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necroromantics · 4 months

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🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 13. // (masterlist)

Toby sat in the livingroom, leaning back into the couch as he watched whatever movie was playing on TV. In the distance, he could hear the old house phone begin to ring. He groaned in annoyance as he sluggishly pulled himself up from his comfortable spot and picked up the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Toby. How’re you?” The familiar voice of his older sister flowed through the call.

“I’m alright, what’s up?”

“Uh, listen, don’t worry yourself but…” Lyra’s voice trailed off for a moment, “Frank came by the other day, wasted. He got into a fight with mom and… We have it handled, so don’t freak out or anything. I just thought you should know, ‘cause we’re going to be getting a restraining order against him.”

Toby stood in silence, trying to process the load of information that had been dropped on him. In all honesty, he had found himself blissfully unaware that his father had still been alive in this world. He had hoped to keep it that way.

“Wait- Wait. So what happened?” He asked.

“Nothing major! He just came by last night all drank and pissy, and started fighting with mom a bit. He hit her so-”

“He hit her?”

“She’s fine, Toby. I only told you because I wanted you to know about the restraining order.”

“Is she pressing charges?” Toby asked, and there was another moment of dreadful silence.

“You know she wouldn’t do that. It was hard enough to get her to even consider no contact.” Lyra nervously laughed, trying to ease the tension. She could feel the anger pouring from Toby’s end of the call.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me know. If you ever need me to come back, Lyra…”

“God no, don’t waste your money on a train ticket over Frank being a douche. You’d be poor by the end of the month,” She laughed again. Toby smiled melancholically at the joke, his sister had been the only one with her head screwed on straight once again.

The call ended quickly, and Toby stood still. He held the phone tightly in his hand, his lip twitched. There was a sense of something bubbling up inside of him, a furious sort of energy burning through his body. He found himself again confined in the walls of his childhood home, but he was eleven years old, and he could smell alcohol pour from his fathers breath. Toby was only a child when he looked up and saw blood on his fathers hands, some days it was his, some days it was his mothers. Now, it was the boys turn to wear blood like a glove, to wield that righteous anger. To become it.

Soon after the call, Toby’s dreams began to drift away from killing random people, and would bring him back to murdering his father over and over, again and again. One night, he fell into a dream where he was once again a 12 year old boy, and he would wrestle with his father, only to end up stabbing him to death. He drove the knife into the man's body too many times to count, and when Frank pleaded, cried for mercy, the voice to come out of his mouth was Toby’s. The boy shot up in bed, jolted awake. His breath trembled for a moment as he swallowed, trying to collect himself. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what it meant.

Toby squeezed his hand, balling it into a fist as a confirmation that even after he had lost everything, he still had his ability to fight. He still had his anger, and it moved him. The boy was always frightened by his rage, how loud it could become, how violent. Toby had become what he feared the most, and now the only thing left to terrify him was himself. He was the killer, and the horrified witness. He was his father’s son. A soft ticking from the clock on the bedside table filled the night, alongside Natalie’s slow breathing. Toby looked over at the sleeping girl, adjusting his eyes to the dark. He looked at her bare arms, and then down to his. For many years of his life he had grown accustomed to the appearance of bruises littering his body. He learnt ways to hide them, because he didn’t want to be taken away from his mother. As a little boy, he was scared of his father, but even more, he was scared of losing everything he knew in the walls of that battlefield house.

The next morning, he stood with Natalie in the kitchen as he cracked eggs into a pan. He hit them against the edge harder than usual. Natalie blew over her hot morning coffee to cool it off, which felt like daggers in Toby’s ears.

“Can you cut that out?” He muttered, annoyed. She raised an eyebrow at him and put her cup down onto the countertop.

“What’re you cranky for?” She asked.

“Nothing. It’s just annoying.”

Toby scooped the scrambled eggs off of the pan and onto a plate, sliding it over to her, and putting the rest on his own. The boy took his food and left for the livingroom without another word, he wanted nothing more but to be alone.

Sitting on the couch in his solitude, Toby picked at his eggs with his fork. He wasn’t hungry. All he could think about was the feeling of taking his fathers life. The struggle the man put up, the smell of booze and smoke, the blare of the old TV. He remembered how it felt to have all the years of fear and anger finally pour out from him, through the hands that gripped the kitchen knife that slaughtered his creator. Then, he began to plan.

Toby never really stopped to carefully plan out his steps before taking someone's life. When he killed his father, it was an eruption of brutality, rage, and sickness. When he killed anyone else, it was on a whim, or had to be done. He imagined it would be most difficult to pinpoint Frank’s location. He couldn’t hold down a job long enough to keep a house on his own anymore. He must’ve been in cheap motels, or couch surfing, or sleeping in his car. And he called Toby the failure of the family, the boy thought to himself.

“Are you still moody?” Natalie’s voice brought Toby out from his brooding thoughts. He looked over at her standing in the entryway, leaning against the wall, and shook his head. The girl walked, and sat down beside him, picking an uneaten piece of egg off his plate and tossing it into her mouth.

“If you’re still upset about what happened-”

“It’s not that, Nat. Something different, it doesn’t matter.”

“Well if you’re going to be a prick every morning, then I think it does,” she poked. Toby rolled his eyes and stood up to clean off his untouched plate of breakfast. Natalie walked after him.

“Whatever you got going on, you don’t need to take it out on me,” she continued as they walked into the kitchen, Toby scraping his uneaten food into the garbage, and running his plate under the water in the sink.

“You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

Turning off the squeaky faucet, the boy turned around to face the shameless girl.

“It’s just stupid shit with my dad. But my sister said she has it handled, so whatever.”

“I thought your dad was dead?”

“Not here. Not anymore.”

“What’re you going to do about it then?” Toby furrowed his brow at the girl's question as his gaze met the tiled floor.

“I think I’m going to kill him.”

Natalie leaned over the island counter, resting herself on her elbows, staring at the boy with a sick understanding. Through all the time they had known each other, neither of them had really bothered, or wanted to, talk about their fathers. But there was a mutual feeling that they both experienced a similar type of rage.

“If you want to kill him, then kill him. I’m sure there's meaning in that somewhere.”

“You really think?” The boy lifted his head up, feeling relieved at the support from his best friend, the one person who understood.

“Sure, if you think it’s a good idea.”

“It has to be done.”

“Slenderman tell you that?” Natalie teased.

“No, Natalie, I told myself that. Because I can fucking think for myself. I hate my old man more than anything and if I don’t go to heaven when I die because I killed him, then so what. I can take that to my grave, I don’t care.”

“I know what it’s like, Toby. I get it. My dad was a piece of shit too, I’d kill him again if I could.” She stood up straight and walked over to Toby’s side, brushing up against him.

“Whenever he drank I’d put a chair under my doorknob so he couldn’t come into my room and start shit. Or all the damage to my eardrums from blasting music so I couldn’t hear my parents fighting,” Natalie snickered to herself at the absurdity of it all. Toby looked over at her.

“My dad used to grab my hair and just slam my head into the wall. It pissed me off so much I wanted to cut it all off,” the boy shared.

The pair stood beside each other in the kitchen, under the soft afternoon glow shining through the window, leaning against the counter. They talked about their childhoods, family issues. They opened up about things they knew the other understood, a type of understanding they couldn’t find anywhere else. A type of understanding they wouldn’t dare look for anywhere else.

Natalie shared how she grew up in a small, dirty mobile home. There was a graveyard beside her house that seemed to seep into the walls of her livingroom. It was as if the dead lived there, and in a weird way, they did.

“It’s been hard for me to look at a knife and not think about killing them all again.” Natalie said.

“I get that,” Toby replied softly.

“Do you really?”

The boy gave Natalie a look, raising his eyebrow at her in question. She only shook her head.

“It’s dumb, really dumb. I have some weird resentment towards you for having your mom and sister in your life, because I never had that. I was always alone, and I’m pissed that you weren’t too.”

“Why’s it my fault that you had a shitty mom?” Toby spoke in a rougher tone, a growing hint of defensiveness at the girl's confession.

“I never said it was your fault. So what if my mother didn’t love me, it’s not a big deal. I’m just envious, I guess.” Natalie’s tone had grown rougher as well. The walls were rebuilt around the two, leaving them at a distance.

“Well you still had your brother.”

Natalie slammed her hands onto the countertop and quickly grew furious.

“What do you know about my brother?” She glared with furrowed brow, storming out before Toby could sneak a word in. The boy scowled back at the sudden anger and huffed to himself, crossing his arms in disdain. He stayed in the kitchen for a moment, defensive rage seeping off of him, before he heard the front door open, and slam shut. The house remained quiet.

That night, Toby slept on the couch, and Natalie hadn’t spoken a word to him. Neither of them apologized, they were both stubborn to a fault. Instead, the resentment would build, and linger, and stay until either of the two decided it wasn’t worth the energy anymore. But that night, Natalie laid alone in her bed. She listened to the ticking sound, like a time-bomb inside of her. The twilight shadow danced on the roof of her bedroom, and she wondered when it was going to end. Or if it even mattered in the first place. And in the desperate attempts to put the past behind her, she made the terrible mistake of shoving it down so deep she hoped she’d forget it was there. She beat down the rage, the terror, the agony, and told herself to get over it. Some nights, like this, she remembered it all. She remembered what it was like to be a little kid, hitting her head against the wall, hoping it’d stop, and it hurt. It hurt to remember. Natalie closed her eyes, and breathed in softly as she choked it all down again, and told herself to get over it. And then, all that remained was the rage.

Forgiveness had taken the two longer than usual, and for the remainder of the week, they didn’t talk, and Toby continued to sleep on the couch. He spent most of his time in the woods, Natalie spent most of her time at work, or in her room. One day, Toby had come back into the house to hear a series of loud bangs and clatters coming from Natalie’s art room. He cautiously approached the room, one hand remained gripped on the handle of his hatchet holstered on his belt, and he slowly opened the door. Toby’s eyes widened at the massacre.

Natalie stood over a demolition of her paintings slashed and disfigured. It was a crime scene of art, a tragedy. Toby stared down at the mess, and then to the girl standing amongst it holding a knife. Her hair fell over her darkened eyes.

“I can’t stop destroying things.” She spoke softly, in a tone of confession. As if she were at the feet of God begging for atonement. In a way, standing across from Toby, she was. And he had to bear witness to her sin. Natalie pushed past him, the knife in her hand, and Toby silently watched her leave.

“I’m going into town. Don’t bother coming with.”

The boy remained still, holding his breath until the sound of the front door closing confirmed the girl's leave. He looked over the sea of Natalie’s paintings torn to shreds, snapped in half, there wasn’t a single survivor. Toby sighed to himself as he walked over, and began to clean up the mess. He saved the paintings he thought could be repaired, and reluctantly tossed away the ones that were beyond rescue. As he worked through the destruction, Toby saw an old sketchbook of hers, dated from before she had woken up on the bus to North Dakota, to a couple of days after Toby had found her. A title was hastily scribbled at the top in marker: “Important”.

