#but for some reason along the way the happiness drained from me completely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

drabbles-mc · 2 months

Text

Turn of the Tide (2/2)

Pirate!Stucky AU

Summary: After years apart thinking that they would never see each other again, Steve and Bucky come face to face under circumstances neither of them ever would have dreamed of.

Warnings: 18+, minor blood/injury, angst (with a happy ending), pining, alcohol

For the Alternate June-iverse prompt: Pirates

Part 1 can be found HERE

Word Count: 8.4k (oops)

A/N: It took me forever to find time to go back and edit this part but we got it done! I love this little au and I will be thinking about Pirate Stucky for a long time.

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge @late-to-the-party-81 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

The sky was slowly changing from black to grey as they got closer to sunrise. Bucky had faded in and out of sleep, the rest of his crew in much the same situation. He had a feeling that over the next couple of hours exhaustion would completely take over them regardless of the rising sun. Sam had gone and traded off with someone a little while before. Steve had turned away a few of his men offering to take up the helm. The shift in the sky clued him in to just how long he had been awake, though, so the next time someone offered he allowed them to take it.

The smart thing to do would’ve been to scamper off to his quarters, try and get some rest while he still could especially now that their typical merchant run had the potential to turn into something else entirely. There was the possibility of having much more to answer for once they reached their destination, and Steve had no idea what to do about any of it.

Rather than doing the smart thing and getting whatever sleep he could, Steve made his way back across the deck. His steps were quiet as he strode up to the mast where they had all the men tied. Bucky was the only one awake at the moment, and he had been staring, watching Steve the entire time. He looked up as Steve stopped in front of him, not saying anything until the captain spoke up and said something first.

“We need to talk,” Steve finally said, trying to sound serious but just sounding tired instead.

“We can talk here.” Bucky matched his tone, every ounce of exhaustion being reflected.

Steve sighed, not wanting to argue but not willing to back down this time. “C’mon.”

“Can’t say it here?” he asked, a challenge in his tone. Despite that he was still keeping his voice low, a pointed effort to make sure that none of his men woke up.

“James.” He let it serve as its own sentence, exasperation coming through even with so few words being spoken.

“I’m not—”

“We need to talk.” He saw the look in Bucky’s eyes that he was going to come back with another argument, some thinly veiled reason why they had to talk here or they wouldn’t talk about it at all. “Keep the ropes on, if that makes you feel better,” Steve said, almost like a joke but he was perfectly serious, and he knew that Bucky would be too.

Bucky almost gave into it but then shook his head. “I’m not—”

He stopped short when Steve leaned down, expertly slicing through the rope that was keeping him pinned to the mast but not the one that was keeping his wrists tied together. Seconds later Steve’s hand was wrapping around his bicep all over again, yanking him up off the ground. He meant to fight against it but he was still having trouble wrapping his head around how much things had changed. Never in a million years did he think that Steve would be able to yoke him up off the deck with such ease.

“And I’m not asking,” was all Steve said as he started to drag Bucky back towards his sleeping quarters, one of the only places where they could get anything resembling privacy.

Steve pushed the door open, dragging Bucky inside with him. He’d been prepared for more resistance, but once he got Bucky to his feet it was like all the fight drained out of him. Steve had brought him along like an unruly dog on a leash, going along because there was only so far he could get if he didn’t.

“Steve, I told you—”

“Listen to me,” Steve spoke up, his voice still firm, still quiet, “this is about your crew. And you. What,” he shook his head, “what am I supposed to do when we reach port?”

It wasn’t funny but Bucky was still smiling anyway. The inevitability of it all was something that he had been wrestling with for years, on and off acceptance levels with it all. Clearly Steve hadn’t ever given it much thought, never really had to. His perspective of it was always going to be different anyway—he was never going to be the one getting handed over to authorities, thrown in jail or strung up in a noose in the public square. Steve was safely outside all of that, always had been. However, Bucky could tell by the look on his friend’s face, if he could still call him that, that Steve hadn’t ever given much thought to having to be the man who handed others over for that type of fate. It wasn’t sitting well, clearly. Bucky wondered if he would’ve had the same crisis of faith if it had been anyone else who stormed his ship. Would there be the same hesitation if Steve wasn’t looking at him and seeing James?

“Think you know the answer to that,” Bucky finally answered.

“Don’t,” Steve said softly, wearily.

“What else is there?” He shrugged as best he could with his hands still bound behind his back. “You let us go, or you turn us over.”

“I can’t just…” he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to end the sentence with.

He couldn’t just let them go—his own crew would never allow that after everything. But he didn’t think that he could just hand them over when they got there, either. Steve went years blaming himself for what happened to Bucky before and it wasn’t really his fault at the core of it. This, though? There would be no way to deny that the fallout would rest squarely on Steve’s shoulders. He didn’t want to lose him again. Last time he lost him as James and he came back as Bucky, but there would be no coming back a few years down the road with a different name if he followed through with this. The fact that it happened once was an astronomical stroke of luck.

“You have to,” Bucky said simply. “Make the call and stay with it. Live with it.”

Steve ran his hands back through his hair as he started to pace the room. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Bucky took the opportunity sit on the edge of Steve’s bed. There were so many things swirling around the inside of his head that he couldn’t slow down and pick one. The sun just kept rising, taking away more time that Steve didn’t have to figure everything out. So many pressing issues and yet when he was finally able to focus on one thought long enough to ask it, he didn’t say anything having to do with the future.

“Why didn’t you ever come home?” Steve asked. “All these years. Never came, never even…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure of what he really expected of James now that he knew the circumstances of it all. “All this time I thought—”

“It wasn’t that easy. I couldn’t just,” he shook his head, a fresh sense of awareness of the ridges and divots of scarring on his arm even through the fabric of his shirt. “It wasn’t that easy.”

There were more questions that Steve wanted to ask, conversations that he wanted to have, but there just wasn’t the time. If he didn’t figure out a plan soon there wasn’t ever going to be time. Walking over, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside Bucky.

“I know,” he finally admitted, although there was no way that he knew the half of it. With a sigh, he pulled his knife out and sliced through the ropes on Bucky’s wrists. Steve was expecting him to pull away, fight him on it, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a small huff of relief at no longer having the ropes pulling at his skin.

Bucky ran his hands over the indentations left behind by the ropes. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else.” He let out a deep sigh. “Time always runs out.”

“It doesn’t have—”

“What, then?” he asked, the anger in his tone not really directed at Steve, but he was long past wanting any sort of false hope. “You said it yourself, you can’t—”

“I don’t know what.” While Steve could appreciate the difference in their positions, he didn’t need Bucky to sit there and reiterate back to him the circumstances that they were in. He knew full-well. “But there has to be something. I can’t,” he paused to hide the crack threatening to slice its way through his voice, “I won’t just hand you over like that.”

“Your men won’t allow otherwise.”

“They don’t have a say—”

“They do,” Bucky’s voice was firm. “They do and you know that. Besides, I told you, I won’t weasel out of this and eave the rest of my crew to hang.”

The sadness in Steve’s eyes was almost too much to bear. “James…”

“What I said, I didn’t say it just because they were sitting next to me. I meant it. If there isn’t a solution for all of us, then you will just have to find it in yourself to hand me over with them.”

