#and then then fled hid from everyone for years and was in college when he hears of trouble in amity and returns | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crazy-bi-btch · 2 years

Text

Wonder’s of You (Part I)

Summary: Y/N going through the trials and tribulations of moving and starting a new life in Wyoming.

Warning: ANGSTT, future smut, Mention of addiction, mention of car crash, legal terms, mentions of guns, Rhetts smokin hot ass, Mean!Y/N

WC: 2.9k

a/n: I was not kidding when I said I would start a fic about our fine ass Rhett Abbott😌 Part II will be out soonnnnn enjoyyy

Y/N was born and raised in Santa Ana, California. Daughter to the family of Paloma Hacienda that was built from scratch by her Grandfather and her father. Immigrants running from the dangers of the drug war in Sonora, Mexico. Selling everything they owned, picking up every last penny they hid from the money hungry drug lords.

Her grandfather made the riskiest call the night before. Using the payphone early in the morning, he rang Richard Olivares, a long time friend of his, who as well fled somewhere in the United States. During that call, The Olivares sent help for his family to cross to the United States. The Olivares resided in Wyoming, unfortunately land was not up for sale. Taking the loan from him, The Gonzalez owed $30,000 dollars to the Olivares, land in Santa Ana, California was soon awaiting them.

Y/N’s father was a mere 9 year old who feared for his family, and crossing the border into California was nothing compared to the constant fear they faced back in their small ranch in Sonora. In Santa Ana, that’s were Paloma Hacienda was born.

Y/N was born into the country life, and her younger sister, Alma along with her 2 male cousins, Eduardo and Ricky. Herding cattle, feeding the animals, riding the horses and waking up at 5:30 am was second nature.

Grandpa Ricky was tremendously proud of how dedicated his family to maintain the Hacienda. It was around that time when Y/N had turned 18 and decided on majoring in agriculture, since being the oldest of her sibling and family, she was fearful of leaving her family and home behind. Her grandfather had pushed her to not be fearful, that her cousin’s would do just fine. That’s what she feared the most, growing up she constantly had to defy the stereotype of a female being in charge of the land. Her family had beliefs that were set on the males of the family to take care of the land and the females with the housework.

That all changed for her grandfather when Y/N was born, her personality outshined everyone and was fierce enough to take on the responsibility of becoming the future landowner of Hacienda Paloma. She made sure to make that known with her male family members. She was strong, and rough when in charge. For her, the pressure was immense, one slip up and she believed they would replace her with her second oldest cousin Eduardo. She constantly had to prove herself, trying to perfectly master each farm task while working the land and taking care of the cattle.

Her father helped but mainly focused on the financial aspect of the ranch. Her mother was a Texan cowgirl with indigenous decent that enriched the already aztec culture she was raised in.

She left for college and during her visits back, she realized that her absence had become known on the ranch. Her horse Chester was slender than usual, the sheep had become lazy, and the crops wilted more and more as time passed. This stressed her, she wanted to drop everything and run back home but she knew it would disappoint her family. Especially her grandfather, who looked older and sicker each time she came back. Her stress and worry while she was away made her rely on the only thing she knew. Alcohol.

She found herself drinking every other day, ‘releasing stress’. She made friends in her classes, go out to the cantinas with her peers, drinking away there worries. She hadn’t realized that it was a problem till she was blackout drunk near the entrance of her dorm room. It was a pity of a scene. No matter what disciplinary act the university had against Y/N, alcohol was never out of the picture.

The week of her graduation, she got the call Grandpa Ricky was too sick to travel to her graduation. She decided to drown her sorrow in the nearest cantina where she later had a drunk driving incident that left her traumatized and in legal trouble.

Her first DUI. Luckily, no one was hurt, her car was totaled, but she was forced to seek treatment in order for the court to not suspend her FOID card and License.

Explaining to her parents on the day of her graduation on how her car was demolished and why she needed to go to AA meetings was enough to shock them. They looked disappointed but most of all worried.

“ Don’t worry I got it handled.” She would note to them, her dad shook her head.

“ You better!”

“ Honey, we are so proud of you, you will get through this just- don’t tell anyone. Especially your grandfather.” A pang of hurt rang through Y/N body. Her image for the family was worth more than her mental and substance abuse. So she did what she always did, nod and smile.

Eduardo, was not pleased with Y/N coming back. He was a pretty lousy caretaker of the Hacienda. He was annoyed of always hearing people complain about his ways of handling the land. Especially when his grandfather would compare him with her.

After settling back into her old role on the ranch, Grandpa Ricky became ill once again. Losing Grandpa Ricky would change everything. Absolutely everything.

The night before Grandpa Ricky died, he called for Y/N to his room. As she arrived her father had walked out, pale and fear written all over his face. Y/N figured she would ask him later after talking with her grandfather.

“ Hi tito, how are you.” She would ask with a small smile as she removed her western hat down, sitting next to the bed he laid comfortably in. She was trying so hard to be strong, for the family, and hell even for grandpa. He laughed softly, “ I remember when you started calling me tito.”

“ Abuelito, was a hard word for me.” She teased as she took his soft, weak hand.

“ Y/N, you have done so much for this family. Our land. I am extremely proud of you.” Y/N fought back tears as she heard her grandfather huff out, his breathing became heavy.

“ Tito..” She croaked out. He put his hand up to stop her.

“ You are responsible now. Do not be afraid of change. Remember that.” He sternly remarked. Y/N only could give a small nod with tears streaming down. She didn’t know if she was more worried about become the primary landowner or of losing her grandfather. The next morning, Grandpa Ricky had passed away in his sleep, holding the picture of his wife, who passed when Y/N was recently born.

The days only got worse, an estate lawyer called the family into the office in the Hacienda where he stated from grandpa’s will :

“The Olivares and Gonzalez where partnered ever since the purchase of the ranch. With my absence, Hacienda Paloma shall be sold- in return, debt will be repaid to The Olivares. 5% of earnings of the sold property shall be kept by The Gonzalez to relocated to the property I bought in Wyoming….”

Y/N’s family was shocked and saddened to learn about their unexpected move to a state they only acquainted with once.

Y/N life was moving way too fast, it nearly pushed her to the brink to drown in a must needed drink. The thing that stopped her from drinking- the anger she felt towards the Olivares.

After leaving the empty structure and land behind in Santa Ana, California, Y/N suppressed her sadness and lead her family to their new home. In every truck her family member owned, they carried every horse, sheep, and cattle they owned. Y/N had brought along the 5 horses she and her dad owned. At night during the rest stops, Y/N made sure to check in every carrier to sooth and feed the scared animals. She could hear her family softly snore in their trucks as she cried softly on her horse Chester.

“ Oh Chester… I don’t know what to do.” Y/N sniffled as she let her forehead rest on his nose. He huffed softly and licked her salty tears.

As they entered through the town that led to the ranch in Wyoming, she could see the folks turn and stare at the loud and new coming family. Y/N rolled her eyes, she just wanted to get to this damn place she had to call home. Most importantly to find the Olivares and spit in their face.

We stood outside the 200 acres of land that looked seemingly abandoned. The mountains gave the ranch home enough of a great view. The home consisted of only 4 rooms. Seeing as the family was built of 8 members, people would have to sleep in the living room, for the meantime. That day consisted of Y/N ordering her family to unload and move belongings into the house before heading over to the abandoned barn that would hold the animals for the meantime.

“ This is a fucking mess.” Eduardo grumbled as he opened the barn and stared at the rundown stables. Y/N sighed and nodded, “ Grandpa really fucked us over.”

Y/N smacked his head in anger, “ At least be grateful, son.” He flinched and rolled his eyes as he held his head. “ It could be worse- we could be homeless.”

“ If you say so boss.” Eduardo taunted as he made his way to help and somehow make the stables work for the animals.

The next morning, with no sleep under her belt, Y/N stood up before anyone. Setting Chester up, they trotted around the property scoping the land. It wasn’t California anymore.

Once Chester and her were back, her father was awaiting her, his grey western hat in hand.“ Before we go into town, we need to drop this off, Darlin’.” He pulled the check from his back pocket. She huffed in anger, nodding and handing Chester to Eduardo.

“ Let’s go.” She spat as she fixed her brown hat that had tilted down.

“ We are sorry for your loss, but business is business. If you need anything-” Mr. Olivares said as he smugly took the check from her father. They currently sat in his home office, his daughter Maria sitting silently to the side of his study.

“ We don’t need nothin from you, sir.” Y/n spat glaring at both Maria and Mr. Olivares.

“ Y/N-” Her father ordered, she stood up walking up to his desk where he sat, narrowing his eyes at Y/N’s anger demeanor.

“ Your family took almost everything from us. I hope this will be enough for y’all to stay the fuck away from us.” Tears of anger pooled under her eyes as she exited the home of the Olivares. Her father calling for her as she waited for him in the truck. The lecture her father gifted her lasted enough till they were in town.

“ I told the true, papa.” She huffed in annoyance as she slammed the car door, without noticing she had ran into a man, it nearly knocked her off her boots. Her hands held on to the broad shoulders and arms of the stranger. Her western hat flying to the ground, she looked up and found the most beautiful pair of blue eyes, tan skin, an afternoon shadow around his jaw, and dirty brown short hair that curled at the ends behind his ears. His cowboy hat slightly titled up enough to see his brows and forehead.

“ ’M sorry Darlin’.” The man spoke with a deep soft voice, she realized she was still holding on to him. She coughed and pulled away from him and reached for her hat, settling it on her on Y/H/C head. She saw her father run to her side asking if everything was alright. She brushed off her flannel, to play off their awfully intimate encounter that made her cheeks burn.

“ ‘m fine… ‘scuse me.” Y/N stumbled over her words as she glanced at the grinning man, moving past him.

Even throughout the day, she would catch herself thinking about the man. His eyes, his voice-

“ Earth to Y/N?!” Alma, her sister, waved in front of her zoned out sister. They were in their new shared room, Alma was rambling about how graduating early only would make it boring for her, and that she would have to work on the ranch now that she doesn’t have school.

“ Sorry, got lot goin’ on right now.” Alma smiled softly and sat next to her sister.

“ Don’t worry too much! We’ll be fine, without you this whole plan would have gone south a long time ago.” The sisters laughed and held each other in a comforting embrace Y/N needed.

The next morning, the family was up ready to start the fixing the barn and fencing the ranch much needed. Alma had decided to help that morning, wearing her boots and wearing her father’s black western hat to protect her from the Wyoming sun. Y/N made sure to saddle up Chester to make her daily trot around the land, she was determined to memorize the land like the back of her hand.

Y/N could see her family from afar fixing and building up the barn. Alma was helping her uncle unload the hay off the truck. Soon material ran out and Alma decided to head into town with her cousin Ricky.

As the family took a break before heading back to work, Y/N hopped off Chester to go inside the shared home.

“Mama?”

“ In here!” Y/N found her mama brewing coffee in the kitchen, her aunt cooking up a storm for the hungry fellows that were soon to storm in. She smiled at her tired daughter, opening her arms from an embrace. She gladly took the opportunity.

“ How’s it going out there hun’.” She questioned before heading back to organizing the cabinets with the remaining dishes in the moving boxes. Y/N pinched her nose and closed her eyes in exhaustion.

“ Mama we are more busy than a dog with fleas.” The expression had her mama chuckle.

“ Child, y’all are given it you’re all,” her southern accent rang softly as she crossed her arms to stare at her oldest daughter.

Y/N sighed, “ I know mama…. It’s just-” Her mother walked over to hold her hand.

“Baby… we’ve sacrificed so much. Do the Gonzalez’s ever give up on a challenge?” Y/N cracked with a smile and playfully rolled her eyes. “ A’right off you go!” Her mother playful pushed her out the door back to help her family.

It didn’t take long before Eduardo’s truck was dusting up the trail towards the entrance of the ranch. Y/N and Chester galloped towards the entrance of the ranch. The sun beaming down as she saw Alma jump out the bed of the truck. Her eyes gleamed and cheeks red, ‘He is soooo hot!’ she mouthed and before Y/N could react, he stepped out the truck. The man from back in town.

“ Folks we got ‘nother pair of helpin’ hands!” Ricky cheered as he hopped out the driving side, pointing to the man. He wore dark washed jeans, dark blue short-sleeve shirt, enough to show his strong arms, white western hat.

Alma charmingly walked over to him who had meet eyes with Y/N instantly recognizing her.

“ Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” She giggled, her hand lacing around his.

“ Alma, get inside the house.” Alma pouted, letting go of his arm. “Now.” Alma scoffed.

“ I’ll be back.” She whispered to the man, who smiled back to her and then back to Y/N.

“ Ricky, c’mere.” Y/N hopped of Chester and handed him to Ricky. Y/N couldn’t help her heart flutter in anticipation. Who are you?

“ She’s 17 ya know.” Y/N spat at the man as she walked towards him, he frowned at her comment and before he could respond Y/N cut him off. “ Who are you and why are you on my property?” Y/N maintained a stoic expression as she eyed the man.

He smirked, “ The name’s Rhett. Rhett Abbott. Apologizes if their was some kinda’ misunderstanding with your-”

“ Sister.”

“ Right.” He chuckled lightly, she striped off her heavy duty gloves, trying not to focus so much on how his muscles flexed for no insignificant reason. “ The Olivares sent me to help. More like lookin’ for a job.”

Y/N eyes narrowed, her blood ran cold at the sound of their name. “ We ain’t hiring.” She spat in annoyance. Of course, she thought, they sending over spies now. Rhett could tell her discontent with his response.

“ I know how to fix stuff- well, fencing, I can start there.” He signaled to the lack of fencing wire around the land. Y/N’s anger fueled by the minute he spoke, the attraction she felt toward Rhett soon flew out the window.

“ We ain’t looking for no help. You can tell your boss that.” Y/N exclaimed, crossing her arms, making sure to stand her ground. Rhett sighed and looked down at his boots.

“ Ma’am I assure-” Y/N walked up to to Rhett hand up to stop him from him continuing.

“ Next time I see you step on my property. I will not hesitated to shot you. Got it, sunshine.” Y/N threatened, a menacing smile lingering in her pink lips. Rhett just stood there, mouth dry and deeply aroused by Y/N response, his mind dizzy as he got a whiff of her scent. Her shirt tight around her chest as it rose up and down with each deep breath.

“ Ricky,” She walked away from the stunned man, “ Give him a ride won’t ya.” On the way back to town he knew damn well what he needed to do. He needed to do whatever it took to win Y/N over.

#rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott #outer range #maria olivares #lewis pullman #rhett abbott smut

71 notes · View notes

nothingbeautiful · 1 year

Text

Mizzy is played as 21 by default but 29+ on request (this is suggested for partners who don’t like dark themes).

Name: Marc ‘Mizzy’ Levi Date of Birth: 14th April Gender: Male Orientation: Bisexual Species: Human FC: Timothée Chalamet

Biography

Rachel and Ariel decided not to have kids after the troubled birth of their first child, Eli. In the twelve years since, they forged successful careers in their own fields. Ariel wrote for Rolling Stone and Rachel represented Hollywood’s brightest stars.

But during a turbulent time, Rachel discovered that she had fallen pregnant. They seriously considered their options. While Rachel didn’t want to give up her job, Ariel agreed he could raise their new baby while working from home.

Much like Eli’s birth, Mizzy’s was troubled. While it worked out for the best, Rachel struggled to connect with Mizzy for the first few months. She would spend all her time at work and Ariel felt abandoned. It was only after one of their explosive arguments that Rachel finally agreed to go to therapy.

During the divorce, Ariel got sole custody of Mizzy without contest and moved to San Francisco.

After, a socialite Ariel had an affair with would come and go from their house whenever she was in town. She treated Mizzy like a doll, taking him to parties and buying him outfits that matched hers.

The second time she babysat Mizzy disaster struck. They found Mizzy unconscious on the kitchen floor after slipping over at one of her parties. She fled the scene, leaving her friends to take him to the hospital.

Ariel then started taking Mizzy with him everywhere he went. In the summers, he would send Marc to his mother's in LA. And everyone treated him like a tiny adult.

Things got worse when Ariel remarried. After a childhood of being treated like an adult, Katherine’s meddling was unwelcome. All it did was isolate him because he couldn't meet her expectations.

By twelve, Mizzy pretended he was fifteen to hang out with older kids. Things devolved from there. Alcohol turned to drugs. He hid it well from his parents and graduated with good enough grades to get into a decent college. But after his high school graduation, he disappeared for three weeks without a word.

Since then, his life has been a series of moments: in rehab, out of rehab, recovering and relapsing. Each time, it gets harder and harder. And every time, he burns bridges between himself and his loved ones.

Sober

At 29, Mizzy attended a specialist centre that treated the roots of addiction. And while he still struggles with temptation, his fight is nowhere near as hard as it once was.

Since then, Mizzy has published an anthology of short stories, freelances reviews for a prominent magazine and has a three-book deal. He keeps busy and is careful not to form obsessions the way he had in the past.

Romance doesn’t come as easy as it used to but his relationships are far healthier.

Stats

Eyes: Large, sad, green Hair: Medium length, brown, loose curls Height: 5′10 Occupation: No fixed employment Birthplace: Los Angeles, California, USA Residence: No fixed address - LA, San Francisco and other cities in USA. Mother: Rachel Winslow (nee Barthou) Father: Ariel Levi Stepparents: Todd Winslow (s-f); Francesca Levi (nee Miller; s-m) Siblings: Eli Levi (39 yo); Maeve Levi (h-s; 5 yo) Positive Traits: Loving, Intelligent, Friendly Flaws: Unreliable, Unstable, Obsessive

#about

0 notes

electronicdelusionstarlight · 3 years

Text

Ok, here's how I'd set up an actual BNHA Elder Scrolls crossover in case I ever get around to write it:

1) While he's, like, 4 years old in his living room watching TV, Izuku's Quirk activates. It will not get an actual official name but we can call it Planeswalker Spark ala MTG. Basically kid can tear a hole through reality and launch himself into a different plane of existence, which is what Izuku accidentally does here.

2) It's a slow process tho, which gives Inko plenty of time to rush in from where she was to tackle her son away from the sudden green glow brightly shining around him, a impulse decision based on her Instinct to protect him at all costs, which only ends up with both of them getting sent to Skyrim.

3) Izuku incidentally also happens to be a Shezzarine. His quirk is a mutation from her mom's side, whose Quirks usually affect space in some way, and is completely unrelated to this. Anyway, he and Inko are on the cart to Helgen now, usual shit, The plot of Modded Skyrim takes places, with Inko taking on the brunt of the adventure and trying to shelter Dragonborn Izuku from his destiny.

4) After many trials and tribulations, 2 DLCs, 4 guilds, 1 Dragon War, several adopted orphans as well as so many quest mods it's unreal, Lucien Flavius and several members of the College of Winterhold manages to reverse engineer Izuku's quirk, and gives him an enchanted ring to better control it. Kid can now safely use it without risking ending up somewhere completely different from his planned location. Izuku is now 14 years old. He also had to do terrible things no matter how much his mother tried to shelter him and take the brunt of the war crimes. This leads to PTSD obviously, but also to a now blue and orange morality system, chief among them his general disregard with killing or not killing someone.

