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strawberrysturniolo · 1 month

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never grow up part nine

summary: after the same back and forth for six months, sunny finally decides its enough, until she's given the same hopeful moment again

part eight

Chris and I will never see a day where we aren’t best friends. No matter what our relationship or our friendship levels out as, I know he would take a bullet for me, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t look for him first in a crowded room.

Of all the people I meet in my life, it all goes back to him. Every friend I make, every boy I meet, every person I try to love, they will never be him. It’s not even comparable. It will never be a fair battle. It will always be him.

The last six months have been eventful to say the least.

I turned 22. I celebrated in Boston. Chris wasn’t there. Said something about wanting to come and making an effort to fly back out. Last minute he said he couldn’t because he had to work. I said whatever, got mad for a bit, then got over it and got drunk with my friends.

I drunk called him, weeping some bullshit about how my birthday is never the same when he isn’t with me. Cried over how badly I wished he would move back home. He may have cried a little too, but I was too drunk to notice anything other than the pain in my chest from him being gone and the nausea coursing through my body as I held back every gag.

He apologized profusely, promising that he would make it up to me. The same broken promise I’ve lived with for three years now.

I shouted at him and told him to stop lying to me. He insisted that he was being honest. He promised that things would be different. They never were.

I slept with someone else. Had a short fling with someone that I thought could pull me out of the rut I was in, only to realize it was making me feel worse. Every time we fucked I imagined it was Chris. I then felt like shit because I knew it wasn’t fair to either of them, nor was it fair to me. I couldn’t move on. I was stuck on someone who couldn’t make up his mind.

Chris kept promising that we would end up together. Maybe he was right. I was getting too dizzy and exhausted going around in that whirlwind to even let myself be optimistic about our future.

I can’t keep waiting. I know he’s what I want, but I can’t put my life on hold for someone who isn’t sure of me.

So, I called it quits. Told him straight up, I can’t do it anymore. No more back and forth. We go back to being friends and only friends. I cut the ties that he had knotted between us, forcing us to stay attached no matter how hard we pulled. I always fell to my feet and he dragged me through the fucking dirt and I got up, dusted my pants, and let him do it over again. I took the sharpest scissors I could find and cut it in half, sawed at it until my hands bled, and watched him walk away and leave me behind, because finally, I wasn’t attached anymore.

I’ve managed to be okay with calling him my best friend with no underlying meaning. I’ve buried that higher level of us so low in myself that I can look at him across the country and feel nothing but friendship. I like it that way.

I’m graduating today.

Four years of college, stress, and long nights are over.

I let my mom curl my hair, let her pamper me and make me feel like a kid again before it all flies out the window. She puts gentle braids in my hair and curls the strands that fall down my back. She tells me to pucker my lips, and she swipes lipstick over them, making me feel like a little girl playing in her moms makeup again.

“How excited are you for today?” she asked me with a smile.

I smack my lips together, coating the lipstick over every inch. “More nervous than anything. It’s awkward. I just want to get it over with.”

She frowns at me. “You’ll remember this day forever, I know it,” she promises, and I let her think she’s right.

My mom and dad drove me to my school for graduation. I had one other ticket available, which I extended to Mary Lou, hoping she would make it. I grew up with her like a second mom to me, or maybe an aunt considering how close she is to my mother. Either way, she’s family. Always will be no matter how stupid her son can be at times.

When I sat in a folded chair in the middle of an auditorium and waited for us to line up, I turned around and found an empty seat next to my parents.

I for sure thought she would be here. She never missed an event for me. She was there for every sporting event, every birthday party growing up, everything. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like that.

It was empty when I crossed that stage, and it was empty when I sat back down.

I don’t know why it hurt so bad. Maybe she had something come up. Maybe she got stuck in traffic.

All I knew is that I wanted at least one Sturniolo there. And I kept getting let down.

The long day had finally come to an end, and I searched for my parents in the cattle of students and families trying to find each other after the ceremony.

“At least one of us graduated.”

My feet halted. I froze, not even able to bring myself to turn around and search for the voice that I knew all too well.

“Do you think you could copy that paper?” he asked next. I turned around, and the first thing he did was take the book from my hands. He opened it up and inspected my diploma inside. “My mom would love to have this on her fridge. Oh! By the way. She couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous, like he wasn’t real.

He grinned at me, the same cheesy, childish, and adorable grin I’ve watched remain the same while the rest of his face aged as we grew older.

“Give me a hug, Sunny,” he sighed. “I just flew the whole day away to be here. Think you can crack my back too? It’s killing me.”

My first instinct was to punch his shoulder, playfully of course. He let out a fake wince before grabbing my arm and pulling me into him.

My head nuzzled into his neck out of instinct. That spot was made for me.

“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out.

He laughed. “What a dumb question. I’m here for you, you goof. You thought I’d miss this?”

I pulled back, looking at him closely, like he was something from a dream. He straightened the cap on my head like he found all of this entertaining. “You weren’t here during the ceremony. I looked for your mom, and the seat was empty.”

“I got here on time. I promise,” he assured me. “I waited up top so you wouldn’t see me until now, but trust me, I got here and saw everything. I have pictures and videos to prove it.”

He pulled his phone out and swiped through his camera roll, which were screenshots of me walking across the stage while the rest of his family watched through FaceTime, cheering me on from home.

My eyes welled up, unsure of my emotions at the moment. All I knew was I was feeling something, and crying seemed like the only logical answer.

He held my chin and pulled me to look at him, wiping my tears once my gaze settled on him.

“I came, Sunshine,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re my number one girl, always.”

My lip trembled at his promise, seeing that he kept it. He shook his head at me, silently telling me to stop it, that him being here wasn’t supposed to make me upset. He wrapped an arm around me and led me to my parents instead, letting me stand awkwardly in photos with the three of them as they gushed and let out their excitement for me.

We all went to lunch after, nothing fancy, but we were together, and that was enough.

Chris came back to my apartment with me, which was now boxed up as our lease was coming to an end. I managed to find somewhere for us to sit comfortably in the clutter and eat our leftovers for dinner in my home.

We talked about the last six months – our lives, things we’ve done, what we missed out on.

“Did I surprise you?” he smiled.

I nodded. “Yeah, especially since I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

He sighed. “I’m trying, I really am.”

I shrugged, tired of this already. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t,” he insisted. He grabbed my thighs and turned me towards him, and I hate the way my body sparked when his hands were on me again. “I love you, no matter what, you know this. Stop making me feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

I don’t respond.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, now worried. His face softened enough to prove that.

“You know I do,” I mumbled. “Stop making me say it. It upsets me. It hurts, actually.”

“Well it hurts me that you don’t want to say it to me, because I would do anything to make you know I love you.”

Something in me snaps, because his answer isn’t fully true, and we both know that.

“Then maybe that’s all we know how to do,” I throw at him. “We hurt each other but promise to be with each other somehow for the rest of our lives. And you know what, Chris? I know for a fact I’ll be at your wedding, but the idea of being there in any other dress other than the white one I’ve had picked out since I was twelve keeps me up at night. And the idea of walking down the aisle and not being the one makes you cry makes me fucking vomit. So please, for me, make up your fucking mind. Stop playing these games with me.”

He kisses me after that, and I want to push him off, but my body has a natural reaction to him.

My hands find his cheeks and I pull him closer. My fingers eventually thread through his hair and pull on him until my back is pressed to the tile of the kitchen floor and his hands are on my waist, but we know it can’t go further because there’s nothing sexy about us fucking on my floor with boxes surrounding us.

He pulls back, catches his breath, and says, “No more games.”

I believe him, and I regret how quickly I do. “No more?”

“No more,” he repeats. “You and me. That’s all that matters.”

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free-and-to-none-accountable · 2 years

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Posted on September 2, 2022 by Rybyn Z.

The meeting went off the rails when I got a text and an email from one of the early elementary teachers. The managers were lying to our faces. Everyone must have gotten the same messages, because my coworkers’ voices started to rise, their tone grew angry, and they stopped respecting management’s “meeting norms.”

Our in-person school year had ended a week before, but management insisted on a virtual “follow-up” meeting. So, everyone dutifully logged on at 9:00 am. The regional director and his crony were waiting patiently. In an act worthy of Broadway, the DMV regional director, with a too-bad-so-sad tone, announced that our principal and assistant principal had “left to pursue other opportunities.” There was no one to replace them yet.

I work at a neighborhood charter school in Washington DC. Most students come from low-income or middle-income Black and Latinx families. Just a few months before I started working there, the board that owns the school switched charter management companies to a renowned national charter “turnaround” company based on the notorious Mind Trust’s model. Often credited as creating the blueprint for privatizing urban education, it helped spawn the company that now oversees my school. Mismanagement, exploitation, and hypocrisy were in the company’s DNA. Originally founded in Indianapolis (like the Mind Trust), the company grew until it spread all the way to Washington DC, where a charter market already thrives.

Staff, students, and families were already reeling from a traumatic year. So the announcement about the administration team blindsided us. While many of us did not like the principal and assistant principal—or, like myself, believe we could do without them altogether— we all agreed that they cared for the school community.

Meanwhile, the company had nearly run the school into the ground through mismanagement and financial profiteering schemes. They fired teachers while we were desperately understaffed, revoked already-earned bonuses for changing jobs, and did shady things to raise test scores. These were only the most glaring of a whole host of issues threatening to overwhelm and destroy the school.

So, we were all a little more than suspicious. The atmosphere was tense. A few staff members pressed the regional director for firm answers about our former leadership team—and received dodgy replies. One of the workers then asked, “Were they let go, or did they choose to leave?” over and over again. Eventually, the regional director paused for a few seconds, then—finally—said, “They chose to leave.”

That’s when I, and nearly everyone else, got the text message from the early elementary teacher. It was just an image thumbnail. Inside was the principal’s termination letter, sent by the director hosting the meeting.

It was too much. Under unbearable pressure, we exploded.

One of the teachers opened with a salvo about the terrible, contradictory communication and chaos. She ended with, “The 4:30 dismissal time has got to go.”

Our “offer letters” (we don’t have contracts) specified our roles and hours. We all got paid for eight hours a day while the company enforced nine-hour days—and most teachers worked longer to barely keep up with the crushing workload. All year, the workers had expressed disgust with these policies. Several times, workers took direct action against them. Most of the time, teachers just refused to do the bullshit busy work admin gave out, and the company couldn’t do much about it. Thanks, Great Resignation.

Another worker, an English Language Learner specialist, demanded to know if support staff who’d been thrown into different roles, sometimes multiple times a day, would be paid for their extra work. The director kept sidestepping our questions. He said to get paid, they needed to pull the records from the overflowing staff group chat, where people begged for classroom coverage all year. Several workers then pointed out that this group chat, owned by the former principal, was deleted. He had no answer for us, and we knew it. Even though we were on Zoom, I could feel the rage bubbling up. The school’s social worker then cut the higher-up off, “You all have come into a community dealing with immense trauma without thinking about what the community needs at all. Where is the support from this company? We only see y’all once a month!”

This had been something that agitated everyone on the shop floor all year: the company flew a couple of rich white people into DC for two days each month, then straight back home. She laid into them for five more minutes.

As she talked, and as several teachers came off mute to support her and launch into their own tirades, I realized this was an opportunity to unite the staff and build power. I’d built up a committee in the first few months of the school year that took some direct actions. But without a proper formalized structure beyond a group chat, the committee only represented my immediate coworkers, and ultimately dissipated as understaffing at our school got worse and worse. It had felt like many workers at the school were content to take it on the chin and keep moving. That was incorrect. A deep rage extended across every grade band and role.

The task I’d struggled with was building a formal committee that met outside work hours. With the help of two external organizers from the IWW’s DC, Maryland, and Virginia Education Workers Organizing Committee and the Southern Coordinating Committee throughout the year, I accumulated the knowledge and skills I needed to do that. Here was an opportunity to apply that knowledge.

I noticed that several people had replied to the email the early elementary teacher sent, expressing anger and betrayal.

I hopped into the thread and sent a message venting my own feelings and asking if anyone wanted to form a group chat to discuss how to make a change in the workplace. Along with that, I whipped up a google form asking for contact info and platform preference—about ten people filled it out.

Workers were still on the meeting yelling at the regional director, by the way. The meeting was supposed to end by 10:00 am. It was now 10:30. Our office assistant took the mic.

“The old logo is still on the building, the same color scheme from before, too. How is this company going to support rebranding?”

The director shifted a little bit, seemingly uncomfortable with giving us information about how the company works, “the operations team helps, but really it’s up to the school board.”

The worker shot back, “We need an action item here. You said operations, does that mean the school leadership, the board, or the company makes that decision? I’m leaving so someone else needs to connect those dots.”

She received vocal and written support from staff, and kept pressing her demand until management caved and agreed to weekly meetings with worker input.

Soon, staff members turned to berate management for abandoning us. No counselor, no substitutes, and a stream of overworked, underpaid staff members running for the door had taken their toll. Our social worker spoke out again, “We desperately need a counselor. Why do we not have a counselor?”

“It all depends on enrollment, I’m sorry to say. That’s where the funding comes from, and with the school in a deficit, we can’t afford to backfill positions.”

One of the teachers—a 20-plus-year teaching veteran not to be played around with—took her turn to criticize not just the company, but the invisible board who hired them.

“I see where they’re all coming from. We felt like the stepchild of the company, like we were never a part of it as a school community. And it feels like that with the board, too. I feel like they never see the work teachers are doing in the building. We need to let the community back into the building to see what’s going on. We need a commitment to a counselor.”

“It all depends on enrollment…”

Meanwhile, I was setting up our committee’s group chat and collaborating with coworkers to set up the infrastructure to keep ourselves together over the summer. I gathered non-work contacts.

The same teacher responded to the director’s vague answers: “We don’t know where any of this information comes from! Why is there no money? Are we non-profit or for-profit? I know y’all probably came into DC thinking this was a hot money-making market for you with all the charter schools. But you don’t seem to realize that these other charter companies at least offer more resources. Two Rivers, DC Prep, and Friendship do that, why not y’all?”

I called the company out for doing nothing to cover the school’s deficit. Enrollment numbers had dropped over the pandemic, meaning less funding from the DC government while expenses rose. The higher-up and I got into an exchange where he tried to evade my questions, and I kept bringing up the same points. He fell back to the same “it’s up to the board, government, and enrollment,” line, so I went back on mute to allow others to speak.

Two more staff members aired grievances about being thrown into different positions with no warning. At that point, it was 11:00, and the regional director claimed he had another meeting he had to join. I wonder what he said about us afterward.

There are a couple of lessons to draw from this experience. One is that having a formal committee that represents the workplace is essential. Two, spontaneous direct actions by workers can win gains and catalyze a solid organizing committee.

During the 2021-2022 school year, my coworkers and I were able to win certain concessions from management through loosely coordinated direct actions. For example, our ex-principal imposed an attendance policy that collectively punished the staff for the late arrivals of only a few (and those workers were only late consistently because of terrible conditions). Throughout the next day, groups of workers would go down to the office to protest—spurred on by everyone else cheering them on. We won.

Even so, most of the tangible organizing only happened in my department—the 3-5th grade instructional team. Within our own circle, we were strongly critical of the principal. Eventually, one of the 3rd-grade teachers even lead us in writing up a formal complaint against them. But after consolidating a committee representing K-2, 3-5, para-educators, and food service staff, I discovered there was a significant minority of staff who loved our principal and assistant principal. The two of them being fired was what agitated them enough to take action and join the committee in the first place. Without a formal workplace-wide committee, we couldn’t see that. I had to readjust my perspective.

Our spontaneous actions made a difference. This year, we have an official eight-hour workday, more robust curriculum support, and a seemingly much more competent leadership team. Less concretely, management has tread a lot more lightly around us. It’s obvious they want to do more to control and discipline their human capital stock, but can’t because they know we might bite back, and hard.

Not only that, but the committee I formed survived the summer, has a meeting schedule, and is actively gathering contacts in preparation for one-on-one conversations as I write this. Summer whittled us down from ten to five, but I had my first one-on-one just the other day, and management has started to act like their old selves again, so I’m predicting that will change soon.

Contact the IWW today if you want to start organizing at your job. Click here to read more about Rybin Z., the author and organizer.

#iw #useful #organizing

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girlystories · 6 months

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Bittersweet

— pairings: various ninjago x female/runaway/slightly depressed reader

Summary: you run away from your abusive and controlling parents, only to almost be killed in the middle of nowhere. mysteriously miraculously you manage to avoid them alive, and stumble upon two amazing siblings. Additional warnings: none. Words: 2.6k

previous part here

Chapter 4: A quick trip to Jamanakai village

[Name] groaned when she saw the time on her phone. She woke up early, again. It was usually rare for her but she kept having nightmares, which kept her sleep short-lived. Maybe she wasn't accustomed to the new environment yet.

A week passed since she, Kai, and Nya moved to the Monastery. She found out from Nya how the Ninja alongside Sensei Wu defeated Lord Garmadon. So now they would all be at peace. Keyword; for now.

Everyone seemed to forget the incident altogether. Lord Garmadon wouldn't come back right? He was defeated after all. [Name] couldn't help but worry. It felt too convenient, but she tried to ignore it. She didn't want to bother the others as well. It was just a bad feeling.

Getting up she smiled as her eyes met an unconscious Nya under the covers, laying in the bed next to hers. She and Nya were sharing a room now, so they had to do some adjustments. She got changed into an outfit she bought when she and Nya went shopping in Jamanakai village one day. Nya insisted on her buying it so she couldn't resist. Making her way to the kitchen she passed the hallway, a door was open and she couldn't help but get a glimpse of sleeping Jay. The others must be asleep as well.

She opened the fridge and took out the box of milk, deciding a bowl of cereal would be a good start of the day. As she opened the counter, she almost jumped at the sudden noise from behind her,

"Are you up as well?"

She spun around, putting a hand on her beating heart to calm herself. When she noticed Sensei Wu looking back at her she let out a sigh of relief.

"...Oh! It's you, Sensei."

He nodded. "Were you expecting anyone else? My apologies if I scared you."

"No, sorry. I just didn't expect anyone to be awake by now."

"I see. I could say the same thing about you."

She nervously played with her hair, "Yeah, I'm not sleeping enough lately to be completely honest with you."

There was no point in lying, she thought. He might as well understand. He was her Sensei so he might help her with anything.

Sensei Wu raised a brow. "How so?"

[Name] sighed again. "I'm still anxious over Lord Garmadon. I can't pinpoint my finger on exactly why..."

Sensei Wu hummed and remained silent in thought. "Do you care to join me in meditating?"

[Name] was visibly surprised. Sensei Wu wanted to meditate with her? She took a moment to gather her thoughts, making sure her ears weren't deceiving her. "Really?"

Wu nodded. He turned around and with the help of his bamboo stick, which he probably didn't need anyway, make his way to a room where he took his time meditating. [Name] quickly caught up to him. As they both made their way inside [Name] closed the door behind her. She analyzed Wu taking a seat, his legs crossed. Just as he was about to close his eyes (Name) spoke.

