocks his shoulder with hers, having sped up to her side.

“And then,” she repeats louder, holding up four fingers, wiggling them in emphasis. “You man handle me like I’m some damsel in a harlequin novel.”

“Oh, for fucksakes,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his temple. “Fine. Next time I’ll just let you run into people and I won’t even touch you to help you up when they knock you on your ass.”

Y/N grins. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but Y/N is sure she doesn’t imagine the small upwards tilt to his lips. It feels nice, to make him smile, and she finds herself smiling back. She clears her throat and forces herself to look forward, stopping that thought in its tracks.

Blue’s is close to her apartment and they make it in record time. Barnes speed walks like he’s on the run and doesn’t care to wait for Y/N, so she plays catch-up to meet his strides. She almost comments on it, but their previous fooling around left a lingering sour taste on her tongue.

She opens her mouth to rescind her demand for him to fix her sink, but Bucky opens the door to her apartment and waves her in. It’ll be fine. He’ll fix the drip and she’ll keep her mouth shut.

Easy.

“Do you even have any tools?” Bucky asks from beneath the sink. He cleared out her cleaning supplies and now he’s on his knees looking at the tubing.

She heaves a put upon sigh, dropping her feet from her table. “Of course I do. What kinda woman do you take me for?”

He looks over his shoulder with a scowl. “One who doesn’t know how to fix a sink.” He returns to turning off the water valve.

“I know how to fix a sink,” she retorts, kneeling at the end of her bed. Her tool kit is behind a box of memories she hasn’t dared look at in years. She pushes it aside harder than necessary, and yanks the kit out. “Here.” She slides it across the floor. It hits Bucky’s foot.

Bucky groans as he leans back, careful to avoid hitting his head. “If you know how to fix a sink, why the hell am I here?” He grabs the kit and stands, slamming it on the counter.

“Easy now,” she says in place of a real answer. She doesn’t know why she invited him up, not in a way that makes sense, at least. She should’ve told him to get lost when they left Blue’s, but she didn’t. And now he’s here and his jacket is on the back of one her chairs and his goddamned hair is pulled back into a goddamned ponytail.

She focuses on that and how stupid it looks, revealing his usually hidden cheekbones and cleft chin and eyes. It’s easier to rib him than face the warmth in her chest. “Why don’t you just cut your hair? Wouldn’t it be easier than keeping a tie on your wrist like some middle school girl?” she goads, returning to her spot at the table.

“I’m doing you a favor and you’re trying to insult me?”

She shrugs, even though he can’t see it. “You just make it so easy, Barnes.”

He snorts and mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?”

He ignores her, unscrewing the aerator on her faucet and dropping it in a stained Tupperware by his side. “You got any vinegar?”

“I think you’re storing it in your body, pal.” Another quiet pocket. She sighs. “On the fridge.”

He shuffles through the dried goods until he finds it, all the way in the back corner covered in dust. He shakes his head, pouring it into the bin with the aerator. She waits for his next move, but he only returns the jug to its corner and then leans against the counter.

“That’s it?”

He shrugs. “Build up on the inside loosened the thread so when you used your sink, water pooled there and slowly drained out. The vinegar will clean it, but you should still scrub the thread to get all the gunk out. Then you just put it back on.” He crosses his arms and smiles smugly.

“Huh.” She flips through the pages in her hand without reading them. So that’s that. He’s free to go. “You know, my window is still sticking,” she says instead and then bites the inside of her cheek.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head. They’re in a stalemate for about five seconds, Y/N pretending to parse the papers and Bucky staring her down. He sighs, looking at his shoes and shaking his head. “You know, you could say you like me sticking around, like a normal person, instead of giving me honey-do’s.” He says it plainly, too lightly.

Y/N’s shoulders tense of their own accord and she says too quickly, “I don’t need your company.” The papers crinkle in her hands.

Bucky pulls the chair wearing his jacket out and sits down. Y/N doesn’t look at him. He flicks the packet hiding her face. She refuses to look. He pinches the pages in his forefinger and thumb, pulling them slowly from her white knuckled grip; they tear at the bottom. She glares at him, fingers caving into a fist.

“I can leave if you want me to.” His head is tilted to the side and he bears that insufferable almost-grin.

She forces herself to release her cheek when it starts to bleed. It takes just as much effort to unfurl her fingers and lay them flat on her thighs. She purses her lips and narrows her eyes. “You’re fishing for a compliment, aren’t you?”

His almost-grin turns into a true-grin, bright and wide. It hurts to look at, but even more to look away. She tries to pretend the grime on her window is more interesting, but it doesn’t last long enough.

“What can I say? You spend all of our time together insulting me.” His tone is light and his posture relaxed into the chair.

It’s the opposite of his hunched over form the first time they met. He’s in the same chair, but without the tactical gear. Or the scowl. And the sun is trying its damndest to brighten her shoe box apartment, rather than the darkness that shrouded them that night.

He’s the same and not. She’s the same and not.

She sighs. “You’re here because I want you to be. Okay?” The words are small, and separate have little meaning. Perhaps for someone else, they weigh less all mashed together. But for her, it’s like clawing her still beating heart from her chest and laying it on the table. She likes Bucky, as much as she doesn’t want to.

He’s funny even though severe. Genuine, even if sometimes harsh.

She doesn’t say all of that though. It’s her secret to keep and she intends to do so.

“Okay,” he murmurs back.

His gaze is too intense, too heavy, too warm. She hates it as much as she wants him to never look away.

The moment is broken by a loud car horn on the street. Bucky clears his throat and looks towards the table. Y/N wipes her palms on her thighs.

“How about that window?”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #avengers

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 3 years

Text

Unspoken

Summary: Dean is cursed with the inability to speak unless a cure can be found. It begins to wear on him in more ways than one...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language

“Stay down,” said Dean, aiming his gun at the witch.

“Why don’t you shut up,” she said, throwing something at Dean. You both shot and she was dead like that but Dean had a hand on his throat, turning to you with a bit of panic in his eyes.

“Dean!” you said, expecting him to start gasping that he couldn’t breathe but it never came. Dean only continued to claw at his throat, opening his mouth and staring at you. “What’d she do?”

You watched him move his lips and even his tongue but not a whisper came out, no sound at all. He looked like he was trying to shout but there was nothing, Dean spinning around.

“You can’t talk?” you asked, Dean nodding as he found a piece of paper and a pen, jotting something down quick.

Can breathe. No talking though. Find spellbook.

“Alright. You look down here. I’ll take upstairs.”

About an hour later, Dean was poking his head in a room, tossing a notebook at you before walking away.

Found it. Doesn’t mention anything. I dealt with the witch. I grabbed the book so let’s go home. Maybe Sam can figure it out.

“Well, I’m sure this will be an enjoyable drive home.”

“Wait. So you can’t talk?” said Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and rested his head on his hands. “Really?”

“Yes, Sam. He’s cursed or under a spell. Help me figure this out, alright?” you said. Sam held up his hands, chuckling a little. “Sam.”

“Hey, compared to the usual crap that happens to us, at least this isn’t so bad, right? It’s not trying to kill him at least,” said Sam.

Dean sighed but gave a half-hearted smile and nodded. He waved and you followed after to the library, each one of you heading off to do your own research.

Hopefully you could find a cure soon.

Four Months Later

Sam was off on another random lead that probably wouldn’t pan out. You’d managed to find a nice and easy ghost hunt but you couldn’t even drag Dean along with you. That was your rule. It was too dangerous to bring him along when he couldn’t talk. It was strange how everything around him seemed to mute. Plates didn’t make noise when they stacked together. Chairs didn’t scrape along the floor. The shower was silent whenever he took one.

He was like a ghost. Except those made sound on occasion.

“Dean. Let’s get out of the bunker, go do something fun,” you said, poking your head in your room. Dean was nowhere to be found. You checked the garage next, Baby still parked in there, no sign of him. “Dean! Where are you?”

You hoped that didn’t make him mad. He’d been having a bad week. Worse than normal which was saying something. You knew he was reaching his breaking point even if he kept it to himself.

“Dean,” you said again, wandering to your old bedroom, finding him sat on top of the bed, staring at you when you walked in. “Baby. What-”

He tossed his little whiteboard across the room and you took a seat beside him, Dean turning his head away.

“I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a kiss. “I know this is hard and I miss talking to you. So let’s talk, okay?”

He tilted his head and moved to stand but you kept him in place.

“Maybe the conversation is going to be a bit one sided but we can still talk, can’t we?” you asked. He nodded, looking over to where he’d thrown his whiteboard. He went to grab it but you shook your head.

“What?” he mouthed. You pressed your lips to his, gently laying the two of you back. He blinked when you moved away, eyes watching your hand slide up into his hair. Your fingers ran through his stands, green eyes flickering up and back to your face. He was thinking, trying to understand as you grabbed his shoulder and moved his head, resting it closer to your own. You smiled as he kept watching you, still thinking.

“For all the things I hate about this situation, you know what I love? Whenever I tell you how amazing you are, how wonderful and good and handsome and strong and intelligent and witty and awesome you are, you can’t make that tsk noise or scoff or sigh or grumble or interrupt to tell me I’m wrong. You have to sit back and take it,” you said.

He gave you a bitch face, rolling his eyes as you kept playing with his hair. He started to nuzzle into the touch though, his face turning soft.

“I love you,” you said. He nodded and pecked a kiss on the top of your nose, big green eyes staring softly. “I know you love me too, Dean.”

He let out a silent breath of air, pulling you flush to him.

“I don’t care what happens. I’m with you,” you said.

He smiled and grabbed your hand, pressing it flat against his chest and over his heart. You felt his heartbeat and smiled.

Two Months Later

“Dean! Lunch is ready!” you shouted from the kitchen. “Bacon lettuce tomato with extra bacon for you!”

You waited a beat, no tuft of brown hair coming around the corner. You grabbed his plate and drink, carrying them out to the library where Dean was researching again.

“You want to eat in here?” you asked. Dean lifted his head and shook it, waving you over. “You don’t want bacon...okay. That’s not concerning or anything.”

He tapped his book and you set the food down, peering over his shoulder.

“A transference spell? You want to transfer it to someone else?” you asked. Dean nodded, tossing his whiteboard at you.

We can’t break it so let’s move it. Move the spell to someone it won’t affect, like someone in a coma that’s never going to wake up. You think that would work?

“Actually, that’s not a half-bad idea,” you said. “Lunch first and then we’ll see if it’s possible.”

“It was a good try,” you said that night. Dean was in the gym, smacking hits against the punching bag. “We’ll get your voice back.”

He looked around the bag, taking deep pants, hitting it once more.

“Dean,” you said, his face scrunching up as he swung again. Hard. He did it a few times, the bag bouncing around, Dean not letting up until he was breathing hard, falling down onto his butt. He shut his eyes and put his head between his knees.

You sat beside him, Dean letting you pull off his boxing gloves. You frowned when you saw he’d cut up his knuckles.

“Let’s clean this up,” you said when his breathing was more even. He followed you to the kitchen, his head low as you wiped down the cuts and dried it off. “I can’t imagine how hard this is. I can’t. But if you need to go and let your anger out, you will do it the right way. Tape up your hands next time, Ali.”

He nodded, glancing up through his eyelashes.

“What would you like for dinner?” you asked. He shrugged. “Pizza?”

“Uf,” you heard him say, both of you wide eyed. “Igaf!”

“You can talk!” you said. Dean did a fist pump and jumped up and down, his sneakers making the cement floor smack. “Sammy! I think the curse is broken!”

“Really? That’s awesome!” he shouted back, wandering into the kitchen after a moment. Dean was still making baby noises though and he was quickly frowning. “So it’s been about six months. Could have been a timing thing.”

“Yeah,” you said, staring at Dean.

“Ea,” he said, pouting. “Ea icese.”

“I have no idea what he’s trying to say,” said Sam.

“Dean,” you said.

“Ea,” said Dean, finding one of his white boards laying around.

I’m trying to say Dean Winchester. That’s all that comes out. It’s like my mouth doesn’t know how to make the sound.

“Y/N. This may sound strange but...I think I know what the witch did,” said Sam. “I read about it like, years ago.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, Sam,” you said, Dean throwing up his hands.

“Infantiliccum curse. Six month initial period,” he said.

“Well what is it?”

“I think Dean is very lucky that witch only decided to mess with his voice,” said Sam. “It basically reverts whatever the witch chooses in the afflicted to become that like an infant. Babies can’t talk right? Dean couldn’t talk. The other sound thing might have been a side effect.”

“Yeah but he knows how to talk. Why-“

“Yeah, he does but this is the part Dean’s gonna be pissed about. There’s another six months before it fully wears off,” said Sam.

“Ic uns!” said Dean, his face scrunched up. “Fff mfh uc afh!”

“Pretty sure there was an f bomb in there somewhere,” you said. Dean nodded, glaring at Sam.

“Hey, I said fully reversed. Maybe now you can like, learn to talk again in the meantime,” said Sam. “Get some phrases back.”

Dean growled but he still smiled at being able to make sound.

“I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure you’ll pick it up fast.”

“I know this one’s hard,” you said about a week later, holding up a flash card.

“Owiop,” said Dean, opening his mouth wide. “Owiop. Uckin etter. I ate tat etter.”

“L’s are hard. Come on. Tongue up behind your teeth, narrow your cheeks in and drop your jaw. Lollipop.”

“Ollipop,” he said with a bit of a smile. “Oll...Lol...ipop. Loll...ipop. Lollipop. Uck it L’s. I ot tis now.”

“You want to take a break? We’ve been going all morning,” you said.

He just smiled and stared at you.

“I love you,” he said, no struggle this time.

“Been waiting a long time to hear that again,” you said, kissing him for a few long moments.

“Tank you,” he said. “Th...ank you.”

“Thank you for trying. We keep working it and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” you said.

“Love you,” he said, kissing you again.

“I love you too, Dean. Even when you couldn’t say it, I knew baby. I always knew.”

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean #winchester #dean spn #dean supernatural

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sleepybabyxo · 3 years

Text

Hospital gowns: bloody sheets pt 2

Fandom: Marvel

Character: Bucky barns

Word count: 1.4k

Tw: hospitals, mention of infection, blood and s/h. Mention of injection and needles. Fluff.

Concept: daddy Bucky takes you to the hospital to get you s/h looked at. It’s not good, it’s deep and painful. But your daddy is here for you no matter what and with him by your side you are stronger than ever.

You sit in the back of the car, paci between your lips and stuffie in your arms. Your daddy checking up on you every few minutes. “You doing okay little one?” “Stings” “I know princess, we are nearly there now, the doctors will make it’s all better” “S, scary” “your precious baby, it’s okay daddy is here”.

You pull up into the car park and Bucky unbuckles you seat belt and lifts you into his arms. You clutch your stuffie in your arms as you nuzzle you head into his neck. His scent was intoxicating, causing you to slip further into your little headspace. “Lub chu dada” “awhh, I love you to sweet pea”. As you get through the emergency room doors the lights burn your eyes. The loud beeps and general chatter of the busy emergency room. You whimper in fear as you arrive at the desk. “Why hello, how can I help?” “I hurted my leg” you mumble. “Awh, daddys clever girl” . “Okay let’s get you signed in and we will get someone to see you as soon as we can” “say thank you to the kind lady” “fank chu” you say shyly “you’re welcome Iittle one” she replies handing Bucky a form and a pen. “Let’s go sit down kiddo, can you walk little one?” “Mhm” he places you on the ground and you half-heartedly run towards the a big red cushioned seat. You scoot yourself on to the seat and stare lovingly at Bucky who is signing papers on the seat next to you.

You suddenly feel a sharpe pain, it starts to tingle and burn. You scream in pain. Your paci falls out of your mouth and on the floor. “Baby what is it?” “My leg is really hurting” you say between cries. Bucky slowly unwraps your bandage. Your leg is pulsing, each cut is raised, glowing red and oozing with green and yellow puss like blood. “Jesus doll, Doc we need help over here!!” The doctor runs over, “oh we need to get this sorted NOW.” The doctor grabs a wheelchair and Bucky places you lightly in it. You are in too much pain and panic to think about your dropped paci. And Bucky is too worried to notice. They rush you into a private room. The doctor call for a colleague. His colleague enters and stares at your leg in shock. “This need cleaning and she need a tetanus shot.” You hear the word shot and scream. “No No NO. Don’t like shot. Daddy make them stop. I wan go home!!” He grabs your hand. “Awh princess I know. But the doctors need to fix you up. It’s infected baby and if you don’t get a shot you could get really sick.” “Please dada don’t let them hurt me!” “It’s okay doll, it will only hurt for a second and it will help with the pain of your leg. Daddy is here and he will not leave your side” “wan paci” “where did you put it baby?” You start to panic. “I- l...” you burst into tears. “I lost it dada”. “It’s okay sweetie daddy will find it.” “Please don’t leave me” you cry harder. The doctors turns to Bucky, “it’s okay, I will get one of my nurses to look for it, where did she leave it.” “It must be in the waiting room” a few minutes later the nurse runs in with your paci, “did you clean it” the doctor asks her. “Yes doc” “thank chu pretty lady” “Awh you so sweet, your welcome love” your daddy hands it to you. “You’re a good girl”. “Okay we are going to give her a numbing shot so we can clean the area efficiently.” “Okay are you going to be a brave girl for the doctors?” “Mhm” you mumble. “Good girl, squeeze daddy’s hand”. You grab buckys hand and start to squeeze as the doctor give you the numbing shots. “All done” “see I knew you could be brave” you smile. “Now you will still feel this, but it won’t be as painful” he takes a wipe and cleans your leg, he can now see how deep the cuts are. And can see that a few will need gluing. The only thing stopping them from bleeding was the thick dried blood clotting the gash. “Sir can I speak to you outside?” “Is it okay if daddy talks to the nice doctor outside sweet pea?” “Okay dada” he kisses your forehead and boops your nose with his finger. You let out a little giggle. “Good girl”

“Sir some of those cuts are rather deep, do you mind telling me how this happened?”, “well y/n suffers with quite a few issue and self harm is something she has done for awhile now. She was getting better but last night she had an episode. She told me she was too scared to wake me.” “Okay we are going to have to glue some of the cuts together to stop the bleeding.” “Yeah she is not going to like that, it’s okay I will convince her. Could you give us a few minutes alone?” “Of course, can we give her the shot first?” “Of course doctor” the two men re-enter the room. “Hey princess, the doctor is going to give you the shot now. Can you be a brave girl?” “Yes daddy” he smiles at you. “Good girl” you blush and hide you face. “Okay you ready for the shot y/n?” “I guess so” you turn away and squeeze your daddy’s hand. “All done” “wow that was fast, thank you” “your welcome little miss. I will leave you to alone for a few minutes” “thanks doc” Bucky replies.

“I am so so proud of you baby. You are such a good girl when we are done here we can go to the store and you can get some new stuff. Would you like that doll?” “Yes please daddy!” You kiss his chin. He lets out a little chuckle. “Now I have some news baby.” You tilt you head. “the doctor is going to have to glue some of the cuts to stop the bleeding. I know it sounds scary but it’s going to be okay, because you a brave little girl.” Tears form in your eyes. “Okay daddy, me scared but daddy will protect me” “that’s right baby daddy is here”. The doctor re-enters. “You all ready?” “Mhm” you reply. “Good let’s get started” you close your eyes and place your head in buckys lap. He strokes your head and reassuring you. “Your doing amazing baby” “daddy is here”. A few minutes go by Bucky still stoking your head and reassuring you. “All done, you did really well there missy” “thank chu. Am I fixeded now?” “Yep your all good to go. We are going to give you some medicine to help with the infection and we just need to bandage you up” the doctor wraps a clean bandage around you leg. And the nurse arrives with some pills. “Here you go. I heard you did really well. Your a brave little girl.” “Yes she is. Now it’s time to get you a little reward, isn’t it princess.” “Mhm” you say hiding you face. “Come I then kiddo. Make sure you thank the doctor and the kind nurse lady.” “Thank you for fixing me. And thank you for finding my paci!” “Awh your very welcome. If you have any issues just come back and see us” “okay thank you doctor” Bucky picks you up and placed you on his hip. “You got everything princess” “yep paci and stuffie” “good girl” he carries you out to the car and straps you in your seat.