5) Getting back to 10 years prior, Izuku's Quirk causes a ripple in the Tachion Field surrounding earth, which is felt on I-Island. David Shield spends the remaining 10 years monitoring and trying to better understand the phenomena, since it could be revolutionary in the till then hypothetical field of time and space travel. When Izuku activates his quirk back 10 years later, I-Island has by then built a teleportation device, hijacking Izuku's trip and sending him to I-Island.

6) Meanwhile on a familiar junkyard, Hatsume Mei's scrappy device built via salvaged parts, spit and lots of duct tape comes to life on her back, individuating a sudden tear in the now constantly decaying Tachion Field. It's happening in the middle of the ocean tho, so she can't really deal with it now.

7) Anyway, David Shield needs Izuku at hand for his Quirk, but Izuku and his mom came back to Japan trying to live a double life since by then most of their friends and family are in Tamriel. Except, both of them have been declared dead for years, and Hisashi, the bitch, ran away with the insurance money, so they don't have a life to return to. David Shield can't let them get back to Tamriel tho, again, he needs Izuku on planet for his new research, bit also realizes that if he actually wants to leave he can't really stop him, except Izuku, you know, still wants to become a hero, just like his mom is in Skyrim. So they reach a compromise, he will try to get into UA, and will take a new identity as Mikumo Akatani, usual excuses to have Izuku get into 1-A you know?

8) Izuku can't really make his Quirk public tho. So, after forging his and his mother identities as a foreign dignitary from the states and her son, and his Quirk is listed as "Cataclysm" (The last perk in the destruction skill tree for a Fire (and Earth) mage in the Ordinator Mod). He is after all a member of the college of Winterhold, trained under the Great and Powerful Destruction Magician Uncle J'Zargo the Magnificent himself, of course he knows plenty of spells. However, he can't really explain all of them as one Quirk, or better yet, he can, it would just get really complicated, so he just goes "My mom can move things with her mind, my... Father, ugh, can blow fire from his mouth, obviously my Quirk is being able to control flames with my mind, usually from my hands but some times also via vocalisation."

9) Which means Izuku has to really contain what shit he can do. It's a very superman like situation, since he needs to remain in control at all times and also not slip up and pull spells he couldn't explain as his "fire" quirk, least people start asking questions. Some people however notice.

10) Tsuyu and Todoroki start an unofficial conspiracy theorist fan club over it.

Tsuyu was there with him at the USJ, where in his sudden hyperfocused competence over the crisis situation made her realize A) This is not the first time this boy has almost died in his life and B) Back in the water at the USJ, she could swear she saw his hands shining as some strange light washed over him, and she could swear he could swim as fast as her back then, and for such long periods of time she could swear he could breath underwater. That makes it really suspicious.

Todoroki sees another kid with a powerful fire quirk but also the signs of a hard life and who seems to not like his father, and instantly goes "Oh... same hat." So his conspiracy is that Izuku is actually Endeavour Bastard Son he had after a premarital affair during a visit to the states 14 years prior, and he has a corkboard to prove it. He also realizes that he's trying to contain his power just like he is, which makes him believe he too must have done a pledge just like him.

11) Shinso beats Bakugou on the first match of the tournament. Doesn't really matter to the overall crossover I just wanted to point this out.

12) Anyway, this explodes during the Sports Festival. It's Todoroki Vs Midoriya, and 1) everyone is comparing the two due to similar Quirks, which Izuku finds really unfair to both of them, 2) Todoroki is being a stubborn ass with his quirk and 3) Izuku can't really talk now l, can't he? That would make him an hypocrite, and he might be a Mage, an Honorary member of the Explorer Guild, a Dragonborn and also a Bard College Student for some reason, but he's not a hypocrite, so he just up and SNAPS because hey, maybe Todoroki will actually unleash his full potential if someone else does it first too.

13) So, Izuku Midoriya, on national television, starts blasting. Armour Spells, Ice Spells, Lightning Spells, Mind Spells, Water, Wind, Air, Poison, turns himself invisible, summons a Dremora Champion, shouts with the power of the souls of the Dragons his mother slew, Todoroki actually has to start using his fire but is mostly out of sheer survival now ("There is always a bigger fish out there, and one day you deciding not to use your full power just because of a stupid pledge will get someone killed. Trust me, I know. You better start realizing that now Todoroki"), and is still a close match because Izukus spells all start from his hands or mouth after all, and Todoroki has now something to prove more than ever.

14) Without his robes on tho, Izuku Magicka is depleted in the end, ending up in a tie as the two collapse from exhaustion. Rather than an arm wrestling match this time, Izuku is disqualified due to the sudden mutation of his Quirk. He's fine with it and probably expected it, bit this still bums Todoroki out, as well as all of his classmates and friends.

15) After the Festival there are 4 leading theories on Izuku now:

A) All Might, discovering via Tsukuachi that Izuku's identity is fake, as well that he looks a bit like a missing case kid from 10 years ago, AND knowing that AFO is back due to the USJ... Believes Izuku is a mole, and is working, willingly or unwillingly, for AFO after he was implanted with all those Quirks. He is now incredibly suspicious of him, and it kind of shows. Nighteye is on the same page despite not having talked to the man in years, and is subtly trying to have Mirio scout out the kid to see if he's a threat. Mirio is too much of a Golden Retriever to even realize what has been asked of him tho, and just think Nighteye wants him to befriend another kid with a promising Quirk.

B) Todoroki now knows the truth. Izuku is Monoma's long lost twin brother. His Quirk allows him to copy the Quirks of those around him (Iron Skin and Stone Skin would be Tetsu Tetsu and Kirishima Quirks after all, Invisibility is Hakagure, Fire and Ice are either his or Bakugou's, Lightning is Kirishima, and Tsuyu mentioned how he could swim and breath underwater while near her, meaning he was using her Quirk). He has connected the dots.

C) AFO still remembers his brother's lover, the stories she came up with, the long periods of times she was gone, only to return with a haunted look in her eyes... The powers she hid from him, thinking he wouldn't notice, the way she fled right after his brother lay lifeless on the ground, almost disappearing into thin air with his broken body... The family his brother hid so well from him, as if they were in another world all together... They never told him, but he knew, he knew she had some sort of Quirk, one that had been then inherited by this new Mikumo Akatani, so similar to HIM yet so different, back from the other world in revenge for his ancestor.

He has to capture that kid. He's family after all, and his quirk belongs to him, it's his by right as his brother's keeper. And with it, he will be able to extend his reach to worlds beyond his own.

D) the official version, the one David Shield puts out, is that Izuku's Quirk evolved unexpectedly due to the new environment he was in, mentioning it as a precursor of Quirk Singularity.

E) The only one who actually got it is Hatsume. She can tell Izuku is the source of the Tachion Spikes and subsequent decays as he "returns home" in Skyrim when leaving school, so she perfectly understands that he's a powerful warlock from across dimension who had come here with the power of science and unholy magic to infiltrate society posing as a hero. Obviously, she's going to help him do it becoming his evil vizier and grand artificer of course. Worst case scenario, she can now market the shit out of him as a hero using her babies, best one, he succeeds and she gets to rule Australia out of their "Deal." I say "Deal" because Izuku isn't even sure he got half of what she was saying, but she seems nice and if Skyrim taught him anything is that you should treasure everyone willing to be your friend, so they hang out together, scheming and plotting without even realising it.

Tsuyu however pretty much got the gist of what Hatsume was saying (it was a crowded lunch break after all) and while she does know Izuku doesn't seem the type of the interdimensional conqueror, she still decides to call dibs on North America in exchange of becoming his Grand Admiral.

And Who knows, maybe he'll end up starting an actual line of Dragonborn Emperors there too.

Anyway that's the rough draft.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bnha au #skyrim #elder scrolls

10 notes · View notes

swynlake-rp · 2 years

Photo

“You should also know that everyone runs from Shere Khan.”

FULL NAME: Lungri Shere Khan BASED ON: Shere Khan (The Jungle Book) FACE CLAIM: Hrithrik Roshan PRONOUNS: He/him (Professor; Dr.) BIRTHDAY: June 8, 1974 CURRENT STATUS: Taken

Character Information || cw: death, murder ||

Shere Khan was born into the world fighting for his very breath, the only child of two reclusive Vaagh living on the outskirts of rural Bengali villages and jungles. His mother was constantly cautious and meek, her beast firmly scared and beaten down beneath her human skin but his father was strong and brave and everything Shere wanted to be. The early years of his life consisted of learning his tiger, inside and out. And his father was his greatest teacher.

As he grew older, the cautious, angry little boy turned into a more reckless version of his childish self, straying farther and farther into the world of men with his father when they scrounged in the market places for food. There’s was a meager lifestyle, but it was theres. It was his for the first eleven years of his life. And then, his parents said, there were to be two.

Shere did not receive the news that he was to be a big brother well, though he eventually warmed up to the idea as his mother’s belly began to swell. She no longer went on hunts with he and his father, but it was not as though he missed her presence much anyway. She was always in their home with his didimā. It was not as if she would not be there when they returned, he told himself.

Until she wasn’t.

Shere’s father was frantic, enraged, and his tiger took over quickly even as his didimā tried to calm him, telling him that she’d not wished to frighten them, that Shere’s mother was alright, if rattled. It was then that Shere noticed something different about him, something new and terrifying and so unlike his father that he had to hide from it. The old woman said that she had been dragged from their little home and beaten by people whom they had called neighbors, though in the loosest sense of the term. This news sent his big, stoic father into a rage.

He didn’t see him again until early the next morning and only in the wake of shadows.

They came two days later.

Shere awoke to the smell of things burning, so sharp and pungent to his sensitive little nose that it made his eyes water. He could hear the screams, of his didimā and mother, and wondered where his father was while his son hid and his mother feared for her life, the life of his unborn child. Hadn’t he heard? Didn’t he want to help them? Shere remembered tears, tasting of soot and a boy’s regret, trailing down his cheeks when he’d finay been found. He fought, bit, scratched, but it was only the string bands if his father’s arms around his middle. He was dragged away from the only home he had ever known, his mother’s shrieks and his father’s cowardice haunting him.

He and his father fled India for the United Kingdom, where magic and their kind apparated to be more widely accepted, though they kept to themselves. Shere learned not to speak of the things he had see in the dark that night, nor of the pain in his leg from the burns he had received in his hiding place. He would be told later on that he was lucky to have only a limp, have his leg at all. The Khan men lived quietly and secretively, haunting the streets of Berkshire while he attended first a boys’ school and then Eaton College.

He was one of the top in his class, on track to becoming a doctor of medicine, as his father had wanted for him despite the vicious whispers of the other boys, who called him “lungri” behind his back. As though it hurt him. And yet his future tilted on its axis the moment he learned the truth of the attack all those years ago: Shere Khan’s father had been sneaking into the villages on the outskirts of the jungles, stalking, and killing, the humans that lived there. That night, That night he lost three people most important to him, was all the doing of an old tiger with a taste for human blood.

Shere confronted the man, drunk, and woke up the next morning covered in his blood. He had killed him, his very own father, the last person in this world he could care for. And he felt empty. He disposed of the body, pulled money from what he had saved, and went on his way. He didn’t speak of it, not once, but his dreams reminded him.

Shere Khan continued his studies and eventually took on a residency with a well known medical program, but he quickly realized that the blood and bodies would not be for him. He could perform surgery but it pained him to do so. His tiger wanted loose when it smelled it, and he would not let him. Shere was given permission to use the skills he had learned to, instead, follow the more academic route, not in medicine but in purpose.

During a guest lecture from a well known magizoologist, Shere realized that his people, the Vaagh, were being studied. Prodded and poked at and stared at through a glass window and the eye of a scientist, and a purpose blossomed in him. It became a passion, teaching those who knew very little about those he shared a commonality with as well as about those creatures who were simply that: creatures. Magizoology became something he was good at, and he excelled in whatever he was good at. It wasn’t in him not to, after all…

✓ Patient, devoted, shrewd

✖ Paranoid, malicious, prejudiced

Character Suggestions

Indian

Current Relationships

None

Possible Relationships

click here!

Magical Abilities

Tiger Shapeshifter (Vaagh) - can shift into a tiger whenever he wants; has heightened senses, speed and strength while a human

#the jungle book #allch #malech #magicch #shifter #junglebookch #takench #takenmalech

2 notes · View notes

loganarmstrong · 3 years

Photo

B A S I C

NAME: Logan Mayumi Armstrong

NICKNAME(S): Lo

AGE: 29

DATE OF BIRTH: 5 February 1992

GENDER: cis male

PRONOUNS: he/him

F A M I L Y

MOTHER: lyra armstrong, nee karingal

FATHER: michael armstrong

SIBLING(S): sean (older brother), mason (older twin brother)

P H Y S I C A L

FACE CLAIM: darren criss

RACE/ETHNICITY: english, german, filipino, spanish, chinese

NATIONALITY: american

HEIGHT: 5 feet and six inches (5′6)

WEIGHT: 152 lbs

BUILD: slender, skinny, will often describe himself as scrawny

SCARS: inside of wrists, one above eyebrow

HAIR: black, curly

EYE COLOR: hazel

DOMINANT HAND: left

ACCENT: american (though rarely speaks)

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: none, though needs glasses

MENTAL DISABILITIES: autisim, selective mutism

ALLERGIES: shellfish

DISORDERS: anxiety, depression

FASHION: prefers soft fabrics, often wears with overalls and doc martens

NERVOUS TICS: wringing hands together, fidgeting

L I F E S T Y L E

HOME ADDRESS: bridgeport, somerton, maine

RESIDES: medium sized loft apartment

BORN: conway, new hampshire

RAISED: conway, new hampshire

VEHICLE: range rover suv, black

PHONE: iphone xr

LAPTOP/COMPUTER: macbook pro, ipad pro

PET(S): service dog, northern inuit named ella

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: kennett high school

COLLEGE EDUCATION: the institute of fine arts, nyu

MAJOR: fine art

MINOR: illustration

CAREER: head baker

EMPLOYER: golden flour bakery

DIET: vegetarian

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual

MARITAL STATUS: single

CHILDREN: none

LANGUAGES: english, american sign language

PHOBIAS: loud noises

HOBBIES: art, reading, journalling, soccer, video games

SOCIAL MEDIA: inactive on most, privacy settings high due to ex partner

F A V O R I T E

LOCATION: the reading nook in his apartment

VIDEO GAME: skyrim, animal crossing, horizon zero dawn, spyro, stardew valley

ARTIST: vincent van gogh

MUSIC: varying

SONG: radio gaga - queen

TV SHOWS: the umbrella academy, the witcher, friends, stranger things, doctor who, sherlock

MOVIES: the addams family, my neighbor totoro, jurassic park, hook, forrest gump

FOOD: asian

COLOR: yellow

C H A R A C T E R

MBTI: infj-t: the advocate

ENNEGRAM: six

TEMPERAMENT: melancholic

WESTERN ZODIAC: aquarius

CHINESE ZODIAC: monkey

PRIMAL SIGN: dolphin

B I O G R A P H Y

tw suicide attempt, self harm, abusive relationship

Logan Mayumi Armstrong is precisely three minutes and forty two seconds younger than his twin brother, Mason, and six years younger than his oldest sibling. He was a quiet baby who hardly ever cried and mostly kept to himself, even as a toddler. None of the family knew anything was wrong with Logan until he was five years old. The Armstrong family thought that maybe Logan was just a quiet child, or even a late bloomer. But soon enough, every other child in his play group could speak and Mason was already stringing together full sentences. Logan hadn’t uttered a single word and was taken to see a doctor, put through weeks of testing until finally, a result came through.

Logan was diagnosed with selective mutism. He had the ability to speak - the tests showed he had the physical ability, but he was unable to do so. The Armstrong family learned sign language in an effort to help their youngest son communicate and it was something he appreciated - he could actually ask for things now! More tests followed and eventually Logan was given a diagnosis of autism. He didn’t fully understand it, not when he was young, but he understood enough to know it made him different. He struggled to make friends in his class and often spent recess alone. Mason on the other hand, was confident and never shy of any friends. He was always around people, always out playing with his friends and happy.

Logan tried hard not to let his differences bother him. People didn’t understand him, that was what he told himself. He focused on the things he enjoyed instead, such as art. For Logan, it was a way of expressing himself without the need for words and he spent hours practicing, filling sketchbook after sketchbook. Art became his outlet, how he showed his feelings although most of his work he kept to himself. He didn’t want to upset anyone with his difference. He’d heard his mom crying when he was first diagnosed as autistic and understood being different made her sad. He’d heard his father say they could get through it and at least they had his siblings who would be able to lead “normal lives”. Those were the words his father had used and it hurt, to know he wasn’t normal. He’d known he was different, sure, but the thought of not being able to live a normal life hurt.

Logan never told either of his parents he’d overheard their conversation. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it but he was sure it wouldn’t be good if they knew. He began to withdraw even more than before, stopping using sign language and only used simple, one-word answers to questions. Logan was battling with himself. As he got older, he realised he was even more different to his peers than he thought. Everyone started getting girlfriends when he entered high school and Logan wasn’t really interested in that. He thought girls were beautiful, sure, but Logan thought guys were too. He told Mason one day who seemed taken aback by the confession. The people in their school found out that Logan wasn’t quite straight and things only got worse. He was already picked on relentlessly for his lack of speech and being different but with new fuel to the fire, they made Logan’s life miserable.

The most difficult thing for him to accept was that no one wanted him around. He felt isolated, more alone than ever and didn’t know who to turn to for help. What could he do? He struggled with communication at the best of times. His parents were concerned at how withdrawn he’d become and heard from Mason how the bullying had gotten worse at school. They took him to a doctor and Logan was diagnosed with depression. He refused to take his medication and hid the pills from his parents - he didn’t need another thing wrong with him and he didn’t want the medication. He was careful though and everyone thought he was taking them when he was supposed to, believing it would just take time for him to get better.

Death wasn’t something that scared Logan. He wasn’t afraid to die and it was something he’d welcome. He wasn’t really sure what spurred his decision; he hadn’t been on his medication since his diagnosis and he was gradually getting worse. He couldn’t think of any other way to deal with the mess that was him. So when Logan’s mother found him on the bathroom floor, barely conscious and in a pool of his own blood, no one had expected it.

Logan was forced to stay in hospital for three months after that. Physically he was fine, merely left with deep scars marking the insides of his wrists. But mentally, Logan wasn’t okay. He was forced to take his medication, made to attend counselling and managed to tell his therapist everything. It took a long time, what with his lack of communication, but eventually, they understood the reasoning behind it and Logan began to recover.