"Wait, Sensei..."

He looked back at her, seemingly confused and waited for her to continue.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Why, of course, dear."

[Name] sat down across from him. Her eyes were looking everywhere but his, her thumb pressed and making potions on her palm. She swallowed. "The day when I met Kai... I was attacked by some strangers, remember?"

Wu nodded.

"Well... I didn't just manage to get away from them."

Wu watched [Name] with anticipation.

"When that man stabbed me I passed out. But when I woke up they were... unconscious."

"What do you mean by unconscious?" he asked, a tint of worry reflecting his white eyebrows.

"I think they were... dead? I don't know how, or by who, or if they were even killed but... I just found them there," [Name] kept herself from raising her voice. She felt an anxious feeling crawling over her. Was Sensei Wu making second thoughts about letting a strange girl who is probably being hunted by who knows who or what stay over his territory? What if whatever is after her going to come to the Monastery and turn everything upside down?

Wu's eyes grew bigger but he kept his composure. He slowly stroked his long beard. "Has something like this occurred to you before?"

She shook her head. "No! Never. I've never been in a situation like this before."

"I see..." He thought for a moment, but then returned [Name]'s gaze with a smile. "You do not need to worry, dear. You'll be safe here in the Monastery. I'll look into this matter myself, while you can sit back and spend your time on things you like. After you've done with your chores, of course." He laughed at his own joke.

[Name] giggled slightly at his attempt to ease the mood. "Thank you, Sensei."

"Of course. With the ninja, Ninjago will be at ease. Alongside you."

"I was wondering about one thing. Is there any possibility for me to join them? - I mean like become a ninja too. I know I'm not the master of anything like they are but, I can't help but want to become strong too and take care of myself."

Wu was surprised once again. "Really?"

[Name] lowered her head. "It's okay if that's not possible... I'm just wondering, is all."

Wu hummed and smiled. "I'm sure you can train too. It's not like I forbid you from it. Do as you desire, dear."

From ear to ear, [Name] grinned. "Really?!"

Wu smiled again. "Of course."

She shot up from her seat and made her way to the door. But before she could leave Wu called her name,

"I know how anticipated you might be to go and train but I have a favor to ask you."

"Huh? What is it?"

"Could you go to Jamanakai village and shop some stuff for the fridge? I asked Kai to go get them yesterday but it seems like he forgot."

[Name] groaned slightly. "Really?"

Sensei Wu chuckled at her demeanor. "It won't take long. You can train when you return."

"Fin- I mean, of course, Sensei. What do I need to get?"

Wu smiled. "I have written a list, but I gave it to Kai. He probably has it now too."

[Name] opened the door, "He must have it in his room. See you later, Sensei", she said before closing the door behind her, not before bowing quickly at her Sensei. Wu smiled and closed his eyes, going back to meditating. Seems like he would meditate with [Name] another time.

[Name] took quiet steps, not to alert anyone, as she made her way to Kai's shelf next to his bed. She giggled at all the ninja sleeping, not so peacefully. Well, except of course Zane. It took her a while to find the list, under all Kai's fan mail. She rolled her eyes. Not one week passed and he already had fan mails. Whatever. Not like she cared anyway.

She then walked out of the Monastery and made her way down the mountain. It would be a pain to walk back on top later, since she didn't have a dragon like the others. She mumbled under her breath in frustration. Why couldn't she have a dragon? Or have an element like they did? It's not fair. She wasn't jealous. Not at all.

When she finally arrived at Jamanakai village she realized she forgot her phone. Searching her pockets she cursed under her breath. She could be so forgetful sometimes, but whatever. Not like she could do anything about that now. She just needed to get the groceries and get back home.

The bell on top of the door rang, as she opened it, signaling her arrival.

A woman from behind the counter raised her head, her attention sifting from whatever she was doing a moment ago. With a smile, she greeted her first customer of the day. "Good morning! What can I help you with?"

"Good morning. I just have to get some groceries really quick."

"Okay! Just ask me if you need any help, honey."

[Name] smiled at her kind and upbeat attitude. Who knew villagers were that kind? Not unlike people from Ninjago city.

She looked at her list; fruits, cheese, bread, vegetables, etc, etc. Basic necessities, really. She quickly got what she needed and bring them to the counter to pay. The cashier put them inside a bag and told her the cost. After [Name] paid she and the cashier exchanged their gratitude.

Opening the door she was surprised to see all the villagers running around, panicked. She was at a loss for words, entirely confused, and was also beginning to panic. As a farmer ran towards her he grabbed her and pulled her inside the grocery store. She let out a yell of surprise and annoyance.

Just as he closed the door he peeked from the glass window, inspecting the commotion from outside.

"Hey, what's going on?", [Name] asked the man. He ignored her, his eyes glued on the window.

"Mr. Brown?", the cashier asked.

He ignored her as well, mumbling something under his breath. [Name] and the cashier shared a look of confusion and concern. [Name] tapped the man on the shoulder. "Mister? Are you alright?"

As the man was shaken out of his thoughts he spun around. He was covered in sweat and was shaking like leaf. "I-it's Lord G-Garmadon! He has returned!" he spat out, pulling his hair.

"What?!", both [Name] and the cashier stumpered.

"That can't be possible..." the woman from behind the counter bit her nails.

Everything around [Name] was a blur. The voices and screams echoed from a distance. Breathing was becoming harder and harder. The feeling that was bothering her wasn't just a feeling, it seemed. Wu's words sounded like lies to her at the moment. How could they protect her now? Had they even heard the news? She searched for her phone. Shit. That's right, she forgot it back home. What would happen now? What would she do? What could she do? She felt useless. If only she had an elemental power. If only she was stronger. If only she was destined to become one of them. Her legs were shaking and she struggled to keep her balance.

A hand was placed on her shoulder and she was able to hear again.

"-re you okay?"

She turned her head and noticed the cashier from before. Her gaze was filled with concern.

"Huh?", she managed to say.

"Are you alright? You seemed like you were having a panic attack."

"Of course I'm not alright! Lord Garmadon is back!"

"No, dear. Didn't you hear? It was a false alarm."

[Name] tried to catch her breath, trying to make sense of the woman's words. A false alarm?

"Hold on. I'll bring you some water, honey. Just wait here."

[Name] swallowed, become more at ease. How could that be a false alarm? People shouldn't lie about that! It wasn't a joking matter! Either that was a stupid mistake or a dumb joke from someone. When the cashier returned she gave [Name] a bottle of water.

"You don't have to pay me for that. It's on the house."

[Name] almost drank half the bottle. She let out an exhale to catch her breath. "Thank you so much, Mrs..."

"Charlotte", she smiled. "It's nothing, really. Do you need anything? I don't mind if you would like to rest here for a bit."

[Name] shook her head. "Not it's fine. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Charlotte. I'll be going now."

She and Charlotte exchanged farewells as she made her way outside the shop. A group of people were gathered around a circle and [Name] decided to go inspect it. Mr. Brown was there as well. As she got closer she noticed a young boy being hung on a house by his sweater's hood, his blonde hair slightly peeking out. He was fighting the air, probably trying to get down. He was shouting something at the people under him. As [Name] tip-toed from behind the crowd she noticed the ninja mocking the boy. Seems like they did hear the news. Were they the cause of why the boy was up there? What was the false alarm anyway?

She pushed through the crowd and managed to get to the ninja. "What's going on?"

The ninja's attention turned to her, making them light up. "Oh, here you are! We were wondering where you've been", Kai said.

[Name] hadn't completely calmed down, to which Zane noticed. "Are you alright, [Name] ?"

"Y-yeah. What are you all doing?", she asked and looked back at the poor boy hung up on the house's roof.

"Oh him?", Jay laughed. "This brat is the son of Garmadon and he thinks he can just come here and steal candy."

"Lord Garmadon has a son?"

"Yep, and we have to give him a lesson not to mess with us! He needs to know there are consequences for his actions", Kai crossed his arms.

"But he's just a kid?", [Name] elaborated.

"Relax, [Name]," Cole rested his arm on her shoulder. "We're not taking this to the extreme. We're just teaching him a simple lesson. That is all."

"Alright..."

A sudden yell caught all their attention. "You just made me your nemesis! Just mark my words, you'll pay for this!", the young boy grunted, still trying to let himself free.

The citizens, unfazed by his demeanor, simply laughed, as Zane bought candy and passed them to the ninja. [Name] hesitantly took hers, since she couldn't help but feel bad for the small guy.

Cole took a bite of his candy, "Next time, try paying for your candy."

Kai joined after Cole, "Crime doesn't pay, muchacho. You can take that to the bank."

Jay took a bite of his, taking a moment to savor the sweetness from it, "Mmm... cotton candy", he taunted.

[Name] felt awful for sitting there motionless just observing the humiliation of the poor child.

The crowd kept on laughing and the Ninja decided it was enough, as they made their way back to their dragons. When they noticed [Name]'s absence they turned around. "[Name], are you coming?", Cole asked.

"Y-yeah, just a minute! I forgot I have to get something."

"Okay!", they said before leaving.

Soon enough the citizens returned back to their jobs. When she made sure no one was around, [Name] placed down the bag of groceries. She got on a bench and took hold of the small boy from his armpits. With a bit of struggle, she managed to help him get down. "There!"

He was taken aback and jumped a few steps behind. He cautiously observed her with his big green eyes. [Name] rubbed the back of her head awkwardly, but then an idea came to mind. She took the candy from her pocket and removed the wrapper. She bend her knees to reach his height level, stretching out her arm, she hold the candy, not wanting to get too close for comfort. He hesitantly reached over and took the candy. He observed her once again, but now opened his mouth to speak,

"Why did you help me?"

[Name] got up and took the bag of groceries. "Because I know what it's like."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

[Name] smiled and shuffled his hair. When he realized his hood was down he immediately raised it. She giggled and started walking away. He remained staring back at her, confused.

They were the same?

He frowned and ran off, thinking to himself, what a weird girl.

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #cole x reader #kai x reader #jay x reader #nya x reader #lloyd x reader #zane x reader #:ssnowville #:snowville #[🌸]

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skymaiden32 · 7 months

Text

Heavy Lifting

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 8: Gentle Giant

Even the strongest people need a pick me up.

Continuity: TAG

------

‘An absolute unit.’

That’s what his dear brother Gordon liked to call him. And it was something Virgil embodied in pretty much everything he did.

He was by far the strongest of his family. Sure, Scott and Gordon, being military trained, had a fair bit of muscle on them. And John kept relatively fit with his exercises up in space. But Virgil had always been the strong one. Even as kids, he could easily lift two of his little brothers onto each shoulder and carry them around. He continued to lift them up to this day. In more ways than one.

Whenever Scott was having doubts or John wasn’t talking to anyone. Whenever Gordon was having flashbacks or Alan just needed a nudge in the right direction. He was there. He would always be there, supporting them. Just like his beloved Thunderbird 2 supported her sister craft on rescues. He was a lot like his ship in that way. They were kindred spirits, Virgil and Thunderbird 2. Gentle giants in every sense.

He was the heavy lifter. The demolition expert. The medic. All he did was support. So, he snarked to himself as he was laying down in his bed one random Thursday morning, unable to get up. Just why couldn’t he push past this? This feeling he had right now? Of hopelessness and despair that he hadn’t been able to shake since that rescue two days ago? He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, senses so dead to the road that everything blurred together. But clearly, his brothers did. Because it was his brothers who saved him.

“Virgil?” The door creaked open, Alan’s voice gentle as he looked at his brother. Still in bed at three in the afternoon. It worried them. It worried them all… “Grandma made cookies if you want any.” Instead of the usual sounds of disgust whenever someone mentioned Grandma Tracy’s cooking, Virgil simply grunted. The alarm bells in Alan’s head went off. “Stay where you are, I’ll be right back.” Virgil grunted again.

Alan came back. With everyone. Even John had come down from Thunderbird 5. Scott didn’t say anything. He just wrapped Virgil up into the tightest hug he could possibly manage, squeezing hard. The rest of their family joined in as well, cocooning Virgil in a warm embrace. One that he’d desperately needed. For the first time in what felt like forever, Virgil began to cry. Sobbing into his big brother's shoulder, letting the emotions out that he’d held in for so long.

At long last, he spoke. “I should’ve done more…” His voice cracked. “I should’ve done more to help that little girl…” If at all possible, the hug got even tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault, Virgil.” Gordon’s voice was strong in contrast to his own.

“It was.” Virgil insisted. “She was right there in front of me. She was…”

“Already gone.” Another voice interrupted his tirade. John. “Virgil, she was already gone. Her life sign was dead before you even got into that cavern.”

Virgil cried again in despair. What John had just told him was new information to him. “Then I should’ve worked faster!”

“No.” Scott simply stated, pulling back from his brother as much as the group hug would allow. “Virgil, look at me.” The younger of the two struggled to lift his head, but he did. His brother’s determined blue eyes met his dull brown ones. “You were already working as fast as you could. I know it hurts. But you did everything in your power to save her.”

Kayo’s voice was in agreement with Scott. “She knows you did what you could Virgil. It’s alright to mourn her. But she doesn’t blame you, and she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself…” Virgil sniffled.

“I wouldn’t blame you if I were in her shoes…” Alan’s voice was small. “She was my age. I didn’t know her, but I know better than anyone in this room what would’ve gone through her head.”

“That’s why I should’ve done more…” Virgil replied. “A family lost their sunshine. They lost their Alan Tracy because I wasn’t strong enough to save her.”

Everyone froze. “Honey…” Grandma weaved her way into the centre of the hug. “Now listen to us, none of this is on you.”

“But-”

“Virgil. None of that.” Grandma’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “It’s not your fault. I want you to get that into your head right now.” Virgil wiped the last of his tears away. Of course she was right. They were all right.

“You okay now, Virg?” Scott ruffled his hair.

Virgil smiled sadly as the hug parted, but his heart was lighter now. Much lighter. They’d done all the heavy lifting… “I will be, Scott. I will be…”

#thunderfam #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #alan tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #kayo kyrano #grandma tracy #sky writes stuff #thundertober #thundertober 2023

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collecting-stories · 1 year

Text

Pablo Neruda - Usnavi de la Vega

Request: no

Summary: reader has a crush on Usnavi and invites him to dinner. Just a bunch of fluff really.

A/N: I don't even know for sure how long this has been in my notes. Literally found it the other day and figured it was high time to finish it and post it here. Even if no one really cares about In the Heights anymore.

Broadway Masterlist

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

The sight behind the counter shouldn’t have been a surprising one. It was more common than not that you would find Marco here, chin just level with the counter despite the stool that Usnavi let him stand on. He thought the bodega was the coolest place on earth and frequently told the owner that when he was Sonny’s age, he too would work there.

His Spider-Man bike was chained up outside, evidence that he’d ridden straight here after school despite your constant reminders that he needed to come home first.

“Someday I’m gonna report you as a missing child…they’re gonna think Usnavi kidnapped you.” You remarked, the bell jangling as the door shut behind you. The fan set up in the corner blew passed you as it oscillated, trying to keep the store cool in the early heat of June. You took quick stock of what you could see, noting the absence of any adult supervising your seven-year-old. “Speaking of, where is Usnavi?”

“The cooler broke again,” Marco replied. The thud of his small feet hitting the floor echoed in the space and he came around the counter to hug you, “I got a gold star on my story about Puerto Rico,” he mentioned, pulling away to go retrieve the paper that had already been pinned up to the bulletin board behind the counter. No doubt Usnavi’s doing.

“Wow, that’s so great baby,” you took the papers that were stapled together, looking over the story that he’d recited to you three times that morning. “You’re like a little Pablo Neruda.”

“Who?” Marco took the papers back, hanging them in their rightful place once more. A couple of his drawings accompanied the story. Once Usnavi had even hung a spelling test up so everyone could see it. You appreciated the sweetness, the willingness to help whenever you needed it, having someone around that your son could rely on, but it didn’t stop the occasional pang of something indescribable in your chest. You didn’t want Marco to get his hopes up…god knows you kept waiting for something you were sure wasn’t going to happen. Despite Carla constantly insisting that Usnavi had feelings for you.

“Yeah, feelings of friendship. Feelings of ‘look at this poor pathetic girl I’ve known my whole life, still can’t make it out, got a kid now cause she was too stupid to see when her boyfriend was lying to her.”

“Trust me, the only thing Usnavi’s thinking with when you come in the store is-“

“Oh god Carla!”

But you couldn’t help feeling more than a little hopeful everytime you saw one of Marco’s tests or drawings hanging up, as if Usnavi was just as proud as you were. As if Marco had a dad (or at least a father figure) who actually cared about him.

“Pablo Neruda wrote love poems,” Usnavi’s voice sounded from behind you. “He’s your mama’s favorite.”

You turned to look at him and he winked as if the two of you were co-conspirators. Like you were in on the same secret and it made your heart pick up speed just a little bit.

“Who else is gonna write me love poems?” You managed to say, rather proud that you’d even mustered a sentence together.

The smile didn’t leave Usnavi’s face, even after you turned back to Marco and told him to get his stuff together so you could go home. While you were used to the moaning and protesting that usually accompanied this request you were rather taken aback when Marco hopped off the stool without question and started gathering his school supplies off the counter.

“Can Usnavi come over for dinner? He said Sonny’ll be here soon to help and that means he wouldn’t have to hang around too…can he?” Marco asked, eagerly, looking to Usnavi, “do you wanna come over for dinner?”

“You’re going to abuela’s for dinner, remember?” It was Wednesday and Wednesday meant dinner with your ex’s mom.

“Well, then you and Usnavi can have dinner.” He suggested, toothy smile (minus a noticeable one in the front).

You thought about saying that you were more than positive Usnavi had better things to do than come over to your place and eat dinner with you but your mouth worked before your brain could intervene and suddenly you heard yourself saying, “what’d you say? Wanna have dinner with me?” to Usnavi.

Maybe it was the heat or the work trying to fix the cooler that had him flushed but you swore he looked almost nervous when he nodded his head, like the offer was too good to be true. “Yeah, definitely.”

Usnavi wasn’t one to get his hopes up. Benny constantly swore that you were basically in love, (“you’re practically raising Marco together, now if you could just get together”), but Usnavi didn’t want to take the chance and look like a fool. Not to mention, he liked Marco a lot and he didn’t want you to think he had some ulterior motive for being nice to your son. He wasn’t expecting you to want to be with him and he didn’t want you to think he was.

You told him seven o’clock and he got there at 6:45, standing at the bottom of the stoop and contemplating the flowers he’d brought. You didn’t say it was date or even imply that this was anything more than you offering a meal while Marco was at his abuela’s. Maybe you just didn’t feel like eating alone. Or maybe you felt bad because Marco had offered dinner and you didn’t want to be rude. Maybe the flowers were overkill, maybe you were allergic.