He didn’t mean to invade her privacy, he just couldn’t stop his hands from flipping through the pages. He looked at sketches of corpses, girls torn apart, bugs of all kinds. He saw drawings of a boy being tortured and maimed, it was a reoccuring theme. Then, there was a gap in the dates, and it seemed the style had changed to something more concise, more knowledgeable. Toby flipped to the last few pages, and stared for a moment, his heart beginning to beat quickly in his chest. There were portraits which looked awfully a lot like him. The messy hair, the tired brown eyes, the gash that used to be on his cheek, until the last two where he looked as he did now. Of all the girls' art, gore, guts, revenge, the portraits of the boy were touched only with a subtle sort of peace and tenderness. A quiet sort of fondness.

Toby’s trained glare softened, and a smug smile twitched its way onto his face as he closed the sketchbook and put it back in its place, eyeing the title once more. He closed the door of the room behind him, and decided to spend the rest of his day glued to the TV.

Later in the night, as Toby laid on the couch drifting off to sleep with a movie playing in the background, he was suddenly awoken by a loud slam. Toby quickly sat up, and rushed over to the noise. He watched as Natalie drunkenly rushed into the house, stumbling as she ran into the bathroom. She only got half of the vomit into the toilet. The boy crouched down beside her as she groaned over the bowl, he could tell she was beyond wasted.

“Fun night?” He joked, to which Natalie only groaned again in reply. Toby fought back a teasing smile as he held her hair back, letting her choke out the last of the alcohol content burning in her stomach. Natalie fell back and propped herself up against the wall, wiping her mouth sloppily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Toby suggested as he stepped over the girl and turned on the bath.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut as Natalie sat naked in the tub, the shower head off the hook and in his hand. She stayed quiet as she held her knees up to her chest, hiding herself in case he looked. He didn’t dare to. Toby ran the water over her hair, and down her back, cleaning off the drunkenness and soil. The girl sniffled to herself, staring mindlessly at the water pouring into the drain as it ran off of her. She felt as the boy worked shampoo into her tangled hair, his hand gentle on her scalp. He leaned over the tub, silent for a moment, eyes still closed.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone there for you as a kid, Nat. I wouldn’t have ever left you alone if I knew you back then,” Toby said softly.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It doesn’t mean anything to me,” She said back, in a quiet tone, nearly a whisper, “I spent so much time screaming and begging for someone to help. And no one ever did, so I realized quick that nobody was coming to save me anyways. I guess I lost hope awhile ago.”

“But you’re still angry, aren’t you?”

“Nobody is as angry as a 16 year old girl,” Natalie half-smiled as she continued to stare at the drain.

“The thing that still gets to me is that the cycles never really end, you know? I never cared about dying because I was left to die night after night and still woke up again in the morning. A few hundred years ago there must’ve been a girl just like me, and now she’s 6ft under. I guess I’m just coming to terms with that. For once, I don’t want to die.”

Toby stayed silent for a moment as he washed the soap out of her hair, holding his hand on her forehead to prevent the water from running into her eyes. The air was heavy, and the bathroom lights glowed warmly, an old yellow tint on the tiled floors, the rusted bathtub. She closed her eyes and choked back a sob. She leaned into his touch. Only the sun had ever been that close.

“Toby?”

“Yeah?”

“When you first got here, remember how I told you I woke up on a bus headed for North Dakota?”

“Yeah.”

“I lied. I came to this world back in the place I grew up in,” Natalie spoke as quietly as she could, fearing her words would slur and crack with her grief-ridden rage.

“I remember being so disoriented, having my damn eye back. Everything was blurry for a moment, I just heard the sound of someone choking. And… And I looked down, and my vision started to clear up, and I saw my brother…” She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath before continuing, “He was on the floor, overdosing on some pills, choking on his own vomit. I didn’t bother to save him.”

Toby reached over, and in his blindness, felt around to turn the water off. He passed the girl a towel, and sat still.

“Do you regret it?” He asked.

“I regret not killing him myself.”

He listened as Natalie slowly climbed out of the bathtub, and walked past him. He listened as she changed into the pajamas he had brought over for her. He sat still with his eyes closed until she told him it was fine to look.

Toby slept in the bed again that night, and held the girl close to his chest. As he slowly drifted off to sleep, breathing in her smell of smoke and evergreen, she spoke quietly.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.” Natalie pressed her head close into him, listening to the boy's heart beat with nervousness.

“That’s fine, Nat. I’m just going to enjoy the time we have tonight then.” He whispered back.

Natalie had woken up first that morning, and quietly snuck out of bed. There was something about her. A blank look in her eyes, tired. She used to be kind, polite, easy on the eyes. That didn't last very long. She wasn't a girl anymore, or a sinful daughter, and as she poured the coffee into a mug, she hoped that the caffeine could fix it, just this once. And staying true to her word, as she sipped the last of her drink, she left before the boy had awoken.

Toby, alone in the room, sat on the creaky old bed. He tiredly shuffled down the hallway and into the empty kitchen, the smell of coffee still sitting in the air. He must’ve just missed her, the boy thought. Toby grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, and made himself a cereal breakfast, still half-asleep. His eyes met the scenery outside the window, the farmland looked magnificent blanketed in white snow, dragging over the hills. Toby only wondered what it'd look like painted red.

He wasn’t entirely sure when, or if, Natalie was going to return, but she stayed in his thoughts. He thought she laughed like a wildfire, and smiled like God. They had been best friends for years, and he realized, in the most horrible way, he really did like her. And to his relief, she came back to him early into the afternoon. The girl seemed to be in a better mood, grotesque as ever, indifferent to the world, though there was a remaining feeling of awkwardness and irritation from the night before. Natalie told Toby about a farmers market in town, if he wanted to go with her, and he did.

The two walked around the bustling paths of the market, staying close to each other's side, disregarding strange looks. There was little crop to buy during the winter markets, so a lot of the locals would sell personal creations, or baked goods. It was early February, and a particularly warm day, to their luck. Little frost gathered on their jackets, their cheeks were barely flushed with windchill. The sun beamed down on the two as they wandered through the market, chatting over what to waste their money on. Eventually, Toby found himself talking with an old man who had been selling his woodwork. Natalie stood by his side quietly, groaning to herself about the crowd of people that surrounded them. She hated crowds, she hated people. Toby had a way with them, it was easy for him to make conversation, though he wasn’t always the best at it. He could reel anybody in with a quick joke, or an engaging question. Natalie never knew how he did it.

For a second, in the midst of the open air chatter, she thought she heard someone shouting her nickname from the old world: “Clocky”. She quickly glanced around, then brushed it off, before hearing it again, alongside Toby’s name. Natalie looked over the sea of people once more, lowering her brow as she scanned faces, and grabbed Toby’s hand to catch his attention. Being dragged away from his conversation, he asked what the issue was, before he noticed an expression of disbelief trace the girl's face as she looked into the crowd. Toby turned his head in the direction she stared, and his eyes widened.

“No fucking way-”

“Clocky! Toby!” The familiar girl shouted out as she waved frantically, running towards the two, pushing past the people in her way. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, her smile was wide.

“Nina?”

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topazshadowwolf · 1 year

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soriel brand dadmare. Nightmare overworks himself so Lyra give a back message so he can relax.

Should he get a monocle? After all this time, he couldn’t stand staring at his paperwork for so long. His vision was blurred, and his head was starting to hurt, a rare thing for him. His tendrils thrashed as he sighed and leaned against his desk.

Ever since he decided to start building alliances versus using every AU as a place to generate bursts of negative emotions, his paperwork has increased. What’s the AU? What resources does it have? Who is in charge? How willing are they to trade with others? What deals were made? What contracts were formed? So on and so forth.

He sighed and closed his socket, no longer able to tolerate looking at anything.

This peace was supposed to free up his time. He was supposed to be able to sit in his library and read all day if he so chose. Lately, he has had less free time. And his boys did offer to help. Sanses do, apparently, have a good record of doing paperwork. That whole bit with helping Papyrus as king, and likely Toriel when she becomes queen in a neutral run, is the source of that.

But the four already have enough to do. They are the ones who are scouting these AUs, talking with the leaders… being his voice when he can’t be there, among other tasks. He couldn’t make them do all of this. They would have no time for themselves.

“They said I could find you here,” Lyra said, and Nightmare opened his tired eye socket to look at her.

“Hello, Lyra,” He replied and watched as she walked into the room with a cinnamon roll and a cup of milk.

“I insist you take a break. If anything, let me help you,” She said as she waited for him to move some papers to set the treat down for him.

He sighed and picked up the fork before looking up at her. “I need more than help. I had believed I no longer needed henchman. The fact is, I need more employed. Among their chores and responsibilities, I can tell the boys are stressed.”

“So can I…,” Lyra agreed. She then moved behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “And so are you.”

“Yes… I could use someone who enjoys this tedious work,” Nightmare shook his head. “I need to employ a wide range of help…. The boys hinted at this, but it just seems weird.”

Something was happening. Lyra’s paws were moving. Fingers pressing into tense areas in just the right away. Nightmare hummed as his thoughts seemed to slow with the feeling of relaxation coming over him. “They mentioned it to me as well. You own a castle, Night. It is practically empty.”

“Mmm… yeah… there’s space,” He said, not noticing he shortened ‘there is’ into ‘there’s.’

“Before I left the OmegaTimeline today, Core mentioned that UnderFell Toriel outcode the boys found,” Lyra started. Nightmare hummed again, but this time in question. “She apparently has been saying that she would like to come here.”

That made him pause, and his tendrils grabbed her wrists for a moment as he needed a moment to think. “She has been? For what reason?”

“She doesn’t like it there, Night. It is not what she wants. She said she would do anything to get out of there and be here. Core hesitated but finally came to me and told me about that,” Lyra explained, and then Nightmare released her wrists.

“I see… ooooh…,” He relaxed again as she started in on massaging his shoulders again.

“You can find people. There are outcodes who would be willing to work for you,” Lyra said as she started to move down his back. And words could not describe how good that felt.

His tentacles lowered and relaxed as she worked the tension out just above their connection point. He couldn’t really think. At least not enough to find a point to disagree with this. Sure, he’ll bring in more mortals. Three was his limit, but if she was going to give him back massages, he would change that limit to whatever would get her to do this more.

“... Alright… tell… uh… Core I will… meet tomorrow,” He hummed and he heard her soft laugh.

“I will. Now you just relax. We will find someone to help you sort this all out. As well as make better use of that laptop than a paperweight,” Lyra said with a giggle before she continued with the massage

#Dadmare works too hard #many long hours #But that's okay #He'll get help #utmv #short fic

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aercnaut-archived · 11 months

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@nightmdic <3'd for a starter

" did you see him? " he asks, taking a drag of his cigarette with a shaking hand, despite the fact he was dressed for the arctic temperatures. at his feet, hester was up against his leg, pressing into it and saying nothing.