He finished the school year in between his home and the hospital, Mason bringing the work home to him and helping him set up his online classes. Logan managed to graduate with a respectable grade. He wanted to pursue college, wanted to take his art further and make a career out of it. His parents were terrified to let Logan travel so far away. But they understood and after a lengthy conversation and the promise he would keep in contact with them, Logan was off.

He flew to New York City to study Fine Art and Illustration. It was a new sense of freedom for him. He still wasn’t okay, but he made sure he took his medication and stuck to a strict schedule for himself. It helped him focus and Logan was able to enjoy himself, even make a couple of friends and get a job as a barista in a local coffee shop. It was in this coffee shop that he met the person who changed his life.

Matthew was a kind and caring man at first glance. He didn’t let Logan’s lack of speech bother him, continuing to visit the younger man every day with a bouquet of flowers until Logan agreed to go on a date. Things started off well - Matthew was patient with Logan’s difficulty communicating and he made him laugh. Logan thought he could actually be happy and was excited when after a few short months, Matthew asked him to move in with him.

But that was when things began to take a turn for the worst. Matthew seemed to lose the patience he had before. He grew frustrated at Logan’s inability to speak and would fly into a fit of rage more often than not. The first time he hit him was one of the worst. Logan told himself he’d leave him, he wouldn’t let himself be pushed around like this. But Matthew had broken down, told Logan he needed help and said he wouldn’t be able to survive without him. He told Logan he’d been suicidal in the past and he would die if Logan left. So Logan stayed, forgave Matthew each and every time he was hit, when he was shoved or when he was beaten. Matthew told him this was what he deserved and Logan started to believe it. The bruises were always carefully hidden and Logan accepted that this was what his life would be. He was afraid no one would believe him if he told the truth so he kept quiet. Even after he finished his degree, he stayed with his boyfriend. Months turned into years and still, Logan was too afraid to leave.

The sixth time he was hospitalised from his injuries was the breaking point. But it also provided Logan with a way out. Matthew was arrested and Logan discharged himself from the hospital before he recovered fully and ran. He managed to scrape some money together and left the city, travelling as far as he could.

He settled in Somerton, Maine, a town he’d heard about often growing up. No one knew him there and he’d be able to start again, that was the main thing. He was still terrified Matthew would find him, especially as Logan fled without giving a statement against him. But he settled into life, got a job at the local bakery and kept his head down. It was just him and his faithful Ella now, his service dog. She kept him grounded and he knew he owed a lot t her presence. The residents of Somerton were nice and didn’t ask too many questions, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was hope he stayed safe.

#about: logan #biography #somertonintro

5 notes · View notes

kensharp · 3 years

Text

[ torrance coombs, male, he/his ] KENELM “KEN” SHARP has been spotted in beacon hills. the 28/274 year old VAMPIRE is known for being SARCASTIC and QUICK-TEMPERED, but they can also be JUST and CHARMING. it’s said they are currently a ADJUNCT HISTORY PROFESSOR in BEACON HILLS COMMUNITY COLLEGE, and that they are INDIFFERENT TO integration. [ ally, 26, she/her, pst ]

Ken started every new semester the same way. Waiting until the class was settled, he'd enter the room, set his things at his desk, and look out at the students. Once he had their attention, he'd turn to the board and start scrawling on it as he recited the quote. "Timid men prefer the calm of despotism to the tempestuous sea of Liberty." Then he'd turn back to them and wait. Usually, nobody said anything, but everyone in a while, there would be a student who was brave enough to name the author. If no one spoke, Ken would tell them. "Thomas Jefferson said this in a letter to Philip Mazzei in 1796. What do you think that was about?" And the class would begin.

Basics

❍ Name Kenelm “Ken” Sharp ❍ Gender Male ❍ Age 274 ❍ Turned 28 ❍ DoB 22 Dec. 1748 ❍ Height 5 ft 7 in. ❍ Build Muscular/lean ❍ Sexuality Ambiguous ❍ Status Single ❍ Maker Margaret

Brief Biography

❍ Born in pre-revolutionary America, Ken grew up the son of a farmer in Chesapeake City, MD with one brother and two sisters. Before his brother was unfortunately kicked by a horse he was set to attend the College and Academy of Philadelphia, but his brother’s injury derailed the plan.

❍ Later moved to Boston, MA at sixteen to become an apprentice to a local gunsmith. While living on Boston, Ken was witness to the Boston Massacre which unsettled him causing him to leave Boston as soon as his apprenticeship was complete at age twenty one.

❍ His apprenticeship complete, Ken moved to Philadelphia and took a position at another gunsmith’s shop as an aide. He soon met his future wife Priscilla, the daughter of a bookkeeper. They married quickly and had a total of three children together, though only their two sons survived to adulthood.

❍ Over time, Ken’s Patriot leanings had been growing as the tensions were jacketed up between the colonies and the English. After the Battle at Lexington and Concord when the Continental Army was formed he along with his best friend Edmund joined without hesitation.

❍ After the battle of White Plains, Ken is promoted from Sergeant to Lieutenant.

❍ Ken served sixteen months with the Continental Army. Until the Battle of Fort Lee where he was shot in his attempt to go back for Edmund who he feared has been caputred during Patriot retreat from the Fort. A vampire named Margaret who enjoyed following battlefields found him as he lay dying and decided to turn him.

❍ The relationship between Margaret and Ken was complicated as he felt drawn to her as his maker, but he longed deeply for his former life. He was stricken at being unable to ever return to his wife. However, the magnetism between himself and Margaret created a fire and water relationship that he couldn’t escape. She had saved him after all.

❍ Then there was his brother via Margaret’s line. Gerard was a Frenchman she had turned a at the turn of the 18th century (around 1710). He loved Margaret obsessively and was extremely jealous of the attention Ken got from her. Their relationship remained tense for several decades. Until Gerard decided upon a way to get his revenge.

❍ Over a few years time Gerard cultivated a friendship with Ken. The two even shared a few moments of true comradeship and intimacy, but Gerard still betrayed him in the end.

❍ Feigning the desire to help Ken close out his human life, he suggested they pay a visit to his wife behind Margaret’s back -years prior she had strictly told Ken he could not return home. Ken jumped at the chance and Gerard convinced him to make the journey with haste not even allowing them time to stop and feed.

❍ When they arrived at the Sharp residence, Ken didn’t even realize he was near starving. In her shock Priscilla stumbled at the sight of him scraping her hand when she fell. Ken was unable to control the bloodlust at the sight and smell of it. He with the help of Gerard drained Priscilla dry.

❍ Seeing what he had done Ken was horrified and fled. Hiding out in the Louisiana Territory for several years, Ken wallowed in his sorrows only feeding when it became absolutely necessary. Margaret found him a few years later on her own. She had spurned Gerard for what he’d done and convinced Ken to come with her.

❍ They spent the next century or so together, but their relationship wasn’t the same. While Priscilla’s death had closed the last chapter on his human life, Ken was melancholy for a time and when he dragged himself out of it he no longer felt such a strong pull towards Margaret. As fond of Ken as she was, Margaret knew it was only a matter of time until she’d have to let him go.

❍ That time came when the two ran into Gerard in Oregon 1901. Ken brutalized him, but in the end he gave him mercy at Margaret’s behest and staked him.

❍ After Gerard’s death, Ken separated from Margaret to travel on his own. Moving from place to place, he continued the hobby he had started around the year 1800, journaling. Ken kept numerous journals of all world events he felt significant over time collecting quite a large collection. He went wherever the action was documenting in a way he imagined Herodotus had centuries before him.

❍ Around 2010 Ken decided on a whim that he could share his knowledge with the youth of the day. He’d grown to realize that so many people easily forgot the past. Fabricating himself the credentials necessary to become a college Professor he glamored his way into a job teaching night classes at University of Philadelphia -the school he’d so wished to attend when he was still human.

❍ In 2016 when The Unveiling took place, Ken saw the way the public was reacting and decided it was prudent to lay low. He quit his job at Philidephia University and hid out in a rural Iowa for the next two years.

❍ When it appeared to Ken that things had begun to somewhat stabilize he came out of hiding. He was in no rush to get back to teaching and with the discrimination supernaturals were still facing he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. So for the next two years he traveled, though Ken still kept a low profile.

❍ At the tail end of 2020, Ken found himself in Beacon Hills where he came across an ad for an open Professorship in the History department. He’ll begin with teaching two classes for the Spring semester of 2021: American History 1776- 1800 and World History.

Positions

❍ The Authority Neither positive or negative.

❍ The United Worlds Association Neither positive or negative. Skeptical of what their true agenda is.

❍ The Human Rights Protection Union Considers them somewhat of a nuisance, but not necessarily a threat.

❍ The Supernaturals Integration Act Fairly neutral, but still sees it as somewhat of a hindrance.

❍ Proposed Supernatural Registration Bill Vehemently Against

#theunveiling intro #||‡ ken canon||

2 notes · View notes

sanders-sides-fics · 5 years

Text

physics and why are you in my room

Here’s my fic from @spookyson-zine!

Warnings: Anxiety, Food Mentions, Eating, Possible Disordered Eating Related to Anxiety, Poor Coping Mechanisms

AO3

Masterlist

Words: ~1500

-Tumblr where’s my line break?-

To say that college was exactly what Virgil expected would be correct. Here he was, halfway through his second year and unable to make a single friend. He knew it was partially his fault. Virgil didn’t make many attempts to befriend anyone.

Most of the time his anxiety drove him to stay in his dorm or to seek refuge in one of the quieter sections of campus. The ones no one else went to.

He couldn’t stand to eat in front of others, with his mind screaming at him that people were staring every time he took a bite. So, he sat in the back, far from anyone else. Even then, his brain created wisps of people, watching, staring, judging.

The quietest, emptiest parts of the library weren’t safe for him. Every move, every turn of a page, was too loud. He was loud. Noisy. A nuisance to anyone attempting to get work done. He always fled within an hour of arriving, driven away by his paranoia.

His room was hardly a safe place, but it was the best he would get. His loud roommate, who never seemed to sleep or cease his renditions of Broadway and Disney, made sure of it. At first, Virgil tried to befriend him, but the singer was too much for him.

Virgil sighed as he approached his dorm. Classes were in full session and the never-ending work weighed down on him. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep the semester away. Not that he could. Virgil worked too hard to get into college to allow himself to give up.

There was so much work to do, but maybe, Roman would take a hint and be quiet today.

Approaching their shared room, Virgil could hear no music. No Hamilton, no Mary Poppins, no Moana. Just silence. Roman was at a party? There was no other explanation. It was Friday night, so it made sense.

Virgil put his key in the door and let himself in. He glanced around the room and spotted his roommate, asleep on his beanbag chair. To this day, Virgil had no idea how Roman hid the large chair when the RAs did their random safety inspections. As long as Roman didn’t get caught and blame it on him, Virgil supposed it didn’t matter.

Seeing Roman asleep didn’t surprise him, he knew Roman had to sleep at some point. No, what surprised him were the two other men on the beanbag chair. One snuggled into Roman, asleep and the remaining sat on Roman’s other side, reading a physics book.

The man looked up to Virgil and, taking note of where he was, shut the textbook. He fixed his tie and sat up straighter on the beanbag.

“Salutations. I’m Logan Nox, Roman’s friend.”

“Virgil.”

Virgil stepped around the beanbag that took up much of the floor of their room and set his backpack on his desk. He could feel Logan’s eyes trained on him. He shuddered and did his best to ignore it. It was hard to, but soon enough Virgil sat down in his desk chair and pulled out his books.

“You take Physics 119?” Logan asked. “I do as well, though, I’ve never seen you before.”

“I, uh, sit in the back,” Virgil turned in his seat to face him.

“Perhaps you could join me, next class, I sit in the front row.”

Virgil doubted the professor would appreciate Virgil scrolling through his phone while he sat in the front. At least in the back, Virgil wasn’t a distraction to other students. If he sat in the front . . . everyone would be able to see him.

“It is understandable if you don’t wish to,” Logan told him.

“I’ll . . . get back to you on it.”

Virgil couldn’t think of a valid reason to turn it down, besides his fear, and that wasn’t something he wanted to share with one of Roman’s friends. If he could just avoid Logan in the lecture, things would be easier.

Logan nodded his head, “Of course. I didn’t mean to impose.”

Beside Logan, Roman shifted in his sleep and slung an arm around Logan. He mumbled about a dragon and a witch before pulling Logan closer and settling back down. Logan let out an amused huff of air.

Virgil turned back around and began to work.

“Looooo, don’t let the Dragon Witch get you,” Roman whined in his sleep.

Logan laughed quietly, “She won’t, Roman. Sleep.”

Roman hummed and shifted on the beanbag, making the third man let out a quiet huff as he readjusted in his spot.

On Monday, Virgil managed to avoid Logan in their physics lecture. It wasn’t hard. Virgil almost always came a minute before the lecture started and most seats were taken by then. He took a seat in the back, the most-empty section. If Virgil had wanted to sit with Logan, he wouldn’t have anyways. There was no way he’d draw attention to himself by walking all the way to the front of the lecture hall.

Trying to pay attention, Virgil put his phone facing down on his lap. The “desk” on the seat wasn’t big enough and Virgil already had a hard time writing on it, since he was left-handed. It didn’t take long for the lecture to start and for him to slowly grab his phone and begin scroll through Tumblr.

So much for paying attention.

The lecture went by fast. Virgil mindlessly wrote down the notes while he played on his phone. At the end of class, he shoved his notebook into his bag. Physics felt like a waste of an hour, given that he sucked at math and it had nothing to do with his major.

At least the lecture let out in time for him to eat lunch before the rush. He’d memorized the times the dining halls were busiest and if he left now, he’d be able to eat and leave before the lunch rush started. He hated eating while the dining halls were busy and specifically structured his schedule around the times he knew they wouldn’t be.

“Virgil!”

Virgil tensed at the call of his name and stopped putting on his backpack. He looked up to see Logan walking swiftly from the front of the lecture hall. Virgil debated running but decided against it. It wouldn’t do much when Logan was friends with his roommate. Running would only intensify the confrontation when it inevitably happened.

He set his backpack back down and waited for Logan to get to him. It didn’t take long.

“Hi, I, uh, came late.”

“There is no reason to lie, Virgil. However, I wanted to extend an offer to eat lunch with Roman, Patton, and I. We normally eat now, when I get out from this lecture.”

Virgil bit his lip. He wasn’t sure why Logan would make the offer after acknowledging Virgil’s refusal of his last one.

“Roman relayed a desire to know you better. And Patton’s . . . Patton.”

Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t thought his roommate cared much for him at all. In their brief talks, Roman overwhelmed him and Virgil pushed him away. And after a while, Roman stopped trying to have those talks, choosing to focus on the two other friends he met.

Should he go? Virgil wasn’t sure. He managed to get through the last semester awkwardly slipping in and out of his shared room but had another entire semester before him. Attempting a friendship with Roman and his friends could improve the situation, make him for once comfortable in his own room.

But it could make Virgil’s life much worse. Rather than ignoring Virgil, or the occasional greeting from Roman, their interactions could turn to hatred. Roman had the power to make Virgil’s existence a nightmare if things turned sour.

Virgil knew he had no reason to worry about that. Roman never purposefully tried to hurt him, even if his constant noise was overwhelming. Not that the knowledge stopped his mind from running in circles, weaving together scenarios in which Roman did try.

Although, if Virgil never tried, neither outcome from attempting to befriend Roman again would matter. And Virgil would slip into his junior year, unnoticed, friendless, just as he had this year.

“I-I’ll come,” Virgil blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Are you uncomfortable going? There’s no need to agree, if it causes distress.”

“It’s fine. I was going there anyway, Logan.”

Virgil shifted in his seat, anxious thoughts coiling his stomach too much for him to eat. The familiar fear of judgment breathed down his neck, only now the people around weren’t made up.

He picked at his salad and glanced around the table. Virgil was sure he’d catch some hint of disgust, something that showed he messed up or was unwanted. Yet, there was none.

Across from Virgil, Roman was animatedly telling Patton a story, waving a fork around in the air to mimic a sword. Patton listened attentively, eating a breadstick from the dining hall’s pizzeria. Logan looked on fondly from behind the book he was pretending to read.

No disgust.

Virgil took a breath and allowed himself to relax the slightest. He stabbed a tomato with his fork and brought it to his mouth as his appetite started to return. Maybe he could do this after all. If anyone noticed him begin to eat, they didn’t say so.

General Tags:

@ahoardofsides

@peanut0303

@iris-sanders-athena

@evilmuffin

#my fics #Virgil Sanders #Sanders Sides #Logan Sanders #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #College au #Disordered Eating tw #Food mentions #Food tw #anxiety tw

180 notes · View notes

florafey · 4 years

Text

New Year’s Day Snippet!

Happy New Year! I hope 2020 brings everyone a boatload of happiness and fulfillment!

I was indeed awake last night from about 11am to 4am, and I was considerably drunk for the last 6 hours of it heheheheh but anyways here’s something nobody asked for but I’m giving you anyways: another scene from The Tipping Point that I wrote in one sitting last night when I may or may not have been off my shit drunk on White Claws (yikes I know, college amiright, but they were the mango ones so its fine lol)

I edited it somewhat today but no promises. It’s in third person POV rather than first, which the first snippet was, but I’m playing around with them because I don’t yet know which one I prefer.

Let me know what you think! Or don’t, I still love you

Thea’s eyes slid open, heavy with the sensation of fleeting sleep. She shifted uneasily inside her sheets and glanced around her darkened room. Why had she woke? No strange shadows lurked in the darkness, not even...Clover. Thea sat up, her nightgown falling off her shoulder. Her puppy was not at the foot of her bed, nor was she sniffing absentmindedly around the room. Thea frowned sleepily, suddenly grumpy at her mischievous ward. Her door was cracked open despite her shutting it only a few hours ago and a dim ray of light cut a stark impression on the floor. Was it possible for Clover to have pushed the door open? Thea supposed so.

She settled herself deeper into her blankets and curled her legs up to her chest. Clover would encounter nothing exciting in the vast estate except for maybe the slippery floor of the foyer and a bored guard willing to rub her belly. Lucius had a dog of his own, Clover would find a friend in him. Confident in her pet’s wellbeing,Thea allowed her heavy eyes to slide shut and her mind to fall into the silence. Silence. Only a few seconds passed before Thea bolted upright again, her heart in her throat. Silence. The entire estate was drenched in a quiet that had not been there when she had fallen asleep. Lucius had been pacing the floor downstairs, audible enough for Thea to fall asleep to. There were currently no footsteps, no whispers, no gentle rattle of a sword.

Her guards didn’t fall asleep. Not her friends, her trusted men.

Thea threw the bedcovers off and hit the cold floor with a jangle of nerves. She did not care that she was in her nightdress or now scared out of her mind. Something wasn’t right.