“You stand outside all night, you’re never gonna get a chance,” Daniela teased as she walked passed him, bumping her hip against his playfully.

“We’re just having dinner,” Usnavi didn’t bother to ask how Daniela already knew about the dinner. No doubt everyone in Washington Heights knew about dinner.

“Yeah?” She plucked a flower out of the bunch, “hoping for dessert?”

Usnavi choked on his reply, swallowing down the last bout of nerves and heading up to the door before Daniela could continue teasing him. You were on the second floor, the black and white tiled hallway was missing a piece right beside your door and when you complained the landlord told you there was nothing he could do. Now a large pot sat over it with monstera growing next to a welcome mat that you changed out for the seasons. It was getting close to valentines and the mat had red and pink X’s and O’s.

The green door was cracked open, a “come on in” gesture that Usnavi had encounter a few times before when he’d offered to keep Marco while you worked and then walked the boy home at the end of the night. He rarely saw you without your son and it occurred to him as he pushed the door open that this would be the first time he was at your place without the seven year old buffer leading the conversations.

“Uh, hey, the door was open,” Usnavi offered as he walked in, shut the door behind him, and walked further into your apartment. He was still holding the flowers, down by his side, their petals directed at the hardwood floor.

“Hey,” you moved away from the frying pan to give him a hug, laughing gently at the sight of the bouquet. “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” he apologized, whipping them up so fast a few petals fell off. “Daniela stole one, actually.”

“Well they’re beautiful, thank you.” You took the bouquet from him and Usnavi watched you move around the small kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it with water and arranging the flowers. He thought about something Abuela Claudia had told him years ago about knowing when he was in love and he turned away, looking around the rest of the small space as if he’d never been in it before.

“Sonny didn’t mind watching the store I hope,” you mentioned, looking for something to say. It felt different without Marco there. Not the sort of different that made it awkward, despite you grasping for something to say, but the sort of different that felt like talking and having dinner were the furthest things from your mind. The sort of different that had you thinking Daniela and Carla and everyone else in the Heights that had an opinion on it was right.

“As long as I bring him back something,” he replied. He’d made it to the bookcase near the front door, looking through all the books at eye level first. Pablo Neruda caught his eye and he took the book down, skimming through the pages.

“Whatca got there?” You asked, coming over to look around his shoulder at the book he was holding in his hands.

Usnavi tilted his head to look back toward you, “estás aquí. Oh, no te escapes," he began, reciting the poem as you stood there listening, dinner forgotten. His voice was smooth, the way it always was but somehow different too. Sweeter, like honey.

That different sort of feeling that you were trying not to fall into settled over you as you listened to him read. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and when he finally reached the end of the poem and he looked over at you, the fall you were trying to avoid suddenly crashed over you.

“...quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos,” he recited, eyes meeting yours.

��¿Es así?” You were only just barely aware of Usnavi placing the book back on the shelf, the thin volume of poems falling to the floor from its haphazard placement. He turned into your space, kissing you without hesitation.

Benny always said he was too slow, that he overthought all of his actions before he did them, and that what he needed to do was just act. It wasn’t advice he ever actually took. Usnavi just wasn’t the kind of person who acted on impulse. And then all of the sudden he was holding your face in his hands and kissing you in your living room. Impulsive, absolutely. When you finally pulled away, only to catch your breath, Usnavi smiled. That irresistibly boyish smile that always gave you butterflies. “Dinner?” He asked, only to avoid any more impulsive acts like telling you he loved you.

“Dinner can wait.”

The door to the apartment slammed open and Marco came through, kicking his shoes off as he called out, “Mama! Mama!”

Behind him, the door shut, his grandma stepping into the kitchen and looking suspiciously over the food that was left on the counter, still in the pan though the oven was off. The door to your bedroom was open and before Marco could make it that far you appeared in the hall, holding a zippered sweatshirt closed, semi-nervous smile on your face.

“Hey baby, how was dinner?” You asked, hovering near the door of your room.

“Abuela made dulce de leche! I brought you a piece!” He held the tupperware out toward you proudly, “Is Usnavi still here?”

“Uh, he’s...he’s in the...” you floundered, trying to think of something to say. He was very much still there, on the other side of the open door, pulling his clothes on as fast as possible.

“Why don’t we put this in the fridge Marco,” your ex’s mother suggested, taking the tupperware back from you and putting her arm around your son’s shoulders, “wait for your mama and this Usnavi to join us.”

If you didn’t know you’d hear an earful from her about almost getting caught by your son, you would have thanked her for intervening when she did. Instead you just ducked back in your room, closing the door so you could change quickly, clocking Usnavi standing there with a massive grin on his face.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” you whispered. An empty warning, really.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, grin still in place.

“Come on, I still owe you dinner.” You held the bedroom door open for him to go out first, “and now we’ve got dessert too.”

Usnavi stopped in the doorway to kiss you, “I’ve already had mine.” When you smacked his arm he only laughed and continued into the kitchen, Marco’s excited greeting putting a smile on your face as you walked into the kitchen after him.

✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎ ✳︎

The poem Usnavi reads is Pablo Neruda's Everyday You Play .

Translations:

estás aquí. Oh, no te escapes - you are here. Oh you do not run away

quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos - I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees

¿Es así? - is that so? / it's like that?

#usnavi x reader #usnavi x y/n #usnavi x you #usnavi de la vega x reader #usnavi imagine #usnavi blurb #usnavi fanfiction #in the heights fanfiction #in the heights imagine #in the heights fanfic #in the heights fic #in the heights blurb #collecting stories imagine

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aita-blorbos · 4 months

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AITA for blaming my big brother for the death of my crush that I killed myself?

For context, we were fighting this evil man (M), who wanted the forestation of the whole world. We'd all die if he succeeded. My crush, (C), who promised to live with us after this fight was over, physically stopped him, but there's a limit to how much she can do by herself, which is why, she asked me to shoot him while she holds him down. That normally wouldn't be a problem if shooting him didn't also mean killing her in the process. The only weapon that could kill the guy was too destructive so I couldn't aim at him only and spare her.

Of course, I refused, but she kept insisting. My friends were upset and crying too, the only one who stayed calm was an old man (E) who happened to be a villain too, although he temporarily teamed with us to defeat that guy.

He talked me into going for it, telling me that I shouldn't let her sacrifice go to waste. I was in tears the whole time but I only decided to do it because if I shoot, this will allow my brother (S) to get close to him enough. This will give him the chance to save C and bring her back to us.

I look up to my brother a lot. He's my role model and everything that I want to be. He's a hero, he's never failed to save anyone. He'd saved me countless times, he never gives. You couldn't imagine the length he'd go to in order to save his friends and me too, even though we're not related by blood. That's why I shot. Because I knew he'd do everything to save her- and would succeed too. He's never failed me before.

I waited patiently for his return, meanwhile, I just sat in the corner crying, and I saw C come in, she was transparent looking all ghosty. She cupped my face and got closer, I though she was going to kiss me but she immediately disappeared. It made me sad, but I knew that was a sign she was alive. And that means, when my brother come, surely C would be with him.

But when he did, he was alone. I looked right and left behind him, but C was nowhere to be found. He also had a scary face that instinctively made me get a few steps back away from him. I though he was angry with me, understandably. I just shot a friend. I was about to explain when he just silently held my hand and placed a seed in it that I recognized it belonged to C then he said that was all what was left.

He stood there silently while I processed what had just happened. My hero, couldn't save a person I cared for much. She wasn't just a crush, she was a dear friend and I would react the same even I didn't fall for her. She makes My day. I had managed to protect her all this time from M, until I killed her myself.

Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I yelled at my brother. Told him that he was lying, C was alive and I had just seen her. I told him that I believed in him but he has failed me. I beat his chest several times to emphasize on the fact that I had put my trust in him.

My brother didn't respond. He just stood there in silence. He closed his eyes and didn't even try to look at me. As if he wasn't feeling bad already because a friend had just died, but I think me blaming him added insult to injury.

We get along just fine nowadays although we have never discussed this, it's an unspoken rule that it's taboo and we don't bring C up anymore but I wonder, AITA? He should have saved her.

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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moodymelanist · 1 year

Text

Feel The Heat

Happy @nestaarcheronweek, everyone! Keeping things short and sweet for my favorite Archeron today 💙

Prompt Inspiration: We can’t go to the main party for reasons but let’s create a small party for ourselves where we dance to our favourite songs in the living room

✵✵✵✵✵✵

Nesta scowled as she stared at the ceiling in her room. She shouldn’t even be home right now, but she’d gotten into the worst argument yet with her mother about homecoming, and now she was paying the price.

Well, if Nesta told the story, she was proving her point. All she’d wanted was to go to homecoming with Cassian, one of her best friends for as long as she could remember, but Rhea hated anything to do with the side of town Cassian was from. That included homecoming dances, and since she’d been so insistent that Nesta go with that nice Vanserra boy from down the street, Nesta simply refused to go to homecoming at all this year. It had been Cassian or nothing, and she was going to prove her point, goddammit.

What did it even matter that Cassian went to Velaris High and Nesta went to Saint Enalius Preparatory School? He was just as smart as some of the guys in her junior class, and had double the kindness as anyone she’d ever met. She knew he was going places, and if Rhea couldn’t see that? It was her problem.

Until then, Nesta was going to sit in her room and make her point. Rhea was wrong about Cassian, and the moment her mother realized that would be the best day of Nesta’s life.

It was just Nesta and her parents at home. Feyre and Elain had no such issues going to Saint E’s homecoming — their dates were respectable in Rhea’s eyes. No matter that Nesta couldn’t stand Tamlin or Graysen, or that they treated her sisters like shit; their families had enough money to send them to Prythian Prep, and that was all that mattered.

Who cared that Nesta had actually been looking forward to going to homecoming this year, right? She’d finally dumped Tomas and Cassian had offered to take her so she wouldn’t feel awkward about not having a date, but all their plans had gone down the drain the moment Rhea caught wind of it. She couldn’t even go to Cassian’s homecoming instead, since it had happened two weeks ago, but she wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her sulk. She’d do it all in her room, thank you very much, where nobody could bother her—

Nesta froze at the sound of something hitting her window. Had a bird flown into the glass again or something?

The sounds kept coming, and she realized someone must have been throwing something at the glass for it to make a sound like that. There were plenty of little pebbles lying around the property, especially after her father had redone the yard, and she sighed as she got off her bed to see who was bothering her. Maybe Lucien — the only Vanserra she could actually stand — had misjudged her window for Elain’s or something.

Nesta yanked open the window before barely managing to not get hit in the face with a pebble. She had every curse known to man loaded on her tongue, but it died once she realized who was standing outside her window in the first place.

“Cassian?” she hissed as loud as she dared. Her idiot best friend just beamed and waved up at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you,” he said back, careful not to be so loud as to disturb her parents.

Sighing, Nesta moved to pull her window open as far as it could go while Cassian shimmied his way up the tree that leaned close to her window. By the time he’d managed to get to her room, she’d already laid down a towel so he wouldn’t track any grass inside.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Nesta asked. “I thought Rhys was going to get you in anyway.”

“Come on, you know it wouldn’t be any fun without you,” Cassian answered with a shrug. He reached up and pulled his hair back into a ponytail, showing off his hard-earned muscles from all those soccer practices. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in here sulking this whole time.”

“I’m not sulking,” she responded, pouting. He just gave her a knowing look. “Okay, maybe I was sulking a little.”

“No sulking allowed,” he told her with a grin. He poked her in one of her secretly-ticklish spots, pulling a little giggle from her. “At least not while I’m here.”

“What, are you going to tell me to turn my frown upside down?” she asked sarcastically.

Cassian just rolled his eyes before pulling his backpack off his shoulders. “You really have that little faith in me, Nes?”

“I have exactly the right amount of faith, considering all the stupid shit you’ve gotten me involved in,” Nesta replied haughtily. He just laughed quietly before revealing what looked like… flowers?

“I couldn’t bring you to homecoming, so I’m bringing homecoming to you,” he said. He pulled out a matching corsage and boutonnière — red and white roses to match the dress she hadn’t gotten to wear — and a bottle of fake champagne. “Ta da.”

Nesta was more touched than she’d been expecting, especially when she realized just how hard Cassian was fighting his incoming sneeze. “Cassian…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a grin. “Give me your wrist.”

She dutifully gave him her left hand and let him slide the corsage onto her wrist, his hands warm and gentle as they moved. She tried to be just as gentle with pinning the corsage onto his hoodie, but he got pricked a few times before she really got it on there.

“There,” Cassian announced with a flourish. “Let’s toast.”

“Please tell me you washed those before you brought them here,” Nesta responded once she saw the plastic champagne flutes he pulled out of his bag.

“Of course I did,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “Relax.”

She just sighed and let him pour her a glass. It wasn’t the real thing, but even though it wasn’t spiked like the drinks at the dance would inevitably be, it still tasted good. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Cassian took their glasses and placed them rather precariously on the windowsill, ignoring Nesta’s alarmed look once he turned back around to face her. “And now for the most important part…”

Nesta froze once she realized Cassian was holding his hands out to her like he meant to dance with her. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you to dance with me?” Cassian said, the uncertainty in her voice making it sound like a question. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“I’m in my pajamas!” she hissed, motioning down at herself. She’d been lounging in an oversized Taylor Swift shirt and ratty pair of sweatpants, and her hair was falling out of the loose braid she’d thrown it back into an hour before.

“So?” he responded with a shrug. “I like you like this.”

Nesta flushed, not sure what to do with that. He was her best friend, so she supposed it was his job to make her feel comfortable, but that felt… different. “Fine. But don’t step on my feet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” Cassian said confidently. He fiddled with his phone for a few minutes before a song quietly started playing, and he offered her his hands again.

She took them this time, and the two of them swayed back and forth to the beat. He was so solid and warm against her that she couldn’t help but lean her head against his shoulder as they danced, sighing happily when he laid his head on top of hers. She could feel his chest vibrating slightly as he hummed along with the lyrics, and even though they had to stay quiet so her parents didn’t hear, it didn’t stop her from joining him once they got to the chorus.

It wasn’t the same as dancing in a crowded gym with the rest of the school, but it would do.

#nestaweek2022 #acotar #acosf #nesta archeron #Nessian #Cassian #moodymelanistwrites

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randomwriteronline · 1 year

Text

One day Palina noticed out the corner of her eye that the Freak was sinking his nails so deep in his arms that he might as well be trying to rip his very bones out.

She kept weaving for a while, because she reasoned it was not her business to intervene and bother him, especially now that everybody had seen how unstable he could get after that day where he walked out in the storm and only came back once he was dragged along like a misbehaving child, with that little Gligar they couldn't have ever managed to take away from him if they tried in tow.

But then she remembered of tales from Lady Sneasler's warden about how antsy Voltorbs would shake furiously and self-destruct in a bout of restlessness without even a hint of a warning, and how tense he had seemed before his little tantrum had happened, and looking back at him he truly did look a lot like a strange Lord of the Hollow about to burst.

So she turned her head and asked, very gently: "Is there something bothering you?"

The Freak turned to her with a jolt as if she had whipped him, eyes wide and frown sunken deep in his face.

"No," he finally replied, gripping his limbs harder, "Thank you. Do not worry for me."

Would be more convincing if your voice didn't shake like that, she was about to reply, but he was not Irida, and it would have been rude: "You seem tense," she explained. "If it's the sound of weaving that causes you discomfort, I can stop for a while."

"It really does not bother me, truly," he insisted, and his legs seemed to get caught in a spasm. "I did not mean to interrupt your work. I apologize. Please, don't worry."

Palina turned her body fully towards him: "Is there something you need?" she continued.

The Freak closed in on himself even harder, as if scared or threatened by her attention: "No, no, I am fine, honestly. I did not mean to distract you - was I being loud again? I did not notice, I can quiet down--"

"You did not distract me at all," she cut him off. "Nor did you make any sound. But you don't look comfortable at all."

"I assure you I am, Miss Palina. Truly."

Oh please, if you need to lie at least do it well, she did not say: "Are you cold? I could fetch you a blanket."

"I'm perfectly warm, but thank you for the concern. I am fine, really, you mustn't worry. Please continue your weaving. I apologize for the interruption."

"Is something wrong with your Gligar?"

"Ah, no, no - she is taking a nap," and he pointed upwards, where his little blood-sucker hung from the ceiling by her pinching tail. "There is nothing wrong, I promise."

"Then there's something that bothers you inside your chest," she noted casually, and got confirmation when he shifted in place like a kid who has been found out: "I would like to help with that, if there's a way."

"Nothing is wrong," the Freak - Ingo, replied.

Palina found a shiver crawling up her spine at his tone. It wasn't threatening, goodness, far from it; it was choked like he was about to cry, and with a pleading undertone.

"Really," he tried to reassure her in that same very un-reassuring voice.

She inhaled briefly, feeling the air fill her lungs and leave them as she exhaled: "There is something bothering you." she stated firmly. "I would like to help. If there is something I can do..."

Her pause floated above their heads for a moment; the Freak - Ingo waited in disbelief, looked away, ruminated on her words, bounced both his legs nervously, made an imperceptible movement towards her, the hint of a sound in his barely opened mouth, then retreated deeper in his old coat, hands grabbing and releasing his arms in an antsy dance like Burmies impatiently trying to make themselves an armor.

"There is nothing to be embarassed about," Palina coaxed him, lying, because there's plenty of things to be embarassed about, but it worked with getting children to admit they needed help: "At worst, I won't know how to aid you."

He made something akin to a whine, and shook his head after a moment of indecisiveness: "I cannot... I do not want to cause you discomfort."

Ah, Palina thought, rememberinf he was a foreigner: so it was about space. About sharing space, likely.

Maybe it was about touch?

She tensed ever so slightly. He was a foreigner, and he might have not been used to the physical distance the Clan had put between themselves and him out of a need for modesty: it wasn't dumb to suppose he craved a type of intimacy that she was less than inclined to allow him. Then again he hadn't been staring at any part of her, for she would have felt that, and his jerking and jolting striked as different from that of someone with unsatisfied desires.

She decided to test him in the end, to see if his intentions were those she feared, and if he would have tried anything or complained.

"You may lean on me."

The Freak -Ingo looked at her again. He seemed scared, confused.

"You may lean on my back, if it can help," she repeated. She turned back to her loom and picked up the threads again, still checking on him with the corner of her eye: "You have my permission."

She felt him look at her now, very intensely, like she had not felt him beforehand. Then his voice came weakly, demure: "I do not want to make you uncomfortable."

"I don't want you to do that either. That's why I gave you permission."

Another bout of silence: "Are you certain?"

"I wouldn't have said anything otherwise." she waved her hand gently, calling him a little closer: "I just ask that you don't cause me to jolt or push me around, otherwise I might mess up."

