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celeste-clearwater-06 · 3 years

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Beauty and the Beast || Pt. 1

Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Well Y/N certainly hadn't expected her night to end like this.

It wasn't intentional (at least on her part), but I guess that's what you get for trying to rescue your brother from the grasps of a Dragon-sick King. Her brother, Bard of Laketown, was trying to peacefully console the King under the mountain, however, with his persistence, came Thorin's fast, ill-ridden impatience, and he was accused of trying to steal the Arkenstone. Bard was then captured and locked away in the low dungeons of Erebor, despite the many protests of the King's loyal subjects.

The news had spread fast to Dale. Their leader was captured. And when Y/N, Bard's older sister, and the motherly figure in his childrens' life, had heard this, she was furious.

The kind and loyal king that they invited to their town and sheltered had now imprisoned his own savior. So she took action. Y/N waited until the children had fallen asleep, and then she threw on a dark cloak and rode her horse to the nearby mountain with purpose.

When the young woman reached the kingdoms' large walls, she spotted a small figure waiting at the top, his cinnamon-colored hair falling over his face. He cupped a hand over his mouth and gave her instructions to wait before he shortly returned with a rope. He threw it over the ledge and helped Y/N scale it. When she reached the top, the hobbit hurriedly ushered her inside, and she realized that he was indeed helping her find Bard. Soon enough, after avoiding the king's loyal guards, the two rescuers found Y/N's brother, leaning against a cold stone wall, and looking down at a dagger in his hand.

Bard's eyes widened, seeing his sister unveil the cloak over her head, and scrambled to his feet, clutching tightly to the frigid bars that he was closed behind.

"Sister! What on Middle Earth are you doing here?!" He whispered.

"I've come to rescue you, of course." Y/N responded looking down at the iron-forged lock.

"No! You must run!" Bard pleaded, "Thorin. He's changed! He'll capture you too."

"Then we'll be stuck together." The heroine looked up at her brother with a kind smile, "I promise to get you out of her brother." She pressed a kiss against his forehead through the cell bars. Her brother shook his head.

"Y/N, I'm begging you. He will show you no mercy."

She continued to work on the lock without response, using a small pick to loosen the latch.

Finally, the coil came loose, and Y/N snatched it before it could hit the floor, and then tauntingly held it up in her brother's face. Bard looked at his sister incredulously.

"How did you manage to do that?"

"I've learned a few things here and there."

"Come now, quickly!" Bilbo squeaked, "Before someone finds us!"

The hobbit rushed in opening the cell door, and then quietly led them back through the castle and to the balcony where Y/N came from.

"I'll go down first, and then I'll catch you!" Bard murmured, taking hold of the rope and then ascending to the soft ground below. Y/N thanked Bilbo just as she was about to leap from the wall, but then a booming voice echoed from the shadows.

"What are you doing with my prisoner?!" Y/N froze, and slowly turned, seeing a pair of piercing blue eyes that shimmered from the shadows. She said nothing, still frozen in panic.

"Do you not speak? What have you done with the Bowman?!" The king growled, an animalistic tone to his commanding voice. Y/N swallowed thickly.

"Pathetic..."

Thorin stepped out from the shadows, enticing a gasp from the young woman. The once regally beautiful dwarf was a sight to behold. Dragon-sickness was not kind to this once precious soul. Dark ram-like horns protruded from his raven and silver-streaked hair on either side of his head. His eyes, still blue, glinted in the moonlight above his kingdom, and as he grew closer, she saw them flicker from normal round pupils to thin, demon-like slits, flickering back and forth. On his cheekbones, small black dragon scales had shaped, fading into his rough skin.

The King reached out and grasped Y/N's arm, revealing that the top of his thick calloused hands had the same dark scales that were on his face, and on the end on each of each finger were nightmarish black claws.

He dragged her to the edge of the wall, looking over the edge at Bard, who had drawn his sword.

"Thief! Men! Seize the Bowman!" Thorin solicited, pointing down at his innocent rival. More dwarves had hurried behind him. These dwarves were the company that Y/N helped shelter when they arrived in lake town. Some of them looked to her, recognition flicking on their bearded faces, and then to their king.

"No!" Y/N shouted, "Please! He's innocent!"

"Y/N..." Bard warned, beginning to shrink down as one of the Princes drew back his bow.

"Please..." The girl uttered, trying to swallow back her tears, "Take me instead. Let him go."

"Sister, No!" Bard cried out.

Thorin pulled the woman closer to his height, just downwards the slightest. The King glared, pupils flicking back to circles as he pondered, and then once again to thin lines.

"So be it..." He snarled, carelessly throwing her into the grasp of two other strong Dwarves, and ignoring the cry of Bard calling her name. The king looked over the ledge with a sneer.

"Make sure our Bowman does not come near this place again." Thorin turned back to the woman, “And lock her up! See that she never escapes. We cannot risk her stealing the Arkenstone.”

He faced back towards the balcony, and dismissed them with a wave of his clawed hand.

The two dwarves turned away, one of them letting out a defeated sigh, and they led her to the cell where bard once was. Y/N did not try and struggle, knowing it was no use. Even if the two men were considerably small then her, their strength and speed made of for it. Without another word, the heroine jerked away from their grasp ant into her cell, sitting along the freezing floor.

They looked at her in surprise, and then lowered their heads, leaving her to sit in silence. Y/N was quiet at first, doing nothing but staring blankly at her feet. Heavy footfalls were heard, coming from down the hall, and ceased directly in front of her cell.

She didn't look up from where she started, nor did she even want to.

"You are a fool for taking your brother's place..." Thorin growled at Y/N, though her gaze didn't wander.

"We do foolish things for the people we love." She returned coldly.

"Not all of us."

"And I wouldn't expect any more from such a selfish king as you."

The king snarled, wrapping his scaled hands around the bars of her cage, and shook them abruptly.

"How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent woman!? I am your king!"

This time she looked up at him, tears glinting in the corners of her determined eyes. For a split second, she could see his eyes round darken.

"You are a king. But not the same king I met just days ago when he came looking for shelter. And you are certainly not my king either. You are kind under the mountain, and I serve only my brother."

At this, Thorin just grumbled and pushed away from her cell.

"You will learn to obey me. You have nowhere else to run."

Y/N nodded.

"And you will never change. This sickness has changed you, Son of Thrain. You will find soon enough that there are things more valuable than your precious stone..."

The King waved a hand in disregard with a sickening snarl and left her in peace.

And that's when Y/N let a tear roll down her cheek. Then another. And another. She let out muffled sobs, hoping not to disturb the care-free, loyal and happy company that she once knew, and soon cried until her eyes were dried, and she fell into a deep sleep in the warmth of her cloak, curled in a ball on the floor in a cell in Erebor.

Stay tuned for Part 2!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! ❤✨

#thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit #beauty and the beast #crossover #thorin is a brat #drama #bard the bowman

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braindeacl · 3 years

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Splinter | Solomon & Eilidh

SETTING: The woods. TIMING: Current, early morning. PARTIES: @shroomsbysolomon & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh means to put an end to Solomon’s trail of death, permanently, but ideologies get in the way. WARNINGS: Drug use

Anger had driven him from his home. Rage had fueled the destruction he’d left in his wake all those miles from here. But it was fear that brought him back; heavy in his gait and thick in his throat. It was fear that coaxed him toward the coast, that sent sharp aches through his body and violent shivers up his spine. He’d been gone too long. What might have happened in his absence? No, no, he couldn’t rationalize it that way, he—

How was he to reconcile this?

It had taken several centuries to forget the first time, and he wasn’t sure how many more centuries he had to spare.

Lumbering through familiar forests, a sense of calm began to worm its way into his anxious mind. Perhaps he had strayed too far—this was his home, after all. His roots were here, in more ways than one. His thoughts drifted to soft lips, the snarling curl of a scar amidst a warm smile… sunlight streaming in through the window, all golden and peaceful. For a moment, blissful memory overtook the hate that had inspired his trip out west, cleansing his conscience of all the horrible things he’d done to those people—

As with all things, it was not meant to last. A sound snapped Solomon from his reverie, golden eyes darting to his left, where they fell upon a most peculiar figure in the distance. A beat of silence passed between them: the human-shaped silhouette, half hidden by foliage, stood small before the towering fae, all bark and thorns and lichen and antlers.

An uncharacteristic vocalization bloomed in the leshy’s throat, deep and growling. He recognized this one. He’d seen them out in his woods before, coming upon the bodies of the unfortunate souls he’d turned into hedge hounds… as well as the ones that the vines had refused to make hosts out of. Even after the first failed attempt, Solomon had persisted, not having any better explanation for his own existence and hoping that perhaps one would work out.

“What do you want?” he snarled, his ancient, unnatural voice pouring forth from the skull that adorned his head.

It started as an attempt to find answers. Searching for potential leads on the gateways that kept sprouting about White Crest. But the trail led nowhere. Might as well have fun heading back. Eilidh took to the forests, exploring what they had to offer. When Eilidh came upon the first body, she was a mixture of disturbed and intrigued. Just as the corpse was a mixture of flesh and plant. It had been hard to distinguish at first, the protruding vines blending in with the surrounding vegetation. But something felt off. On closer inspection, she noted the way the vines curled and twisted into a familiar shape. A human shape. Unlike most of the hedges she’d see in town, which were forced into poses by the cut of a blade, what lay before lacked any sort of obvious manipulation. This was simply how it grew to be. Out in the middle of the woods. Interesting. Further inspection confirmed a suspicion. Someone had been snipped of their true form, forced by powerful magic into this construction. Part of her wondered if this had been the fate of all the hedges she had seen moving about town. But unlike those, this was still. More plant than creature. Is this how all the hedges will end? One side winning out?

What started as a fascinating oddity became a repeated occurrence. Again and again. Sometimes it was like the forest floor was made of those bodies, for they looked one and the same. In perfect tandem. The harmony was almost beautiful. But the amount was becoming concerning. Whoever was the cause clearly had no plans on slowing down. How long until the forest was only corpses? She began to take the inspection seriously. Time was taken to observe the area, face obscured so she may not be observed as well. A plan began to formulate. She suspected fae, perhaps a nymph. An angry one. Her iron dagger was close at hand.

Over time, she noticed a pattern. Realization brought forth a path in her mind; a path that hopefully led her to the source. Following that trail of death, it brought her to the being before her. Massive in form. Something powerful. Maybe even ancient. She had seen such a sight before, lingering near the bodies, but for her was from a safe distance. Only a vague idea of what she would face. That luxury was lost as the being placed their sights on her, and she was able to fully behold what she had gotten herself into. Her hand immediately went to grab at the syringe of Bliss nestled near her chest. No more close calls, it was time to do this right. James was saying something, probably an attempt to stop her. She couldn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear. Fuck the consequences. Temptation gnawed at her hands and throat as she gripped the needle. The cravings willed it.

She stabbed it into her neck.

Only enough for one hit remained. Her lucky charm. Pressing down, the contents filled her, worming its way through her body. Too soon to fully take over, she waited. Staring. Something sent a shiver down her spine as she fully studied her target. Ancient knowledge banged in her head, wanting to be realized. Details previously lost came into focus: head replaced with skull, towering like a tree, horns outstretched like branches. Horns like branches. Horns. Familiarity caused her to gasp. This didn’t seem right; part of her was skeptical. But before that side could win, the other part willed her to proclaim, voice in awe, “Adharcach aon… Carson a tha thu…”

Staring the stranger down, Solomon could tell by the tone of her voice that she was overwhelmed by his appearance—not an uncommon reaction, truth be told, but something was different about it, this time. Something that reminded him of the way the humans used to react to seeing him many hundreds of years ago… shortly before they would begin to treat him like one of their gods.

He didn’t know the language that she spoke, but it sounded old, like the one he’d been taught growing up. Taking a step toward her, the leshy growled out a warning, though it was in the tongue of long-dead vikings. “Get out of my forest,” he commanded, “and do not return.” Not caring if she understood the language, he took another threatening step toward her. His long digits splayed out in a way that made them seem ready to attack, antlers angling down toward her.

“You are not welcome here,” he added in English, just for good measure.

Eilidh’s thoughts were still swimming in a pool of questions. Why had The Horned One taken on this form? Should she offer him something? Was this even real? An illusion? Did she get hit with something again and was seeing things? The being that stood before her was exactly as she had imagined him all these years, these centuries. The Horned God. She’d never thought she’d see him like this. Usually he could only be felt—in the leaves, the bark, the grass below—his presence permeating everywhere, everything. Her body was electrified at the sight.

She did not understand him. And he did not seem to understand her, which casted a heavy shadow of doubt above them all. But the way he spoke brought upon a memory she had thought was long lost. Momentarily transported back centuries ago, she recalled a man. A vampire. His voice carried the same rhythm, the same flow and pitch. The same forgotten song. Even then, in the encounter so long ago, it was understood what he spoke was old and long gone. How much older it has grown since. Whoever stood before her was very ancient, or was very good at pretending to be.

His image, who he appeared to be, was still causing confliction, contradictions, in her mind. Awe? Confusion? Anger? She wasn’t even sure whether to move, leave, or remain frozen. But in her pause, the drug was able to finally make its nest. It stole all those questions. Quieted her mind for a moment. Until the anger, no longer having competitors, was able to move to the forefront. Her body felt electrified for a different reason. Power.

Glamour activated, it was like her form suddenly struggled to retain its shape. It shifted and lurched this way and that. Fighting to be free from this humanoid container. Nothing about her looked the same for long. “ToUGh shIt.” Even her voice fought against her. “I’vE seeN wHat you’VE doNe, FUcker.” Her iron dagger was drawn, preparing for an attack. Fast clicking emanated from her. Teeth chattering. Too fast to be human. Then she was on the move. Not directly at the other being, but in the general vicinity. Here, then there, back again. Maneuvering through the trees as if she had ran through the area many times.

That spark of anger ignited, and it was fueled by something Solomon did not fully comprehend. There was a voice in his head that demanded sacrifice, that demanded he protect it, no matter the cost. He was compelled by something unseen, a phantom that haunted him—draped over him like a blanket made of shadow. It was warm, though, that wispy embrace… inviting. Solomon was beginning to lose himself in it. The heat bloomed and rose in his chest, the flame licked higher and burned brighter until it was white-hot, blinding him to reality.

All he knew was that he had to defend.

Golden orbs tucked away in black pits struggled to keep up with the rapid, erratic movements of his enemy, his large head jerking this way and that as he took a wary step back.

“I did what had to be done!” he bellowed, heart racing as she drew near. With a furious stomp, the leshy dug his trunk-like feet into the earth as roots erupted from them, racing through the soil in all directions, trying to create a protective circle around him. They lashed out of the ground wherever the stranger flicked into existence, reaching with the intent to strangle, but never quite quick enough. The glint of metal in his attacker’s hand sent a shiver of fear up his spine: he might have had very little understanding of what he was, but as a fae, he had discovered at a young age that iron was something he did not want to be injured with.

“This does not concern you!” the leshy tried again, focusing his attempts to get a handle on her to hold her still.

As Eilidh’s feet struck down, the ground below awoke. Roots shot out, cracking the soil, like nightcrawlers returning from a winter’s nap—wriggling, writhing, grasping—with only one goal. Stop her. But they only touched her shadow. Their attempts grew more powerful, more desperate, the closer she came to where the being stood, hidden behind a barricade. Coward. The sight alone would’ve culled any lingering wonder as to who the being was. This was no god. This could be killed.

This could be a meal.

Her teeth snapped in anticipation. Hard click of canines that wanted to bury into the other’s head. The thought was distracting enough to allow a root to knock on her heel. Almost enough to lose balance. Almost. Onward it went, the eternal game of cat and mouse—but who was which? In the repetition of actions, her mind wandered to the previous words. What had to be done. When humans uttered that phrase, a weak attempt at justification, it made her want to rip their throats. And they ironically would want to do the same to those who simply did what had to be done in order to survive, gore and all. Was the latter true in this case? Ever the curious soul, even with a tampered mind, she barked out. “FeEl FRee to eXplAIn yoUrseLf bEforeee I eAT yOu.” The chase continued, continued, continued; her energy seemingly never ending, the roots seemingly ever growing. Her patience, however, had a limit. Erratic feet found a singular goal, and she grew closer. When the roots became frantic, instead of retreating, allowing the stalemate to carry on, she pressed onward. Switching to the defense, her blade was in motion, aiming a slash at any root that dared to come near.

That rage was returning as Solomon failed again and again to catch her, to stop her—it was burning white hot in his skull, bleeding out to his chest and stomach, smothering him. He felt something catch, but just as quickly as it had made contact, it was gone. The leshy let out an infuriated wail that made the branches of the trees around them shiver in response, and doubled down on his efforts. Only now… now something was hurting him. Cutting into his roots, burning like the anger that was making him lightheaded.

Fear escalated to panic, threatening to overtake him until finally—there! Got her.

“The humans,” he moaned, the root that had managed to catch his attacker’s foot snaking around her ankle and working up her leg, “they hurt us. They come into my woods and cut them down—” The barrier fell away as Solomon emerged to face whoever this person was, his lithe body trembling with emotion. “—they kill the creatures I call my family, they burn our home to the ground!” One root had become many, each grasping at her and trying to hold her in place, recoiling in pain with each slash of her weapon. And yet Solomon still lamented, the anguish laced in his tone only fueled by her attempts to break free. “I must take back what they have claimed, I must show them—listen!—I must show them that they are not the center of all creation! Can you not understand that?”

Eilidh continued to slash—the resulting wails only fueling her frenzy. But it was her against an army; she could only hold them off for so long. The distinction between ground and root was lost. All below writhed: reaching, reaching, reaching. She would not back down. Until something forced her to. Attention could only be divided so many ways; a hand can only be in so many places. One of the roots darted out from such a place. Ensnared its prey. To the ground, she fell.

Is he… monologuing? She did technically ask for this. Nevertheless, she preoccupied herself with repeatedly stabbing the root snaked around her leg. More quickly followed. One replaced the battered root that had been encircling her shin. Others gripped her attacking arms, trying to slow her movements into less offensive blows. She bit into the barked flesh, ripping off pieces with her canines. Their hold diminished until her hand was free to send another flurry of stab, stab, stab, stab. Discarded bark littered the forest floor, revealing wooden innards. Weakened by her ambush, or discouraged by her hostility, the roots peeled away by the will of her hands. Freedom at last. She rolled, and when feet struck ground, she returned to a sprint. Intent on continuing the chase, waiting for the next opportunity to arise.