“I am so so proud of you sweetie. You were so brave. You got THREE shots!! Like a big girl” you giggle. “Now reward time” you giggle again. “Yes baby girl” Bucky chuckle.

I just want to say thank you for the feedback on the first part. I’m am glad that people enjoy it. And I want to say I am so so proud of everyone little, middle, caregiver and anyone else who stumbles along this page who is struggling or has struggled with S/H it will get better and don’t let relapses disheartened you. I am proud no matter what. If you 1 day clean or 5 years clean. You are so brave. My message are always open if anyone needs to chat :)

#agere #buckybarnsfanfic #agerefic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #daddy!buckybarns #little space sfw

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending.

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm.

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight?

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms.

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever.

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles.

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello?

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame.

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes.

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while.

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan.

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though.

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute

Let them speak, Remus.

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain…

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep.

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors.

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself.

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable.

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another.

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them.

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater.

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look.

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face.

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them.

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it.

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about.

Hi.

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows.

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really.

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were.

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft.

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before.

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’.

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.”

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to.

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?”

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intruloceit #janus sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au

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hatsukeii · 4 years

Note

One where y/n has been obviously in love with Tsuki since they were kids and not afraid to show it, but he’s always been lowkey mean to her and thinks she’s annoying and then finally years later she decides he’s not a nice guy and let’s him know she’s fine with all that crap and then he realizes he’s falling for her and does something really sweet for her and they fall in love? 😭😭🥺👉🏻👈🏻 ty in advance. Sorry if this is too long or specific, if it is, feel free to ignore

I genuinely hope you didn’t think I would actually ignore this<33

IM SORRY IM A MASTER PROCRASTINATOR ILY ALL AND YOU ALL DESERVE AN APOLOGY FROM ME

Dear diary//Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Cursing

Genre: Angst??? I guess???

Summary: He’s an ass, but you still love him to bits, and it’s killing you.

July 16, 2008

Dear Diary,

I got to play with Tsukki again! He had his dino with him, it was super cute! He told me his front teeth came off last night, and there’s a big hole in his teeth, but it’s okay, because he said it will grow back. I tried to hold his hand while going down the twin slides but he said it was sweaty, so next time I’ll wear gloves!

You flip through the hot pink diary, cringing at your young infatuation. Your diary entries were cringey as fuck, but they always rekindle something within you whenever you read them. You can’t even remember when you stopped writing in the book. Was it when you turned 10? Maybe 12? You don’t have a single clue.

April 30, 2011

Dear Diary,

Tsukki refused to marry me in the playground at break:(( I’ve known him for so long though, aren’t we supposed to get married? I just wanna hold his hand and hug him and give him a biiiiig kiss<33

Chuckling at the memory, you recalled the event from that entry clearly. You were seven years old only, still an immature kid. You still thought that getting married in a middle school playground was a huge milestone in life, almost as crucial as a legal marriage.

May 29, 2016

Dear Diary,

Love how Tsukki didn’t even remember my birthday:,) Must be nice getting made fun of. Half the students in my class felt my second hand embarrassment from when he completely forgot about it. God, why am I even in love with this asshole? I’m gonna have to go to school tomorrow and deal with all my classmates making fun of me for being hopeless. Brb, currently digging a hole for myself:)

Frowning at the memory, you think back to when you were twelve. He was an asshole then, still is an asshole to this day. And yet not an ounce of your unconditional love and support for him has faded. Grabbing a tissue, you wipe the remaining tears from your eyes, ignoring the dried tear stains on your cheek. Your hand slams onto the bedside table, lazily feeling for your phone. Tilting it towards your face, you sigh at the empty lock screen, accepting defeat. Flicking through the rest of the book, you are welcomed by pages and pages of white. “So that’s when I gave up on this diary...” you mutter to yourself as you lift yourself up from your bed. Heading towards your desk, you absentmindedly grab yourself a pen, notebook in hand. Slamming the diary down, you open it up to the next entry page after your last one, gently placing the tip of your pen on the first line. You grab your hair out of frustration, the ink bleeding into the thin paper. “What to do, what to do...?” You mumble, starting to form sentences in your notebook.

July 17, 2020

Dear Diary,

It’s been a while hasn’t it? Holy shit, all my entries were about Tsukki weren’t they? Jesus, of course they were. At least I was able to get it off my chest this afternoon. Telling him that I’ve been in love with him for years, that was fucking terrifying. Telling him that although I know he’s an ass, an animatronic dick complete with ballsack, that won’t stop me from falling harder, it was gut wrenching, but also relieving to a certain degree. I’m still waiting for some form of response, although I’m not sure I’m gonna get one anytime soon. I can’t decide whether telling him was the dumbest or bravest decision I’ve made. Maybe it was both. Just wait until I look back on this entry like a decade later and still cry about it lmao. Tbh he’s a genuinely nice person at heart. I know that all too well. He may be an ass most the time, and he may think I’m annoying, but despite how hard he tries to push me away, I’ll never abandon him. Jesus Christ, I sound like a yandere here, but it’s not that. It’s that I care for him a lot. Maybe even a bit too much. It’s ridiculous how absolute and utter shit a crush can make you feel.

Throwing the pen down, you flop back onto your bed, huffing into the thick blankets. You stay silent, not sure of what to think of the situation. “I’ll just deal with it all tomorrow, I’m tired of this shit.”

On the other side of the incident, Tsukishima is currently going through a mental crisis.

The blond sits at his desk, eyes unwavering, but focusing on nothing. It feels as if he hasn’t blinked in what seemed to be hours. Just hours of staring at his wall that led to nothing. Your confession plays in his head nonstop, like a broken record that refused to run out of battery.

“The thing is I like you. I’m pretty sure I always have. And I know that you’re such an asshole and all that, you won’t treat me as well as people would expect, but it’s fine. I’m fine with all that. All the dumb, stupid, careless insults you’ll throw at me, the side eyes and sneers, telling me to shut up and go away, I’m fine with it. I know you’re a good person, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Well shit what the fuck do you want me to say?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe he should have let you down slowly.

But as he stares at his wall, the photos of the two of you framed and balanced on his floating shelves, he starts to reconsider his feelings.

The way your expression faltered then as you hastily took your bag and rushed away without a single word, the way you avoided him in the halls, the way you stopped talking to him throughout the day, it drove him crazy. He couldn’t handle the realisation that he hurt you so incredibly badly, so now all he can do is stare at his empty, blank wall. Did he know why he felt that way? No. He didn’t and still doesn’t. He’s Tsukishima fucking Kei, the emotionless, provoking, unlikeable king, yet a mere girl is somehow able to mess with his mind so badly, that all he can do is wallow in regret and confusion? What is this weird feeling? His throat itches, his heart is beating like crazy, sweat starting to gather around his temples. He clamps his two hands together, slamming his forehead onto them and squeezing his eyes shut.

How could I have been so dense?

How was he unable to see that you were absolutely in love with him? Even with the bento boxes, birthday gifts, constant compliments, he still only ever thought you liked him as a friend. However he never did. He likes you more than that. Way more. Yes, he thought, and still thinks you can be annoying at times, especially when you nag at him about not eating enough or being rude, but it was undeniable that there was something else he felt. But his stupid ass shitty ego would never let him admit it. And now that you finally confessed, he freaked out and fucked up. Even then, he didn’t think it would affect him to this extent.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you (Y/N).”

He says that over and over again, desperate to cloud out the disagreeing thoughts in his head that scream otherwise.

“It was a stupid middle school crush, I’m over you.”

The guilt didn’t go away.

In fact, now that he’s said all that, he feels even worse. Oh how much he wants to find you right this second, wrap you in his arms, tell you how incredibly sorry he is, but he can’t. He doesn’t deserve to do that. His heart is begging for him to just get out of the house and run to yours as fast as he could, but his body won’t move. He wants to cry. Scream. Shout. Throw something. Shatter something. But most of all, he wants to get another chance.

Picking up his phone, he hesitates, before typing in your contact, the cleared out, empty chatroom showing up on his screen. Going as fast as his fingers could, he typed out the one sentence he’s been dying to let out.

“It was a middle school crush, but I’m still into you. I always have been.”

Is it just me, or is this bad-

Idk man it seems like all my fics are pretty much the same and I hate it😌

Tags:

@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @justachillgirl @trashcanweeb @just-another-bored-writer @poppirocks @majorfangirl37 @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @itmekisuu @skyeackermans @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @shoutsukii @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @thirstyvolleyballhoe @iwaixiumi @iwaigroomi @inlwlevi

Feel free to comment or pm to be added to taglist!

I’m back to writing lmao I’m bored in two week quarantine rn

Edit: cue me realising I was half asleep and missed something in the request don’t be surprised if I repost this💀💀💀💀

Btw the hq manga just ended time to cry

💕💕💕💕

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all-might-can-smash-me · 4 years

Text

Alive

Taishiro Toyomitsu/Fatgum x Royal! Reader

Summary: medieval/fantasy type of au. A princess sneaks out from the cold stone walls of the castle and finds her way into the colorful life of the village’s market square, though she finds herself striking a friendship with the blacksmith and soon finding herself completely in love with....you know, the fluffy shit because I live for that

Part 2 is here

Masterlist

You longed for the world beyond the stained glass window that you peered through. You wanted to see the bustling markplace that your servants would always talk about. You wanted to tag along with your own group of friends to see what fresh produce was available or what trinkets were on display from far off lands. You wanted to hear the hammering of the blacksmith away in his corner or listen to the weaver’s old stories from her life time as she skillfully did her craft while showing off her prized work at her stand. Or to even smell the foods that were being cooked and sold to the hungry wonderer who found themselves sucked into the busy scurrying of the market. You could already smell everything that seemed to play out before your fingers tips that brushed the color glass before you....

“Your royal highness....” soon spoke out the soft voice of one the women who stood off to the side as you soaked in the warmth of the bath water you sat in, relishing in the floral oils that had placed into the heated water of your bath. You almost felt a bit of anger claw at your chest as you watched your daydream melt before your fingertips at the young woman’s voice, but you only sighed it away before looking over your shoulder and at her. “I think it’s time for you to climb out, you’ll prune up if you stay in any longer.” The woman recommend, which you only gave a soft nod of your head as you stood up, the water sloshing around your legs as you stepped out, a cloth already wiping down your body and your hair. You only silently stood their as the women dried your off and soon clothed you in your chemise and kirtle.

It was the same routine every day either with the bath or not. You automatically seated yourself down before a vanity, the servants already brushing out your hair and pining it up in braids, soon a veil was placed over your hair to cover it, securing it into place with even more pens, but what was the use of that? The outside would never even see your hair anyway.

“Is that alright, your royal highness?” Soon asked one of the many women tending to you. You only gave a soft nod of your head as you poked your feet out to have your stocking slipped on and a garter tied below to keep them up, shoes soon placed upon your feet. They would continue to ask you if everything was to your liking, but what was the point anyway? To look good to only be trapped behind the stone walls that was your prison. Though you bid them a soft thank you as you finally broke free from their hands, escaping and finally finding your freedom within one of the many vast hallways of the castle you dwelled in. You could probably point every crack and uneven stone within the entire castle though by how many times your eyes have stared them down.

“Oh....don’t look at me like that!” You spoke out with a huff as you glared down to one of the tapestries that hung from the wall. Your eyes stared down into the threaded ones of the scene filled with people before you adorned with fanciful clothing....the scene that your eyes have wondered onto many time before. Though you only groaned as you let your hand slap that tapestry, only causing it to ripple a bit from where it hung along with shaking out a bit of dust that only made you try to quickly fan it away from your face. “I’m going mad within these walls! I’ve resorted to arguing with a foul looking tapestry!” You exclaimed, though stuck your tongue out to the tapestry before scurrying off down the corridor, veil billowing around your face as you rushed by. Soon your hands grasped the handle of a door to open it roughly, promptly slamming it shut behind you. With a sigh you let yourself slump down on the chair at your desk, a pout upon your lips as your eyes longing look to the large window within your room longingly. The market was just there, almost within your grasp beyond the castle gate.

That’s when an idea popped within your head. The blossoming of that idea lifted you from your chair, hands scurrying around within your wardrobe to tug out a cloak which you wasted no time to drape over your shoulders and tie it in place, now back to scurrying down the corridors of the castle and down many spiraled stone steps.

“I’ll just go on my own.....if I get caught I’ll just use the excuse that I didn’t know that it was off limits....yeah....” You muttered to yourself as you tried to calm your heart that raced within your chest, hand running along the stone walls and tapestries to try and stable the nervous jitters within your body. “I’ll also just sneak out through the back towards the laundry house...” you continued on with discussing your plan to yourself. Though it was scarily all too easy to do as you found yourself slowly crossing the border between the castle’s property and into the commoner’s world. It wasn’t at all exciting really, but it was for you as your feet had began to run down the dirt path that ran towards the market place, laughter bubbling out from your mouth at the feeling of your own rebellion as you gathered up the bottom of your kirtle to run as fast as you could even if your lungs screamed at you to stop.

You stopped to catch your breath, your laughter seeming to still plague your lungs as you leaned against one of the trees that lined the path, calming your laughter as a carriage bounced along the path before you, disappearing further down the path. Just experiencing that alone sent your brain on a frenzy as you continued your walk, though you still couldn’t help but feel that worry edge into your brain to bury itself there.

The market was better than you would have ever expected. A lyre was being strummed by a young man for coins, sellers yelled out their deals for their trinkets and goods, and many people filled the air with their voices and laughter, all the noises filling your sense as your eyes looked excitedly to everything that you had every dreamed of. It may have been a silly wish to see the sight before you and risk so much to see it, but I guess it’s easy to yearn for something this great when you couldn’t have it.

You had began to walk slowly through the many stalls set up, eyes wondering the many objects that were expertly display to capture any wondering fool’s eye, but you simply treaded on, wanting to see everything that market had to offer. Though you soon found yourself traveling into the less populated part of the market, the side where only a few tiny stands were set up and store fronts were waiting for anyone to enter. It was a nice rest from the constant life of the more populated area. Though something caught your attention. It was a slamming noise, loud and strong and it repeated itself over and over again. Carefully listening, you followed the noise down the cobblestone path, finding yourself standing before the wide opened doors of what you would guess was a forge.

The warmth within the forge lapped at your face as you peered in, the clanging now more prominent and practically rang through your ears. Before you, you saw a man, a tall man. Sweat glistened across his brow and his blonde hair clung to his forehead in a few spots, his eyebrows were furrowed together. Your eyes couldn’t help but trail down to the muscles that would flex and retract in the rhythm of the hammer in his hand that he would slam down upon the red hot metal upon his anvil. The man set aside the hammer before lifting the metal he was working on to toss it back within the flames that happily lapped at it, a few curses being muttered under his breath as he brought the back of his gloved hand to his forehead to wipe away the sweat that threatened to roll into his eyes.

“Hey you, you don’t have to hide back there you know.” His voice soon rose up, a smile crawling onto his lips as he turned away from fire, gaze now upon you. You on the other hand, could feel a raging blush upon your face as you looked over your shoulder before realizing that he mean those words for you. You slowly made your way within the forge, eyes trailing among the many tools that were scattered about, the smell of burning wood now filling your senses as you finally looked to him. “Use to I would get a lot of people in here to watch....but the hagglers further up the market are far more entertaining.” He said with a laugh as began to poke the raging fires. You took it upon yourself to look at some of his own works that he had up on display. Horseshoes, armor, weapons, even torture devices, but of course that was normal....but still it sent a shiver down your spine at the thought of you being in that. Though your eyes soon landed upon the many pendants that he had forged as well, necklaces, bracelets, pins. You let your finger trace the twist of the metal before you.

“A trade being done with expertise and care is far more entertaining than a few scammers.” You mumbled out as you soon looked over your shoulder and to the other. “Do you honestly think that their pots hold ‘magical abilities’?” You said with a little laugh as you stepped away from the work before you, soon crossing your arms and stepping back forward to his work area, watching him let out his laughter at your words as he brought out the rod of metal from the fire, hammer back in his hands.

“Or that their onions will honestly reverse one’s aging?” He said with a snort as the hammer went slamming down onto the metal. You couldn’t be flinch at the loud noise, but you watched with interest. It amazed you how the man before you could simply meld the iron into almost whatever he wanted with the strength he possessed and the hammer within his hands. “You must be new around here though...” he soon spoke out though after resting the hammer aside again, inspecting the rod of metal.

“Why you say that?” You asked, trying to surpress the nervousness that wanted to attack your voice and throat. You couldn’t have been caught that quickly, right? Did people within the market really know what you looked like? Of course not....right?

“Because I haven’t seen a beautiful girl like you around here before, I would have remembered....” He said with a grin as he dunked the rod into a trough of water, the metal sizzling against the cool liquid. If only you could have dunked your head in there as well to cool the blush that had risen to your cheeks.

That’s how your friendship had begun with the blacksmith. The next day you would find out his name was Taishiro and then the next day you would meet his apprentice Tamaki, and then the next day you’d bring him food. It went on for a while, of your bringing food for him and his apprentice, chatting away with him....feeling your heart constantly thrashing against your chest at just a mere glance of Taishiro. Though one day, you approaching the forge, only to see Taishiro dressed properly and out of the protective garb he wore within his forge.

“Come on, I want to spend a day away from this damned inferno.” He spoke out with a grin, already offering his arm to you to lead you through the village, into the part where the homes became sparse and the meadows and hills seemed to stretch on infinitely. It all looked like a painting that would have been among the others within the castle you dwelled in or maybe even a scene from one of the blasted tapestries. It sent a grin upon your face as you handed him the basket filled to the brim with food, hands clutching at your kirtle to ran through the semi tall grass, wind whipping at the veil pinned onto your head. You felt foolish to think simply walking through the market square or running down the dirt path from the castle felt like freedom. Running through the grass and taking in its scent that was carried upon the breeze is what truly felt like freedom. It felt even better though when you heard Taishiro’s own feet crunch upon the grass, laughing behind you as the two of you ran further out until you finally let yourself plop down onto the grass, lungs struggling for air through your laughter as you let your body rest upon the grass, eyes staring up to the blue sky that was riddled with clouds. Taishiro was soon sprawled out beside you upon the grass, basket set aside beside him, his laughter molding with yours as he also looked up to the sky. Finally managing to get air in your lungs, you sat up and reached over Taishiro, grabbing hold of the basket to tug out a canteen of water, setting it aside and soon pulling out bread, breaking it and handing a half to Taishiro before setting the basket asids and rest back down again.

“I’ve never felt so....free...” you finally mumbled out, finger tips twisting off bits of bread to eat, Taishiro already almost done with what he had. You found it amusing, how he seemed to inhale his food. Though everything about him you seemed to find amusing or attractive, that’s why your heart always felt like it was going to explode upon one single glance at him. You would steal glances at him, but right now you let your eyes close, enjoying the warmth of the sun shining down upon and enjoying the soft tickle of the breeze upon your cheeks

“It’s relaxing....to not be burned by metal or fire or having the smell of burning wood down my throat all day long...” he muttered out as he reached a hand over you to grab ahold of the canteen of water, already taking a few gulps before placing it away, a sigh of content escaping his lungs. Though glancing at you almost made him forget how to breathe. You looked angelic beside him, eyes closed and the sun eccentuating the soft features of your face and the veil that almost surrounded your face didn’t help either.

You were glorious before him.

Taishiro soon propped himself up with his arm, a hand moving to gently brush upon your cheek bone which your eyes shot open at the touch. It was like the world stopped when your eyes met his. They were wide, along with your own, but not of fear, but of the nervousness of the new territory that seemed to appear as the seconds went by. Slowly sitting up, he allowed his hands to move to the veil that was pinned upon your head, fingertips plucking away those pins slowly and setting them aside within the basket. You now sat up yourself, letting his nervous hands gently remove the white cloth, your hands reaching up to undo the braids pinned to your head, brushing your fingers through them and letting your long hair fall around your shoulders. Taishiro soon let his own fingers brush through your long hair and brush along your neck, and face. You were a sight to behold as the wind pushed your hair around gently.