" the costa boy. didya take a look at 'im? is he... " he clears his throat, " is he gon' be okay? "

its a stupid question, and he knows it is. a child that small wouldn't be okay in this weather in normal circumstances, and poor billy....

oh, god. his daemon. she'd been cut from him. how was he even still alive?

" 'm askin' for lyra. she uh...she's worried 'bout him. she's sleepin' now -- i got her all tucked in an' all that. " he vaguely gestures toward his tent. somehow, he'd become responsible for the girl. not that he was complaining.

another shaky drag of the cigarette, as if more nicotine would cloud his mind and make him forget what he's just seen.

#nightmdic #{trade deal: you like starter call }#{i make you sad with a concept we discussed forever ago}

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faelliely · 9 months

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Relationship: Gabriel Soma/Renato Lyra

Rating: E

It's not something he even knew he had a thing for, honestly can't imagine it being a turn on for him if it was anyone except Renato. It took him by surprise how it shot through him when he overheard Renato and his sister animatedly chatting. Gabriel has no idea what they’re talking about, but the way his Portuguese rolls so naturally, well-practiced and fluid. It’s a beautiful language, and he’s breathtaking delivering it.

Renato is so expressive, so passionate when he doesn't have to think as much before he speaks. Reminds Gabriel of just how smart the other is, effortlessly multilingual and exceedingly competent.

They’re tucked away someplace private together, whatever this is between them that reached boiling point a few weeks ago still burning strongly, yet with increasing familiarity. They steal any moments they can with each other in between their harrowing Trials, a chance to unwind and share.

Gabriel’s memorized everything he can about Renato in this time, needs to know how he works far more than any machine he’s learned the ins and outs of. He already knows just where to press his lips beneath his jawline, confident that the drag of his teeth across his fluttering pulse point will reward him with a satisfied hum deep in his chest. Renato’s got his fingers wound in Gabriel's well-manicured buzzcut, tugging him back gently and pushing him down urgently with hands and lips until his shoulders meet the worn mattress. The younger seems to be feeling more dominant today, and Gabriel is more than happy to let himself go with his flow, encourages the other to undress and explore him to his heart’s content.

Gabriel feels the heat in the room rise as Renato works a third thread-worn finger into him, baritone voice cracking on a whine as the engineer lets his head drop forwards onto his forearms, pushes back against the other to tell him he’s more than ready. Renato gently turns him over, replaces the warm curl of his fingers with the blunt press of his cock, and Gabriel imprints his fingernails into those sun-kissed shoulders, breath hitched as Renato dips his tongue past his teeth.

Sex with Renato is always incredible, methodical and thorough, intense and exciting. He’s certain the other was not experienced when they met, but he’s an intuitive and focused study, has learned Gabriel’s tells just as quickly as he has Renato’s. He pushes one of Gabriel’s knees up and out, lets him feel the stretch as he drives himself home, so much yet everything Gabriel craves, making the engineer keen and shudder.

As the younger bottoms out he breathes out an expletive in his native tongue. Gabriel feels it spark through him, feels his cock twitch in keen interest as Renato rests his forehead against Gabriel’s muscled shoulder. He needs to hear more.

"Talk to me."

Renato lifts his head and smiles at Gabriel fondly, tilts his head quizzically. “But I am talking to you.”

Gabriel wets his lips nervously. “Not… Not in English.”

Renato furrows his brow, confused but not unwilling. "In Portuguese? But you won't understand...?"

"No, I won’t.” Gabriel shakes his head softly before reaching to tuck a lock of Renato’s hair gently behind his ear, trailing his hand across freckled cheeks to reverently caress his lips. “Please?"

Renato looks adorably bewildered, gazing at him with eyes wide, like Gabriel has grown a second head or something. Shaking his head slightly, Renato bites his lip before starting dubiously "Uh... Você é um idiota?"

Gabriel glowers at the other, "I don't need to know Portuguese to guess what that means."

Renato huffs a fond laugh through his nose, eyes crinkling in amusement. "I'm sorry. How about... Você é gostoso."

That works for Gabriel. The smooth lilt of his voice, the roll of his sweet words. Gabriel gives a low moan, running his hands to rest on the jut of Renato’s hips and squeezing encouragingly, urging him to move.

This seems to give Renato some confidence. “Você me deixa louco.” He gives a thoughtful hum, angling his hips to drive himself right where Gabriel needs him before continuing. “E eu quero saber mais acerca de ti...”

“Fuck, yeah...” Gabriel gasps, hardly as eloquent, but blows the younger’s pupils wide regardless. He seeks out one of Renato’s hands and threads their fingers together, squeezes reassuringly. “You’re so perfect, keep going…”

Renato’s blush is almost glowing in the filtered light. He swallows before purring, “Você é lindo.” Gabriel’s eyes are scrunched shut, the pressure and heat of their coupling combined with Renato’s rich accent causing him to feel. “Eu tenho tanta sorte.”

He’s certain Renato can hear his thundering heartbeat, Gabriel arches into him and utters a curse like a prayer. The way Renato shifts his hips and serenades him with his voice, Gabriel’s not certain he’d be able to understand English at this point. He sorely wishes he knew what the other was saying, whether it’s as achingly hot as it sounds.

He’s certain he’s never been this turned on before, mind hazy and panting between moans, having the breath punched out of him on every thrust. It feels like he’s drowning, blinded with their pleasure, all his worries and problems forgotten in this perfect moment together. Wants to kiss Renato senseless, but doesn’t want to quiet him. Knows it’s too early in what they have to fall, certain he’s doing so anyway.

He cradles Renato’s face tenderly with his hand, turns his head to murmur hotly in his ear. “God, you’re so beautiful.” Cants his hips up into Renato’s rhythm, pushes all of his desire and unspoken feelings into it as they chase their completion. “Ah, c’mon, I’m so close…”

Renato doubles down his efforts, leans his full weight onto Gabriel’s hips and slams into that perfect spot that has stars sparking across his vision. Mindless pleas escape Gabriel’s lips, his entire world narrowed to the beautiful man inside of him; his pretty face, his perfect cock, and his breathtaking voice.

“Eu acho que estou apaixonado por você.”

Gabriel’s world whites out as he comes untouched, gasps a soundless scream into Renato’s mouth as he feels the warmth of his partner following him with a long moan. They catch their breaths together, trading lazy open-mouthed kisses as they shake through their afterglow.

Once his heart rate has slowed and Renato’s head is cushioned comfortably on Gabriel’s broad chest, the engineer can’t help himself, taking one of Renato’s hands and pressing his lips to his knuckles, smiling warmly at the other as Renato gazes up at him questioningly. “So, what were you telling me?”

Renato flushes, averting his eyes and smiling softly to himself. “Oh, nothing important.”

Disclaimer: I do not know Portuguese, I did a lot of reading before picking simple-ish phrases to include in this, but my sincere apologies if something isn't quite right. Please let me know if there's anything I can change :)

#renabriel #renato x gabriel #gabriel x renato #gabriel soma #renato lyra #dead by daylight #dbd #my writing

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rynmaru · 1 year

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Web Friend

The screen door banged against the wall as Castor sprinted into the house, kicking off his muddy shoes by the door as he went in a move so practiced it barely slowed him as he continued on to the kitchen and up the stairs to his room.

“Castor?” His mother’s voice halted him and he turned in time to see her looking around the corner and up the stairs after him, drying her hands on her apron. “How was school, sweetheart?”

Castor fidgeted, eager to be on his way but not wanting to completely ignore his mother. “It was good! Can I go play now?”

Lyra smiled faintly, “Don’t you have homework?”

“Uh uh, I finished it! It’s easy, Mama!”

“Oh I see,” Lyra made a mental note to look into the advanced classes for her son that had been offered by the teacher. “Well, bring your homework down to the table so Chichi can look it over when he’s home tonight, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.”

Castor hopped down the steps and ran to the worn kitchen table, setting his backpack down and taking out a neatly organized folder covered in space related stickers containing the day’s completed homework, filled out in blocky child’s handwriting. He placed the binder on the table in front of his father’s seat. Then he turned to run upstairs only to stop as his mother blocked the doorway.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, thinking, little brow furrowed. Then he lit up. “Your hug!”

Lyra smiled and held out her arms, crouching so her son could run right into them. Castor threw his arms around her neck, laughing as he was lifted off his feet when she stood and twirled with him. Stopping, Lyra swayed a bit, off balance. Castor put his little hands on either side of her face.

“Careful, Mama!”

“Oh don’t worry about me, peanut.” She peppered her son’s face with kisses, knocking his glasses askew.

“No no no!”

“Yes yes yes!”

They both broke into giggles again and Lyra carefully adjusted her son’s glasses back into place.

“Alright. Now you can go play,” she set him down and smoothed his hair off his forehead, pressing a final kiss to his widows-peak.

“I love you, Mama!” Castor called as he ran for his room.

Melting, Lyra watched him go. If only he would never outgrow moments like this.

Shutting the door to his room quietly, Castor set his backpack down by the closet and then dove to rummage under the bed, pushing aside a plastic storage bin to reveal a smooth metal cylinder, the lavender of the circular screen glowing like a digital eye amongst the dust bunnies.

“Hi, X!” Castor whispered excitedly, grabbing the handle at one end and pulling the canister out, dusting it off before setting it on the bed and grabbing the clunky laptop computer from his desk to bring over.

Settling on his bed, Castor took one of the USB cords and connected the cylinder to the computer, opening the screen and watching as it lit up with the soft lavender it only showed when connected to his biggest secret.

He waited, bouncing in place impatiently until it finished booting up and the lavender background darkened to black with the only remnant of the color found in the blinking cursor in a chat bar at the bottom of the screen, waiting and ready to type.

Castor reached to start, but paused as text popped up at the top of the screen.

X: Hi, Castor! How was school?

He beamed and replied quickly.

Castor: It was good! And boring.

X: Oh. I’m sorry…

Castor: It’s okay! How was your day, X?

The cursor blinked in place for a long moment.

X: Good now that you came back! It’s nice to talk!

Castor: Yeah! I missed talking to you all day…

X: Maybe I can go with you to school one day.

Castor: Maybe but you’re container is heavy…

X: Crypt. And sorry…

Castor: Oh yeah, your crypt. Oh! Wait, I have something for you! I just got the last piece!”

X: Something for me? :)

Castor could barely contain his excitement.

Castor: Yes! Do you ever get tired of typing?

X: I don’t type. I don’t have hands :(

Castor: haha oh yeah…but would you like to not not type?

X: I don’t think I understand, Castor…

Castor: Okay okay just wait, I’ll show you!