But with her predicament solved, his words started worming into her brain. Just as the roots had done to her body. Encircling. Ensnaring. Contorting her to a new position, a new viewpoint. What he said struck a chord with her. It did make sense. If Bliss had been stripped from within, she might have even felt sympathy. Or she might have discarded his words as bullshit. She wasn’t sure. The drug wiggled its way through her mind all the same, dancing with his words. James saw the look on her face; tried to remind her about something. Something she couldn’t bring herself to care about now. “Ya gOt A poINt.” She readily admitted, musing out loud. Sprint turned into a brisk jog as her legs lost some of their fire. “So tHOse bODiees ouT thErE. THat’s tHeem?”

Seeing her break free, Solomon fell into retreat. She was by far the toughest thing he’d encountered in quite some time, and he had apparently grown weak with such easy domination of his foes. Roots slithered back toward him, reforming into his body as he took a few steps back, waiting to see if she would come running at him again.

She did, and he continued to move back, lashing out again and again with the extensions of himself, paralytic thorns whizzing through the air as he tried to put her down a second time.

It wasn’t until he noticed the change in her body language and how her pace had slowed that he too allowed a moment of respite, grasping at a tree trunk as he passed it by, worn down from the constant effort of defending himself.

“Some of them,” he answered with a growl, pushing off of the tree to keep moving away from her, though it was certainly less energetic at this point. “Others are retaliation… for the centuries of destruction.” The wounds she had left him with were sapping his strength, and after a few more steps, the leshy dropped to one knee and leaned forward, a shudder running down his spine. “Please,” he groaned, “please, don’t… I have to care for this place.”

The tides were turning in Eilidh’s favor, and the cravings enjoyed that very much. Seeing him relent under the weight of his injuries, his actions. The excitement tingled down her arm, her fingers, shaking against the handle of her blade. But she did have standards. It seemed his soul was not as ripe for the picking as she hoped. Virtue could be found in his actions, at least from her type of sensibilities. Disappointing. She had been so close to finishing. He was practically on his knees, waiting to be eaten! She could still continue, just for sustenance instead of satisfying that side of her nature. But as he brought up the need to protect, to provide for the surrounding habitat, Eilidh remembered his own nature. Killing him would remove this forest its guardian.

She looked to James, her source of moral direction when in this state. He was cautiously eyeing the being, anger clear on his face, but the wink of sympathy in his eyes betrayed him. She recognized it easily, an expression he wore frequently. Always such a gentle soul. But his fleeting moment of empathy sealed the being’s fate. If Eilidh had watched longer, the two would have locked eyes. He would have motioned for her to carry on, frustration and anger and sadness at the other’s cruelty urging his damning hands. He would have sentenced his death. But instead, Eilidh looked away. Considered his importance to the flow of this environment. Considered further still the unreadiness of his soul. Perhaps in another time, another place, it would become much riper. Richer. Delicious.

“KeEP tHaat shIt ConTained to thOSe wHo HUrt tHiis PLace, or I’lL fiiiND yoU AGain.” Though some of her wished he would go against her words. Ripen his soul. Give her something to truly feast on. With that she started to leave. Footfalls as silent as James’ protest might as well have been, falling on deaf ears.

#splinter #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. solomon h.#glitch tag #drug use tw

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀᴅ

“Anakin knew he had to set her free, this beautiful Sith of a woman.”

word count: 2731

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jer·e·mi·ad/ˌjerəˈmīəd/ jeremiad

a long, mournful complaint or lamentation; a list of woes."the jeremiads of puritan preachers warning of moral decay"

Anakin couldn’t remember when he first started loving you. He only knew that he had seen you at some point, and at some point became so infatuated, he kept an eye out for you at every turn. If you happened to be passing by while he was speaking to Obi-Wan, Anakin’s eyes were trained on you. If you fought together in battle, he would look to see you on the other side. Curiously enough, when he would get glimpses of you, you were always twirling your lightsaber after a kill.

Anakin felt an enormous amount of guilt about this. He had been entangled with Padme for some time now, and had even married her after the Battle of Geonosis. He would’ve been foolish not to. Padme was beautiful and kind and diligent, and she would sometimes appear to Anakin in dreams like an angel. He felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him when he would meet his wife at the end of a long mission.

But he didn’t love her. Not really. He loved you. He wanted to be with you, to snake his hands around your waist in the night. He always made an attempt to spar with you in the temple, or ask about any mission you might’ve been on. Anakin felt like a magnet around you, even though you hadn’t shown much of a mutual pattern in return. Anakin didn’t mind that much though- you were a busy person, he understood. If anything, it only made his desire for you stronger. A woman of few words, Anakin only further imagined what your moans would sound like in place.

Eventually, however, you were gone.

As clear and distant as the rising sun, and as quiet and hushed as the moon, you disappeared from the temple and the Jedi alike. There were no more glances to steal at you, no more glimpses of your elegant training to behold. The corner of the archives Anakin often saw you in now seemed empty and incomplete with your form. Even the Jedi council seemed like it was missing something, even though you had refused to be a part of it some years before.

There were whispers, but none that Anakin ever got the opportunity to fully hear. Part of him knew that if he did hear them, he probably wouldn’t have accepted them. In truth, he refused to think that you were even dead, even though it was the far more likely answer to his questions. Anakin believed that you had suffered from some injury in your endeavors and had most likely become immobilized, instead. He didn’t want to know the truth.

But did he have some semblance of it? Yes. He was the most powerful, in tune Jedi in the galaxy- he would’ve felt what had happened to you. He just refused to believe it.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometimes, you would appear in Anakin’s dreams.

Your two blue lightsabers would be at the ready in your cunning hands. Your most trusted trooper- Commander Nyx- would be at your side, awaiting instructions. Your dark Jedi robes would stand in contrast to the scene ahead of you, which consisted of crystalline buildings falling and gunships falling with green streaks.

In dreams, Anakin would suddenly get confidence he could never muster in real life. He didn’t know it, but this was out of desperation. He wanted so badly to see you, to feel you if he could, that he wouldn’t mind risking how he appeared to you anymore. He just wanted you to turn around and face him.

Tentatively, Anakin’s gloved, mechanical fingers would reach out to you. “Y/N?” he’d call out. You would give no reply. Your robes would stay swaying slowly in the wind, offering only a view of your back. Not even Commander Nyx would answer Anakin’s prayer of a whisper. But when the sky of the scene would darken when he drew closer to you, he had received a sort of response. Anakin didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. “Y/N...”

This prompted you to turn to him. Like poetry, he caught your eyes. Even in sleep, he still felt weak and woozy in his stomach (in the best way, of course) and he couldn’t help but get lost in your orbs like a maze.

You were still just as beautiful as he remembered, but different. Something was oozing, sinking, blackening your veins like tar and poison. Anakin could see this in the way you held your sabers. He wasn’t sure how, but your fingers seemed more hungry. Your lips were chapped and slightly paler, but no less attractive than he’d always thought. Jaw sharp, skin glowing faintly- your eyes were the main piece. They were so much brighter and more intelligent than he’d thought, although not in a good way.

You were always a powerful Jedi, and this was common knowledge. You had specialized in the seventh and most deadly form of combat, taken your time to study ancient texts, and had gone head to head with several enemy forces during the War. Anakin could even recall a report of you surviving an encounter with General Grievous and emerging unscathed. But this was different. This was pure and untamed energy, an ultimate corruption as sweet as fine wine.

In this dream, Anakin was too stunned to say anything. He could only stare in a mix of awe and disbelief. You, however, did not take too long to react. Your hand shoots out. Anakin trips forward, gasping at his own throat as he watches your lightsaber come closer and closer to him.

And then he wakes up.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The day of Kamino’s attack takes everyone by surprise. It had already happened recently, and nobody had fathomed the possibility of the Separatists forming such a similar attack so soon. Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and trusted Captain Rex all rushed to the scene in a gunship, with anxiety drumming in their hearts.

Anakin’s hand tightened around the rope above. His grip became a hot, white, vice as he stared at the crashing waves below. The storm overhead was unending and surreal, but it did nothing to calm the warning in his heart.

He hadn’t dreamed about you in a month by this point. He thought about you often, however. Even more so when he was laying by Padme who had her hand placed directly over his heart. He wondered if you were still out there in the galaxy, fighting monsters and exercising a patience he could only imagine. On good days, he could trick himself into believing that you were taking a long term holiday on some distant world.

But now, it didn’t feel like you were on a distant world. It felt like you were on this one. You felt so impossibly close. Like the universe was shrinking up around the two of you and making his chest feel closed up.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan spoke out. His free hand came to rest on Anakin’s shoulder comfortingly, like he was about to pull Anakin out of something.

“Yes Master,” Anakin promised in return, even though it was a blatant lie. Still, he managed to keep his voice steady, and that had impressed him enough. “I just worry what Commander Nyx will tell us when we meet him.”

Anakin knew Obi-Wan was unconvinced. He could feel it in the air and see it in the older man’s eyes. Regardless, Obi-Wan removed his palm from Anakin’s form and opened his mouth to spit the normal analytical nonsense. “Nyx and his men are already inside the main structure. They’re searching for our intruder while clearing a way.”

“I thought you said Grievous had already been seen,” Ahsoka questioned.

“I did,” said Obi-Wan. “But that does nothing to help confirmed reports of a second party present.”

Anakin squinted at the water. Determination filled him up like it always did before a battle, but there was also an unquenchable need to make sure you weren’t this ‘second party’. He knew it would’ve been ridiculous to even consider that possibility- you were off on holiday! But something inside of him just wanted see it. It was probably just that witch, Ventress again. She did have the hobby of inconveniencing Anakin’s life more than you ever had.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Anakin was wrong.

He rounded the corner with his lightsaber in his hand. His breathing came out evenly, just as he had trained it to do. Raising his right wrist to his mouth, he said the magic words. “Obi-Wan, I’m locking in on the targets location. No signs of Nyx anywhere.”

After a high pitched beep, blaster fire could be heard in the background of Obi-Wan’s scene. “Be ready, Anakin.”

With that, Anakin doubled down his speed and spurred himself forward. His brown eyebrows furrowed together, his fingers clutching the hilt of his weapon selfishly. There were people counting on him- the Clones and snips and Obi-Wan, even Padme. But more than anyone, he felt that you were counting on him. He just wanted to silence the anguish he was feeling. It was eating him alive.

Anakin stumbled into a dark, circular room. It was empty, except for the bodies in white armor that littered the floor. He could sense other things too- two presences in the middle. He didn’t need to be so gifted in the ways of the force to know that, though. He could hear the little whimpers from the center in a voice he had heard thousands of times. It was identical to that of Rex and Cody and Bly, and that scared him somewhat.

“Y-you can’t!” the voice pleaded. Anakin would’ve surged forward and saved the clone, if not for the silencing of him all together. With the swiftest of movements, the figure pulled both of their arms to their sides, and something heavy dropped to the floor. The Crimson color of the blades answered a few of the Jedi’s questions. The face of the mystery killer, however, created more.

It was you, in all of your glory. Your eyes piercing and calm, your features were striking. You, as always, were immensely beautiful to Anakin. You were like something that he would never see again if he looked away, and the fact that it was all too true was saddening. Although your skin had paled somewhat, you were entirely recognizable. The thing that had changed the most about you was your lightsabers, which had of course transitioned from pale blue to blood red.

Anakin’s eyes widened as he looked at you. You. What kind of sick, twisted joke was the Maker bestowing upon him? This was the thing he had wished against more than anything else. It was terrible enough imagining himself fighting Obi-Wan, but this wasn’t Obi-Wan. This was the woman he had watched from afar, silently admiring and memorizing. And now the woman was a Sith- the thing he had sworn to fight against.

“Master Skywalker,” you said coolly. You twirled one of the sabers in your palms just as Obi-Wan and other Jedi had done to loosen up their grips. It felt distant. “I had hoped you’d be the one to execute me.”

Anakin swallowed, but it didn’t help the feeling in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked hoarsely, almost like a beg. He wished so badly that you were Ventress, or even Count Dooku for that matter.

You didn’t give him a straight answer, you were never known for that. “If you want me to be.” You looked the man up and down, taking him in. You could recall seeing him around the temple, fighting along side him. You couldn’t place any real conversations or formal meetings, although you would be damned before letting yourself forget the name Anakin Skywalker. He always had been the most fascinating specimen. “Shall we fight, then?”

You poised yourselves on your toes. Your prey could never see when you did this, which gave you the element of surprise in combat. You knew that you were better than many of the Jedi in the Order. You had bested Luminara Unduli on multiple occasions, along with that Kenobi and Kit Fisto. You were never one to flash this, however, instead choosing to mask your growing contempt further and further. But Anakin Skywalker was not any of those Jedi. He was the most powerful force user alive. You were not entirely sure you could beat him.

“What are you doing here?” Anakin asked. His question partially caught you off guard, but you were polite.

“I’d like to think that defeats the point,” you quipped.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth multiple times. Like a glitch, he can’t seem to find or form the words. “We- you were a peacekeeper! And now look at you!”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Anakin noticed this, but you were too much of a demanding sight to ruin his current view of you. He didn’t want to fight you. What if he killed you? What if you killed him?

“Look at yourself,” you challenged. Anakin’s heart broke in his chest. You could see his eyes widen, and immediately a pang ran through you. It was the most of any emotion you had felt in a while- years, maybe. You didn’t know what it was, because it seemed to be a mix of guilt and anguish and longing.

Slowly, like a scared child, Anakin presses the switch on his emitter and takes his fighting stance. His blue streak of light roars to life softly. The shade reminds you of your own weapons, before you had made them bleed and turned them red. The shade reminds you of many other things, however, like Anakin’s brilliant eyes and all the neon planets you had traveled to.

Anakin doesn’t want to fight you. He doesn’t know if you can tell, because your demeanor is just as cold as always. His insides feel unnecessarily hot, and the hair on his arms stand on end with electricity. He’s only felt this way when he’s becoming intimate with Padme, but never like this. This is unsettling, uncomfortable, and he would even dare to describe it as traumatic.

“I’d always hoped you’d be the one to come here,” you said. In that moment, Anakin jabbed his blade forward cleanly. The sky blue glow extended across the room, even shadowing itself onto your face and created purple against the red. You positioned yourself back on instinct, waiting for the weapon to enter through your chest cleanly.

But it didn’t.

Anakin tried to keep his face stern and angry, but he couldn’t. It kept falling short and returning to one of heartbreak. This made your eyes features fall. Anakin wasn’t going to kill you, and you weren’t going to kill him. You had never wanted to.

“I have to take you into...” Anakin’s breath fell short. You had the opportunity to kill him right then, and you were doing nothing. How incredibly foolish of you.

You pressed the switch on your blades. Both of them came to a close, leaving both of you drowned in the blue light and the blue light only. There was no competition anymore. You truly weren’t going to kill Anakin.

Anakin lowered his own weapon as he looked at your face. You looked so much softer now. He memorized everything he could about you again, like he was seeing you for the first time, whenever that may have been.

You took a single step backwards. Anakin did nothing. Another step followed. You had been ordered to kill both Anakin and Kenobi, should you stumble across them. Instead, you would cover for the man. You would tell Dooku and the other Separatists you had not encountered Skywalker.

Similarly, Anakin did not follow you in your steps. He did not chase you as you turned and left the room. He only watched your form, wondering if he was truly going to let you go again. The answer, of course, was that he would. He would tell Obi-Wan he had no conception of this hidden enemy, and that by the time he had located Commander Nyx’s squad, they had already been dead.

Still, the both of you dissipated into your respective nights, knowing your debt was settled, and wondering if it would ever return.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo

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fallen-stars-au · 3 years

Text

Any Kind of Freedom (Chapter 2)

Steven's been missing for over a month now.

Well, okay, he's not missing if they know he's on Homeworld, but he wasn't the sort to just go zero-contact for this long.

And it's officially been long enough.

They would find him and bring him home or get shattered trying.

(Ao3 Version)

Prev | First | Next

Pearl was… distressed. Her It’s Steven had been away for so very long now—longer than she could ever remember him being gone since she’d first emerged. And now she was disobeying a direct order from him! What in the stars was she even thinking?

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking at all! Stars, she was doing everything wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, she should be replaced, she-

Didn’t have much time to continue the train of thought as she was pulled off the warp pad on Homeworld by Peridot. So she listened instead because she shouldn’t be thinking even to berate herself on how disobedient she was being.

“We go to his room. If he’s not there, we find Zircon.”

Lapis nodded sharply, and Pearl would have hardly been going this fast on her own. But the two were practically running and kept her up to speed with them. It was hardly appropriate for any of them to be running in the palace halls… but she was already indecent for breaking the one rule she’d ever been given. And it wouldn’t do if she were caught alone unless ordered so by her Diamond.

The route from the Galaxy Warp over to Steven’s room—Steven’s tower, actually—was an easy one but the longest it could take to get to any of the Diamonds’ chambers which meant time had creeped past Steven’s usual wake-up point by the time they made it there. Lo and behold, when they hurried in (Pearl was pleasantly surprised she was able to open the door but confused because she’d never done the calibration to be able to do as much), no Steven.

Lapis gave an exasperated groan and promptly started to rush off again, and Pearl made to follow her before Peridot called out to them both. “Wait! … Something’s not right here…” After a moment of looking around and thinking, she pointed to a duffle bag by his bed. A closed one. “Steven’s bag is packed.”

Lapis hurried back in the room past Pearl who stepped closer after her again, rather befuddled but unquestioning. She couldn’t help be worried still, though. “What…? So he’s coming home soon? What the hell’s he been doing here so long?”

“No… Lapis, I don’t think he ever unpacked it. Look-” Pearl watched as Peridot picked up the bag, struggling somewhat. “It’s too heavy and too full. He always puts his dirty clothes in another bag—I see him carry both home every time.” She went to pull the zipper, but that was enough for Pearl to speak up with an automatic response.

“My Diamond would not be pleased with anyone rifling through his personal belongings.”

It was difficult to smile obediently and patiently at the glare Lapis gave her and exasperation from Peridot as she dropped the zipper. “Right. Well, I don’t think Steven’s opened his duffle bag since he got here…”

Lapis’s expression screwed up at the implications of that and took the bag from Peridot, having an easier time with the weight of it. “We’ll bring it home with him, then.”

And with that, they were on the move again, straight from Steven’s tower to the building next door and through to a pink closed door. Pearl jumped sharply as Lapis’s abrupt banging on the door frightened her, and she regained her composure and pleasant smile as the door slid open. She also promptly saluted then.

“What did I say about-“ Zircon cut off, taking in the sight of the three gems in front of her and grimacing. “The two of you are trouble when you want to be. He’s not here. And I’m under direct orders to tell no one where he is, so you’re going to have to find someone other than me.”

“Well then tell us who put the gag order on you, and we’ll go ask them,” Lapis shot back, impatient and unwilling to jump through hoops. Something about the way she phrased it, though… upset Pearl. She couldn’t place why, though, so she focused on the conversation again instead— forcing the smile back to her face. She was thinking too much still.