“May I kiss you...?” Were the words that came flowing from his mouth as his hand finally came to rest upon your blushing cheeks. “Sorry, I just....I’m stunned by the beauty that’s before me...” he said with a soft, nervous laugh that you couldn’t help but giggle along to nervously as well as you nodded your head, forehead pressed against his. Your eyes were soon closed upon the arrival of his soft lips upon yours, leaning into his embrace as the two of you shared a soft kiss.

You felt your back meet with the grass upon the ground as his lips continued to move upon yours, your body plagued with nervous jitters as he was soon trailing his sweet kisses upon the many parts of your face and neck. Yours hands went to cup his face as he pulled away to look down at you, a large smile upon his lips as he caught his breath, looming over you. Though suddenly you felt tears begin to build up within your eyes as you let a hand run through the soft strands of blonde hair, a worrisome look now etched into his face as once of his callused hands moved to caress your face.

“What’s wrong? Why the tears?” He asked, finger tips gently pushing back the soft strands of your hair that the wind had pushed upon your face.

“I’ve never felt so alive....though I’m afraid it might cruelly end like waking up in the middle of a wonderful dream.....”

#taishiro toyomitsu x reader #fatgum x reader #fatgum headcanons #taishiro toyomitsu #mha fatgum #bnha fatgum #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bnha fantasy au #bnha x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha taishiro #mha taishiro #fatgum imagine #toyomitsu taishiro

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twistedlymad · 4 years

Text

It’s Time We Go Home (Ft. Grim, Ace and Deuce)

I saw this picture, (not my artwork, I literally cannot draw a circle :) ) and I had a scenario going on in my head. So, I took a break from writing requests to write this instead.

Slight warning, this won’t be your normal chaotic scenario. It’s just something that I had in my mind and I wrote everything down.

I hope you would enjoy reading this and have a lovely day!

“I’ve finally found a way for you to get back home!!”

Those words rang in your head for 2 days now. Your friends would often find you staring into nothingness while you remembered what the principal had said to you 2 days earlier. When they asked you about it you would simply reply nothing and walked away.

But you thought to yourself, you’ve finally found a way home!

But…

What was home?

You honestly can’t remember.

You parents? Nope, you can’t remember what they looked and acted like.

Your siblings? Did you have any to begin with? You couldn’t remember either.

Do you want to go back? Truth be told, you didn’t know.

Because to you, Night Raven College was already home. You felt like you were supposed to be here. And after months of spending time with your friends and seniors, they treated you like their own.

And you did too.

So, why is it so hard for you to choose between going back to your original reality instead staying in this one?

Maybe it’s because of all the times you stopped Grim and Ace’s fights in the cafeteria.

Maybe it’s because of all the times you tried to get your friends to work together instead of butting heads.

Maybe it’s because of all the times you helped a dorm leader overcome his overblotting alongside your friends.

Maybe,

It’s because of all the times,

You had genuinely smiled with and to your friends.

However, your mind was telling you to go home. It was telling you that you didn’t belong here. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t be here in the first place. You can’t use magic, you’re not normal.

Go. Home.

You had to make a decision. So there you were, staring at the moon, deep in thought.

To stay? Or to leave? That was the question and the decision.

You looked back at Grim, sleeping peacefully in your lap. Your mind, tainted with words that told you to go back.

And after a few minutes, you listened to your mind. Why?

Because to you, it felt as if it was the right thing to do.

With that, you’ve made your choice.

You set Grim back down onto the bed, gave him a kiss on his forehead and muttered a goodbye.

You didn’t even bother to pack your clothes because those weren’t yours. Nothing was. Nothing except the ghost camera and that was the only thing you took with you.

“As a momento.” You said to yourself and left your beloved Ramshackle Dorm.

You headed straight to the principal’s office. Not saying a word to anybody, not your friends, not your seniors and not to the dorm leaders. You knew that they wouldn’t let you go through with this and you didn’t want them to know because it would break the bond you had with them.

You… You couldn’t bear to see the looks on their faces if you told them. You knew it would be too hurtful to you.

So there you were, standing in front of the headmaster’s office. With a gentle knock, you went in.

“Pardon me for intruding.” You said to the man at the desk. He looked up from his papers to see you standing in front of him.

“Ah, (Y/N), good to see you. So, have you made your decision?” The masked man asked you and you nodded.

“Very well, have you told anyone about your departure?” He asked again and you shook your head no.

“Alright, if that is your wish to do so, I will not force you to do anything you do not want to do.” The principal said and readied his pen. “Are you ready to go?”

You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment, mentally saying goodbye to Grim and everyone. After doing so, you nodded to the principal. He let out a small smile and his magical pen glowed bright and you were blinded by the light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been a week since you arrived home.

7 days of tiredness.

7 days of favoritism.

7 days of entitledness.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your parents only saw you as a maid. Sure, they were happy when you first came home. But after 5 minutes of hugging and crying, they had asked you to cook for them. All because you mentioned you learned how to cook. Courtesy to Trey and Jamil for giving you advice on making wonderful and tasty dishes.

You obliged to your parents, because, what child would disobey their parents, right? So you cooked for them.

For 7 whole days straight.

You also cleaned and did their laundry. You would be asked to do every single chore in the house while your parents just sat there, drinking wine and ordering you around with disgusting smirks plastered on their faces.

Yet, you still obliged.

Your siblings were no better. They would often mess up the house, forcing you to do more work. They would also get in your way while doing the chores so that you wouldn’t get to finish in time and resulting you in getting scolded by your parents.

However, on the third day, you accidentally hurt your sibling while you were mopping the floor.

Technically, it wasn’t your fault, but the parents thought you had hurt your sibling intentionally. They gave you an earfull on how you were selfish and jealous of your sibling and you were at fault for hurting them. They also said that you made the floor wet intentionally just so you could watch your sibling slip and fall and hurt himself.

When in reality, what really happened was you were recently done mopping the floor, the floor wasn’t entirely dried when your sibling decided it was a great idea to run across your small apartment home. Everything had happened so fast, one second your sibling was running and the next was your sibling crying out loud for your parents and putting the blame on you.

Yet, you still obliged to them and you apologized.

After you had cooked dinner for them, you excused yourself back to your room. You locked the door and sat down on the bed.

A few beads of tears had escaped your eyes.

Wiping them away, you looked at the ghost camera you had brought back with you.

You remembered all your memories at Night Raven College.

You remembered your friends, Grim, Ace, Deuce, Epel, Jack and Sebek.

You remembered your seniors, Trey, Cater, Ruggie, Jade, Floyd, Jamil, Rook, Silver, Lilia.

You remembered the dorm leaders, Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus.

You even remembered little Ortho, little Cheka and Che’nya.

Tears filled your eyes again as you hugged the camera, wishing to go back to them, wishing that you had not left in the first place, wishing that you could get a second chance to go back and stay there instead. You cried silently, not wanting your family to hear you.

But then, you heard something. It almost sounded like someone was knocking on the glass door in your room that led to a small balcony.

You opened your eyes and looked at the glass door. You froze.

There, were 2 hooded figures outside on your balcony. Two broomsticks can be found leaning on the balcony wall. One of them was knocking gently on the door.

“Hey, you, could you come out a sec?” The knocking figure asked. You stood up and slowly went to the door. You opened it, stepped outside and closed it behind you.

You took a closer look as the two hooded figures took off their hoods to reveal themselves. As they did, you couldn’t believe your eyes!

It was Ace and Deuce!

What’re they doing here?

“Yo, (Y/N), it’s been awhile huh?” Ace asked you, wearing his smirk. Grim emerged from Ace’s behind and ran to you, hugging you. You welcomed him with open arms and enclosed him in them. You could already see tears forming in his eyes.

“Stupid, stupid human! Why didn’t you say anything?! You got me worried sick yanno?!” Grim said as he cried into your arms.

“Why didn’t you tell us that headmaster had found a way home for you?” Deuce asked you. You sighed and told him that you didn’t want them to know and to worry about you. You apologized for it too.

“Well, looks like you’ve been crying, are you okay?” Ace asked as he and Deuce had seen you cry a moment ago. Grim also looked up to see your wet eyes. You looked at the three of them and began to let your tears fall out again.

You told them how your ‘family’ treated you, how entitled they were and how you knew you were wrong to leave Night Raven College. You also told them how you wished you could go back.

When Ace and Deuce heard this, they comforted you. Although to be honest, internally, they felt like they needed to teach your ‘family’ a lesson.

But then, Ace spoke up.

“Wow, I never knew our mission would be completed so easily.”

You were confused. Mission? What mission? You asked your friends and Deuce explained to you.

“A few days ago, Headmaster told everyone that you had gone home. Everyone back at school misses you, especially us. So, we volunteered to try to talk you to coming back.” Your eyes widen at his words.

Everyone, missed you?

The one that was ridiculed at the entrance ceremony when the mirror of darkness couldn’t seat you in a dorm?

The one human that couldn’t use magic in a prestigious magic school?

The one human who was living in the Ramshackle Dorm with a creature?

You couldn’t help but smile while more tears flowed out of your eyes. Ace and Deuce then got on their brooms, Grim getting on Deuce’s broom and Ace was extending out a hand to you.

“Well? What’re you waiting for? Everyone’s waiting for you back at Ramshackle Dorm.” Ace said to you.

“It’s time we go home.”

That’s right, home.

Your ‘home’ was never really home. In fact, Night Raven College was. Your mind may have told you that the apartment you’re in was home, but your heart has and always will tell you that Night Raven College was where you belonged.

It was where you would consider home. And it was time to return to it. You couldn’t wait to see your true family.

You took a small glance back at the family who were enjoying themselves without you. You shook your head and looked ahead at the family who actually did and will always enjoy themselves with you. You smiled and took Ace’s hand, the ghost camera in your other hand. You got on his broom and the four of you flew off from your balcony and into the night sky.

Yeah, you were finally going home, and you will never leave it ever again.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fic #twisted wonderland imagines #grim #ace trappola #deuce spade #mc/yuu

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adhd-disaster-willie · 3 years

Text

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 2/4

So, I don’t really like this chapter as much as the other one but it’s fine. :/ I don’t have the patience to redo it, so this is what you get :)

Warnings: Homophobia, child abuse, non-graphic description of wounds, panic attacks

chapter 1

---

Alex didn’t quite know how long he’d been curled up on the sidewalk when a figure began approaching him; but he was shivering and crying and really not in the mood to be murdered. The person may not have been headed directly towards him, but they sure were biking fast in his direction and once again, being kicked out and killed on the same night didn’t sound like much fun. So, swearing underneath his breath, Alex stood up and began jogging away, still unsure of where he was headed.

The bike came barrelling towards Alex but came to a screeching halt immediately after passing him.

“Alex?!” The person, who had a guitar strapped to their back, hopped off the bike and stumbled towards Alex.

“Luke?” Alex whispered, baffled. “What are you-” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence before Luke wrapped him in a hug, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex decided not to mention Luke’s damp, red cheeks.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Luke asked, pulling away.

Alex snorted at that. “I could ask you the same thing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and began rocking on his heels, counting down the seconds until Luke read him like he always does and Alex had to stop him from marching back up the block and yelling at the Mercers until his voice was hoarse.

“Your parents,” Luke muttered, his voice hardening, bitter. “They kicked you out didn’t they?” Luke didn’t get angry very often. Sure, he got upset and disappointed and frustrated, but he wasn’t one to get genuinely furious. He was now though. Alex grabbed his wrist and shook his head.

“Yes, but Luke, please don’t.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, but backed off. “I’m gonna kill them,” He hissed beneath his breath.

“Not if you die from the cold. What are you even doing out here?”

Luke grew quiet, his gaze shifting to the ground. “Nothing, nothing I was just… I was headed to Bobby’s. The studio.”

Alex nodded, internally berating himself for not having thought of that. But he didn’t want to bother anyone. Staying in the studio for the night was entirely different from asking to live there. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

Luke, somehow sensing Alex’s thoughts, sighed. “I’m gonna go grab your bike,”he said, giving Alex a quick hug before turning to walk up the sidewalk.

“Luke, you don’t have to-”

“Nah, I do. I’m not gonna make you go back there, and we sure as hell aren’t walking all the way to Bobby’s.”

“Fine. But you need to tell me what happened!” Alex shouted after him, but he was already far enough to pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

---

Alex’s hands were practically numb after 10 minutes of biking, and his backpack felt like it had doubled in size. Not to mention the only light was people’s Christmas decorations and the occasional street light, and he’d only ever gone to Bobby’s in the day so he was relying about 80% on muscle memory. All in all, not a great situation.

“Dude, why the fuck is Bobby’s house so far away?” Alex complained, adjusting his grip on his bike handles in hopes that it’d bring back some sort of feeling in his fingers.

Luke shrugged. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride and was yet to explain why he’d run off in the middle of the night, but Alex knew he’d open up in time… hopefully. If it had to be pried out of him, it would; but Luke was never one to keep secrets. At least Alex leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t take much explanation, except to Bobby’s parents. No one had dared say it out loud, but for the whole year it’d felt like the seconds Alex had before being kicked out were just slowly running out. And this was the last straw.

“Can we- can we stop for a minute?” Alex breathed, his legs burning. “I have like, no stamina.”

Luke chuckled weakly, coming to a slow stop. They leaned their bikes on the side of the curb before sitting down, feeling relieved that they recognized the area; it was just a few blocks from Reggie and roughly another 5 minutes to Bobby’s place.

Alex let out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t even feel real,” he whispered, dropping his head and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “God, they kicked me out.” It was finally settling in and Alex felt sick. “Dad wasn’t even there. It was- it was just Mom and she… She didn’t even seem sorry. She looked at me like I was nothing.” He choked down a sob. “Like I was never her son. I didn’t think she’d ever hate me, but look at where we are now.” Alex didn’t bother fighting the tears this time. His shoulders shook and he brought his knees up to his chest, breathing in slowly in hopes to prevent a panic attack.

Luke moved in closer, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulder and squeezing. “Hey, it’ll be alright. We’ve got each other. And Bobby, and Reggie-”

“Luke, Alex?”

Both boys snapped to attention; they would’ve recognized that voice anywhere.

“Reg?” Luke stood up and took two long strides to meet Reggie, clasping his thin, hunched shoulders. “Shit. Reggie, dude.”

Alex wiped his eyes furiously as he walked over to where Reggie and Luke stood and he once again recognized the pure anger dripping from Luke’s words. Then Reggie moved closer to the streetlight and Alex’s heart plummeted to his feet.

Reggie’s face was blotchy and pink and his eyes were swollen from crying. His hair was slightly damp and Alex felt sick upon seeing the shards of glass in it. There was dried blood on his cheek and Alex was afraid for him to take his jacket off, but Luke tore it off anyway, inspecting the bruises running up and down Reggie’s forearms and wrapped around his wrists.

Reggie squeaked in protest and snatched the jacket back, his hands shaking.

“They are dead,” Luke muttered coldly. He gestured to both Alex and Reggie. “I am going to actually kill both of your guys’ parents.”

Reggie looked over to Alex. “What did Alex’s parents…” He trailed off, face darkening in realization.

“Where were you gonna go?” Alex asked quietly, his grip on his fannypack strap tightening.

Reggie shrugged and went to sit down on the curb. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t just leave forever. Sammy… I can’t leave him alone with them.” He shook his head. “I’d hate myself if I just left him there.”

“Olivia moved out last year and left you guys alone!” Luke countered, sitting beside Reggie. “Reg, dude, you can’t stay there!”

Reggie’s expression hardened in a way Alex had never seen. Reggie Peters was basically a human puppy and it seemed Alex had gotten all to used to that fact. “Yea but she knew we had each other, Luke. You don’t get it. Sammy’s just 13, I can’t just leave him. I can’t.” Reggie’s tone grew more hopeless at the last sentence, his lip quivering.

“Fine,” Luke grumbled. “But at least come with us tonight. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

“But what if-”

“No buts. You’re hurt and you smell like beer, we’re not gonna leave you out here.”

“But Sammy-”

“Sammy’ll be ok,” Alex cut in. He squeezed Reggie shoulder and gave a half-hearted smile. “He’s a tough kid.”

Reggie nodded. A quiet sob ripped through him and he buried his head in his knees, leaving damp spots on his jeans from his hair which would probably smell like alcohol for a week.

Alex lay an arm around Reggie’s shoulder and Luke chuckled. “Yea, group hug,” he whispered feebly, joining the embrace.

The temperature was rapidly dropping and Alex could feel Luke shivering and Reggie’s teeth chattering, his own feet growing numb in his shoes. But for just a split second, none of that mattered. He didn’t have to look to know that they were all crying and that Reggies hair was sticking to his cheek and Luke’s guitar case was digging into someone’s shoulder. They were a family. A stupid, dysfunctional, scarily codependent family, but still. It was something.

---

March, 1995

Despite protest, Bobby’s parents had started giving Alex and Luke monthly allowances; claiming that if they were gonna live there, they were family, not guests. Reggie refused to accept the money; he was still returning to his house at least two nights a week for fear that his parents would take their anger out on Sammy. But the money meant that Alex was finally able to get a new hoodie; one that wasn’t too tight around the shoulders and didn’t ride up every time he lifted his arms. It was nice, too. Sure it’d taken a couple months of allowance to buy, but it was soft and comfortable and his favorite shade of pink.

“Alex,” Luke whined, drawing out the vowel like a small child begging for candy. “You can’t leave us like this!”

“Luke-”

“It’s betrayal! You- I thought you were our friend!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Alex replied, smacking Luke’s shoulder lightly.

“Ow.”

“It’s one band practice. If I don’t retake this test, I’ll fail Algebra.”

“Algebra is a stupid subject anyway,” Luke pouted, kicking a rock angrily.

“Bobby’s mom got ice cream,” Alex said. “Now go.” He waved Luke off, smiling impatiently.

Luke trudged away from Alex’s locker and towards the exit, his head hung low. “You’re the worst,” He shouted before walking out of sight.

Alex sighed and chuckled lightly as he turned back to rifle through his locker in search of a pencil; he’d lost his favorite one in English earlier that day (more like Bobby stole it, but same difference). He didn’t like pens because the concept of not being able to fix mistakes was more daunting than it probably should be, and he refused to use any non-mechanical pencils (“Shut it Luke, I’m allowed to be picky about my pencils!”) because he hated having to sharpen them constantly and he had a bad habit of pressing down too hard and breaking the lead. So he couldn't find a damn pencil and Mr. Thomas had said he had to be in classroom by 4:30 if he wanted to retake the test but he couldn’t find a stupid pencil. Alex swallowed and breathed in shakily, glancing up at the clock which seemed to be moving too fast because there’s no way it was already 4:25. Logically, he could just ask Mr. Thomas if he could borrow a pencil, but he didn’t want to be a bother, and he knew there was a pencil somewhere in here.

Alex cried out in frustration, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and unzipping the small front pocket which he’d reserved specifically for writing utensils. Nothing. Ok. Fine, he’d just borrow one. It isn’t that hard to ask to use a pencil. Right.

Halfway across the hallway, Alex heard snickering drifting from around the corner. He froze and gripped his backpack straps tighter. It was useless, willing himself to keep walking. Not when that laughing was sickeningly familiar. God, Alex hated football players.

“Awe look he got a new jaaacket.” Someone -Alex refused to try and decipher who- cooed mockingly.

Alex didn’t turn around.

“Y’know when you stopped wearing the other one, we were really hoping your parents had finally beat some sense into you.”

Alex looked at the clock. 4:28. He willed himself to move forward, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. He played out the beat to Now or Never on his backpack straps.

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

Why was the hallway so long? Alex had begun to think it had doubled in size since he’d started walking. His hoodie felt too hot all of the sudden and he could practically feel someone breathing down the back of his neck. They were talking to him, but it was muffled, like he was underwater. He tried breathing in slowly. 4:29. His steps quickened.