She couldn't see him, eyes on her craft - but all other senses where focused on the space around herself, on every slightest change within it. So she felt him rise a little, shuffling closer to her in a timid manner as if she would have turned and bitten his arm off; he stopped a little before reaching her, crouched on his knees - she could nearly hear his hands as he twisted them together. Then he sat properly, and shuffled again, and... Turned.

For a moment Palina thought he had desisted and resigned himself to just remaining seated near her, without actually risking touching her. Well, he could very wellsuit himself, she noted as she shifted a little to get rid of an itch - and felt something brush a little harder against her backbone.

It was barely a contact, really, with how lightly he was grazing her. Close as he was she could feel his tension even worse, tight and suffocating, pulling at his skin and flesh to rip him apart.

"I said you can lean on me," she repeated loudly, making him jump.

"I don't-" the Freak - Ingo, tried to excuse himself despite having done absolutely nothing at all, "I didn't - I don't want to-"

"Put your back to mine properly," Palina cut him off in a decisive tone: "And make yourself comfortable. So long as you don't jerk about for no reason other than to make me lose my thread and distract me, I'll be glad to share my space."

She listened as the Freak - Ingo, fiddled with his hands a little more; his bony spine slotted carefully next to hers, a little heavier into her body, sliding slowly further down until it finally settled, leaving their shoulder blades to lean against one another almost perfectly.

There you go, she thought satisfied.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked her softly.

"Are you?"

"I - yes, but..."

"Then I'm quite comfortable too."

So he hushed; and Palina went back to weaving, murmuring a working song under her breath.

She was almost halfway through the fabric when the weight of a head was set cautiously on her nape; but the man had not said anything, and while this behavior was strange he had not bothered her nor caused her to make a mistake, so she decided to make nothing of it at the moment and kept singing, spool passing with quick precision from one hand to the other. She felt him begin to buzz intermittently soon after, booming voice now soft: isn’t that quite nice, she thought to herself. I’ll have a beat to my work.

She even let him lay his cheek on her shoulder with a slack movement. Now his buzzing sounded a little more like snoring...

And when she dared to turn slightly and take his hat off his head (very carefully, of course, not to startle him) she did find his horribly bright white eyes closed and his ghastly pale face relaxed despite its frown, body left to lean against her as he slept in enviable peace.

Oh.

Well. He was certainly not at risk of exploding anymore.

Palina watched Ingo - the Freak - Ingo breathe deeply, and had the strangest feeling of having seen such a peace before.

Irida came back from her training with Teacher to find Big Sister Lina weaving and singing, with the Freak Ingo laying on her back snoring his nose away and the little Gligar with a very nice smile nuzzled up against his neck; after much thought and deliberation she decided she wanted to have a warm nap too, and carefully curled on the floor and laid her head on the long dark-clothed legs, where long pale fingers moved to rest gently on her hair, to protect her dreams, and listened to Lina’s voice until she was too drowsy to keep her eyes open.

#pokémon #pokemon legends arceus #submas ingo #warden palina #pokemon irida #ableism tw #for all the freak mentioning #random writing #palina avoids ingo having another breakdown by making him take a nap: the fic #my man is so touch starved. touch n contact are reserved for clan members usually so hes Having A Time #and now that palina knows that touch helps shes probably gonna tell everybody #the cure for Voltorb Syndrome (I-Will-Literally-Explode Disease) is Touching The Man #(everybody puts their hand on ingos head)#ingo: this is actually helping A Lot

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 months

Text

Secret Santa (Vincent/Apollo)

An early christmas present to @bellafarallones2, set after the events of The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight

“We’re so glad you’ll be with us again!” Mrs. Williams tucks Vincent’s volunteer contract away in her desk, “you’re always very popular with the kids.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His watch chimes 8:00 am, “I have to go to work. I’ll keep an eye out for your email come October?”

“Exactly.” She walks him to the office door with a wink “and as always, your secret is safe with us.”

The Tilden Shopping center is on the other side of town from The Bureau of Hero Oversight, and as he feared the late summer heat means some of the local villains are even more irritable. That means a traffic jam just on the edge of downtown as several members of the Pine Guard zoom past in pursuit of Baron Thorne. Vincent hopes for the villain’s sake that Indrid isn’t among them; even since he dropped a building on Duck, The Moth considers Baron Thorne his sworn enemy.

He’s just glad that Indrid’s self-appointed sworn enemy isn’t getting out any time soon.

“I’m surprised you want me for this.” Vincent stares at the security screens and the one way glass that has him looking down on the cell of Apollo Cold, AKA The Flame.

“We’re learning the hard way that we need an agent with the right temperament to deal with him. And it has to be one, so he can’t play us off each other.” Director Stern sighs, running a hand over his hair. Vincent swears that grey in it only appeared after he was promoted, which happens to be the same time Apollo was brought in.

“Can I ask what you mean by that?”

“Even-tempered. Hard to rattle. Used to dealing with obnoxious men who think they know everything. All things that training-in starter agents prepared you for. After all, you dealt with my know-it-all self just fine.” Director Stern rests a hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “more than that, call it…call it a hunch. We’ve worked together all these, and I know the kind of man you are, Agent Capra. That’s why I trust you with this.”

“That means a lot.” Vincent smiles at him, “anything else I should know?”

“He’s got half the staff convinced he’s psychic.”

“How?” Vincent manages to not sound too alarmed

“My suspicion is a combination of prior research, cold reading, educated guesses, and luck. Indrid confirmed he’s lying, though of course he insists he developed powers after Indrid ‘deserted’ them.” Joseph’s phone buzzes and he sighs as he takes it out, “treat him like a T.V psychic and you should be safe.”

“Understood.”

Vincent spends an hour reading over all the information Stern left him, then decides it’s time to introduce himself.

It’s a short staircase down, then a reinforced door–the only way in or out–to an empty, well lit room. Apollo’s cell is made of the kind of glass they use to keep tigers from eating toddlers at zoos, with no privacy save for a small bathroom, and furnished with a bed, a tablet with limited permissions, and nothing else. It’s grim, but from the notes it’s also the last resort since Apollo kept turning anything else they gave him into a weapon.

Currently, the villain is sitting on the bed, watching Vincent approach with malevolent disinterest.

He stands calmly in front of the cell, “Hello, Apollo. I’m Agent Vincent Capra. Director Stern has assigned me to be the agent in charge of your care.”

“And why should I care about that?”

He shrugs, “You don’t have to care. It just felt polite to introduce myself face to face.”

“That makes you braver than the rest; they all hide up in their little cave” He tilts his head towards the control room, “Not that it will help them. They’re dead men regardless of whether I know their faces.”

Two months of being imprisoned hasn’t made him any less dramatic it seems.

“Tell me” Apollo studies his nails, “does it bother you? That a ‘know-it-all’ former pupil has surpassed you?”

The usage of the exact wording unnerves him, but all he says is, “Not at all. Director Stern was a co-agent for years and we know each other well. I’m very glad for his promotion.”

“I suppose you all feel it’s better him than you, as his death for his role in this will be far worse than if he were some disposable agent.” A smile, “I’m going to turn his boyfriend into a rug while they are both still alive.”

Vincent waits for him to finish.

A frown, “Nothing? Usually that at least earns me a wince. Maybe the old goat has something metal under all that fat after all.”

“You’re not my first villain, Apollo.”

The younger man rises, walks to the glass as he says, “You know, you remind me of my father.”

“You killed your father.” Vincent replies calmly.

Petulance breaks the surface of Apollo’s features, “I was going to say that.”

“I’m sorry to have stepped on your toes.” Vincent turns, “if you need anything, you where I’ll be.”

Apollo certainly did, and proceeded to hurl all manner of insults at him without warning, when he wasn’t busy detailing exactly how he’d murder Vincent and everyone he loved.

It’s been like that for a month and a half now, and they’re still no closer to working out how Apollo knows certain things. Indrid, in spite of tearing the control room apart, could not find a device or any other proof that his twin had managed to install some means of spying on them.

But his errand this morning gave Vincent an idea.

As he trades off with the night shift, he casually stands near a certain vent in the control room, that he was picking out a certain necklace for his niece’s birthday at a store that closed before he got off work, so he had to go ahead of time.

Then he reads over the notes from the night (“Cold sat on bed with back to camera for two solid hours, talking to himself”), covers up the vent, and then goes down to say good morning.

Apollo is laying on the bed, eyes closed, and Vincent is nearly turned around to let him sleep when a cool, self-satisfied voice says, “A necklace? How dull.”

“A funny thing about the necklace, Apollo” he leans closer to the glass, voice quieter, “I never bought it. I wasn’t anywhere near that store this morning.”

The villain’s eyes snap open and he turns his head toward him, “Liar.”

“Not at all. I was doing something much more secret than that. Something no one at the agency knows about”

“What kind of secrets could a ridiculous old goat like you have?” Curiosity lurks beneath dismissiveness.

“Surely you can tell me, since you claim you can know anything about us you choose.”

A pause, then, “You were paying off a parking ticket.”

“No.”

“Seeing a mistress.”

“Not even close.”

“You’re a hitman?”

“Goodness, no.” He doesn’t hide the laugh in time.

“Do not mock me!” Apollo is off the bed and snarling in his face in an instant, “I demand you tell me, this instant.”

“I don’t think I will. A man has to have his harmless little secrets.”

He returns to the booth, Apollo yelling curses after him. Then he clicks on the intercom and says, “I’m going to say it aloud in a moment. Then I’ll give you a last guess.”

Once he’s certain the mic is off, he stands by the vent and says, “I play Santa Clause at a mall.”

When he hits the intercom back on, Apollo pipes up, “You were shoplifting. I knew it all along.”

He shakes his head, pleased to have solved the mystery, “Not quite. But a good guess all the same.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apollo can suffer the indignity of imprisonment.

He can deal with the sinking feeling that his brother has, in fact, beaten him.

He can tolerate the endless sameness of his days, even laugh to himself and how pathetic that the agency thinks of this as a punishment.

But he will not tolerate Vincent Capra keeping a secret from him.

He’s been trying since last week to work it out, even went so far as to search “what do ordinary men keep secrets about” on his tablet, yet he’s no closer to an answer.

This morning he’s waiting, wrists cuffed through the electrified, hand-sized openings in his cell while some sniveling orderly speedily checks through his room for contraband. Vincent comes in just as the man finishes, wishing him a good morning before turning his attention on Apollo.

He must have been running late today; he still has a travel mug of coffee in hand.

“Gambling.”

A slight laugh, “Good morning to you too, Apollo. And no.” The cuffs buzz open and the holes in the cell close the instant he pulls his hands away, “I’ll be working on some reports today, but yell if you need me. Not that you have any trouble with doing that.”

He’s already turning towards the control room. Apollo does not want to lose his attention so soon; not because he cares about him–quite the contrary–but he’s not ready to go back to having his conversation options be someone who isn’t really there.

“Bird watching?”

Vincent pauses, “No, not that either. Though I suppose it’s one of your more reasonable guesses; birders usually go places early. Though I’m not sure if there are many exciting ones in the city.”

“You could go to the waterfront. It is on a flyway.”

He should really just cut out his tongue at this point.

“I didn’t take you for an amateur ornithologist.”

“I am not.”

Vincent sips his coffee, “What kind of bird would you be?”

“Eagle owl.” Forget his previous thought; ripping his tongue out would be more fitting. Right after he slices Vincent’s vocal cords one by one to stop him asking questions in that way that makes it so easy to answer honestly.

“That seems fitting. I’m not sure what I might be.”

Apollo studies him, then smirks, “A grouse. Plump and grey.”

The older man touches his hair, “I’m not all grey yet. And I think I wear it well.”

“The same cannot be said for your physique. Did you just stop trying once you were surrounded by heroes and saw how pathetic you looked?”

A sigh; not upset, just disappointed, “Some day, Apollo, I hope you can find joy in things other than insulting everyone you meet.”

He snorts, “Joy? Joy comes with triumph, with victory, with making your enemies crawl on bloodied palms for mercy you do not intend to grant. All things that are outside my reach. For now.”

“Was there really nothing else in your life that made you happy?” Confusingly, Vincent has stepped closer to the glass.

“No. Unlike my brother, I did not need pointless amusements or people. The work was enough.”

Silence, then Vincent’s brown eyes look at him with unnerving clarity, “Apollo, have you considered that you’re so desperate to know my secret because you’re bored and unhappy without the life you had?”

His traitor of a tongue says, quietly, “I would rather rip my own fingernails out than go another day without a goal.”

In another life, such a statement would have been met with someone handing him pliers and telling him to get to it. Instead, Vincent says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The Christmas trees are already encroaching on Halloween decorations as Vincent makes his way through the store. It feels a little odd to be using the company credit card to buy toys, but Stern agreed that anything that kept Apollo occupied and calm was worth spending Bureau money on. Apparently he’d been refusing books on principle–what principle, Vincent cannot say–but Vincent downloaded some onto the tablet just to tide him over. When he left last night, Apollo was wholly engrossed in Guns, Germs, and Steel.

He’d kept interrupting Vincent’s work that day, which was not unusual. But this time, it was to read him passages, rather than insult him.

When he returns to work the next morning, Apollo moves toward him excitedly before catching himself and returning to his usual disdainful expression.

“What is in that package? Is it mine?”

“Ho, ho, ho” Vincent smiles as he slides the box into the cell.

Apollo blinks at him.

“Do…did you never learn about Santa Claus?” That would explain how he still hasn’t guessed Vincent’s secret.

“I know what he is. I simply do not understand why you are referencing him in September.” Apollo opens the box, removing the Gearball Brainteaser, “or why you have given me a toy.”

“It’s apparently difficult to solve.”

Apollo gives him a dismissive wave, as if shooing him away, “Child's play.”

With that, he sits on the floor and does not look up from the puzzle for several hours. When he does, it's with a triumphant smile as he shows the solved sphere to the camera.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apollo is not surprised he’s dreaming of being a bird; he fell asleep after watching the live feed from the aquarium’s aviary. It is easier to let himself watch it, knowing Vincent will not mock or punish him for it.

The last time he dreamed of being a bird, he was ripping viscera from the belly of what was either his father or brother; the face was too destroyed to say.

This time, he is something small, a sparrow or warbler, huddling in tall grass. Without seeing it, he knows there's something hunting him. And rain is battering his feathers, he’s so cold and afraid and surely a flock is near, but if he calls for them, whatever is stalking him will pounce.

Warm hands scoop him up, tucking him into a breast pocket of a grey coat. He knows, in that way of knowing things in dreams, that it’s Vincent who has given him this soft, safe place to nest.

He wakes up nauseous, surely from the saccharine nature of the dream, rolls over in his blankets, and tries to pretend he’s still nestled in a pocket.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out the nausea was not from the dream. It was from food poisoning

Someone at the bureau had been putting expired or otherwise tainted food into his meals. According to Vincent, they were summarily fired when Stern found out.

It was a rather devious way of harming him, and he intends to congratulate whoever came up with it right before he boils them alive.

He’s laying on the cold floor for relief from the fever, blanket in reach for when he gets chills, when Vincent appears at the glass.

“Do you need more water?”

“No. I am fine. This is barely discomfort.” He closes his eyes, “I am not some, some weakling who needs soup or medicine or whatever it is people with no tolerance for suffering and frail bodies require when ill.”

“My mother always insisted on ginger ale. I still crave it when I get sick” Vincent sits down in the chair he’s taken to keeping next to the cell, then chuckles, “my fathers mother was a firm believer in putting whiskey in tea for the ill, even for children.”

“That seems like a good way to murder a child accidentally.” Apollo forces himself to roll on his side so he can see him.

“I’m the baby of the family, so by the time I came along she knew not to do it to me. My eldest sister does recall being given a hot toddy at age five that put her to sleep for most of the day.” He rests his head back against the wall. He’s wearing a white and lavender tie today, and Apollo wants to rest his own head just below the knot of it.

He must be more delirious than he thought.

“My father would always read to us when we got sick. The Hobbit was a favorite of mine.”

“I have read that one” Apollo sits up, “my favorite part was when the dragon pours molten gold onto the dwarves who dared enter his lair.”

Vincent looks at him with surprise, “I think we read very different books.”

“Nono, I distinctly remember the cover and the title.”

“Was that a book that was read to you, by chance?”

“By father, when we were small. It is now occurring to me that he may have made the story different to impart the correct lesson. No one puts beheadings in books for children.”

“No, there are a few in there. But I think the ending is much happier than you’ve been lead to believe.” Vincent looks down at him, “would you like me to read it to you?”

“I am not a child!”

“And that’s not an answer.”

“Yes” he grumbles, “after all, you are functionally a servant. You should wait on me when I am ill.”

Vincent indicates the tablet, and Apollo grits his teeth to keep from throwing up as he stands and passes the device through. After a few taps, Vincent pulls reading glasses from his breast pocket, and begins.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you humming that?” Apollo looks up from his book at Vincent. He hadn’t even realized he was humming “Silver Bells” as he filled in his paperwork.

“I suppose I’m already in a festive mood. I know it’s barely November but I can’t help it; I love Christmas. Picking out presents, spending time with family, all the lights. Cheesy, I know.”

“Exceedingly.” Apollo says, lacking his usual venom.

“I imagine it wasn’t celebrated in Abbadon.”

“Of course not. No doubt my brother has taken up the practice all the same.”

It’s a harmless truth, so he says, “I did see that he’d already put up a tree.”

“To please his brick of a hero, one assumes.”

“He may just like it” Vincent chides gently, “you aren’t carbon copies of one another.”

“Do not be ridiculous. That muscle without a brain is the reason he’s no longer even a passable shadow of his former self. But I suppose he is clever all the same; he found a loyal, durable shield to protect him while he flits about.”

Vincent takes a deep breath before replying, “Maybe he’s just found a partner he trusts.”

“He had one.” Apollo snarls.

“I’m not certain he’d call what you two had as trust.”

The villain scoffs, then softens, “I suppose not.” He gets up from the soft chair they’ve allowed him, padding over to Vincent, “I do envy him for what he has now.”

“That’s a hard thing to admit, isn’t it” Vincent sets his work aside to stand and face him, “I’m proud of you for being able to.”

A finger traces on the glass, “We could have such an arrangement. If you freed me.”

“Apollo, you know I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” The younger man raises his voice, “you like me, I can tell.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you loose to hurt god knows how many people.”

“What do you care? You would be safe! You would be helping me and I, I would offer you protection. And glory.”

“Does that strike you as something I want?”

Apollo pauses, clearly considering the question. Amber eyes flame, and Vincent knows he’s worked out the right answer and doesn’t like it.

“Fine” He hisses, slamming a fist into the glass, “I was lying anyway, a dull old goat like you is of no use to me.”

“I’m going for the day, Apollo.” It’s a fight not to yell back, to not be upset as he wonders if any of the progress he thought he was making in connecting with the villain was all an illusion.

“Go on then! Leave! I do not care! And when I finally free myself, I won’t even bother killing you personally! You can die here with the rest of these rats like you deserve.”

With that, he stalks away, leaving Vincent to retreat to the control room.