“One of the only four gems who can give me orders. That should be enough for you to determine it. Now, please leave my office. I am incredibly busy at this moment.” Zircon eyed each of them shortly before she turned on her heel and went back into her office, the door sliding closed behind her. Peridot and Lapis gave one another a look that Pearl couldn’t quite grasp before they started walking again, and she dutifully followed them.

“Would you like me to carry my It’s Steven’s bag, Lapis Lazuli?” She asked as they left the building.

“No, Pearl, just keep up with us.” Curt and short, but Pearl did as she was told.

The walk to Blue Diamond’s quarter of the palace was rather short, but the wait once they were there was less so. She nodded her head politely as Blue’s Pearl greeted them, informing them of her Diamond’s presence in a meeting. And from there, they just had to wait. There were hushed discussions between Peridot and Lapis, but Pearl hardly snooped and listened. She was already breaking so very many rules.

When the door they waited outside of finally slid open, Pearl snapped to absolute attention and saluted immediately as the lustrous Blue Diamond stepped out. And she couldn’t help be more than a little appalled as Peridot and Lapis failed to do the same.

“Oh. You two… are some of Steven’s court, yes? My Pearl informed me I had been requested. What ever might this be about?”

Lapis truly did not pull punches as she lacked any hesitation. “Where is Steven? We know you know where he is. We know he hasn’t been to his room since he got here over a month ago, and we know something’s up.”

Pearl watched fearfully as Blue Diamond’s face flickered through anger then annoyance then settled on sadness. The massive leader looked around at the other gems in the room then took the small group by surprise as she bent over and extended her hand out towards them—offering a place for her to hold them. Lapis, however, ignored it, drew out her water wings, and flew up to Blue Diamond’s usual eye-level instead. The Diamond straightened out and whispered directly to Lapis for a moment.

It was… odd. In a sense. To see another Diamond speaking so secretly and so sadly to a member of another Diamond’s court. Pearl wasn’t sure to make of it still even as Lapis flew back to the ground rapidly, her expression contorted with rage (the likes of which Pearl doubted she’d seen since she’d first emerged—when her It’s Steven fought that awful Spinel).

And her language as she returned to them was hardly filled with words befitting the presence of a Diamond. Pearl found no time to object to it, however, as Lapis set off again without another word to any of them. Instead, she did as she was supposed to.

She bowed to Blue Diamond with her salute still perfectly in place and a soft apology for Lapis’s unsavory speech, and then gracefully followed the two of them again.

Pearl had to properly run in order to catch up and even to keep up once she was behind them again as Peridot had jumped onto her human metal can lid and floated to keep speed with Lapis. Pearl was grateful she could at least hear them still as she tried to stay below them without disrupting anyone else.

“Where is he? What did she say?”

“It’s no wonder he’s been gone! They- I-“ But Lapis was too angry to finish her sentence as she cut it off with an enraged cry and just continued to lead the way.

Past the rest of Blue Diamond’s quarter.

Past most of White Diamond’s quarter until they’d reached almost the back of the area of Homeworld considered the palace where a lone, gray tower stood high above the surrounding ones. Stars, it stood almost as tall as White Diamond’s ship. Wordlessly, Lapis picked her up beneath the arms suddenly—surprising and somewhat frightening her as she took off towards the top of it with Peridot following them closely.

“Where the hell’s the entrance to this thing anyways?”

“There should be an elevator that rises from the ground somewhere—look for where that would connect!”

Just as Pearl started to feel very uneasy at dangling in the air from Lapis’s arms as she was, there was a shout of success from Peridot, and a section of one wall slid open. Once they were inside, Lapis let her back down to the floor and instead approached a vast sealed door in front of them. They were unlike any others Pearl had seen on Homeworld or Earth. There was no visible scanner to open them, no handles, no hinges. The only way to determine it was a door was from the crack running down the middle that was so tightly closed, it was barely visible either.

“Can we even do this…?” Peridot questioned, gazing up at the immense size of the doors.

“Whatever it takes—we’re not leaving until Steven is free,” Lapis affirmed, ready at any moment for a fight should anyone disagree with them.

Pearl froze in her tracks, not noticing anything around for a moment as Peridot and Lapis began to struggle with the door. That word resonated through her. That last word.

Something… wasn’t right. In her.

Or… was it?

No…. Yes?

…. Yes. Yes, something was right. Very right.

She’d disobeyed orders. From her diamond, from the other diamonds, from everyone who had ever given her one… And it felt good… A Pearl disobeying…? But what was she supposed to do when she felt she’d lost the person she looked up to most?

She was just a Pearl—who was she to question-

But… but she was… she was more than a Pearl. Wasn’t she…?

She was. She… she was… She is.

Something snapped. Or broke free or something, but a flood of memories rushed through her. Memories of rebelling. Memories of Steven… Of helping him. Teaching him. Fighting with him. Fighting for him. Things she couldn’t recognize, but she knew immediately they were real.

More came. Steven wasn’t the first she’d fought to protect. Pearl remembered her. She remembered fighting for her. Protecting her. Devoting everything to her. Loving her… losing her.

Something changed. And she started to reform.

“It’s not going to work, Lapis! There’s nothing to hack into, no weak points to destroy. It’s just too-“ Peridot’s words cut off sharply as she looked towards her friend who was desperately slashing at the tower door with harsh streams of water as a physical offense, but her gaze drifted back behind them from a familiar sort of light brightening up the short hallway. Her eyes widened, and she couldn’t help it as a grin spread across her face just as much. “Lapis- Lapis, look!”

Thankfully, the blue gem did look before she started cursing as Pearl—the real version of Pearl—landed gracefully to her feet, freshly reformed and seeming a bit dazed.

“You’re back!” Pearl stumbled back a bit as Peridot’s arms were slung around her legs, and she looked between her and Lapis confused.

“Wha- what in the Stars has gotten into the two of you?” Not that Pearl could even tell entirely what was wrong with herself at the moment. Her mind was fuzzy, and she was disoriented as she tried to remember where they were and why even as she was hugged tight enough to hurt.

Peridot let go to surreptitiously wipe away a tear under her vizor. “Right. It’s sure to be a struggle to recalibrate yourself for a time. You were rejuvenated for nearly a year. Garnet and Amethyst still are. Steven, Lapis, and I have been trying to bring you all ba-“

“Steven…” The mere mention of him jogged something in Pearl’s gem. Steven… Steven was locked up in the tower. The one Pink had been locked in so often before she’d been created. That’s where they were now. Meaning the door right in front of them was the only thing in their way of bringing him home.

It was almost scary how drastically and rapidly Pearl’s expression changed from confusion to recognition to anger, and Peridot was completely willing to step back out of the way as Pearl gently pushed Lapis off, pulled out two metal swords from her gem, and stepped forward with a look that made it clear how the rebels had won the war with her amongst the leaders.

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shiftytracts · 3 years

Text

Stop Wanting More, part 2 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part one here.

Content warnings for this half:

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport

—

“Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding—”

“Shhhh! You’ll wake the tape recorder.” Her hand clapped over his mouth so hard his teeth buzzed like mugs in a cupboard. He did his best to say Ouch. The salt on her palm made his inner lips itch. Daisy sighed: “Too late; I can hear it hissing.”

At once the cushions began to lurch again, and his stomach contents with them. On her way past him off the couch Daisy managed both to step on his trouser leg and elbow him in the sacrum. Chills curled up in the shadows of heat she’d left on his forehead, stomach, legs. Her way back into her prior position went smoother, though. She even remembered how tightly to press his belly with hers. Why did returned warmth always make him shiver?

“Alright—skip the spiel. Just Ask.”

“What did you used to do when—” Daisy cut him off with a hollow laugh, which Jon seconded. As soon as he’d begun to speak the tape recorder clicked back on, as he’d suspected it would.

“Whatever; just do it.”

“You won’t be too self-conscious?”

She shrugged. “Won’t matter; I’ll be compelled.”

Jon bit down the wave of remorse and resentment her words stirred inside him. She’d agreed to this—cajoled him into it, even. He could examine those feelings later, when she’d gone to bed. When he was alone, and warm, and.

Unbidden into his head came the passage from Tristram Shandy about the “beds of justice.” He’d never read it before, having got through hardly ten pages of that book, and wondered now for half a second how Beholding could have thought this would help, until there thundered across his mind the words, I write one half full,—and t’other fasting;—or write it all full,—and correct it fasting;—or write it fasting; and Jon swallowed, as if that would make it stop. Less than a second later he could feel his stomach trying to expand around it.

Last week he’d tried reading an encyclopedia—vore-ing it, cover to cover. No good; he quit a third of the way in, when it bored him so much he caught himself fantasizing about its giving him a paper cut he’d have to get up to attend to. Eating fear-free trivia was like trying to fill up on tic tacs. Only when stuffed could he even feel it going down.

He told himself if he didn’t Ask her for her story now he’d only spoil his dinner with more useless facts.

“What did you used to do when you got shaky between hunts?”

“I hunted rats around my flat,” Daisy said at once, in the expressionless way of compulsion. In a voice more like her own, she went on, “Not inside, not at first, just—around the dumpsters. First my building’s, and then some nights the whole block. However long it took before I got too slow to enjoy chasing.

“Then one night I thought I saw one dart past in the corridor. So I left out bait for it, half hoping it’d attract more rats into the building. It worked; I found three in there that week.”

“What do you mean bait?”

Again her first sentence emerged as though she were reading it off a list. “Leftovers, mostly. Wasn’t hard—I didn’t have much appetite for” (in one-handed air quotes, with a huff of laughter) “'people food,’ anyway. I’d just make sure to leave a few bites unfinished, and stick them under the mat at the top of the stairs. Sandwich crusts usually, nothing gross. When I got Chinese takeaway I’d use the cabbage they put in the box.”

To make air quotes Daisy’d had to fish her hand out from under the blanket. Now she returned it to its slot on the side of his gut where hip gave way to bloat. Jon almost wished she hadn’t; he feared the reminder might weigh him down. He felt giddy and light, like if he stood and walked, hell, ran, it might not hurt his legs and chest. Like if he flapped his hands instead of wringing them he’d bump the ceiling. For Daisy to comfort his body he’d have to remember he had one.

“How did you catch them? It does—uh.” Whichever Watcher department took charge of compulsion seemed to know his question ended here, because Daisy responded before Jon could finish his follow-up sentence. (It doesn’t sound like you laid traps, he’d meant to say.)

“By the tail. I ran after them and stepped on their tails and then.” She paused for an entire second and closed her eyes tight, but by the time Jon realized what this meant she’d already concluded: “I snapped their spines with my shoe.”

That was all she said, but not all he learnt about it. The Eye let him—made him hear the crunch. For an instant it shared with him the satisfaction Daisy’d felt at the finality of that sound. It had been a sore spot for her, a then-recent wound, how many monsters didn’t die when you broke their necks.

Then her satisfaction left him, and he felt intensely sick.

“Stop—don’t say any more—I’m sorry Daisy, I didn’t—”

She snarled a sigh. “Yeah, I know. Guess I should’ve told you not to ask about that part.”

“Oh. No, it’s. I'm alright, I just meant, it looked like you… didn’t want to tell me that.”

“No I didn’t,” Daisy concurred, in a tone so flat he wondered whether he’d somehow compelled it.

“Is there anything else you don’t—er. What other questions about this would you prefer I didn’t ask.”

She shrugged. “Everything else is fair game.”

“Okay,” Jon said, wishing that answer reassured him more. “You don’t—need a minute, or?”

Again she shrugged. “Yeah, alright. You look like you might, anyway. How’s your gut feeling.”

It took him a moment to realize she meant his actual gut, not like. When he did he answered without thinking: “Not bad? Ignorable, mostly, but. That in itself is.” He looked down at his fingertips for some loose skin to peel. “I’m… stronger, now, already, my. My limbs feel like.”

Daisy nodded. “Like they could carry you without having to think about it.”

“Quite,” Jon agreed, though he wished as soon as the word left his mouth that he’d picked a different one. Something that sounded less like he wanted to talk about the phenomenon’s downside, its sinister implications. He very much did not.

“The rats, did you… eat them?”

“Ew, Jon,” she replied, like it was obvious. “Not literally, no. Didn’t have to. You don’t literally eat statements either, yeah? I just killed them and it… fed me.”

“But didn’t satisfy you,” Jon suggested.

“No. They didn’t make me less hungry, just made it easier to sleep. And they made my belly swell up like yours.” (She patted his; he huffed in pretended offense.) “That’s why I only did it after I’d gone home for the night: it made me slow. I’d know I’d had enough to go to bed when I couldn’t run after them anymore. When I tried to go without—I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. Soon as I stopped thinking about it, they’d fly open. Or at least, it never felt like I slept. Guess I must’ve done, though, ‘cause sometimes I’d find myself chewing on the bedding.” Daisy shook her head, with a sigh interpretable also as a laugh. “Think I’ve started doing that again. I keep finding holes in Basira’s sleeping bag.”

“Not yours, though?” Jon knew she and Basira slept with the edges of their two sleeping bags zipped together. (A frankenbag, Daisy called it.)

Daisy grinned: “No. Hers is a better texture.”

“Thought you said you didn’t remember doing it.”

“I don’t, but mine looks like it’d be grosser to have in your mouth.”

In reality, Jon had never seen her sleeping bag up close, but now Beholding showed him what it looked like. Once kelly green but now faded grayish, like a pond; the fabric was all over pills. It smelled like wood smoke, Ritz crackers, and the lone sock one finds at the bottom of every suitcase.

“That’s fair,” Jon allowed, hoping the strain in his voice would sound to her like a laugh. Somehow this piece of information, about the godforsaken sleeping bag, had brought his stomachache back way above the “ignorable” waterline. The nauseating smell, maybe? He tried to steady himself with a deep breath, but, well.

“You look sick.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“You’re not subtle, Jon,” she scoffed; “you gasp and writhe.”

Jon tried to shrug, tried to laugh. “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot. I’m alright, I’ve just never.” What, been this full? Compelled an eldritch snack after having already eaten his weight in paper? As if that weren’t obvious. He drew in breath to speak, but still hadn’t thought of an end to his sentence. Then he felt Daisy’s hands—both of them—start to dig shallow trenches, one up each of his sick sides. His breath came out in a shaky sigh.

“That help?”

“Yeah.”

Each time they reached his ribs—or, in the left side’s case, the place where his ninth and tenth ribs used to be—her hands turned back, in a slight arc so that they made narrow ovals, each a little closer to his stomach’s center than the last. Until they met in the middle, then worked their way slowly back out to his sides.

“Could you… keep doing that while I hear the rest of your.”

Her laugh had an edge to it that miiiight have been contempt? But she said, “Sure. What do you still want to know?”

“Uh.” He pretended to have to think about it. “Why don’t you hunt rats now?”

“I don’t want to kill things just because they’re weaker than me.” Daisy’s hands had frozen in place while she spoke these words; now they resumed. She sighed, but Jon wasn’t sure at what. “Rats are fine, they don’t need to die.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re fine,” Jon scoffed; “pretty sure they serve the Corruption. They spread hantavirus, ratbite fever, lymphocytic”—he paused to swallow a wave of nausea, hoping it was the ugliness of these facts and not their sheer bulk that sickened him. He hoped also that she’d assume his voice had caught on the pronunciation, rather than. He cleared his throat and continued: “Lymphocytic choriomeningitis, and leptospirosis. And the plague, of course, though not without help from.”

Daisy groaned, her teeth bared to the canines. Jon could feel her fingers curl into fists, though thankfully none of his skin got trapped between her nails and palms. “That’s exactly the kind of judgment I’m trying not to make anymore. They’re—they’re also good, okay? Rats. Had a friend with a rat once, when I was a kid.” For an instant Jon wondered if she meant Calvin Benchley. Then the Eye told him she did. “You can teach them tricks. Like dogs. His knew how to fetch, roll over, go through mazes to find treats. And they’re affectionate, friendly. The tails are weird, but—they have sweet eyes.”

A huff of laughter tumbled out of Jon’s nose. “All animals have sweet eyes. That’s a pretty low bar.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

The Ceaseless Watcher seemed to side with her on this, showing him the eyes of lemurs, flies, goats, anglerfish (the regular kind).

“Either way, I hardly think that outweighs the plague.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Daisy insisted, still sounding querulous. She’d retracted her hands now, and held them balled together close to her chest—like Jon himself did when he felt too shy to stim outright. If they hadn’t been talking about rats the attitude probably wouldn’t’ve struck him as rat-like, but.

“It doesn’t always need to matter which one of those things is more important,” she went on. “It feels like it does, but—sometimes that’s just a habit we get into. Some things just are, okay? I like not having to think about it anymore.”

“Right, that makes sense, we can….”

“Besides. I didn’t care about any of that when I was hunting them. The diseases or whether they’re part of the Filth or whatever. I just knew they were gross, and that people were scared of them. That’s the main reason I killed monsters, too.”

“What if you just… caught them and let them go?”

“Monsters?”

“No, rats.”

“I don’t want a substitute, Jon. I’m alright going cold turkey.”

“But it’s not cold turkey, it’s—no turkey.”

Daisy looked at him for the first time in what felt like a while, and smiled, but furrowed her eyebrows. “Just what do you think ‘cold turkey’ means?”

“I know there’s no actual turkey,” Jon sighed, trying to ignore the Eye’s barrage of suggestions for where the phrase might have originated. God, his stomach hurt. He missed having her hands there to rub away some of this nausea and ache. Wondered what he could say to bring them back. Doing it himself at a time like this would’ve felt so. “I just mean, withdrawal is—different. It can kill you, but you’re still abstaining from something that people in general don’t need to live.”

“Aaaand you think people in general need the Hunt.”

“Of course not. I know you know what I’m getting at,” Jon persisted. “You’re talking about starvation—which, unless for some reason the Fears are too sentimental to throw their old husks away, means it will kill you. Not just—‘can.’”

“Maybe. Probably, yeah. If some monster doesn’t come around to kick me off the wagon first. I’ve told you that before, though.”

“…Okay. Yes, you have, that’s. Yes. So then—?”

“What?”

“Why are you giving me a statement!?”

“To commiserate,” Daisy recited first, in the flat tone of compulsion—and then, “Shhh!”

“Tape recorder’s already on.”

“Yeah but Basira’s out there; she might—be asleep. It’s not a statement,” said Daisy. “Just a story.”

As usual Jon let himself fall into the trap. Was it a statement? By Institute standards, maybe not; he wasn’t sure it counted as a supernatural encounter, except from the rats’ perspective. And most of the fear in it was the rats’, too. He supposed you could call it an encounter with her own changing nature? Statement of Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, regarding her supernatural hunger and how she.

“But why would you feed me a story when the answer you come to at the end of it is that it’s better to starve?”