“F*g!”

He couldn’t breathe. Alex couldn’t breathe and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and was twisting the knife over and over and over again. 4:30. Oh god. They were yelling at him and drawing closer and closer and now he’d missed his chance and was gonna fail algebra and they’d call his parents and then the school would know he’d been kicked out and-

Someone had hit him. He wished he could pinpoint where, but his entire body was numb and throbbing and everything was blurry. He wondered briefly if the shouting was in his head or out of it. And this might be where he could say he’d blacked out, but that wasn’t quite what had happened. He stumbled blindly across the rest of the hall, mostly on autopilot, unable to see through tears and why was he crying??? He never really fainted, but no matter how hard he tried, Alex couldn’t remember what’d happened next.

---

“Alex!”

That was Luke, Alex was sure of it.

“ ‘Lex, come on.”

Reggie shook Alex’s shoulder and his vision began to clear. Oh.

“What, why am I in the studio?” He asked frantically. “How did I- my test!” He stood up and not bothering to figure out why he was dizzy, Alex rushed to the doorway.

“Nope.” Bobby clasped his shoulder tightly and steered him back to the couch. “Sit down, idiot, you almost passed out.”

“Dude, who punched you?” Luke asked, scooting in closer to Alex and gazing furiously at the bruise on his face.

Alex shrugged. “I don’t- I’m not- it’s…”

“Mr. Thomas said you came into his classroom and tried to ask for the test but he wouldn’t let you since you’d just been beat up and then Bobby heard you in the room cause, cause he came up to the school to give you a ride so you didn’t have to walk-”

“Reggie slow down, you’re gonna give him another panic attack!” Luke scolded, swatting Reggie’s chest and shoving him lightly.

Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Thomas is letting you retake the test next week, drink some water.”

Alex took the glass gratefully and took a hesitant sip. He set the water down and breathed in, settling into the couch, still tense. “ ‘M sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry? Dude what?” Luke looked at Alex, completely baffled. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I made you cancel practice so I could take my test but I didn’t even take it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Reggie chided. “We’re not mad at you-”

“Yea it’s whatever asshat punched you that we’re mad at.”

“Bobby, we’re not killing anyone.”

“Yea please don’t get yourself arrested for me,” Alex laughed softly.

Bobby shook his head and flopped down on the couch beside Reggie. “Fine.”

“Hey,” Luke shook Alex gently. “You want some chocolate? Reg got some of that fancy stuff-”

“No, I draw the line at giving him my chocolates,” Reggie complained, reaching across Alex to slap a hand over Luke’s mouth. “Ew! Dude, you licked me!” Reggie whined loudly as he shook his hand, pretending to gag. “That’s just low.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re both stupid.”

Alex let his head fall against the back of the couch, a small smile creeping onto his face.

---

I’m not great at angst, so I’m not quite sure why I thought I’d do well with this fic akhfkldsfh

please tell me if there’s anything else I should add a warning for, I tried to do everything but I could’ve overlooked something.

chapter 3

chapter 4

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #trevor wilson #sunset curve #alex mercer fic #willow writes

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 4 years

Text

Bright Smiles and Tired Eyes ~ Part 3

(THE FLUFF IS HERE!!! This one is all fluff guys! to make up for last chapter. but also.... there’s more angst coming and i’m sorry buuuuuutttt this ones...real cute! Enjoy guys!!!)

Ao3 - Whole Fic

Summary: Modern Au, Punk!Jaskier, Creature!Jaskier. Geralt needs a new roommate to help him pay rent. Jaskier answers his ad. Through a handful of circumstances and series of events… there’s bed sharing. And some angst. ...And so much more.

Word Count: 2581

Geralt hears Jaskier’s voice as he’s walking down the hall. He’s speaking in a hushed voice, whispering sweet nothing to… someone. Geralt’s heart drops into his stomach as his legs falter beneath him. He thinks about turning around, giving Jaskier space to do… whatever he’s going to do with whomever he’s with. He has hiding options flashing through his head like a shuffling deck of cards when his ears dial back into Jaskier’s voice.

“- and your little floppy ears are just ridiculous, so soft. I mean all of you is soft, obviously, but these ears! And these feeties!” his voice gets higher as he speaks, Geralt has heard people uses voices like that before, but never on a lover. He stops in front of their door, reaches out slowly, wraps his fingers around the door knob, and gives it a turn. He pushes the door open slowly, and has to bite his tongue to keep… some kind of strangled noise from escaping him.

Jaskier is sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, his legs spread in a wide V, drink in hand. His mohawk is pink today, a light pink, like the sweetest cotton candy, the sleeves of his green flannel are shoved up his arms, his combat boots are sitting by the door, rainbow striped socks covering his wiggling toes. He’s looking down at the space between his legs, eyes full of adoration, his lips moving as he continues talking to the… Geralt drops his eyes to the floor between his legs, brows furrowing as his eyes take in the animal settled there.

It’s the biggest rabbit Geralt has ever seen. Nearly 3 feet long, its legs stretched out behind it, face smooshed against Jaskier’s thigh as he digs his slender fingers deep into its brown fur. He watches Jaskier for a minute, the man clearly hasn’t heard him come in, lost in his own world, currently full of… a giant rabbit.

“What do you have there?” Geralt inquires, stepping a little closer, crossing his arms. Jaskier’s eyes snap up to him, a smile automatically curving his lips, his eyes are wide as he looks down at the drink in his hand.

“A smoothie.” He says, eyes full of genuine innocence that makes Geralt’s chest ache. Geralt looks at him, widens his eyes.

“Try again.” he says, amusement in his voice. Jaskier’s brow furrows, he looks at the drink and then Geralt watches his eyes drop to the rabbit, he smiles softly as Jaskier’s eyes widen again and his mouth falls open in a gasp of realization.

“Oh this!” he says, pointing at the rabbit.

“Yes Jaskier. That. What is that?” he shakes his head but keeps smiling.

“Right well. Do you remember last week when I texted you and asked if you liked cats? And you said-“

“They don’t like me.”

“Right you said they don’t like you, cuz of the whole,” Jaskier waves his hand in Geralt’s direction, gesturing to all of him.

“Thing. Good so you remember that. Well this is… not… a cat.” He finishes lamely, pointing at the giant rabbit resting against his legs. It looked up at Geralt as he stepped a little closer. He waited for it to see what he was, and bolt, and found he was waiting in vain. The rabbit looked at him, its nose twitching as it seemed to assess him, and then moved its head back to Jaskier’s leg, closing its eyes with a sigh. Geralt furrowed his brow. Jaskier looked up at him with shinning eyes.

“I can see it’s not a cat. Why is it in our house?” He knelt down slowly, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at them both. Jaskier took a sip of his smoothie and set his cup down, clearly stalling for time.

“Okay so here’s the thing, a friend of mine owns an animal rescue. And their building is being renovated, because they’re expanding so they can help more little babies like her. So they had to foster all their animals out. It’s just for a little bit. And I did tell her that you might say no so she has someone else lined up if this little one needs somewhere else to go. I just thought… I don’t know. That we could help. For a bit.” He grimaces after his rapidly spoken rant, clearly waiting for Geralt to tell him no, waiting for him to tell him to get the rabbit out of the house. Geralt sighs and lowers himself fully onto the floor, crossing his legs.

“How long is a little while?” he sees light begin to shine behind Jaskier’s eyes.

“Two weeks, three at the most! And she’s trained and everything. She’s got a litter box and a big pen thing, I have it set up in my room right now. And my friend gave me food and everything so we don’t have to pay for anything out of pocket, just house her and keep her safe. She’s an older lady, she won’t be any trouble… I hope.” He smiles sheepishly at Geralt, his hand reaching out, fingertips brushing against Geralt’s knee before he thinks better of it and pulls his hand back. He’d been doing that a lot lately, reaching out for Geralt and then seeming to catch and stop himself. Geralt’s heart flinches in his chest every single time it happens, he can’t help the feeling that he wishes Jaskier wouldn’t stop himself.

“Three weeks.” Geralt affirmed. Jaskier nodded, watching him with patience, letting him think. He was good at that, or had gotten good at it. Over the months he’d been here. Jaskier was… very much not, the kind of person to think things through. He jumped into things head first and figured things out as he went. Geralt had a habit of silently thinking things through before doing anything. Jaskier had picked up on it almost immediately, and had not, not once, pushed Geralt to make any decisions faster. Sometimes he would even leave him to it, grabbing a book and reading or playing some music in his room, while Geralt thought. Geralt watched Jaskier’s fingers tapping against his own knee and looked at him.

“Okay.” He sighed. Jaskier’s smile shined at him, impossibly bright.

“Okay? Really? Are you sure cuz I don’t wanna pressure you into anything.” He held his hands up in front him, a gesture of surrender that wasn’t needed.

“I’m sure. Does she have a name?” he asked, his fingers beginning to itch as he watched the rabbit sleep.

“No. They don’t name them anymore.” His voice sounded sad, but there was a glint in eyes.

“Anymore?” he pressed the palm of his hand against the floor and moved his hand toward the rabbit slowly.

“Yeah. They kept getting… attached.” He sounded a little breathless, Geralt could feel his eyes on him. Geralt pressed just a little closer, his fingers finally reaching the fur on her back foot. Her head lifted again at the touch. She looked at Geralt for a moment and then moved to sniff him. Her nose twitching against his fingers, she pushed herself onto her feet, turned herself around and hopped over Jaskier’s leg, toward Geralt. She pressed herself into the space between them, squeezing through their legs and lowering herself down again. She wiggled, getting herself comfortable, and then dropped her head on Geralt’s knee, her eyes falling closed again. Geralt’s eyes were wide, he could feel them, his heart beating fast in chest at this small show of affection. He heard a small noise and looked up. Jaskier had his hand pressed to his mouth, his eyes shinning with- were those tears?

“Are you alright?” Geralt whispered, not wanting to raise his voice, worried he’d startle her. Jaskier wiped at his face, nodding and smiling.

“I’m fine I’m good. Sorry. It’s just so cute.” He waved his hand at Geralt, sniffling as he looked down at her resting between them. His eyes moved slowly up to look at Geralt, his tongue peeking out and running along his bottom lip before his teeth bit into it. He did reach out then, his hand falling carefully on Geralt’s arm. He looked at him, something swimming in those ocean eyes, and gave Geralt’s arm a gentle squeeze. Geralt looked back at him, and dried not to drown.

~*~

He was laying on the couch, book open on his chest, when he felt it. A gentle tapping on his leg. He moved his book to the side to see the rabbit, still nameless, standing up on her hind legs, her front paw smacking at his knee, her little head turned towards him, ears twitching. Geralt swallowed hard, he knew what she wanted. He’d seen her laying across Jaskier’s legs while he was laying here the other day. He looked around the room, checking for nonexistent eyes that might be watching him. He let his book fall onto his chest and moved his hand down his leg slowly. She shuffled to the side a bit, her neck stretching to nose at Geralt’s hand. He let her sniff him and then patted his knee. Once. She looked at him. Still a bit unsure.

“It’s alright. Come on.” He encouraged, voice quiet, not quite a whisper, and patted his leg again. She was on him in an instant. Her big paws gently moving herself around his thighs. Her claws poked him a few times, but only just, she was so careful. Picking her paws up in small steps, shuffling in a circle before settling on his knees. She lay on her tummy as he watched her. She looked around the room for a moment and then pushed herself onto her side, resting her head on her paws. Geralt felt warmth spread from his knees up to his chest, a smile tugged at his lips and he let it spread. He reached his hand down, fingers pressing into the fur at the side of her neck.

“He’s right you know. You are very cute.” Her eyes shut slowly as he moved his fingers through her soft, thick fur.

“You like it here with us?” he asked, she pressed her head into his hand.

“Hmm. We like having you.” He assured, moving his thumb over the top of her head between her large ears, giving them a scratch before moving back to his book. The warmth she carried with her seeped into him, his eyelids began to droop, eyes no longer moving over the words in front of him. He slid his finger between the pages of his book, keeping his place, and let the book rest on his chest. He closed his eyes, just to rest them, only for a moment, and drifted off to sleep.

He hears the front door open. He hears Jaskier stumble in. Hears him struggle to get his key out of the door. And keeps his eyes shut.

“Honey, I’m home!” Jaskier calls, his voice quiet in the fading light of the living room. Geralt shoves down a shiver. He knows Jaskier is talking to the rabbit. He’s been saying it since she came to stay with them. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to focus on the fact that his life has led him to a place where he’s jealous of a rabbit. He feels her shift on his knees, but feels her settle again.

“Guys?” Jaskier calls softly, Geralt can hear him walking further into the room, his boots squeaking softly as he walks toward them. And he keeps his eyes shut.

He hears Jaskier gasp when he sees them, and hears him digging in his pocket, no doubt looking for his phone.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He breaths, clearly struggling to get his phone out.

“Hi sweetie, are you and daddy number two sleeping?” he’s whispering, the quietest Geralt has ever heard his voice. Geralt has to bite the inside of his cheek again to stop from smiling, knowing how hard Jaskier must be trying not to wake him. The back of his eyelids glow, only for a second, and then go dark again. There’s a tug in his chest knowing Jaskier now has a photo of him sleeping on his phone, the tug grows stronger knowing Jaskier wants a photo of him sleeping on his phone.

He feels Jaskier lean down. The corner of his flannel brushing against Geralt’s face briefly as he reaches over him to pet the rabbit in his lap. He can hear him whispering nonsense to her, feels him lean down further to press a kiss to her head, and tries his hardest not to smile. And keeps his eyes closed.

“One for you.” He hears him whisper, feels him pull back, the flannel disappearing from his face with a small breeze as Jaskier passes back over him. He feels the arm of the couch below his head dip as Jaskier frames his head with his hands, Geralt can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his heart beat moving to his ears as he listens to Jaskier bend down again. He feels the gentlest press of lips against his forehead, the briefest brush of skin against skin.

“And one for you.” Jaskier whispers, and then he’s gone. The contented scent of him lingering behind in a cloud around Geralt’s head, assaulting his senses as he lies in the dark. He listens to Jaskier shuffle around in the kitchen, still doing his best not to wake him, and hears him walk to his room, humming softly to himself as he closes the door behind him. Geralt opens his eyes when he hears his door click shut, his hand moving to the fur of the rabbit still cozy on his knees, letting her ground him. He looks down at her, sighing when she gives him a knowing look.

He lies in the dark. His heart pounding in his chest, his skin burning from the kiss Jaskier had given him. Such a small thing, the smallest press of lips to his skin, but it felt heavy in the dark. Like Jaskier had dropped a weight on him. Not dropped really, Jaskier would never drop anything too heavy on him, he’d lay it on him gently, making sure he could take the weight before giving it to Geralt fully. Geralt couldn’t know this, not really, but he knew Jaskier. And he knew Jaskier had thought he was sleeping. And he knew one more thing.

He knew how often he’d fallen asleep on this couch. And how often Jaskier had come home late. And how often he’d woken with blankets covering him. Geralt lay in the dark, his fingers digging gently into thick fur, his heart pounding at the thought of Jaskier having pressed his lips against him before. Maybe more than once. Maybe several times. And he’d missed them all. Because he’d been wrong before, he didn’t just know one more thing. He knew two. The other thing he knew, as he lay in the dark, skin burning from the contact Jaskier had given him, was the it had seemed natural to Jaskier. Like he’d done it before. A swift but gentle press of lips, the ghost of a kiss that could be, the ghost of kisses that had been. There was a practiced familiar feeling to it.

Geralt lay in the dark and let himself smile at the ceiling.

#bright smiles and tired eyes #bsate part 3 #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix fic #my fic #my writing

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cosimuhs · 4 years

Text

without her the world around me changes (and so do i)

It’s only after she gets home from the hospital does she realize that Waverly’s not there to dote, to cover her in too many blankets, and help her shower around the bulky cast on her leg.

five times nicole feels alone and one time she doesn't

read on ao3 or below the cut!

It’s hard to remember how they escape from the lab. She can feel the boom of their explosives and the searing pain that raced through her when she put weight on her leg, but she doesn’t know how they got out, to the truck, to the road. Wynonna made it through the portal and that’s all that matters.

Rachel wanted to drive, worried about the bones in her left leg, but she’s not about to trust a seventeen year old to deliver the car safely back to the Homestead. It’s not the best truck in the world but it’s the Earps’ and she promised Wynonna she would be waiting for her, truck and all, damn it, and she’s going to be in so much trouble if they come back to a fender bender.

Besides, her right foot on the gas pedal is perfectly fine thank you very much.

Ten minutes have passed since their mindless chatter has dropped off and the silence in the car sits heavy and loud in her ears, the road empty but for a few tumbleweeds. Rachel thankfully doesn’t comment when she flips the radio on and the soft twang of a country singer crooning about his high school sweetheart takes the pressure off her shoulders, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

It’s quiet for another few minutes and she wonders if Rachel hates her. They lied and tied her up and held a gun to her head so she wouldn’t blame her even though it was mostly Wynonna.

When Rachel does speak, it’s surprising.

“Are you really polygamists?” Rachel hesitates from the passenger seat.

It’s so bizarre and out of nowhere that it makes her laugh around the ache in her shin and for that, she’s grateful.

“Wynonna’s my best friend,” she offers and she hasn’t had a best friend in years. Her chest blooms with the realization that maybe Wynonna hasn’t either judging from the way she reacted.

“Best friends can be polyamorous,” Rachel raises an eyebrow.

She snorts. Gross.

“No, she’s more like my sister-in-law. Ish.”

“Ish? I don’t think someone can be your sister-in-lawish .” Rachel crosses her arms and it reminds her so much of Waverly, bossy and astute and so no-nonsense, that she almost slams on the brakes at the idea of a young Waverly sitting in her car and kissing her after football games.

“I’m in love with her sister, Waverly.” It’s sweet on her tongue and she doesn’t even realize she’s smiling around the curve of her girlfriend’s name until Rachel prods her out of it, unimpressed and clearly looking for more. “I’m going to marry her soon but it hasn’t happened yet, hence the ish.”

“Ah,” Rachel grimaces like a teenager but she sounds relieved that she isn’t stepping into a weird love triangle a la Twilight. “So not a throuple then.”

She chuckles again and watches the landscape pass by in waves of nothingness. “No, definitely not.”

---

It’s only after she gets home from the hospital does she realize that Waverly’s not there to dote, to cover her in too many blankets, and help her shower around the bulky cast on her leg. She makes it as far as the landing on the stairs before she gives up and collapses on the couch. She’ll be here soon, she thinks and smiles at the lecture she knows Waverly will give her for sleeping here and messing up her back.

She smells like gunpowder and sweat and the sweet, cloying scent of death that she wishes were more foreign than it is, but she doesn’t have it in her to get up, already drowsy with pain medication. The pillow she’s cuddling smells like home and she drifts off to Rachel’s clattering in the kitchen.

Her friends still aren’t back when the sound of crying wakes her up and she realizes that she has a grieving teenager who has lost everything she’s ever known in the next room over.

Rachel lets herself be held in Wynonna’s bedroom and then, after a strong cup of tea, tells her about her mom in stuttering heavy words. A doctor, she says, who taught me to take on the world.

She dries her tears and asks questions and it never occurs to her to tell Rachel about her own family who filled her quiet life with love, because they’re not really gone, just away for a little.

Besides, they’ll be back tomorrow or the next day and Rachel can just meet them herself.

---

Two weeks later, Rachel asks what she’s doing and she looks down to see the pen in her hand, aimlessly drawing dicks into the plaster of her cast and her heart clenches hard enough to lose her breath.

She spends her free time after the election reorganizing Waverly’s closet.

Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels.

The town is falling apart around them and she won’t let the Homestead go the same way.

Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels.

There are rumors that supply trucks are being cut off and Jeremy hasn’t answered her calls in weeks and she blows out a candle on Waverly’s birthday sitting alone in the kitchen.

Faux fur. Flirty florals. Feminine flannels.