The hallway was a touch lighter than the inside of Thea’s room. As she dashed across the landing, Thea spared a quick glance down the sweeping staircase. She felt as she once did when she was a child, running out of a dark room after she had switched the lights off, feeling the irrational fear of a wraith or a monster reaching out from the dark to snatch at her ankles and if only she could just run fast enough-

Thea slammed into Rosie’s door and it fell open. Rosie was startled awake ungracefully, her curly hair a wild mane around her face, her smooth face pinched with worry that Thea could just barely make out in the darkness.

“Thea? What-”

“Hush. Hush.” Thea reached out for Rosie and pulled her out of the bed. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but we aren’t safe. Not anymore.”

“Safe? From…” Rosie trailed off, holding Thea’s gaze. Thea’s fingers tightened around Rosie’s in response. Rosie swallowed. She was now wide awake. Her fingers fumbled for the buttons of her nightgown, trying to close the few that had come undone.

“What do we do?”

That was a good question. Thea had no idea what the situation downstairs was, where her guards were, or who was down there that shouldn’t be. If she was lucky, it was Iona, making the trip from the capital on their heels. If she wasn’t lucky…

“The stables. We have to get to the stables. If we can get a horse and make for the roads, we can find someone who can shelter us for the night. Or we can ride until morning.”

Thea’s heart ached at the thought of leaving her faithful guards- but where were they? Leaving Clover felt like more of a betrayal. Thea only had the puppy for a few weeks and she was already proving to be a terrible guardian. Thea shook the insignificant thought out of her mind when Rosie’s fingers dug into her arm at the same time her ears pricked. Unfamiliar voices were floating up the stairs, barely audible at all. But Thea could hear them, as could Rosie, and they did not belong to Lucius or Quinn or any other guard of Thea’s. Hot panic flashed down Thea’s spine. No, no, no. Then, fine, you want to play? In my own house?

“Come on.” Thea eased Rosie out of her room and back into the hallway. Rosie’s doorway was just barely hidden from the view of the downstairs, giving the two a temporarily safe place to stay out of sight while they formed a plan.

“I have to get my sword,” Thea whispered to Rosie, her lips touching the other girl’s ear. “It’s in my room. Stay here-”

Rosie grabbed Thea’s arm and shook her head, eyes wide with fear. No, she mouthed. Dangerous. Thea chewed her lip. Rosie was right, the risk was too great. And if she was spotted before Rosie and drew the Tithonius men upstairs, it would only accomplish cutting off Rosie’s chance of escape.

“We go down the stairs,” Rosie whispered. “They might see us, but at least we might be able to lose them in the back halls.” She had a point. At this time of night, the back hallways of the estate, confusing on any clear day, would be a labyrinth to manage. Thea tapped Rosie’s hand to signal her agreement.

The staircase was easy to reach, their footsteps fast and quiet. The stairs widened at the bottom and let out onto a vast expanse of marble floor just beyond the foyer. Lucius had been pacing at the bottom of the stairs when Thea went to bed but the floor was empty now. It might not be for long, however, and the thought caused Thea to speed up. Thea’s bare feet were so cold against the stairs that they started to burn. She cursed the length of her nightdress and her failure to think ahead enough to slip into something easier to run in.

The terrible silence was suddenly interrupted by a worse sound: footsteps. Thea hesitated, reeling back from the last few steps. The footsteps were close and traveling towards them; they would never make it across the floor without being spotted but they were too far down the staircase to safely turn back. Thea’s hesitation pulled Rosie to a stop, but only just enough for her to shove Thea behind her small form.

A man rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of the two girls on the staircase. A clap of recognition hit Thea at the sight of the lean form and the thick, dark beard. Marcellus. The same man who had fought at her side no more than three years ago to defend the palace. The man she had spilled blood for. He was in her house with his men, threatening her guards, Clover, Rosie.

Thea shoved Rosie between the shoulder blades, hard, causing the girl to stumble down the rest of the staircase. Another shove had Rosie sprinting across the floor towards the doorways opening into the back of the estate.

“Go!” Thea yelled. Her voice bounced off the walls and made her ears ring with discomfort. She could not follow. Not yet. And she doubted Marcellus would let her slip past him; he had not moved when Rosie ran past, but Thea knew how quickly he could get to her.

She looked up at the once-familiar man with her lip curled. Rage unfurled itself in her chest, smothering the hottest flames of terror as it went.

“You.” She hissed. “I spilled blood for you.” Thea’s fingers itched for her sword even though she doubted if she would be able to use it on him. Marcellus’ face split into a sharp, unnerving grin. Thea hid her shudder.

But rather than reply to her words, Marcellus tipped his head back and yelled into the estate, his voice echoing and carrying countless more times than Thea’s had, “Cicero!”

Like the split second before a door slammed on a hand, Thea was hit with a wave of panic. Rage succumbed to fear once more as she scrambled for a way to escape intact. Marcellus was enjoying the strife evident on Thea’s face. His harsh laugh grew mocking but Thea didn’t have the energy to care if it was directed at her.

A million cruel words bubbled up in Thea’s chest, each nastier than the last and just as useless against the man. With a sense of grim finality, Thea spat, “Bootlicker,” and raced for the doorway Rosie had disappeared through moments before. Marcellus’ laugh faltered for a second, then boomed even louder.

Thea raced through the back hallways of her familiar home, her breath coming in sharp, frightened pants. Rosie, where was Rosie? Was she close to the stables? As Thea fled, the rage she had felt on the staircase came rushing back so quickly it nearly made her stumble. How dare the Tithoniuses drive her from her home? And how dare she run? But despite the fiery anger threatening to eat her alive, the reasonable part of Thea knew that there was nothing she could do by herself. She had to assume the worst about her guards- and did so with a violent ache in her heart. Even if she could somehow get to a weapon, the best she could hope to do is put down a man or two before she herself was killed.

Thea slowed, realizing too late that she was in the incorrect hall if she wanted to get to the stables. She had been nearly tripping over herself to get as far from Marcellus as she could that she barely registered where she was running to. Doubling back, Thea took note of the steady silence in the estate. No distant yelling of guards, no clanging of swords. She didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Surely if Rosie had been seen fleeing there would have been a commotion. Thea located the correct hall and ensured the coast was clear before slipping out of the shadows and correcting her route. Her chest burned now as well as her feet, and she felt sweat plastering her hair to the back of her neck.

Her pace down the hall towards the door she knew would lead her outside was quick enough to be efficient but allowed for her to keep her ears open for any sign of someone following her. Marcellus had not shouted into the manor for no reason; someone else was here. It was precisely due to her efforts of listening through the silence that allowed for her to hear the soft, almost inaudible thump behind her. Thea spun, her heart pounding, but saw nothing in the dimness extending down the hall. The sound had been a ways behind her, telling her that she did indeed have a head start, but it was close enough to warn her that her head start was getting much less helpful. She continued her escape, this time with all her senses perked. Not a few seconds later did the same sound come, louder this time, closer. Thea recognized it as a door being shut when it sounded a third time. He was closing off her escape routes if she happened to get around him.

The thought simultaneously sparked dread- this was going to be the encounter she feared- and, irrationally, pride. She had only just been considering using the vaulted ceilings to her advantage- the tallest rafters were still supported by beams and she had long since figured out how to reach them- and it gave her a strange sense of satisfaction to know that Cicero knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use every piece of her surroundings to her advantage. Thea’s initiative shifted; this was no longer a chase, it was a game. A deadly, unfair, revolting game that Thea suspected would either end with her and Rosie in the stables or with her own blood spilled. How vastly had the two families changed over a few short years.

Thea tilted her head up to peer at the darkened rafters above her, dusty with disuse and lack of exploration. She had been seventeen the last time she used the rafters to sneak around her parents, some five years ago, but how much had really changed? She was still small and nimble, her legs and arms still strong enough to get her high enough. Even in a nightgown. Thea was bunching it in her hands, about to launch herself at the wall under the lowest beam, when she heard a whine. Her first thought was, Rosie, but it was too shrill, too animalistic to be a young girl, and her thoughts flew to Clover. Thea turned. And faltered.

Clover was barely visible through the stifling darkness, seated on the rug running down the middle of the hall some fifteen feet away. Her small, hunched form was facing away from Thea with her tail was tucked tightly against her body, ears flat. She was obviously frightened but refused to turn even when Thea called out to her as loud as she dared.

Thea’s skin prickled at the darkness in front of her and knew her head start had run out. Any sensible individual would abandon the animal and flee- there was still time to make it to the stables- but Thea felt a personal duty to find out who was scaring her puppy this badly and kick out their kneecaps. A tiny voice in her head rudely reminded her that she already knew who it was. Marcellus had shouted loud enough to bring the ceiling down, after all.

Thea set her shoulders and took a step towards Clover when a form rounded the corner and took shape in the shadows. Thea froze. Dammit, Clover, come here! But the dog just whined again and lashed her small tail once. Thea watched with muted dread as Cicero’s shadow stopped in front of Clover and slowly tilted his head down to look at the animal no bigger than his boot. Clover was standing now, sniffing his toe. Traitor, Thea thought. What could you possible be smelling? Deceit?

Even with only Cicero’s half-silhouette, Thea could tell he had changed. He was broader now, stronger than the nineteen year old whom she had last seen him as. She could see his broadsword strapped to his back- Ramsariian, he had named it- and his Magi strapped to his thighs, forged by his own hands. He had come ready for a fight.

In a smooth movement, Cicero bent down and plucked Clover off the floor by the scruff of her neck and straightened back up. Clover wiggled, her paws kicking, but didn’t resist. Cicero cocked his head to the side, observing the animal.

“Charming.”

It was the first thing Thea had heard him say in years and the sound of it almost knocked her flat. The familiarity of the faint accent pulling on the ends of his words, wrapping around dry, humorless snark that had oftentimes made Thea want to smack her forehead against his.

“Put her down.” Thea’s words surprised her when they didn’t shake. Cicero’s eyes snapped to her and stuck, his bronze gaze holding her in place. Thea stared back. Cicero finally bent down to place Clover on the floor, easing back up into his full height. When Clover didn’t move, he used the side of hit boot to nudge her away. Thea watched her puppy slide away and slink off into the darkness of the hall. She opened her mouth to pummel Cicero with the multitude of questions she had for him, but he was moving towards her before she could begin. Thea stumbled back from him, her questions melting away in favor of a slew of mental curses. When Cicero reached the shallow pool of light emanating from the torch on the wall, he stopped, and Thea truly saw him for the first time in years.

He was both the same and a stranger. A friend and an opponent. Same hard jaw and amber eyes that stood out against his nut-brown skin he got from his mother. Same reddish-brown hair that sparked burgundy in the torchlight. He had cut it since Thea had seen him last, and now it barely touched his shoulders. He was wearing half of it pulled back, a motion she had seen him do so many times she could practically paint it in her sleep.

But yet, different. He had forged new Magi in the time he was away and this set was a dull black metal with the shining of precious ore forged within. There was a day or two’s worth of facial hair shadowing his jaw and cheekbones, making him look older than his twenty four years. The fingers of his right hand were toying with the head of a small axe hanging on his belt as he watched Thea watch him.

Her muscles were growing sore with how tensely she was holding herself when Cicero rumbled, “Cute dress.”

Thea’s fingers twisted in her nightgown. “Yes.” Stiffly. “How kind of you to barge into my home in the dead of night and drag me from my bed.”

“You rose from your bed on your own, dior. But you have a point, I suppose. I would have come to get you.”

Thea bit down. “What the hell do you want, Cicero?”

“Think. You’ll figure it out.”

Thea already had a few ideas in her head and she wasn’t thrilled with any of them.

“This is about your uprising,” she hazarded. “Whatever the hell that has to do with me, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. You come in here, you kill my men-”

“Your men are alive. In fact, they were getting along just fine with my men when I left them.”

“They...what?” Thea tried to imagine Lucius and Quinn on speaking terms with Marcellus and Felix, and failed. Cicero’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“As you were saying,” he prompted.

Thea swallowed down her beating heart. “I want you to leave. Now. I don’t care why you came. As far as I’m concerned, your father has gone mad and has declared himself a traitor practically for all the Isles to hear. Leave. Leave, and tell your traitor sister that if she harms my family in the capitol I will have no scruples hunting her down.”

Cicero feigned a wince and clicked his tongue. “Now, now. No need to say things we don’t mean- and don’t tell me you would be able to kill Iona because you wouldn’t.”

Thea, who’s mouth had opened in protest, fell silent.

“But there’s no reason to worry,” Cicero went on, “She won’t harm your parents. Your father will die by my blade one day and your mother can do as she pleases, it matters not to me.”

“Do you expect me to stand here and listen to you threaten my father? As if all these years isn’t enough! Get the hell out of my house, Tithonius!”

Slowly, deliberately, he drawled, “No.”

Thea let a breath out. “What,” she gritted, “do you want?”

By way of response, Cicero started forward. Thea stumbled back as she fought to get away from him, but his legs were longer than hers and he was able to seize her arm and pull her after him as he opened a door off the hallway and pushed her into it. Thea caught sight of the small key he slid into a pocket once the door was sealed.

“How did you get that?” She demanded, slightly breathless from being thrown into the room. Cicero was silent as he lit the nearest torch with a piece of flint he hit against the steel brace, lighting the room with dull light. They were in a library, one of the smaller ones.

Once the room was half lit, Cicero leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest in a lazy, almost bored manner. Thea suddenly felt exposed in her thin nightdress.

“Tell me why you’re here since you seem intent on staying. Or I suppose we could just bicker until dawn.”

“Seeing as I’m the only thing in between you and your way out, I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”

“I’m not joining your traitorous regime. As long as you have a grudge against my father, I won’t listen to a word you have to say. Send Iona, and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Her words were harsh but she couldn’t help the petty banter that Cicero seemed to invoke. Cicero’s lip curled, the first sign of his shortening temper.

“You will listen if I have to keep you here all night. Don’t push me, Theadora. We can talk about your father and I for as long as you want but you will not leave this room until you’ve heard what I have to say.”

“What makes you think I want to hear what you have to say?”

“What makes you think you don’t?” A tilt of his chin, a raise of his brow.

“Shall I go alphabetically or chronologically? Let’s start with you wanting to murder my father and move to how you’ve killed my guards!”

“Your guards,” Cicero forced out, “are not dead. Do not question the integrity of my word. The sooner you shut your mouth, the sooner you can go see them.”

“And Rosie. Where is she?”

Cicero blinked. “The dog?” He asked slowly.

“What? No, she isn’t the dog! Rosie’s my maid! If she’s hurt-”

“If she’s hurt, its because she tried to wrestle Marcellus and that makes it her fault, not mine. Your maid is a pretty thing, I saw her fleeing down one of the hallways. I can’t imagine Marcellus will damage her in any permanent manner.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Thea snapped, upset. “She’s worth a score of your men and if she has a single scratch on her when I find her, there will be hell to pay-”

Cicero had crossed the room in two swift motions and had a hand covering Thea’s mouth, cutting her off before she could spit the rest of her curses at him. She let out a muffled sound of protest and tried to wrench his hand away but his fingers only tightened. When Thea dug her nails into the skin of his wrist, he only frowned and extended his thumb to pinch down on her nose, cutting off her air supply. She froze. Cicero’s smile was sharp.

“I’ll let go if you promise to be quiet. You annoy me.”

Thea, knowing how to swim very well and being used to holding her breath for long amounts of time, was not yet worried. She rose a delicate hand and showed Cicero her middle finger. His expression didn’t change.

“Very ladylike. Don’t think I won’t black you out.”

Thea made sure Cicero felt every bit of her scathing glare before she nodded once underneath his hand.

He let her go, stepping back against the door where he crossed his arms again. Thea settled herself on top of a nearby desk, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands. After a short period in which Cicero just observed her, Thea made a dramatic showing of indicating to herself as if to show him how quiet she was being, just like promised.

Cicero smiled slowly. “Yes, I see. Half of me didn’t think you could do it.”

“You piece of-”

“Hush.” His tone was sharp and Thea involuntarily fell silent. Cicero continued. “I haven’t come here to hurt you, Thea. Nor have my men. In fact, we’d much prefer you and your guards alive. You know by now that my father leads the rebellion against the crown, a rebellion that has grown to involve almost half the noble families fighting against the King.”

“Half?” Thea was stunned. “Surely not-”

“The only families that stand with the crown are House Gallio and House Dexion. And, of course, yours.”

Thea couldn’t form words. All those families, serving the crown for as long as history stretched back, turning on the very bloodline they swore fealty to. When she looked up at Cicero, her horror was evident.

“Why?” She whispered. “Why, Cicero? Can’t you see what this is? It’s treason set to turn our city into a river of blood with innocent lives lost in the wake. What could have possibly happened for your father to rally Houses to his side? What insult was so unforgivable?”

“It was no insult.” Cicero’s voice was low, serious. For the first time that night, Thea realized she wanted to know what he did.

“Tell me.”

Cicero huffed out a humorless laugh. “You just fought tooth and nail for me to fuck off and now you want to hear what I have to say?”

“Don’t you want to tell me? Isn’t that what this whole...intrusion is about?”

“No, actually. It isn’t.” Cicero settled against the door, looking very much like a dog setting his heels into the dirt before a fight. “You’re coming with me.”

Thea reeled backwards, uncrossing her ankles. “I’m sorry, this is a kidnapping? Do my guards know that? Or did you actually kill them because you couldn’t be bothered to get through them?”

“The next time,” Cicero threatened, “you want to accuse me of lying, I will drag one of your useless guards into your ballroom and hang him from the ceiling. Then you will have killed him.”

Thea’s mouth dropped open. “You’re despicable,” she whispered.

“Hmm. Yes. But you’ll come with me all the same.”

“And why is that?”

“Because of the one thing that won’t ever change about you, Thea. You had it as a child and you will have it as an old woman. That nagging curiosity, that need to know what you know you don’t already.”

“Or,” Thea snapped, “You could just tell me whatever it is you need from me and fuck off.”

“Or you could listen to what I’m saying and think, Thea. Four noble families just drew blades against the crown, risking their lives, their wealth, their children, and you think it's as simple as me telling you a single problem? You know as well as I how completely inadequate those sycophants at court can be.”

Sycophant. That was the word Thea had meant to call Marcellus. She would have to find him again.

��And even with this knowledge, you expect me to believe there isn’t a good reason for four noble families to openly defy the source of the King? The source of their luxury? I’ve lived with Duchess Quintilla’s preening for twenty-two years and in all that time I’ve never seen her wearing anything less than a king’s ransom in diamonds. Yesterday I watched her slice a man’s throat in the streets without hesitation. I didn’t even think she owned a weapon.”

Cicero’s smile was vaguely amused, as though he imagined the famously spoiled Duchess drag a blade across someone’s neck and found it entertainment.

“I never said there wasn’t a reason. Those were your own words, Theadora, not mine.”

“Then tell me. Tell me why- I deserve to know.”

His smile turned indolent. He really wasn’t going to tell her. On this, she would have to do as he wished and follow him out of the safety of her estate. But it wasn’t like he hasn’t just proved how unsafe the estate could become.