—-------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean not here?” Apollo glares at one of the cameras feeding to the control room.

“I mean he’s on another mission right now.” Stern says through the microphone, “and I’m not at liberty to say when he’ll return.”

“How can you send him on another mission? You know very well I am the greatest threat to the country, let alone the city.”

“Be that as it may, you’re also not the only threat here. Vincent was the right man for the assignment. There will be other agents assigned to your care in the meantime.”

“Bring Vincent back or I will-”

“Slice my face off while my family watches, yes, you’ve said as much.” The mic goes dead, and no one responds no matter how much Apollo curses at them.

Eventually he tires of that tactic and goes to sit on the bed, back to the camera.

“Another villain” he mutters, “if I had been an even more powerful threat, they would never send Vincent after anyone else. I would have him all to myself.”

The twin in his head replies, “And if you had never been a villain at all, you would have had the same.”

He tucks his legs to his chest. He’s not upset, he’s not, he is simply frustrated that the version of Indrid in his mind has been less cooperative of late.

And he is not at all pleased when the real version appears the next day for his monthly visit. Still, Indrid has information and he needs it, so he steps to the glass.

“Is Vincent dead?”

“No.” Indrid replies suspiciously quickly.

“Did they have you kill him?”

“No” His twin crosses his arms, “he’s on another mission. Assuming all goes well, you will see him again.”

“Liar.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “Apollo, we are not at Abbadon anymore. That kind of thing does not happen here.”

“Of course you think that, you are a coward and a traitor and one day you will remember what you were made for and I will laugh to learn you dismembered that hero of yours while he was still alive. And you will be all to blame for it, like old times.”

Indrid returns his snarl, the tell that the barb has lodged under his skin, “This! This is why they sent Vincent away!”

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Oh, really?” They’re toe to toe now, both acting as if the glass is not there, “you knew that your last conversation with him upset him, and that they decided it was wise to give him a break from you because no one deserves to be subjected to your company for as long as he has? And yet you think you value him enough for someone to see him as a prize to take away from you?”

“I do! He is, he is better than anyone else here! When he is nearby I do not-” He stops himself before he says something he regrets.

Indrid leans back from the glass, “You do not feel like you are trapped.”

“Damn you and your powers to whatever pit of hell is coldest.” He looks away, “once I am free, I will give him one more chance.”

His brother removes his glasses, tiredly rubbing his eyes, “You truly think that is the part of you he likes?”

The “yes” fails to form on his tongue. He knows it is a lie. Indrid knows it too. And so there is no point to it.

“You are not the Flame anymore. That persona, that life, is behind you and it is going to stay there. Every hero and half the villains in this city will fight to keep you from it. I will die before I let you take up that mantle again.” He slots his glasses back on his face, “eventually, you are going to have to decide who you are without it.”

With that, he leaves, tossing his usual goodbye over his shoulder.

“Indrid?”

His brother stops, but doesn’t turn to look his way.

“Do you promise he is still alive?”

“On whatever honor either of us still has, I promise he is.”

Apollo rests his forehead against the glass, relieved, “Thank you.”

Indrid turns, surprised, but says “you are welcome” all the same.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Technically, Vincent’s mission ended a week ago, but Stern insisted he take a week of vacation before returning to work. Which is why he’s reading up on Apollo’s doings at eleven at night on Christmas Eve.

Cold spoke to Director Stern about possible community service.

Well that’s certainly unexpected.

Cold has begun doing remote service identifying labels for screen readers and entering data from trail cameras for public lands.

Vincent flips forward; Apollo kept that up even after being told that they really didn’t know when Vincent would be returning to his post here.

Cold continues engaging with staff less than previously. Interactions are neutral rather than hostile 70% of the time.

He checks the monitor, having told the agent on the night shift that she should get some dinner and he could watch Apollo for a while. The villain is on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

When Vincent steps from the control room door, bag in hand, Apollo is to the glass with impressive speed.

“Vincent!” He reins in his excitement, “I see you have returned.”

“I sense I was missed.”

“I…yes. It turns out your company is superior to anyone else they assigned to me.” He looks at Vincent’s face, notices the bruise under his eye, and Vincent wonders if he’ll mock him for getting it or threaten the person who did it first.

“What happened?” His hand touches the glass, as if trying to examine Vincent’s injury.

“I was undercover as a butler for a young man who was trying to fashion himself into a villain. Deeply uncreative and not nearly as formidable as some people I could mention. Still, he wasn’t thrilled when he found out who I really was and there was a scuffle. I won.”

“I am glad. And I wanted to say that I am…I am” he closes his eyes and spits out, “sorry. For what I said the last time we spoke. I will do my best not to do it again.”

“Thank you for apologizing.”

Blonde hair falls into Apollo’s face as he cocks his head, “Why are you here so late?”

“Your Christmas present.” Vincent smiles, “would you like to know my secret.”

“Yes” Apollo’s eyes widen excitedly.

Vincent opens the bag, tipping it to show the red suit inside, “I’m a mall Santa for much of December. My father did it when I was growing up and I kept up the tradition.”

Apollo snickers, “You are full of surprises. Confusing, mundane surprises.”

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Vincent asks teasingly, “after all, it was your gift, not anyone else’s.”

The villain meets his eyes, expression softer than fresh snow and, for the first time Vincent can remember, free of machination.

“You have my word.” He slips his hand through the gap. Vincent doesn’t bother engaging the cuffs before taking it, intending to shake it. But clever fingers curl too closely, too awkwardly for a shake, as if Apollo is afraid he might slip away.

Vincent cups the hand between both his own, rubs a thumb along it gently as he murmurs, “Merry Christmas, Apollo.”

The villain smiles at him, warm and small, “Merry Christmas, Vincent.”

#vinlo #vincent/apollo

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 2 years

Text

Of Homilies And Crosswords

Father Paul battles feelings and dreams he shouldn't have as a priest. Loses spectaculary. - Set before A Sweet Tooth. Ok, I'm currently on ✨writer's block✨ and this fic probably shows it. Yet, I did try to write this from Paul's prespective (more or less), therefore there are waay more (F/N)s [First Name] here than in any other of my fics. It's a little dirty, but only a little, as a treat, but what it lacks in smut it makes up in cheesiness. (If somethings make no sense, I’m sorry) Bone Apple Tea.

Of Homilies And Crosswords - 4.1K

tw: suggestive themes (not explicit 💦 dreams)

Father Paul never before realised how quiet Crockett Island really was when (F/N) wasn’t around. The young woman said she was feeling a little homesick, therefore she decided to go and visit her family, staying a week back at her birthplace. She left merely a few hours ago really, coming to bid goodbye to him before catching the Breeze, but Paul missed her already. It was odd, the priest supposed. He got so accustomed to her presence in his daily life.

It was just after 2 o’clock in the afternoon and father Paul sat behind the desk in his little rectory, elbows on the desktop, hands folded underneath his chin and just gazing into nothingness. Most days at this time he’d be sharing tea with (F/N), working on a homily for the next day while she sat across from him, either reading or doing crosswords. Every once in a while, she’d ask for his input on some particularly tricky clues and, in return, he’d ask for her opinion of his choice of words. Paul liked such afternoons, they felt calm and warm. Comfortable. They felt like home.

Currently however, the sermon he was preparing was half written on a piece of paper before him, long forgotten, with scratched over words littering the page. The priest finally sighed and straightened up, letting his hands drop onto his thighs. Perhaps a stroll would do him good, clear his head a little bit. Paul got up and walked over to his bedroom where he put on a soft dark-grey cardigan. It had been lying on his dresser where (F/N) put it a day before. The man smiled unconsciously.

In his mind’s eye he saw himself draping the cardigan over (F/N)’s shoulders during one of their walks around the island. She kept insisting that she wasn’t cold, but after an extraordinarily chilly gust of wind hit the bare skin of her arms and made her involuntarily shiver, the woman gratefully accepted the warm woollen garment and wrapped it around herself tightly. Paul thought she looked precious. It was too big for her, the sleeves so long only the tips of her fingers were visible. He insisted she keep the sweater for as long as she needed it. Her sweet scent still lingered on the wool.

Father Paul took a deep breath once he stepped outside. Cool air filled his lungs and he could nearly feel his red blood cells rushing to distribute the oxygen throughout his body, instantly making him feel somewhat better. He stretched his neck and back and set off in a random direction, not really set on any specific destination.

His stroll really did him good, offering a pleasant distraction as he made his way through the lonely little fishing town, engaging in some verbal exchanges with various islanders on his way. He even chatted up the Sheriff for a while. While they were divided in matters of religion, both of them were still pretty much newcomers and could relate in certain subjects, and so they did share the odd conversation here and there. When he returned to the rectory later in the afternoon, he felt a bit jollier and managed to finally finish the homily he started writing shortly after he finished confessions in the morning.

Father Paul ate his dinner (a portion of casserole brought to him by Dolly Scarborough), took a shower, brushed his teeth and slid into his bed in a set of warm pyjamas, intent on a little Bible study before settling for sleep. But now, in the quiet of night, when there was really nothing he had to do and nobody to talk to, he was once more becoming distracted. He sighed again when he realised that he read the exact same verse three times without really noticing. Closing the book, he laid it upon the bedside table and turned the light off. It wasn’t late by any means, but still the priest lied down and shifted until he found a comfortable position.

Normally, he didn’t have problems nodding off, generally managing to do so within twenty minutes of settling, but tonight was different. Twenty minutes passed, then fourty, then an hour. He flipped and turned, but it seemed like every position became uncomfortable after a few minutes. Then he was cold, so he walked barefoot to the living room to fetch the blanket that was draped over his couch. Not ten minutes after he lay back down under the double layer of covers, he started sweating and had to kick one of his blankets away again. Father Paul groaned in frustration. He couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t sleep, what was he to do?

A beeping sound tore through the still and quiet. Paul opened his eyes and searched the room with his gaze. The opposite wall was slightly bathed in faint blue light. The priest got up again to walk towards his dresser where his phone was. (F/N) recently got him a simple smartphone. He still chuckled at the memory of her eyes adorably wide in shock upon seeing his old phone - It was already old by the time he got it, but he never really felt he needed a new one. He didn’t use it often at all, mainly for the occasional calls from his friends then, now from the dioceses, or the nursing home where Monsignor Pruitt currently resided.This time however, it was no call but rather a text message. A text message from (F/N). He carried the phone back to his bed and lied down again before opening the text.

“Hey,” it read, “I know it’s late and you’re probably long asleep, but I wanted to wish you goodnight anyway. x”

Father Paul grinned at the phone and his hands began automatically writing a reply: “That’s very kind, thank you. Did you have a nice journey?” He waited a minute or two. Then came another ‘beep beep’.

“Yep. It’s great to be back. I’m so sorry though, did I wake you?”

Paul was on his side, phone in front of his face, and he was finally feeling comfortable in his position, pleasantly warm but not overheating like before. “No,” he wrote back, “I was awake,” the priest barely stifled a yawn and found himself surprised at how heavy his eyelids became. “But now that you mention it…” he finished his text and sent it. He was in the middle of another yawn when the phone beeped once more.

“You better get your beauty sleep, father ;) Night night then, sweet dreams! x”

“Sweet dreams to you”

Paul put his phone on the bedside table and closed his eyes once more. This time it took no time at all for sleep to claim him. The priest slept with a smile on his face.

—

“You’re in a fine mood today, what gives?” asked Riley, annoyed. For once, it was just the two of them, as Joe was on the mainland, visiting his late sister’s family, probably for the first time ever. Paul was awfully grumpy today and he didn’t even really know why. He actually blamed it on the day itself - he woke up tired and groggy after only barely five hours of sleep. In his hurry to get to the daily mass, he forgot to tie one of his shoelaces - which backfired in him tripping over it and spilling communion wine all over his purple chasuble. Then after Bev came to collect the vestment so she could wash it (condescendingly telling him to be more careful, because he ‘could’ve gotten hurt’ in the process), there came a very unpleasant sound from the kitchen sink. Father Paul went towards it to investigate and tried turning the water on. Only a few tiny droplets of water came out of the faucet before another awful loud sound rumbled through it. The priest squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger in frustration.

It was a shitty day.

He snapped at Riley during the AA meeting (for not even a good enough reason) three times exactly, and it was obvious the young man was growing impatient with the priest. Paul sighed (he felt he did that an awful lot these days). “I’m sorry, Riley,” he began, and he meant it, “I’m having a rough day. Which is no excuse, of course, I shouldn’t take it out on you, so, sorry.” Riley’s eyes softened: “‘it’s alright.” They sat in silence for a while. “If you need to, you know, we can just wrap it up for today and meet up again when you’re more… yourself. The priest looked at him gratefully.

Sturge was standing in front of the rectory already when Paul and Riley exited the rec centre and Paul locked it. They said their goodbyes and both made their way home. The bearded man held a bag of tools in one of his hands, waiting for the pastor patiently. “Evening , father,” he said once Paul got within earshot. He greeted the man in return and was soon unlocking the door to his home. He explained everything to the handyman over the phone, so Sturge immediately set off to work, leaving Paul to his own devices. Father Paul felt rather miserable about the entire day and was pretty content to just morosely stare out of the windows and into the darkness. Until…

‘Beep, beep’

His ears perked up and he started fishing for his phone in his messenger bag. It was another message from (F/N). He opened it, but instead of text there was now a picture. It was a photo of her, standing in front of a waterfall with sun shining into her face. She was wearing a simple outdoor outfit, complete with large hiking boots and a trucker cap and she was smiling wide, as if right at him. Paul thought she looked absolutely beautiful. But then again, she always looked beautiful… He felt blood rush into his cheeks at the thought and was very glad Sturge was currently focusing on his work at the sink and couldn’t see him,

Father Paul was very much fond of his friend, enjoying every second he got to spend with her, but then there was… the other thing. Something more was growing within his heart ever since he met the young woman. And as their friendship got stronger, so did this feeling. This entirely unpriestly affection. And Paul tried to push it away, and he tried to bury it, and he tried to banish it with prayers. And it always came back, twice as strong.

He thought back on their conversations, both lighthearted and deep. Their gentle touches, all within the safe ranges of innocent friendship… Unlike his mind. He thought how she looked as she slept beside him, no more than a metre away. Once he was ill, the other time she was hurt. He wanted to reach for her both times, wanted to enfold her in his arms and hold her. He never did, of course. It wouldn’t be right. Only thing he allowed himself was to squeeze her hand or give a single light caress to her smooth cheek.

Father Paul was perfectly aware how inappropriate his feelings were for a catholic priest, he did vow to a life of celibacy after all. However, as much as he tried, he just couldn’t seem to shake them off. He spent hours and hours praying, pleading to be relieved of them, begging to be forgiven and yet one look at her always made him realise the futility of such prayers. Because everytime she looked back at him, he could see her eyes. He could feel the intensity with which she was regarding him. He could still feel where her lips touched his cheek and his forehead, he had the sensation of her warm body pressed into his when they fell asleep on his couch.

When their eyes locked, he was nearly certain. Nearly certain that she felt the same, that if he was to trap her in his arms and crush his mouth against her own, she would answer him in the same way. However, every time he was just about sure he was going to do just that, a horrible fear trapped him in its arms instead, and he cowardly ran away with his tail between his legs. Figuratively, that is.

“Uh, father?” Father Paul jumped so much it managed to startle Sturge as well. “Oh, sorry, my mind is a bit… elsewhere…” said the priest awkwardly, glad to be able to blame his hot cheeks on embarrassment rather than the fictional images of him engaging in all kinds of fun activities with (F/N)(L/N). “Um, the faucet is fixed. The filter was completely blocked. I checked the bathroom sink and shower too, they’re fine.” Paul, now recovered, nodded and thanked the bearded man, offering to make tea for him now the water was running again. Sturge politely declined and said his goodbyes, leaving the rectory a few moments later.

Looking at his phone again, Paul discovered another text message.

“Went hiking, hope your day was ok! x”

The pastor smiled at (F/N)’s photo again and then, in a moment of (madness) courage pressed the call symbol. For a few moments, he only listened to the dull dial tone, trying to calm his hammering heart and then: “Hey!” sounded her giddy voice and Paul’s heart skipped a beat, “how’s it going?” And despite feeling anything but calm, Paul sat on his sofa and began telling the young woman of his misfortune that day.

“Well, at least the faucet’s running. Small victories, Paul!” giggled (F/N) when he was finished, and to his own surprise, he chuckled too. Somehow, all the irritation he felt throughout the day due to his bad luck faded away once he told her and he felt like he could breathe a little lighter. He inquired about her hiking trip and even managed to compliment her on the photo without embarrassing himself too bad or weirding her out.

They could have spoken for 30 minutes, they could have spoken for 2 hours, Paul didn’t really know, but finally (F/N) said: “As much as I love talking to you, you should really try to get some more sleep today. Bev’s going to be vexed enough you’ll be wearing a different colour chasuble until the purple one’s clean. If you were to ruin another one the very next day, the next time I’d be seeing you would be in a wooden onesie,” Paul chuckled softly. “Still, I’m glad you called, it’s nice to hear you.” “It’s nice to hear you too,” Paul murmured. There was silence on the other end. “Well,” said the priest then, “Good night then, (Y/N).” He almost heard her smile into the phone. “Sweet dreams, Paul. Miss you,” and with that she hung up. The priest’s fingers were holding the phone in a vice grip. He was doomed.

—

Paul really did fall asleep easily that night. In his dreams, he saw himself as a young altar boy again, carrying the incense between pews. His parents were so proud of him, smiling from their seats at the very front. The image shifted - now he was laughing with his friends from seminary, sitting in a quiet little bar where the bartender didn’t want to see any IDs. He never really attended some of the crazier parties his mates went to, being more than happy to simply hang around with them somewhere calm. It was gone in the blink of an eye. Now he was standing in Saint Patrick’s wearing a golden chasuble on the second Sunday of ordinary time and looking at his new flock. In one of the pews sat a girl with what he could only describe as an angelic aura. She looked into his eyes and his breath caught in his throat.

Finally, he was back in his bed, but… not really. It was still his bedroom, his bed, his pyjamas, but it was neither reality nor a memory. (F/N) lied beside him - no, not quite beside him as on top of him. Her upper body was flush with his own, her head was resting on her hand on top of his breast and she was looking through her lashes at him, a soft smile on her face. One hand came to caress his cheek and he could swear he actually felt it. “I wish you were here,” he said, for once with no shame and guilt, knowing she’d never actually know. Hoping He would never know.

The Dream sighed and pulled herself a bit closer, making him gasp. He could oh so clearly feel her soft body sliding against his, her skin smoother than silk. Only now it occurred to him that she was barely dressed, covered only by a lightweight nightgown. Paul blushed heavily as he felt his body respond. The Dream again stroked his cheek: “She could be here, you know,” she said in that voice he adored. “I’m not sure about that…” he said truthfully again and shivered when she moved against him once more. She giggled airily and pressed a single kiss to his lips. “You’ll see when she gets back. But since I’m already here…” And Paul moaned into the next kiss. Their clothes disappeared.