X: OK! :)

Castor leaned over and opened his bedside drawer, taking out the small microphone he had begged his parents for for his seventh birthday. He had been waiting for a chance to get it plugged into the computer and had finally managed to smuggle a cord from his father’s workshop in the shed that would suit his needs. Plugging it in and then doing the same with a small, hand-me-down speaker, a gift from an older cousin, Castor turned it on and sat back, holding the little microphone cupped in his hands.

“Can you hear me, X?”

Silence. The cursor blinked.

“X…? Hello…?” Castor’s heart sank. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe his friend was only able to type. He hadn’t thought of that. He had just assumed they could talk if they had a chance to.

“H…H’lo…? Hello…?”

The faint voice from the speaker made Castor start, but he immediately leaned in, eyes wide.

“Cas…tor…?” The voice sounded uncertain. Young. Like it belonged to someone around the same age as him.

“Hi! Hi, X! It’s me! I can hear you!”

“Castor…Castor!” The voice was becoming smoother the more they talked. “Hello! I can hear you too!”

The delight in X’s voice made Castor laugh.

“You sound like a kid!”

“Do I?” X seemed confused. “I just talked like you. Is it bad? I can change it. I think. I’m sorry.”

“Uh uh I like it! You’re like me!” Castor encouraged happily. “I like your voice!”

“Haha, that’s good!” X’s laugh sounded like they were trying to mimic something they had only ever written. Castor giggled at that.

“You need to practice laughing.”

“I need to?”

“Mhm, that sounded fake.”

“Oh…I can learn. I’ll work on it.”

“I can help!” Castor said. “Now that we can talk we can do so much more together!”

“Like what?”

“Like stay up alllll night and talk! And play games! It’ll be like having a best friend all the time, X!”

There was a pause.

“Um…Castor…?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t…like being called X…”

Castor’s face fell, his little brow knitting with concern.

“You don’t? I’m sorry…I thought it was your name…that’s what’s on the screen on your crypt.”

“It’s okay…I just…don’t like it…I don’t wanna be a letter…”

“What do you wanna be called?” Castor asked.

“I don’t know…are you good at names?”

“Not really…” Castor said apologetically. “But I can try. Um…”

X considered their options. “What about Pollux?”

“Pollux?”

“Uh huh! Like Castor and Pollux!” They said, sounding more confident in their naming choice.

Castor nodded, catching their infectious excitement. “I like that! Castor and Pollux! Pollux and-“

“Castor?” His mother’s voice sounded from the doorway as she stepped into the room, looking confused. “Who are you talking…to…?”

Her gaze swept over the scene before her, seeing her son sitting on his bed, holding a microphone and a speaker, alongside his open laptop with the strange lavender text and the even stranger unit that was connected to it.

Castor was frozen, staring at his mother with wide eyes and the guilty expression of a child caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Um…um…no one…”

Lyra raised an eyebrow and approached.

“Castor. Are you telling the truth?”

His eyes welled with tears and he shook his head, lip quivering.

“Please don’t take them away…” He whispered, scooting closer to the device hooked up to the computer. “Please, Mama…”

“Who’s “them,” Castor?”

The screen flickered lavender and the young voice spoke up.

“Um…me. I’m them…Hi, Castor’s mom!”

The child’s voice surprised Lyra visibly but she didn’t let down her guard. Voice modifiers were very good these days and adults could sound like children if they so chose.

“Hello…” She slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning to look at the computer screen to try and determine how Castor had communicated with this stranger. Perhaps a chat room? They’d have to change the internet permissions on his account…

Or they would if the computer was connected to the internet. But the bars at the top clearly indicated that the laptop was completely offline.

“Castor, did you turn off the internet for the computer?”

“No…it stopped working a long time ago and I couldn’t get it back on.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I forgot…I’m sorry…”

Lyra’s mind was racing. If this wasn’t someone connecting with her son via the internet then how were they in communication at all?

“Castor…what’s your friend’s name?” She asked, trying to sound calm and composed to avoid scaring her son.

Castor sniffled and looked to the computer, or rather beside it.

“Pollux…they’re really nice, Mama…”

“I’m sure they are, sweetheart,” Lyra soothed before turning her attention to this “Pollux” individual. “So…Pollux…where are you from?”

“Um…kinda here? I think? Castor says he found me in a shipwreck!”

Castor squirmed a bit as he felt his mother’s stern gaze, averting his own.

“I see…And you are…currently in the computer?”

“Oh! No, haha!” The distinct mimicry of laughter sent a chill through Lyra. “I’m in the crypt! Um…it’s probably some sort of box? Or tube? Or…maybe a flash drive…?”

Castor reached to put a little hand on the device by the computer, tapping it so his mother knew this was what Pollux was talking about.

Lyra had a very limited knowledge of what constituted artificial intelligence. It was rarely found here in the farming communities of Anakeion, but some of the larger farms had CompCons to run their machines or to do their bookkeeping. This seemed something akin to that. But far, far older if it really came from the Amphora. Grailtech.

Something like that would sell for a fortune. They could name their price and it still wouldn’t be enough. And yet…

“Castor, wait here for a moment, alright? You and…and Pollux.”

“Okay, Mama.”

“Okay, Castor’s mom!”

Lyra stood, offering a smile, then stepped out of the room, closing the door so it was only open a crack.

“You heard…?” She asked quietly, turning to face her husband who had been waiting outside to avoid overwhelming Castor or intimidating him with a perceived confrontation.

Argo nodded, running his fingers through his hair in a weary gesture. “I heard…It’s really not connected to the internet?”

“Really…whatever it is…it might actually be from that derelict. And if so…what then?”

“Well…we could try to have someone take a look at it. But they’d most likely just take it if they did…we could turn a profit from it…”

“I think that would break Castor’s heart, he was near tears in there…” Lyra said worriedly. “I don’t want him to be sad, but what if it’s dangerous?”

Argo motioned her over and held her, swaying slightly. “It doesn’t seem dangerous from what I heard…it sounds like an older, more advanced CompCon.”

They both fell silent, thinking the situation through. From within the room they caught a fragment of a whispered conversation.

“Castor…? Is she going to take me away…?”

“I don’t know…”

“Did I make her upset…? I’m sorry if I said something wrong…”

“It’s okay, Pollux…Mama’s gonna understand…you’re my best friend, she’ll like you when she gets to know you!”

Lyra and Argo looked to each other.

“Maybe we just keep an eye on them. Make sure they talk where we can hear them,” Lyra suggested.

Argo nodded, “And I’ll take a look at this Pollux CompCon and see if I can learn anything tinkering with it.”

Lyra smiled tiredly, “Never a dull moment with Castor, is there?”

“No, no he’s full of surprises,” Argo chuckled. “I’ll meet you down at the table, okay?”

“Alright, we’ll be down shortly.”

Lyra waited for her husband to go downstairs and then went back into Castor’s room. Her son looked up with the same wide eyes and anxious expression. She smiled and sat beside him.

“So…your father and I have decided to let you keep your new friend as long as we set some ground rules. But if you stick to those then I don’t see any reason why you two can’t continue being friends, okay?”

Castor hugged his mother tightly, burying his face against her.

“Thank you, Mama!”

She kissed the top of his head. “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, come on down for dinner.”

“Can Pollux come too?” Castor asked hopefully. “So they can meet Chichi?”

“I…I don’t have to…I don’t need to eat. It’s okay…” Pollux piped up awkwardly.

Lyra looked to the computer and softened a little.

“Would you like to join us at the table, Pollux?”

The purple screen flickered again.

“Um…can I…? I don’t like being alone…”

“Then you’re welcome to join us.”

Castor beamed and scooped up the computer and the crypt with some difficulty, making his way towards the stairs.

“Come on, Pollux! You can meet Chichi! And I can tell you about the rest of the house! And…”

Lyra listened fondly to Castor’s excited chatter, going to help him carry the crypt as he headed downstairs with his new friend in tow.

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self-shipping-selfcare · 1 year

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I'm in Love With a Siren | Lyra x Reader

《Reposted for a friend ;3》

✎Self Indulgent

✎Fluffy

✎Reader is Male

✎Tagging: @joficeandwind

reblogs with comments > reblogs > likes

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

You wander the shores aimlessly, music playing in your earbuds as you think deeply to yourself. It’s a nice day today and you were planning on spending it swimming in the ocean, but the water’s too cold so you decided to walk around instead.

You wander away from the crowd and start walking on an empty beach, feeling content. It’s not often you get to have moments like this, it’s nice and calming.

You stop when you hear something. You take out your earbuds and immediately fall into a trance; who is singing that beautiful song? You follow the voice without hesitation, somehow knowing the way to find her.

There she is!

You see a very tall and beautiful mermaid sitting on top of a large rock, combing her hair with her clawed hands as she hums the most beautiful tune you’ve ever heard. She doesn’t look like the classic, “beautiful woman with a pretty fish tail and seashell bra” type mermaid, but she is just as beautiful; if not more. She appears to be around 9 feet tall and she has long, blonde hair that reaches down to her hips. She has a lemon shark tail, a white bikini top, a curvy body type, and a pale skin tone.

Before you know it, you’re already standing next to her. “H-Hello…”

The mermaid stops singing which snaps you out of your trance, the mermaid turning to face you with a surprised look. She has bright, golden eyes and sharp teeth, but that doesn’t change your attraction towards her, in fact it makes it stronger. “Oh, hello! I’m sorry, did I hypnotize you with my singing?” Oh my- her voice is so soft and cute...

“U-Uh, I-I don’t know-”

“You must’ve heard my singing, I’m sorry.” The mermaid apologizes.

“Why are you apologizing? Your singing is wonderful…” You tell her.

“I’m a siren, dear.” She tells you. “I forgot to wear my necklace today…I was hoping no one would be here.”

“N-No! I’m glad I met you! I didn’t even realize I was hypnotized.” You say.

“Really? Well, I’m glad you’re not mad, then!” She gives you a toothy smile. “My name is Lyra, what’s your name dear?”

“M-My…My name is Y/n.” You stutter out. God, why did she have to be so cute?

“Y/n? What a cute name! Just like you~!” Lyra boops you on the nose. How is she so adorable!?

“I-I…th-thank you!” You stutter out, blushing slightly.

“Of course~! You’re adorable when you’re flustered!” She smiles at you. “Oh please, won’t you visit me again? You seem like a wonderful person, and I’d love to talk to you more!”

“O-Oh, of course! Definitely, I’ll visit you as much as I can.” You nod, grinning widely.

Before you know it, Lyra already has you in her arms, your face pressed up against her chest. “Oh, thank you so much~! I already like you!”

You blush brightly, wrapping your arms around her. “O-Of course…”

Lyra sets you down gently and hops into the ocean, peeking her head out of the water to look at you. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah.” You nod, grinning widely.

“Okay!! Bye, dear!” Lyra says before swimming away into the deep ocean. You stand there for a moment, thinking to yourself.