This time he didn’t mean to compel her—was sure he’d phrased it indirectly enough not to. But Jon was surer yet Daisy wouldn’t have given the answer she did except under compulsion:

“Because I felt sorry for you.” Then she winced, bared her teeth, shook her head; Jon wondered if she’d felt that one. It seemed like people usually didn’t—just heard themselves speak words they hadn’t meant to, and surmised what had happened from that. But maybe after so many in a row she’d begun to feel the static.

“For what? Why?”

“For feeling evil. Because it reminded me of me.” In her own voice: “Think maybe I wanted it off my chest, too.”

So, what? The moral high ground was alright for her, but he was too weak for it? Or, or not, what, spiritually advanced enough to walk that plane? Because he hadn’t been conscious for his six-month limbo between life and death, like she’d been in the coffin?

“But you resist, so—? Why wouldn’t you think I should starve too?” On the ocean floor of his stomach something evil emerged from its hole. “Hhh—wait, don’t answer that, I’m—”

Too late. “Because eating the statements doesn’t hurt anything. The ones already written down—just recording them, it’s harmless. And you can’t give me bad dreams anymore, so—ugh.” Jon opened his eyes to find Daisy clawing at her temples. She shook her head, to the extent she could without knocking into his. “I told you I'm trying not to do that anymore.”

I’m not ready, Jon had meant to say. But seeing how little she liked having answered, he wished he could claim it was for her sake he’d tried to stop her.

He still wasn’t ready to hear or think or talk about this, really. The top half of his belly seared with such pain he couldn’t think straight; lower down it squirmed. He felt perilously sick. His whole body wanted so badly to curl into a ball that his legs wouldn’t quit twitching against Daisy’s. He pressed his elbows into his sides, while his hands hovered, pathetically he was sure, just over the top and center of a stomach he feared would pounce if he dared touch it.

But he felt like owed her some proof he’d been listening. “Do…?”

“Judge people. Decide what’s right for them.”

“I see,” Jon lied; that was all he could manage for now. In truth he needed a break before he could even parse what she had said.

“Turns out I can’t lie to myself under compulsion either. I didn’t think that was the reason?—thought I was just not judging you.”

“I think”—he pushed himself back from her, sure for a second that he was about to be sick. It passed, but his breath caught on it as on panic, so he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

Especially not since Daisy too shot upright, her nails loudly scraping the cushion behind her as she hurled herself against it. “Shit—turn around—not on the couch—”

“I’m okay, it’s.” He did turn around, just to ease her mind, but the motion required had quite the opposite effect on him. Jon heard the sounds of ragged breath and whimpering, then recognized his own voice behind them.

Daisy’s hands came to perch one on the back of his shoulder, the other on his side between rib and pelvis. “Don’t worry about it, just get it out. We’ll clean it up later—just like last time, remember?” The fingertips of the hand on his side twitched back and forth at his stomach’s very outer edge.

“N—o, I.” He swallowed. “I think I’m alright.” Tried opening his eyes. Nope, not ready. His breath shuddered again. Daisy’s hands vanished from his shoulder and side; he heard the flapping sound of a blanket being shaken out, then felt it flutter and settle on top of him. Must’ve got dislodged when he rolled over, though he was warm enough now he hadn’t noticed. Dimly he recognized this as a victory.

Her hand moved to stroke his back; she kept saying Shhh, but not in the harsh way she had earlier. “You, uh.” Again Jon swallowed, though what ailed him was a lack of spit rather than excess of it. “You weren’t nearly this nice last time.”

“What?” The hand on his back stilled. “I was too! I tied your hair back for you! I let you ruin my jumper by wiping your pukey mouth on it! I sat with you, on the cold hard floor, in front of the toilet, and let you babble all your egghead theories to me about vomit and the Corruption, even though I’d been sick not two days before, and could barely stand the smell even without you philosophizing about it—”

“No, I meant—the time before, when you. Never mind.”

“Oh—when I had to clean it up?” Jon nodded, hoping she’d be able to tell that from the back of his head. “Yeah, well. Guess I like you better now.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Me neither.” And yet she scooted closer to him, hooking her chin over his shoulder. Her hand came to rest on his belly again, its heel in the hollow at the edge of his pelvis. “This okay? You alright with touch right now?”

In response Jon felt around for her hand. When he found it he slotted his fingers between hers, pulled her hand to a sicker-feeling place a few inches higher up, and left his there on top of it.

“Right,” Daisy laughed—“my mistake.” She dragged their combined hands very gently back and forth across the place he’d brought them to. “This where you’re feeling yuckiest?”

His breath caught again, but with surprise and relief this time. With his free hand Jon covered his eyes, willing himself not to think about how ridiculous he must seem to her right now. “That’s, er. That’s perfect, yes.”

“Sure.”

“Though actually—do you think—maybe a slightly… longer stroke?”

Again she laughed. Her hand went limp under his. “Backseat driver. Alright, show me how it’s done.”

It took him a minute to determine that himself. He tried pulling her hand back and forth past his navel, but that grated against something sharp inside. Supposed he couldn’t consult the Oracle for this. Up and down, maybe? Yes, that would do. Or a circle perhaps. Anti-clock—? No, clockwise, definitely. Much better.

Once they’d got that sorted out, Jon said, “I wonder if… you’d let me Ask. One more question.”

“Seriously? I can feel how stuffed you are; how could you possibly want more? Five minutes ago you nearly puked.”

“I’m just—curious, alright? I won’t be sick, I promise.”

“Fine.”

“Did you ever… throw them up?”

“I didn’t eat them, Jon. Told you that already.”

“Alright, poor choice of words. Did you ever—” he tried to think how best to phrase it. “When you threw up regular… people food. Did something of the rats ever come up with it?”

“Yeah. I only got sick once in the time I was doing it, but, I think so, yeah. Thought I was just really out of it at the time though. They didn’t make me sick, I don’t think—just another stomach bug, like the one I gave you. One of those bugs where everything has to come out? And it came on me in the middle of the night, so the last thing I’d”—a pause to sigh; her hand slipped out of his, presumably to make air quotes, but then took it again before he could think of somewhere else to put it—“‘eaten’ was the rats. Not as many as usual; I was already feeling slow that evening. But, yeah. They… it wasn’t their actual bodies, though, okay? I thought I was just dry heaving at first—you know when you’re hanging over the toilet bowl because you know you’re gonna be sick—”

Jon squirmed, fighting a temptation to cover his ears. “Yes, thank you, I’m familiar with—”

“—but you can’t get anything solid up yet, you just retch and drool and cough into the bowl. Well it started then, and then, some of it got mixed up with my sandwich. It was like I… felt their fear, like I—became them, for a second. Each one of them.”

She’d been right; it was too much. God, please don’t make him be the rat! Jon bit his lip ducked his head to his chest curled his toes bent his knees, anything, trying to barricade the doors against the onslaught of information. He pressed his and Daisy’s combined hands hard into the place where his stomach jutted forth from ribs for fear if he didn’t try to equalize the pressure inside from without he might burst like a sheep in clover and flood this whole room in half-ruminated text, a cloud of serifed letters scuttling heinously all over himself and Daisy like half-formed spiders.

“I don’t know how I knew that’s what it was,” Daisy went on. “It wasn’t like I saw the scene again, or heard the crunch, or felt the. Anything like that. I just—was the rat. I was prey. Just for a second. And knew that I—me, as in.” Again her hand slipped out of his. “The Hunter, was about to kill me. And… then it faded and I was me again until the next one.”

Her hand returned to the dome at the top of his gut where he’d last set it, but its ghosts on his palm and between his fingers remained cold. She brushed the hand up and down his belly, airily—oblivious to how its muscles clenched and undulated. Jon panted and forced himself to focus on her hand and nothing else. How it bumped and shuddered when his stomach’s shape morphed under it. How at the end of his every exhale her touch became so light it tickled. This was the present Daisy, and the present Jon. Here on this couch in the Institute basement. Both thin, her bony ilium pressed closer to his sacroiliac joint than was quite comfortable. Warm, except up one leg where the blanket let in a draft.

The one who’d tried to prey on him was long gone. If anything he was the one feeding on her, now. And they just laid on the couch together, massaging her horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him.

“That enough?”

Jon grunted an incredulous huff. “Too much,” he admitted, unable to keep the strain out of his voice. “You were right—I, uh. Didn’t know stomachaches came this size.”

Her laugh sounded affectionate. The lines up and down his stomach morphed into circles around it. “Ha—look how much higher your belly comes up on this side. That must be where your ribs were.”

“Yes, I’ve. Noticed that before, thanks.”

“Think you’ll keep it all down?”

“Hope so.”

“Good luck. Wouldn’t want you to have to relive the rats again.”

Oh, god.

“The less said about it the—better I’ll feel, I think.”

“Well that’s a change,” Daisy mused, patting his stomach as though in summation. “I should get to bed. Be alright on your own?”

“Er.” No, no, no, god please no, not alone yet with all these? “Yes, alright. I should be fine.”

She laughed again. “I’ll stay til you fall asleep.”

(For Daisy’s take on “the time before,” when she had to clean up his vomit, see Abyss of Possibilities; to view the drawing in less-bad resolution, see this post)

#stuffing #hunger kink #nausea #stomachache #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #me: writes a story about eating information #also me: god why is this so LONG why did i have to go off on so many TANGENTS #uhhhhhhh hm let's think

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warw3tw4y4e · 3 years

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter fifteen: little doll

Cliff kept the vase of tulips nestled in between his bare naked legs. Sam reached and brushed his hair forward, over his shoulders, so those fine tips caressed the top of his chest. She backed up to the stool which she had set in the middle of the carpet in front of him. She plunked her journal upon her lap and held a hard graphite pencil over the page.

The late afternoon sunlight shone over his shoulders and the crown of his head so it looked as though he had an actual crown atop his head. The yellow petals of the tulips were as bright of a yellow as they had ever been to her. But she wanted to focus on the light about his head and bring that to the paper before her.

Her eyes fixated on the crown and, careful not to press too hard on the paper, she ran the side of the graphite near the top. Given it was such a hard piece of graphite, it left behind such a soft haze in its wake.

Every so often, she took a glimpse down at the paper to make sure it was the real thing and that she hadn't run off the page at some point.

She gazed into his eyes. At the shadows all around them, and all about his face and his bare strong looking neck.

“I feel like I should be wearing a flower crown on my head,” he confessed at one point.

“A flower crown?” she laughed at that as she drew his long, callused fingers as they surrounded the smooth exterior of the vase.

“Yeah, like a laurel—like what Julius Caesar is known for wearing atop his head. I could wear something like that the next time Metallica goes on tour and we come here to New York City again. I could do that and sing like Geddy Lee at some point when James isn't looking.”

Sam burst out laughing, so hard that she almost dropped her pencil. But she caught it and she kept on going, down his body, and towards his sinewy thighs and his slender knees. She thought about his bell bottoms and those pointed toe boots: and yet here he was, pounced nude before her with nothing more than the tulips to keep it all under wraps.

She thought about Joey and how he was doing back home. If he was taking care of himself and his parents all the while, as Anthrax were about to put out their record soon. His birthday soon approached, too, and she thought about what to do for him on that day. Every so often, Cliff cleared his throat or sighed through his nose, but the sole sound came from the grain of the graphite upon the grain of the paper.

She thought about the colored pencils in the next room, just for a bit of contrast against the cool, soft, smooth graphite before her. A soft touch of bright yellow and green for those tulips, given she had reached his slender ankles and his bare feet.

“I'm starting to itch a little bit,” Cliff confessed to her.

“I was just gonna ask you—how are you feeling right now? I'm almost done so you can scratch or run your fingers through hair if you'd like. I just have to work on the flowers now, and I've got to get my colored pencils for those.”

“Okay, good!” Cliff tipped his head back to show her his neck and then he raised his arms over his head to stretch his back.

“You're so thin,” Sam remarked as she stood to her feet and set her journal down on the head of the stool. “But you're like—elegantly thin, though.”

“Would you rather I be ripped as holy hell?” he cracked.

“Not at all,” she said. “Like I said, you're elegantly thin. Nicely and perfectly thin, and—as I was sitting here drawing you, I couldn't help but—” She froze in her tracks.

“Couldn't help but what?” He moved the vase of tulips and set it back down on the coffee table before him. Sam nibbled on her bottom lip. She had led herself down an uncharted pathway she hadn't been down before with anyone; she lowered her gaze to his bare hips and thighs. He sat there before her, completely naked, and with his legs spread wide open as if he beckoned her.

“—couldn't help but fall in love with your skin.”

“My skin?” He showed her a little smile at that.

“Yeah, your skin. You have unbelievably nice skin. It's like porcelain. And it's especially like that—” She gestured towards his thighs, and for the most part, all about the inside there. Even from there, she could tell the skin was silken and smooth, perfect and without a blemish one to be found.

“—I almost wanna touch it again,” she confessed.

“Almost?”

“I've got tulips to color in.”

“You gonna tiptoe through them?” “You mean 'tippy toe,'” she corrected him.

“Nah, I mean 'tiptoe'. So you gonna tiptoe through them later?” That little, subtle smirk on his handsome face was obvious to her.

“Maybe when the tulips get to be a part of something outside of a drawing,” she suggested, and the words just came rolling out of her, and he chuckled in response to that. A bit of warmth washed over her face as she padded out of the room for her colored pencils. She plunked the journal across her desk and she gazed on at the blank void in between Cliff's thighs. He sat right in front of her without a piece of clothing on for a good long time, and yet she never did anything beyond that until he moved it away from there.

Her eyes grazed over the faint lines of the tulips there underneath his chest, and the vase in between his thighs.

The sound of clothes rustling in the next room caught her ear, but she kept her eyes fixated on the journal before her. Add to this, the energy of the first day of school settled over her. She figured she could color in those flowers and then call it a day.

“Hey, Sam,” Cliff called out to her from the next room.

“Yes?” she called back.

Silence.

She turned around in time to find him lingering there in her doorway. He had put his jeans back on, but he kept his shirt slung over his forearm as if it was a towel.

“What're you gonna have for dinner tonight?” he asked her.

“Not sure.” She hesitated for a moment. “Why?”

“Chuck and Eric—you know, those guys from Legacy—invited me to dinner over at the Zazulas' place tonight.”

“Well, I don't have class tomorrow,” she started, “and even I did, I think I could probably work something out regardless.”

“I could take you with me on the bus,” he said, “because I got here on the subway.”

“Well—can I color in those tulips first?”

“Of course! At this point, I want you to be the best artist you can.”

“Like how you wanna be the best bassist you can,” she recalled.

“Exactly!” He showed her that little Mona Lisa smile before he ducked out of there. Sam gave her dark hair a toss back and then she returned to her journal.

Bright yellow for the entirety of the petals. Goldenrod on top of that layer for the base of the flowers. Orange, scarlet, and a kiss of violet respectively on that layer for some extra depth in between the petals. Light green for the stems and the fledgling leaves, and dark green on top for some depth. A little touch of that violet again for the edges and the outside of the vase.

At one point, she lifted her head from the journal. Silence in the next room.

She padded in there to find Cliff there on the couch with a book sprawled over his lap. He raised his gaze to her and showed her that little Mona Lisa smile yet again.

“You want me to change my clothes first?” she asked him.

“If you want,” he suggested, “you could go dressed like that, too. If you do change your clothes, I can call Jon and Marsha.” Thus, Sam then bowed back into her room to change into a clean black sleeveless blouse and she headed into the bathroom to wet her hair under the shower faucet; she could catch the sound of his voice from the kitchen and she knew she was on the phone with someone. She spritzed of a bit of soft smelling perfume around her neck and her wrists before she returned to Cliff a second time.

“I think the bus is coming in a bit,” she told him as she picked up her purse again and hoisted it over her shoulder.

“I'll carry you over there and run if I have to,” he admitted as he tucked the book into the inside of his shirt. Sam locked the door and led him down the stairs and outside to the sidewalk. The late summer sun hung low over the city skyline, but she put her sunglasses on over her face.

“This way, Cliff,” she commanded, and she led him up the block towards the corner. She could hear a bit of loose change jingling behind her; she peered over her shoulder at him. He took out a few dollar bills from his jeans pocket.

“I was just gonna ask you if you have any spare change,” she admitted as they stopped in front of the bench there at the bus stop.

“I was just gonna ask you the same thing,” he almost echoed to her.

“I've got some,” she assured him as she reached into her purse for her wallet. “I don't think I've ever been to the Zazulas' house, come to think of it.”

“It's a cute, cozy little place,” he said, “and there's a couple of spare rooms for four guys like me and Metallica.”

“Suddenly coming out here from the Golden State makes a lot more sense now,” she remarked with a giggle. Within a minute or so, the big white and silver city bus lumbered up to the curb before them.

Sam paid the fare first followed by Cliff. Despite it being the city bus, they were the only ones onboard for the most part; but she stayed standing up with her free hand clasped onto the rung overhead. Cliff took his seat right next to her underneath the window. He set his hand upon the crown of his hat.

Sam glanced back at him and the denim in between his legs. It was such a strange sight to behold right there right next to her. He had just exposed himself for her right there, on display for her to see, before she colored in those flowers and that vase.

Every so often, they came to a complete halt to pick up someone along the way, but then, within time, as they reached the edge of the Bronx and the banks of the river, Cliff reached up for the bell.

Sam stepped off the bus first; Cliff almost dropped his hat as he climbed off onto the sidewalk. He fixed his hat and then he put his arm around her.

“Over here,” he pointed to the cute little black and creamy white house straight down the block, the one surrounded by a trio of tall oak trees. She set her hand on the strap of her purse as they strode away from the bus stop and towards the house. She recognized Lars' little crown of fluffy light hair on the front porch, even from a distance. He had taken his seat next to the front door and rested his elbows upon his knees, but he wasn't holding anything to warrant a stare down. As far as Sam and Cliff knew, he had just been sitting there doing nothing for no reason.

“The Danish pastry is already here,” Cliff declared in such a loud, booming enough voice for it to echo across the pavement. Lars stood to his feet, right before the screen door, and nudged his mirrored sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, and pressed his hands onto his hips.

“Danish Superman,” Sam added as they came within better earshot.

“The song that closed Denmark,” Lars stated with a break in his voice.

“'The song that closed Denmark,' I'm writing that down.” Eric's voice floated out from the window next to him. The screen door swung open and swatted him right in back. Lars lunged forward and Chuck emerged from the inside of the house.

“Thought I recognized little Samantha,” he declared; Cliff let go of Sam so she could give Chuck and Lars hugs hello; the latter planted a light little kiss on her cheek, which made her blush a bit.

“Oh, my,” she muttered.

“I'm sorry, I'm European,” he confessed with a shrug and a shake of his head. “A kiss upon greeting is a thing over there.”

“You have really soft lips,” she noted.

“I try my best,” he shrugged his shoulders again.