“I won’t do it,” Steve said, trying to remain adamant despite the weight accumulating inside his chest. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll…I’ll get my men on-board.”

Bucky laughed quietly. Still stubborn, still unconcerned in the face of impossible odds. How Steve had changed so much and yet so little over the years was almost admirable. Bucky wished that he’d had the means to remain so steadfast. He looked at Steve and then at the small window that looked out onto the deck, the thin strip of sky and ocean just visible beyond.

“Better figure something out quick, Stevie.” There was still a tiny grin on his face despite it all as he nodded towards the window, hands no longer rubbing at his wrists. “Sun’s up now. Time’s running out.”

The gears were visibly turning in Steve’s head. “Will you wait here, at least? While I figure it out?”

He sighed as he shook his head, tracing his fingers along his wrists once more, savoring a few more seconds without the restraint and the residual pain from it. “I can’t.”

“You could,” Steve argued, a lightness to his tone that hadn’t been there before, like there was humor to it all. Ridiculousness if nothing else.

He could, but he didn’t. In no time at all Bucky found himself right back alongside his men. He was met with a peppering of questions from members of his crew, rightfully so, about what had transpired when Steve pulled him away. He answered them honestly, not that the honest answers really provided anyone with any type of certainty. There was none to be had given their current circumstances. Their fate now rested in Steve’s hands, and his ability to persuade his crew to do something that they undoubtedly had no interest in doing.

The conversation was taking place just too far away to make out the exact words that were being said, regardless of how hard Bucky tried. But even if he couldn’t make out each word, he could hear the rise and fall of the volume, the anger in men’s tones as they argued about it all. He wished that he could’ve heard what Steve was saying, never mind the rest of them. Whatever the fallout, Bucky hoped that he would get a chance to ask him about it.

“I never asked,” the same man from before spoke up, once more drawing Bucky’s attention away from everything else, “what your life was before all this. Was never my business then. But now?” He looked over at Steve and his crew. “Now it feels like our business.”

Bucky shook his head. “We were just kids. It’s been too long to assume that it all still matters.”

He chuckled. “Seems like it matters to him.”

The weary smile crept back onto his face again. “Won’t matter to the rest of them. That’s what this is all hinging on.”

“Didn’t think I’d find myself in the position of rooting for him,” he admitted with another laugh, “and yet here I am.”

Bucky let his gaze drift back over to Steve and his crew. “Yeah, here we are.”

He and the rest of his crew were already prepared for whatever was coming their way. They’d abandoned the idea of any other outcome besides the worst the moment Steve’s crew congregated to decide their fate. The longer the conversation went on, the more likely it seemed that hanging was going to be the only out.

Bucky had allowed his eyes a minute to rest, and when he opened them again to the sound of footsteps, he was surprised to see that it wasn’t Steve standing in front of him, but a member of the crew instead. The same man who had stayed up almost the entire night right alongside Steve.

“The captain wouldn’t ever say it,” Sam said as he crouched down so he was on the same level as the rest of the men, but most importantly Bucky, “but I will—you all should be grateful to him for this.”

One of the men in Bucky’s crew spoke up before he could. “Grateful for what, exactly?”

Sam leaned to try and get a better look at whoever it was that had said that. “Grateful that he’s willing to cut you all loose and save you from hanging in the center of the square once we make port.”

Bucky was fighting to feel some sense of relief but there was no way that it was going to be so simple. “At what cost?”

“Give it all up,” Sam said, toying with the knife in his hand, one that was only inches away from cutting the lot of them free if they agreed to the short and simple list of terms. “The lives you’ve had up until now, piracy and prizes. Leave it all behind, join our crew, then we can cut you loose. Forget,” he sighed, notes of bitterness underlying it all, “that all of this ever happened.”

“That simple, eh?” the man beside him spoke up and Bucky wondered when he lost the title of the man with the quickest wit of his own crew.

“Simple doesn’t mean easy,” Sam replied, and something about the look in his eyes told Bucky that that sentence was something Steve said at some point during their discussion. Sam looked around at all of them. “Leave you to discuss—”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Bucky said, determined to be the first one to speak up this time, determined not to let his men cost themselves their only shot at something resembling freedom. “We’ll do it.” He nodded. “Cut us loose and we’ll do it.”

There were instant murmurs of dissent, mutterings of Captain, and Bucky, as men tried to make their case. Bucky wasn’t having any of it.

“There is no other option,” he said firmly. “If you don’t want to hang, this is what we’re going to do.” He took a deep breath. “We’re no strangers to being part of a crew.”

Sam let another moment pass, like he was waiting for a real issue or argument to arise. He wasn’t just going to start cutting everyone loose if it was immediately going to backfire onto them. The silence that followed was undoubtedly tense, but it was also telling. For as much as they might not have thought of it as a favorable thing, it was the only option that kept them alive to see the next sunrise.

When he was convinced enough, Sam reached and sliced through the ropes that were keeping Bucky bound in place. His wrists were unbound from each other and he was unbound from the mast all within the same expert swipe of Sam’s wrist. Bucky let out a short, quiet sigh of relief. There were still plenty of questions to answer but at least they managed to make it to the next step. One at a time would have to do for now.

The two of them stood facing each other in silence for a moment. They were almost completely eye-to-eye, each sizing the other up to a degree. Bucky knew that he didn’t have much footing to stand on, that he was in a lot of ways at the mercy of Sam and the rest of the crew, but old habits die hard and he wasn’t going to set himself to be walked over, either. There was a tightness in Sam’s jaw and for a moment he thought that it would be nothing short of a miracle if it ever went away if things continued to play out the way that they were.

Another long second ticked by and then Sam reached and pulled a knife from the back of his belt. He twirled it expertly in his hand before carefully holding the handle end out to Bucky for him to take. “Guess you can have this back.”

Something about the action, about Sam’s tone, brought the signature smirk back to Bucky’s face. Maybe one day they’d learn to get along, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, Bucky had the feeling that there was something about Sam he’d grow to like even if the feeling was never mutual.

He deftly plucked the knife out of Sam’s hand. “Thank you.”

Sam didn’t grant him the courtesy of saying you’re welcome. Instead, he nodded towards the rest of Bucky’s crew, wondering when or if he would ever stop thinking of them that way. “I’ll leave you to this, then.”

It became apparent within a few seconds that Sam might have excused himself from the action of cutting the men loose, but he certainly wasn’t going to just turn his back and walk away. As Bucky set about the task of freeing everyone from their binds, he realized that it was, most likely, going to be a very long time before any of them were capable of doing anything without someone looking over their shoulders. Understandable, of course, but that would be an adjustment all its own for his men. He briefly wondered if they would be able to accept it.

As everyone was getting the blood back into their limbs and attempting to rub away the irritation left behind by the ropes that were around their wrists and ankles, they couldn’t help but to try and chatter quietly amongst themselves. The solution given to them posed far more questions than it did answers, and everyone involved was aware of that. Bucky could learn to live with it, as could his men, if the looming questions overhead meant that they wouldn’t be thrown to the gallows. He did wonder, though, how Steve convinced his own men to be alright with so little certainty.