Paul woke red faced and ashamed, soaked with sweat, with a stained hand and ruined pyjama bottoms.

—

The next few days were all spent in a similar fashion. Father Paul would do his duties as a priest, he’d lead sermons, hear confessions, prepare homilies. He’d walk around town, stroll through the island, talk to anyone who wished to talk to him. He’d listen to Bev’s passive-aggressive remarks about everyone (whom she deemed) who was unworthy of God’s love, and he’d meet with Riley and Joe in the rec centre some evenings. Afterwards he’d eat and only then would he call (F/N).

They always talked late into the evening, sharing stories, laughing quietly. Every night, she would mention the amount of days until she came. ‘Just four more days, then you’ll tell me everything in person.’ or ‘Three days left, can’t wait for all the gossip over tea!’ . And everytime, before she hung up, the young woman would say ‘Miss you’. Paul never said it back. He missed her like mad, and he did want to tell her so, but everytime he tried his voice failed him and he just sat on his couch, dumb as a fish. And after that The Dream would come back… Sometimes he’d just hold her, kiss her, sometimes they’d just talk. Other times she’d do things to him, things his mind would never dare imagine while conscious. Every morning was the same - The priest woke up either painfully aroused or already spent. In both cases a cold shower would fix the damage, and a prayer for strength and forgiveness would follow.

He was doomed. At the start, he was just so intrigued by her, by her wit and charm… by her beauty. If he only knew just how much he would (and he supposed there was no point in lying to himself anymore) fall in love with her, he’d probably keep some distance. A lot of distance. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he’d been torn apart and sloppily put back together now she was actually away. The very thought of beginning to set that distance now made him feel nauseous. Paul couldn’t just stop caring, couldn’t simply end their strolls, their quiet afternoons spent together, but neither did he feel at all ready to tell her how he felt. Maybe he should though.

The Dream told him once that he’s going to go mad, if he only ever lets himself face his feelings while he’s asleep. If he only allows himself relief when he has no control. He told her he felt rather mad already.

—

Two days to go. Paul sighed and crossed his legs, letting the Bible in his hands drop onto his thigh. Afternoon sun shone through the rectory’s windows, basking the room in golden light. He had no idea what he was going to do when (F/N) came back, no idea what he was going to say. It had been easier before The Dream started visiting him - before that he could try to fool himself into thinking that they really are only just friends, that his infatuation is a silly little crush on a pretty girl and that’s it. He could at the very least attempt to convince himself that even if he was in love with her, he had no carnal desires, no want to break his vows.

But oh, he yearned now. The Dream awoke a part of him he had forgotten long before his studies, if he ever really had it in the first place. And it was frightening. He was so afraid now, so afraid of his own body betraying him in her presence now. His heart longed for her to be back already, and his mind cowered in a corner with fear of her actually being here. The uneasy feeling inside of him only grew until he could no longer just sit still and do nothing, so he bookmarked his page and got up with the intention to make some tea to calm his nerves. He was just about to put the kettle on.

Knock knock-knock knock

The sound, the rhythm so familiar now, made his heart skip a beat and he nearly dropped everything he was holding. While his mind raced and heartbeat increased, his hands subconsciously moved to retrieve a second mug from a shelf. A mug he never used, because she always drank out of it. (F/N)’s mug, essentially. Finally he inhaled deeply, gathered up his courage and walked towards the front door. His breath caught in his throat once he opened them. (F/N) was smiling wide at him from where she stood, hair a mess and face flushed, and next to her feet lay a duffel bag. It hit Paul that she’s just arrived on the Belle and came directly to him, not even taking the time to drop off her luggage at home. All kinds of emotions rushed over him like a giant wave. He had so much to tell her and no idea how much he could tell her.

“Hi,” she said then a little awkwardly, “I know I said that I’d be gone for two more days, but um… I came back early, I guess?” Father Paul could see heavy blush settling on her cheeks and couldn’t help but grin at her too. “Hi yourself,” he said only, before he wrapped his arms around her in what he hoped she’d see as only a simple friendly ‘welcome’ hug. He froze a bit as she actually curled her arms around his waist before he fully closed his own. Her forehead touched the priest’s jaw and he felt her nose bump into his collar bone, before the young woman shifted and tucked her head under his chin.

Father Paul’s worries all seemed to melt away and he gratefully squeezed (F/N) close, her scent filling his nostrils and making him feel warm and content. “Welcome back,” he said once he pulled away, though his hands were holding her shoulders still. Her eyes were so open and inviting, so soulful Paul was sure he’d find all answers to the universe in them, if he only looked deep enough. Their little moment was shattered by a high pitched whistling. “Uh,” he dropped his gaze to his feet, “tea?” “Oh yes!” she replied, enthusiastically, “I want to know everything that happened while I was gone. I’m interrogating, I mean, visiting Erin later.” The priest laughed as he led the way inside: “I’m afraid there’s not much more other than what I already told you. It’s a small island after all.”

Father Paul was not ready to reveal his feelings just yet, but something told him the day was coming.

—

That something was proven right merely a week and a half later, when he walked towards the rectory with a slice of cherry pie. And it was proven right once more, when the very next day (or rather night) his tongue was sliding softly against that of (F/N)(L/N) and her body was trapped under his own, hanging onto him like a lifeline. The feeling of her hands - her actual, real hands - carding through his hair and caressing every inch of him they could reach was a million times better than any dream.

No, not doomed. Father Paul was blessed.

Thank you for reading, as always you can find this work and the entire series on AO3. I’m a happy little potato for reviews ;-; k, i’m going to bed, sweet dreams, x

#midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #reader insert #father paul #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #texting #mutual pining #fluff #idiots in love

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 2 years

Text

The Menu

Masterlist

Summary: an unscheduled flight sends Geralt and Jaskier into a bitchfit... but maybe Jaskiers one is justified.

Warnings: crack fic, just intended for humour, swearing, dragon!reader dragonshifter!reader

A/N: if i was a dragon i would o100% fuck with jaskier. And im not even sorry. I hope you get a little giggle out of this.

"For fuck sake morganna!!" Geralt swore, tumblingnoff of you as you landed heavily on the plateu of a grey slate mountain. Batti gnyour wings a few times clearing some of the sharper rubble from under your feet.

"I could have handle it!" You rolled your eyes at the pissy witcher. Honestly somtimes to 70 year old acted like a fucking child. Huffing and puffing in a hissy fit when you interrupted one of his battles.

You snorted at him, blowingnhhis hair about his face and smirked at him. He squinted and growled before pointing at you. You grinned him and hpgave a low chortle. Laughing at his display.

"Dont you look at me like that! I had everything under control" you grumbled and released a traumatised looking roach from your front talloned foot. You felt a little sorry for the mare as she wobbled away a few steps and then laid down wanting to be acs close to the ground as she could be.

"Geralt, leave her be. She got us out safely thats what matters" yennefer spoke slipping down from your shoulder landing with a light thump before turning helping ciri down.

"Shes scared the shit out of roach! Look shes lying down! They're not meant to do that!" Geralt cursed waving a hand towards the poor horse that looked very queasy.

"Geralt?" Ciri spo,e with a frown looking around the clearing and then toom a few steps back riseing to her tippy toes and scanned your back.

"Roach will be fine, its not the first time shes been air lifted" yennefer offered trying to placate the witchers bitch fit.

"Err geralt?" Ciri called againnto her soul father now sou dog a little panicked.

"Its not good for her, or us! Especially when shes not giving us warning! Morgannayou cant just shift and snatch us up like that!" Geralt bickered befor turning to you scolding you. It was quite funny. Geralt trying to chide a freakishly large black iridescent dragon.

"GERALT!" Everyone paused and turned to ciri as she shouted.

"Where jaskier?" Your eyes light up playfully as ciri asked for the bards where abouts.

"What? He right... err he was... fuck me did you forget to grab jaskier?!" You shook your head and smiled sheepishly under the witchers amber gaze before looking away, avoiding his eyes and tighened your lips.

"No? Then where? Oh you didnt" geralt stopped himself and shook his head at you half amused, half annoyed. He was trying so hard not the chuckle at you.

"Didnt what?" Yennefer asked teresly stepping beside geralt eyeing you curiously. She was not worried for the bard. No. She didnt worry abotu him, he was a big boy. She was? Concerned? Ciri loved her uncle jaskier and would be upset if anythig happened to him.

"Open." You grumbled and turned your head away from the stern witcher and whined.

"No, do not start with me. Show me" gerlat insisted clasping onto one of your smaller protuding horns and gave a tiny shake. Your head didnt even move, but hais point was clear.

"Open your mouth now" it was at this point yennefer and ciri shared a look before bursting out laughing. Geralt managed to curb his amusment and continued to order you to 'spit it out' li,e a pup that had caught a farm chicken, or toddler who had put bugs in its mouth.

"Spit him out. Spit it out now. Drop him. Drop my bard" geralts voice grew

"Im warning you, spjt my bard out now or you will not be be no huntig for an entire week!" That did it. The threat of not shifting and helping geralt hunt for a week was too much of a risk. Ou loved being able to stretch yourwings and prowl the skies before hunting down prey for your new weyr.

Finally you opened your mouth and spat out the bard that youd kept safely and sound pinned to the roof of your mouth with your tongue.

"Ugh thank god! I thought she was going to swallow!" Jasker screeched as he stumbled onto the ground and fell onto all fours.

"The hell is wrong with you! I could have died!" The bard squalling continued as he moved his hands over hi,self trying the get your spit off his pretty puffy clothes. You snorted at him. He was so dramatic.

"You were fine, she doesnt eat gristle. And youd taste like shit" yennerfer smirking as jaskier was cussing and whining.

"Huh? Excuse you! I am prime beef! tender and lean thank you very much!" You scoffed at jaskiers argument before transforming back into your human form and moved to the packs to grab your clothes.

"Ive seen more meat on a chicken leg" yennefers teasing words only made jaskier gasp. Clearly insulted.

"I promise i wouldnt have eaten you jaskier" you said stepping closer to the group relaxing jnto your human form. Running your fingers through your hair and tying it up in a large lose bun.

"See she appriciates how important i am to society. People need me!" You laughed out loud shaking your head at him as he shouted his victory whilst pointing to you.

"No. Its just human meat tastes like salty chicken. I dont like it" you shrugged befpre sitting on the ground dragging on your boots.

You didnt notice the silence that fell over the group as your words sank in. It was only after laceing your boots you looked up to see them all staring at you shocked and a little frightened.

"What?"

"Youve eaten people?" Ciri asked unsure what to think. It wasnt something she had really thought about before. And the way youd been so casual about mentioning it? It was a little creepy.

"Well a few?.... i mean once or twice.... you know curiosity and accidents" you shrugged not really seeing a big deal. Most dragons have eaten humans once or twice. Many had no choice humans tried hunting them as young drakes as a show of strenght and courage, you only had fire, talons and teeth at your disposal. It was quicker to bite.

"How do you eat someone accidentally?" She asked sarcastically

"It... happens. We get attacked young and bite. And then we dont spit it out. Its nature i am a carnivore"

"Im more concered about the curiosity bit? You ate someone out of curiosity?" Jaskier asked the same disbelieving sarcasm dripping from each word.

"Oh what because youve never munched on man meat out of curiosity?" You huffed feeling slightly attacked. But you told yourself they couldnt help it. Your kind was rare now, humans dont understand your nature as they once did.

"Probably not in the way you meant it" ciri snorted laughing trying toease the tension. She could see you were getting upset.

"Cirilla!" Geralt scolded quickly trying not to smile at the teens quick comment. But ciri rolled her eyes at the witcher and defended herself.

"What you were thinking it too"

"She's not wrong" yennefer hummed nodding in agreement.

"Why does everyone insist i've slept with men! Im straight! I like women!" Jaskier complained alittle too quickly to be believed.

"Your dreams would say otherwise" yennefer snipped back with a smirk on her face. You and ciri chuckled.

"My what? Have you been snooping again!?" The bard yelped horrified at the idea of yennefer peaking into his dreams again. He quickly stood up to face the mage.

"No, you talk in your sleep" you added deciding to get in 0n the fun. Thats all this was, fun. Jaskier was easy to set of. Wind him up and watch him go. It was one of your and yennefers favourite ways to pass the time.

You watched as they all seemed to relax and shh away from the subject. You were relieved , for a second there a small part of you had been worried theh would turn on you. But even so you wanted to reassure them all.

"Trust me id never eat any of you.... and if i did jaskier would be safe." You admitted before smirking and pokeingmmore fun at jaskier.

"Whats that supposed to mean?!" You rolled your eys and waved over his damp form. The once puffy sleeves no drooping acros his shoulders showing hos slim frame.

"Well? Your slim pickings.... Honestly? Geralt would be my first choice. Lots of muscle. Then yennefer, ciri and roach. Youd be my last option... i'd need to be really desperate" you summarised with a shrug.

"You'd eat a fucking horse before me?!" Of course thats what he focused on.

"I want to know why she'd eat me geralt and yennefer before roach?" Ciri chirpped foldjngnher arms across her chest almost insulted by your menu preferences.

"Have you seen him when someone fucks with his horse? No thanks. Horse isnt the worst meat in the world but i dont want it to be my last meal." You pointed to geralt who had wandered nesxt to roach and gpbegan petting her neck.

"Can we please stop talking about eating roach? She can hear you, you know" geralt sighed from beside the horse before muttering to the ,are under his breath. 'Let the dragon tag along they said, it'll be fun they said. Now look traumatised mare traumatised bard and im now on a snack menu'

#henry cavill #cavillry #oh for fic sake fics #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #crack fic #witcher #geralt imagine

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves · 2 years

Note

Can we see how agustin would react when he found out julieta was on her period. Maybe they're at school and he notices her quickly ask their science teacher to go to the bathroom and when she returns he notices she's in pain and after class asks her what's wrong having to ask loads of questions before she finally breaks and tells him what's up. (Imagine them about 15-17 yes old)

Ah bf AGUSTÍN in a period situation. Let's do it??

Agustín hated running so late in the day. He wanted to make it earlier so he could exchange notes with Julieta, but when you accidentally get run over by three donkey carts, you tend to be late. He made it just a SECOND before the bell rang, and he sat right nect to Julieta. Oh Julieta. She was gorgeous. She had such pretty hair, tied up to keep out of her face. Such a perfect nose and her eyes were always beautiful. Only, her usually soft face looked so...tense. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, when the teacher loudly cleared his throat.

"Alright, silencioso. Today, we're talking about erosion. Now, does anyone know anything about erosion, before I get started? Julieta, let someone else get the answer, please."

Julieta put down her raised hand, clearing her throat.

"I wanted to use the restroom, please."

"Oh. Alright, go on then."

Agustín watched her as she winced upon herself standing up. She scurried out of the classroom, and Agustín found it difficult to focus. He was usually like that when she WAS here, now it's the total opposite. She was gone for a good fifteen minutes, before she came back, looking just as uncomfortable as she was when she left. Augustín scribbled onto a note, and handed it to her. She looked it over quickly, before handing it back to him.

'I'm fine, Agustín :)'

Why did he doubt her? Probably because 'I'm fine' was her natural response to pretty much everything. He took notes as the teacher spoke, but otherwise kept looking at her. She was very uncomfortable, he could see it. But at the very least, this was their last class of the day. When the bell rang, Agustín immediately tried get a verbal confirmation from her, only to see her immediately get up and try to exit. Agustín scrambled to put his stuff in his backpack, and get up to follow her. He bumped into a few people on the way out, causing a few to swear at them.

"Dammit Agustín!"

"Sorry, sorry!"

Agustín managed to catch up to her, despite the fact that he was a bit out of breath. She was a FAST walker.

"Hijole- Julieta? What's wrong?"

"I should ask you the same. You're panting."

"It's called 'worried running', and it's exhausting. Julie, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine, Agustín. I have work to do."

Agustín started to walk backwards ahead of her, trying to search her face. He was getting annoyance, but this was his first girlfriend, he was taking this seriously.

"You ALWAYS have work to do. But you're not okay! You're making a face!"

"Because you think I'm lying."

"Because I know you're uncomfortable! You're all stiff! Are in pain?"

"Agustín."

She was trying to avoid him. She did that whenever she had problems. But he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. He liked her too much to care.

"Can I at least try to guess? Did you sprain your wrist? Do you have a fever? Is it diarrhea? Because that last one would make a LOT of sense-"

She stopped dead in her tracks, and her brow furrowed bitterly as she grabbed his shirt, keeping him from falling down the last step that seperated the top floor from the second. The one that ALWAYS got him.

"I'm. On. My. Period. There, happy?"

She let go of him, and continued on. Now, he knew pretty much nothing about periods. He knew it was bleeding and cramps, but little else. He had no sisters to ask, and his mother was very private about hers, insisting it was meant for women alone to know about. How was he supposed to help? He thought about it for a second, before he dived into a classroom. Good, Bruno was still here.

"Bruno! Hey, I need a favor!"

Bruno looked up from his paper, arepa in his mouth. Bruno always had snacks.

"If it's a vision, forget it, I'm kinda wiped-"

"I need you to like, sum up what women need on their period. I mean, assuming you know what they need, I know you don't have periods but-"

Bruno looked bored as he looked up at him, as if Agustín was stupid for not knowing.

"Snacks, lots of them. Pepa likes sweet and spicy stuff on her period, Julieta likes sour and savory, and mi mami likes anything bitter. Get her chocolate. Get her a hot towel, don't be too loud, if she asks if she looks bloated tell her no, get the bitch to take a nap, and if she says she's not hungry, she's lying. And if she says her cramps hurt, her cramps fucking hurt. There."

Agustín looked at him for a moment, as if he was some wise old sage, when Bruno groaned.

"I live with three women. I learn about periods or I die. Now go."

Agustín thanked him quickly, before leaving. Julieta was long gone at this point, but he knew where she would be. He quickly went to his house, and shut the door behind him. He dumped his school supplies on the coffee table, and immediately dove into the kitchen for anything he could get his hands on. His mom looked up at him, watching him frantically put all kinds of snacks and foodstuffs into his bag.

"Woah woah- que fais-tu?"

"Désolé, I just need snacks. Do we have that sour candy we get from the store yesterday?"

"Yes, right up on the shelf-"

"Gracias!"

His mother turned fully to look at him, clearly worried.

"Mi vida, you okay? I can make you snacks."

"It's not for me, it's for Julieta, she's on her period. Do we have the leftover arroz con pollo?"

"It's...on the bottom shelf in the fridge. How do you know that? That's a private thing-"

Agustín turned to his mom, honestly a bit frustrated.

"You ever think it SHOULDN'T be private, so that way men like me can HELP women in our lives?"