“I’m in love with a siren…”

《↬.•.•✿•.•.↫》

#amber's writing #amber's self indulgent works #lyra aka j's beloved <3 #oc x reader #oc writing #mermaid oc

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cdyssey · 3 years

Text

Breakfast Together

Summary: To Lyra's surprise, Mrs. Coulter comes down to breakfast in her pajamas one morning.

AO3 Link

—

On the seventh morning after Lyra’s arrival at Mrs. Coulter’s penthouse suite, her new guardian finally comes to breakfast in something other than an immaculately pressed jumper or vividly colored dress. Rather, she’s arranged in silky, blue pajamas, the waist cinched with a soft belt, her dark hair pooling around her neck in loose, unbrushed curls.

She doesn’t even have all of her makeup on yet as she lowers herself down at the long table, accepting a mug of coffee from the day butler.

Just her eyeliner.

And the effect makes her appear younger than she does with all the other nonsense so carefully applied on: the blush, the foundation, the lipstick.

Pantalaimon flutters his butterfly wings in quiet awe as Lyra places her flute of orange juice down with a clink that isn’t as gentle as she thinks it is.

“Mrs. Coulter, I ee’nt ever seen you in, uh, real people clothes before.”

Mrs. Coulter seems amused by this, for her lips tip upwards in the barest, most fleeting of smiles as she reaches forward to grab a scone.

“You haven’t seen me in real people clothes before, Lyra,” she chides gently. “Goodness, did those Jordan Scholars never teach you basic grammar growing up?”

“Well, they tried,” Lyra laughs, “but the Librarian got tired of me sneaking out the window when his back was turned.”

Mrs. Coulter shakes her head lightly between delicate bites of her pastry, and the monkey jumps up on the balcony ledge, staring at the champagne pale sky, his beautiful fur illumined beneath the rays of the rising sun.

“Of course,” she murmurs teasingly. “I forgot that you conceive of yourself as a burgeoning truant…”

Lyra doesn’t know what truant means, burgeoning neither, but she assumes that it can’t be anything bad if Mrs. Coulter is saying it.

She wags one of her brows mischievously and shovels another bite of pancakes into her mouth; food at Jordan never tasted as wonderful as this…

“But, as to your astute observation,” Mrs. Coulter continues, dabbing at the corners of her mouth daintily with a napkin, “yes, I certainly am in my pajamas. Were you under the impression that I sleep in my day clothes, silly girl?”

The playful aspect in her voice is still there, and Lyra can’t help but flash her a smile even as she hastens to defend herself.

“No!” She protests around a mouthful of mush, which earns her a reproving stare from the monkey, still nestled serenely on his balcony perch. She obediently swallows the rest of the food before continuing. “I just thought you get up really early an’ make sure you’re all nice ’n fancy for the day.”

Like, really, really early.

Like, before seven early.

Jeez.

“Something to that effect, yes,” Mrs. Coulter smiles. “I conceive of my apparel as… hmm… a tool of sorts insomuch as my clothes communicate how I would like to be perceived by others. In my world—our world, I should say—important people don’t take you very seriously if you’re not dressed to match.”

Pantalaimon, now a cream-colored kitten flattening his ears against his skull, hops down lightly in her lap to shrink away from view.

Lyra’s chest feels like someone’s done gone and stuck a needle in its balloon.

Is she not important enough for Mrs. Coulter to dress up all fancy for anymore?

Pan brushes his face against the silky fabric of her own pajama shirt, and she instinctively strokes him, trying to soothe his hurt feelings.

What a baby.

But Mrs. Coulter’s eyes widen, catching all this, the faint lines beneath them strangely stark, and she shakes her head vehemently, slinging those dark, untamed curls around her shoulders.

“Oh, no, Lyra!” She exclaims as the monkey glances over with the same expression: surprised, tentative, and something entirely else that the twelve-year old cannot claim to understand.

It’s a soft emotion, though, whatever it is.

Tender.

Concerned.

Involved.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’ve decided not to dress up this morning for an entirely different reason.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Coulter. I wasn’t—“

But Mrs. Coulter cuts across her embarrassed mumblings with that sharp politeness she wields so well, leaning forward against the tablecloth.

“As commonplace as it is for me to dress well for important people, it’s equally as rare that I ever allow myself to appear vulnerable in their company. I only do it for people whom I like… whom I consider—“ But now it’s Mrs. Coulter’s turn to be frazzled. Her pale cheeks strangely color as she settles back in her chair again, exchanging a glance with her dæmon, who only nods encouragingly, like a parent with his child, one seeking permission and the other silently giving it.

Pan dares to stick his puppy dog head up above the table again, his floppy ear unsubtly lifted.

“—dear,” she finishes uncertainly, clearing her throat. “I only do it for people whom I consider dear.”

Lyra has never seen Mrs. Coulter look so uncomfortable before, but she understands what the woman can’t seem to bring herself to say.

And the thought, the idea, the realization sends a warm, little shiver into her stomach.

Like a firework burstin’ across the corrugated rooftops of Jordan College.

Lighting the ink-stricken sky.

“Well,” she finally says, as Pan suddenly shifts into a lion cub, all big ’n large now, strong and happy and proud, “I like you, too, Mrs. Coulter.”

The words don’t seem to immediately register at first, for Mrs. Coulter’s slender face is blank for the longest stretch of a second, her bare lips parted in confusion, that clever mind of hers working hard to process one of the simplest sentences in the English language.

I like you, too.

But then, firework-sudden, the monkey’s black eyes soften.

And hers do, too.

And she smiles at Lyra Belacqua so radiantly, that somehow, the entire sun seems to dim in comparison.

As beautiful as it is.

As golden and warm and lovely.

“Thank you, Lyra…”

“Yeah, of course…”

I like her so much, Pan.

I know.

I really, really do…

#lyra silvertongue #marisa coulter #pantalaimon #his dark materials #f: his dark materials #reginianwrites #i'm soft

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ifantasyfreak · 3 years

Text

Bucky Barnes. I met him when I went to the Museum of The Howling Commandos. He had just escaped after saving Steve, and his name was cleared as well. I recognised his face on the board. I was about to say something, but before I could, he grabbed me and took me to the side.

"You cannot say a word to anyone about this." He hissed, staring into my brown orbs with semi-panic and anger. I nodded slowly. He looked like he was having a crisis.

"Hey, uh, do you wanna talk or something?" I asked hesitantly. He seemed surprised that I even asked. He didn't say something for a while. I took that as a no. I nodded and started walking away before I could embarrass myself further. Before I did, he caught hold of my hand and gave me a really old flip phone.

"Call the number on this and say 'Bubble' so that I know it's you." He said softly. I nodded.

"Oh, uh, I'm Lyra, btw." He looked confused at the last word. I rolled my eyes and walked away.

"Btw means by the way." I called over my shoulder. I heard his low, deep chuckle. I smiled at him and walked back home. I waited for an hour after I got home to call the number.

"Bubble." I said after he picked up.

"Hi Lyra." I could hear the peaceful tone in his voice.

"Hey Bucky! What's up?" I asked as I got comfortable on my couch.

"I'm trying to find a home to stay in." He said, sighing. I contemplated my next words while telling him.

"Uh, I'm looking for a new roomate. You could stay if you want?" I said.

"You want a ex-assassin, psycho, unstable 90+ man to stay in your home with you?" He asked, sounding surprised and amused at the same time.

"Well, there will be rules. You can't get weapons beyond the door step. And you'll have to help with groceries and stuff." I said. He chuckled on the other end.

"Are you sure?" He asked again.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't, Sarge." I said. He chuckled.

"Alright, I guess. When do you want me to move in?" He asked me.

"Whenever you want too." I said with a smile.

"How bout tomorrow?"

"Perfect." Then we said our goodbyes and hung up. I immediately got up and started cleaning up my apartment. I stocked the guest bedroom bathroom with soap and towels and other necessities as well and put a new bed sheet and opened a window, airing out the room. I cleaned up my kitchen for once, and made my room semi clean as well. The living room was clean other then the bag I took to work lying on one couch and the snacks on the coffee table. I was satisfied with my cleaning.

The next morning, I sent the apartment directions to the number. An hour later, he arrived with one large backpack on his shoulder and a small knapsack. I smiled and let him in.

"Great, you're right on time. So some things, here's your keys..." I explained a few more things and then gave him the wifi password and stuff. He listened patiently and gave me his full attention. Once that formal stuff was over with, I showed him his room. Then we sat down on the couch together.

"So, tell me about yourself." I said.

"You already know about me." He said softly.

"No I don't. Tell me about the Bucky that you were before the mind control stuff. Your favourite colour, things like that." He thought about it for a minute.

"Well, from what I can remember...my favourite colour used to be black. I used to be saving Stevie's ass 24/7 cause he used to be getting beat up by bullies, the punk used to try and fight back instead of running away, just so that none of the other kids would have to deal with them." He said, a small smile in the end.

"Who's Stevie?" I asked curiously.

"Steve Rogers, you might know him as Captain America." He said with a smirk at my shocked face.

"Wait wait wait, you're telling me that America's golden boy used to purposely get into trouble?! Man this is shocking!" I stated, pretending to fan myself with my hands. He chuckled.

"He did. I had been trying to convince him to not join the war, because he used to be skinny and about half my size. The damn punk was too stubborn to listen to me, but look where it got him. He because the most famous war hero known to the world." We both smiled at each other.

"What else did you do?" I asked him.

"I remember taking lots of pretty women such as yourself out on dates." He said, smirking at me once again. I blushed.

"Now, enough about me. Tell me about yourself." He stated.

"Well, I'm a dancer at professional competitions, and a part time singer at bars when there's no dance season on. Uh, my favourite colour is white. And when I have free time, I usually just spend it with my friends, or doing stuff at home." I said happily.

"What do you do with your friends?" He asked me.

"Well, sometimes we go to shop in the malls, or a bar, or just hang out at any of our houses. Sometimes we host a house party, which reminds me, I need to go to one tonight." I said, sighing at the last bit. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm probably gonna be the only person without a date there." I said.

"I could be your date." He said.

"Wait, really?" I asked, hope building up in me.

"Yeah, as long as no one recognises me it shouldn't be a problem, should it? The world knows me as the Winter Soldier. Not Bucky Barnes. I'm sure that I could blend in." He said uncertainly. I squealed and hugged him.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" I said as I pulled back. He gave me a real smile.

"No problem. But what will I wear?" He asked me.

"It's supposed to be a casual party, so just jeans and a t-shirt should be alright." He nodded.

"Well then. Let's go get ready." He said. I grinned and we both went to our rooms. I had a shower and scrubbed my skin clean along with washing my hair. I put on a casual midnight blue sundress and styled my hair in a French braid and put on some makeup. I put my phone in my bag along with my pepper spray and my card and walked out of my room. Bucky was waiting on the couch when I came out. He was wearing black ripped jeans with a grey t-shirt that hugged his body and his hair was down, around his face. He had also shaved so he wasn't recognisable. He looked absolutely amazing. I smiled as we walked out of the apartment together.