“Now what?” one of the men finally spoke up, not a yell, but louder than the hushed tones they’d been using. “We just…pretend?”

Bucky shook his head. “There is no pretending. This is our crew, now.”

“Bucky—”

“Or we can let them tie you back up and you can be the port authority’s problem. That sound better to you?” He took a breath, trying not to let his own frustrations and confusion boil over. “Ste—Captain Rogers,” he corrected himself for the sake of the men in front of him, “is more than fair. We will figure this out. We have to, because the only alternative would be to take our chances trying to escape once we reached port. And those chances didn’t look good since we were all bound to the mast.”

“Why do you trust him so much?”

It was a fair question, one with an answer so loaded Bucky didn’t think that he could even try chipping away at it given the current state of things. Rather than attempt to get into all of that, he simply replied, “What other choice do we have?” Turning from his men back to Sam, he said, “I take it you’re the person we should be going to?”

Sam took all the time that he could to collect himself, staring down at the wooden planks of the deck beneath his feet before finally meeting the gazes of the men in front of him. “Seems that way, yeah.”

Bucky made a point to put his knife back in its rightful spot on his belt. Then, he held his hand out. “Don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m—”

“I know,” Sam cut him off but still returned the gesture, clasping Bucky’s hand tightly with his own.

He nodded understandingly, not bothered by a little bit of harshness. It was par for the course when they carried out the lives they were thrown into. All things being equal, the way that Sam was handling things was fairly civil.

“Wilson, right?”

Sam nodded. “That’s right.”

Bucky let his hand drop back to his side, noting how when Sam pulled his hand back it immediately went to the hilt of his sword. “Tell us what you need.”

He gestured with his chin towards the opposite end of the deck. “Captain wants to talk to you, specifically. I’ll get the rest of your crew…reacquainted.”

In some ways, Bucky knew that the hardest part was over. In terms of ensuring that his crew didn’t face immediate death, the hardest part was over. The long road ahead was going to be figuring out what to do now. And that didn’t even begin to touch upon him and Steve—that was a mess to uncoil all on its own.

He set off across the deck, not having much of another option. His fingers toyed with the handle of his knife. He tried to just keep his eyes fixed forward, tried not to pay too much mind to the eyes that he felt following his every step. Of all the things that he could think about in that moment, could focus on, he tried to center all of his thoughts around Steve. He was the closest thing to a constant in all of this as he could try and get. Plenty of things had changed over the years, but apparently one thing that still rang true was the fact that Steve was determined to take Bucky in like a stray. Another thing that hadn’t changed was the fact that Bucky was content to let him do so.

He could see the way that Steve’s hands were gripping tightly to the helm, unnecessarily so given the smoothness of the water they were currently experiencing. There was so much to talk about that it seemed futile to try and pick a starting point. In an attempt to steady is mounting nerves, Bucky idly toyed with the pendant at the base of one of his necklaces.

Steve’s eyes diverted over to Bucky a couple times, although they were mostly trained on the water ahead. The lack of sleep had stopped affecting him about halfway through the discussion with his men. He had a feeling now that he wouldn’t be able to rest until the day was done and the sun went back down. And even then, it would only be because his body shut down of its own volition.

“Your men are okay with this?” Steve finally said, still looking forward.

“Are yours?” Bucky retorted, sounding a little more amused than maybe he should have.

That got Steve to cut his gaze over towards him. “No. But…”

“They trust you,” he filled in the end of the sentence for him, “even if they don’t trust us.” He watched as Steve silently nodded in agreement. “My men won’t cost you that. I’ll make sure of it.”

An ounce of the tension dropped out of Steve’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“What did you say to them?” Bucky asked. It wasn’t the most pressing issue, but it was something that he was going to be thinking about until he got an answer for it.

Steve shook his head. “What I had to. I,” he sucked in a deep breath, “I said what I had to, to make sure that they wouldn’t let you hang.”

To say thank you just didn’t seem like enough. The amount of trust that Steve was still placing in him after all the years apart, despite how the universe brought them back together, two small words just didn’t seem like enough to offset it.

Bucky realized that his silence must have lasted a couple beats too long because Steve spoke up again. “We have to talk.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. We need to figure out—”

The exhaustion washed over Steve’s face again, rough waves in the ocean of his expression. “Not that,” Steve stopped him, knowing that Bucky was thinking far too practically in that moment to be on the same page as him. “Making port will be simple. They know my father, and me. They trust me.”

“Everyone does,” Bucky said, a dash of humor in his voice.

“Lucky for your men,” Steve said, wearier than he meant to. He saw the way that Bucky’s expression immediately sobered and he almost apologized. He stopped himself before it slipped out, not wanting to take away from the very real gravity of the situation. “I mean we need to talk about the rest of it. All of it.”

Bucky knew that Steve was right, but he didn’t know how or where to start. “One thing at a time,” he finally said.

Steve nodded slowly. “One thing at a time.”

Their travels were swift, although it didn’t quite feel like it for most of the men aboard the ship. The thick tension seemed to make time go slower even with the wind and the sea on their side. It wasn’t until land was actually in sight that any of them started to discuss what they were going to say and, more importantly, what they were not going to say.

There was no doubt that the man Steve was speaking to was casting dubious looks over at the lot of them. Everyone was doing their best to remain as calm and casual as possible, but even with that there was still a bit of a noticeable divide among the men on the ship.

Still, the man was giving Steve the benefit of the doubt. Neither him nor his father had ever given any of them reason to suspect foul play. Steve had never been as thankful as he was in that moment. “Expanded the crew since our last trip.”

The man nodded thoughtfully as he took the silver being handed to him. He didn’t say anything as he counted the money out. There was a brief moment that had Steve wondering if he should have put a few extra pieces in there like Bucky had said. Steve’s argument against it had been that if there was extra money, it would be like an automatic admission of guilt. It was sound logic, but the unreadable look on the man’s face made Steve, for a moment, buy into Bucky’s mentality of anyone can be swayed for the right price.

After a few more agonizing seconds, the man slid the coins back into the pouch that Steve had handed them over in. He tightened the string and looked at Steve, his face finally showing an emotion as he smiled. “Father thought you’d need extra reinforcements without him?”

Steve wouldn’t have been able to describe his immense relief if someone had asked, and because of that he was fighting extremely hard to not let it show on his face. He chuckled and nodded, the actions a genuine outlet for the emotions inside of him. “He’s always been cautious that way.”

The man gestured towards the ship. “They don’t seem nearly as enthused about it as you are.”

The smile on Steve’s face was as charming as it had ever been. “No one is ever as enthused about anything as I am.”

The man laughed. “That’s fair.”

And just like that, they were safe. At least for the time being. It hadn’t ever been in Steve’s plans to linger, but with the change in circumstances, now he was more determined than ever to get in and out as quickly as possible. This was the part that he was familiar with, after all. He knew the merchants, he knew the metaphorical dances that needed to be done in order to get the money he wanted for the goods that they had. It would be a quick trip. He just had to hope that it would be quick enough for all the men with him to avoid suspicion.

It was impossible not to notice some of the looks that were getting thrown their way. Steve noticed it but managed to not let it show on his face—the more confidently he could carry himself, act like it was all simply business as usual, the less likely it was that anyone else would try and cause any problems with them. He did his best not to let it rattle him too much.