Rachel doesn’t disturb her cleaning and disappears for hours on end, sometimes coming back with an odd mug to offer and a full backpack that clinks. She never asks what’s in it but accepts the bills pressed into her palm, the carton of eggs in the fridge. As much as she hates accepting charity from a seventeen year old, she doesn’t have a job.

Most nights, she collapses exhausted into bed, clutching Waverly's sweatshirt to her chest. She doesn’t rest, per se, as evidenced by the deep circles under her eyes, and she spends most nights drifting in and out of her old nightmares only to wake up to her new one.

It’s no surprise that she can’t sleep tonight after months of restlessness. Their room has long since stopped carrying Waverly’s scent and the end of autumn has turned into an Indian summer, abnormally hot and dry for Purgatory. Maybe her insomnia is due to the heat or the fact that Peacemaker is nowhere to be found or any of the other twenty reasons she tosses and turns through every night.

It’s pitch dark out by the time she gives up trying, so late that it’s actually early, and she’s reminded of another world, ages ago, when she had come home from a graveyard shift at the station to find Waverly waiting patiently in nothing but lingerie. Really, really hot lingerie that she didn’t take off, just pulled to the side and let Waverly ride her fingers.

The sudden heat that streaks through her at the image is white hot and burning, curling low in her stomach.

Waverly had cried out, breathy and moaning as she built her up two, and then three times.

She shudders, her mouth suddenly dry.

It should feel wrong, when Waverly isn’t here to help her over the edge but she’s so damn tired of not sleeping that she lets her hand drift under the waistband of her sleep shorts. It’s been too long since she’s last been touched and the heat, molten hot between her legs, aches.

She groans into the sheets at the added memory of Waverly crawling down her body after, flushed and heaving, to settle in between her thighs. She’s soaked at the thought of it, reaching down to slide through her own folds. It leaves her heady and she can’t help but start a slow grind against the pad of one fingertip.

When did she even take off her clothes? It wasn’t high on her list of priorities to find out, though, not with the way Waverly was teasing her, laving kisses on the inside of her thighs for what felt like hours until she had to fist hands in hair and pull.

Waverly laughed, a vibrating hum against her clit, and gave in, pressing two fingers in at the same time that she started to taste in broad strokes.

She tries to replicate it as much as she can, adding one and then another finger, stretching and filling in a toe curling pleasure, and reaching up to thumb at her clit clumsily. It’s easier to pretend it’s not her own fingers if she closes her eyes, as if it were Waverly causing her walls to clench. It’s enough to make her hips buck, bed creaking softly underneath her and the pressure builds hard and fast in her center.

“I need you,” she gasped and Waverly had smoothed her free hand over the expanse of bare, soft skin.

“I know, baby,” Waverly pulled away to speak, ignoring her grunt of displeasure, and rose up to draw her into a deep kiss that took some of the edge off despite the fact that Waverly was still buried inside her.

“Let me take care of you,” Waverly had whispered against her lips before descending again, nipping at the column of her neck and the curve of her breast on the way down. This time, Waverly doesn’t hesitate, sucking hard on her clit, and it makes her back bow off the mattress.

Her mouth falls open as she pumps her own hand and shakes and thinks about the way Waverly had looked up, eyes lidded and dark, and watched her fall apart.

She swears she can feel Waverly pressed close in the hovering plateau before coming undone. For one blissful moment, Waverly is in her ear, coaxing her higher with a “come for me," and it’s what sends her hurtling over the edge.

When she comes, it’s with Waverly’s name on her lips and an empty room to greet her and she suddenly feels so wholly alone in the aftermath that she thinks she might throw up.

She rolls over, wipes away the evidence of her arousal on the sheets, and presses her nose into the pillow on the other side of the bed, aching for some part of her girlfriend. Nothing has her fragrance anymore and she wonders, her body still wracked with tremors, when she forgot what Waverly smelled like.

There’s a bar on the edge of Purgatory that she’s only been acquainted with on noise complaint calls or to break up fights. It’s a ramshackle building, dilapidated and crumbling while the town drunks loiter on the steps.

The traps have been quiet all week and Rachel has proved competent with a shotgun, so she doesn’t feel too worried about taking one night away from the Homestead. And as much as she would have loved to stay in her sweatpants, she can’t drink away her problems in front of a seventeen year old who depends on her to be strong and in charge.

She can’t go to Shorty’s, not when the bar is warm with memories and the way Waverly’s eyes crinkle when she laughs. Besides, the saloon’s not even an option with the new clientele of government “officials” that have taken it over.

So she ends up here, way out at the bar with the sleazy name and even sleazier patrons, hands sticky from where they press against the bartop. The bartender takes one look at her and seems to realize she needs to get well and truly drunk, already sliding a double whiskey across the counter.

She nods her thanks and tips back half of it in one go, wincing at the burn in her throat and suddenly her eyes because it smells like Doc, all smoke and drink. He smelled comforting, she remembers, like when she used to sit on her grandfather’s lap and beg for a story and he would sigh and light a cigar and pull her close.

“Tough night?” The bartender smirks at her already empty glass and refills it.

“Tough year,” she answers and the girl must think she’s joking because she laughs loud and bright and her eyes don’t crinkle.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” the bartender blushes and hastens to explain, “You’re the first non-regular in weeks and Johnny’s sea shanties get boring after the third round,” she gestures to the red faced man with a scraggly beard at the end of the bar.

She didn’t come here for conversation — the opposite in fact — and how do you explain to someone that your half-angel girlfriend, your demon hunter best friend and her baby daddy who also happens to be a vampire are in the literal Garden of Eden and maybe not coming back?

So she shrugs and drinks her whiskey and orders a beer as a chaser. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she says truthfully.

She thinks there might be disappointment written on the woman’s face for a second before she nods and starts to turn away.

“Well, if you need anything, My name is Holly,” she busies herself wiping down glasses, breaking the conversation and granting an air of privacy.

Johnny’s warbling drifts down the stools and she clutches the neck of her bottle so hard she almost hears it crack in tune with his voice. His singing really is pathetic; there isn’t even an ocean within a hundred miles of here. She can already feel the tinge of the alcohol in her periphery and maybe she’s the pathetic one, drinking on a Tuesday in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m tired of being alone.” It slips out. It’s the first time she’s said it and honestly maybe even admitted it to herself and the girl — Holly — looks up.

She picks at the label of her beer, already regretting her loose tongue and smiles demurely, grateful when Holly seems to realize that’s all she’s going to offer. Holly leans closer, unbothered by the grimy bar and grins conspiratorially, “I’ve heard Johnny’s single, if you’re looking.”

She grimaces at that and it’s light and easy when Holly starts pointing out regulars along the dingy walls, rattling off drink orders and backstories.

She almost forgot what it’s like to talk to someone who isn’t a teenager for once, and she lets herself be lulled into the surface level conversation. She doesn’t dare mention Waverly or the rest of them. It’s too painful and she feels strangely protective of the idea of them. As if holding her girlfriend’s memory close to her chest will stop it from hurting so much. So she tells Holly about Calamity Jane and her hatred of men and how she’s a cat after her own heart.

She’s four drinks deeper and snickering at some joke when Holly taps the counter nervously. “I get off in an hour if you…?” Holly reaches out to trace over her wrist with a fingertip.

It doesn’t register for a moment around the haze in her head, and when it does she’s shoving back from the bar so quickly that she has to grapple for a hold on the cheap vinyl of her stool before it tips over.

“No! I — No,” she watches in abject horror as Holly flushes a bright red. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” she slurs and her head is spinning.

Holly’s not bad looking, objectively speaking, and she thinks maybe she would have entertained it were she single, or moving on. But she isn’t and she’s not and maybe she should be by now but she won’t ever stop looking.

“I’m sorry,” Holly stammers, confused because this reaction seems much more than a simple rejection. “I thought we had a — never mind.”

It’s embarrassing the speed at which she pays her bill and flees, tripping over the front steps on her way out. Her heart doesn’t stop racing all the way back to the Homestead — nothing happened but she feels dirty and raw all the same. She doesn’t want anyone to even think she’s interested, let alone anyone but Waverly to touch her like that.

Honestly, though, she doesn’t know if that will ever happen again.

When she gets home, she collapses on the mattress in the barn because she doesn’t have it in her to climb the mountain of stairs, but mostly because Rachel shouldn’t see her like this. She has to be the rock and Rachel can’t see her stumbling, her world on a tilt. So she passes out by herself for the umpteenth time.

She is so fucking fed up with this cold new normal.

The next morning, in the sun streaked panels of wood, there’s a glass of water and a few Advil nestled in the hay and she smiles around her pounding headache.

She goes to Margot Clanton. There are whisperings that you can get anything at Magpie Ranch for a price. She tries to ignore them (because she hasn’t given up, not yet) until the whisperings are more like a scream and she succumbs. It’s a sweeping scrapyard over acres of land that she has never seen before and that is enough to scare her. Sheriff Nicole Haught is (was?) intimately familiar with every inch of Purgatory, or so she thought.

She pushes forward because it’s not like she has another choice but she makes sure her gun is solid and secure at her hip.

She’s guided into a small building on the outskirts of the property by a greying woman and her grin is terrifying with a hint of sinister in it. She ignores it. It’s the Ghost River Triangle and everything has a hint of sinister in it anyways.

The situation is laid out in increasingly trembling breaths and Margot grows more gleeful as she goes on.

“I can’t wait any more. It’s been over a year,” her voice shakes. “Can you help?”

“I would very much like to, but the price is steep,” Margot taunts and her throat closes because this is her last hope.

Her eyes well up hard and fast and she’s given up trying to seem strong just like she’s given up on everything else. The self loathing presses hard against her sternum, forcing her to her knees. “I will do anything, anything to get her back.”

Most of all she just aches for Waverly.

“Even this?” And then Margot is leaning close and whispering a terrible, horrifying deal into her ear and she is so abandoned in this world that she agrees.

She can’t go on like this, she justifies to herself and for now, it’s enough.

The glass jar is tucked away in the closet, far from Rachel’s curious eyes. She is determined to keep it that way, for Rachel to never know what she decided to do.

Margot’s laugh haunts her for weeks after, ringing in her ears.

Being around Waverly is the easiest and suddenly the hardest thing in the world.

They have a routine, her and Rachel, and she has not accounted for Wynonna’s slamming of doors and the clink of Doc’s gun when he cleans it. She’s jumpy and scared and she doesn’t know how to calm the anxiety within her. Waverly dutifully holds her hand while she triple-checks that all the doors are locked, but she knows that Waverly doesn’t, can’t, understand.

It’s so, so easy to slip back into Waverly, to always have a hand wrapped around her waist or shoulder. To let Waverly push her on her back and touch her until she’s writhing, begging for release. It’s a bonus that she doesn’t have to talk beyond gasping incoherently into the jut of Waverly’s collarbone.

Physical intimacy is never the problem.

Because even when Waverly is a solid warmth beside her, it’s still hard to sleep. She lies awake at night and wonders how someone tucked so close can feel so far away. When she does manage to close her eyes, it’s to images of Waverly and Wynonna walking out, disgusted at what she’s done to try to save them all, like she hasn’t already broken her own heart ten times over.

She was never able to lie to Waverly before the Garden and she’s not technically lying now but she feels sick to her stomach every time she omits the truth, tiptoes around the proposal. Her friends got out on their own and she made a terrifying deal for nothing and so what, pray tell, was the fucking point of failing over and over for the last year and a half?

She doesn’t even know how to say I love you anymore.

A part of her is afraid that maybe Waverly won’t say it back.

She’s different and if Waverly notices she doesn’t comment, just holds her tighter at night.

---

When she attacks Wynonna in the barn and realizes she set the fire, she knows what she has to do.

Jeremy agrees with a harsh nod and honestly, the fact that he would willingly kill her, instantly makes up for his ghosting.

It’s time for her to fix things once and for all.

+1.

After, she’s pulled back to the Homestead, waterlogged and shivering and alive. Waverly is livid, she can tell from the flare of her nostrils, but it’s shoved to the side in favor of bundling her up in an oversized hoodie and warm fuzzy socks and God does she love this woman.

She can barely talk her teeth are chattering so hard, but she knows by now they all know what she’s done, all know about the betrayal that sits heavy in her lungs. She wonders if they’ll ever forgive her or if they’ll just dump her at the gates of Magpie Ranch since she’s so friendly with the enemy.

She’s coaxed into bed and she doesn’t remember falling asleep but wakes to fingers carding through her hair in broad strokes. Her head is pillowed on Waverly’s stomach, feet dangling off the end of the broken footboard, and her head rises and falls with every breath.

It’s when she wraps her arms tighter around snug hips that Waverly realizes she’s awake.

“I am so mad at you, Nicole Haught,” she says but there’s a waver in her voice and her fingers tighten against the nape of her neck.

She doesn’t respond, just buries her face into the flat of Waverly’s tummy because maybe it’s her last chance to feel its warmth, cuddle into the curve of her body like her safe haven.

So she breathes and breathes and breathes.

“Sweetie?” Waverly sounds concerned and it propels the words out of her mouth.

“Do you still love me?”

There’s an intake of breath above her and the next thing she knows, Waverly has shuffled halfway down the bed to be eye to eye, slotting their hips together tight. Waverly looks bewildered and she is so, so scared because Waverly isn’t saying anything.

“Please.” She adds and she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, only recognizes the way her words are tinged with vulnerability and she has to screw her eyes shut before she does something desperate like cry.

Please love me through this.

It’s the most exposed she thinks she’s ever been but Waverly’s always been good at reading between the lines of what she says. She can tell when it registers by the way Waverly says her name like a prayer.

Waverly hooks an ankle around hers, legs tangling together over the splintering wood, and strokes at the soft of her cheeks so carefully that she can’t help but turn into the touch, snuffle against her palm.

“Baby, look at me,” Waverly murmurs and when she does, Waverly is looking at her, quiet and calm. She tilts her chin with her thumb and pointer, forcing her to hold eye contact, before she continues softly, “I love you and I’m in love with you and that isn’t going to change.”

The air leaves her lungs in an inelegant breath that tickles Waverly on the way out and she revels in the way her girlfriend squirms, nose scrunching adorably.

But there’s more she has to discern because she has done terrible things for the people she loves and was fully prepared to lose them because of it. Her hands still shake and her chest is still tight and she needs to know, needs to ask, even if it will break her heart in the end.

“Do you want to marry me?”

“Of course I do.” Waverly fixes her with a hard stare, “But if you ever, ever do something like that again I will bring you back just to kill you myself, okay?”

She nods fervently because she knows it’s true and the fist wrapped around her heart loosens for the first time in almost two years.

So this is what it feels like to be free.

She kisses her then, soft and aching and something breaks open inside her when Waverly gasps and presses closer. Her world narrows to the gentle press of Waverly’s lips and the swipe of her tongue. There’s salvation in the way Waverly trails over her jaw, her hands warm along her spine.

This love feels holy.

The door slams open and she jumps, regretfully breaking the kiss. She can’t bring herself to pull away from Waverly’s hold.

Wynonna barrels into the room, not caring about interrupting as usual, but her face is hard and anxious.

“You died?”

The tone of Wynonna’s voice isn’t funny but she can’t help the way she bursts out laughing because yeah, she kind of did.

Waverly pulls her into the crook of her neck and giggles with her crinkly eyes and Wynonna just stares incredulously.

There is so much more to do but for now, in this tenderness of concern, she feels lighter than air.

#wayhaught #wynonna earp #nicole haught #waverly earp #rachel valdez #wynonna earp fanfiction #my fic #mine #this is my first wayhaught fic and i took a break from my soccer au to write so lmkkk #only way i could write this was by not using nicoles name oop but if its confusing tell me and ill edit #wayhaught fanfic #wayhaught fanfiction

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evanstanwrites · 4 years

Text

Run part 3

Mob! Bucky x Reader

warning: violence, cheating (not Bucky or reader), fluff, SMUT +18 only

a/n: thanks to my wonerfull co-writer: @pawfect-melody

a/n: this is my entry for @marvelgirl7 her 500 followers celebration, congrats again hun

masterlist

part 1 part 2

Weeks after the day Bucky and Steve saved Y/n her body was still covered in dark bruises. After their shower Bucky called dr. Banner to check her out, his verdict: a concussion and 2 broken ribs. So in those 2 weeks Bucky made sure she didn't need to leave their bed and played nurse, he made sure she took her meds, helped her shower, fed her,... Bucky finally took a break from work and didn't set one foot inside his office, leaving everything for Steve to handle. Steve understood and was more than eager to take over for a while but not before Bucky took the last step for his revenge plan, he had to take care of y/n's father.

********

It was early in the morning when Bucky's alarm sounded through the room making him groan out and pull the warm body cuddled against him closer. Not much later the alarm sounded a second time.

“Buck, turn it off or get up.” y/n muttered from her place against his chest. Bucky groaned again but reached over to the bedside table, shut the alarm off and cuddled back against her. Just when he was about to fall back asleep there was a pounding on the door of their bedroom. Y/n tenses in his arms at the sound, even after a month of being back home there were things that still trigger her, which he completely understands but it never stops breaking his heart.

“Bucky! Get up, we need to go man, we got work to do!” Steve's voice sounds through the door after he stops pounding it.

Bucky places soft kisses on the top of her head as he makes no move to get out of bed. “Buck, get up and go to work, i'll be fine.” y/n chuckles

“But i'm comfy.” he whines

“c’mon Buck, do it at least so Steve won't start banging on that door again.”

“Okay honey, I won't take too long.” he says as he gives her a quick but sweet kiss, yells to Steve he'll be out in a few and gets out of bed to get ready. Once he gets out of the bathroom he sees that his girl is fast asleep again so he pulls the covers over her shoulders, places a kiss on her forehead and he's out of the door with Steve heading for y/n’s father’s office.

*****

It's still early but he knows that the only person that would be there is your father, his employees would normally start to come in about an hour or 2 after him.

So once they reach his office they don't bother to knock and just walk through the door. shocked y/f/n looks up from the woman who was on her knees in front of him sucking his cock.

"Well well well, what do we have here? Your wife isn't good enough anymore ?" Bucky chuckled darkly as he walks deeper into the office.

"What the hell are you doing here? And leave my wife out of this!" Y/f/n growls back making the woman on her knees snap her head up in disgust. "You have a wife?" She asks before standing up and running out of the office.

"That's one thing taken care of." Bucky says as he sits down on the couch against the wall and makes himself comfortable by laying his feet on the small coffee table. Y/f/n quickly pulls his pants back up and demands again why the two are there.

"Well can't your future son in law not visit his fiance's father ?"

"You were my future son in law James. Y/n is dead, there will be no wedding anymore." He says in fake mourn.

Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts playing with it as he gets up and walks to the desk.

"Well that's where you're wrong, there will be a wedding. Y/n is alive, safe and sound where she belongs, home with me." Bucky tells him as he places his phone under his nose, the screen lit up with a picture he took yesterday of him and y/n cuddling on the couch.

Y/f/n starts to stutter as he picks up the phone to have a closer look.

"This can't be real,.... ,she's dead. The cops told me she was dead."

"Oh cut the crap man, you really think I wouldn't find out? That y/n wouldn't find out that her own father had her kidnapped and then sold to Stark all because you didn't want me to marry her? Why? I made your daughter happy, gave her everything she wanted, loved her more than anything. And I still do. My only goal is to treat her like the goddess she is." Bucky growls at him as he walks around the desk and stops behind his chair.

"You know what? Don't answer that question,I don't want to know. I'm only here for revenge, nobody hurts my girl, not even her own father. I should kill you right now." He whispers in his ear while pointing the gun he took from his holster to his head.

Y/f/n froze, afraid to even make a sound.

"But how would I explain that to y/n? No I have something better in mind." Bucky growls and looks to Steve who is still leaning against the wall next to the door.

"Steve, the paperwork."

Steve walks to the desk and places a folder in front of them.

"Let me explain these." Bucky starts as he opens the folder. "These are transfer papers transferring your whole company and possessions to y/n, all it now needs is your signature." Bucky tells him as he holds out a pen to him.

"Why would I sign these? Y/n never wanted this company, are you really taking everything I have for a silly stupid girl that…." Before he could finish his sentence Bucky had already hit him right in the face with the handle of his gun, splatters of blood from his nose falling all over his shirt.