“C'mon in, kids,” Chuck encouraged her and Cliff into the cozy front foyer of the house, which smelled of that warm, welcoming aroma of freshly baked bread. Sam took off her sunglasses and she better spotted Eric reclined on the couch in the living room off to the left. He lifted his head and showed her a little grin.

“D'you get our letters?” he asked her with a raise of the eyebrows.

“I did! This guy—” She gestured back to Cliff, who rested his hat on the top of the recliner chair in the corner closest to them. “i—said it's for a fan club.”

“And he would be right,” Chuck said as he slipped around her.

“So how big is this fan club gonna be?” she asked Eric.

“I hope it'll be of considerate size,” he confessed with an outstretch of his arms, which made Sam think of a kid laying on his back at his parents' house. “Present itself to of considerate size.”

“I like the way you said 'considerate',” Sam added with a smirk.

“'Cause that is the goal, after all.” He flashed her a wink and she chuckled at that.

“And I'm glad you guys could make it over here again, too,” she continued.

“Hey, Jon's label is here in New York,” Eric pointed out. “Until he gets a few more reps to go out to California and the Bay Area, it's trips out here between the five of us. Well, four of us rather, for the time being anyways.”

“So are we officially gonna meet Alex at some point?” she asked him and she couldn't resist the grin on her face.

“Hopefully.” He slid his hands underneath his head. “Like what Chuck and I both said back in Ithaca, he's still a kid in school. He's got another year left before we can actually do something with our music and perhaps go on tour. I called his dad just yesterday actually and he started his senior year literally about a week ago.”

“Kid's got more balls than I do,” Cliff said in a soft voice; he took his seat there in the recliner. The sound of metal clanked upon metal from the foyer caught Sam's attention, and she realized it was Lars with the screen door.

“Such a bint,” he groaned under his breath.

“What's a bint?” she asked him.

“This lock on the screen door.”

“You gotta jiggle it,” Chuck called from the kitchen. Lars did just that and then he ambled into the living room and joined the three of them.

“So is this your first time here at the Zazulas' place?” he asked her as he took off his sunglasses and showed off those deep set green eyes to her.

“It is!”

“Aurora is showing up here soon, too. And oh! You are gonna love the food that Marsha makes.”

“I've eaten pancakes from her before,” she pointed out.

“But have you eaten dinner from her?”

“I haven't, no.”

“You are in for a treat, min kaere.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, forgive me.” Lars brought a hand to his mouth. “Sometimes a little bit of the mother tongue slips out.”

Indeed, it was an understatement on his part.

Even though Aurora didn't show up at all, Marsha made the five of them a pair of homemade pizzas, one with pepperoni and the other with vegetables on top. Sam couldn't resist with indulging a bit: she had a day off and she was with her new guy friends to boot. A brand new chapter of life that warranted a letting go for a little bit.

Alongside the pizza, Cliff had downed a whole two bottles of beer. By the time the sun had gone down, he stepped outside for a smoke, which took her aback.

“By the way, when did Cliff smoke?” she asked Lars who took his seat in the recliner and leaned back with a toothpick in hand.

“Earlier this year,” he replied as he stuck the toothpick in between his smooth lips. “He doesn't do it much, though. So if it's any fairness to you at all, I never expect it, either.”

Sam took a glimpse out the front window in time to catch the sight of a cloud of smoke. She thought about that night after the Legacy show where he and Alex were on the porch of the coffee house.

On one hand, he kept it away from her. But on the other hand, she wondered if he forced himself through it at times. She thought about the pair of beers he had kicked back over dinner, and then she thought about the softness and smoothness of his skin and his hair. A boy so soft and yet he did that all to himself. It almost didn't add up, and as a result it left her baffled, and to the point she couldn't exactly think about anything else.

The cherry from his cigarette burned through the darkness of the night and right onto her memory. The smell of the beer lingered on his breath on the ride back to the heart of the Bronx. She kept it all on her mind even through the night and the next day off from school as he came back over to her place with Charlie and Marla. She carried something wrapped up in a bit of brown paper towel.

“What you got there, by the way?” Charlie asked Marla, and she unraveled the paper towel. It was a stained glass unicorn about the size of her hand, and she held up to the window so the morning sunlight shone through the milky blue and pure rich blue and emerald green glass that made up its body. The fine delicate look of its legs. The point of its soft blue horn.

It looked as though it was about to gallop away on a dance of a rainbow.

“Bel made this,” she said, “we got to talking about the stained glass windows at school and she remembered this. She lent this to me for today to show you guys.”

“It's beautiful,” Sam declared.

“Yeah, I love the colors she picked out,” Charlie added.

“This is a true piece of art,” Marla remarked, mystified by the unicorn in front of her face. “This is in essence, what art is all about. Combining pre established ideas into something new. I said that to Bel once and she kinda shrugged at it.”

“She's like a little doll,” Cliff said right behind them.

“Who is?” Sam asked him.

“Belinda. Just from what I saw from her yesterday when you and I were walking back to the subway.”

“Oh, yeah!” That brought a slight laugh out of her, but she couldn't hardly muster anything further than that given she could see it on his face and in his eyes. He wanted to step outside for a smoke and a half. She shook her head at herself, at the thought that she had missed it this whole time until the night before.

“I think she's going upstate in a couple of days for some more of glass stuff,” Marla was saying at one point; Sam wasn't properly paying attention and thus it came out of the blue to her. “She's still a teacher aide and all. I told her where we are, so she'll swing by soon enough to pick up her little unicorn here.”

To take her mind off of Cliff's habits, Sam offered to take a look of the little stained glass creature for herself. She thought about the windows, how physical and rich art can be. She thought about the closet in Charlie's apartment, where she ran her fingers all through Frank's hair prior to drawing.

Marla made a note to her to wash her hands given the glass was held together with lead soldering, even though Belinda had cleaned up the glass after she had finished it. Sam turned it over and ran her fingers over the more grained side of the glass. All the texture. All the feeling.

Indeed, once Belinda showed up, she was quick to hand it back to her and clean off her hands in the kitchen.

“So I might not show up to school tomorrow,” she was saying with a raise of her eyebrows, which in turn made her seem more of a little doll than the day before, “it's all upstate as far as I know. I might say hi to Joey on the way up there.”

Sam returned to that thought she had had in the school hallway: the idea of making a stained glass rendition of Joey himself. She was about to tell Belinda about it but she had already left the apartment. But the more she thought about it, the more she needed to tell someone about it, and Marla and Charlie soon left afterwards as well.

Cliff had taken his seat on the couch with his hat placed on the seat right next to him. She turned to him with her hands clasped before her stomach. He leaned forward and reached into his shirt pocket for something: she spotted the edge of the little white box. It was such a habit that he had and yet it perturbed her without an extent.

She thought about Joey and his struggles as well. It was such a strange thing to suggest to him given they hadn't known each other for very long, but she had to tell someone, and she had to give their relationship something more than what was already presented to her.

“Cliff?” she blurted out, and he raised his head to her.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Sure. You can tell me anything.”

“It's two things, actually.” He nodded his head. “Go right ahead, my lady.”

That beckoned a smile from her and she moved in closer to him. She hovered above him, still her hands clasped right in front of her stomach as if it was upset.

“The first thing is—the glass,” she started.

“Oh, yeah. That stuff is sick.”

“Yesterday, at school, when the three of us were looking at the windows in the hallway, I thought of making a glass rendering of Joey at some point.”

He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Really?”

“Wait. You don't think it's ridiculous?”

“Like I said, I want you to be the best artist you can be. Much like myself with my bass playing. That actually sounds really cool—like Joey's gonna love that if and when you get to do that.”

“I'm thinking of drawing a full body thing of him, too,” she continued, “kind of like what I did with you.”

“Again, he's gonna love it. He'll probably freak, actually.” Another crack of that Mona Lisa smile; he kept his fingers on the little white box nestled down in his shirt pocket.

“And the other thing is—” She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Silence. Neither of them moved.

“Is what?”

“I wish you wouldn't smoke,” she said in a small voice. She kept her eyes closed. “You have too nice of skin and flesh. I wish you wouldn't do those things.”

Silent still. She didn't move.

The sound of fabric rustling caught her attention. The feel of his lips on her forehead made her open her eyes; he towered over her with a thoughtful look on his handsome face.

“Funny,” he started, “I've actually been trying to stop smoking. Drinking, too. I like eating too much and sometimes when I drink, I don't enjoy Marsha's food so much.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Blame Alex—hanging around him a little bit has made me reconsider it. He always chokes and gags at the smell of it. He's always like 'oh my god, holy shit!'” He lowered his voice to an almost cartoonish manner to where it brought a laugh out of her. “It's true! But now I see that—my girl isn't too crazy about it. I'll make a better effort to stop.”

He then bowed forward and planted a kiss on her forehead yet again.

“It's best we take care of the little dolls of the world,” he said in a low voice.

“You guys do love your female fans after all,” she recalled.

“We do! We really do, such that we’ll do anything for them. For the ones closest to us.”

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willowistic22 · 4 years

Text

Cardigan - Belmerttons

Ship: Belmerttons

Genre: Angst if this is how you angst lol

Song: Cardigan - Taylor Swift

A/N: So I’ve been meaning to get into doing songfics for awhile now and I finally found time to do it yeyyyy. in celebration of Taylor’s newest album I wrote my first songfic to one of my favorite songs on the album!! It’s always me projecting my inner swiftie lol. give the song a listen it’s sooooo good. Idk how frequent i’ll be writing these songfics but just know i want to dabble in a little bit of songfics so I hope y’all like it! (it’s my first one so critiques are much appreciated!)

Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

That night, Buttons was finally brave enough to wear his high heels out in public. The club he went to was full of life. Flashing lights in every corner of the room, music blasting like it’s the end of the world, various looking people dancing to the beat.

Buttons found refuge by the bar to order a drink for himself to sink in his loneliness. Despite the club being packed with people, he doesn’t know anyone.

But that’s where Buttons found him. Leaning his back on the bar top. In a yellow vintage t-shirt that says ‘Santa Cruz, California’ in blue. He dragged his eyes to meet the face. The right amount of freckles sprinkled across his cheeks as it spreads out when he smiles. White teeth gleaming under the light the disco ball provided. Jet black hair going absolutely wild like the scene around them.

God was that stranger attractive. And he might’ve caught Buttons starring.

Dancin’ in your Levi’s

Drunk under a streetlight

He presented himself to Buttons as ‘Elmer’. He was charming and smooth for the most part. Pulled the right strings in Buttons to give him butterflies. But Buttons can tell he might be a little tipsy from the way that he’s slightly swaying for no reason.

One thing led to another and Buttons founds himself walking out of the bar with Elmer. Manhattan’s nightlife is something he’s used to, since he has lived here all his life. But he has someone to share it with now. All of a sudden, the moon seems to shine a little brighter and the stars twinkling undecipherable signals to Buttons.

Buttons laughed at the stupid antics the alcohol made Elmer do. They’ve just met, but Buttons can tell he isn’t the best dancer ever. Elmer swung his body while holding onto the streetlight while trying to sing the lyrics to the very loud song the club provided, with a little stain on his jeans from the liquid he accidentally spilled. It made Buttons erupt into laughter.

They’ve only had one simple conversation but Buttons can tell getting to know this boy is going to be one wild adventure he can’t wait to embark.

Hand under my sweatshirt

Baby, kiss it better

And it was. For two full months, they’ve spent their days together. Elmer made Buttons’ day to day life so much better. Every little thing they did was like a new adventure. Whether it’d be going out for pizza to as little as sneakily putting a hand under his sweatshirt in broad daylight. Maybe it’s too soon to tell but Buttons could almost say it’s love.

Luckily, he hadn’t said it. When Buttons really thought this was all too good to be true, it was.

They’re in each other’s arms, in the middle of Buttons’ apartment. Swaying slowly to soft music they put on to fill in the void. Buttons rests his head slightly into the curve of Elmer’s neck, and Elmer’s sitting on Buttons’ fluffy brown hair.

Previous nights they did this, it was full of life. Now that reality has finally came around the block, they sway in each other’s warmth to the inevitable heartbreak they’d have to go through in the morning.

Chase two girls, lose the one

Elmer isn’t an official New York resident. He lives in Poland with the rest of his family. The kid who’s known to do the right thing only because that’s what his older siblings has been doing their whole life. And the right thing for him is to go with his family’s advice to propose to his long-time lady friend since his 25th birthday is coming up and he hasn’t found a special someone yet.

But he doesn’t love that girl. Not in that way at least. When Buttons found out about the truth, he was in pieces. Sobbing in his bedroom all alone that Elmer had kept that really important information from him.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing

Buttons’ should’ve put his guard up when his heart said it was all too good to be true. Elmer is a gentleman, that part was true. He was out of Buttons’ league. Did everything Buttons could ever ask for when he’s searching for someone to share his love with. But Elmer was never his to keep or lose.

Elmer wanted nothing more than to go back in time and make everything right. From preventing Buttons to sob his heart out from thinking how dumb and naïve he was. And Elmer couldn’t do anything more than just be on the other side of the door, listening to each teardrop Buttons’ received from the devil they’ve created within their made up heaven.

But I knew you

“Why didn’t you told me?” Buttons had asked once he finally picked himself up. He opened the door to see water streaks on Elmer’s cheeks, much like his own.

“I wanted to… I-I swear on my life…” Elmer chocked out, sniffling his stuffy nose. It was hard for him to form a proper sentence with the sobs threatening to escape his lips, “I just… couldn’t find the strength to… accept that I could lose you…”

He really thought he knew who Elmer was. But it turns out he was still the same stranger Buttons met at the club.

What had made the situation even worse, Buttons didn’t have the strength to slam the door at his face. He was to weak to hate him. He couldn’t if he tried. He continued to sob his puffy red eyes out as he embrace Elmer in a hug. Elmer couldn’t stop his own tears from sinking into the sadness.

He let Button’s tears leave a mark on the hoodie he had worn that day. Hoping the marks would stay there forever to remind him the best thing in his whole life he had lost.

Playing hide-and-seek and

Giving me your weekends

And it was unfair for both parties. Elmer found that ‘something’ he’s been searching for his whole life. Giving his all to Buttons.

Elmer gave Buttons a new meaning to simple weekends. Glued to the bed till 11 AM, entangling in each other’s limbs under the covers, skipping breakfast to turn it into heavy lunch dates. Sometimes one ends up dragging the other outside to get some sun. Other times, they stay in with their pyjamas on.

He also reminded Buttons what it’s like to interpret the famous ‘young, wild, and free’ quote. Elmer had ran around Central Park like a child one night. Buttons ended up following his little game of hide and seek after seeing nothing would make him stop. Forgetting their whole point of walking Buttons back to his place after their sixth dinner date.

And it was on that cold and dark night that he finally found out what it meant to stargaze. Buttons had finally caught up to Elmer, fully crashing on his chest when he turned around unexpectedly. Elmer caught him in his arms before gravity did. He held him up with breathless smiles decorating their faces. They were locked in an intense gaze and felt their breath do the same.

Elmer raised a hand to rest it on Buttons’ cheek. If the soft touch didn’t give Buttons goosebumps, the words Elmer whispered after will.

“Ca-can I kiss you?”

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Once in twenty lifetimes

Buttons never even thought their Manhattan adventures could get any better. But it seems that Elmer knows how to make all the black and white colors in life full of color.

Something as small as focusing on Elmer’s heartbeat as he lays his head on his chest while sitting on Buttons’ couch could make him feel this way. Safer than being under the covers at night when 7 year old Buttons had a fear of monsters in the closet. Warmer than the hot chocolates he orders when he goes to Starbucks. Feeling confident that everything in his life has lead up to meeting Elmer.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone’s bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

For the first time in his life, he found out what being loved really felt like.

It felt like Elmer’s hugs was warmer than winter jackets. It felt like Elmer’s finger that had traced any inch of skin on Buttons was softer than a newborns blanket. It felt like all the bright colors on Time Square’s billboards were nothing compared to what Buttons sees when he kisses Elmer with his eyes shut.

To kiss in cars and downtown bars

Was all we needed

And their love, or whatever it is they have, was each interpreted differently. But it still comes down to how sweet it was.

It was sweet to Buttons for Elmer to be laughing in the middle of their kiss as they head home with a cab after wearing their legs off from roaming around Manhattan. They made sure to give a huge tip to the driver for needing to put up with their honeymoon stage.

“Is he going to be okay after going through that car ride with us?” Buttons asked, still smiling as they make their way into Buttons’ apartment building after exiting the cab.

“I gave him a $20 dollar tip for needing to endure all of that. He’ll be fine!” Elmer replied, to which Buttons countered it with a giggle.

And Elmer thought it was sweet to him when he successfully got Buttons to go to a bar and endure his tipsy antics after his second drink. It’s not that he gets totally hammered, but Elmer does starts to get a little lost after two drinks of scotch.

Buttons had to hold Elmer’s arm the whole way back or else he might trip and fall. It was a sight to behold when Elmer did manage to trip and fall on his own footsteps.

You drew stars around my scars

But now I’m bleeding

“You could still stay”

“You know that’s not possible”

“Then make it possible”

“Buttons—”

“You don’t even wanna go back there”

“I can’t—”

“You lied to me for nearly two months!” Buttons lifted his head from the warmth of Elmer’s shoulder, making the two stop from swaying to the background song, “I’m sure you can make up another lie to tell your family”

It broke Elmer’s heart to hear something like that come out of Buttons. Voice cracking a little from the sob he held back, but the anger still visible. And slowly, he starts to bleed out invisible liquid out of his eyes. It isn’t the conventional blood you’d get from a nasty cut. Because it was worse.

Buttons sobs quietly as he stares up into Elmer’s eyes that’s starting to bleed as well.

Elmer grabs Buttons cheeks with both hands. He wipes away the tear streaks with his thumbs and sniffles out, “I’m sorry. But I can’t”

Steppin’ on the last train

Marked me like a bloodstain

The next day arrive a little too quick. The day Elmer leaves for Poland. It’s a long-shot for him to return because his Manhattan trip alone costed more than an arm and leg.

Buttons isn’t sure how Elmer managed to convinced Buttons to take him to the airport. And now that they’re standing in front of the entrance, Buttons regrets it a little. Because no one should be saying a proper goodbye to the person that broke their heart. No one should be crying over that person exiting their life. Buttons knows better, yet, he can’t help it.

“I gotta go—”

“I know” Buttons cuts him off. No trace of warmth or longing in it. Just plain cold words.

Elmer just stands in front of him, not moving one inch of his muscle other than the ones on his face. His expression changes after getting the message of how hurt Buttons really is. But who is there to blame other than himself.