Bucky hadn’t been more than an arm’s length away since they made port. A few of his men had elected to stay back with the ship, not wanting any undue risk of someone trying to cause trouble with them or someone realizing who they were. While their crew might not have been as notorious as some, they’d still managed to leave some enemies scattered along the way. Bucky didn’t have the same lingering sense of dread about it as they did, so he followed right alongside Steve.

He wondered if Steve refusing to look over at him too long was on purpose in that he didn’t want to draw any attention, or if it was because of something much deeper and messier than that. Again, Bucky didn’t share the restraint. Every few strides, if he wasn’t looking to take stock of their surroundings, his eyes were on Steve. He was studying everything about him while he had the chance—the way he spoke, the way he carried himself. Bucky was trying hard to reconcile that with the mental imagery of Steve that he’d been carrying with him all these years. The thought crossed his mind frequently, even as the years continued to tick on, and he always wondered what Steve looked like and acted like now. But now that he was right there in front of him, whatever thoughts and conjurings had been in Bucky’s head all that time immediately evaporated out of existence. It was just this Steve now, just the one walking beside him. He wondered if Steve would soon be doing the same thing in return.

“You’re going to trip,” Steve said, eyes still fixed forward as they made their way farther and farther from the docks.

His statement caused Bucky to look down at the ground for a moment and then back up at him. “I’m not—”

“If you don’t stop staring at me,” he elaborated, finally turning to give a split-second glance to the man beside him, “you’re going to trip.”

The look was brief, but it was just long enough for Bucky to see the slight up-turn of Steve’s lips as he looked away again. There was comfort in that, the fact that Steve could still look at him and smile. There were so many things ahead of them that there was no certainty about, but things like that made Bucky feel that even if he didn’t have anything else when this all shook out, he might still have Steve.

“You should let me do the talking,” Bucky said, the palpable humor in his voice letting Steve know that he wasn’t seriously requesting it.

Still, Steve shook his head. “I don’t that’s the type of haggling we’re looking to do here.”

He could hear it in Steve’s voice, the way that he was trying not to sound amused by any of it. He nettled him a little more, hand coming to rest casually on the hilt of his sword. “Would bring it all to an end a lot quicker, though.”

Steve faced him, managing not to let his steps falter. “James.”

He said it like a parent preemptively scolding a child, just enough firmness to his tone so that the situation wouldn’t escalate to the point of needing to yell in earnest. Steve’s chastising tone hadn’t changed all that much over the years—his voice was just a little deeper now.

Bucky turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised, everything about his posture communicating just how unbothered he was. “Steve.” He took his hand off his sword, letting a smile crack across his face like a sign of surrender. “Only if they give you a hard time, then.”

Steve meant to huff out a sigh but it turned into a chuckle at the tail-end of it. “Thank you.”

True to his word, Bucky kept his mouth shut. He was even kind, or rather, level-headed enough to not say anything to Steve’s other men who were giving him more questioning looks than anyone else in the myriad of shops and streets they found themselves all walking through. He understood it, of course, but it didn’t mean that he particularly enjoyed it. It hadn’t even been a day yet but Bucky already found himself wondering just how long it was going to take for those looks to fade away.

“See?” Bucky said, his voice more triumphant than it had any right to be as they started making their way back towards the ship. “I’m a man of my word.”

The sky was getting darker by the second, and Steve was thankful for it as it hid the amused look on his face. He was just about to come back with something equally light-hearted when one of his men let out a scoff behind them. Steve felt his entire body tense at the sound, knowing exactly what it was about, and having a relatively good idea of how Bucky was going to respond to it.

He tried to keep his voice low and even. He reached and placed his hand on Bucky’s arm. “James, don’t—”

Bucky knew he should heed the warning but he was already turning around to face the man standing behind them. Bucky had heard someone else from the crew say his name but it hadn’t stuck. He supposed that didn’t really matter given the circumstances. “Something you’d like to say?” Bucky offered, the apparent nonchalance in his voice only fooling any passerby’s.

The man gave a tight shake of his head as he stepped in closer to Bucky, keeping his voice low which was an odd act of kindness given the circumstances. “The things I’d like to say would get you strung up in the square.”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, the indignant and hurt part of him wanted to lash out, make the situation worse. It was a skillset he’d spent a lifetime honing. “If that’s what you want, go ahead and say whatever it is that you’re thinking. See how it—”

Steve wedged himself between the two of them, trying to keep a close eye not just on the two of them, but on the people who were weaving their ways around them as well. “That’s enough.” He subtly pushed each of them farther apart. “We can resolve this back on the ship.”

There were a few seconds of tension, but they ended up passing without incident as the man turned and continued on his way to the ship, brushing by Bucky and Steve angrily. The other men followed swiftly behind him, leaving the two of them standing there, still practically chest to chest from when Steve had pushed the men apart using his own body.

“There will be nothing to resolve by the time we get back to the ship,” Steve tried to reassure. “The walk back will calm—”

“Until one of them gets angry again,” Bucky countered.

“And I’ll deal with it then,” Steve told him, voice steady.

His tone left no room for argument, and Bucky was impressed by that. Maybe he’d get around to voicing that later. For now, he managed to create an argument that Steve was desperately trying to extinguish before it even got started. “If you end up regretting this, you—”

“Don’t do that,” Steve cut him off, shaking his head as he took a small step back to create a little bit of space between them.

It wasn’t until Steve removed himself that Bucky realized how close he’d still been. “What?”

“You know what.”

And he did. Many things were different now but in spite of all that, there were certain looks and certain tones that meant the same thing now as they had years ago. Bucky nodded. “Okay.”

That seemed to be the end of it as the two of them also continued their trip back to the ship. There was clamor and scattered conversations happening around them, the occasional tune being sung off-key by someone in the pub. They let that take place of the conversation, a palette cleanser after everything that had just transpired.

“We’ll head back first thing in the morning,” Steve said when the ship was in sight.

Bucky nodded, knowing that even if he had an opinion on any of it, it wouldn’t have changed anything. “Alright.” He paused, allowing himself a chuckle. “Long as your crew doesn’t slit my throat while I’m sleeping.”

Steve knew that he shouldn’t laugh at that but he couldn’t quite stop himself. “They won’t.”

Bucky almost made a joke about the men tossing him overboard instead, but he thought better of it. Too soon. Decades later but still too soon. Instead he let the conversation fade once more as the two of them walked back up and onto the ship. The conversations taking place on the ship soon filled the space between them. They both looked around, impressed to see that a few of the men from each crew had started trying to mingle. It wasn’t everyone, and there was still tension in the air, but it was a start.

Sam popped up practically as soon as the two of them were fully on the deck. He looked eager, not quite as exhausted as he had looked at the start of the day. “How’d it go?”

Steve nodded approvingly. “Everything’s fine. We’ll be set to leave at sunrise.”

Confusion crossed Sam’s face for a moment. “Sunrise? I thought—”

“I’m in no condition to man the helm, Wilson,” Steve spoke firmly but still kindly. “It’s been a long eventful time since I last slept well, so I would rather do that and take off in the morning. If that’s alright.”