We went to my car and I went to the driver's seat. He sat in the passenger's seat without complains. I smiled at him and he smiled back. I drove the 35 minutes to my friend's house. When we reached, I introduced him to my friends, and turns out he can be pretty charming when he wants! My friend asked him what his favourite song was. He smiled wistfully.

"I like the 40's jazz music." He said. My friend went to the speaker and put on a jazzy romance playlist. Everyone paired up on the dance floor. I smiled at Bucky and held my hand out, walking backwards to the dance floor. He smiled back, taking my hand.

"Come on, show me what moves you got old man!" I teased. He laughed, before doing just that.

"Didn't know you were such a dancer!" I said.

"Well, turns out, Assassin's have a lot of missions where they need to blend in. Parties are included in that list of places." I smiled at his explanation and leaned in, resting my head on his shoulder. I gave out a happy sigh.

"I don't mean to sound weird or anything...but...I feel safe when I'm with you. I just get this invincible feeling around you. Thank you for that." I said softly. He was frozen. I looked back up at him till our faces were inches apart. He was looking at me with...wonder, fear...and trust. And maybe a little bit of happiness.

"I think you're a little delarious doll..." he muttered softly. I gave him a small smile.

"The entire time that I've seen you, you've only been Bucky Barnes. The sweet, considerate, loyal, amazing Bucky Barnes. Not the Winter Soldier. So tell me why I'm wrong." I said. He looked surprised too. The tension between us was increasing.

"Omg kiss already!" I heard my best friend shout at me. That added more tension. Bucky leaned in, softly pressing his lips against mine. I sighed softly, pulling him closer and shutting my eyes. I felt butterflies deep in the pit of my stomach. When we pulled back, I rested my forehead against his, ignoring the catcalls my friends were making.

"That was the best kiss I've ever had." Bucky said softly. I smiled and pecked his lips once again before we continued dancing.

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magicianapprenticelyra · 4 years

Text

Reservations

Timeline: Apprentice; seven years ago [three years before the Red Plague]

It was one of the nights where Asra successfully sneaks through her window. Lyra’s prepared for him for once, to say the least. The last few attempts scared the ever living daylights out of her.

Even if her uncle, his partners and Neha were out at some party in South End, leaving Lyra alone in the house, Asra did let them know he was going to be with Lyra that night.

Having Lyra’s uncle Bảo running up enough times with a wok pan, ready to swing a lethal blow in the past made Asra make sure Lyra was expecting him this time.

And there she was, with a small picnic set up on the floor of her room.

“Happy New Year!” Lyra whispers softly, giggling.

“We still have half an hour,” Asra murmurs, closing the window behind him. He removes his hood, his white curls poofing up and out.

“You washed your hair before you got here?” Lyra inquires, handing him a towel that was on the foot of her bed.

He thanks her, quickly patting his locks before setting himself down on the picnic blanket. From the folds of his scarf, out pops Faust.

Friend! she greets the ink manipulator.

“Hello Faust,” Lyra laughs, dipping her head in greeting too. She scoots forward a bit, looking at her shiny scales.

“She shed the other day?”

“Yup,” Asra replies, rooting around the platter of foodstuffs she laid out.

There are a bunch of tiny sandwiches, apple pastries—it was James’s handiwork, Asra could tell—, pumpkin bread from the baker, and a giant jug of Asra’s favorite tea.

He spent a moment to inhale the scent, exhaling in satisfaction.

“Did I make it right?” Lyra murmurs.

“You made it?” There’s a mischievous smile on his face.

“Just because I messed up the last time doesn’t mean I cannot learn!” Lyra retorts.

Asra laughs, earning a playful shove from his friend. He sets Faust down on the ground, allowing her free reign to travel about Lyra’s room as he and Lyra ate together.

They catch up, as if they hadn’t seen each other yesterday. Apparently, Asra actually pulled one last prank of the year, on Count Lucio.

He proudly regales with “I tripped him up with rope!”

“What?! No, you didn’t-”

“I did!” Asra laughs. “I anchored some rope to the other end of the street and just tripped him!”

“Did you trip anyone else?” Lyra asks, astonished.

Asra’s grin is wide. “Nope! He clears the road basically, like the stinker he is.”

“Asraaaa-”

“What?” he retorts, “you know I don’t like him!”

“I mean, I know, but-”

“But what?”

“The fact you managed without getting caught!”

Asra shrugs, munching on another piece of the pumpkin bread.

“Mine meh nah spfell,” he says, mouth full.

“Pardon?” Lyra asks, picking up an apple tart.

Asra coughs, grabbing a cup of tea to wash down the pumpkin bread.

“It’s-it’s a ‘Mind Me Not‘ spell,” Asra explains. “Basically, it makes me invisible for a bit to everyone else.”

“Is it easy to do?”

“Easy enough.”

“Huh.”

“Why? You want to learn how?”

“...no,” Lyra murmurs, her tone wistful. “Would’ve been useful... about four years ago.”

Asra grimaces. He didn’t know much about what Lyra went through before she came to Vesuvia, but he knew enough from her uncle’s rants to James and Walterine about it.

There were times when he wanted to ask her about her parents, but then he realized that she might return the question to him.

He never bothered with asking her about them.

Still...

“You were on the road how long?”

“Uh,” Lyra bites into her apple tart, contemplating. “It took me longer than it should have; I can tell you that much.”

“How long should it have taken?”

“A few months to half a year. I think I did double that.”

“Hmm...”

“Didn’t help my cousins were useless in helping me,” she laughs, hollow.

Asra frowns. “I hear your uncle threatening things whenever they’re brought up.”

“For their sakes I hope he never gets the chance.”

“Really?” Asra blinks, pausing to drink another sip of tea. “You’re too nice, Lyra.”

“I’ve seen enough violence,” she murmurs darkly.

“Can... can we move on?”

Asra nods, quietly apologizing.

Faust slithers her way up into Lyra’s lap, curling into a loosely wound coil. Her tongue flickers in and out, sniffing the apple tart in the young girl’s hand.

Munch?

“Not for you, Faust,” Lyra laughs, petting the little morph’s head as she put the rest of the pastry into her mouth. “Nah fer yew.”

Asra laughs, wispy and soft as he nudges a candied apple to her.

A rousing cheer erupts from outside the building.

“Oh!” Lyra gasps.

“C’mon, c’mon c’mon!” Asra leaps to his feet, picking Faust up from Lyra’s lap and looping her over his shoulders. Lyra moves the platter atop her desk and rushes after Asra, racing up to get to the rooftop with him.

Bảo’s flat rooftop was about fifteen paces in all four directions. Being at the edge of the Temple District, it was one of the better views in all of Vesuvia to see the fireworks show.

Well, even if it wasn’t the case, the company he’s with helps with the view.

As much as Asra detested the Count, he could agree with others that Lucio knew how to throw a celebration.

The two teenagers pull a bench two feet behind the raised ledge of the roof, quickly sitting themselves down on it as the crowds below started to count down.

Ten!

“Any New Year resolutions?” Lyra muses, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her eyes aimed to the sky above the palace.

Seven!

“Hmm,” Asra chuckles, looking over to her.

Five!

“I think I’m gonna introduce you to the friend of mine I keep alluding to.”

“Oh?”

Three!

“Mhm.”

Two!

“I think it’s about time for the two of you to meet.”

One!

Before Lyra can reply, a shower of sparks fly from around the palace. Fireworks whistle in the distance, soon booming in explosions of colors above the skies of Vesuvia.

Both of their heads whip upward, their focus now on the show ahead.

Reds, blues, greens, yellows and amalgamations of them erupt in showers of sparks before trickling back down from the heavens. At times, Faust would declare the shapes she sees before the colors disappear.

“Peacock!” Lyra declares.

“Snake!” Asra adds, grinning widely.

Me?

“Yes, you,” Asra confirms, nuzzling his dear familiar.

A small laugh escapes Lyra as she watches the two of them. The sight endears them so much to her...

“Wanna join?” Asra teases, canting his head to the side.

“How do you mean?” Lyra blinks, readjusting her glasses on her face.

Nuzzles! Faust declares.

Lyra was thankful for the moon’s light for not being too strong tonight. “Um, uh-” she stammers, unsure how to handle this.

Walterine has assured her uncle Bảo that Asra wouldn’t take advantage of her. That’s something Lyra truly, deeply believed. The young magician is well known for being mischievous, but as far as Lyra has experienced, he never forced her or anyone into anything they were uncomfortable with.

“What... kinda nuzzles?” Lyra mumbles.

“Nose to nose, or foreheads touching,” Asra explains. “I promise I’m going to behave,” he adds in reassurance.

Lyra lets out a laugh. “Hmm. I think I’ll have to say I’m only okay with snuggling against you.”

Asra chokes, getting laughs from Faust and Lyra.

“Are you okay with-”

“Yeah!” Asra replies, his voice cracking.

With that, Lyra scoots closer to him, laying her head against his shoulder. Asra is visibly flustered, but he keeps his cool... for the most part.

They watch the fireworks, from both the palace and street below, for the rest of the night.

⁂

Early the next morning...

“IT’S NOT FAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIR!” Neha’s voice echoes from below.

Above, Lyra winces as Neha continues her tirade, her voice in a losing match against her parents.

Apparently, Asra already sought permission from her uncle to take her into the forest to meet the friend he mentioned the other night.

Neha isn’t having it in the least. Her arguments of Asra ‘stealing’ Lyra away so much was an offense of the highest kind.

Lyra’s already packed for the journey into the forest. Settled on her bed is a sack full of snacks, a cloak to keep her warm —James told her the forest was significantly cooler than within Vesuvia’s centralized heat—, a small length of stretchy fabric to help keep her glasses on her face, and at the foot of her bed, a new pair of boots.

It was a late winter holiday gift from James. His reasoning behind it was that he noticed Lyra’s old shoes would not last much longer, seeing how she’d worn holes into the soles. That pair is currently being repaired by one of James’s friends, which should be returned by the end of the week.

“Leave early, but return before nightfall,” James warned her.

She promised him she would.

As Lyra laces up her boots, shouldering the sack of snacks, she can hear Neha starting to cry now. Her heart twists in her chest at the sound. She hastens the final knot and clamors down the stairs to the ground floor of her uncle’s home.

Neha is settled in her mother’s arms, sniffling as Walterine gently rocks her back and forth.

“‘S not fair, not fair...” Neha sobs, curling against her mother’s chest. Walterine gives Lyra a sympathetic expression as the other approaches.

“Hey, hey hey...” Lyra murmurs, getting Neha’s attention.

Not surprisingly, Neha bodily turns away from Lyra, sniffling.

“Don’t you gotta go?” Neha coughs, curling into her mother’s front.

“Neha...” Lyra exhales. “Can we talk? Please?”

“Why do you gotta keep going places with him?” Neha sits up, Walterine moving herself and her watching fiancés out of the way so that the two of them could talk.