She seemed shocked that her usually quiet son would speak like that, and the content of his words certainly didn't help. Agustín huffed, running a towel under hot water, wringing it out, then quickly leaving. He dashed outside till he was at the town square, where Julieta was, handing out arepas. She was still just as stiff, and it probably didn't help that it was incredibly hot outside. She was good at hiding it. So good, no one else seemed to notice she was suffering. Agustín walked up to her, ignoring the people in line. People would come to her for any old scrape nowadays.

"Julieta! You need to come with me!"

"Not now, I'm busy."

"But someone needs help!"

Her head snapped up from her table at those words. She'd climb up the tallest mountain in the Encanto if it meant helping someone in pain. She scanned the line, and upon seeing no real emergencies, put up her sign. It was her normal mortar and pestle symbol, but changed to red. It meant she was no longer at the stand. People groaned at it, but most understood it meant there was a bigger emergency at hand. Julieta packed up her emergency kit with the essentials, and nodded firmly at Agustín.

"Show me."

Agustín had her follow him a bit outside town. It wasn't too far, just enough so no one would see her and immediately beg for help. It was a lovely, shaded part of the forest that was just right for lounging.

"We're here."

"Where are they? Are they trapped somewhere?"

"No. The person who needs help, is you."

She looked ready to scold him, when Agustín moved the backpack to his front, and started to pull stuff out.

"I'm serious! Julieta I don't know much about periods, but I know what you NEED! You're in pain and the fact that you heal people every day just, hurts me! I know your arepas don't work on yourself, and I know I'm not magic, but I can TRY! Look, I have snacks, I have a hot towel, I even brought a blanket so you could take a nap for just a minute-"

He didn't get to finish as she cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him. It was a simple kiss, but one that knocked the air out of him regardless. He could still taste the mint from her morning tea. Her face softened for him, and for once today, she didn't look upset.

"Gracias, Agustín. This is very...sweet. I shouldn't stay here, but you won't let me go back without a break, will you?"

"Not a chance. I'll just carry you right back here."

She chuckled at him, lightly shaking her head.

"Fine. I'll nap for a few minutes. But not that long, understand?"

Agustín nodded. He laid the blanket down upon the grass, and watched as she sat down, lightly wincing. He opened his backpack for her to see what he had.

"I brought pretty much everything. I should've heated up the chicken and rice, but I was sort of in a hurry."

"No, I prefer it cold, actually."

She ate all of it, as well as all the chocolate lemon candies he brought. She insisted enough was enough, but she certainly didn't stop him from putting more into her hand. Snacks eaten, drinks all gone, he found her cuddled to his side, eyes shut, and just barely awake.

"Julieta?"

"Si?"

"I want to take care of you. So when something is wrong, even if you say it's not, I'm going to help you. I promise."

"I love you, Agustín."

"I love you too. So much."

He looked down at her, and was very aware of her steady breathing. Deep asleep. Oh well, might as well join her. Afterall, how else was he going to make sure she took the nap she so rightfully deserved?

#asks #not transformers #encanto #they took a nap for like three hours #did she get scolded?#absolutely #but Agustín doesn't regret shit #because why wouldn't he want to nap with his awesome girlfriend #also headcanon; Julieta doesn't like eating unless someone else made it for her

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luverofralts · 1 year

Text

Arkhelios University

“I still can’t believe that you’re here!” Roman exclaimed, wrapping his formerly dead husband in a tight embrace. After a few minutes had passed and Roman was still clinging on to him, Adrian gently pried himself free.

“I’m not quite sure what to make of it either,” he replied softly, clearly still staring in awe of their bland hospital room. “Things are a lot less...intense here. There’s a lot less pink, anyway.”

“And the doctors cleared you to leave? How? Your body is lying in a very expensive crypt. I saw you buried myself.”

Adrian smiled weakly, cringing internally about learning anything having to do with his death. It was a weird subject that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue to learn about.

“We did see the Grim Reaper,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “Between him and that strange man that kept talking to him, I have a feeling that there isn’t going to be a scientific answer to this situation.”

“Which is what brings me here.”

Both men spun around to see Evren Thorne, architect extraordinaire, waving at them.

“The witch council wants a report done on this resurrection,” he continued. “They want to make sure there is no threat or plot against the living and that ‘a hoard of zombies’ aren’t about to descend on us. It’s ridiculous, but it’s what I’ve been assigned.”

“Adrian’s not a threat,” Roman insisted, looking incredulously at the witch. “Who gave you that assignment? Claudia in Pleasantview? I’m on very good terms with your queen and I demand that you-”

“Wanda sent me,” Evren interrupted. “She’s worried about you more than anything. Theo too. Half of these questions I’m supposed to ask are about trust funds and house ownership, not magic. She’s your friend, right? She’s just using the witches as an excuse to meddle in your life.”

“Oh.”

Well, that was a different story then. Roman backed down, touched that his friend and aunt was looking out for him and the estate that he benefited from. He hadn’t thought about how the estate would be managed now that Adrian was no longer dead or about what he might be owed financially that the divorce would have settled had Adrian been alive. Was he still married to Adrian or was he still widowed and married to Abe?

“Some of these questions are about the duke though,” Evren said, relieved to see the challenge leave Roman’s eyes. “The witches are extremely interested in your body- I mean your resurrected body! What it’s made of! They want to make sure that you’re not a reaper in disguise or some kind of revenant. If you could help fill out this form with me, I can go back home and leave you two alone again. I keep telling them that I’m an architect, not some master warlock. I just want to start designing the witch council chambers.”

“Wanda’s building a witch council and a magical academy in Arkhelios,” Roman informed his ex-husband. “She’s got witches from all over relocating to Arkhelios.”

“Daddy!”

Theo burst in the room, determined to find his parents. He’d been told to stay with his grandmother until his parents returned home, but Theo didn’t feel like waiting that long. The hospital was only a few seconds away by teleportation after all.

Roman hugged Theo tightly, happy to see his son despite Theo’s inability to follow directions.

“Hey, buddy! You have a little sister, wanna see her?”

Roman reached into the incubator and retrieved his daughter. It was probably against hospital rules, but no one aside from Evren was around to complain.

Theo stared at the infant in front of him and smiled at her. His sister didn’t shrink away from him even while he was in his dark form. After the initial excitement, Theo’s gaze traveled to his father, still unresponsive in bed.

“Is Dad dying?” he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t want Dad to die.”

“So you’re from a different time and universe? That’s got to be hard to deal with. I was gone for a few years and just the trip to the hospital was unnerving.” Adrian smiled at Evren, happy to have found someone who at least sort of understood what he’d been through.

“It’s been a nightmare,” Evren confirmed. Adrian was a lot nicer than he’d expected and both attractive and rich as well. Roman had to have been insane to divorce a man like him. “Every time I feel even a little bit settled, something absolutely insane happens to throw me off again. At least the witches were nice enough to take me in. I’m not sure where else I would go if they hadn’t.”

“You could always come stay with me,” Adrian blurted out before he could doubt himself. “I have a huge estate and only my daughters to live in it. You’d have your own room and area of course, but it sounds like we’re both in a weird place in our lives. Maybe we could help each other.”

Evren nodded. The man was rich, attractive and his ex-husband was remarried with a new baby to distract him. Living anywhere that wasn’t with the snobby witches who were busy trying to establish their hierarchy would be amazing.

“I guess I can see what your place looks like and if it’ll work for me,” Evren replied, trying to hide the blush he felt spreading across his face. “I mean, I’m sure that the other witches will be happy if I stayed and kept an eye on you. Just in case you do start exhibiting zombie characteristics.”

“Of course.”

“You’re dad’s fine, he’s just sleeping,” Roman reassured his son. “I’m sure he’ll be awake soon. You can come sit and wait with me and your sister since apparently Grandma can’t keep you at home.”

“Adrian!”

The instant Theo’s focus changed from his unconscious father to the rest of the room, he could hardly contain his excitement.

“Hey, Theo. You remember me?” Adrian stood to greet his step son, only to have Theo fling himself into his arms just as tightly as Roman had earlier. “I missed you.”

“Adrienne talks about you a lot,” Theo confided. “Plus you had the best candy and let me have fun, unlike Daddy.”

“Hey!” Roman frowned, disliking the amused grin on Adrian’s face. Parenting was hard and sometimes Roman had to at least try to enforce the family rules even when it made him unpopular with the kids.

“Speaking of, I kinda figured that you’d be visiting before your dad came to pick you up. I snuck one of these out of the vending machine down the hall. These are still your favourite, right?”

Adrian held out a chocolate bar and Theo’s eyes grew wide with excitement. Those were still his favourite chocolate bars, not that his father let him eat that “garbage processed junk”. Theo immediately grabbed the chocolate and cradled it protectively. He stared at Roman, daring him to take his gift.

“You can have it,” Roman sighed. “I’m pretty sure that you saved a lot of people tonight with your gifts. A little bit of candy won’t hurt. But no more!”

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios university #Roman Bellamy #sim: adrian siew #adrian siew #evren thorne #sim: theo bellamy #theo bellamy #sim: saturnia bellamy #saturnia bellamy

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lord-of-the-harvest · 9 months

Text

Pleasure, Pain, and Power Chapter 7

Chapter 7-Change Of Pace

Summary: A few weeks have passed, and Ren’s had a particularly rough day at work, leaving him exhausted. Jasmine seeks to comfort him while he complains about a particular customer of his, but he’s getting heated, so Jasmine needs to find a way to diffuse him.

Contains: Degradation, praise, pegging, hurt/angst, sub-drop, mentions of shock collar, drugging

NSFW

MDNI

Time seemed to fly by, nearly a month had passed and the two started to settle with each other. They both started to learn and appreciate each other’s quirks and odd habits. Jasmine thought it was cute how Ren slowly started bringing more pillows and blankets into the bed at night. He says it helps him sleep better, and since Jasmine was no longer being drugged or sleep deprived, she noticed how restless he can be when he sleeps. She even picked up on him talking in his sleep, but with a few nudges she’s managed to get him to stop. Ren also thought some of Jasmine’s habits were cute. So cute, in fact, he’d even tune in while at work to see said quirks, like her singing in the shower or dancing to anime intros. Their sex life had continued, but still hadn’t gotten as intense as their second night together. Jasmine learned an important lesson that day, Ren would always be a few steps ahead of her, and wouldn’t tolerate her lying. The wounds on her chest started to fade into scars, but still kept their red tint.

As it turned out, being his “pet” wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She settled in a routine of doing various household chores, exercises, and acts of leisure while Ren was away at work. Doing the laundry, vacuuming, dishes, etc made her feel like a sexy housewife waiting for her husband to return from work. He’d bring her gifts and make her food, he even started to take her collar off while he was home. Someone had stopped by the apartment shortly after she arrived and dropped off some of her stuff. He even brought her laptop, an item she didn’t actually expect to see anytime soon. Of course, he locked it away in Ren’s office. She didn’t get to see much of this man, as Ren insisted she wait in the bedroom while he was over. When she asked him about it later that night, he was vague, and wouldn’t tell her a thing about who the man was. He said with a little more time she’d get her laptop back, as well as some other things she had asked for.

One day, Ren came home from work, looking completely drained. He wasn’t even angry, he just looked exhausted, and barely acknowledged Jasmine when he went to the bedroom. He fell into the bed, suit still on, and buried his face in the pillow. This time, Jasmine sat by his side, and rubbed his back. “Ren, sweetie, is everything alright? Did something happen at work?” The only response she got was a grunt, and a quick tug at her arm. He pulled her in, nestling his head in her chest. They laid there, Jasmine petting his head, and Ren groaning into her chest. After a minute, he mumbled something almost inaudible. “Work was awful, Pet, just awful.” He hadn’t been this way around her before, and she was worried about making the wrong move. She thought about the scars on her chest, and decided to proceed with caution. “Well Ren, today’s about you now. What can I do to make you feel better?” She kept petting his head and rubbing his back, and he groaned into her chest again. “Ugh, just lay here and let me rot.” He squeezed Jasmine tighter, and she got to thinking. “What about a back rub? Would that make you feel better, honey?” He grunted again, but nodded his head before loosening his grip.

Jasmine went off to the bathroom to grab some hemp oil Ren had let her order online, as well as some candles and a towel. She returned to Ren still face down on the bed. She placed the towel and oil on the bedside table, and started lighting candles and shutting off the lights. “Ren, sweetie, can you sit up and take off your shirt and jacket for me?” He groaned again, but obliged with her request. He laid face down on the towel, and Jasmine straddled his hips. He reached back and placed a hand on her thigh, rubbing small circles on it with his thumb. He moaned softly at her touch, as she spread oil all over his back. The candles smelled sweet and tropical, a nice choice to put his mind at ease. He moved his head to the side, no longer suffocating himself in the pillow. “I had a regular of mine contact me today~ah” He moaned again as Jasmine rubbed a particularly tense point in his shoulder, but he continued. “And he-fuck-wants me to give him another product, since his last one was ‘defective’.”

Hm, what “product” does he sell? Didn’t he say he was in entertainment? If it wasn’t for his awful mood, maybe Jasmine would’ve questioned him. Instead, she decided to keep rubbing and listening. “So I told him, it wasn’t defective, I broke it in myself, I know it’s not defective. God, maybe if he was a little more gentle with it, like how I told him to be, they’d stop breaking so easily.” Jasmine had experience with customers being vague with their jobs before, but could usually figure out what they were talking about. This was strange though, what the hell does he mean, he broke the product in himself? Why isn’t this customer being gentle? What is this product? She needs to think fast, she knows from past experiences she needs to keep up the conversation, whether or not she understands it. “Aw poor thing, that is stressful, especially since he’s a repeat buyer. It was always hard for me to turn down regulars when their requests were unreasonable.” “Hm, well this is an unreasonable request to the tune of a few hundred thousand dollars, Pet. Not to mention what a pain in the ass it’ll be to actually get it. God, he better not spread this, I can’t be giving this shit away to anyone who asks.” He started to raise his voice, and Jasmine was getting worried. She dried her hands off and bent over to rub his head and ears.

“Ren, I know I can’t fix your issue, but I know I can do something that’ll make you feel a lot better~” She gently nipped at his ear, and he laid there, contemplating the situation and how he wanted to proceed. “Sweetie, that sounds great, but I’m too worked up for any of that right now.” She focused on his lower back, and got a soft grunt in response. “That’s not what your tail says, sweetie~” He started to blush and he flipped around to face her, straight faced and unamused. Jasmine was smiling down at him, hands rubbing at his chest. She bent down and kissed his cheek, working her way up his temple to his ear. “You don’t have to do a thing, honey, let me take care of you today.” Nipping at his ear earned her a soft moan, and she brought her hands up to play with them. He shut his eyes and parted his lips, he wanted to speak but nothing came out. Jasmine took this advantage and went in to bite at his bottom lip. He gasped out and wrapped his arms around her waist. She kept kissing his face and rubbing his ears when he let out a soft, “wait-”. “Hm? What is it, sweetie?” He bit his lip, and looked over at the closet.

Oh god, he wants me to dress up for him, doesn’t he? Jasmine didn’t mind dressing up, or even performing for him in the bedroom to a certain extent. However, it was getting a little tiring, and she was really enjoying taking the lead with him. Ren got up and made his way to the closet, gesturing for Jasmine to come with him. She quickly followed, and hugged him close from behind. He straightened his back at her touch, and pulled out a drawer she hadn’t paid much attention to before now. It was full of sex toys, of course, and he started rummaging through it. Hm he wasn’t interested a few minutes ago, now he’s looking through all his toys? What does he want to do to me? Ren found what he was looking for and turned around to face Jasmine. In one hand he had a long, thin, silicone dildo that curved up at the tip. In his other hand…a black strap-on held together with silver O-rings. He handed them to Jasmine and turned back around, still rummaging through his drawer. This definitely wasn’t what she was expecting, but put the two together anyways and held it up to her hips. Ren gathered a few more black straps from his stash, as well as some lube, and rushed back over to the bed. He laid back, placing the straps at his side and looked at Jasmine. She smirked, understanding his wordless plea for her. She unceremoniously cast away her leggings and strapped herself into the toy. She climbed on top of him, slotting her knee between his thighs and looked through the pile of bondage gear he had. He stared up at her, anticipating her next move. She picked up a black collar, not totally unlike the one she was still wearing. Only this one didn’t have a shock component, but instead a big silver O-ring on the front. Ren squeezed his thighs around her knee, aching for the contact, silently begging her to make a move. “Ren, sweetie, I think it’s time for a change of pace. Sit up for me, honey~” He followed his mistress’s order and sat up, exposing his neck to her. She praised him as she latched the collar tight around his neck. His breathing got deeper, and he laid back into the bed, eyeing her up and down and licking his lips. “What’s my little fox thinking? What dirty thoughts are running through his cute head?” She fidgeted with the o-ring on his neck, gently tugging at it. “I-I…Jasmine, please, I want you so badly.” Her name rang in her ears, and almost startled her. In the near month they had been together, he hadn’t used her name since their first night together. Luckily, she could snap herself out of her thoughts, and went back to sweet talking her “little fox”. She went for his wrists, pushing them above his head and sliding her hands in his. “Aw, if my cute little fox wants me so badly, all he needed to do was ask~ He should know how much I love to hear him beg.” She rubbed her knee up and down on his bulge, and kissed his neck above his collar. He wined at her touch and shut his eyes tight.

Suddenly, Jasmine pulled away, and sat back watching him. She even pulled her knee away, and Ren shot up, begging for an answer as to why she would stop. Her eyes made their way to his pants at a painfully slow pace. They shot back up to meet his gaze, and she tilted her head. With a quick, “Off” he immediately went to work ripping his dress pants and boxers off. Without thinking, he swirled his thumb around the tip of his head. Poor Ren, he usually thinks so far ahead, but his urges and impulsivity took over this one time. Without even stopping him, Jasmine reached for a strap behind the bed. She knew about it from a previous scene they had, where she was the one chained to it. He saw what she was doing, and immediately stopped and started apologizing. It was too late, and with a straight face she cuffed him to the bed. She scratched down his chest, teasing his soft skin. “Aw look at that, my little fox got a little carried away. Good thing I’m here to straighten him out~” Ren was on the brink of terror, he was strapped to the bed, completely defenseless. Luckily for him, he didn’t necessarily need the remote to activate her collar, as it could be voice activated as well. However, Jasmine had been doing a gentle job of domming, and he wanted more. He didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps what scared him more than being defenseless was actually enjoying it. He felt so…at home here.

“Yes, Miss Jasmine,” Ren started, “thank you for keeping me in line.” He shyly looked up at her, and she bent down again to kiss his cheek. She spread his legs and knelt under him, lifting his hips up onto her lap. He let out a gasp as now he was in an even more vulnerable, not to mention embarrassing, position. Jasmine coated her right hand in lube, she wanted to warm him up before ramming into him. She held onto his hip with one hand and slid a finger into him with the other. Ren stared at the ceiling, seeing his pathetic reflection in the mirror above. The great Fox, ladies and gentlemen! Watch the infamous snuff creator get chained to the bed and railed! His gaze didn’t last long, soon his eyes would shut tight as Jasmine curled her finger inside him. Shortly after that, she would add another. Then, a third finger, and keep pumping them inside him till Ren was a moaning, whimpering, bucking mess. He couldn’t help it, the sensation made his cock eager for attention as well, but Jasmine wouldn’t give it to him just yet.