Sam nodded as Steve spoke. He wasn’t looking to disagree, he just hadn’t thought of it that way. He told Steve as much before saying, “There’s food in your quarters,” his eyes darted over to Bucky for a fraction of a second, “when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

When Sam had strode far enough away to be out of earshot, Bucky spoke up. “Good kid.”

Even though he hadn’t said it like a question, Steve still responded as though he had. “Yeah, he is.” He looked over at Bucky. “That one’s gonna take awhile.”

The exhaustion was starting to wash over him now that the most fast-paced of it was over, but he still manufactured a genuine chuckle. “I figured.”

Steve saw the tiredness on his face and for some reason it made him feel a little heavier as well. He rested his hand on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. “Go. Rest. We can talk tomorrow.”

Bucky didn’t necessarily want to pull himself away, but he knew that he had to. With nothing more than a nod, he slipped away and went off to get back with the rest of his crew. Steve watched him for a few moments, unable to look away until Bucky was sitting and apparently comfortable with some of his men. Only then did he finally turn to head towards his own quarters.

Steve didn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered going back to his quarters, he remembered scarfing down the food that Sam had left there for him. He even vaguely remembered removing his boots as he sat on the edge of his bed. He did not, however, remember succumbing to his exhaustion in such a way that he was sprawled completely out across his bed, one arm dangling off the edge of it, body contorted in ways that certainly wouldn’t be comfortable to anyone who was at all conscious.

Pulling himself into a somewhat normal and upright position, like a marionette being pulled up by its strings, Steve swung his legs so that they were off the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees so that he could drop his head into his hands for a moment, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. He could see that it was pitch black out, that he hadn’t slept clean through until morning. But he felt leagues better than he had before he fell asleep so he would take the win regardless.

After sitting still for a few moments, he put his boots back on and made his way for the door, leading himself back out to the deck. Looking seaward, it was dark save for the stars and what little light carried far enough from the docks and town behind. Steve chose to keep his eyes trained that way, enjoying the peace of it all. The chaos of the shore had quieted, almost nonexistent now and nearly impossible to hear over the waves lapping against the docks and the ships.

The wood of the deck creaked beneath his feet as he walked. His eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light with each step that he took, and it was only when that happened that he saw that he wasn’t alone out on the deck. A silhouette that was old and new to him at the same time lingered at the far side, leaning against the rail, staring out at the seemingly endless sea. Steve felt the nerves creeping up his spine and tried to ignore them as he continued to walk over.

He leaned against the railing beside Bucky, not looking at him as he asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bucky shook his head. “Not for very long.”

That was all either of them said. Bucky looked out at the ocean waves for a little while longer before he let his gaze drop to the wooden railing that they were each leaning on. His stomach tightened, old memories rearing their ugly heads—a past life that he didn’t feel he had any right to anymore.

Steve watched the way that Bucky’s hands moved tentatively along the wood. He had a fairly good idea of what Bucky was thinking about, because he was thinking about the same exact thing. There was so much that Steve had planned to say, spent years thinking it all through, but now that they were standing there next to each other the words died before they even made it up the column of his throat. None of them would change what happened.

With each movement of Bucky’s hand and arm, the sleeve of his shirt pulled up higher and higher. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, or if he noticed he didn’t seem to care, but Steve couldn’t help but to look at the scarring that ran up his left arm.

“What happened?” the question tumbled from his lips before he could stop it.

Bucky looked at him, confused at the vagueness of his question until he saw where Steve was looking. He gave a small shake of his head. “That night…” he trailed off, not needing to spell it all out.

The sad expression that took over Steve’s face in that moment was enough to break just about anyone’s heart. He knew that he should have something elegant or meaningful to say, but all that came out was a quiet, sad, “Oh.” If he was simply being nosey, he would’ve followed it up with more specific questions, but once he heard that it was all the answer he felt he needed.

Bucky stared down at his arm. The scars were so much a part of him now that he hardly noticed them anymore. Some days his arm still ached, pains that he was almost certain were all in his head but he couldn’t prove it. So many horrid things packed into one night so long ago.

“The waves weren’t the only thing that I had to worry about,” he finally said.

Steve’s heart was getting heavier by the second. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut him off. He pried his eyes up off his arm and looked at Steve. “What could you have done? Either of us?”

Bucky could see it on Steve’s face that he was fighting the urge to argue. He never argued just for the sake of it, something that Bucky found himself doing more than once or twice over the years, but Steve still sometimes couldn’t help but land himself in a debate. He always meant well by it. Any argument with him usually, as much as Bucky could remember, ensued because Steve just couldn’t stop himself from sticking up for someone, for something. A good trait to have most times, but not all. Bucky marveled at that about him now just as much as he had back then, maybe even a little more-so. It was easier to appreciate things with more years and experience.

Steve sighed, shoulders deflating as he nodded. “I know.”

Something about those two small words made it seem like a world of tension had been taken off their shoulders. Both of them had spent so long carrying around so much hurt, so much guilt. They’d been living with countless question marks hovering just above their heads. The burden of things far beyond one’s own control was a heavy one to carry, and they’d been doing it for years. But the admission that there was nothing they could have done then? Or in the interim since? There was comfort in that. It didn’t absolve them of all the grief, but it was a start. And that was more than they ever thought they were going to get.

Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on the water in front of them then. He watched the waves as they gently came lapping at the sides of their ship and the others that had anchored around them. It was so calm, so unlike the night they were both thinking about in that moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve shifting nervously. There was something more that he wanted to say. Bucky briefly wondered if there had ever been a time when Steve didn’t have something more to say. He didn’t try to rush it out of him, though. He’d get to it when he was ready.

All of the shifting and fussing with his hands landed Steve closer to Bucky than he already had been. They were shoulder to shoulder now. The outside of Steve’s arm was pressed flush against Bucky’s, from his bicep all the way down to their wrists. Bucky waited for Steve to realize it, to pull away and put the distance between them again, but it never happened.

“I don’t care what happens now,” Steve finally said.

Bucky’s face scrunched in confusion for a moment. “What?”

Steve wanted to look him in the eyes but for the moment he couldn’t manage it. He settled for staring intently at Bucky’s hand instead as it rested dangerously close to his own. “I know it matters, but I just,” he shook his head, “I don’t care what happens next.”

Bucky didn’t know what to make of the relief in Steve’s voice. “Steve…”

He did his best to fill in the gaps between what he was saying and what he actually meant. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens next isn’t going to matter,” Steve felt his courage surging with each word he spoke, finding it in himself to finally take Bucky’s hand in his as he continued, “because we’re going to handle it. No matter what.”

He matched Steve’s grip, each of them holding the hand of the other like they were the only thing keeping them from slipping away again. In a way they were. He felt the warmth, the softness of the skin of Steve’s forearm against his own scars and for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel the want to pull away from the touch. It was Steve, after all.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to their entwined hands, watching the way Steve’s thumb traced back and forth over his. The only thing that got him to look up was the sound of Steve’s voice as he spoke up again.

“Remember what we always used to say?”

The ends of his lips began to curl upwards, warmth in the small gesture. He remembered. Of course, he remembered. “Yeah.”