"Don't you dare finish that. Y/n changed a lot because of your actions, she gets to decide what she does with this company.Now sign or i'll make the rest of your life even more of a living hell." Bucky spits at him.

With shaking hands y/f/n picked up the pen and signed the papers.

"Good, now leave my fiance's office before I change my mind and kill you."

In silence he got up from the chair and walked to the door but just before he could walk out Bucky threw one last warning at him.

"Don't you dare come here or near y/n ever again, I won't hesitate to kill you."

********

Later that night when Bucky came home he found y/n already in bed watching one of her favourite tv shows.

“Hey beautiful, how was your day?” Bucky asks her as he walks over to the bed, gives her a sweet kiss in greeting and starts to undress from his black suit and puts on some sweatpants leaving him shirtless. the papers he brought home with him placed onto the nightstand.

“Hey handsome.” she smiles “It was good, I had a walk in the garden and had lunch with Natasha. bucky I know that Bruce said that I had to rest as much as I can but I’m sick of resting, I need to do something, maybe even find a job. you know I don't want to be a housewife.” y/n rambled making Bucky chuckle

“ don’t worry doll, I know and I have a solution for your little problem.” he says as he climbs in bed next to her and picks the papers from the nightstand and hands them to her.

“Steve and I visited your father today.”

Y/n tenses at the mention of him name.

“did you kill him?” she asks but already knew the answer

“No doll, i wanted to but I didn’t. I made him sign these papers for you.” he explains as he points to the papers in her hands.

“ transfer papers?” she gasped “you’re giving me his company?”

“well technically he is but yes, everything he owns is now yours doll. you can do with it whatever you want.”

“so if i wanted to give most of it to someone else that would be okay?”

“of course doll, it’s yours, you can do with it whatever you want.”

“well James do you want to take over the company? I'll give you a personal assistant with it.”

“you sure you want to do that?”

“yes, I know nothing of running a company”

“well is it a hot PA?”

y/n laughed and playfully slapped his chest.

“It’s me.”

Bucky snatched the papers out of her hands throwing them to the floor and crawled over her placing soft kisses all over her cheek and neck.

“even better, the hottest and best PA I could ever wish for.” he said between kisses that grew hotter

“oh Bucky” Y/n sighed as she threw her head back to give him more access to the sweet spot behind her ear. Bucky latched on to it making her moan out in pleasure, hands start to roam her body till they find their place on her breasts.

“tell me to stop at any moment doll and I will.”

“please don’t, don’t stop Bucky” she moans before pulling him from his spot in her neck and kisses him. the kiss starts out sweet and slow but soon she feels his tongue slipping between her lips and the kiss turns into deep and full of hunger. he’s devouring her. y/n’s hands roam all over his broad form trying to feel all of him, she needs to feel him close to her, to reconnect body and soul. her hands stop when she feels the multiple scars that cover his body and suddenly she knows how much she missed in his life. how much he had needed her and she wasn’t there, not even knowing if she was still alive. all those times she had needed him, hoping he was still looking for her. but now she was here back where she belonged, back in his arms.

Bucky pulled back once Y/n let’s out a soft sob.

“Doll, i’m so sorry, did I hurt you? what’s wrong?” he asked softly wiping the tears away.

“I just missed you so much, I wasn’t there when you needed me. how can you still want me.”

“No doll don’t say that, you were always with me.” he says as he lifts her hand and lays it over his heart.

“I always carried you in my heart with the hope that I would find you again, you’re it for me, always were and always will be. I would run miles just to see you smile, to keep you safe. don’t you see my love? I love you more than anything, you're my home.” he smiled at her as he dried her tears. “ I love you” he whispered against her lips.

“I love you too.” she whispered back before he kissed her again with all the love he had for her as his hand slipped down under the shirt y/n was wearing,his shirt, and started to massage the soft skin under her breast making her suck in air between heavy kisses.

“please Bucky” y/n moaned once he broke the kiss and kissed his way over her jaw down to her neck where he latched back on that special spot behind her ear, knowing very well he would leave a purple bruise.

“please what doll? tell me what you want.”

“You, I need you, please Bucky”

“I got you doll, don’t worry, i’ll take good care of you.” he breathed in her ear as he placed himself between her legs and ran both hands up and down her ribs.

“let’s take this off okay doll” he more asked then stated but y/n didn’t respond with words, before he could move to take off her shirt she had already pulled it over her head making him chuckle at her eagerness. but as soon as her shirt hits the ground she jumps him like a lioness making him fall back with her on top of him.

“you’re taking too long my wolf.” she smirks as she pulls his sweats and boxers down. Bucky just smiles back at her and kicks the garments out of their way, leaving him completely naked under her.

“well now you got me, what are you gonna do with me?” he smirked

“just wait and see my love.”

she straddles one of his thick thighs after she removed her panties and lowers herself so her clit touches his skin making him moan out at the feeling of how wet she already is.

“God, you’re already dripping for me. You gonna fuck yourself on my thigh? Oh my dirty girl, make yourself cum.” he growls as he grabs her hips and starts to move them over him causing shock waves of pleasure to go through her whole body.

“oh god Bucky!” she moaned at the feeling

“Yeah doll moan my name. fuck you look so good right now.”

y/n moaned out again as she ran her palm over his cock that laid hard against his stomach.

when she reached his tip she wrapped her hand around him and started to stroke him at the same rhythm of her hips.

“fuck doll that feels good, always so good to me.” he groans out.

after a few strokes of both her hands and hips she felt him twitch in her hand, he’s close.

“you’re not cumming like this my love, don’t want this to be over yet.”

bucky chuckled “me neither doll, me neither.” he said as he lifts her from his thigh leaving a wet spot.

“I want you to fuck me doll, my cock missed that pussy of yours.” he growled as he makes her straddle his hips and holds his cock at her entrance so she could easily sink down on him, which she did.

“Fuck, Bucky!” she moans out at the feeling of his cock stretching her out.

once her hip meets his she stills on top of him.

“please doll, move, I need you to move.” bucky almost begged

“I need a minute, i haven’t had sex since the morning of graduation. I feel like a virgin again.” she chuckled

“I'm so sorry doll, you can have as long as you need.” he says lovingly as he pulls her down by her neck till their chest to chest and kisses her sweetly and full of passion.

somewhere during their make out session they both fall to their sides with him still buried deep inside her making them both giggle.

when y/n pulls back to catch her breath she strokes some hair out of his face and softly whispers: “Make love to me James, my wolf.”

“I always will doll, I love you so much y/n” he said when he slowly pulls out before pushing back in setting a steady pace.

“god I love you too” she moans as he hits her spot that makes her see stars and soon she begs him to go harder.

“harder Bucky, fuck me harder.”

and Bucky complies, how could he ever deny the woman he loved?

he never would.

you could call him a sap or a love sick puppy but his doll was his world, his queen and he would do everything to make her the happiest she’s ever been.

she runs his world.

please don’t forget to like, comment or reblog

tags in reblog

#Bucky Barnes #mobster bucky #marvelgirl's 500 followers celebration #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #mobster au #Sebastian Stan #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky smut

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askbittyerror · 4 years

Text

Wedding RP part 3

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...please come out?" they reach for Fresh, pausing long enough to give Greylu a 'please just let me have this right now' look, before offering their hands to their rad buddy, clearly in much need of a hug and nuzzle from their bitty pal.

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu pauses, watching his spouse reach for the bitty. He looks away, grumbling under his breath... but he doesn't seem as openly opposed anymore.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Fresh opens his wings and lands on Bells' hands after a few flaps, immediately flopping over and nuzzling with many soft purrs.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 He is immediately hugged. Just, immediately. Much nuzzles. "...I'm glad you came. Sorry I didn't really get to talk to my husband about it beforehand- the cutiegoop kinda vanished on me to go grab his friends, I guess."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Blushy goop! "Cutiegoop?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...oh please, hardly the first time I've called you that." The smile Bells offers him is just a bit more collected now, and maybe a tiny bit teasing. "would you prefer, 'my king of starlight and shadows?' 'my starlit king?' 'my beautiful nightmare?'"

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu stammers a little, face glowing a bright, bright blue. "I mean- well- I wouldn't be against it, but-" A tendril baps Bell's cheek, gentle and careful. "Shut up."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a giggle, reaching to catch the tendril gently. "-but I love that shade of blue on you, beloved!"

salty darkness09/27/2020 The tendril baps them again, a little harder. "And we have a perfectly good honeymoon for this behavior, beloved. At least not in front of our guests."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 A huff, but offend. "...I like showing you off, but fine. Grumpy."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The bitties giggle, staring to look fond, and Fresh chuckles. "Ya'll are cute." He nuzzles Bells.

salty darkness09/27/2020 Despite himself, Greylu smiles, warm and happy. "I suppose we are, aren't we?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "I think to think so," Bells agrees, giving their new husband an utterly soft look. "...the people at the shop when we went to pick out clothes for the kids seemed to disagree. but they also missed our babies being abso-fricking-lutely adorable, since they decided to all go running out of the store in a panic like that. you'd think they'd never seen a king of darkness, a lich, and an army of excited toddlers show up to get clothes for a wedding."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The bitties giggle. “Oh!” Magnus yells, shooting up, grinning wildly at Bells. “We got you gifts!” “But…” He deflates. “They’re with Huitzi.” The goopdad/grandparents/great-grandparents look at each other and vanish for moment, returning quickly with a wide, flat box, a small (at least for biggies) ribbon-tied bag, and a pair of envelopes. “Gifts!” They shout.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...oh?" Bells seems a bit intrigued, and decidedly curious. "Is this part of that wedding gift thing that my friend Candy mentioned earlier?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu glances to the bitties, raising a brow. Tendrils curl around Bells, grabbing their wrist and giving it a soft squeeze. "...what are they?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "Um, apparently 'gifts to celebrate and help the new couple get settled.' I'm not sure about the second bit, but celebrating I can get behind." Another nuzzle to Fresh, before gently shifting him to their shoulder, as they hold out their hands to accept the gifts. "-may we?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 “Of course.” The goopdads offer the gifts, Domino speaking. “The box is from our family and Huitzi, the bag is from Flare, one of the envelopes is from Dame and Moose and, uh… we, don’t really know who the other is from.”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "Thank you-" they accept the gifts, looking at them curiously. "-oh, and remind me I need to talk to that tall red winged dork later, would you?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 Tendrils pick the bag up and out of Bells' arms, carefully opening it. "...remind me to make sure that 'tall red dork' doesn't attack me, would you?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...yeah, that's coming right along with 'sorry our child made a solid effort to bite you in the face for looking at her da funny.'"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Inside the bag is a small glass jar that fits neatly into his palm. It’s filled with dried fuschia petals and has a handwritten label. It reads; AlcheLust Echo Flower Petals STRONG APHODIASIAC, USE ONLY A LITTLE Enjoy your honeymoon~

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "Remind me to have a few other words with that man too." They are not. Blushing. Shush.

salty darkness09/27/2020 The goop closes the bag so very, very fast. "..." "Beloved? Maybe be careful with opening the rest. Just in case."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "What is it?" Magnus frowns, trying to somehow see through the bag.

salty darkness09/27/2020 A tendril bats Magnus away with a lot more force than what's probably necessary. "NOTHING."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Brightly green flushed cheeks, which they try rubbing at with an embarrassed mutter of agreement, opening the box now, and pretending that didn't just happen. "...nothing. if Flare gives you a present for your wedding, uh... be, careful." [4:27 PM] "..." a frown, and narrowed gaze to their beloved at this.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Magnus squeaks and gives Greylu a reproachful glare. "Me bitty." He gestures to himself. "You be careful, or I go squish. Understand?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." "Sorry. Just, uh- don't look inside the bag. Please."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...do not squish my 'new dad.' he' a massive improvement over the last."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "It's okay." Magnus says, giving Bells a incredibly soft, fond smile. "...thanks kiddo, I appreciate it."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu glances to the box in Bells' arms, trying to see what's inside.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Inside the box is a circlet, roughly the size of Bells’ head, carefully cushioned on a small mountain of tissue paper. The circlet’s base is intricately carved from mountain mahogany with little painted Aztec symbols for blessings of luck, happiness, good health and swift victory over ones enemies. Wound around and through it are strands of gold and black metal, twisted and spiraled to form simple feathers and delicate tendrils. Set in the wood and weaving are a pair of opals that shift between violet and gold, two dark, river smoothed pebbles that shine with flecks of neon in the right light and a single turquoise stone, a simple, stylized raven cut into it. “We made it.” Domino smiles softly, the bitties looking proud. “All of us. It was supposed to be a ‘welcome to the family’ present, but…” He shrugs. “We figured this was as good a time as any to give it to you.”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." A soft, soft smile, tears springing to the lich's eyes. "Th- thank you." They whisper. What more personal, sincere gift in the world could their new family give them, than a circlet like the ones they themselves wore? What better way of saying... you're one of us too now? "...thank you... so much."

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu smiles, looking down at the beautiful thing. "..." He looks back up at the bitties, tendrils gently wiping Bells' tears away. "Thank you. Thank you all."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Fresh nuzzles them gently and Magnus looks to Blue, the whole family all at once overtaken by the sudden intense need to hug. “You mind if we move over to the kid for a moment, beloved?” Magnus asks.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "Go on," Blue whispers, nuzzling him softly.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The bitties fly, teleport and swing over to Bells, curling up around and partially on top of Fresh, sitting on Bells' shoulder and nuzzling against their chin, and all just collectively giving hugs and soft little purrs.

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." While Bells is being hugged, Greylu picks up the letters. He opens one of them with just a little difficulty, tilting his head.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells does their level best to cuddle and nuzzle every available bitty, while Blue watches quietly, more than willing to give their kid this moment. They still had moments like this too... Their family? Was everything to them.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The envelope contains a purple and black coupon, a note scribbled at the bottom in pink pen. The coupon is for a free bitty (or bitties within reason) adoption, all fees waived and all bitty items, clothing, toys, furniture, medicine, etc., considered paid for. Applicable at all Fell and Friends Bitty Rescue locations and affiliates. The note reads; We didn’t know what to get you, but we hope this suffices should you find someone you wish to bring home. Congratulations on your union! Signed, Dame and Moose

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu is quiet, reading the note. Then he reads it again. And again. And once more with feeling. Then he looks to Bells, clutching the coupon tight in his hand. "Beloved- Odium-"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they look over his shoulder- their breath catches softly. "...oh." a whisper, faint, followed by a slow smile. "Do you think, we could find someone willing to be our baby's partner?" There's definitely hope in their voice, if hesitant. "I mean, the babs are evenly numbered right now, but there's no way to tell when the next seed might-" They pause at this point, realizing this probably sounds strange to their bitty family. "...what about your baby?" Blue presses, sounding concerned.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Are they okay?" Magnus asks, the entire bitty fam, Fresh included, making worried noises.

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu sighs, taking a deep breath in and out. "It's... complicated. The way guardians work in our Multiverse is that they have to have a partner that they're bonded with- Mea is Raine's partner, for example. Almost all of our children are bonded with eachother, except Odium." "...if they don't have a partner, they... have health complications. And generally don't fare too well overall. As I said, it's complicated."

#wedding rp #part 3

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rattlung · 5 years

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i wanted to get this out for halloween but then it ended up getting (and taking) too long so i was like aight whatever i’ll split it and post the first bit so i know at least some of it will be in time for the spooky scary. not that it’s really spooky scary, but yknow

anyway the second i saw cowboy mirage and vampire crypto i knew i had to write a wild west au with them. if any of you knew me from my glory ovw days, you know wth im talkin about.

so anyway, slooow burn, animal death, blood, blood drinking, and possible ooc-ness because i couldn’t decide on whether i wanted mirage to have a very thick southern accent or not so his dialogue may be a bit whack. also with it being an au, characterization probably got skewed to shit. sorry about that :^(

cross posting fucks up formatting, so to be safe here’s the ao3 link but if that’s not the jam for your bread, it’s all under the read more

=======

The sun had set hours ago, but Elliott remained at his post.

Crickets and grass were his only companions on his porch, not even a candle was lit to keep him company. He didn’t want anyone to know he was out there and the little flame would have given him away. Besides, the moon was high that night and the stars glittered from behind it thanks to the cloudless sky. His eyes had adjusted well enough, and the open fields of the farm didn’t provide enough shadows to cause much concern.

No, Elliott was confident he’d catch who he wanted tonight, it was only a matter of whether or not the little bastard would show up.

He sighed and leaned forward in his chair to rest his crossed arms on the railing of the porch, then placed his chin on them. He hoped whoever it was would show. He couldn’t afford another big hit to the stock again. In the last week, he’d lost three chickens - one of them was the hen he’d sank three dollars into earlier in the month. It’d been a good one, too, healthy eggs up until she went missing with two of her sisters.

It was like nothing Elliott had ever seen before. There were never any carcasses left in the coop or on the land, no blood and maybe only a few stripped feathers. Coyotes were never that clean - not in Elliott’s experience anyway. And to take so many at a time?

Then the marks started showing up on the cattle. Two clean little holes at their shoulders that Elliott would have missed had it not been for the blood that oozed out of them, staining their fur a rusted brownish red.

That changed things. The body-less crimes started making sense, because they weren’t being killed - they were being stolen. Chickens were easy to make off with. Just toss a few in a bag and be on your way. Cows, though, they were marking those. Maybe one man was sent to scope out the pens to pick out the healthiest ones, then send off a crew to look for the marks and round them up to bring them home.

Elliott fought off a yawn and the on coming sense of second guessing himself. They would be coming with a group. He hadn’t thought of that before. If they did show up tonight and they were armed, there would be very little he could do with his mother’s old rifle. Quickly he decided he wouldn’t leave the porch if he saw anything. Just fire off a few shots and hopefully scare them off.

All of the Witts had met unfortunate ends. Two Witt sons died in the war, one to the flu soon after his third birthday, their mother to the plague - and the last Witt, dead to a bullet wound received while defending the cow that sneezed on him that very morning?

Yeah, no thank you, he’d stay right there on the porch, yes, ma’am.

So sit he did, scanning the horizon, the treeline, the pens, and tried not to fall asleep. He wondered if Ms. Williams had any hounds she’d be willing to part with to do this kind of stuff for him. Growing up, he’d always wanted a farm dog and Anita Williams trained some of the best he’d ever seen. Elliott would be able to leave it outside to patrol the land, sleep out on the porch, and chase off any predators or thieves that might be lurking while Elliott was in bed. That would be better than suffering through the brutality of waiting for the sun to rise himself.

Elliott didn’t notice his eyes had closed until they snapped open at the sound of sudden rattling in the hen house. He waited a moment, wondering if he imagined it, but soon there was a murmur of cluckings and Elliott got to his feet. He picked up the hat he’d hung on the back of his chair and placed it on top of his head before grabbing the rifle, standing at the very edge of his porch.

Surely they wouldn’t be going for more chickens, would they? When the cows they had marked were out roaming?

Elliott stepped off the stairs and onto the dirt pathway. If it was chickens being targeted tonight, that means there was likely only one of them. He checked the chamber of his gun before heading off, getting onto the grass as soon as he could in order to dampen the sound of his approaching footsteps. By the time he’s at the fence, the clucking had shifted and grew into something louder, the few hens he had left squawking at whatever was in there with them.

And maybe it was because their din was too loud, but Elliott couldn’t hear anything else. Nothing but feathered ruffling and the scrape of chicken feet.

A chill raised the hair on the back of his neck but he crept forward anyway. He wiped the palm of his hand off on his jeans and pushed open the gate, wincing hard when one of the hens in the coop got louder. The rest were a bit hysterical in their noise making, but this one’s panic was visceral. This wasn’t just someone walking through their nests and aggravating them out of sleep - these chickens were scared for their lives.