Thea heaved a sigh and, scarcely believing herself, said, “Alright. Fine. Say I come with you. What then?”

Cicero’s face gave nothing away. If he was relieved or happy about her showing concession, he didn’t show it. “Then you come. You listen. You hopefully pull your spoiled head away from daddy’s shit long enough to think for yourself, and you decide whether or not you want to be facing me on a battlefield in a few months.”

Thea felt nauseous. There were a million responses she wanted to give but when her mouth opened, all that came out was, “Why do you need me?”

Cicero’s smile hurt Thea’s heart. It was so familiar, yet so far away. She no longer knew it.

“You’ll find out,” he taunted.

“If you’re using me as bait-”

“For whom? Your father? I wouldn’t make the mistake of believing your father would act on your behalf, at least not directly. Oh, don’t make that face, you’re not a child. And you know I’m right.”

“You aren’t right! You’re a piece of shit!”

“So you’re saying I should use you as bait.”

Thea huffed indignantly and closed her eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go with you.”

Cicero, who had shifted to open the door, turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Tough. If your ass isn’t on my horse in three minutes, I’m coming after you. Roll the die, if you wish.” With a razor smile, he opened the door and vanished.

Thea stayed rooted to the floor, watching the empty doorway where Cicero had vanished. Her heart was pounding in her throat and her palms were clammy. She hoped that standing still would calm her roaring thoughts but she was proven wrong. After a stretch of silence, Thea shook herself and slipped out of the library to hunt for Clover.

#the tipping point #thea #cicero #personal #flora

5 notes · View notes

ilovemybirdy · 5 years

Text

When Heartbeats Collide Chapter 1

Kairi, a budding pop star is out of luck when her music producer suddenly has to take a leave of absence. But an up and coming producer by the name of Sora could be just what she needs to finish her album (and spice up her life).

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

Chapter 1: A New Partnership

“Click, tap tap, click.” the sounds of my laptop echoed in the small studio room. Often times, I liked to coop up in here whenever inspiration struck; and last night I had been fortunate enough to strike a gold mine of it. I had been re-watching sleeping beauty for the millionth time and upon this particular re-watch the movie had made me think about the implications of love at first sight. Or I guess, in her case love at first sleep. I thought that it might be an interesting metaphor to talk about love from a dream like state of mind or perspective. I wanted to emulate an airy sound and make the listener feel like they were up in the clouds listening to angels.

I had finished the first verse, the chorus, and had settled on doing the song in Bflat minor. As I hummed potential melodies to myself, a sudden knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in!” I called. The door clicked open and my assistant Selphie entered.

“Hey Kairi! How’s the song writing going today?” she asked. She gently smiled at me and walked over.

“Well… I’m having trouble thinking of a bridge and a second verse, but other than that I’m making good progress.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” she exclaimed. “I know you’ve been having writer’s block lately, so it’s great you finally un-stuck yourself. Unfortunately, you’ll have to finish working on this later; your meeting starts in 10.” She checked her watch and gave me an apologetic look. I glanced at the time on my phone: 11:50PM. Right on the dot, as Selphie always was.

“Oh fun,” I groaned. “My favorite part of the month.”

“That’s why I brought you your favorite: iced caramel coffee with a shot of espresso and extra creamer!” I had been so absorbed in my work that I hadn’t yet noticed the coffee in her hand. “I also got you one of those overpriced snack boxes at Papoubucks because I know you forget to eat when you go into these creative frenzies. Seriously! You’ve been in here for hours.” The time had really flown by; we had gotten here around 8 and it was already noon now.

“Thanks Selph. I swear, I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.”

“Probably starve to death and go into cardiac arrest from caffeine withdrawal.”

We erupted into a fit of giggles at the snide remark. As I took a much, much needed sip of coffee (my insomnia had been particularly bad lately) Selphie helped me pack up my belongings. On the walk to the conference room I began explaining my new song to her.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” she asked.

“Some contenders I have are dreamy, cloud, and maybe rem? You know, the stage of sleep you have dreams in. Or at least that’s what web MD said.”

“I never like looking up medical problems on there, it just always tells me that I have cancer and that I’m going to die or that I’m pregnant,” she chortled. “Out of those names though I think I like rem the best.”

“Selphie, you’re supposed to take the advice from websites like that with a grain of salt.” I giggled, before continuing. “But yeah, I think I’ll go with rem; it has more meaning behind it than the other names.”

“Look sometimes I get curious and can’t resist looking my symptoms up! Anyway, it sounds like you’re making a really sweet love song! It’s a pretty interesting concept too. I’m sure I’ll love it when you’re done with it.”

Our conversation came to a halt as we arrived at the conference room. We took our seats in the black leather chairs, and unpacked our belongings as members of my team arrived. Selphie readied a pen and notebook to record important points from the meeting. Glancing up, I saw my manager Aqua make her entrance. We made eye contact and she smiled warmly at me; I grinned back. She always wore suits, but today she was sporting a slightly more casual outfit: a navy button up shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Her black heels clicked on the tiles and I noticed that she had her sleeves rolled up; probably due to the recent heatwaves. Destiny Islands was famous for having the highest temperatures out of all the worlds, especially during summer.

The rest of my team followed suit behind Aqua: Olette (the head of my PR team), Xion (head of my marketing team), and Marluxia (performance coordinator). Olette was donning a flowing orange sundress with wedge sandals, Xion was wearing a sleek grey suit, and Marluxia was sporting a pink polo shirt with jeans. Aqua briefly scanned the room to make sure all members of my team were accounted for before starting.

“Alright guys let’s get started. I know I want to take my lunch break just as much as you all,” Aqua said. The room filled with soft laughter at the cheeky comment.

“First things first, let’s check in with you Kairi. How much progress have you made on your album since our last update?”

“Well…” I fidgeted with my pen as I skimmed over my notes. “I have about 5 songs that I finished writing lyrics for. I’m in the process of finish a 6thsong right now. How much time do I have left before the album has to be finalized?”

Aqua paused for a moment and glanced at her laptop.

“I met with Mickey, the head of the department and he said he’d like to have it finalized by September so… that gives you about 4 more months. He also said you needed to have at least 10 songs on the album, if not more.”

“That’s cutting a little bit short but as long as I have Pence to help me finish writing it should be okay. Is he going to be back soon?”

“Well… about that. Pence’s younger brother finally found a kidney donor.”

“Really?! That’s great!” I smiled and clasped my hands. They had been waiting for 6 months at this point. I sighed in relief, things would finally be okay for Pence’s family again.

“I know!” Aqua beamed back at me. “However, because of that he’s decided to take a leave of absence to help out his family back in Twilight Town. Which unfortunately means we have no music producer for you for a while. However, no need to fear manager Aqua is here! I’ve already recruited some local producers to replace Pence in the meantime. If you don’t click with any, I can always look for more candidates, but it would be easier if you chose one of them for convivence’s sake. I’ll email you their resumes and sample songs for you to look over later. I even took the liberty to schedule interviews with them for this evening so we can get the ball rolling ASAP.”

My anxiety began to flare up at the prospect of interviewing strangers. Writing music was such an emotional and personal process for me; not to mention with someone completely new. Pence had helped me write some of my greatest radio hits and I trusted him so much. It was going to be difficult having to go without him this time.

“Thanks, Aqua, I’ll look over them during lunch. When are the interviews?” I responded, trying to mask the shakiness in my voice. I hid my hands under the table as they shook.

“I have 3 candidates; interviews start at 3PM with 30 minute time blocks for each candidate. Don’t worry, you’ll get out of here no later than 5 today. And with that out of the way, let’s move on to the next topic!”

Chatter broke out into the room and I began munching on my snack. Olette and Selphie discussed some modeling opportunity for ‘Destiny’ magazine, but I was barely paying attention. I breathed slowly, trying to calm down from the anxiety eating away at me until Olette interjected.

“Hey Kairi, have you heard of the Radiant Garden Met Gala? Yuffie is one of the fashion designers for this year; I met her at a networking conference last week. Apparently, she’s a big fan of yours and asked if she could have the honor of designing for you!” She pushed a stray hair behind her ear as she beamed at me excitedly.

The Met Gala was one of the biggest annual fashion events throughout all the worlds. While I never really cared for the press at big events, getting dressed up and admiring all of the designer’s hard work was my favorite thing about red carpet events.

“I’d love to attend, Selphie do I have room in my schedule for it?”

“Mmmmm…” she paused as she flipped through her planner, “Yeah! It is cutting it a bit close to your performance for the Island’s summer fest but definitely doable. Olette, can you give me Yuffie’s email so that I can coordinate the consultation and fitting?”

Olette nodded and began typing away at her laptop. Xion then stepped up to show some new merch designs for the team to look over on the projector. Aqua and I approved some, and requested alterations on others for her team to work on. Marluxia and Selphie then discussed some future performance dates. By the time the meeting was finished, my coffee and snack box were no more. Everyone fled out of the room saying their goodbyes quickly, excited for lunch.

“Hey Kairi, what are you in the mood for? Why don’t you go prepare for those interviews while I go pick up lunch?” Selphie asked.

“How about comfort food? Maybe some pad thai from that Asian place on Shinjitsu street?” I desperately needed something to calm my nerves with how on edge I felt.

“Oh, I love their orange chicken! I’ll head out now, be back in a flash! I wanna take a look at those resumes too when I get back. A new producer, how exciting!” she squealed. Grabbing her purse, she dashed out the door. I quickly packed up and headed back to my studio room. Once there, I made myself comfortable at the desk and pulled up my email.

Hey sweetheart!

Here are the 3 candidates I’ve picked out for you: Hayner, Seifer , and Sora. The first two have worked with some of my other artists I manage, and Sora was a recommendation from Xion herself. Apparently, they went to college together and he works with some of her other merchandise clients. As a reminder, interviews start at 3PM! I’ve told them to just meet you in your studio. Good luck and remember to check in with me tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Aqua

Artist Manager at Destiny Island Records

Deciding it was best to just go in order, I clicked on the first file titled ‘hayner.docx’. Previous artists he’d worked with included big names like Yuna and Paine. Yuna was well known for fast paced hip hop EDM songs and Paine did a lot of alternative rock. At least he was multifaceted, but neither genre was exactly my cup of tea. I clicked on the links to the sample songs listed but was only slightly impressed.

Then, I pulled up Seifer’s resume. Apparently, he’d been behind some of the top hits lately; many that I knew and enjoyed. I didn’t even need to take a listen to the samples; I knew the songs already. However, his style didn’t fit the vibe I was trying to go for on this album. It was way too… club music-y and sexual. Before I even got a chance to look at the last candidate, Selphie waltzed in.

“Kairi! I’m back!” the plastic bags crinkled loudly as she set them down on the table. She handed me my food and started to dig into hers before barraging me with questions.

“So, have you looked at the resumes yet? What do you think so far?”

“I’ve only looked at two. I’m not particularly interested in Hayner and Seifer is a maybe. I haven’t had a chance to look at this ‘Sora’ guy yet though.” I turned my laptop to her.

“Wow the first two guys seem pretty accomplished! What’s wrong with the Hayner guy?”

“His style doesn’t really fit with my vision for this album. I’m also not a punk or rock singer.”

“Oh, I guess that’s true. Why is Seifer a maybe?”

“I feel like he has a good track record for making hit singles, but that’s the only reason I’m considering him.”

“You don’t need a producer to make hits! You have some of the best, no, thebest vocals I’ve ever heard. Don’t go with him just because you think he’s the technically correct choice. Why don’t we take a look at the last guy tog-e-herfmmf?”

“After I finish my lunch. And Selphie, I love you but please don’t talk with your mouth full of food.”

“Hey!” she pouted, and her face made me burst into a fit of giggles.

Selphie scarfed down her lunch in 2 minutes while I ate my pad thai at a reasonable pace. She may have looked tiny and ladylike on the outside, but the girl was a monster when it came to food. There was a reason she didn’t do dinner dates on the first date; I’ve never met anyone with a more bottomless stomach than her.

“Kairiiiii, I’m trying to be patient but you’re taking so long to eat! Can I just start looking at the Sora guy now?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not my fault you eat at the speed of light. Are you sure you’re human?”

She smacked my shoulder lightly and pouted.

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah go ahead. Once Selphie had finished skimming the written portion, she played one of the sample songs. The song was soft and gentle, and a beautiful tenor voice sang over it.

Don’t get me wrong I love you

But does that mean I have to meet, your father

When we are older, you’ll understand what I meant when I said no

I don’t think, life is quite that simple

I was hooked. It was exactly the tone I was looking for with the added bonus of meaningful lyrics. Selphie noticed my eyes widen and sniggered.

“There’s more sample songs listed, I’m assuming you want to hear the rest?” “Yes please.” I immediately answered. She giggled once more at my eagerness.

A sanctuary, my sanctuary, yeah

Where fears and lies melt away

Music in time

I need more affection than you know

What’s left of me, what’s left of me

The first song had been a bit more upbeat but this one sounded heavenly and dreamy… which is exactly what I had wanted for the song I was working on this morning. I quickly scarfed down the rest of my food before beckoning Selphie to give the laptop back.

“Quite the eager beaver we have here huh?”

“Shut up. I just happen to like these samples okay?”

I wiped my hands off on a napkin before scrolling back to the top of the resume. He had only worked with lesser known artists, and only had two years in the industry under his belt. Experience or not, it was obvious the guy was gifted. I absolutely needed to meet this man.

#sokai #fanfiction #au #kairi #sora #kingdom hearts

8 notes · View notes

spideyxchelle · 5 years

Text

To See About a Girl

or Share the Damn Bed fic that everyone is surprised I never wrote before now

He was bundled under a mountain of blankets in his college dorm. It was an effective tactic to shut out the cold from the bitter December weather, and shut out other things, too.

After Christmas, Peter had retreated back to MIT to wallow in the quiet, empty campus. December 28th was the one day a year he didn’t like to do anything other than climb under blankets and pretend the outside world didn’t exist.

It had been five years since Ben Parker had died. The ache on the anniversary of his death was still as fresh as that first night he lost his Uncle. After all, it had been his fault. They had been fighting— his Uncle had accused him of keeping secrets— and Peter had snuck out the window. Scared for his nephew’s well-being, Ben Parker had wandered out into the dark, cold December night and never come home.

Peter had wondered, for years, if instead of sneaking out and causing his Uncle to follow him, if he had sat Ben down and told him the truth if he might still be alive. He knew his Uncle would have understood. He hoped his Uncle would have been proud.

Instead, he was buried six feet underground.

Peter tugged the blankets over his head. There he laid for several hours in blissful, uninterrupted silence until his day took an unexpected turn.

His spider-sense flared when the front door of his dorm room clicked open softly. He did not sense anything dangerous, so Peter remained the apathetic lump under his duvet.

His mattress dipped when the intruder sat on his bed. A warm hand shook his shoulder and he rolled in the opposite direction. Annoyed, the hand flicked him. “Ouch,” he grumbled, yanking his blankets down. His eyes found Michelle Jones sitting on the edge of his bed and she was glaring down at him. He flushed, caught pathetically burrowing into his bed only three days after Christmas, “Oh, uh, hey MJ.”

“What are you doing here, Parker?” she asked.

“Napping,” he said grandly, gesturing down to his unwashed pajamas and blankets.

She rolled her eyes and threw one of his blankets in his hamper, “Not in bed, dork. Here. MIT. Why aren’t you home? It’s the holidays.”

“I had some research to catch up on,” he lied.

“In bed,” she said flatly. “You had some research to do in bed.” Peter pulled the blankets that were left back over his head. Michelle sighed, “May is really worried. She woke up this morning and you were gone. Just like—“

“Stop,” Peter peaked out from under his blankets. “Please don’t.” He knew what his leaving looked like on December 27th. Leaving May that morning to head back to school was not unlike the day Ben died. He had snuck out then just like he had that morning. Peter was not trying to hurt May, but being in their little apartment with Ben’s clothes still in the closet was too much to handle. So, he fled.

Michelle brushed an unruly lock of hair out of his eyes, gently, and said, “You should be home with your Aunt. She needs you today.”

“Did she call you?”

She nodded, “She knew my family came up here to celebrate Christmas. She knew I was in town.” He silently mused that his Aunt knew about his big, fat crush on MJ and if anyone was going to be able to get him to go back down to the city it would be her. May Parker was an evil genius.

“Can’t I stay in bed?” Peter gripped his blankets.

His best friend tore away his sheets and snorted, “No. Get up.” Then, she threw a pillow at his face, “And shower. We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us and I don’t want to get caught up in this storm.”

He complained but pulled himself out of the safety of his bed. Michelle perched herself on his standard-issue desk and waited. Peter flushed, “Are you really going to sit there?”

“Can you promise me that you won’t run?” she countered.

Peter sighed and grabbed his towel and some clean clothes. He groused, “Just once. You think I would win an argument with you just once.”

Michelle was looking through the hefty pile of books scattered on his desk distractedly, “You would think.”

The steady pressure of the water against his back lulled Peter into the strangest sense of timelessness. He could have stood under the warmth of the water for hours, washing away any distressing thought of his Uncle. He wanted to spend the next fifteen days in the shower, naked and alone. It was a far cry better than going home to his Aunt and being faced with the responsibilities that burdened him there.

He could have been in the shower for fifteen minutes or forty days, but the spell was broken when Michelle yanked open the shower curtain. He yelped and scrambled for anything to cover himself. “Jesus, Michelle,” he crossed his hands over his exposed parts. “What are you doing?”

“Please,” she reached into the shower and turned the faucet off. “You’ve been in here for forty-five minutes. You are not going to outlast me by retreating into the shower.”

“I’m naked,” his voice broke.

“I’m not looking,” she said and she finally looked self-conscious. He could not dampen the small voice in the back of his head wished she had been. “And even if I were,” she breathed, trying to regain her composure, “your dick is not God’s gift, Parker.” She shoved a towel in his arms, “Dry off. Change. We have to get on the road.”

The five hour journey from MIT to Queens was long enough without the snow slowing down the roads. Michelle’s shitty car seemed to whine with each mile further they got to New York. He tried to bring it up, but she turned the music up to drown him out. She did not allow anyone to speak ill of Suz, her gender-neutral sedan. In high school, when she had won some poetry contest, she used the money to buy her car and it had been the apple of her eye ever since.

Michelle didn’t have any pets—she often said she didn’t have the constitution—but her car Suz was as close to a furry companion as anything.

Beyond the music and the whining of Suz, the car was icy silent. Two hours into their journey, Peter found the courage to ask, “How pissed are you at me? Scale of one to ten?”

Michelle dryly laughed, and it was not a kind sound. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “You left your Aunt three days after Christmas on the anniversary of her husband’s death. How mad do you think?”

Peter ducked his head in shame. Michelle always had a way to cut straight to the heart of any matter. She did not mince her words. They were her greatest weapon. She wielded them with endless grace, but stunning truth. She was not the kind of woman that let him off easy. He had the rest of the Avengers to make excuses for him and, often, Tony did just that.