I knew you

Tried to change the ending

Peter losing Wendy

“Buttons…” Elmer called out with his breath. The crowded airport fades away around them as Elmer drops his hands holding his passport and plane ticket. He looks at the shorter boy, desperately trying to look for the same look he saw in his eyes when they were still having those adventures around the city together. The hope, the adoration, the excitement. Anything that dismisses his coldness Elmer is receiving.

“I know you’d stay if you can. But you can’t” Buttons replied so Elmer wouldn’t waste his breath on something Buttons already knows.

They stayed quiet for a moment. Buttons looks down to his worn down sneakers to ignore the visible pain behind Elmer’s black misty eyes.

“If I were to ever come back…” Elmer started out with a crack in his voice, “…would you want to see me?”

Buttons furiously wiped an eye with the over-sized jumper he’s wearing and looks up to meet Elmer’s eyes, “I-isn’t there a flight you’re suppose to catch?”

That answers Elmer’s question pretty quick. His heart shattered even more. With a hopeless breath, Elmer turns around with his luggage but stops halfway to face Buttons once more before finally disappearing to the crowd, “Take care, Buttons…”

And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Buttons should have never opened his heart so easily to the stranger he met in the club. He wouldn’t be in the back of the cab from the airport just to say goodbye to Elmer. The heartbreak he’s enduring is all his own fault. He holds back tears threatening to trickle down his cheeks again.

How could I’ve been so stupid? He thought to himself, looking out the window. The view of the city goes back to being the dull city he’s always lived in. Nothing is exciting about Manhattan anymore. Benjamin Davenport, you deserve this for being such a fucking naive idiot.

But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs

Once Buttons shuts his apartment door, he sinks down the floor with the door against his back. He tucks his knees closer to his chest, grabbing it for dear life as he sobs harder than before. The air turns into all sorts of misty with every drop of water rolls down his cheeks.

That same misty air didn’t change for the coming of long and dreadful days ahead of him. Where he now has to spend them without having a partner to conquer the city. The skin Elmer has placed a kiss is somehow screaming for more attention. And his brain constantly rewinds the ‘what-if’ Elmer had asked before he left for his flight.

If I were to ever come back would you want to see me?

Oh, God, what if he really will come back? What would Buttons do?

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

Days turns to weeks. Weeks turns to a full month. Every possession Buttons owns that Elmer has touched haunts him till this day. It’s unfortunate to Buttons because he let Elmer touch every aspect in his life.

But there’s this part in Buttons that tells him to hold on. Hold on to that huge hoodie Elmer had let him use at night when it got too cold. In this one particular night, Buttons let’s the weeping sky decide whether he’s going to listen or not.

He let’s his weakness gets the best of him and grabs the gray hoodie from his closet, slipping it on in one swift move. Buttons hasn’t washed it since the day Elmer left it there. Buttons takes in the smell as he drops his weight back on his couch again. Sweet and fruity. He even picked up a little scent of Scotch from the soft interior. There were more he sort of picked up, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But that’s the smell of Elmer.

‘Cause I knew everything when I was young

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time

Chasin’ shadows in the grocery line

The feeling of longing is still there. And that ‘what-if’ was still looming in the back of his mind.

Buttons hates him. He hates Elmer for bringing in hope when he knows it’s going to be ripped away from his hands sooner or later. He hates Elmer for showing him a world only the two of them can see. Buttons hates the cruel act of receiving so many things from him like they’d be something special, only for Elmer to retract it all.

But secretly, he wishes Elmer really would come back. Part of him wants to call him up and check on him. But another part of him wishes for Buttons to get over that guy. It took so much time to get to where Buttons is at right now. Sure, there’s still that sorrow feeling in his stomach but he let’s the sky sob for him ever since he stopped his eyes from doing so.

Elmer had made up his mind to leave. So Buttons should just drop it. There’s no point in trying to chase someone who isn’t waiting to be caught. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to. The coldness of his living room makes him miss Elmer’s warm hugs. But he stays strong because he knows that ‘what-if’ is only a dream.

Or so he thought…

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired

And you’d be standin’ in my front porch light

And I knew you’d come back to me

A faint knocking on the door brought Buttons back to his apartment from his mind concentrating on the sound of the rain. He cocks his head towards the sound, a little surprise upon hearing it since he isn’t expecting anyone to come.

He reluctantly gets up from the comfort of his couch, dragging his feet across the cold hardwood floor. He opens the door to reveal a figure all too familiar.

Buttons’ eyes widen up to the same eyes he fell in love with. He froze in place to see the presence of the tall boy with the same wild hair he wore on the first night they met.

“I…” Elmer started out, shifting his hands out of the pocket of his jacket to reach out. But he retracts his hand mid action, figuring out it might be inappropriate to do it now.

The air between them shifted. A mixture of everything they’re feeling all at once as they hover between Buttons’ apartment and the gloomy hallway. They speak through their frozen posture, saying everything and nothing all at once without a verbal word being exchanged until Elmer broke the silence first.

“I hope you can forgive me”

#Newsies #songfic #belmerttons #belmerttons newsies #elmer kasprzak #buttons davenport #elmer newsies #buttons newsies #also making this my pinned post bcs i am THAT proud of myself

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enigmatist17 · 4 years

Text

Promethea (Zane/Rhys/Vaughn/Timothy)(1)

I just

I like the idea of them all <:)

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

Promethea was a faint glow of purples at night, usually a breathless sight to behold for newcomers.

You got used to the glow after some time, and for some, it was a source of comfort.

Timothy Lawrence could never get used to the sight, spending most of his nights by the window right before he would go to bed. The glow hid the stars high above, stars that only reminded him of the casino, of being trapped in a hellscape for so long he had nearly called it quits before his life was changed. The thought of being in space, where he couldn’t run anywhere except to the vacuum of death only racked up his anxiety to impressive heights at the mere thought. Luckily, during the daytime, he was distracted and free of thinking about such things. He had his new job, his friends, his lovers, and helping those who couldn’t help themselves.

At night, however, he would wake in the casino most nights. Pretty Boy would sometimes be there, tying Timothy down and taking whatever he could, forcing Timothy to say he was Jack between the pain whimpers and unsolicited moans of forced pleasure. Other times, he was in his cage, watching as the Vault Hunters fought and lost at the hands of Pretty Boy, listening as their screams were cut off one by one. Sometimes, he’s lying on the floor in the place he had made home, hearing Jack’s laughter and mockery as he held a gun to his head.

He tried his best to avoid sleep when he first arrived at Promethea, his mask doing only one good thing and hiding his exhaustion. Rhys, still so foreign yet known to the doppelganger, had seen through him and offered sedatives. It worked for a while, long enough to grow to trust, to accept, and to love, to grow relaxed enough to start forgetting to take his sedative. The nightmares waited, striking when Timothy had dozed off on one of the various couches scattered throughout Rhys’ penthouse. Zane, relaxed on a chair across from him, drew his ever-present pistol when Timothy had screamed, a primal and terrifying noise that usually were uttered by those being tortured. After scanning the room and seeing nothing, Zane’s gun is holstered and tossed aside, more concerned about scooping Timothy up into his arms. The lad freezes and starts lashing out at Zane, glazed eyes wide and unseeing as he is restrained.

“Stop it! Stop hurting me!” Timothy shrieks, startling a returning Rhys and Vaughn who were just stepping through the front door. Zane eases up on his hold, Vaughn seemingly materializing to hold Timothy’s head from smacking back against the arm of the couch any further. By now, Timothy is sobbing, the name Pretty Boy spilling from his lips in a way that makes Zane narrow his eye for a moment.

“Sweet boyo, sweet boyo he’s not ‘ere.” Zane gently cooed, his voice soft as Timothy continues to cry out. He is now only moving his flesh hand, firmly gripped around Rhys’ offered hand from behind the couch, knuckles white as snow from the strength he was using. “Zane is ‘ere, I’m not gonna let Pretty Boy hurt ye. Open yer eyes fer me sweet one, open them an’ look at me.” Timothy almost looks unwilling to comply, and the sobs begin to trail off as Vaughn leans down and nuzzles the side of Timothy’s head. The bandit makes a soft purring noise, and finally, bleary eyes seem to focus. At first, all Timothy sees is a small bit of the ceiling, fluffy brown hair obscuring most of his view as he sniffles.

Wait...what?

He feels a set of hands holding his head down, Vaughn pulling back and looking almost relieved to see him awake. His head is soon released, and Timothy feels errant tears on his face, his nose clogged up in a way that only happened when he...cried… Timothy feels the blood drain from his face when Rhys and Zane come into view, and all he can manage is to look down in shame.

This was it. No one wanted a broken and shattered husk of a man, no one wanted someone who feared sleeping, no one wanted someone who screamed at his past that haunted him.

“Lad? Are ye there?” Zane hasn’t taken his eyes off of Timothy, the doppelganger feeling that eye locked in on his very being.

“...what did I say?” Timothy sounds hoarse, flinching at Vaughn’s touch just for a moment, before curling in against the bandit the second Vaughn was sitting down. He’s tugged up and onto Vaughn’s lap, strong arms hugging Timothy as close as possible. It was one of the easiest ways to get Timothy to relax, the man craving any sort of physical interaction he could get.

“Ye were talkin’ about the casino.” Zane doesn’t want to speak the name, and Timothy finds himself grateful when he doesn’t. Despite having been with the three for almost a year, a lot of what he went through in the casino was a mystery to them. Only Moxxi knew, and had deleted the years and years of footage after she spoke to him in a way that made his heart ache. The others had never pried, never asked whatever it was that Timothy kept from them.

“...I’m sorry.” Timothy can’t help but apologize, and he feels a familiar metal hand rest over his own, giving it a small squeeze.

“What for?” Timothy just shrugs, a small noise escaping his lips when Vaughn presses a kiss to his neck.

“For not...for being a fucking disaster.” He laughs bitterly, voice wavering as Vaughn continues to press kisses on his neck and jaw. “I am not worth the three of you…”

“Says who?” Zane scowls, watching as Rhys comes from the back of the couch, kneeling in front of the couch where he and Vaughn sat. The doppelganger feels the way Rhys leans against him, somehow hugging Timothy just so that a tear escapes him. Zane just worms a hand in, running his calloused thumb over Timothy’s flesh hand back and forth slowly. Timothy can’t seem to answer, just so overwhelmed by how they just held him, giving him so much love despite who he had been and what he had done.

He doesn’t hear who suggests it first, but eventually, they all pull apart. Timothy curls against Zane after taking a half-hearted shower, the two on Rhys’ sprawling bed. It took him a minute to even realize the fact, and before the question makes it way past his lips, they are joined by Vaughn.

“You bros comfy?” The bandit hums, setting his glasses on the nightstand as he watches the others cuddling a foot away. Zane flashes a thumbs-up, glancing over when Rhys finally emerges from his own shower.

“I would think so! That’s the best mattress in the whole galaxy I think.” Rhys grins, noting the sleepy look Timothy gives him as the CEO slips in beside Vaughn. The lights dim as everyone relaxes and gets comfortable, and Timothy can only feel his anxiety starting to rise at the thought of succumbing to another nightmare.

“Get some rest, we’ll be here.” Zane murmurs into his ear, and Timothy wants to protest. His room isn’t far, and there he can scream and have his lovers be blissfully unaware. Yet, as Vaughn nuzzles the side of his neck, and Zane just tightens his hold, his room suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing.

Timothy doesn’t even remember falling asleep, breathing peacefully as for once the casino doesn’t haunt him.

#borderlands 3 #borderlands 3 spoilers #zane flynt #rhys strongfork #vaughn #timothy lawrence #zane x rhys x vaughn x timothy #I want my boyo's happy on promethea

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: Endings And Beginnings (chapter 18 plus epilogue)

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

AO3

*draws deep breath*

*slowly exhales it*

Okay. Okay. Wow. I can’t quite believe this is it. I’ve been writing this story for more than a year, and now it’s done. That is... well, it’s something.

I have to take a moment to thank some people, people who helped me through when it felt like no one was reading this thing that was carving pieces out of my heart with each chapter, people whose support is the only reason the thing is finished, and that I’m even still writing. I was so, so close to giving it up but they wouldn’t let me and I am deeply grateful.

Krystal, who inspired the thing in the first place and whose enthusiasm is a true joy to behold. Ro, whose wisdom and compassion are so vast and who was the shoulder I needed exactly when I needed it. Katie, who sees everything and understands it all, even the things I don’t say. Lisa with her amazing comments, Masha with her brilliant art, Alma with her generous soul. Devra, so insightful and thoughtful with her incisive analysis and appreciation of so many of the things I love. And Stephanie, my other half, I can’t believe I had to live forty whole years without you but this last one with you has made up for all of them.

Thank you all. So, so much.

a/n: this chapter is actually two chapters because it just got SO LONG, but I’m posting them together - or at least within a few hours of each other.

Endings:

The sea was calm, that peculiarly soft and eerie calm exclusive to the hour just before the day breaks, when the air is cool and the light is grey and mist shimmers over gently undulating waves, and even the birds know it would be a sin to break the silence. Across that calm sea a boat glided, smooth and true and though no wind filled its sails, quite remarkably fast. It was a small boat, made of wood with a mast, two sails, and an oar, just enough to suit one man in decent comfort for a journey far longer than most would wish to undertake in such a vessel, but Oisín—for naturally the man was he—was quite extraordinary in his way and crossing a wide ocean in a tiny boat posed no challenge for him.

He was nearing the end of his journey now; the thick mist and low light obscured his vision but not the pull in his blood that grew stronger as his homeland drew nearer. It is a pull we all feel after long days or weeks or years, decades even, spent away, but for a man who counts centuries as beads on an endless chain the call is stronger still.

He dipped his oar into the water, skilfully steering the boat through the treacherous shoals that shielded his island from unwelcome travellers and into a cove perceptible only to those who already know it’s there. The boat slid onto the shore with the rough whisper of wood over sand and Oisín’s soul sighed in peace. He was home.

He stepped from the boat and tugged it up more firmly onto the shore, looped its rope around a slender column of stone sticking up from the sand and when he turned around again she was there. The mist embraced her and the sun even now rising over the horizon cast a gentle light upon her face. A face as young and ancient as his own, smoothed by magic and profound with the weight of ages. He drank in the sight.

“Niamh,” he said.

“Is it done?” she demanded, in a voice drawn as from the strings of a harp, melodious and resonant.

“It is done.”

“Our debt is repaid?”

Oisín nodded. “He will still have challenges to face, some magical, some of the more mortal variety. But never again will he face them alone. I can see the threads of his life, of their lives, woven together to the end.”

“Not too soon an end?”

“Fewer years remain by far than what he has already lived, but that remainder is still generous for a mortal man. And they will be happy years, on the whole. For her as well. For all of them.” He stepped closer and stroked her silken cheek. “Worry no more, my love. He is free now of the demons that so long tormented him, and he will be happy.”

She sighed, and smiled, and leaned her head against his hand. “Then I am happy too.”

Oisín smiled indulgently, an answering platitude ready upon his lips, then blinked in surprise when he realised that what he planned to say was true. “As am I,” he said softly. “Very happy indeed. Now let us go home.”

When Regina and Robin materialised in the sheriff’s station they found the others still there and awaiting their return. Killian was sitting on the edge of one of the desks with Emma nestled between his legs, his arms around her waist and his cheek on her hair. Henry and Neal were leaning side by side against the wall of Emma’s office, talking animatedly, and Zelena lay unmoving on the cot in her cell, staring blankly at the wall. Despite herself, Regina felt her heart twist at the thought of her sister’s bitter loss.

“Hey, Regina,” Emma greeted her. “How’d it go?”

“Exactly as I hoped. The magic is back in the Enchanted Forest and dispersed enough to be harmless. I put a temporary seal over the portal. It’s done. The curse is broken and its magic is completely gone.”

Henry ran over and threw his arms around her. “Great work, Mom. Both moms,” he said, grinning at Emma. Regina hugged him back, tightly, but a hard knot of apprehension still sat like a stone in her chest. The curse was over but that didn’t mean her troubles were.

“We should get to Granny’s,” said Emma, pulling out of Killian’s arms and going to stand behind Henry. “My parents are there and probably most of the rest of the town. We need to let them know what happened.”

“Yes. Of course. Um. You go. I’d like—actually, I’d like talk to you for a minute, Killian. If I could?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nodded. “Aye, if you wish. Emma, why don’t you take yourself and and the others straight to Granny’s and Regina and I will follow on foot. We’ll meet with you there in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Should I not come with you?” asked Robin, giving Killian a dubious look, clearly wondering if he could be trusted to keep Regina safe from whatever he imagined might threaten her. Regina’s tense expression softened.

“You can, though I really need to talk to Killian privately.”

“I’ll keep my distance,” Robin promised, narrowing his eyes at Killian. “But I’ll be there.”

Killian gave him a single brisk nod. Though it was very clearly not reciprocated he felt an odd kinship with Robin. After all, if anyone knew what it was to love a headstrong woman who took no care for her own safety it was he. Robin’s protectiveness may be unnecessary in this case but Killian understood all too well what drove it. “I’ve no objection,” he said.

“Okay.” Emma gave Killian’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll see you in a bit then.”

“Aye, love. See you soon.”

The noise in the diner was deafening and the scene chaotic as people shouted greetings from across the room and elbowed each other aside to get to friends and loved ones, exchanging hugs and handshakes and recounting their lives under this most recent curse at the very tops of their lungs. Snow caught sight of Red behind the counter and ran to greet her while Charming shook hands with the Merry Men and assured them that while no, he couldn’t say where Robin Hood was at that precise moment he was sure to be fine and show up soon.

Gradually the hubbub began to die down and Grumpy once again raised his voice.

“So you gonna tell us what happened with the curse?” he demanded. “Who is Zelena and why did she cast it?”

“Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West, like we said before,” Charming replied.

“Really though? Like with the flying monkeys and the big crystal ball?” said Grumpy.

“Yes. We don’t know how she cast the curse or why, but Emma does and she’ll be here soon. Until then, can we just… just….” He trailed off as a peculiar noise filled the air, a low-pitched hum like a distant swarm of insects, accompanied by a prickling sensation against his skin. Voices began to rise again, in consternation this time.

“What is that?” growled Grumpy.

“I don’t know.” Charming’s eyes sought Snow’s and she came to stand next to him, slipping her hand into his.

“Feels like magic,” remarked Will Scarlet. “Magic sort of—loose in the air.”

“It does kind of feel like that,” Snow agreed. “I’ve felt it before, when Regina does a spell.”

The worried muttering increased, and Charming realised he was losing command of the situation.

“Look, nobody panic—” he began, just as the door opened and Belle burst through it.

“I don’t want to make anyone panic,” she said. “But there’s some sort of—something going on outside.”

There was a moment of silence, then a rush of noise as everyone ran to the windows.

“What the fuck?” snarled Grumpy. “Your Highnesses, you’d better come see this.”