Elliott crept up to the wired entrance of the shed and peeked around. Small shadows flicked back an forth on the hay-filled floor in a frenzy. Hoarse, creaking noises spilled from their beaks and wings fluttered as they battled each other in their panic to press to the corners of the shed, close to the walls to get away from -

Now, Elliott wasn’t a religious man - which was an odd thing, when one lived in a small town like he did, where the person he bought canned goods from was the pastor’s brother, and the biggest building was the church which was always filled on Sunday. He never went to mass, not even for the holidays, and the Witt Family’s bible had been left in the bedside table’s drawer since he was a boy.

But he didn’t have to crack apart the thin pages of God’s Word to determine that whatever the thing was in front of him was bad.

Especially when it turned, a chicken limp and unmoving in its hands, and stared Elliott down with eyes that burned like indigo flames.

This isn’t a coyote, his mind helpfully informed him just as his mouth spit out, “Oh, fuck.”

The creature stood up fully and despite all its human-like qualities, there was still that electric energy that was just not right, uncanny and out of place. It showed off a human face, but its skin was so white it almost glinted blue when it passed through the moonlight that bled through the shed’s wooden panels.

Which is how Elliott noticed it was moving toward him. He raised the rifle up and pointed it square at the thing’s chest. If froze in its step, still as stone in half a second, but above the crying of his birds Elliott could hear the trill of something moving in its throat.

“Dro - Drop the chicken,” Elliott ordered, the stillness in his limbs compensating for his trembling voice.

To his surprise the creature listened to him. Its trill from before burst from its throat and its frown opened to let out a hiss, pitched low and piercing. The teeth it bared to him had a pink sheen, wet with blood, and its canines ended in vicious points - points Elliott was sure would match with the ones marking his cattle out on the fields.

“Oh, shit, okay - “ Elliott muttered, too panicked to remember that the creature could hear him.

It hunched down suddenly, dropping into a stance that made Elliott think it was going to lunge for him. Before he could really process that information, could even think to fire a shot at it to knock it down, to kill it, the creature spun around and crashed through the other side of the coop. Elliott blinked at the wire it split through like paper then hurried around the house. It was fast, already having leaped over the fence, a black shape that moved without sound, whispering over the grass in one, two seconds before it disappeared into the trees.

“That’s not a fuckin’ coyote,” Elliott said over the thundering of his heartbeat and the screaming of his chickens.

----=----

For a whole entire day, Elliott allowed himself to think that it was over. He let himself think that that was the last he’d see of the thing, that he’d scared it enough to retreat just from pointing a gun at it. Maybe the fear of Elliott actually using it would keep it away, whatever it was.

Truth be told, he didn’t really want to find out what it was. From the look he got out of it from the shadows, it looked human enough. A man as tall as him, dressed to the nines in black and red silks, slim with features Elliott might have tipped a hat at had he not been terrified the time he saw them. Human features. It looked human.

And yet, the bloodless chicken he’d been forced to get rid of proved otherwise. Once he’d been able to move, he’d wandered back in to examine it and found that it was little more than a husk, dried out and useless. It’s carcass was clean, feathers mostly untouched with no red soaked into them. On its breast were two, neat puncture holes.

The next day, one he’d used to catch up on sleep, he started feeling watched.

As he left the stables after shoveling out the floors, a familiar chill walked along his shoulders like icy fingers, eliciting a shiver from him. It lingered for a moment and slowly dissipated when he searched his surroundings, forcing himself to outwardly appear calm when he found nothing.

It would happen again - and often - in the following weeks. When he left the stables after milking, he’d feel it then. When he fed the chickens, when he lead the two horses out onto the pasture, checked on the hogs - someone was watching him. Waiting. And yet, as each night passed and he’d wake up, Elliott would set out to work and find that none of the livestock had been touched. The hens didn’t go missing. The puncture marks on the cows had scabbed over, and no new ones appeared.

Worriedly, Elliott wondered if he were next, that he was the one being stalked - but why wait so long? He lived alone on the Witt farm, and no one had visited him in the time between then and the encounter.

The idea of a peace offering came to him when he had to put one of the roosters down. It was the older one of the three, the one that was always more aggressive and tried to start fights with the others. Apparently, it had to learn the hard way that all fights it started were not always ones it could win. Elliott should have separated it sooner, or maybe had done something, but his mind had been in other places as of late. He’d felt terrible - for the cockerel, for himself. For his family. The only thing they’d left behind was this farm, and he was making a mess of it.

So, out he marched at the first sign of dusk, right to the edge of the trees where he’d seen the creature dart off all those days ago. He planned on calling out to it until it showed, dropping the rooster at its feet and declaring, There, see? I’m doing just fine on ruining everything on my own, so why don’t you just take the damn bird and go?

He didn’t do any such thing. He just stood there for a long moment, listened to the robins in the woods and the huffing of cattle behind him, and stared down at the rooster in his hands. Eventually, the watched feeling came. Elliott was so used to it that the chill hardly even registered. It was just eyes on him, now, no longer threatening or frightening.

For a moment, neither of them did anything. Nothing jumped out to attack him, and Elliott didn’t say a word. He never actually did. Eventually, he dropped the rooster onto the grass and turned back to the house, not even waiting to see if the creature would show itself.

The sun was finally wishing the horizon a farewell, sinking just under the trees as he’s finishing up the last of his rounds. Elliott tested the locks on the doors of the stalls to make sure they wouldn’t swing open and cast a long look at a cow sitting on the other side of one. She stared back at him. The scabs on her shoulders were just about gone, now, and her fur had grown over the little pink marks that’d been left behind. The rest of the cattle’s marks were just about the same. Nothing fresh.

Inside the Witt home, it was dark. There was still washing up he had to do in the big metal basin sat underneath the kitchen’s window. He probably wouldn’t get to until the next morning, so he pointedly kept his gaze away from there. He moved passed the old dining table that hadn’t seen use in years - mostly it was just full of tools he hadn’t moved back into the shed yet - and made his way toward the fireplace. Soon, the cold blue glow of the darkening sky was warmed by the slow starting flame. Elliott poked at it until he was thoroughly bored of watching sticks crumble into ash and was sure it wouldn’t smother itself.

With a heaving sigh he got back to his feet but didn’t go far, falling onto a wooden bench close to the fireplace. There were bigger and more comfortable places to sit, like the large wicker chair right beside him or the stool that had a pillow sewn onto it haphazardly, but Elliott had always sat on the bench. Maybe tomorrow, after he was done the cleaning, he’d move all the extra furniture out into the shed along with the tools on the dining room table. No use in having so many if he wasn’t using it. He didn’t get much company - none at all, really.

Elliott found himself staring at the book left on the seat of the wicker chair and doubted he’d even get around to doing the washing up.

Over the crackle of the fire, something thumped right outside the front door. Elliott straightened, twisted around to look toward the noise, and thought how weird it was to be thinking about never getting any visitors only to have one stop by. Or maybe the word was ironic.

But then he remembered the time and he held his breath to listen. There was no shuffling of someone on his porch and no knocking on his door. If someone rode all the way out to the Witt’s Farm after sundown it’d be for an emergency, so there was no real good reason for the stranger to be quiet.

Slowly, Elliott stood. Avoiding the floorboards that creaked, he crossed the room toward the door and picked up the rifle he’d left there. The silence was deafening and ringing with the dreadful thought of how he might actually be going crazy. Then, the idea of Elliott opening the door and finding nothing at all was almost as terrifying as opening it and revealing the shadow from the hen house. Had he actually heard something? Was there really something in his woods? What if he went outside to the coop and all of the lost chickens would be accounted for? What if the marks on the cows had healed so fast because they’d never been marked in the first place?

Elliott put his hand on the doorknob, sucked in a breath, held it, then twisted it and pulled it open. The door’s creak seemed like a wail in the empty night - because that’s what it was. Empty. No one standing at his stoop, no shadow perched on his railing ready to strike.

Nothing but the rooster he’d left at the trees, untouched and dropped carelessly at his door.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Elliott narrowed his eyes down at it and felt angry. Maybe it was the sleep he was losing, the constant worrying, the loneliness - or maybe he actually was losing his mind. Whatever it was, it was enough to have him bend over, snatch up the bird, and stomp down onto the path toward the trees. When he got there, he still said nothing, but that time he didn’t even wait around. Elliott just tossed the bird back onto the grass where he’d left it the first time and turned to storm away, ignoring the petulant feeling that rose at the display.

He made it about four yards before something hit the dirt behind him. He froze without looking back and grit his teeth.

“Alright, you sumbitch.”

Annoyed, he faced the trees again, passing the bird on the road. That chill was back. Instead of stopping him, have him think twice, it only achieved in making the anger thrumming around in his chest burn defiantly brighter.

Two indigo flames held his gaze when Elliott noticed them, dimmer than the last time he saw them. They regarded him with disinterest and that alone had him nearly seething.

“I’m tired of playing this game you’re havin’ with me,” he snapped. The shadow might have raised a brow at him, but with how dark it was Elliott couldn’t be sure. It didn’t say anything, so the question - the one he’d been wondering since that night - burst out of him. “Why haven’t you just killed me yet?”

Now the eyes moved, turning in a way that told Elliott that the creature had tilted its head. But still, the silence. Slowly, it looked down at the rifle Elliott had nearly forgotten about, pointedly, then back up at him. Elliott heard it hit the ground in the next second, which is how he learned that he himself tossed it aside.

Something that was smothered by the heat of the moment whispered to him, You sleep deprived idiot, just what in the hell are you doing?

What he said out loud was, “Do it, then. Nothin’s stopping you, so do it.”

The shadow did nothing; not a sound, not a movement.

Elliott heard his own breathing over the gentle breeze and wondered why it was so slow. He’d seen the speed the creature had moved at and his only protection was too many paces away. If it wasn’t planning on killing him, the anticipation should have been. But he was calm, staring demise dead in its lightning blue eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

The thought of it being incapable of speech occurred to him, but with the way it watched him, Elliott didn’t find it likely. Despite how inhuman they were, there was sentience behind the shadow’s gaze. Maybe too much for something that fed on blood. It looked at Elliott and he felt that it was capable of telling him exactly what it wanted to with a stare alone - all that and more. It was a heavy kind of thing to know. Elliott realized he had a hard time looking away, so when he managed it he didn’t dare look again.

“Just, get - get out of here.” He started making his way back - and didn’t look at the damned rooster again, either. “Leave me alone and terrorize some other poor bastard’s chickens.”

Coward, he thought, but didn’t know who it was directed to.

----=----

The next morning, Elliott woke up to one less crowing and his rifle propped up on the porch railing outside.

Something in the woods still watched him.

----=----

A few days passed until he saw the shadow again. Elliott was leaving the hen house and had thrown a look up at the sky to gauge the time, sighed at the moon, and turned to shut the wired gate behind him. When he turned around, a figure that definitely had not been there before stood in the path in front of him.

He gasped and sent himself back in a fit of shock, back slamming up against the shed. He scowled once he realized what - or, rather, who it was, but that was gone in the next second, too. The shadow’s posture was still one of casual disinterest; hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, and expression blank if not aloof. But it was different, Elliott was sure. The skin, while always having been pallid, took a different tone, now, one that was qualmish and almost sickly. And the eyes - the eyes hardly even glowed.

It looked more like a ghost than a shadow.

“What’s wrong?” He asked - and why was he even concerned? It hadn’t tried to kill him yet, sure, but it was responsible for taking out almost a quarter of his chickens.

True to a pattern, the creature said nothing, however, it did give a meaningful look into the shed behind Elliott. When its gaze returned, he could see how its throat worked around a swallow.

“Are - “ Elliott looked back at the hen house as if to check to make sure that was what the shadow had looked at. “Are you asking me to - “ He cut himself off again, but pointed into the house.

It narrowed its eyes at the incredulous inflection in Elliott’s voice but did not say no.

The whistling of grass is the only sound for a long moment as a cool night’s breeze moved over the fields, Elliott at a loss for words. As the wind washed over him, chilling him that much further, he could see the creature’s nostrils flare minutely, and this time when its throat moved it was around a rumbling noise. From the base of its chest it traveled up and out as that familiar trill. It filled Elliott with a sense of urgency, one he couldn’t really explain.

He was torn. It was strange to be asked such a thing, but he supposed he should be grateful of the fact that it was asking at all. But how was he even supposed to answer? As far as Elliott knew, none of his chickens survived. He’d never found markings on them, they would just disappear. With the colder seasons approaching, he really couldn’t afford to lose any more of his livestock.

The cows, though, they’d apparently survived a few run-ins with the shadow.

Elliott looked over to the stables and felt shameful the second he did. Was he really considering it? Other than the fast healing punctures on their necks or shoulders, there had been no real changes in their behavior or health. The morning he’d find the marks on them, they’d appear nonplussed. But what if it hurt them? What if the experience was traumatic in a way Elliott couldn’t see?

Then again, could he really afford to deliberate on this? In that moment, with the shadow looking at him expectantly, it seemed to be between Elliott and the cows. Really, the choice was an easy one, but he was still allowed to feel guilty.

“Follow me,” he told the shadow.

As the temperature steadily declined throughout the days, Elliott had started rounding the cows up into the stables more often. It got too cold at night , and he didn’t want to give the cows a chance to catch an illness. It meant waking up earlier to give them more time to graze but it was safer. While he was unlocking the paneled door to the stables Elliott thought that maybe that was the reason he was losing more chickens. It was harder to get through a locked door without raising suspicion than it was kidnapping a few birds and letting the farmer’s blame fall onto coyotes.

The shadow didn’t make a noise but when Elliott turned, it was standing right behind him, nose wrinkled a little at the intense smell of animal and dirt. He didn’t jump that time. He picked up the unlit lantern he’d left behind on the stacked bales of hay, lighting it fast and hung it on the rung in between two of the stall doors. Inside one of them, the dull eyes of a cow shimmered and regarded him blankly. Elliott drug the door open and stepped inside next to her, touching at the glittering wet nose and felt her hot breath huff against his hand in recognition.

“It doesn’t - there’s no - it - it’s not gonna hurt her too much, is it?” Elliott couldn’t help but ask. Now, he expected a nonverbal answer so he looked back to shadow for it, finding more whites in its eyes and the stoic expression looking cheaper. It wasn’t watching him anymore, purely focused on the cow Elliott was petting at nervously.

It stepped closer, into the stall, and Elliott watched as the cow’s head tipped up apprehensively. The huffing of her breathing got a little bit faster and Elliott heard himself shushing her lowly, scratching around the longer scruff by her ears. He couldn’t imagine he was helping too much, but the only thing she did when he saw the shadow disappear around her other side was let out a small grunt of displeasure.

Time passed; the only sound came from his and the cow’s breathing and the brisk wind rattling the wood of the barn. Elliott kept up his attempt at comfort, watching her face intently, and was surprised to find her calm once again. Slowly, he stepped away, gauging her reaction at the movement but didn’t get one.

He moved back into the base of the barn and heaved up one of the metal buckets he’d filled with grain. It was a favor he’d done for himself that night to save himself some time when he woke up to feed them, but he figured that the cow deserved some special treatment. Elliot brought it over to her front and held it right under her nose for her to sniff out, knocking the handle out of her way and hugging it to his stomach due to the weight of it.

The cow’s ears twitched back and forth in contentment, dipping her snout into the grain and eating it by the mouthful. Relief coursed through him like the blood in his veins and Elliott felt himself smiling a little.

“Good girl,” he told her, to which he got very little in the way of a response.

The shadow straightened in a fluid movement, one Elliott watched with rapt attention. Even in just the few short minutes, there was an excruciatingly apparent change in the creature. The intensity of its eyes returned, their brightness amplifying its now fuller features and adding more color to the porcelain-looking skin - it was the most human Elliott had seen him.

“You were starving,” Elliott muttered with a voice awed in his realization. He thought back to the look the shadow had given the cow before and identified it now as a pained and feral sort of hunger. “Why didn’t you just take the damned rooster?”

The creature wiped the cow blood off of wet lips and had the audacity to look at Elliott like he was the disgusting one. Before he could remark on that, prove to the other how backwards that was, the shadow’s mouth opened and for the first time, he spoke. In a voice that was low and smooth, with layers upon layers of something deep and new to Elliott threading through the syllables, he simply stated, “It was dead.”

Elliott sputtered, a little dumbstruck. “So?”

The shadow’s eyes narrowed into a disbelieving glare. “It was dead for a long time.”

“You’re gettin’ partipu - pertil - picky about what blood you’re drinking, now?”

If he were being frank, Elliott wasn’t sure why he was antagonizing the shadow. He’d been merciful so far in not maiming him. And Elliott couldn’t exactly say that if he’d left something out for the hours the rooster had been sitting, he would drink it, either.

But surely drinking blood wasn’t enjoyable in any sense.

Elliott pulled the bucket out from under the cow. Some feed stuck to the wetness of her nose which she cleaned off with a few swipes of her tongue. “I guess we’re done here,” Elliott said to her, but mostly to the shadow.

The shadow that had since disappeared from the stables.

Sighing, Elliott replaced the now three quarters filled bucket with the others as he shook his head. “Guess we are.”

----=----

They weren’t, but Elliott had expected that much.

Every other night, now, when Elliott was finishing his rounds he caught sight of the shadow leaning against the barn doors like it was an arrangement they’d agreed on. He’d finish locking up and meet him there where he’d open the doors and wave the shadow inside, direct him to one of the seven cows, and pretended it wasn’t abnormal. Every farmer had an odd case; a pair of horses that only fed at a specific time of day, cattle that grazed exclusively on the left side of the pasture, a herding dog that befriended and mothered ill lambs.

Elliott’s odd case was a vampire, but it was fine. Every farmer had an odd case. Some odder than others.

Things started to change on the evening Elliott had just left the stables unlocked. One of the pen’s posts had crumbled from age and the fences around it sagged too close to the dirt. It was a reminder that he’d have to put work into replacing them before the winter, or else he’d have a lot more work come spring. Like the dishes in the basin and the extra furniture still in the front of his house, that was a problem for tomorrow’s Elliott. He’d just repair the broken one for now.

He was just testing out the sturdiness of the new post when he noticed that the shadow was standing behind him. By then he was so used to the minor jump scares that he only just barely lost the hammer in his grip. It thumped onto the old, rotten fence post he’d left laying there and landed quietly in the grass.

“Lord - Jesus - Chri - you gotta stop doing that,” he told the shadow, hand over his heart.

Silence from the shadow. He’d gone back to his quiet pledge, not having spoken since their very short conversation in the stables.

Elliott was used to that, too, so shook his head and leaned down to pick up the hammer and the post. He could leave it to dry out on his porch, break it apart further and use it for tinder later. “I left the barn open,” he said when he saw that the shadow was still standing there.

“I know,” the shadow responded. Something flashed in his eyes, probably on account of how fast Elliott snapped up to look at him, not having expected an answer. It was some kind of struggle, Elliott imagined, because his mouth opened a second before he said anything. “Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened. “I - uh. Y-yeah, you’re welcome. It’s fine. It’s - y’know, it’s better than you killing my chickens.”

That flash of something struck again. Elliott wanted to apologize. He genuinely didn’t want to offend the shadow, and he might have actually done it if he didn’t speak before him. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

And that would have been smart, wouldn’t it? Letting the town know about the blood drinker in their woods. They could have helped Elliott a few dead birds earlier, rounded up enough of them for a search party - if they even believed him in the first place. But that would have involved killing the shadow, or running him off, and Elliott didn’t really enjoy the idea of that. In some kind of morbid way, through all of the heart-pounding meetings and stress-induced nightmares, he kind of liked the company. He’d probably miss it if it were gone.

Besides, the nightmares were really nothing new.

Still, he decided he wasn’t going to tell the other that. He just grinned, leaned up against the freshly repaired fence - very sturdy - and said, “I think I’ve got you handled.”

The shadow’s brow rose and he looked Elliott up and down, then finally back up again. “No,” is all he said.

The smile dropped from Elliott’s face but he didn’t say anything more on that, because, unfortunately, the shadow was being very fair. “Right, well,” he muttered, pushing off the fence. He was ready for bed. “Have a good night, then.”

“Are you Witt?” He was asked after a few paces.

Elliott paused, turned around slowly. “How’d you know about that?”