Peter played with his shoelaces. Michelle glanced at him. Peter did not look back. She huffed and looked back at the road.

“I hate today,” he finally said.

“So does May,” Michelle replied.

“I know,” Peter nodded. “I just—I killed him MJ.” And when he said it, when it said the thing he had thought for years, out loud something inside him broke. Tears welled in his eyes and he couldn’t keep the thick emotion from his voice when he repeated, “I killed him, Em.”

He felt her peel off to the side of the road as he cried. Now that the nasty, evil thought was out in the open, he could not banish it to the depths of his mind. He wished he was back in his bed at school, cut off from the rest of the world to hide from his demons. How was he supposed to look at May today when he was the reason her husband was dead? He was the reason her closet was filled with clothes that had been untouched for five years. He was the reason there was an empty spot in her bed. He was the reason she was alone.

“Peter,” Michelle said softly, cupping the back of his head with her hand. She rested her forehead against the side of his head. “Peter, it isn’t your fault.”

He shook with tears, “It is.”

She shook her head, “No, it isn’t.”

“He came looking for me,” Peter said. He knew that his Uncle had only gone out that night because Peter had snuck out. He never would have run into that robber fleeing Delmar’s if not for Peter.

“You didn’t kill him,” she said more fiercely. He felt her sweetly kiss his head and he hid his face in his hands, descending into a deeper fit of tears. “You didn’t kill him, Peter,” she said, again. She said it over and over again until his tears turned from a river to a stream to the light rain as the clouds clear after a storm.

He let her hold him. He let her whisper encouraging words into his hair. He let her see him cry and when the torrent had subsided, he let her hold him a little longer. Michelle’s arms were better than the camouflage of his blankets.

The sky was dark and the snow was still pounding down when the haze of his crying lifted. His head ached from the intensity of his tears. He sniffled, “Shit. I’m sorry.”

She ran her hand up and down his back, “Don’t apologize.”

“I should have been home with my Aunt.”

Michelle nodded, “You should have, but don’t apologize for feeling, Peter. You’re allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to feel that. All of it.”

He turned his face and his breath caught. She was so close. He could have leaned in another inch and they would have been kissing, close. Their proximity did not seem lost on her either. She moved away from him and looked at the directions on her phone, “We, uh, should get going.”

Peter peaked outside, “The snow is coming down really heavy, Michelle. And we’re still, like, three hours from Queens. We can’t be driving in the dark.”

Michelle sighed, “What do you suggest, then?”

“We gotta find a hotel.”

The nearest hotel was a twenty minute drive from the roadside where Peter had fallen apart. The last twenty minutes of their drive was thick with awkwardness and Peter did not know how to break the tension. He did not know what to say to someone who he had openly wept on. She did not seem to know, either, which was a comfort.

When they parked, Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder and curiously looked at Michelle, “You didn’t pack anything?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, “Uh. I didn’t think we’d need to stop somewhere for the night.”

“Oh,” Peter felt his cheeks turn bright red, “You can sleep in your—”

She raised her eyebrow, “I’m not sleeping in my clothes. I have to drive in them tomorrow. That’s gross.” They walked into the lobby of the little hotel. She continued, “I’ll just buy something here, if they have it.”

The jolly woman at the front desk took in the sight of the both of them and immediately cooed, “You poor dears. You must be freezing!”

Michelle reached into her bag for her wallet, “We called about your extra room about twenty minutes ago? I’m Michelle Jones.”

“Yes,” the lady began to plug away at her keyboard. The harsh winter did not seem to frost her sunny mood. Peter smiled. “Miss Michelle Jones. I have your reservation right here. One Queen sized bed in a non-smoking room.”

Peter stopped smiling. “Uh.”

Michelle gulped, “No, uh, you see, we’re not…it’s not. We need two beds, please.”

The sweet old lady blinked, “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. We only have the one room. Everyone is bundled up for the storm.”

Peter’s head swam. He did not think it had anything to do from the crying he had done. The fuzzy feeling taking over his thoughts was the idea of Michelle Jones in his bed. All night long. Sleeping next to him.

The thought alone was enough to level him. The reality was going to be so much worse.

Michelle brushed some hair out of her eyes and tightly smiled, “That’s fine. Right, Peter?”

Peter could not speak. His voice ceased to work. All he could manage was a squeak and a nod.

The room was so much smaller than Peter was expecting. He stared down at the bed, the one bed that he was meant to share with Michelle, and exhaled. He could totally sleep in the same bed as Michelle. They were best friends. They had known each other for years. The bed was just a bed. If he could beat Thanos, he could conquer one night in a bed with Michelle.

He glanced at the bathroom door. She had retreated into the bathroom as soon as they checked-in. She had bought some kind of pajamas for bed from the lobby and had no come out since.

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands together. Then, he stood up. And sat back down. And stood up. He paced, too. Nothing about the room felt natural. Even standing felt unhuman.

The bathroom door clicked open and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Michelle Jones was wearing a light blue silk camisole and matching shorts. He hesitated to even call the scratch of fabric shorts, but he did not allow himself to look at her long enough to inspect them further.

Peter turned around, “Oh, uh. Sorry.”

Michelle padded across the room and crawled into the bed that was more pillows than bed. When she was safely under the blankets, she rolled her eyes, “Its just pajamas.”

His voice jumped in an unmanly manner, “Those are not pajamas.” She snapped, “It was all they had, okay?”

“Are those for kids or something?” Peter finally looked over at her.

Her eyes flashed with something that Peter could not discern. “Oh,” she whispered, “I thought I looked nice.”

He was utterly dumbfounded. The rational part of brain implored him to say something. The spooked, slightly aroused dictator of his thoughts rendered him silent.

Without another word, he crossed the room to his battered backpack. It had seen too many years of combat. He peaked at what he had packed in the haze of his sadness and found three different pairs of jeans and four scratchy flannels. “Aw shit,” he mumbled. Michelle sat up, “What?”

“Just,” he rubbed his face, “I didn’t pack anything to sleep in.”

She snuggled back into the duvet and three away two gratuitous pillows, “Just sleep in your boxers.”

“But—”

She raised her eyebrow, “We’re both adults. It’s fine, Peter.”

It did not feel fine, but he did not know how he could explain his hesitation with sleeping in his boxers. The truth, that he liked her, was not a viable answer. Before he lost his nerve, he shucked off his shirt and jeans, which felt like the wrong thing to do a moment too late.

Michelle was sitting in their bed with almost comically wide eyes. He blinked at her. “Oh, uh. Sorry?”

She cleared her throat and shook her head one too many times to be normal, “Its cool.”

“Cool,” he repeated, dumbly.

There was a long beat of silence, too long, before Michelle said, “Get in bed, Peter.”

He jumped, “Right. Duh. Of course.” He timidly slid into the bed. He could have measured the distance between them. She was close enough that he could feel her heat radiating, but they were not close enough to even brush fingertips. He was as far away from her as humanly possible. It was self preservation.

The pair of them laid in the bed staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, until Michelle said, “Well, goodnight.” She turned on her side and turned the light off.

In the last wisps of light, he replied, “Goodnight.”

Peter woke in the middle of the night with something tickling his nose and something warm folded in his arms. His nose tried to wiggle away from the tickle, but his arms remained snuggled around the thing in his arms, with panic he realized, or a person.

He did not dare move or breathe or anything when he grasped the thing in his arms was indeed a person, or more specifically, Michelle. Peter decided to try and unwind his arms from around her, but before he could move he heard the softest bell of a voice speak into the darkness, “I like you so much, Peter.” The words were quiet enough that he knew they did not belong to him. They were meant to be kept in the quiet parts of the soul that people kept for themselves, not telegraphed to the world at large.

Yet, his heart leapt. She liked him.

Holy shit. She liked him.

Peter did not mean to, but his excitement boiled over and he pulled her closer against his chest. She froze in his arms, and he went eerily still.

“I—” she stuttered.

He found some kernel of courage and whispered in her hair, “Shh.”

Neither of them spoke. Neither dared shatter the crystal palace of silence that enveloped them both between the warm sheets of their shared bed. Peter’s adventurous yet cautious hands traveled down her side and dropped with the curve of her waist. The heat of her skin was trapped by the soft silk of her nightshirt. He heard her breath catch when his hand flattened out on her pelvic bone and his own heart raced.

“You should be sleeping,” she tried to joke, but the humor was wrapped in a pitiful gasp that went straight to Peter’s dick. He felt himself rally to attention and, with his hand on her stomach, yanked her backside against his stiffness. She mewled.

He shook his head, “I can’t sleep. Not now.” Peter buried his nose in her curls, “Maybe not ever.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” she lightly protested. Her ass fit snuggly against his hardness and he nearly bit his lip hard enough to draw blood when she breathlessly moved her hips. He understood the insatiable itch she was tying to scratch. The last year had been filled with dizzying daydreams of her in variations of this exact position. He had palmed himself raw imagining the sounds she might make and the way she might look as he made her cum again and again.

But those had been just daydreams.

The real, solid Michelle was not as wild as he had guiltily dreamt. She had whispered her secret, her feelings, to a silent room in the hopes that he would never hear her, that he might never know. It was all together softer and more gentle than any twenty year old boy had the faculties to imagine. And yet, he would not trade this Michelle for any number of imaginary MJs.

Peter guided his hand up the length of her torso, abandoning the soft silk bunched above her pelvis. Her shoulders rolled back into his solid chest as if she was trying to meld their heated bodies together and he pushed himself against her backside in an uneven rut.

“Peter,” she gulped. He cupped her breast through the tantalizing fabric. She gasped. His helpless hips shuttered against her body.

“I’ve wanted this for over a year,” he managed to say in a positively wrecked timbre. “You have no idea,” he swallowed thickly, “no idea what you do to me.”

She burrowed back against his dick, “I have some idea.” He squeezed the mound of flesh in his hand and her head fell back against his shoulder, leaving her long neck exposed. Peter eagerly kissed the skin bathed in moonlight. The most he could see of her from behind was shadows, but he could envision how she looked. Radiant. Gorgeous. Ethereal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she mumbled as her hips began to roll back against his own, setting a clunky and heady rhythm. The flimsy bed clothes they had found in the lobby felt more like water, at any moment capable of gliding away, than clothes. Michelle reached for his hand that was covering her breast and brushed it aside.

She shimmied the silk aside and left her breast bare for him, and when she grabbed his hand and guided it back to the now free flesh, Peter could have fainted. Her nipple pebbled in his grasp.

Michelle crossed her legs to alleviate some of the pressure building between and Peter shook his head into the curve of her neck, “Don’t do that.” The free arm that was trapped under her head itched to slip down between her legs and touch her. He wanted to be the pressure between her legs. He wanted to fill her up and kiss her mouth as she came apart.

Michelle snorted, “You’ve got one hand.” Peter grumbled and reluctantly unwound himself from around Michelle. She sounded equally displeased. “What’re you—?”

He rolled her onto her back and Peter looked down at her. The limited light from the night sky did not show the depths of her features, but he knew her face with his eyes closed. Michelle blinked up at him and he looked back. His eyes flirted down to the exposed breast he had been palming moments before and he eyes darkened. MJ, flushed with a rare spout of embarrassment, tried to cover herself, but Peter linked their fingers and moved her hand away. He shook his head, “You’re beautiful.”

He released her hand and returned to her half-covered chest. Peter pulled the silk down and stared at her naked breasts. In the limited light, he swore he spotted some freckles. In need of a closer look, Peter ducked his head down to kiss each breast. He hummed, “You do have freckles.”

Michelle panted, “You never answered—oh—my question.”

“I’m kissing your tits,” he said somewhat impatiently, as his mouth laved the skin over and over again. He cupped each breast in each of his hands and peppered kisses everywhere he could imagine.

She wound her hands in his dark hair, “No. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He nuzzled his face between her breasts and breathed deeply, “I didn’t know you felt the same.” It did not seem in the realm of possibilities that she could ever like him. Michelle Jones was the smartest, fiercest, and most beautiful girl he had ever known. He was just Peter. He counted himself lucky to be considered her friend, but anything else had felt so distant and stupid.

Now, he was buried between her tits and reveling in the knowledge that she liked him, too. If he woke up from a dream now, he would be devastated.

“Why would you?” He continued. “Who am I next to you? You deserve, Jesus, you deserve the smartest, most handsome, kindest...tallest man in the world.”

Michelle shook her head and touched his face. He lifted his head from her chest and looked up into her eyes. She was heart-arrestingly earnest when she said, “I don’t need the smartest, most handsome, kindest...or tallest man in the world.” Michelle urged him up so his face was hovering just above her own. Her fingertips brushed down the side of his face, “I just need you.”

Peter teasingly smirked down at her, “Are you saying I’m not the smartest, most handsome, kindest AND tallest man you’ve ever known?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shrugged, “Eh, definitely not the tallest.”

Laughter crackled out of him, “I’m hurt.”

“You’ll live,” she mumbled, and drew his face down into a searing kiss. Their first kiss.

It startled him. He had imagined a lot of firsts with MJ, but somehow he had forgotten their first kiss. He supposed it was for the better. He had no expectations or hangups about how it should be.

And it was perfect.

Of course it was. She was Michelle Jones. With her, everything always was.

The tentative swipe of her tongue startled him, but not more than the downright feral growl that rumbled out of his chest. He cupped the back of her hand and fisted his hands in her curls. The push and pull of their mouths was sweeter than any kiss he had ever shared. She eclipsed every past kiss. She wiped the roster clean of every name until the only one he knew with perfect clarity was Michelle Jones.

With a firm push, she knocked him on his back and climbed on top of his body, bracketing his legs between her thighs. Her form was illuminated by the stars pouring through the window. The shimmery silk captured the light and reflected it in a way that was utterly rapturous. He rested his hand on her waist and blinked up stupidly at her, “Fuck me.”

She slid her palms up his chest and the scratch of her nails was a pleasant bite. Michelle sinfully pushed his shirt up until it was bunched under his neck and smirked, “Say please.”

He blushed, “I didn’t mean—“

She shushed him with a kiss, “I know.”

“Not that I am not really, you know—“

Michelle laughed, bright and beautiful, “I know that, too. I can feel it, remember?” And then, as if to remind him, she ground down against his erection.

He grabbed the curve of her waist as if to stabilize himself. “If you’re trying to kill me, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

She leaned down over him and he felt their bare chests brush. His grip tightened. “Promise, I’m not.” When she kissed him again, her tongue swiped against his top lip. It was a display of debauchery. He was painfully aroused. He wanted to touch her. Really touch her.

As she kissed him like she wanted to break him, Peter teased his hand between their naked bodies and reached the silk shorts that were pretending to be pajama bottoms.

He played with the ineffective waistband and she gasped into his mouth. Emboldened, he ventured beneath the fabric and found her wet and wanting. The moisture gathered between her legs was indisputable proof that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He grinned.

And brushed his thumb against her clit. Her shoulders shivered and her mouth stalled in the endless quest to make him melt. He moved his finger again and her breath hitched, high and whiny.

“God, look at you,” he rumbled. “So perfect and wet.”

She almost hiccuped, “Don’t be so smug.”

“I’m not,” he kissed her brow. “It’s sexy. You’re sexy.” To prove it, he coated his finger in her slickness and dipped an eager finger inside of her. The noise she made when he entered her was unholy. It was between a cry and a groan.

She dug her nails into his chest and sat up on his pelvis. “Peter,” she sighed, and, like some heaven sent angel, she began to ride the finger he arched up into her. He added another impatient finger and her head fell forward. All of her curls were framing her face like a curtain.

He almost forgot about his own erection until she boldly ducked her hand under his boxers and grabbed his hardness. His rhythm, pumping in and out of her, faltered. A river of shivers fled down his back.

She cupped the base of his dick and flirted to the head. Her own tempo was not consistent. It was designed to draw out his pleasure.

“I can’t,” he roughed out, flipping Michelle on her back. She was forced to let his dick go and he was thankful for the reprieve. His own hand stayed burrowed inside of her. When they were settled, he looked down at her and the fan of curls that were blown out around her face.

She looked up at him and gently reached up to touch his chin. He nudged his chin against her hand. She smiled, “I can’t believe it. We could’ve been doing this forever ago.”

He laughed, “We’re idiots.”

“The worst,” she agreed. She dragged him down into another kiss. The heat between them shifted.

There was no more playful banter or exploratory hands. Michelle wiggled her silk shorts off underneath Peter and he shucked off his own boxers. The crumbled up silk shirt pooled around Michelle’s waist did not get removed. He couldn’t bring himself to unlatch himself from her body long enough to toss it away.

Without prompting, Michelle fluttered her legs open and tucked a sure leg around his backside. Peter held his body up on his elbows above her and breathed, “Are you sure?”

The beautiful girl beneath him nodded, “More than anything.”

He shifted so his one elbow was holding up his body weight and the other moved between them to guide himself inside of her. The initial resistance made them both gasp and then, as if they were made for each other, Peter pushed inside of her. Michelle choked on a gasp, and her back arched off the bed. His own arms shook. His body wanted to be flat against her as they moved together in a clutching, desperate rhythm. Yet, he did not give into his more primitive urges; instead, he captured her mouth in a kiss. She seemed to find her way back to the world, their bed, in the depths of his kiss.

The leg slung around his backside clutched him closer, indecently. He filled her up deeper and hopelessly. He was wrapped up in her and she in him. She was like the view that men climbed mountains for—one in a million and breathtaking.

If this was the last time, the only time he would be like this with her, it somehow felt like it would be enough and never enough at the same time. There was so much he wanted to say to her, and all those words felt immaterial on his lips as they moved together. Their touch said it all.

Michelle grabbed the back of his head, folded in his hair, and he allowed his forehead to fall into the sweet curve of her shoulder.

His hips ground into her body and he only left her long enough to miss her, before he plunged back in. There was something indecent about the sound their bodies made together, but those sounds were nothing compared to the soft keening that Michelle gasped every time he slid home.

She pulled his hair and his hips faltered. She yanked it again and he growled. She yanked it once last time and he pulled her hand from his hair and pinned it to the bed. He gruffly told her, “If you can’t play nice, you don’t get to play with my hair.” He angled his hips into her, reaching a new depth.

She cried out. “You like that I don’t—oh my god—play nice.” He smothered a kiss against her mouthy lips. Their kiss was furious and impolite, all tongue and teeth.

Peter folded. The hand holding her wrist down to the bed released her hand to grip into the bed as his hips fucked a giving, final pace. He could feel the lightening building in the base of his spine, all egged-on by Michelle’s ever-growing cries and groans. Each snap of his hips caused another exquisite sound. It sounded like it was ripped from her throat.

And when she began to chant his name, as if she was a stranger in her own body, Peter ran his teeth down her neck and fell over the edge into rapturous bliss.

He felt her tighten and flutter around his pulsing member, and he fell deeper into the blackhole of pleasure. The last self-aware thought he had was her name—

Michelle.