Lyra listens to Neha vent: she’s tired of Asra always taking her off to places that she can’t join because her parents don’t think it’s safe for her to go with the two of them.

“It’s not fair!” Neha thumps her balled up fists atop of her thighs, tears streaming anew. “I-I wanted to hang out with you last night, but you-you-you were here hanging out with him-!”

She bursts into tears yet again. This moves Lyra to pull the young girl into her arms, hugging her. Neha returns the hug, pressing her face into her shirt.

“I’ll spend more time with you-”

“Just you and me?” Neha sniffs, coughing.

Lyra nods. “Yeah, just you and me.”

“You swear?”

“I swear-”

“You s w e a r?” Neha looks up at her accusingly, squinting at her.

The expression comes off as more comical than intimidating, but Lyra manages to reign in a laugh.

“Yes, yes yes, I promise,” she murmurs, gently smoothing her hand over Neha’s hair.

They make it official with a pink swear.

“Sorry about your shirt,” Neha grimaces at the state of it once she’s finally calmed down.

“Ah, it’s just a shirt; I have more,” Lyra says. She wets a small cloth from a nearby basin to wipe off a majority of the snot and tears from her shirt.

It’s strange to say that, Lyra muses as she wrings out the wash cloth. When was the last time I could say I had more shirts?

Not long after she cleans up, Asra arrives with his own travel sack for the venture.

Neha takes every opportunity to stick her tongue out at him, earning light chastisements from her mother and James. Bảo was amused by all of it, quietly laughing.

James inspected their sacks, making sure they had the necessities. He raises his eyebrow at some of the contents of Asra’s pack—some magical components, which Walterine confirmed to be for protection spells—but ultimately...

“All right,” James nods in approval. He looks to Bảo, cuing him to say something before Lyra left with Asra.

“Don’t run if you see anything big; walk back away from it slowly. Hiểu không?” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Dạ, cậu Bảo,“ Lyra nods. She steps over to her uncle, dipping a bit to hug him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, Walterine, Neha, James and Bảo see them out. The two teenagers turn around to wave at them farewell, their gesture returned warmly by the others.

Once out of earshot, Asra asks, “Is she mad at me?”

“Nah,” Lyra shakes her head. “She’s upset I’m not spending much time with her lately. I’d give it about a month before she fully forgives me though.”

“That’s harsh,” Asra chuckles.

“It’s nothing too bad,” Lyra reassures. She raises her head up, looking at the dark forest ahead of them.

“Why does your friend live in there?” she murmurs, pausing where the cobblestones of the Temple District meet the soil of the forest.

“Reasons,” Asra says, wrapping the scarf around himself just a little more. Flashes of lavender and violet scales peek out from the folds.

Lyra can hear Faust softly breathing in there.

“Cozy, huh?” she laughs quietly.

Asra nods, a laugh coming through his nose.

“You ready?” he asks, giving her one last chance to back out.

Lyra looks up to the trees before them, swallowing.

She made it this far...

Lyra pulls her cloak tighter over herself, nodding.

“Let’s go...”

She reaches for his hand, and he grasps her in turn. With each step they take, the Temple District disappears behind them, covered my foliage.

PART II: TBA [LINK]

#The Arcana #fan apprentice #asra x apprentice #Asra #magicianapprenticelyra #the scribe writes #From Buds to Flowers to Fruits

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creator-zee · 4 years

Text

131

My first thought when I saw the stranger was deadly, quickly followed by fuck, and I’m dead. She was perched on a rock on a cliff. She wore a demon mask that covered the lower half of her face, and she had two swords on her back and least two other knives. If all the things I should’ve been focusing on, it was probably not her hair that was black except one streak of red or her strange eyes,one blood red and the other black. Better things to focus on might have been the horns that twisted through her hair and the fact that she was jumping towards me.

Yeah, probably more important.

I barely had time to throw my hands up and summon a shield before her blades were crashing down on it. I stumbled back slightly under the force, but she had jumped back already and landed. She was ready to attack, but was waiting, crouching, ready, a few meters away. Waiting, I realized, for me to release the spell.

Or not. She launched forwards. My shield flickered and faded under her attack. Well fuck. I scrambled backwards, but she was faster. I found myself with two swords centimeters away from my neck. I stared down them, up at the angry demon wielding them. Why wasn’t she killing me? The white fangs of her mask taunted me. I dared to take a step back. She stepped closer, the blades were now pressing against my neck, not quite cutting into the flesh yet. I looked up from the mask to her mismatched eyes.

“What do you want?” I choked out, my voice almost paralyzed by fear.

“Help.” Her voice was muffled by her voice, but I still heard her. But, of all the responses I was expecting, that was certainly not it. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that.

“What?” I repeated, dumbfounded.

“Help.” She repeated.

I chuckled uneasily and pointed to the blades currently crossed around my neck. “You have a strange way of asking for it.”

“Please?” She added.

“Maybe if you drop the swords and scrap the mask I’ll consider it.” I chanced. What was I doing? Helping a demon? That was insane. But she sounded desperate.

The swords lowered. The mask didn’t.

“The mask stays.” She asserted. She didn’t sheath her swords, and they were hanging loosely at her sides, but I had no doubt that I was still only seconds away from death if I made the wrong move.

“What do you need help with from me? You can obviously beat me in a fight.” I asked.

“You aren’t a demon.” She said her tone emotionless. “I need someone who can get into a town. I could, but I don’t have time.”

“What are you having me do?” I asked, suspicious.

“A delivery, a letter.”

“Ok.... to who?” Slightly less suspicious, but who would a demon need to send a letter to? Was it a threat? Would the blame fall back on me?

“The blacksmith's daughter in Well’s End Pass.” She told me. She sheathed one sword and pulled a plain white envelope out of her jacket.

“What is it?” I asked, curious as I grabbed it.

“That’s not important.” She said, quickly. The first break from her flat intimidating, calm tone. “Don’t read it.” Back to the old tone.

She pulled something else out from her jacket, two gold coins. She handed them to me. “Payment. Make sure the letter gets there.”

I nodded. “I will.”

“Good.” She sheathed her other sword and turned, quickly scaling back up from where she came, leaving me staring in awe at the letter and the direction she left. Weird. Well, at least I wasn’t dead.

131.1

Well’s End Pass was a decent sized town, not as big as the capital cities, but it still had walls to protect itself. Getting in was no problem for me, but I could see why the demon would have more troubles. I was expecting to have more trouble finding the blacksmith or their daughter, but all it took was one question at the tavern and I was pointed the right way.

I knocked on the solid wooden door, and waited.

A large tall figure opened the door. “Hello?”

“Hi, sorry, but I have a letter for the blacksmith’s daughter.” I told the wall of human.

“Oh, yes, of course, come on in.” A large hand waved me inside.

I hesitated, but crossed the threshold. Maybe this happened often.

“Lyra, dear, a nice elf came with a letter for you.” The person, presumably the blacksmith, called into the back of the house.

A tall blonde dressed in practical clothes, with her hair tied back entered from a back room. “Thanks mom.”

I stood awkwardly a few steps in from the door, waiting.

The blonde glanced at me and quickly took me in, probably noting the pointed ears and mage cloak. “Sorry, I’m assuming a demon randomly attacked you and threatened you and swordpoint to deliver this letter.”

“Uh, Yeah?” I guess this was common, I handed her the letter. “She did at least pay me though.”

“That’s good. Maybe next I can get her to just ask instead of threatening.” She commented, probably to herself.

“Well this has been, strange.” I said. “I suppose you can’t give me any answers.”

She gave me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, but no.”

I sighed. “I figured, well I’m going to go now. You don’t happen to know of anywhere I could find some work do you?”

“Oh, ummm, ask Ja’rex. He works at the stable right outside the gates. He has some friends that can get you work.” She said offhandedly, still looking at the letter I handed her.

“Thanks.” I nodded, and left. That was weird. Why would a demon give a letter to a human? And why did she not seem surprised? She acted like she could convince the demon to do something.

I headed down the street and back out the main gates. As the girl, Lyra, had said, there were stables just down the road.

#demon #elf #magic #mage #blacksmith #fantasy #writing #not edited

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melodyalanaroster · 5 years

Photo

Let Me Care For You

“Please don’t wake me up, I might sleep forever. ‘Cause the sun shines cold on me. Please don’t wake me up, I might sleep forever. I don’t wanna hear the lie today… Tomorrow won’t be okay….” the song blared as the room’s lone occupant lie beneath the covers on her bed.

It wasn’t every day that Alana’s depression got the best of her… But the people closest to her had gotten the gist that, whenever she blasted “Tomorrow” by Downplay, it was one of those days where it hit her and wouldn’t let go. Of course, most of the people outside Amouria’s Black Tower had no clue of this fact. Alana had been separate from ninety percent of the outside world for the better part of the past four and a half years… People assumed that, with everything she had gone through and what she had become, she had to have some form of depression… It was to be expected. But, she never seemed to let it get her down; or when it did, she never showed it in public.

So, when a certain blonde haired, golden eyed, punk came a knocking on her door, he simply assumed that it was something that he had done to upset her. “Alana?!” He called as he continued to knock on the door to her apartment. “Ah! Nathaniel! What are you doing here?” a voice asked from behind him. He turned around to see a girl with short black hair, translucent skin, and teal colored eyes smiling at him. “Lyra. Alana’s not answering her door. I know she’s here because she’s not in any of her other usual spots and she would tell me if she was leaving town for the weekend.” He explained, concerned. “Well, come on. I’ve got her mail and I know where the spare key is. Lyra smiled, comfortingly, as she pulled out the key and let them in.

Lyra and Nathaniel walked over to the kitchen table and she set the mail down. The apartment was quite luxurious. A sky high, state of the art, penthouse, with the perfect blend of geeky collecting and modern elegant decorations. “Well, she’s not in the main part, let’s check her bedroom.” Lyra stated. As they walked up the stairs to the door of the master suite. “I wait frozen in sorrow and on and on, and on and on it goes.” blares from the room and Lyra instantly realizes what’s going on. “Oh no!” she croaked. “What?” Nathaniel inquired. “When Melody listens to “Tomorrow” by Downplay on loop, it means that her depression is getting the best of her. I can guarantee that she’s curled up in her bed, trying to forget that she even exists.” she explained. “So, what do we do?” Nathaniel asked. “Trust me, everyone in the Senior Staff of the Red Death Regimen has tried to pull her from these waves… We usually have to wait it out because nothing we do works.” Lyra replied. “I’m not gonna sit by and do nothing!” Nathaniel declared as worry washed over his face. “Well, you love her, don’t you? Do what your heart tells you is best.” Lyra suggested as she left the apartment.