“I listen,” the shadow stated simply.

Looking around acres of empty land, Elliott wondered, to who? “Yeah, I - well, I’m one of them. Witt’s my last name, so there’s… Well, there’s been a few Witts.”

The other’s head cocked to one side. “Which Witt are you?”

The only one, really. “I’m Elliott.”

The shadow nodded, looking him over once more. “Good night, Elliott.”

All he did was stand there for a moment, blinking, too caught up on how his name sounded in the smooth whisper of the other’s voice. He’d never heard it be said like that before.

Then, finally, his brain caught up.

“Hey, wait,” he called, despite the shadow not having moved an inch. “That’s not very fair, now is it? I don’t get to know your name?”

He wouldn’t exactly say that the shadow was the teasing sort, but it did take numerous weeks to get a decent two-sided conversation out of him. Mostly, Elliott expected the same response from before. Another ‘no’ before he disappeared for a few nights again.

“Tae Joon,” was what he got, though.

Elliott tried it out for himself. “Tae Joon.”

The shadow’s head tilted further.

Elliott smiled, tipped his hat. “You have a good night, Tae Joon.”

He shifted the wooden post around for easier carrying and put his back to the shadow, knowing that if he turned around now he probably would find empty air. It was fine. Elliott knew he’d see him soon.

=====

yyyyeaahh this is what i’ve been putting off prompts for BIG oof :^((((

not sure when i’ll finish the rest of it tbh but here’s this for now i guess

#cryptage #apex legends #crypto #mirage #elliott witt #tae joon park

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ashleyswrittenwords · 5 years

Text

How To Be A Queen

Note: This is my debut LoZ fanfction! Yay! I really want to explore a deeper part of Zelda’s character, and eventually Link’s later on. I think it’s interesting to explore the mental and physical toll of what it is to have a planned fate. I just think it’s neat. Also hopefully a slow burn somewhere in there, well, a lot in there. Lots of ZeLink slow burn. Is it obvious I like those sorts of things? Anyway, please critique. It’s going to be very AUish because the games don’t exactly spit out Link’s personality, but it will be heavily based off of BOTW. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she's ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn't have to do it alone.

Warning: Some mentions of body weight and general mental health.

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How To Be A Queen

“Princess?”

Goddesses spare me.

Please, what did I do to deserve this.

Just a few more sips and I’ll be done. That will be it.

Oh, Hylia, end this suffering soon.

“Princess?” Old Grog Guildford sounded concerned.

“Oh! Yes, Lord Guildford?” I replied attentively, trying with every once of my will to not sound adverse. Lord Guildford is a minister and a relatively good friend to Father. Don’t get me wrong, he’s well-meaning but Goddesses in heaven can he make awful bread pudding. I can’t even remember why I’m here to taste it.

“How is it?” He looked at me eagerly expecting. One look at the old man’s face and I realize why no one has been truthful to him. He’s like a little boy asking if his art is good, only the cold-hearted can say anything negative. But, wouldn’t it spare the other poor bastards that would fall victim to it if I spoke up? I cleared my throat, trying to find anywhere else to look at beside the brown puppy dog eyes of Old Lord Guildford. Alas, I couldn’t escape.

“It’s delicious!”

Hylia, forgive me for I am weak.

“Oh, joy! I must share it with the chef for the next festival! Your Father comes up with the most fantastic ideas, Princess.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. I watched as he talked his way into the kitchen. Something about the winter solstice festival. I stood slowly, afraid to upset my stomach anymore. The dining room was one of the largest in the castle, and here I was alone and possibly poisoned by bread pudding. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst fate. I grinned up at the large, stoic murals. Here I am laughing at my own jokes as I stare up at ancestors who were able to do so much more than I ever will. Somehow I feel at ease, it’s been a while since I was alone today.

“Princess Zelda!”

The irony of it almost hurts.

“There you are!” It’s one of the head maids. She looks relieved to see me. “You must come for a dress fitting for the solstice, Your Highness.”

A feel myself politely smile and my hands grip themselves behind my back. So close. “We should be on with it, yes?”

This has been amongst the many things that have conspired in the recent weeks. As Father grows older, he’s believes that more responsibility should fall onto me. Whether it be bread pudding taste testing or short discussions about land disputes, it has indeed begun to take a toll.

It’s been so hectic that I’ve barely been able to think. Learning who the ministers are, their wives, their political leanings has been one thing. I can deal with simple studying. An entirely different venture is the world of pandering.

Forget physical activity, trying to suck up to people is by far the most exhausting activity I have ever experienced in my life. Oh, Lord Hicks how impressive it is to learn how to differentiate milkwine by simply looking at it. Lord WhatsYourName, how is the mistress you’ve been having an affair with? And the kids?

Can you believe I was taught how to laugh properly a week ago? And here I thought I laughed just fine. Oh no, how wrong I was. Last week I was introduced to a woman who told me I sounded like an old rat stuck in drain pipe. I still haven’t recovered from it.

A middle-aged blonde woman pulled a measuring tape around my waist. I looked at myself in the mirror as she focused. It’s been a while since I was last measured. I stood there in my shift and stared. The old woman made a weird noise, “It’s been a couple months since I last measured you, girl.”

“I believe so, Mrs. Bea.”

“You’ve widened by a few centimeters, Highness. Tsk tsk,” she shook her head.

My cheeks lit up in embarrassment. Did she have to say that in front of two other maids? I didn’t really know what to say. Sorry? It was the bread pudding, I swear. I have a feeling if I told her the joke wouldn’t land well.

I looked at the mirror again as she took measurements elsewhere. It wasn’t like I was overweight, but I suppose my cheeks did fill out a little. It wasn’t awfully noticeable, but being the person that stares at themselves every other hour – it was more apparent now.

The day trudged on, and my thoughts moved elsewhere. To say that my head wasn’t with my body was an understatement. Too much was going too fast. Between the pudding and the Mrs. Bea incident, the day was already becoming bigger than I can take on. With the sun now descending, I was able to slip away from preparations to climb the staircase. My quarters were on the fourth floor and what a long journey it was. I started to reconsider if I should exercise more.

Once I made it to the hallway, I saw a man standing next to my door. He stared straight ahead as if studying the lines on the opposite wall. There was a law somewhere in the books that soldiers were not to make eye contact with royalty. One of the many questionable rules that leave me wondering “What’s the point?” Link always stood very straight. It’d been a couple years since he was promoted to my guard and the man had said a handful of sentences to me since then. There wasn’t a law about talking to royalty, so instead I suppose he doesn’t like talking. Or maybe just talking to me. It makes the relationship as awkward as you can expect. The castle walls aren’t as thick as you think and I’m positive he’s heard me ranting to imaginary no ones more than a few times.

I tried catching my breath before speaking, but the words came through breathless anyway.

“Um, Link,” I spoke.

Much to my disappointment, he didn’t answer. But the small shift in his step told me he was listening. As I looked up at him a thought occurred to me. We could easily have that forbidden Princess/Knight relationship. It’s not like I lock my quarters anyway, with having one of the top men in this society outside to protect me and all.

Oh, Hylia, I need some sleep.

Not without a light flush, I responded to his lack of, “Link, could you keep anyone from disturbing me? It’s been an awfully long day.”

Again, he didn’t move to say anything. So, I continued, “Tell them something along the lines of how I’m planning out my solstice speech.” Which wasn’t a complete lie. I’d at least think about it. And Link didn’t disagree, I assumed it sounded alright. He was dressed in the traditional royal guard uniform. It was plated in a type of metal and I wondered if it weighed down on him.

You know… there’s nothing wrong with a man in uniform. Or one without for that matter.

I told myself to shush and smiled a little, “I trust your day went well?”

Again, no response. Oh well, a girl can try. I walked past him and went for the door handle, “If another guard in your squadron comes by, you should tell him to cover your shift tonight. I know it’s not the most thrilling job.”

With that, I went into my quarters and shut the door behind me. I want to say we were close despite the lack of words, but we aren’t. I don’t know too much about him other than that he came from a small village in the southeast, my father trusts him, he talks to his peers often (those thinner-than-you-think castle walls), and that he’s a prodigy in his profession. He also tends to fidget with his holster sometimes when I have a one-sided conversation with him. It’s quite the resume.

I put down whatever journal I was holding for my manners courses and try to undo the outer layer of my dress. The laces have a tendency to tangle if I don’t focus. The dresser mirror only gives so much visibility.

So what I have eaten a little more than I usually do? I’m a little stressed, okay?

I frown at my inner dialogue and shift my thoughts away from Mrs. Bea. Finally, the laces come apart and I lift the mess of fabric over and away from my form. What is left is my white shift. I sigh and sit in a red cushioned chair. It’s in front of my desk filled with small trinkets. This is when I realize the fatigue in my legs and I almost slump over. I swear aloud at the relief and fumble through my things to find a small book.

Meanwhile I hear conversations outside. All I can make out is Link’s deeper tone and a lighter, more uplifted voice – probably Anju, a personal maid. I can’t help but smile a little, she’s probably just checking in, but I appreciate Link’s attentiveness. I don’t think I can handle another interaction now. I grasp the metal ink pen and wipe off dried ink from the tip with a loose garment. The lid of the ink pot always gets a little stuck. I flip through my diary to find a blank page and fill my lungs with a breath.

“Dear Diary,” I mouth, it does make me spell better if I do so. What follows is a recap of today’s events and general frustration. Much of how I hated that bread pudding, the fake laughter, fake smiles of the court, Mrs. Bea’s comments, and my inability to be able to connect to people on a personal level. The latter concern bothering me the most. Based on the books I’ve read and the interactions I’ve witnessed, every person I’ve talked to has been on business terms. The lords, the maids, and even Father at times.

I frown deeply as I spell out my thoughts in whispers, “One night many years ago, not long after Mother’s passing he told me after hours of drinking that my conception was for the state’s sake, and only for the state’s sake.” My throat closed, but I continued scratching the words into the paper.

“I’m starting to believe him.”

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handmadecp · 5 years

Text

A5 Leather Sketch Pad Cover.

Hi Guys, here’s another little Project that I reckon is suitable for all levels, as with the Previous A4 you can pretty much do as much or as little as you feel capable of for these. I’m doing a bit of a ‘Run’ on these types of covers at the moment as I discovered I have a draw full of new Notebooks etc. That’s what happens when you pick ‘the odd one’ up every time you go out. (Ha). but they are all varying sizes so should be fun figuring it all out. So..let’s get on.

So, here’s what I was aiming for and as you can see it came out pretty good. Always room for improvement..but not too shabby I think, hope you agree. I decided to do a Sheridan…esq’ type of design that I found in a big Leather craft book which I will show as we go through the build. Here we have the front view.

Back View

Side view showing the Tooled design going over the spine, I was going to leave it blank along here but after cutting the design in I didn’t like it so carried it around and I think it has given the cover a nice look, not often you see a cover with so much detail along the spine…you can do as you choose, it’s your project, if you are a beginner..don’t sweat the small stuff, just do what feels right for you, if you leave it blank this time…maybe you will have built some confidence by the second one..it’s all good. So let’s see how we got to this point.

I struggle to understand the ‘Ounce’ measurements they use to choose thicknesses..which is why I like to get hands on when choosing my leather, so for the benefit of all those who like me would rather they spoke English (lol) I will just describe it. I found a nice shiny, bendable and very ‘tactile’ piece of Veg tan leather, has to be on the high end of the ‘Grading’ as it is a beautiful piece..See, if you think it feels right for a Book cover..go for it, basically find a piece you like, not a dried out lower grade one as the shinier it is to start, the better the finished look will be.

Next I chose the book size I was going to do, I chose A5, you can choose whatever size you wish and just adjust for it as you make it. Seen here is me checking that I have a good excess around the edges. Many times when I first started I would think I had enough then by the time I’ve tooled, cut burnished, stitched and all the other doo dadding that goes on I would find that I couldn’t fit the book in any more and would have to cut the back cover to fit…not a good look…but you live and learn. also I will show another little trick that I use…I have to say I’ve never seen anyone else do this ‘ever’..so I’m claiming it lol. keep reading.

I like to use this method as it saves on a lot of measuring ( not that measuring is bad..I just prefer simpler ways..like this. I place the book inside the cover (to be) and run my finger around the outline of the book as shown here, this leaves a nice outline of the book…after that all I have to do is make sure I don’t glue or stitch any where near that and I’m good to go. Easy. Also, you can do this more permanent as a feature by wetting (Casing) the leather and use something to make the outline more pronounced as a ‘Feature. I like this look but it’s your choice.

Here I am tracing the design I want from a big Leather Craft book, there are many to choose from out there.( I can draw, but tracing is much quicker, I’m still practicing my Sheridan tecnique…for a future project. So this is fine for now. ) Tape the paper down if you need to, I would recommend decorators paper tape..it leaves less marks and doesn’t tend to tear your books. (Generally lol).

Next I wet (Cased) the leather really well, you don’t want it soaking , then leave it to dry out a bit enough to place the tracing over it without it going ‘mushy’. take a ball point stylus tool if you have one and trace over the whole design. If you don’t have one..you can use a pencil or pen but go easy you don’t want to tear through the paper, you only need a light imprint.

Here you can see how the ‘imprint’ has come out, faint but enough, no deep gouges. also note the outline of the book after I wet it and rubbed all around it. I actually used a spoon to do that.

I have chosen to use my new swivel knife with the thicker grip, it is a better option for people with hand problems like myself.

Almost half way, I am cutting the design into the leather. You need to remember how thick..or not your leather is, you want to leave a reasonable depth cut but at the same time you don’t want to cut right through…not a good look.

The design is now cut into the leather and ready for tooling. By now there should still be sufficient moisture in the leather to give a good imprint of the tool…if when you strike the tool you are left with a dark..brownish looking mark / line..then the moisture is about right, if it is very light then just wipe a damp sponge over it again…not as much as the first time as you are just ‘Topping up’ the moisture content.

Using the Swivel knife, notice I’m trying to keep the knife straight..but I am also tilting it back at an angle ..basically cutting using one corner of the blade. I learned all this from youtube vids, there are a lot of talented people out there willing to share their knowledge to us for free. Using a swivel knife feels very strange if you have never used one before, I thought I would never get it right…but time and practice is all you need.

The design after the cutting is done.

Half way through the Beveling. Note the white glove, I use soft cotton gloves to prevent my finger nails leaving drag lines or indents on the leather, I was told about this from a youtuber and it’s a great bit of advice for helping to keep your work that bit more professional looking, but …your choice.

Beveling finished, now for the detail work using the rest of my tools and the swivel knife again.

Half way through the detailing.

Close up of the detailing work, the darker areas are the ones that haven’t dried out as quickly.

Notice the marks on the flower leaves, these are called ‘Decorative cuts and are not meant for beveling, they add depth and character to a picture ( this is all learned from youtube vids, I highly recommend you have a look if unsure how to do certain things…or feel free to ask me and I’ll answer as best I can, by the end of this there wil be hundreds more.

Much more detailing done now, there is a tool called a Pear shader…so called because it is shaped like a pear lol…I have used it to give a flattened almost bruised look to some of the leaves, you can see the light catching on them on the leaves. also, lots of ‘spiraling’ done now along the edges of leaves making them look like they want to unfurl. all these looks are created using a very basic tooling set, it just takes practice. I am by no means a professional…far from it but I have been doing this now for three and a half years and have seen how my old work looks compared to todays, like I said..it takes practice and I practice every week and hope to get even better one day.

After letting it dry out for a while this is starting to look like a book cover now.

Glad I chose to cover the spine too, it looks great.

So now I need to fit the inner piece that will hold the book in place, nothing fancy here, I just cut a piece of the same leather to fit, glued the edges with my evo stick 528 glue (which I use all the time) as shown in next pic and stuck them together , used a roller to flatten it.

Marked the area to glue..expecting that some of it will get cut off when I ‘Trim’ the cover to it’s final size…but for now it helps.

I have now trimmed the cover to it’s required size and used a coin to round the corners, it always looks better than leaving them square I think.

You can see here that I’ve done a stamped edge to the inner piece, there will also be one on the outside upper area , it catches the eye and ‘pulls’ the whole thing together…in your mind. ( wooaah..deep lol. ) See the block of wax, If you are punching the stitch holes and you find it getting trapped in the leather…once out, push it into the wax a few times then try again, you should find that it slides out easily.

So, we are all cut, bevelled, tooled, stamped and had stitch holes put in where needed, now I’m covering the bits I don’t want to dye, I like the inside to be left flesh colored so I use Decorators tape to cover it but you might choose to dye that too. I’ve also tucked a piece underneath the inner flap thingy piece incase any dye tries to ‘wick’ to the underneath.

As it’s a big ..ish area to dye I didn’t use the daubers they awould take too long and it’s harder to get even coverage, so I use a sponge as shown and it goes on fast and I am able to even it out quickly as shown below.

A nice even coating of the Eco Flo Burgundy color water stain dye. here it is drying out.

Same on the inside, here it is dried and tape removed.

Here you can really see the Leather taking on a new life as a Book Cover but it still needs the Antique coating to really make the design stand out.

About to add the Antique dye, when using this if your first time, put some on a sponge…have some rags to hand….rub it over the area you want to cover ..as quickly as you can then wipe off immediately…Antique dye will darken everything it touches within seconds, so get it on and wipe off, if there are areas that need more…put a bit more on and do the same again…on..then off. Eventually you will probably just need to check there are no tiny areas that need doing..just dab these areas and wipe of until done. If however you look at it and think..oops it’s really darker than I expected now, don’t panic, also have to hand a fresh sponge with some water, dampen the sponge and wipe gently those area you wish to lighten. Don’t press down or you will lift the dye from inside the detail lines….you want the dye to stay inside the detail as that’s what makes it stand out.

Right, so now we are within sight of the finish line, you should be pretty pleased with your efforts by this point if you have given it a go. here you can see the decorative stamp work across the top, this was added to cover a large un tooled area but once a line of stamp was added inside as well it all started to become one. ( Yes..we arty farty types do get dramatic hahahaha. )..nearly there.

The full area just antiqued and drying.

For a finishing touch I added a small snap stud fastener strap which I stamped before doing the stitching.

That strap was attached with a rivet as can be seen here, nothing flashy and I coated the dyes parts of the project with leather Sheen by Fiebings, using a sponge again, there will be bubbles when you do this…there always are, some people water this stuff down a bit and that works for them, but I use it straight and keep gently sponging until the bubbles are gone and it starts to dry and disappear.

You can see the bubbles as I add the sheen coating, easy to do, just keep wiping gently and as the sheen thickens there become less bubbles ..then it goes smooth and see through leaving a lovely shine.

You can leave it there if you like, just Buff up the sheen coating till it shines and you’re done, or..you can add a Leather Balm coat, I use Effax from Norway which is a Bridle treatment that softens leather and it smells great, you could also use Aussie coat or any other Good leather balm if you wanted, that’s just my preference.

These two previous pics show me rubbing in the Balm coat, It’s very waxy so I also then use a hair dryer (Not a heat gun)..to melt the Balm, leave it about 20 mins and then start buffing as I am doing here, it can take a while but keep going because that effax balm does shine up after a bit of elbow grease and the finished look is just brilliant.

Annnnd..we’re done. If you’ve made one of these yourself after this give yourself a round of applause, if you are thinking of doing one after seeing this..I highly recommend you do…you will have great fun and a sense of accomplishment when you are done. If you can’t tool..no problem..a plain nicely dyed and shined up leather cover looks equally as stylish and cool. Hope you will put your pics up if you give it a go..please send me some private pics in my messages as I don’t seem to be getting to see anybodys work lately….and ask any questions, always happy to help, thanks. More to come from the new Workshop this year, hoping to be self employed soon and will be banging stuff out lol…well..thats the idea, we’ll see. Guys, thank you for following my little blog, I hope it entertains you and encourages some of you to give it a go. ‘Till next time..stay Crafty.

#book covers #leather books #leather covers #crafts and hobbies #student books #artist books #Arts and Crafts #gift ideas #drawing pads #sketch pads #artists #drawing #drawing supplies #leather goods

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