Steve’s sigh of relief was quiet, but not quite silent as he allowed himself to lean a little more against Bucky’s side. There was something familiar about the gesture. Suddenly they were teenagers staying up past curfew again—staying out a little too late, drinking a little too much, sitting a little too close. But it didn’t feel like a secret anymore.

“I still mean it,” Steve said with a small nod.

Bucky gave his hand a light squeeze. “Yeah.” His breathing hitched for a moment as Steve’s head dropped onto his shoulder. “Me too.” He let a beat of silence pass, allowed himself to soak up the closeness. “It’s not gonna be easy.”

Steve chuckled softly, not lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder. “It never was.”

“No?” Bucky joked.

Steve laughed a little harder at that, still quiet as his shoulders shook with the laughter, the recognition that he had the opportunity for this when he thought he never would again. “No.”

“Least that didn’t change.”

Steve felt the slight pressure of Bucky leaning his head down against his own, felt the way his heartrate spiked at the realization of it. New and familiar all at once. Steve tried to breathe into it, allow himself to enjoy it. A tether in the midst of so much upcoming uncertainty.

He ran his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles. “A lot of things didn’t change.”

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x steve rogers #connect 4 au #bucky barnes event #alternate juneiverse #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

9 notes · View notes

olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 months

Text

Have you never heard of such a thing, darling?

(The Timari Buzzfeed Unsolved AU)

Chapter 2: The Mysterious Case of Haly’s Circus

The video opens, as always, with Tim sitting on the couch, ramrod straight despite the apparent comfortableness of his cushions, smiling in a way that he knows will set people on edge.

People who have been watching Tim’s channel for a while are suddenly struck with the same feeling that new viewers endure when they open one of his videos for the first time. There is something wrong here, though they can’t quite put their finger on what, exactly, is off.

It is never quite scary. It is hard to be scared of a teenage boy. But it is certainly unsettling.

The reason becomes apparent soon enough: the couch is not pressed to the wall as much as it usually was.

Not that this was an easy thing to realize… until someone pops out of the gap for no reason outside of wanting to be dramatic, smiling widely at the audience.

“I’m back by popular demand!” Marinette says. She leans her arms on the back of the couch. “I’m not sure why I agreed. He doesn’t pay me. I’m being exploited.”

“I literally do pay you.”

“Riiiiight, of course you do,” she says, winking. “Don’t worry, GCPD people watching this, I am well taken care of. There is no fraud going on.”

“I don’t think I like this bit,” Tim mumbles.

“Sucks to suck! I do!”

He huffs. “Why did I invite you along again?”

“Because Alya said that I didn’t complete the bet and you’re lonely?”

“You know, at some point, I’m going to sue you for slander.”

“Public figures can’t really sue for slander!”

Tim’s eyebrows raised. “Is that true?”

“Yeah. It’s why tabloids get away with everything. Probably worth a google.”

He groans and rests his head in his hands. This does not entirely hide the faint smile on his face or the way his shoulders shake with barely restrained laughter. But it’s the effort that counts. Probably.

“Okay. Editor!Me, roll intro.”

The terrible dubstep intro is back, to everyone’s utter dismay. ‘The Gotham Files, with Tim Drake’ bounces around the screen once again, but it ends soon enough, thankfully.

Unfortunately, it is quickly replaced by another intro, complete with a different terrible dubstep song and set of strobe lights, proclaiming that ‘Marinette is also here!!!!!!!!!!’

People who listen closely can hear both of them giggling in the background.

Then, there is a hard cut to the two of them standing outside of what looks to be a run-down carnival. The sign above them declares the place to be Haly’s, but it has long since been graffitied over to say ‘Hell’s’ instead.

Marinette does not seem particularly happy about this change, gripping her new ‘company-provided’ flashlight (Tim gave her a spare he found lying around his house so she wouldn’t drain her phone battery) like it was a lifeline.

Tim pays it no mind, other than a murmur of how cliche it is. He smiles at the camera. “Now, since my intro was so rudely interrupted by Marinette –.”

“Popping out from behind the couch was your idea.”

“– I will explain everything now! We are at the site of Haly’s circus. Twelve years ago, tragedy struck during a seemingly routine circus act. A trapeze line snapped, and John and Mary Grayson fell to their deaths, right in front of their young son.”

There is a moment of silence for the two fallen.

Tim brightens up the moment sixty seconds have finished passing. “And, dear viewers, this particular case is a special one, because I was there when it happened!”

Marinette frowns just slightly.

Tim laughs and waves her off immediately. “I was three, I don’t remember any of it, don’t worry about it.”

She looks somewhat unconvinced, but glances at the camera and decides to drop it. Her concern is wiped from her face like it had never been there at all. She smiles and elbows him in the side. “I guess it’s… a plan to conquer trauma by adding another trauma on top of it. Men would rather visit a haunted theme park than go to therapy.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not adding more trauma on top of it, I’m not going to be traumatized. There’s nothing here that can traumatize me.”

“The ghosts are going to make it their mission to prove you wrong, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, my hubris will be my downfall, of this I am aware,” he intones. And then he goes back to addressing the camera. “Now, to this day, people suspect foul play, but police refuse to investigate. Perfect conditions for a possible ghost, don’t you think? So, as always, we are here to solve the mystery of whether the supernatural exists!”

“It does. Can we go home now?”

“Thank you for your investigative journalism,” he says sarcastically, but he slings his arm over her shoulder regardless, pulling her into his side. “Besides, you don’t have to worry. With all the stuff I’ve said to diss them over the years, ghosts – if they were real, which they aren’t – would go for me first.”

“Then could you please let go? I don’t want to be near you when that happens,” she teases.

He huffs a laugh and lifts his arm, allowing her plenty of time to get away. She remains close to his side.

He snickers and lets his arm fall right back into its seemingly perpetual spot around her shoulders. “It’s just an hour.” On cue, bright red numbers appear in the top right corner of the screen, a timer waiting for them to step over the threshold before it could start. “Then we can both leave, yeah?”

“Just an hour,” she mumbles disdainfully.

“Hey, I usually stay overnight. We can do that instead, if you want.”

The video cuts to show… someone, sitting at a desk, in the dark. Their silhouette is rather chunky, it is clear they are draped in one of the biggest, fluffiest blankets known to man. But they are not the focus. No, instead the camera zooms in, to look at the two different computer screens in front of the person. One of them is clearly editing software, and the other is on YouTube. Viewers can see that he is apparently listening to the ChipiChipiChapaChapa song on loop, and has been for at least three hours. Now, though, he finally opens a second tab. The keyboard clacks as they google ‘what time is the sunrise in Gotham’. The mouse circles the time stamp on the bottom of the screen, and the person mumbles under their breath. Apparently doing math, because they edit the timer to say 8:06:45.

The viewers are back to the actual video, where Marinette is laughing.

Tim does not join her.

Her laughter does not quite peter off, but it does gain a slightly nervous edge.

“That’s… a joke right?” she says. “You don’t actually stay in haunted places for hours every time, do you?”

“Well, no, but the only reason I don’t is that there is no such thing as a ‘haunted place’. I do hang out at attractions like this overnight, though.”