The next morning, as the sun crept into their hotel room, Peter ran his finger up and down her bare back. He was transfixed by the leagues of skin visible to him. He had touched that skin the night before and kissed it, too. He had made her cum and heard her laugh as he nuzzled dizzy kisses into her neck in post-coital bliss. Every moment seemed better than the last, and the morning was equally wondrous.

It had been the first time in five years that December 28th was anything more than numbness and loss.

Michelle sleepily stretched and rolled over on her side. After a yawn, she snuggled into his waiting arms, “Mm, good morning.” “Morning,” he brushed a kiss against her hairline.

“Have you been watching me this whole time? You creep.” Michelle kissed his chest.

He squished her impossibly closer and said, “I’m happy.”

She tilted her chin up to look at him and turned his own chin down to kiss his mouth. He was so pleased, so peaceful that he did not even complain about the morning breath. She snuck another kiss and replied, “Me too.”

Peter rested his cheek against the top of head and her. She did not protest, she did not even make the smallest fuss. Michelle simply wrapped her arms around him and held him, too.

Later, he would have to take the rest of the long journey home and face his Aunt and all the memories of Ben that were waiting for him. Later, he would have to talk about how he felt like he had failed his Uncle. Later, he would have to return to a world where December 28th was the day his Uncle died.

But all of that was later.

For now, he had to see about a girl.

#ficlet #share the damn bed trope #trash can

247 notes · View notes

aweebwrites · 5 years

Text

The Monastery Massacre Pt1.

“I dunno… This seems like a bad idea…” Griffin says to leader of their group of 7, Ash.

“Why did I agree to come with you morons to this place again?” Chamille says, looking around the old monastery Shade and Tox somehow managed to talk her into coming to.

“Chill out. Nothing bad is going to happen. We’re just gonna spend the night and head out in the morning. It’s snowing too hard to go anywhere right now.” Shade huffed as they pushed the large gates to the old haunted monastery on the mountain they’ve heard so much about.

“That’s what the dumb victim always says before they’re murdered by an evil spirit.” Skylor huffed, pulling her scarf closer to her person, sticking close to the group as they walked towards the tattered entrance to the actual building.

“This place is super small Skylor. You could breathe and we could hear it from the other end of the building.” Ash huffed, pushing past him and sliding the worn paper door open. “I for one, am freaking cold.” He says walking in and the rest of the group looked at each other before shrugging and following after him.

“That’s the only thing we can agree on.” Neuro spoke up as he looked around, brushing snow off his shoulders. “It’s cold and we can’t leave in a blizzard but know that first thing in the morning, I’m leaving and we will no longer be friends.” He says, glaring at Ash who smirked at him.

“So what if I didn’t mention we were camping out here?” He says as they moved further into the small building, settling in the room with the most cover. “You’re way too superstitious. Besides, you’re the one who claim to be able to see ghosts. Any ghosts here Mr. Supernatural?” He asked as they pulled out their sleeping bags.

“Ghosts are only seen when they want to be.” Was all Neuro says, setting his sleeping bag away from him and next to Skylor who appreciated the company.

She may be borderline on the topic of ghosts but it doesn’t hurt to have someone close by to reassure her.

“You guys are making a big deal out of nothing. We all know the only reason this place is still standing is because it’s so freaking high up and the plot of land is too small anyway.” Tox huffed, sitting on her sleeping bag and pulling out a bottle of bourbon. “Small talk aside, who wants a warm up?” She asked with a grin, shaking the bottle.

“Hell yeah.” Chamille says, grabbing it from her and slinging it up her head.

“Aren’t you quick to forget where we are.” Griffin says, setting down the solar powered lantern down in the middle of their small ring.

“So I take it you don’t want any?” Ash says, snatching the bottle from Chamille as Tox pulled out another.

“I never said that.” Griffin says pointedly and Tox snickered.

“Five minutes in and this place is super lame.” Ash says, passing the bottle to Griffin.

“I’d rather things stay lame if it means I keep living.” Neuro huffed, pulling out his biology book.

He was expected to become a neurosurgeon just like his father, thus the name and it’s something he also wanted for himself. There’s no such thing as free time when studying is a thing.

“Aaaand there he goes with that stupid book.” Tox huffed, leaning back against the wall.

“That should be you considering you’re failing your majors.” Skylor says pointedly and Tox shrugged.

“I never wanted to go to college anyway. I warned my old man.” Was all she says and took a swing of vodka she kept for herself.

“So what makes this place so haunted to begin with?” Chamille asked them, placing her chin in her hands.

“Oh yeah. You’re not from around these parts.” Ash says, glancing at her.

“Prepare yourself for The Tale of the Monastery Massacre.” Shade says with a smirk and Chamille was starting to regret asking already. “Legend says 50 years ago, two brothers lived in this very monastery. Both were great warriors that fought alongside may others to keep Ninjago and its people safe. They were like day and night, and they would be, in more ways than one. The older brother was cursed by faith as a child to bring forth great evil and misfortune wherever he may go. While the darkness encroached on his heart little by little each day, he resisted as much as he could, wanting to be remembered than more than what he was destined to be. The day the darkness swallowed his heart came and he sought the four great weapons their father had left behind. Legend says they were the very same weapons used to forge Ninjago. But that's another story.” He says, waving it off before getting back on track.

“The younger brother knew he couldn't let his brother take the weapons else all of Ninjago would be doomed. So he fought his older brother. But the power from the four weapons they fought with was so great, it ripped massive cracks in to the ground and scorcher the sky. In the end, the older brother was the one to fall- literally. He fell deep into a crack torn through this mountain and died instantly. To prevent anyone else from seeking the weapons, he hid them all across Ninjago. Ten years passed and the younger brother gained 5 apprentices to take it the mantle both he and his brother once held: as protectors of Ninjago. The older brother's son soon joined them after sacrificing a small portion of his youth to save the apprentices. Together, all six of them kept watch over Ninjago with their faithful teacher, the younger brother with them each step of the way. All was well- until the younger brother and the apprentices noticed some strange behaviours from the older brother's son that is.” Shade says with a grin as Chamille swallowed nervously.

“He would talk to himself, stare at something they couldn't see, whisper, laugh, nod… The younger brother had asked what had caught his attention but his nephew would always answer with 'nothing’ and continue doing what he was doing. The younger brother didn't think much of it and left him be. He would soon regret that decision. The charred remains of the red apprentice was found early one morning in the monastery's smithy, half in the forge. No-one heard him screaming or smelt the foul smell of burning flesh. With no signs of anything suspicious, they passed it off as a freak accident. The red apprentice's younger sister, the maroon apprentice was devastated. It was why when they found her body the next day, they passed it off as a suicide. She was laying at the bottom of the tub filled with water and without any signs of struggle, they couldn't think of anything else that could have happened. The blue apprentice became fearful and fled, all too afraid the same thing would happen to him. Two days later, the blue apprentice's own parents found his body where he was electrocuted beyond recognition. This was when the younger brother became fearful for his remaining apprentices and was suspicious of a curse. The white apprentice however, had seen something he shouldn't have. He was found frozen to death in the courtyard from the previous night's blizzard but he was able to leave a message before he was killed. The younger brother found the message detailing how his nephew, the older brother's son killed the blue apprentice and had most likely did the same to the others. The younger brother acted quickly for the sake of his last remaining apprentice- but found them too late. His nephew had buried the black apprentice alive. Grief stricken, he had asked his nephew why he had killed his friends but the boy only looked to the space next to him and asked what to do with him. To the younger brother's horror, his deceased brother appeared next to the boy and promised to take care of him himself. The bodies of the younger brother and his nephew were found on the floor of the Monastery together, as if they had both just laid down to sleep. There was no blood, no injury, no illness. They were just… Dead.” Shade whispered the last bit for dramatic effect.

“They says if you are foolish enough to come to the Monastery and if you listen well, you can hear the agonized screams of the red apprentice as he burned to death, the splashing of water as the maroon apprentice tries to reach the water's surface, the electricity arcing through the blue apprentice's body, the clattering of teeth as the white apprentice succumbed to the cold and the muffled sounds of the black apprentice choking on dirt.” Ash whispered, looking at the rest of the group seriously. “No-one has seen signs that the younger brother or his nephew are still around but the older brother lingers still. And those who have seen him are never seen again.” He says and Chamille whimpered, eyes wide.

“Or something like that.” Ash shrugged, taking another swig of bourbon.

“You guys are so lame. It's just a stupid story.” Tox huffed, looking across at a terrified Griffin and Chamille while Neuro and Skylor looked apprehensive.

“The details may be a little fudged over but it actually happened.” Shade spoke up. “There's record of it buried deep in Ninjago City. The records were brought forward by the mother of the son of the older brother. She was the one to find her son and his uncle's bodies. My dad has access to those records and I've seen them before. Apparently the younger brother himself told her of what happened on the anniversary of his death paired with the message he received from the white apprentice. She then returned here and jumped off the highest precipice and killed herself.” He says, leaning back against the wall.

“That coupled with the alarming amount of missing persons report all surrounding this place had officials forbidding anyone from coming here 10 years back.” He added.

“We were forbidden from coming to this death trap and you still thought it was a good idea to drag us all here?” Neuro hissed at the two.

“Hey, I didn't know we were coming here either.” Shade says, holding his hands up. “But I'm glad we did. Ghosts don't exist and all those people were paranoid. What most likely happened is that they all up and moved. Jamanakai village is nearby and everyone up and left after a particularly gruelling summer and frigid winter. The weather in this area tend to go to the extremes after all.” He shrugged.

“Can we not talk about all this scary stuff?” Griffin spoke up, his knuckles white on Chamille's arm.

“Y-yeah. Not that I'm scared of ghosts or anything.” Chamille says and Tox rolled her eyes.

“Wimps.” She huffed, swirling her vodka in the bottle.

“Why am I friends with them again?” Skylor asked herself with a sigh.

“I ask myself that daily.” Neuro says drily.

“It's best if we- the fuck?!” Skylor jolted, whipping around as she covered the back of her neck.

“What is it?” Neuro asked, looking behind them warily, checking if anything was there.

“I- I felt something hot blow on my neck…” She told him, the back of her neck still warm and her hair on end.

“That's not funny Skylor!” Griffin yelled at her, visibly shaking.

“Yeah, not cool Sky.” Chamille huffed and Shade rolled his eyes.

“I’m not-”

“Alright. This has gotten boring.” Ash spoke up, checking the time on his phone. “It’s still a little early but we're better off going to bed. The faster we fall asleep, the quicker morning comes, right?” He says, laying down in his sleeping bag.

“Agreed.” Neuro nodded, settling down as well, Skylor hesitantly following suit.

“But I haven't even eaten yet!” Tox protested but everyone else had picked a partner to stay especially close to and were all ready for the night to end. “Fine. But I'm not going to share tomorrow.” She huffed, laying down as well, rolling her eyes when Chamille shifted closer, Griffin right behind her.

Wimps.

It took a few minutes but soon, everyone was sound asleep.

______________

It's been a while, hasn't it?

It has.

Let's have some fun, shall we?

__________________________

(Eyyy it's ya weeb, back with another Ninjago horror story. Turns out I really like dark themes with Ninjago and whipped this up. I've seen a few people who want a part two for The Green Ninja and I love the story enough to work on another part. I'll post part two for it and this as soon as I'm done with them! Weeb out!)

22 notes · View notes

theladymeera · 5 years

Text

Arya’s Visit/A Heart-to-Heart

Can’t come up with a better title at the moment, sorry. A short Arya one-shot for @aegon. Sorry it took so long. I ended up doing a little prequel to the bran/meera modern au I’m going to start publishing soonish since I love the Stark girls in it more than anything. You can read it below the cut or on AO3 when I post it there.

Edit: Here’s the AO3 link [x]

Arya popped her bubblegum loudly, a habit that had always made her mother angry but her mother couldn’t complain when she wasn’t there to watch so Arya kept blowing bubbles. It was quiet at the train station that afternoon, a benefit of leaving early. Arya kept her hands deep in her fleece-lined pockets to keep her hands warm as she’d forgotten her gloves.

The ride from Riverrun to Winterfell was long but Arya enjoyed it, she needed the quiet for a few minutes. A 24-hour shift in the chidlren’s hospital had left her feeling like a damp rag that had been rung out too much. So many children. Some of them were only there for minor surgeries, a couple stitches, a broken ankle. But there were others that had the bald heads, sallow skin, or empty eyes of someone who had been too sick for far too long. It wrenched at Arya’s heart.

Her thoughts were broken when a text came in, another one in the continuous conversation on the Stark’s group chat; currently named “Howlies” at Rickon’s suggestion. Arya had a feeling the name would not last just as the last eight names hadn’t. The addition was Sansa’s “Can’t wait to see everyone tonight!”

Arya’s phone kept buzzing with her brothers’ and Jon’s responses, with the exception of Bran who Arya figured was probably sleeping, possibly high although he swore up and down that he was clean and had been for nearly six months. While Arya was thinking of a response she received a private text from Jon “You are coming aren’t you?”

“On the 🚂 now”

“Okay I’ll pick you up when you get here.”

Arya grinned, she had missed Jon more than anyone. She spent the rest of the train ride listening to music, looking out the window, and ignoring the continuous texts of the group chat and the occasional text from a friend. Hot Pie was filling her inbox with his lengthy musings on his bread recipe. She didn’t need to comment on it and she’d benefit from it when she returned to Riverrun.

Jon was waiting for Arya as she stepped off the train at the Winterstown station. He wrapped her in a bear hug when she found him. “How was the trip little sister?”

“Fine,” she told him. Arya picked her bag up from where she’d dropped it and followed Jon to the car. “So how is everyone else?”

He waved his hand “Well enough – some better than others. You’ll find out when you get home.”

While Winterfell as a city had been officially absorbed into Winterstown centuries before it had remained the most upscale and wealthy area of the entire North, and as a result of its being much more well known that Winterstown the whole region was known in the South as Winterfell. Some things had changed Arya saw from the window of the passenger’s seat in the waning light. There was new construction near the airport and some of the shops had changed in even the older parts of town. She and Jon enjoyed having only the radio quietly playing the latest hits from Volantis and Lannisport, though Jon would have honestly preferred classical music and Arya leaned towards Braavosi styles but neither of those were available at that hour and it was easy to tune out.

Arya drew in her breath when Jon turned onto the street into her parents’ neighborhood. The fencing was imposing and the houses were particularly large and often lavish. There was a change in the front garden of her parents’ home. “Jon what happened to the tree?” she asked, a tinge of panic in her voice. The ancient ironwood that had stood sentinel over her parents’ front lawn since before her father was born was gone, an enormous black stump and some missing grass was all that was left in the area it had once been.

“It was diseased and it had to be taken down a week ago. I thought your mother would have mentioned.”

“She didn’t.”

“Well maybe this is why if you’re going to cry over it,” he said good-naturedly.

The annual flowers were different, her mother had chosen a mix of what looked like purple and white flowers from what Arya could see in the dim light of the street lights and the garden lamps. Arya noted this without the shock she’d felt at losing her favorite climbing tree. Her mother usually chose a different mix of annuals annually. It kept things fresh without cutting into the foundations of what made their home, well, their home. “Do you need a minute with the stump?” Jon asked, grabbing Arya’s bag from the trunk.

“No, I’ll have a funeral for it tomorrow.” That got her cousin to laugh and he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her inside.

It was just the family that evening. Normally Arya would have expected to see some of her mother’s Tully relatives like her great uncle Brynden and his husband, her uncle Edmure and his wife or some family friends such as the Reeds or Baratheons but instead it was just her parents, siblings, and Jon. Which would obviously lead to some sort of girls’ activity with her mother and Sansa, the two people she was looking forward to spending time with the least. Arya bore the tight embraces, Rickon’s fist bump, and a somewhat awkward hug with Jeyne due to her swollen belly. Arya felt as if there were butterflies in her own belly.

The dinner went smoothly, the only blips being when Robb spilled wine on his dress shirt and when Rickon failed to smother a belch which earned himself and Robb sharp looks. Rickon for belching, Robb for laughing. Arya hid her own snort by pretending to choke on a sip of wine. Her mother noticed but chose to ignore it.

“It’s wonderful to have all of us together again for once,” Catelyn began when the table was being cleared.

“Here we go,” Arya thought dismally.

“– and while I adore all of my boys I think we need to have some time together as ladies. Sansa, Arya?” Catelyn’s stare seemed to bore into Arya’s head. Arya didn’t dare ignore the direction and followed her mother, sister, and sister-in-law to the theater room. Jeyne and Sansa settled down to work on giving Jeyne a pedicure, she couldn’t reach her feet after all, and Catelyn pulled her youngest aside.

“Did you get a new tattoo or a tongue piercing or whatnot?” Catelyn snapped once they were out of earshot of their companions.

“What? No.” Arya crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared up at her mother.

“Then can you explain why you’ve spent the whole evening acting guilty?”

“I have not been acting guilty.”

“Then what would you call your behavior? It is not normal for you. I appreciate your not fighting with your sister, though I will admit you haven’t done that in some time, but if something wasn’t off you would have at least spent more time talking to your brothers or Jon.”

Arya took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

“What conversation,” Catelyn put a cool hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“I –” Arya glanced at where her sister and Jeyne were seated, “can I speak to you in private?”

Catelyn’s eyebrows rose, “alright.”

They walked back to the kitchen which was deserted now that the cook had gone home. Arya ran her hand along the marble counter and listened to the dishwasher humming. Her mother set two glasses of water between them and stared her daughter down. “What is this all about? Out with it.”

Arya kept her eyes on the lines in the stone, “I quit med school.”

“You what?” Catelyn hissed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I – I hate the studying and I don’t like any of the doctors I know. It’s too cerebral or, or whatever. I just felt so tense all the time, I was under so much pressure to finish school and become this like, great doctor like I’d planned on and it wasn’t working and when I sent the school my withdrawal letter it felt so good and I didn’t want to tell any of you because I’ve been working towards being a doctor for so long and I felt so ashamed that I jumped ship so late when I was supposed to be smart and dependable and I always said I’d never change my mind about what I wanted to be but it just wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” Arya wiped furiously at a tear that had escaped.

Catelyn stayed quiet for a few minutes while Arya regained control. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were pregnant,” she said at last.

Arya laughed, “Me? No. No. Never.”

Catleyn leaned back in her chair, “Never say never Arya. You just told me you quit medical school, giving up a dream you’ve had since you were nine years old.”

“I mean I don’t expect to ever come crawling home in tears as an unwed mother who doesn’t even know who the father is.” Arya took a drink of her water, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“For dropping out of school? It is disappointing, an adjustment to be made, but it’s not the worst thing you could have done. As long as you’re happy. Speaking of which, what have you been doing since you quit?”