This was like nothing any of them had seen before, or rather nothing they had even not seen before. A sort of sideways tornado, a swirl of distortion in the air, invisible, perceptible only in the way it bent and refracted the light around it. It twisted and twined its way through the sky over the town, heading towards the forest. They all stood together and watched it go, every breath bated and each heartbeat quickened as they waited anxiously for something they had no idea how to articulate, and then, abruptly, it was gone.

“Well,” said Charming heartily, attempting once again to regain control of the situation. “I guess that’s—well, that.”

“Sure, yeah,” said Will. “Of course. But also what the bloody hell was that?”

“I’m sure Emma can—”

“Yes, yes, Emma can explain, so you keep saying. But where is this Emma?”

“She’ll be here soon,” Charming insisted. “I promise. Until then, everyone please just stay calm.”

The muttering began again as the crowd milled anxiously around and Charming was just reflecting on how much easier it was to lead a war council than a mob of disgruntled citizenry when white smoke swirled in the middle of the diner and Emma appeared, Neal and Henry at her side.

Immediately the crowd erupted with a roar of noise, shouting questions and demanding answers. Emma ignored them, hurrying over to her parents with Henry close behind.

“Grandma!” he cried, “Grandpa! I missed you guys!”

Snow and Charming folded Henry into a double-hug, and Charming caught Emma’s eye over the top of his head.

“You guys okay?” she asked.

“We’re fine. Everyone else though...” He nodded to the crowd behind her. “Well, you remember that reassurance you were going to give everyone? Now’s the time.”

“Right.” Emma turned to face the crowd. “Everyone!” she shouted. “Hey! Can you all please shut up for a minute!”

The noise quieted as inquiring faces turned towards her. “Good,” she said. “Okay. Now I’m sure you all have a lot of questio—”

“Is it true that Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West?” shouted Grumpy.

“Yeah and why’d she curse us?” Sneezy piped up.

“Oh and why—”

“How do we—”

“When can I—”

“ENOUGH!” Charming’s voice boomed through the diner. “Let her speak!”

Grumpy opened his mouth again then closed it with an audible click of his teeth as Emma and Charming shot him identical glares. “Yes,” said Emma, “it’s true that Zelena is the Wicked Witch of the West. She cast the curse to get revenge on her sister. Regina.”

Shocked silence fell, broken just before it grew uncomfortable by Granny’s mutter. “The Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch are sisters? That’s a Thanksgiving dinner I would not want to be at.” Several people nodded their agreement, and then Grumpy piped up again.

“So if Zelena cast the curse to get back at Regina, then the curse is actually kind of Regina’s fault even though she didn’t technically cast it,” he said. “Right?”

“No,” said Emma.

“But if it weren’t for her Zelena may never have—”

“Okay maybe a little,” Emma interrupted, holding tight to her patience. “But the point is Regina didn’t cast the curse, and also she actually contributed a lot to breaking it.”

“But—”

“No going after Regina, Leroy,” said Emma firmly. “She’s on our side now and I for one would like to keep her there. She’s a lot more useful as an ally than an enemy.”

“Fine,” grumbled Grumpy, and Emma extended her stern glare to the rest of the crowd. “Everyone got that?” she said, raising her voice so they all could hear. “No mobs. This curse was not Regina’s doing and Zelena is being dealt with. Just—let me handle it, okay?”

No one replied.

“Okay?” Emma repeated, louder still, and the crowd grumbled reluctant agreement.

“Okay. Now, I know you must still have a lot of questions and so I’d like to propose that we all take a few days to calm down and think about what we want to do now that this curse is broken. I’m guessing a lot of you are going to want to change jobs, maybe find a new place to live. Think about it, and in a day or two we’ll have a town meeting to talk things out. Is that okay?” She turned inquiringly to Snow.

“Um.” Snow looked startled. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, you are still the acting mayor,” Emma pointed out.

“Huh. I guess I am.” She nodded. “That sounds like a good plan to me. All agreed?”

There was a chorus of “ayes” and “yeses” and “I guess sos” and Emma smiled. “Good. Everyone go back home now, and if you see Regina remember no mobs.” She turned back to her parents with a relieved smile. “Ugh, I’m glad that’s done. I don’t know about you guys but I am dying for some onion rings and mint ice cream. Ooh, and maybe some pickles.”

Regina took her time walking to Granny’s. Killian let her set the pace, clearly content to allow her what time she needed to collect her thoughts. They walked side by side with Robin trailing several feet behind, and Regina took advantage of the chance to look around. The streets were empty, and exactly the same as they had been before. The OG SB, as she imagined Henry would say. Curse 1.0. Her curse.

She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, trying to ease the tension in them.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Killian echoed.

“So, ah, things might get a little unpleasant. At Granny’s. After the last curse broke, the townspeople were out for blood.”

“Your blood, I presume?”

“Yes.”

She could feel his eyes on her, observing with curiosity but no censure. “And you’re worried they will be again?”

She nodded. “I’m sure Emma will tell them I wasn’t the one who cast it this time, but—well, there are going to be a lot of angry people. And confused ones.”

“And anger and confusion are a bad combination,” Killian concluded. “Aye. That’s a recipe for mutiny.” She glanced at him and saw his mouth twist with an expression she couldn’t read. She wondered what he could be thinking of.

They walked another block before he spoke again.

“There are likely to be people out for my blood as well,” he said. “There generally are. And Emma’s parents… well…”

“Yeah.”

“Dave will be wanting my head, no doubt. And likely other parts of my anatomy as well.” He raised a wry eyebrow and her mouth curved in an answering smile. “Emma will fight for me, but I doubt that will do much to appease their shock.”

Regina nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Emma will fight for me, he said, with a casual assurance that floored her. She couldn’t imagine what that must feel like, to have such complete faith in someone’s love for you.

“Regina.” She looked up to find him watching her with an odd expression, understanding and almost kind. “You know that Emma will stand up for you as well,” he said. “As will I. For whatever that’s worth.”

She smiled. “It’s worth a lot.”

They walked in silence for a few moments more. “I sense that wasn’t all you wished to speak to me about,” Killian remarked.

“No.”

He turned to her with an encouraging look. “Well?”

“Do you—do you think they’ll ever really accept you? Snow and Charming, I mean. Do you think they’ll ever truly see you as part of their family?”

“I don’t know. I hope they will. But perhaps the most important thing I have learned about this whole redemption business is that you can’t change the past or control other people’s reaction to it. Perhaps they never will accept me, and I can’t force them to. All I can do is apologise for the wrongs I’ve done and make what amends I can, and try to live better in the future than I have in the past.”

“And what if you lost Emma? You’d still try to do that? You wouldn’t—er—”

“Fall back into darkness again?” Killian’s jaw was tight, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side. “No. I wouldn’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Emma wouldn’t want me to, and even if she were gone I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. But it’s more than just that. I hated who I became, after my brother died and then Milah… I loathed myself for all the things I was doing but that only drove me to do more, worse things. I didn’t know how to make myself stop. ‘This is who you are now,’ I remember thinking. ‘This is the only way for you to be.’ And that, as I’m quite certain you understand, my Queen, is a terrible way to feel. It’s a terrible way to live.”

Regina swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I didn’t want to live that life. Emma merely gave me an opportunity to walk a different path, showed me the way back to the man I had been long ago, a man I almost lost to vengeance. But I would still have wanted to be that man, for my own sake, even if Emma never came to love me.”

He turned to her with an earnest expression, one she could imagine a young naval lieutenant may once have worn. “You have to want it for yourself, Regina, not for anyone else. If you’re trying to change for another person you’ll always resent it, and them. Do it for yourself alone. Do it because it’s the right thing to do, and because you deserve to be able to look at yourself in the mirror without shame. I’d like to think we all deserve that. Or at least a chance at achieving it.”

"Thank you,” she said. “I’ll think about that.” He’d given her a lot to think about. But Granny’s sign was looming less than a block away, and she still needed one thing more of him.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course.”

“This curse of Zelena’s... I still can’t quite figure it out. It was weird in a way I’ve never even heard of before, almost like it was, I don’t know, sentient almost. Like it could act for itself.”

“Hmmm. What makes you think that?”

Regina frowned, trying to recall the exact words that had triggered her bizarre theory. “Zelena told me once she had spies and alarms everywhere, and she certainly always seemed to know what was going on but I never saw anyone actually working for her. Or anything. I don’t think any of her, er, flying monkeys were even here.”

“So you think she meant the curse itself was her spy.”

“Yes. Does that sound crazy?”

“Not at all. This curse certainly had some peculiar qualities. There was that wind, for example, the way it seemed to follow us around.”

“Yes! And the way I always felt I was being watched.”

“I suppose there’s no chance of getting Zelena to tell us, now she’s defeated.”

“Probably not, though I plan to do my best to get it out of her. But who knows how long that might take, so in the meantime do you think you could write down everything you remember about it?”

“Aye, of course I can. I’ll make a log of my observations, and Henry’s as well. His input will be more useful than mine since he knew the old Storybrooke far better than I did.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They reached the gate of the diner and paused for a moment beneath the arch to allow Robin to catch up with them. When he did, all three exchanged a glance, and Robin took Regina’s hand.

“Well,” said Regina. “Here goes nothing.”

Emma sat herself on a stool at the counter and placed her order with Granny, whose eyebrows rose almost to her hairline as she wrote it down.

“I’ll get that for you right away,” she said with a probing look that Emma entirely failed to notice. She tapped her fingers absently on the formica countertop, smiling as she watched Henry greet all the people still in the diner and tell them eagerly all about how he had helped break the curse.

“So,” beamed Snow, taking Emma’s hand and letting her thumb trail significantly across the ring on it. “Congratulations, you two.” She turned her head so her smile encompassed Neal as well. “I’m so glad you found each other again and can be a family.”

“Ah,” said Emma, glancing at Neal. He gave her a shrug, and a smirk. “Um, actually—”

“But when did it happen?” Snow was frowning now. “My memories of the curse are really foggy, but weren’t you both here the whole time? When did you have a chance to get married?”

“Mom, it’s not actually—”

“Who got married?” asked David, coming over to join them. “Emma?”

“Yeah, actually I married—”

A broad grin broke across David’s face and he took Neal’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Should I give you my protective father speech now, or is it too late for that?”

Considering our kid is nearly fourteen and was born when I was hardly older than he is now, I’d say yeah it’s a bit too late, Emma thought irritably. “Dad—”

“We’ll have to have a celebration, of course,” said David, and Snow nodded eagerly. Emma felt the situation spinning rapidly out of her control and Neal, true to form, was being no help at all.

“GUYS,” she shouted, drawing reproachful looks from Bashful and Doc, who were at the other end of the counter. “Please would you just listen.”

Snow and David's jaws dropped in unison, and Emma seized her advantage. “I’m not married to Neal,” she told them firmly.

“But the ring—” Snow began.

“You’re still not listening, Mom! I’m not married to Neal.”

Comprehension began to dawn on her parents’ faces. “But… who then…” stuttered Snow.

Neal’s smirk deepened, and Emma took a deep breath just as the bell on the door chimed and Killian appeared, trailed by Regina and Robin. His eyes found hers immediately and she sent him a pleading look.

“Killian,” she informed them, reaching out her hand to grasp his hook as he approached. “I’m married to Killian.”

“What?” Snow cried.

“Who?” asked David.

Neal chuckled. “Hook,” he said.

“Hook—” David frowned in confusion.

“Aye, mate.” Killian came to stand behind Emma, his feet braced firmly on the floor and his jaw set.

“Wait, wait…” David shook his head. “You’re married… to Hook?”

“To Killian, yes. For over a year now.” Emma slid off the stool and positioned herself in front of her husband, directly between him and her father, planting her own feet as David’s jaw worked and his eyes flashed.

“But he’s… he’s…”

“Don’t say ‘a pirate,’” sighed Emma. “Please. You always say that like it’s the worst thing anyone could ever be, and it’s really not.”

“I mean, it’s not great,” said Neal.

“And anyway he isn’t one anymore,” Emma continued, ignoring him. “He traded his ship for a magic bean so that he could find me in New York and bring back my memories, and now he owns a bookstore.”

“He traded his ship?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Aye, mate, really.”

“For Emma?”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Emma,” said Killian, trying to infuse his words with all the weight of the emotions behind them. “I love her.”

David’s jaw relaxed a fraction, and his glare grew slightly less murderous.

“So hold on,” Snow said, placing a soothing hand on David’s arm. “Let me try to understand this. Are you saying you two weren’t cursed?”

“He wasn’t. I kind of was? It’s hard to explain,” said Emma. “Or, I guess not hard so much as long.”

“We have time,” said David, crossing his arms over his chest.

Emma sighed. “Okay. So basically, Killian learned that I was in danger in New York and he did what he had to do to get to me as soon as possible. He restored my memories and together we figured out what the danger was, and in the process we learned that Storybrooke must be back. I decided to come here to investigate. He didn’t want me to, but I insisted. As soon as I crossed the town line Zelena appeared in the middle of the road and when I swerved to avoid her I hit a tree and was knocked unconscious. While I was out she dosed me with a powder that had a similar effect to the curse. It took my memories away and gave me new ones. Of course I didn’t know any of this until I managed to break through the effects of the powder and remember everything again.” She shivered as she recalled how awful it had been, believing herself married to Walsh. Unable to remember Killian when she was awake, or even give him much useful information in their dreams.

“It took Killian a year to make the preparations he needed so that he could get into Storybrooke undetected by any magic, and during that time he lived in New York and took care of Henry. He had to learn all about how our world works, how to drive a car and use a computer and run a business. He did that all by himself because I wasn’t there with him, because I didn’t listen when he told me to wait.” Her voice broke as tears began to flow down her cheeks. Snow moved to comfort her but Emma waved her mother away, instead leaning into Killian when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

“He never gave up on me, though,” she continued, “and when the time was right he came to Storybrooke, helped bring my memories back again, and then figured out what we needed to do to break the curse.”

“He took care of Henry?” David’s expression had softened to something very nearly not hostile, just on the edge of accepting.

“Yeah, Grandpa.” The diner had gone silent as Emma told her tale, and now Henry came to stand next to Killian, pressing close against his side. “He’s my dad. Stepfather, technically, but my dad in every way that counts.”

Killian found himself swallowing over a lump in his throat, and blinking back tears, and the next words he heard nearly ended him.

“He saved my life,” Neal said quietly.

Every eye in the room turned to stare, and Neal, for once, did not smirk. “In the sheriff’s station, earlier today,” he explained. “Zelena and Hook and me both pinned down, and I couldn’t breathe. Emma was headed for Hook, to save him, and he told her no, she needed to save me first. If he hadn’t done that, I’d be dead.”

Slowly the eyes shifted their focus, fixing on Killian, who flushed bright red. “I was never in any true danger,” he said gruffly. “Some time ago, Emma placed a number of protection spells around me. They’ve proven remarkably effective against Zelena’s magic. I knew I could withstand whatever she threw at me, but Neal could not. That’s, er, why.”

“You still saved his life,” said Snow. “Whatever the reason.”

“Well, yes. I mean of course I did,” said Killian, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I?”

David’s face was stern but his eyes warm as he uncrossed his arms and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family,” he said. “Killian.”

Some time later, after Emma had finished her peculiar meal and was tucked into a booth chatting with Henry and her parents, Killian found himself at the counter again, this time with a tumbler of rum and his thoughts, when Neal appeared at his side.

“So, I guess I owe you thanks,” he said.

“I told you, I was never in any danger.”

“Still. Thanks.”

Killian turned to him, unsure whether to feel hurt or angry or something else entirely. “Do you really think I’d allow you to be killed if it was in my power to prevent it?” he asked. “Really?”

Neal shrugged. “I mean, we’ve certainly had our differences. In Neverland, and then with Emma. You might want me out of the way.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Because of Emma? I can assure you there is no need.”

“Yeah, trust me man, I’ve picked up on that.” Neal accepted a beer from Granny and stared at it in silence for a moment. “You really love her, then?”

“Aye. I do.”

Neal nodded. “I can see it. In her too. She loves you, and so does Henry. And I—I’m really trying not to be an asshole here, but I gotta be honest. It feels like you’ve stolen my family. Again.”

Killian took a gulp of his rum. “I do understand how it might appear that way from where you’re standing, though I promise you there was no theft involved. Either time.” He cast Neal a challenging look. “You wouldn’t ever let me tell you about your mother, in Neverland. Are you willing to listen now?”

Neal’s mouth twisted. “Will it help?”

“I suppose that depends on the way you listen.”

“I don’t know if there’s any good way to listen to you talk about her.” Neal retorted. “You realise that you’ve fucked both my mother and the mother of my kid. Do you have any idea how weird that is for me?”

“I absolutely do.”

“It’s just—it’s gonna take me a while. And I’m not making any promises. I don’t owe you anything and you sure as hell don’t seem to feel you owe me. Did you think about me at all when you were moving in on Emma?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I never ‘moved in on Emma’ as you so charmingly put it. And because my relationship with her has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did you promise to back off?”

“At the time I didn’t know just how connected Emma and I truly are. I knew how I felt, and that there was potential that someday she might feel the same. But I also knew that putting pressure on her to make a choice between us when she’d only just rescued Henry, and when not very long before she��d thought you were dead, well, there was no way that could end well for me. And as I told you then, I intended to play a very long game if necessary.”

“Not that long though, was it,” Neal sneered.

“Some of the longest years of my life, being separated from her,” muttered Killian to the last drops of his rum. “Especially this last one.” He glared at Neal. “I meant that promise when I made it. But truthfully, when I learned about the way things ended between you—how you left her by choice when all I wanted was to stay by her side forever—I regretted it.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t have a choice.”

“I understand that’s what you think. But your abandonment hurt Emma deeply in ways she still sometimes struggles with. And I find that very nearly unforgivable. If it were anyone else, Bae, anyone at all, I wouldn’t even try. But for the memory of your mother and of the boy you were, and for Henry’s sake, I am prepared to wipe the slate clean. If you will as well.”

Neal snorted. “Why should I?”

“Just because you and Emma aren’t romantically involved, that doesn’t mean you can’t be part of her life, and Henry’s. They both care about you, as do I.”

“So you want me to be part of your sweet little family?”

“I have wanted that for literal centuries.”

Neal’s scowl deepened as he fiddled with a loose bit of formica on the tabletop. “Tell me about my mother,” he growled.

“She loved you,” Killian replied. “That’s the main thing you need to know. She thought about you every day, told me stories of you all the time. But she was not the sort of person who was really cut out to be a parent. Can you understand that? How she could love you deeply and still not be able to be a good mother to you?”

“I—” Neal frowned, thinking of himself, and Henry. “I think maybe I can.”