Jasmine slowly pulled her fingers out of her fox, who was now incoherently babbling and begging her for more. She wiped the lube off her hand and grabbed a pillow, slipping it under his hips. He brought his legs up, almost instinctively, earning a smile from Jasmine. “Aw look at that, my sweet fox came pre-trained! So well behaved and obedient, just begging for me, huh?” Those words, that name, it likely would have gotten to Ren if it wasn’t for her distracting him again with more gentle kisses. In a way, he was pre-trained, and now it was paying off. Jasmine sat back and lined herself up with his entrance. She looked down at him, making sure he was ready, and slid the silicone into him. He yelped out, more of a bark than a moan, and Jasmine continued to tease him. Thrusting as slowly and as deeply as she could, barely even pulling out of him. His frame shook, and he pulled on his restraints. He rolled his eyes in the back of his head, his loud moans turned into quiet babbles and whimpers. The sensation of the restraints tugging at his wrists, the collar that’s just a bit too tight, the feeling of being full of his gentle mistress's strap, and the sheer embarrassment of it all came together to break Ren’s brain. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, and he had no desire to stop any of it.

Jasmine, however, wasn’t satisfied with her now quiet pet. She loved hearing her partner scream and moan, and she was determined to hear it, even if she had to rip it out of him. She opened the lube bottle and poured more on her hand, going completely unnoticed by Ren. She started rubbing up and down his shaft, just with her fingertips, while still keeping a steady pace. This managed to snap Ren out of his trance and he yelped while looking down at her hand. Jasmine smirked at this, but wasn’t happy just yet. She swirled her fingers around his tip, causing Ren to buck up and pull at his restraints again. “Aww, I’ve never played with someone with a knot, let alone such a cute one~” She gently pulled out, leaving only the head inside him, and trailed her finger down his shaft. “There’s no way it can be that sensitive, right?” She wrapped her hand around it, squeezing it gently, while ramming the rest of her strap into him. He screamed so loud you would’ve thought he was in pain. Jasmine knew him, though, and knew he was close. She thrust in and out of him fast, using one hand to rub up and down his shaft, and the other to gently squeeze his sensitive knot. “Ren, sweetie, you know I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” He had kept babbling at her, likely trying to say something perverted like he always does. Probably about how good she feels, how beautiful she is, or how bad he wants to rail her after this. She bent down, but made something out right before biting into him. “I-ah, I-mmm~Lo-aah!” She bit into him, cutting him off and making him scream out. Aww, he loves this so much that’s all he can think about! So cute~

It wasn’t long before he was screaming and cumming all over his stomach. When he was done, Jasmine pulled out of him and planted light kisses all over his face. “My sweet fox” *kiss* “my cute little toy” *kiss* “you did so well” *kiss* “I’m so proud of you” *kiss* She pulled out and leaned up to untie him from his restraints, taking off his collar as well. Jasmine got up and started taking her own strap off when she noticed Ren’s panting got deeper, and more erratic instead of mellowing out. She looked over and saw him staring at the ceiling, tail puffed up, and holding himself. “Ren! What’s wrong, honey?” He didn’t say a word, just kept panting. Jasmine got into bed and took him in her arms. “Breathe sweetie, take a deep breath with me, come on.” They breathed together till he calmed down and he curled into her embrace. He was shaking now, but breathing normally and not totally catatonic. Jasmine wanted to get up, to get him some water, get him cleaned up, or at least wrap him in a soft blanket, but she stayed. She had been on the giving and receiving end of accidental sub-drop before, and knew leaving their side is one of the worst things you could do. So instead, she laid there, petting his head, scratching his back, and telling him everything will be alright.

After a while, Ren calmed down and Jasmine was able to get a few responses out of him. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Do you want to talk about what happened?” He shook his head, clutching her closer. “That’s ok sweetie, we don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. Can I get up so I can get you some water and a blanket?” “Not yet…” His voice was barely a whisper, and Jasmine could hear him choking back tears. She hugged him tighter, assuring him she wouldn’t leave him yet. He started sniffling, and she offered him the hem of her shirt to dry his tears. He looked up at her, allowing her to do so, only to bury his face in her chest again. His face was streaked with tears and blush, and Jasmine felt horrible. Did I do something wrong? Was it too much for him? Did I go too far? Her head swarmed with questions and self doubt. She never meant to take him too far, especially with his first time subbing for her. Almost as though he was reading her thoughts, Ren spoke up. “It wasn’t you, you were great, it was all just a bit much for me.” He was silently screaming at himself. Pull it together, you shouldn’t get this worked up. Now she’s going to think she did something wrong. God, she’s being nicer to you than anyone else has, why are you doing this? “You know, I’ve gotten like this too, Ren.” Her voice pulled him out of his negative thoughts. “Wanna know what helps me work through it?” He nodded his head, but didn’t look up at her. “Well, first of all, I never feel good when I’m cold and laying on a wet towel. We gotta get you cleaned up, Ren.” He hugged her tight and looked up at her, again showing his tear stricken face and narrowed brows. “I also feel better when I have a full stomach, when was the last time you ate?” He thought for a moment, finally acknowledging his empty stomach. “Lunch, so…noon?” “That was a long time ago, how about we order some food tonight? I don’t think either one of us wants to cook now.” He nodded his head again, a quiet “noodles” being the only thing to come past his lips. Jasmine smiled and patted his head. “We can absolutely get ramen, honey. Let’s get you cleaned up and we can order some.”

They made their way to the bathroom, and Jasmine wet a small cloth and handed it to Ren. After assuring him she’ll be right back, she left him to clean up and rushed to the closet for his favorite fluffy pajamas. She came back and helped him get dressed, even tying his robe around his waist. He sat on the edge of the tub as she helped wash all the tears off his face. “My poor sweet Ren, there we go, feeling any better?” He smiled softly and nodded, leaning his head into her chest. Jasmine brought him to the living room and sat him down on the couch with a show playing. She rushed around the apartment, gathering pillows, blankets, and water while he ordered from one of his favorite restaurants. Jasmine apparently took a little longer than Ren would’ve liked, which resulted in her fox clinging to her thigh with his head in her lap as soon as she returned. As they waited for their food Jasmine started to pet Ren’s head again. “Do you want to talk about what happened, sweetie?” She asked, looking down at him, only getting a groan as a response at first. “I think it was stress from earlier, that’s it.” His tail curled around him under his blanket and his ears pinned back. “You know, you’re really not hard to read. What’s bothering you?” He sat up and faced her, ears still pinned back and nose scrunched. “It. Was. Work.” He replied coldly, Jasmine knew there was more to this, but wasn’t sure how far she should push it. “I only wanted to know so you don’t get so worked up again. I’m sorry Ren.” She placed a hand on his and turned her attention back to the TV. He looked down and curled up in her lap again.

“We can talk about it later, Pet.”

Note: Jasmine does NOT know about Strade OR Ren’s line of work! Her calling him “my sweet fox” and “pre-trained” is NOT her trying to jab at him or make him uncomfortable!

#boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #ren hana #tpof ren hana #tpof announcer #tpof fox #tpof fanfic #pleasure pain and power

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tealenko · 9 months

Text

The Three Letters (Chapter 7)

Chapter 7: In Between, Perhaps

Errrmmmm... Sorry. I know, it's been too long. In my defense... Work has been madness. But here I am!! Better late than never XDDD And as I promised, I always finish my fics (just a matter of time ehehehehe)

Anyways, here we are!! Hope you like it.

Summary: It's now Lara's turn to get lost into her own memories, as she remembers the many feelings that took over her body the first time she saw Jacob in real danger.

Words: 2362

Rating: Teens and Up All Chapters -> [link] Read in AO3 -> [link]

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We… Don’t have much time

The sentence starts to echo into Lara’s mind the second she finishes telling the whole village how she recovered the Atlas.

She knows what comes next in her story, she knows to perfection every single moment and detail but, for the first time in the whole evening, she isn’t sure if she’s prepared to tell it.

Sofía looks at her with worry in her eyes, suspecting already what Lara is now desperately trying to avoid, but she doesn’t notice her, for there’s something else that insists to keep calling her in the shape of the memories of said morning.

Do what you must.

She attempts to ignore it at first, but the more she tries, the more she remembers.

Lara…

The way he called her still haunts her to this day, still hurts her.

She was so focused on Jonah, and so wounded when Trinity took him away from her, that she was completely unaware of anything else surrounding her and, to her horror, Jacob calling her name in that breathy and wounded tone, was the most harrowing way the universe could’ve found to let her know what was truly happening.

“...”

She turned.

And she saw him.

Lying in the ground, bleeding. With one arm extended as he called for her, investing the few forces he had left in the movement.

“Oh no.” It’s the only thing she said before starting to run.

Her voice came up half broken, half anguished, and died along with that sentence, finding it impossible to add anything else, feeling a smothering lump in her throat that almost kept her from breathing.

Lara froze for an instant, haunted by the dreadful reality that kept materializing in front of her eye while Jacob attempted to talk to her.

“I…” The blood kept him from speaking, and she panicked.

“No.” She said as she kneeled at his side, coming out of the initial shock, helping him to sit and rest his back against the wall.

He smiled at her, in an attempt to comfort her, she thinks, but the effect caused was quite the opposite, and the pressure on Lara’s throat increased so much that she felt like someone was actually trying to suffocate her.

“Save your strength.” She begged more than she ordered, once she was able to recover her voice.

“We…”

Jacob struggled to talk once again, but the new posture, and his determination, were enough to allow him a second try.

“We don’t have much time.” Lara was terrified for a second, but then he got to finish his sentence. “You have to stop Trinity.”

The panic was quickly replaced by confusion for an instant before giving way to desperation.

“Trinity?” She half asked, like she was hearing the name for the first time, way too preoccupied to remember the reason behind all their suffering. “Right now I…” She made a small pause, and finished her sentence inside her head: I couldn’t care less about Trinity.

But she didn’t say it out loud, she couldn’t.

“Listen to me, we need to…”

“No.”

She interrupted him without even thinking, with her whole body already aware of feelings that she would not acknowledge until much later.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she almost whispered while a small tear ran down her face, “until I’m sure everyone is safe.”

She struggled a little as she said ‘everyone’, for all of her body was asking her to say ‘you’ instead. Nevertheless, she managed to go against her own instincts and delivered the sentence as calmly as she was able to portray.

To her relief, Jacob didn’t seem to notice, way too focused on convincing her to chase Trinity to be aware of anything else.

He tried to speak one more time, and one more time she prevented it.

Despite her inability to say two sentences back to back, her survival instincts kicked in way too fast for him to be able to complain and, before he could explain the many reasons why she should be running away from him, Lara was already tending and healing his wounds.

“Don’t move.” She ordered, taking turns to block the blood flow of the wound and removing all the shrapnel and debris she was able to find. “Shit.”

Against what she thought possible, the pressure on her throat reach a new level of torture as she came to terms with the gravity of the harm she was trying to heal.

“Lara, please…”

She ignored him as much as she could, focussing all her attention on the task at hand.

“Please.”

He begged then, which finally managed to make her stop.

Jacob’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, doing all he could so that she would look at him. A desperate call for her attention that she didn’t know how to answer.

But she did.

Lara moved her hand instinctively, just enough to tangle it around his and, after taking the longest breath of her entire life, raised her head to meet his eyes.

This was the first time she saw them clearly.

The first time she got lost on them, enchanted by the depths and tones that the clear and icy color would get under a certain light.

Nevertheless, the spell was quickly broken by the noise coming from the stairs of the observatory, with the soldiers of the remnant doing their best to clear the way so they could reach them.

“I’ll be fine.” He said to her after hearing them and, from some strange reason, some part of her actually believed it. “My people will help me, and… It won’t be long till Trinity discovers the location of the Source.”

Lara hesitated for a second, the other part of her screaming in anguish to stay there and help him, but her logic ended up winning once again and, to her heart’s dismay, she finally agreed.

“Okay…” Her voice sounded defeated, after her inner fight, almost to the point of exhaustion. Nevertheless, there was only one reason why she had accepted to leave his side, and she needed to focus on it. “But… I have to go after Jonah.”

Jacob inspected her face as fast as he could, with a hint of pride and tenderness reflected in his eyes as he did it.

“Even if it means giving up the truth you came here to find?”

There was a tint of hope coloring his voice as he said this.

They had been arguing about this topic from the moment she set foot in his life and, for the first time since they met, she was ready to agree with him a little bit more.

“He risked his life to come here with me. I almost lost him once. Not again.”

He nodded and smiled at her, although much more later she would find that, despite his speech, Jacob didn’t want her to leave and put herself in danger once again.

“Then go.” He agreed, half broken, half mesmerized by her determination. “Do what you must.”

She left the moment the remnant were able to access the room, pouring all her energies into worrying about Jonah, way too preoccupied by her friend to even say anything else before leaving the room.

“And way too scared that I would change my mind if I did.”

“What?”

Levi, who’s been sitting next to Sofia this whole time, takes her out of her own world with his question, and that’s how she realizes that she said her last sentence out loud.

“I…” She doesn’t know what to say next. “Nothing.”

The whole village has spent the last few minutes commenting on the last fragment of their story, which has given Lara this opportunity to get lost into her own memories without no one noticing she was no longer present, at least in soul.

Nevertheless, now that the crowd has no more things to discuss, they are starting to notice it but, luckily for her, Sofia comes quickly to her rescue.

“Father, ” she says without hesitation, redirecting all the looks away from her friend, “maybe you could tell us how you told Lara who you truly were. It’s the next thing in the story, and I think it will be interesting to hear your side of it.”

Sofia’s strategy is a complete success and, except for Jacob, no one is able to see through her request.

Her father, on the other hand, knowing way too well what she’s trying to accomplish, starts to talk without hesitation, happy to give Lara the break he knows she needs.

After a few seconds of getting used once again to the scenery that surrounds her in the present, she starts to listen to his side of his story too.

The whole village is now in complete silence as Jacob speaks.

Even the river seems to have toned down its noise to listen to him. Lara says to herself, marveled by the way he speaks, engaging the audience in a way she never knew it was possible.

After a few moments of reflection, she starts smiling, comparing this confident and expert speaker to the man he becomes when he’s alone with her, hesitant and lost for words.

But the Jacob that’s speaking right now carries on with the story with precision, without leaving out any detail, explaining how she realized who he truly was, how he told her that the divine source wasn’t a gift or a fragment of God’s soul, but a test from him.

“A test?” Lara asked, feeling extremely confused.

“Yes… A test.” Jacob stared at her for a moment, hesitating about how to explain something he didn’t completely comprehend himself. “How could I… I….”

She understood his struggle, so she gave him all the time he needed.

“I… Yes.” He finally said, finding something of use in his memory he could use. “Remember when we escaped from Konstantin’s prison, the paper you read on his desk?”

Lara nodded.

“It had the prophet’s pic… Your picture in it.” She corrected mid sentence. “Something about being worthy.”

“Yes.” He looked extremely sad for a second but, after a moment of silence, he recited the whole paragraph as Lara had read it on the night they met. “Mankind shall be judged, the non-believers turned to ash and swept away. And the pure of faith will be raised up and given life eternal.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…” He took another second here, getting ready to say the truth for the first time in his many lives. “Meaning the worthy will live eternally… And the unworthy… Will become its servants.”

“Servants… ” She whispered. “The deathless.”

“Yes.”

“But they didn’t follow the source… They followed you.”

There was a final moment of silence, and then he gave her the final piece of the puzzle.

“I’m its master.”

“I…” Lara needed almost a minute to process all that information, but as she thought of it, everything started to make sense. “I… See.”

A smile started to appear on her face, which surprised Jacob at the beginning but he didn’t give it too much thought. He was way too preoccupied about her, the current situation with Trinity and his people to be able to give it a second thought.

Nevertheless, once their conversation was over and Lara was on her way to face the Deathless Ones, that specific smile was still on her face.

He’s the prophet. She said ecstatically inside her head. That’s why… That’s why.

There’s no words to explain Lara’s relief in that precise moment.

She had been too busy: fighting trinity, and immortal beings, and everything in between. So, pushing her feelings down so that she didn’t have to deal with them had been quite easy for a while.

Nevertheless, it started to be quite challenging when she heard his voice after coming back with the Atlas, and nearly impossible once she thought she was gonna lose him after Trinity’s attack in the observatory.

But this, on the other hand, explained everything.

The draw, the fascination, the interest… This pull that I was starting to think was something else. It isn’t…

Lara felt comfort in those words, assuming the only reason behind the force that kept pulling her back to Jacob was mere interest because of his past.

Yeah… That’s why.

Lara laughs once again, but in the present, four years in the future of said night, knowing now how naive and mistaken she was back then and, almost as a confirmation of her current thoughts, some of the lines that she wrote to Jacob so long ago start playing in her head.

How naive of me, to think those feelings weren’t true. To be so relieved when you told me who you really were, imaging that was the reason I felt so drawn to you. That was only mere curiosity that brought me to seek for you on so many occasions.

Jacob finishes talking not too long after that, and Lara joins the applause of the village as she dedicates him a warm smile, with her own words still echoing in her mind.

Being able to see you as yourself was the thing that confirmed everything was true. As real as it gets. That no matter how much it seemed like an illusion, a dream, I could no longer deny that I had fallen in love with you. With just you and all of you. Your spirit, your soul, your mind and your body.

Her smile deepens.

That’s the effect that Jacob tends to cause on her since she stopped pretending her feelings didn’t exist.

“Well then.” She says, feeling completely recovered and ready to finish this part of her story, especially after he returns her smile with one of his own. “I think there’s only one way to end this one.”

Lara recovers the attention of the entire village in record time, everyone turning as fast as they’re able to hear how it all ended, too invested to even make a single noise as they wait for her to keep talking.

Which, after waiting a bit to give an element of suspense to the whole situation, she finally does.

“Let me tell you, then, how I destroyed the Divine Source.”

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Woooooooooooooooo!!! One less to worry about. NEXT ONE IS THE SUPER CANON ALTERING CHAPTER ASDHASHFHASIDFHA!!! Idk if you can tell, but I'm exited (it's going a nightmare to write thou T-T) But after that, we go back to the fluff (which I miss quite a lot)... that may be another reason why it's taking me so long to write this lol (these angty chapters cost me a lot to do)

Btw, thanks for reading my shit, as always, hope you liked it!!!

#tomb raider #fanfic #jacob lara croft #lara croft #jalara #lara x jacob #lara croft x jacob #jacob x lara #jacob x lara croft #rise of the tomb raider #RotTR

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