“Actually, an hour seems fine.”

The video pauses. Editor!Tim heaves a deep sigh and the clock changes back to its original one-hour-long countdown.

“Also, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” Marinette huffs when time returns to normal. They finally step into the carnival together, and the timer starts ticking down. “At least try and pretend like you think ghosts could exist, to make things fair.”

“You think that this place has a house of mirrors somewhere?” he asks. “Because I would like to introduce you to the most stubborn person to exist.”

She huffs. She might have rolled her eyes, but she was too concerned with drinking in every detail of the world around them, searching for anything amiss.

There was a lot amiss about the place, to be fair to her. Old popcorn bags lay forgotten on the ground, abandoned in a rush and trampled under hundreds of feet, their previously bright colors muddied by the elements over the years. What had once been gleaming, colorful rides were now rusting. A family of opossums peers at them suspiciously from behind a couple of molding stuffed animals, their eyes gleaming hauntingly when their flashlights turn on them.

But nothing supernatural.

The longer they go without finding anything of note, the more Marinette relaxes.

She tugs at Tim’s backpack, and he gives her a mildly questioning look, but lets her open it and pull out a spray can of bright red paint.

“How –? When –?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets,” she says, smirking, tossing the can from hand to hand.

“Isn’t that saying supposed to be about – uh – demonitizable things?”

“Probably,” she shrugs. “Not my problem, though.”

“Uh. I think it is, actually,” he laughs. “You’re going to give the viewers the wrong idea about you.”

“Oh no. The supernatural-obsessed, parasocial people in your comment section are going to witch hunt me. Oh nooooooo.”

“You know, they’d probably be happy if they managed to kill you. More things for me to investigate – and with a personal element.”

“They’re just mad because they get no –.”

No one can guess what word is bleeped out here.

He groans, but he is still grinning widely. “Don’t insult my audience and their lack of... dates! You know how important my viewer retention rates are to me!”

She sticks her tongue out at him, slipping out from under his arm and walking over to the nearest contraption. It’s a gravitron, from the looks of things – one of those rides where they spin you around so quickly that you can stick to the walls.

Marinette tugs her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose (Tim quickly shifts the camera upwards at the sight of the barest sliver or midriff with mumbles of ‘demonetization’) and spray paints the words ‘Marinette and Tim were here’.

She looks at it for a moment, seemingly thinking hard, before adding a tiny heart next to their names.

Tim groans. “You’re going to make the shippers freak out.”

Her shirt falls away from her face when she tips her head back in a laugh, and she tosses the can into a nearby trash can. It thumps against something inside, but no pissed-off animals come seeking revenge, so they pay this no mind.

“You can always cut it out in editing.”

“Mmmm trueeeeee,” he says, humming thoughtfully. “But I’d prefer not to. Engagement, you know?”

She gives a little hum of her own before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His face flushes pink. “What was that for?”

“Engagement.”

He gasps and presses the back of his hand to his forehead, like a Victorian woman who is about to faint over a couch because she happened to catch sight of a collarbone. “Oh of course it’s for the views and not for me,” he pretends to pout.

She grins widely, opening her mouth to respond, but it seems that they are not allowed to enjoy themselves and have fun.

For, in that second, the carnival whirrs to life.

Lights, muted and strangely speckled due to the accumulation of years of grime, shine down on them. The speakers crackle to life, playing songs they hadn’t heard in years. The rides creak as their rusty gears are forced into motion once again.

If you, dear viewer, pay close enough attention, you can see the exact moment the light in their eyes dies.

It coincides pretty well with the lights in the park flicking on.

Hence why paying close attention is vitally important.

Needless to say, the kids are stressed. Probably because the abandoned amusement park does not seem all that abandoned anymore.

“Any chance we tripped a motion sensor somewhere?” Marinette asks.

Tim looks like he has accidentally swallowed a lemon. “Uh… I don’t think that they would still be working after this long…”

“Great! Great. That’s what I thought, too,” Marinette says, her voice squeaking in a way that suggests she does not, in fact, think it is great.

“But – but! There is always an explanation for supernatural phenomena,” Tim says, though he is eyeing the contraption warily. It is hard to tell who he is comforting – Marinette, or himself. Hopefully himself, seeing as he was utterly failing to calm down Marinette. “Noxious fumes causing hallucinations, confirmation bias, a trick done by living people for the sake of monetary gain (a la Scoobert Doo), the wind...”

“You know, at some point this loops around to being in denial,” Marinette mumbles, pressing so close to his side that it starts to look like she is trying to meld with him.

“Shut up,” is all he can manage in retort.

There is a loud bang nearby and the pair of teens scream. Their heads spin on a swivel, and the video is briefly impossible to watch without getting sick. By the time things stabilize, the teens have come up with a solution. Marinette points at the big top, the largest and most instantly recognizable building. It’s the only place that would provide proper cover.

Not that that would do that much good against a ghost, but you have to at least try to survive in situations like these.

“There! C’mon!”

Tim makes a vague sound of protest, but Marinette is already running, and he is dragged along for the ride.

Perhaps that is not the best phrasing, since a kiddie ride they pass screeches off the rails, and they only barely stop in time to avoid getting run over by a roller coaster car.

The ghost is hot on their heels.

Marinette and Tim hop the car, adrenaline fueling them, their feet thudding against the dirt.

Neon lights spark and shatter overhead, raining sparks and gas down upon them.

Marinette’s shirtsleeve catches, and Tim is quick to put it out for her, because she doesn’t even seem to notice, too focused on helping him into the circus tent.

It is as if they have walked into another world. A kinder one, without weird ghosts that are trying to kill them for intruding upon the place they had once died. It is blissfully dark, the only sound their own ragged breathing. After all the bright lights and loud sounds and near murder attempts, it is nice.

Electricity whirrs.

A spotlight blares down on them, briefly, a clear I know you’re here, before it slides away, down to its natural resting position in the middle of the tent.

Now, you may know I am here, too.

A man in a torn circus uniform sits in the spotlight, sobbing into his hands. A tarp lay stretched beneath the long-since broken trapeze, almost mockingly, as if the ghost is making a joke about how easily avoidable their deaths had been, if only they had used a net that night. The dust they had kicked up upon entering catches in the spotlight, making it look as if the air itself is reacting to the ghost, dancing with shimmering lights.

Marinette is physically shaking by this point, her nails digging into Tim’s arm hard enough to draw blood. Tim doesn’t look much better, either, his face an ashy gray color.

Red pools in the sand the ghost kneels in.

“... wait,” Tim breathes.

He moves as if to take a step forward, but Marinette is still holding onto him, and she clearly has no intentions of getting any closer to the ghost.

Tim meets her eyes.

“Trust me.”

She bites her lip, but when he moves again she allows herself to be pulled with him.

They make their way down the steps.

He moves to make his way over the railing and jump down into the sand pit, but the lights flicker and go out.

The hand Marinette has on him is the only thing that stops him from braining himself on the ground. He wouldn’t have died, probably, but it still would have been quite an embarrassing moment to have caught on camera.

When the lights turn back on, Tim sends her a grateful smile.

Marinette doesn’t return it. Her eyes are locked on where the ghost is.

Or, was.