Arya’s shoulder’s dropped as the last bits of eternal stress fled her system. If her mother wasn’t angry that she’d quit school then there was no chance her father would be. “I’m still an RN you know so I got a job at the children’s hospital in Riverrun, since I didn’t want to go back to Braavos at all, and I’ve been taking some courses at the community college there in like languages and math. And I’ve been dancing a lot. Just, trying to figure out what I really want now that I know doctoring isn’t it.”

“So you’re not living on the streets in Essos?”

Arya shook her head, “No, of course not.”

“And you’re happy?”

Arya thought for a moment, “Yeah, it’s the happiest I’ve been since before dad went to work in King’s Landing.”

“Good,” her mother said before she stood and came around the counter to bury Arya in an embrace. “That’s all I want for you my little wolf girl,” Catelyn muttered into Arya’s hair.

#aegon #end of year celebration #asoiaf fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #arya stark #jon snow #catelyn stark

5 notes · View notes

marvelsior · 5 years

Note

five times kissed

MY FAVORITE MEME || always accepting! || @sensesdialed

The first time was Peter’s 18th birthday, to the minute. Gwen had been on patrol, his gift in her backpack, until her watch alerted her that it was time to start swinging to the Parker apartment. Within the hour, Gwen was knocking on the boy’s window once her watch alerted her that it was officially Peter’s birthday. She was greeted with that grin she would always remember–one that this Peter and her Peter would forever share. Peter Parker had made it past 17 in this universe, and it made her happy and sad all at once. Her Peter would never make it to 18, he’s been gone for years.

Gwen sees the welcome packet for Peter’s college on his desk, the Spiderwoman removing her mask and smiling as Peter opened the window and let her in. “Excited for school?” she asked, gesturing to the desk’s contents as he grinned. “Of course! Y’know, you didn’t have to come here Gwen, it’s late! Aren’t you tired?!” Peter asked, brown eyes shining with concern as she waved him off and pulled her backpack off her shoulders to retrieve his gift. “I was out already on patrol, but I would rather die than miss my best friend’s birthday! I need to be the first to give you a present, it’s my duty as a best friend. Besides Ned, of course.”

Peter’s face lit up at her words, the Spiderwoman pulling out the wrapped package and handing it over to him with a smile. “Happy Birthday Petey,” she murmured, dark eyes watching him gently pull off the paper, only for his eyes to widen and immediately look to her. A camera. One she knew would be great for all sorts of shots–and vlogging as well. “How–?”

“You mentioned it once. In both universes,” Gwen answered, avoiding his gaze only for a minute or two as she zipped up her bag and placed it back on her back. Her heart ached only slightly, the more time she had spent with Peter over this last year of being in this universe made it hurt less and less. Honestly, it would always hurt at least a little, but she’d never been happier with the way her friends and family were all still here-in some form, at least. She takes a few strides to his side, turning the box over in his hands and pointing out specifications, showing him how this was both for photography and can also be for video, and that her mom bought some extra batteries for it, they’re in the box. She blinked and there were arms around her, Peter’s face in her shoulder thanking her as she wrapped her own arms around his waist and kept him close. “You’re welcome Pete…”

Soon she’s on her way back to patrol, jumping over the railing as sticky feet keep her attached to the side of the building facing him as she placed her mask over the top half of her face, her grin still showing as she leaned up so she was eye-level with him. “Coney Island tomorrow?” she asked, and Peter agreed, those brown eyes shining bright in the city lights around them. Gwen Stacy had always loved Peter Parker. With every fiber of her being, she did. Unfortunately, in her universe it decided that wasn’t meant to be….and she didn’t realize just how much she loved him until he was gone. Here? Here she had a second chance to be the best friend her Peter deserved; to protect him. Now here he was, eighteen years old, going off to college in two months. He made it. Both Spider warriors hadn’t realized just how long they’d been quietly staring at each other until Gwen’s watch went off again, startling her enough to almost lose her grip on the railing–prompting Peter to flail to try and catch her–but she righted herself in time for the two of them to be inches away. She’s not sure what came over her, but moments later she leaned up and gently pressed her lips to his. She lingered for a moment or two, pulling away and very happy that her mask covered most of her face as she pulled it down and sputtered out. “Sorry, I shouldn’t-couldn’t–I’ll see you tomorrow!” and swung away. Shit. Gwen you’re an idiot what the fuck.

What she didn’t expect, was the blur of red and blue following after her moments later.

The second time was a time after Peter’s birthday, after Coney Island, after the night of Peter’s birthday where Spiderman followed Spiderwoman until he caught up–many more kisses happened between then and this time. It was Peter’s sophomore year of college, and he’d told Gwen on multiple occasions how the dorms were miserable. Flash was always there. How Flash and Peter ended up at the same school was beyond them, but it was ridiculous how the bully never took a hint; or grew up. Fucking Flash. Gwen had appeared at Peter’s dorm the night before; the three of them (Gwen, Peter and Ned) had a movie night with a blanket fort and fell asleep on the floor. The next morning she found herself in Peter’s bed with a note explaining he went to class, he’d be back in a few hours. Ned was gone for most the morning and he came back around 10am. 15 Minutes later she heard the familiar sound of Flash antagonizing someone–her Spidey sense alerted her that it was Peter moments before she heard a body hit the door.

Gwen signaled for Ned to stay where he was, slowly creeping to the door and opening it a crack to see Peter struggle to his feet, wiping away some blood on his lip before he faced Flash again. Gwen was fortunate to not have had to deal with Flash directly, Peter had known how she didn’t want the high school to know she was here. She wasn’t their Gwen, she was too old for high school so it wasn’t like she could ‘come back’. Peter had protected her by keeping her existence a secret from their peers, just as apparently he was protecting her now. Flash was saying something about Peter being weak, about how it was his fault Gwen was dead because she went up there to meet him. Both Gwen and Peter froze on their respective sides of the door, by now Peter sensed Gwen watching and moved so he was between Flash and where she was. From there, Flash explained what he’d done–he was the one who sent the Gwen in this universe to that place. He wrote it and signed it from Peter, so Gwen would get ‘stood up’ by the boy she actually liked, just so Flash could make his move on her…but she died instead.

Gwen could feel the sorrow bubbling up in Peter’s chest, brown eyes watching his fingers twitch-wanting so badly to turn into a fist but Peter’s too good for that. Too pure. The last 5 years, Peter had beaten himself up about Gwen’s death. From 14 to 19 years old he believed it was all his fault–just as Gwen had felt these last 7 years with her Peter. Eventually, the Spiderwoman had enough and threw open the door, prompting Flash to turn white as a sheet and back away as if she was a fire coming straight for him. “G-Gwen?!” She felt Peter’s gaze on her, sensed him reaching out for her, and she placed her hand in his awaiting one before she pulled him against her, free hand gently wiping away some blood from his lip. She felt Peter instantly deflate in her grasp, just as she always did when she was angry and he was there, Now Gwen was angry. Peter had put up with SO much abuse at the hands of Flash; now this madness had to end. “For the record, Flash Thompson?” Gwen’s voice was smooth as silk, but her gaze and the edge of her tone was icy as the frozen tundra as she turned to face the cowering teen before her. “I would rather die than be with you. Fuck. Off.” Flash took the hint and fled the scene, Gwen turning her attention back to her injured boyfriend as Peter’s forehead leaned against hers.

“He’s gonna tell everyone, you know…” he pointed out, prompting a shrug from Gwen. “Let ‘im. I don’t care anymore,” she answered, cupping his face in her hands and pressing a slow kiss to his lips, which was eagerly reciprocated by her spider-love. Two seconds later, there’s Ned; wrapping both of them in a tight embrace, exclaiming “THAT WAS SO BADASS, GO GWEN!”

The third time was after Gwen had been accepted into the Masters program, the two of them moving into a dorm/apartment on campus together for Pete’s second half of Sophomore year and Gwen’s first semester in her Masters program. Both of them on either side of Gwen’s bed, feet touching as they both kept taking notes and highlighting things they would need later. It had been hours, and Gwen’s eyes were starting to hurt. Maybe she should take a break. Peter gets up and stretches, Gwen’s gaze moving from her book to her boyfriend as he did so–she never got tired of being around him. She figured he was on his way to the bathroom, or the kitchen to get a snack, but moments later she was greeted with Peter inches from her face and placing a hand over her book.

“Hi,” she chuckled as she turned to face him, a sleepy smile across Peter’s features as he cups her cheeks and pulls her in for a kiss, prompting the elder spider warrior to run her fingers through brown curls. Free hand closes her book before she shifts so he’s standing between her legs and she’s sitting on the side of the bed, their kiss only breaking when they need air. “Time for a break,” Peter breathed, smiling when Gwen leaned in for another quick kiss. “Alright, alright. You know it’s bad when you are the one telling me we need to take a breather.”

The fourth time was at both their graduations. Each major had a separate ceremony based off which ‘college’ your major was sorted into. First was Peter’s, then Gwen’s, then The Parkers and The Stacys threw the two a graduation party–one that Tony insisted he pay for and hold at Avengers Compound. Either way, it was just madness, and after they cut the cake the two spider warriors fled the large room where everyone was gathered with their desserts and hid in one of the nearby living rooms. Their senses were going a little haywire with the amount of noise and people in the room, they just needed a few minutes to themselves.

Gwen was about halfway through her cake when she leaned into Peter’s shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to his neck. “I’m proud of you Petey,” she whispered, looking up at him as Peter grinned. “I’m proud of you two Gwendy.” Honestly, years ago she hated ‘Gwendy’, but it grew on her–but only if Peter was the one to call her that.

The next kiss that followed was soft, sweet, just like Peter himself. Honestly Gwen wasn’t sure what she did to deserve him. She’d been so hardened by the world when she came to this universe, and now? Now she had more to live for. She had both her parents (father from this universe, mother that birthed and raised her), Uncle Ben and Aunt May (the former from her universe, the latter from this one), Mary Jane (her universe) and now Peter. Among so many others she’d grown to know and love over the years. Soon the two of them are stretched out on the couch in the kiss, Peter hovering above her as her hand keeps him anchored by the back of the neck. The kiss was still so soft, and she loved every second of it. She loved him more than anything, more than life itself. These last few years opened her eyes to a love she never knew she could feel, and it had almost completely eradicated the pain she felt when she first came here. Breaking away for air, Gwen stroked dark curls away from his face gently as Peter playfully flopped on top of her, arms wrapping around her waist as she chokes out a laugh; a little winded from pure muscle landing on her.

“Thank you, Petey…” she murmurs a few minutes later, fingers playing with dark curls as he looks up at her. “For what?” he asked, those beautiful eyes locking onto hers as she smiled. “For loving me.”

Spiderman smiled once more, moving so he’s hovering above her once more, pressing his lips to hers in a deep, loving kiss before he speaks again. “Always, Gwendy. Always and forever.”

The fifth time was after a mission had gone wrong. Stark and the other male members of the Avengers had disappeared for days, only to reappear for Carol and a few others to bring them home. Gwen had been stationed at the Compound; the female Avengers going out to look for them in shifts. One day in the city, one day back at the compound. Not even the X-Men could find them with Cerebro.

Today Gwen was pacing the living room, Natasha anxiously toying with her multiple weapons spread out across the coffee table before both spiders heard the Quinjet land in the hangar. It was early. Gwen bolted for the hangar, Natasha on her heels, and she arrived in time to see a disheveled mop of brown curls appear at the top of the ramp, blue and red suit filled with holes and covered in dirt, a hand gripping his opposite upper arm in pain, but otherwise alive. “Petey…” she breathed, eyes watering as he looked up and saw her.

Both spider warriors stumbled towards each other-Peter’s clumsiness from his horrific experience and Gwen’s from the shock of seeing him again-just for lips to crash together. Gwen’s fingers instantly tangled in soft hair, strong arms looping beneath her legs after she launched herself into him, legs wrapping around his waist to keep herself upright. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he breathed against her lips, Gwen pressing several heated kisses there before breaking away and peppering multiple all over his face before she wrapped arms tight around his neck, resting her chin atop his head.

“I thought I lost you again…” She whispered, feeling Peter press a soft kiss to her neck before burying his face there.

“Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me Gwendy. Promise.”

“I’m holding you to that…”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#sensesdialed #🕷| what if we rewrite the stars? [otp: peterxgwen]#🕷| the spiderwoman [gwen stacy]#♕| this is why we can't have nice things [meme responses]#5 times kissed #it's a NOVEL but OH WELL #I could write a whole book or like three about how much I love Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy and we stan a battle couple in this house

1 note · View note

prodigyofprinxetoncollege · 6 years

Note

🃏 -greensuits

[Superhero AU]

[@greensuitsandpens I hope you like it!]

Aaroncouldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t heard the voices in his head.

As achild, it had seemed normal. At first he assumed everyone was hearing what hewas hearing. It was only when he was four years old and responded to his unclesthoughts instead of his words that he was brutally made aware of the fact thatmost people could not read other people’s minds. His uncle was scared of him,calling him a creature of the devil, an abomination. He forced Aaron to keephis secret to himself, and by doing so, forced him to isolate himself.

People’sthoughts didn’t quite sound like their voices – they were a little bit off, oras Aaron liked to think: They were the real deal, and voices were a little bitoff. Thoughts were always more emotional, it was easier to hear the sadness orthe joy in them. Most people could make their voice sound different from howthey felt, but almost no one could lie with their thoughts.

Aaron wasa quiet child, and grew up to be a quiet teenager, simply because he neverwanted to let on just how much he knew about the people around him. When itcame to the few people he genuinely liked and that genuinely liked him back, hewas the perfect friend, because without them saying it, he always knew whatthey needed from him.

Readingminds was normal to Aaron, and never a reason to worry. He didn’t see himselfas a creature of the devil the way hisuncle did, but when he was thirteen, that changed. Timothy Edwards had neverbeen shy when it came to physical punishments. Aaron was well-acquainted with thefeeling of a belt on his naked skin. There was nothing he could do about it,though, he was no match for his uncle’s strength.

Until oneday, when he wished so goddamn hard it would end, until one day he reached intohis uncle’s mind and twisted something, and the man let go of him, staring intonothing. Aaron fled the room, hid in his bed until he heard his aunt screamhours later. Scared, he made his way downstairs, to find his uncle still frozenin place, his mind empty except for Aaron’s command: Let me go, leave me in peace.

Aaron’saunt had his uncle brought to the hospital, but there was nothing that could bedone for him. The doctors didn’t even know what happened, and Aaron knew hisaunt must have an idea what had happened, but she never said anything. She didn’tkick Aaron out either, but she stopped talking to him altogether. For all thatmattered, he lived alone until he finished high school.

But now hewas afraid of what he could do – of what he could do without even meaning to.He isolated himself even more, focused on his studies, build walls around hisconscience until the clear voices he used to hear were nothing but faintwhispers.

It felt alittle like being dead.

College wasa breath of fresh air Aaron desperately needed. He met Jonathan Bellamy,someone who subtly hinted at the possibility he had powers, and Aaron opened upto him, allowed the walls around his mind to be torn down by lingering smilesand furtive touches.

Bellamywas very similar to him – he could feel other people’s emotions and manipulatethem. He encouraged Aaron to play with his mind, to try and manipulate histhoughts, but Aaron shied away from it. He didn’t want to hurt Bellamy, out ofall people in this world – not him.

It was afateful Friday afternoon when Aaron Burr met Alexander Hamilton for the firsttime. Late in January, it was already dark at 4 pm, and when Aaron turnedaround a corner, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. The man holdingit wasn’t much older than him, but he looked starved and ragged.

“Give meyour money.”

His voicewasn’t as hard as it was intended to be, and Aaron could read in his thoughtsthat he was only doing this in order to survive. He did what was asked of him,tossed his wallet over to the man, when someone came running up behind him. Therobber was startled, he pointed his gun, and Aaron hoped to god he wouldn’tshoot-

But he did.And the bullet hit flesh. Aaron whipped around, seeing someone his age fall tothe ground.

“NO!”

The robberwas fleeing, but Aaron didn’t care, he ran to the man lying on the street,coughing up blood.

“What abastard,” he complained, one hand covering his stomach where the bullet hadhit.

“Stayquiet, just breathe, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Aaron wasalready reaching for his phone when the man shook his head.

“No. I’llheal. Don’t worry.”

Aaron onlyraised his eyebrows, sure the man was in shock and talking shit, but then helifted up his shirt, and Aaron almost didn’t believe his eyes when he saw theskin stitching itself back together, pushing out the bullet and healingtogether without even leaving a scar. It couldn’t have taken longer than thirtyseconds.

“Holyshit,” he whispered, and the guy on the floor grinned a little awkwardly.

“Yeah, Ijust can’t seem to die.”

“I canread minds,” Aaron replied, without even thinking about it, and when the manthought You gotta be kidding me, whatnumbers am I thinking-

“Three,seven, fifteen, thirty-nine, one hundred eighty-two.”

“I’mAlexander Hamilton,” he introduced himself, grinning widely.

“AaronBurr.”

“We coulduse someone like you, Aaron.” Alexander looked like a child on Christmas.

“Who’s we?”Aaron sounded only a little bit suspicious.

We was a group of self-declared superheroes thatwanted to keep New York safe. There was Hercules Mulligan, who had super strengthand could basically lift, bend, break or destroy everything. He was a huge guywith lots of muscles and an incredibly soft smile. Aaron found him to be themost gentle of the group, despite his abilities.

Lafayettecould shapeshift. As long as it was another human being, he could impersonateeveryone, down to their voice and even their mannerisms if he had the chance tosee them. It was impressive. Lafayette’s mind was different from everythingAaron had ever seen, and he spend hours and hours talking to Lafayette abouthis different alter egos.

The firsttime Aaron met John Laurens he told Aaron his superpower was being gay, andwhen Aaron only raised one eyebrow he admitted it was super speed, which wasprobably one of the most useful things Aaron had ever seen.

AlexanderHamilton was basically immortal. His body healed so quickly he wasn’t sureanything would be able to kill him. He’d come to America after a hurricane hadwrecked his home, and one night, when they were alone in Alex’s apartment hetold Aaron the whole story, of how he’d hidden and it was dark and he’d believedthat somehow he wasn’t hurt, only to realize come morning that he had beenhurt, his clothes were stained with blood everywhere, but everything washealed. He’d cut himself on a piece of steel that was lying around, and watchedthe wound seal itself back together. He’d found his mother’s body, torn toshreds, no healing powers helping her.

Alex criedin Aaron’s arms, and Aaron let him. Told him, for the first time in his life,the story of what he’d done to his uncle.

“I can’tfeel pain,” Alex confessed to him, eyes still wet with tears.

Does that make me a monster?

He didn’task, but Aaron could hear it in his mind’s voice, that was so much softer thanAlex’s real voice.

“I don’tthink so,” Aaron whispered, and Alex nodded, pulled him in and buried his facein his chest.

“You’renot a monster either, Aaron.”

Alexander Hamilton can’t read minds. But he has a knack for reading Aaron’s.

#hamburr #aaron burr #alexander hamilton #greensuitsandpens #mine

56 notes · View notes