Nathaniel opened the door to the master suite and discovered exactly what Lyra had said he would. “You know? When I ignore the world, that is not an invitation for the world to come busting at my door.” a tired voice rang from the bed. “I was worried about you Alana.” Nathaniel stated as he walked towards the bed. Alana sighed. “I don’t wanna get out of bed… So, unless you wanna take off your jacket and shoes and get in this bed with me, then you’re here for nothing.” she said flatly. Nathaniel looked at the bed and thought for a minute. Alana was usually quiet and cheery outside the Tower. When she did talk, she tried to be peaceful, and she always aimed to make him smile. He walked over to the ottoman at the foot of the bed, slipped off his shoes, placed them on the floor, took off his jacket, put it on the ottoman, walked over to the bed, lifted up the comforter, and slipped into the bed. “You decided to stay.” Alana sighed as she felt Nathaniel’s chest pressed against her back. “You haven’t let me be alone since you got back… And, I’ll admit, its been rather nice… So I’m not gonna let you be alone.” Nathaniel gently confirmed as he wrapped his arms around her. Alana began to sob. “Alana! Don’t cry! Please don’t cry!” Nathaniel pleaded. Alana rolled over and buried her face in his chest. “Nath. Do you have any idea how much I’ve needed your embrace over the past few years?!” she sobbed. “Alana…” he began. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it…” she cut in. “My Melody…. We don’t need to talk about it. You’ve already told me everything…” he sighed as he ran his hand through her hair. “Oh, Nathaniel!” she sobbed.

After a few minutes of sobbing, Alana had fallen asleep. Nathaniel reached over Alana and changed the music to something soothing. “That’s enough of the sad music.” he declared. As the “Star Locket Melody” from Sailor Moon began to play, her body relaxed into his and he couldn’t help but be awestruck. It was obvious that she was paying him special attention. Whereas everyone told her to stay away from him, she ignored them and often walked up to him. She always did her best to greet him with a smile. Of course, he knew that she didn’t like everything he did, and she told him off when she saw fit.. But she always gave him another chance. She had told Rosalaya off, and made it known to everyone else that she didn’t care about his reputation… She was sticking by him this time and nothing was gonna change that. He knew she was depressed and even had a bit of PTSD. No one could go through what she’s gone through and not have them. But, unlike the rest of the outside world, Alana talked to him and was completely honest with him. He had even begun to comprehend why they broke up. She didn’t want to do it, but she had to for his protection…. The one thing she didn’t tell him about was these waves of depression.

“Alana, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” Nathaniel shook her as she awoke. “Oh! Nath! Am I dreaming?” She gasped as she pinched herself and grabbed her glasses off the bedside table. Night had fallen, which meant that she had been asleep a couple of hours. “No you’re not. Come on, put on a bra and a pair of shoes.” Nathaniel demanded, a sweet grin appearing on his face. “Why?” Alana inquired. “Because I’m taking you out for a snack and you already look cute… So, just put on a bra and a pair of shoes so we can go.” he beamed. “Uh, okay then.” Alana replied as she rushed to her closet.

“I really shouldn’t be going out like this.” Alana considered as she grabbed her phone and they started leaving the apartment. She was wearing her Yang Xiao Long pajamas, a sports bra, long socks and a pair of slip on shoes. Definitely not the style she usually went with when she left the Black Tower… More comfortable, less dangerous, and a lot more skin showing than she usually prefers… Nathaniel looked at her and smiled. “You really do look cute Alana… But here, if it will make you more comfortable, wear this.” He chuckled as he handed her his jacket. “Are you sure?” Alana inquired, wide eyed. She knew he hated exposing his arms, because it reminded him of what his father would do to him. “Of course I’m sure.” He reassured. Alana slipped her arms through the deep green jacket. It was something she’d never wear in any other circumstance, as it was an article that reminded her of Izaya Orihara, but now, HE was handing it to her. Nathaniel, the one person outside her family that she’s loved the most for years; the only person she’s ever been in love with. It was much too big for her, but the size only added to the comfort that it provided. “Huh, you look even cuter with my jacket on.” Nathaniel cooed as they got into the elevator and started going to the ground floor.

The sight of Alana wearing her pajamas and Nathaniel’s jacket while holding his hand as they walked to the cafe was not what anyone expected. “The nacho place is closed?” Alana asked. “Not closed, just full. I would have taken you there if I could.” Nathaniel clarified. “Nachos and tacos sound really good right about now….” she muttered. “One thing that will never change about you is that Tex-Mex is some of your favorite comfort food. Its a good thing I’ve managed to remember that.” he grinned. “Am I really that predictable?” Alana asked. “Yes, but in this case, its definitely a good thing.” Nathaniel replied. When they made it to the Cozy Bear Cafe, several sets of eyes immediately darted to them. “Oi! Waiter!” Nathaniel called as they sat down at a table. “Nath, be nice.” Alana commented. “Yes?” Hyun responded, his bittersweet gaze turning soft as he looked at Alana. “Get Alana a white chocolate, hazelnut, frappe with coffee and whipped cream and a croissant.” Nathaniel ordered. “Alana? Is that what you want?” Hyun queried. “Yeah.” Alana replied. “Alright then. It’ll be out soon.” Hyun acknowledged as he wrote down the order and walked off. “Nath?” Alana asked, tired. “Yes?” Nathaniel answered. “Why are you doing this?” She questioned. Nathaniel looked at her, smiled, and held her hand. “You’re always taking care of me… Let me take care of you for once.” He cooed. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reposting due to a broken link. I really wanted to showcase a bit of Alana's depression. As an audiophile who struggles with depression, I can honestly say, "Tomorrow" by Downplay and "Asleep" by the Smiths are perfect songs that explain it.... Credit goes to: FNAFfanart67 ChiNoMiko @nathanieljacott

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indescribablechoices · 5 years

Text

wish come true

Pairing: Liam x MC (Alicia Harper)

Word Count: 1084

Tag List: @brightpinkpeppercorn @kennaxval @iknewyoudcome

Synopsis: During an interview, Alicia gets herself in a twist over the thought of the holidays, and Liam makes a promise he intends to keep.

“So, what are your plans for the big day?”

Alicia blinked for a moment at Ana, thoughts whirring as she tried to figure out what she was talking about, “I… uh…”

The reporter offered her a smile, giving her a prompting eyebrow raise, “It is your first Christmas together as a married couple, do you have anything special planned for Christmas Day?”

“Oh,” the Queen said quietly, glancing away from her as she tried to think of something to say, “We… uh…”

Liam reached across and took hold of her hand, squeezing it subtly as he flashed a smile at Ana, “We don’t have anything planned yet, as such, but we’re both really looking forward to celebrating together for the first time. The palace decorations go up within the week and we’ll be decorating the royal apartment as well.”

Alicia nodded in agreement and kept mostly quiet for the rest of the interview, letting Liam take the lead on the questions. Afterwards, they returned to the apartment together, Alicia heading straight into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable after having dressed up for Ana to take some photographs of the king and queen.

She sat at her vanity with a sigh, removing her earrings as she noticed Liam leaning in the doorway watching her. She caught his eye in the mirror, “Sorry if I flubbed back there. I was expecting questions about the new school we’re opening next week. Not some fluff piece about our holiday plans.”

“It’s alright,” he assured her, “Though you did clam up when she mentioned Christmas… I didn’t realise it was a sore subject for you.”

“It’s not, it’s…” she sighed again, running a hand through her hair as she let it down from her updo, “God, it’s so stupid.”

“Love…” he said quietly, moving across the room to crouch beside where she sat, trying to meet her eyes, “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

She looked down at him, taking a moment to try and get her words right, “Her question completely threw me because I forgot about Christmas. Not that it happens, but I forgot about celebrating it.”

A frown crossed his face, “What do you mean?”

“Since my mom died seven years ago, I have spent every Christmas on my own. I didn’t have any family to spend it with, so I took all the crappy holiday shifts so other people could be home with their loved ones, and spent the actual day in my apartment with a bottle of wine and takeout from wherever was open. So when she asked me, it just threw me through a loop because this is the first time in years that I’m not going to be alone at Christmas,” tears shone in her eyes, “It just doesn’t feel real… Being part of a family again.”

“Oh baby, come here,” he said softly and pulled her into his arms. He held her tight as her words were muffled against his shoulder.

“And then you were saying all of these things about spending the day together and decorations and dinner…”

He pulled back to look at her, cupping her cheek to wipe away her tears, “If that’s not what you want…”

A smile played on her lips as she leaned into his palm, “That is what I want. More than anything. I want the perfect, cheesy, presents-under-the-tree-and-tacky-sweaters Christmas.”

He returned the smile, “That sounds amazing… And I promise you, you’ll never have a Christmas on your own again.”

***

“IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Alicia was awoke by a whumph of impact on top, eyes cracking open to see her children leaping on the mattress between hers and Liam’s legs.

Lyra, now ten years old was already attempting to wrangle her siblings to let her parents have some peace, but quickly keeling over with laughter as Liam sat up to tickle her. Drake, nearly nine, was awkwardly adjusting his glasses so that they weren’t knocked off of his face by the jumping, but there was still an undeniable glee on his face. Leona and Elias, the seven year old twins, were bouncing excitedly, using their parents legs as an obstacle course as they yelled at the top of their lungs that it was Christmas morning.

Liam glanced across at her, a familiar expression on his face, “Divide and conquer?”

“You got it,” she smiled, and they both moved in unison, grabbing two kids each in their arms; Liam hauling Lyra over his shoulder, holding Elias under his arm, Alicia hauling both Drake and Leona into her grasp as they clambered out of bed to squeals of laughter, making their way into the living room of their apartment.

They set the kids down once they set their eyes on the tree, their little eyes wide with wonder.

“Okay, munchkins, go see what Santa brought you,” she said. Lyra and Drake shot her a knowing ‘I don’t believe in Santa anymore, but nice try mom’ look, but continued to help divide up the presents into piles for everyone to sit and open.

“Remember, one at a time,” Alicia told them as she took her usual seat on the couch, Liam sitting beside her to wrap an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. She tucked her legs up on the couch, nestling into his embrace.

They would sit here as a family for an hour or so as they all opened presents before Liam made breakfast and they would all pile onto the couch to watch Elf. Then they would get dressed into their Christmas sweaters before everyone else arrived to spend the day at the palace. They’d spend the day in the snow outside, or the kids would be playing with their presents, whilst everyone chipped in to contribute something to the dinner, before they would all sit down and eat together. The evening would bring music and far too much dessert before everyone would drag themselves home, and Alicia and Liam would put the kids to bed before crashing into bed together, tired but happy.

It had been their tradition since they first Christmas together, and it had only developed as their friends got married and they all had families of their own. But it was everything she had ever wanted, more than she ever could have dreamed of.

“Merry Christmas, my darling,” Liam murmured quietly.

She leaned into him to kiss his lips, earning playful ‘ewws’ from their kids. She let out a content sigh, glancing at their children, her heart swelling with love, “Merry Christmas.”

#flag me over my christmas fluff piece tumblr i dare you #the royal romance #liam x mc #king liam x mc #king liam #alicia harper #writing

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