"She was desperately unhappy in the life she had before we met. I’ve done some reading on the subject and I believe she suffered from what the psychiatry of this realm calls ‘clinical depression.’ She felt hopeless to the point of despair, and though she tried to disguise it with carousing in the tavern and seeking any sort of distraction from her feelings she could find, she knew deep down that it could never be enough. She was worried that her pain would drag you down too, and she couldn’t bear to see that happen. She thought that by leaving you with a loving father who would give you the best life he could that she was giving you your best chance, and she hoped very much that when you were older she could seek you out and you might allow her a place in your life again. I’m so terribly sorry that never came to pass.”

“So you can barely forgive me leaving Emma for her own good, but you justify my mother leaving me for mine?” Neal snarled.

“The circumstances aren’t entirely the same, but I take your point. I understand you find it difficult to forgive your mother, and me. But make no mistake, Neal, Milah intended to escape her life, one way or the other. I offered her a preferable alternative to some of the others she was considering, and I like to think she was as happy with me as she could have been. Sometimes there are no good options available and you simply have to take the least bad one.”

“Like I have to choose between hanging around here and watching you be happy with my ex, or leaving and not seeing Henry anymore.”

“Aye. Like that.”

Silence fell between them again, heavy with resentment. Neal drank deeply from his beer, his knuckles white around the handle of the mug. When it was empty he set it forcefully on the counter and turned to face Killian.

“I’ll take that clean slate,” he said. “I’m definitely not saying I’m ready for us to be happy families, okay, and I might never be, but I’m tired of holding on to this anger. And hey, if you can stop being angry anyone can, right?”

Killian nodded, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “Aye. I’d say they can.”

Epilogue coming soon! (like later tonight soon!) LINK TO THE EPILOGUE

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @katie-dub @kmomof4 @teamhook @stahlop @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs fic #captain swan #their way by moonlight #happy endings #and beginnings too

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kumawrites · 5 years

Text

Love Tutorial (NOT CLICKBAIT)

Shinso x fem!Reader

A/N: hi lovelies i’m back with, you guessed it, more shinso!!! this fic is 100% self indulgent bc i absolutely love makeup lol. i’m trying out a bunch of different things in terms of formatting so like tell me if this section looks ugly LMAO. anyways pls enjoy !!

words: 3.8k

summary: You’re a popular Beauty Guru™ and Shinso is primarily a commentary channel. He follows one of your tutorials, only to be surprised by you talking about how fine he is.

—

“That will be all for this video, if you enjoyed it please show some love by clicking on the like button, and if you like me, subscribe! Like always, feel free to tag me if you recreate this look, I love seeing all of your posts! I’ll see you Earthlings later, bye!” With both hands waving and a bright smile, you successfully finished filming your outro that you have possibly said three hundred times.

Before you could even get a word out, Mina was screaming into the phone. “Y/N? OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. YOU WON’T BELIEVE THIS. I’M FREAKING OUT FOR YOU! AHHHH!” You winced, not expecting her to be that loud. Sure, you knew quite well that she could get loud, but that’s because she gets excited. So to be this noisy must mean something big is happening.

“Why, hello to you too Mina. How’s my day going? Good! Thank you for asking. I would ask how yours is going but from the sound of it, I’ll assume pretty good.” You snickered into the phone.

“Well, my dear Y/N, it’s about to be even better than just good!” Mina’s volume was significantly lower, but you could still tell just how excited she was.

“Oh really? What’s going to make my day better than? Wait let me guess, NikkiTutorials resigned and gave up her spot as the most iconic beauty guru and gave it to me?” You snorted. If only.

“No! It’s even better!” The pitch of Mina’s voice kept raising higher and higher.

“Okay, okay, spit it out Mina. You’re really making me curious and I don’t know if I should be worried or not.” You grabbed your glass of water from you table and took a sip. Gross, warm. But it was too much work to get a new glass so you began downing this one.

“SHINSO HITOSHI DID A REACTION VIDEO TO ONE OF YOUR TUTORIALS!” You choked on your water and half of it went down the wrong way. You began coughing and Mina, the little bitch, didn’t say anything while you were dying. You could imagine her just sitting there, waiting for you to respond after your coughing fit.

After getting it all out, you swallowed, eyes still wide. “Mina, you’re not joking right now, are you? Because if you are, I know where you live, and I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

“I’m not! I’m really not! Check his channel, he, like, just uploaded it!”

You grabbed your laptop and opened Google Chrome. “Call me back on FaceTime, rat.” You told Mina before hanging up on her. You typed YouTube into the search bar while Mina called you back. When you answered, you could see that she was also in her filming room.

Mina, like you, is a beauty YouTuber that is well known for her flawless skin, even though she has the simplest skincare routine you have ever seen. Her chipper personality also drew in a ton of fans towards her channel. The two of you had met through YouTube and were soon to find out that you lived in the same city. Your friendship really bloomed then, and you basically live at each other’s houses.

You got onto YouTube, and lo and behold, there it was. Obviously you were subscribed to Shinso’s channel, so the first video of pop up was his. It was titled “i learn how to become beautiful” and his thumbnail was him with his signature “kill me now” face on with some patchy, hot pink, glitter eyeshadow all over his eyelids. But also, you were there! You were in his thumbnail which could only mean one thing: this was real.

“HOLY SHIT MINA, I’M IN HIS THUMBNAIL.”

“I KNOW! NOW WATCH THE VIDEO! I HAVEN’T SEEN IT YET THOUGH SO TURN THE VOLUME UP.” She screeched and you did.

You clicked on the video and there he was, Shinso Hitoshi, looking as good as ever. His tired eyes that screamed “I could die at any given moment” and his messy hair that somehow defied physics. It has to be downright illegal to look that hot. Today he was sporting one of his merch items, a hoodie that had simple print on the front of it saying: I’m Shinso Over This. Of course you owned that very sweatshirt. You would never miss out on a chance to buy his merch.

“Hi. I’m back, unfortunately.” His tone was as dry as it always was. “I was harassed into doing this, go bully Denki on Twitter because this is all his fault. But today I’m going to be making myself beautiful with the help of Y/N. Okay, she’s not actually helping me, but I’m going to watch one of her tutorials.” Your heart pounded as he mentioned you. One of creators that you loved the most is going to follow one of your tutorials. You could die happy now.

“HE SAID YOUR NAME!” Mina shrieked from your phone and you nodded eagerly as you kept your eyes glued to the computer.

“I’m going to choose this one, “EASY Valentines Day Makeup Tutorial + Q&A!” because it says easy.” You watched as your face from the most recent Valentine’s Day popped up. In the intro, you had already filmed the tutorial part and were wearing the full face. It was a fairly easy look, to you at least.

You had done a simple glitter cut-crease, primarily using warm toned reds and pinks with some winged liner and false lashes for your eyes. Your face had some sharper contour and heavy blush that trailed from one cheek to another, using your nose like a bridge. And of course, you had used a super glittery highlighter that reflected with all of your studio lights. You had also used a maroon liquid lip.

“Greetings, Earthlings! It’s me, Y/N, and I’m here to do another tutorial! Today we’re going a Valentines Day themed full face, and I’m also going to be answering some love related questions you asked me on Twitter since it is Valentines Day after all. If you’d like to recreate this look, as always I listed all the products I’m going to use down in the description!” You pointed your fingers downwards. “Without further ado, let’s get started!”

Shinso paused your video and held up a Sephora bag. “I spent so much money on this stuff, and I’m never going to use it again.” He lazily drawled. The fact that he made eye bags hot was insanity. You wanted to cry for him because some of the products you used were unnecessarily expensive.

Shinso unpaused your video and you had begun priming your face. He dug around in the Sephora bag before pulling out the primer you were using. As he squirted some on his fingertips, he made an especially disgusted look as he felt the consistency of it. He watched as you spread it all over your face, and copied you.

“She didn’t lie when they said easy.” He mused. Mina and you both cackled through your phone. Primer was possibly the easiest step ever because it didn’t affect the way you looked whatsoever. “Uhh, okay now she’s putting on, uhhh, foundation?” He grabbed a bottle of foundation out of the bag along with a Beauty Blender. “The people at Sephora said this was my skin colour, so I’ll believe them.” Shinso shrugged and set the bottle down to get the Beauty Blender out of the box.

You began blending the foundation into your skin and Shinso did the same. “Alright! First question from Andrea! ‘Are you dating anyone right now?’ wow Andrea, you sure did get straight to the point. Unfortunately no, I’m not in a relationship right now.” You had finished your foundation and had moved on to concealing your under eyes.

Shinso hummed as he watched as you put a relatively small amount of concealer under your eyes and looked into the camera, somehow making his eye-bags even more prominent. “Look, I don’t know much about makeup, but I know I’m going to need more concealer than that. Also I’m surprised that they’re not dating anyone. She’s too good looking to be single.” So he unscrewed the concealer tube, and absolutely went to town. He put on so much concealer that you were almost concerned.

“Mina did you hear that?” You asked in a breathless tone.

“Sure did.”

You were already in awe that the great Shinso Hitoshi was even watching your video, but the fact that he called you good looking? Your heart was practically leaping out of your chest as you watched with wide eyes. Your biggest YouTube crush had called you attractive. What a good day.

In your tutorial, you had finishing blending the concealer in and was moving onto baking your under eyes. You dipped your Beauty Blender into the loose powder and stamped it down underneath your eyes. “Now I’m going to let that bake, so I’m going to go ahead and do my eyeshadow right now!” Shinso gave a confused look and paused the video. He applied the powder somehow everywhere but under his eyes. It was honestly impressive how bad he was at this.

“I’m baking? What am I baking?” He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly very confused.

“For my eye look, I’m going to start with this light pink shade called, ‘Love’. How fitting. I’m going to swipe that into my crease and I’ll follow that up with this more hot pink that will go all over my lid. Then, I’m going to deepen my crease with this almost maroon shade and then I’ll cut my crease using the concealer we used earlier and this flat brush.” Shinso looked like you had just grown two heads in front of him. He had no idea what you were doing to your face.

You watched as he messily some hot pink shade onto his lid, rapidly blinking the whole time, not used to someone so close to his eye. He was not going to like tight-lining. He eventually attempted to cut the crease and looked absolutely dead when it was completely too much of his lid.

“I want to die.” He muttered while looking at the camera. His eyes had somehow lost even more life than what he began with, which was, not much.

“Here’s another question that’s coming from Kelsey! She asks: ‘Who do you think the hottest YouTuber is? I personally really like Bakugo Katsuki!’ Oh I’d definitely have to say Shinso Hitoshi! That man is illegally fine.” What did you just say? Your eyes went wide as you listened to yourself. You had completely forgotten what questions you answered in this video, and now Shinso Hitoshi knows that you think he’s hot. But you didn’t stop there.

“One hundred percent, anyone could throw down with me on this one. Shinso Hitoshi is the hottest YouTuber out there. He could curb stomp me, kill my family, and rob me of all of my belongings and I’d still say thank you.” Why did you ever say that. Mina was absolutely losing it on her side, unbelieving that those words had even made it past editing on your part. Why would you even keep that in the video. You wanted to die.

Shinso on the other hand looked very amused, letting out a chuckle of his own. “Didn’t know I was so popular. I’m honestly kind of flattered. But I wouldn’t curb stomp her. Can’t mess up that pretty face.” This was the end of your career. You’re never going back online ever again.

The you doing the tutorial had just begun applying loose glitter onto your lid. “So after applying this glitter base, I’m going to pat this glitter in. If you drag it, it’ll get absolutely everywhere since this glitter is super chunky. So, just lightly pat it in like this.” Shinso did as you told and still managed to have glitter cascading down, covering his black hoodie.

You had moved onto eyeliner and he looked like he was actually going to die, right then and there. He watched you tight-line your eyes and didn’t even attempt it. After creating a wing that looked like it could fly off of his face any moment, Shinso attempted to put a pair of false lashes on. Somehow, they were stuck to his eyelid, rather than where his lashes were. He followed you as you brushed the bake off. You were then moving onto contour, where he managed to make it look like he had rolled in dirt. Apparently, he had no idea where to put contour on his face so he ended up putting it far too high.

The step you were on now involved putting copious amounts of blush on when you answered your next question. “Alright and this one is from Jennie! ‘If you could date anyone, who would it be?’ I guess I hinted at this earlier, but Shinso Hitoshi all the way. I just want to like, hold his hand. I know, scandalous. But really, my thirst for that man is actually unquenchable.” You said with a straight face as you took a sip of water and then winked to the camera.

“Hey Mina, when I die in the next few minutes, can you make sure to clear my search history. Actually, just wipe my whole computer clean.” You sighed as you buried your face into your hands. This was awful. Out of all the tutorials you had on your channel, Shinso Hitoshi just had to pick the one where you basically confess your undying love for him. Mina simply laughed, promising absolutely nothing. Traitor.

On the other hand, Shinso was grinning. It was one of those grins. One that you knew would never let you live this down, and he doesn’t even know you personally. “Seems that I’ve got a fan. I’d love to hold hands, Y/N, you just have to let me know.” His voice drawled, deep and raspy. It would be hotter if his face didn’t look like someone shook up a bag of crushed makeup and threw the contents at him. To be honest, he really just looked like a big train wreck. But, it was still hot, nonetheless.

He did eventually finish the look, setting it all using far too much setting spray. But instead of holding his usual stoic, tired look, he looked like he was planning something. The corners of Shinso’s mouth were still turned up in a sly smirk, and you had a feeling that something was going to happen. You might as well die before you find out to save yourself the embarrassment.

“Well, I can’t say I enjoyed putting on the makeup, but I did enjoy watching Y/N talk about me. Y/N, if you’re watching me, send me a message and we can collab. Or maybe hold hands.” His mouth opened up and his killing grin hit you. This is it. This is where you die. You were internally screaming at the top of your lungs. God, you hated how hot he was even though he looked like Boo Boo The Fool.

“DID YOU JUST HEAR WHAT HE SAID?” Mina screamed out loud for you. Oh god, you were absolutely mortified.

“Well, that’ll do it for this one, if you liked watching me ruin my face, I have more awful videos for you to watch. And even if you didn’t, it’s too late because you’ve already given me ad revenue. If I don’t post my next video soon, safely assume that I’ve died. I might see you next time, bye.” Shinso said his usual outro and you slumped back onto your chair. You looked at Mina on your phone who was grinning ear to ear. Oh no.

“Message him.”

“Absolutely not I would rather die, right here, right now than talk to Shinso Hitoshi about how I confessed my undying thirst for him. So, that means I’m going to die. I want a granite headstone.” You groaned as you stared up at the ceiling.

“You don’t even have to say anything about that though! Anyways, you probably should talk to him. You could just say that you enjoyed his video and thank him for what basically was, a free shoutout. I think it’d be wrong if you didn’t message him at all.” Mina suggested, and well, she wasn’t wrong. It’d be rude to just ignore the fact that Shinso has put hard work and money into making this video. The least you could do was say a simple thank you.

You groaned as you sat up, grabbing your phone from where it was leaned against. “God, I hate when you’re right. I’ll message him though. I’m going to go ahead and hang up then because I still have another video I want to shoot.”

“Yes of course! But make sure to send me screenshots, I NEED to know how this goes down! I’ll talk to you later!” And with that, the FaceTime call was ended. Now you had to will yourself into messaging Shinso and making it seem normal. You would just have to completely ignore all of the moments you called him hot, and hope that he doesn’t bring them up too.

You opened up Instagram and searched up his handle. You were really going to do this. It was now or never, and if you backed out and never messaged him, Mina would never let you live it down and would probably end up messaging him herself. So to avoid embarrassment that would be even worse than what has already been done, you had to message him.

“Hi! I saw your latest video and I wanted to say thank you so much for featuring my video! It really means a lot. Also, I hope you bought an oil based makeup remover, because that stuff is hard to get off. Especially the glitter!” That was appropriate and calm, wasn’t it? You hit send and hoped that he would stay on topic and not mention the fact that you completely exposed yourself.

You sat down your phone and groaned. What if he thought that you were really creepy and was just leading you on to eventually public ally humiliate and ruin you, ending your career as you know it? That was probably a bit extreme, and rationally you knew he would never do such a thing, but you were paranoid.

As you were drowning in your sorrows, a notification popped up on your phone. It was him. He replied so fast that you were taken aback.

“hey thanks. i’m glad you’re not mad that i used your video without permission lol. and no, i didn’t buy one bc no one told me to. but i did get the makeup off with a lot of scrubbing. i was serious about wanting to collab. would you want to do that?” Your face was burning at this point. Collabing with Shinso sounding like an actual dream.

“Absolutely! I would love to! And ouch, is your skin okay? Too much exfoliating can really irritate the skin!”

“yes, i’m okay. i didn’t scrub too much skin off. and great. you live in LA right?? i do too. we should work out a date sometime to talk. we could even hold hands if you wanted to lol.” Oh god, he went a did it. You wanted to scream.

“Ahaha, yes let’s do that! And sorry about all of the rambling about uhh, you. It must’ve felt weird.” Should your casket be wood? A polished, dark oak wood sounded nice. You would look lovely in that casket after you died of sheer embarrassment. But would it look fine alongside a granite headstone? Maybe it should be marble.

“not at all. i’m very flattered. but letting you know, don’t expect me to curb stomp you. i don’t think i’m strong enough to do that. but we can definitely go on a date, and maybe your thirst will go away.” This time, you actually did scream, straight into your pillow. This is the end of you.

You screenshotted the conversation so far and sent it to Mina. You did promise to keep her updated.

She responded, not even a minute later, with far too many emojis. The winky face, the side-looking eyes, and of course, the cowboy. Sometimes, just sometimes, you really hated Mina. But not really.

“WTF DO I RESPOND TO THAT HE LITERALLY JUST INSINUATED THAT HE'S GOING TO DO,,,, STUFF.” You hurriedly typed to Mina. You could imagine her right now, cackling as you watched you panic.

“Just call him hot and catch him off guard LOL. Or say like ur thirst can never be quenched.” You were about to do it. There wasn’t anything else that you could think to say to him that was normal sounding, so maybe this would work? Should your flowers be lilies? Or perhaps daisies would work. Something nice to remember you by. You don’t want your death to be too sad.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think my thirst can go away. It’s pretty intense.” You typed something real ballsy out, as you went to hit ‘select all’ to delete it, somehow, you had sent it to him instead. Amazing! You were going to have a stroke!

“oh? well, we’ll have to see about that, huh? anyways, here’s my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx. we can talk about our date later. i have to film another video to make sure people know i’m not dead. talk to you later, doll.”

Ah, the nail in the coffin. You really were dead now. You didn’t even get to plan what you were going to write on your gravestone.

You copied his number and put it into your contacts. Even though you were incredibly embarrassed about all of this, you were definitely going to use that later. Not only to plan a collaboration.

—

my amazing girlfriend does my makeup correctly (ft. Y/N)

#shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #shinso hitoshi x reader #bnha shinso hitoshi #reader insert #fem!reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader

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