She doesn’t seem much more relieved by the lack of it.

Tim jumps down and helps her come down after him. Slowly, they make their way over to where the ghost had been.

He crouches to squint at the pool of blood. Marinette gags and drags her shirt up to cover her mouth and nose again. Tim looks like he very much wants to do the same, but he has other things he needs to do, first. He rifles through his backpack, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“Tim…” she says, quietly. “We should go.”

He sends her a hesitant smile. “I want a sample of this.”

He pulls out a flashlight and points it out into the darkness provided by the tarp.

There stands the ghost.

Well, it isn’t a ghost. A ghost wouldn’t cringe away from a sudden bright light being shone into their eyes. Nor would it be wearing stage makeup.

The grimy-looking clothes check out, though. A+ for effort on that, that trapeze outfit definitely looks like someone died in it.

The man glances behind himself briefly, as if considering running, before his shoulders slump in clear defeat.

He groans. “What gave it away?”

Tim points at the blood on the ground. “It should be dry by now.”

“It’s –? I’m supposed to be a ghost? The blood being wet is not the most unbelievable part?”

There was a long beat of silence.

“Oh,” says Tim.

The man – Dick Grayson, the sole surviving member of the Flying Graysons – looks like he wants to scream. Which he does, but not in the traditional way: “Jay! Cass! Come out!”

Two people step out into the light, looking just as irritable about the whole situation.

They, too, are wearing ratty clothes.

Oh. Praise revoked. The clothes are not a Choice. They are simply poor.

Marinette groans and slumps into Tim, burying her face in his shoulder as if she can’t bear to see the world anymore. He loops his arm around her, dragging her ever closer.

“Ready to stop believing that ghosts are real, yet?” Tim teases softly.

She groans. Again. Louder. She beats her fist against his chest, but there is no real power or anger behind it.

And then she fixes the three homeless people with a tired look. “I understand why you’re doing this and all… like, the economy sucks, get that bag – or free housing, I guess… but…”

There is a long string of beeps as Marinette lets loose a frankly impressive number of swears. It’s doubly impressive when one remembers that she isn’t even speaking in her first language. Go her. Clearly, she took her English lessons very seriously.

When she finally feels better, she flashes a smile and sticks her hand out for the second guy to shake.

“Hi! I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

The guy looks confused, but he shakes it.

The video cuts abruptly. The three homeless people are waving them off as Tim and Marinette head back to his car. The viewers would never get to know exactly what was said that day, but it seems they're leaving each other on well-enough terms.

“Sucks that we went through all of that just to not be able to post any of it,” she sighs. “The GCPD would probably arrest them or something.”

“Nah, it’s fine. We can just cut around it and say it was a front for the mafia. The police hate the poor, but they won't mess with organized crime. Because a lot of them are in it.”

“Oh! Great!” she says. Her tone seems to be almost sarcastic. Almost, because why would it be? It is a great plan.

“I’ll keep the real footage on my Patreon, though. My journalistic credibility shall not be marred.” He winks at the camera. “Say hi to the Patreon viewers.”

While she does lift her hand in a vague wave, she does not seem particularly soothed by his words. Perhaps because his ‘journalistic integrity’ was not at all what she had been concerned about.

“Alright, now, we need to convince the nonpaying viewers that we are scared out of our minds because of mafia b.s., so put on your best concerned face.”

Marinette looks at him.

“Perfect! And we’re rolling again!” He turns to address the camera, all wide eyes and frantic hand movements. “Okay, so, it turns out this place is a mafia hideout. Who knew?”

Marinette’s lips begin to twitch into a slight smile at his antics. “Well, I’m going back to France in a few days, so this is not my problem.”

He gasps. “You’re going to leave me here to die?! After all we’ve been through?!”

“Yep.”

Tim looks devastated.

She giggles. “Fine, fine, I’ll stuff you in my backpack and you can come with me.”

He lights back up again instantly. “Ohmygod! We can have The Gotham Files: World Tour!”

“Mmmm, I only live in France,” Marinette points out, which certainly makes the ‘World Tour’ seem less than stellar all of a sudden.

Tim takes it in stride, though. “The Gotham Files: France Tour!”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is nothing but fond. “Nice save.”

“I know. I’m kind of awesome.”

“And always right!” she adds, in the kind of tone that suggests they’ve joked like this before many times offscreen.

“And always right,” he agrees, nodding along, sage in his always right-ness.

“Except…” Marinette says, smirking. “You were almost convinced about the ghosts for a second there. I think that means that, somewhere, you know the supernatural exists.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. He shrugs lazily. “I just think that, if ghosts were real and could affect our reality in any meaningful way, white people just wouldn’t exist anymore.”

It is quiet for a solid nine seconds.

Marinette has stopped walking. Tim slows, turns to look at her, mildly concerned.

“Mari –?”

“Fuck, maybe ghosts don’t exist.”

The video ends.

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

Chapter 3

#maribat #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #have you never heard of such a thing darling?

12 notes · View notes

femmefatalevibe · 1 year

Note

Hello, Love!

So I am 16, and this may seem a bit ridiculous but I hope you see this. Basically, I have this schoolmate and we are on the same grade, he’s really good-looking and got a million followers on TikTok. I’ve known friends and acquaintances who had crush on him at some point, including me which I greatly made me feel so drained and insecure because I can’t help but to compare myself with other people who likes him as well. I even reach a point were I was pressured to conform with those popular, rich, teenagers in hopes to be part of his group of friends because they were in fact those type of people he only hangs out with.

The only thing that held me back was knowing darn well that me and my family is struggling financially. Purchasing fancy clothes, brand new shoes, and latest Apple products was something that’s never part of my option, which I must confess, greatly frustrated me because I wanted to impress him so bad that I felt so ashamed of my thoughts sometimes. Seeing my smart, pretty, rich friend who likes him getting her way to be further connected with him, by befriending his friends, getting invited in cool people’s party and took some cute photos with him didn’t make anything better in my case because I had to pretend I am happy for her.

I actually feel envious and guilty at the same time. She liked him first, I would never admit that I have developed a crush on the guy she likes, though. Regardless of my feeling, those are the values I took pride on: never trade platonic relationships for romantic ones. I won’t let a guy be the reason that would get my friendship destroyed.

So, I wanted to detach from him but I don’t know where to start. We never really interacted (I doubt him choosing to sit next to me at auditorium counts) and most of the eye contacts were I think heavily romanticised by my brain because I’m so attracted to him. I even tried confessing anonymously and felt so bad about myself that he never bothered responding. After that, I spend my week imagining our possibility instead of reviewing for my midterms examination, I didn’t got to pass my exams. The lengths it keeps costing me’s not worth it. I just want to get rid of this feelings. It’s severely unhealthy. Is there anything I can do?

Hi love! Please remember: your feelings are completely valid. This is normal to feel when you're 16 (trust me – I was hopelessly attracted/addicted to my FWB at this age, it's okay!). So cool that you get to stare at TikTok-famous star all day! I remember all of my friends were dying to Snapchat with a Vine star when I was in HS lol.

As someone who was in a similar position: fancy private school, less well-off than my peers, it's easier said than done, but seriously – don't let it get to your head. High school feels like it is all-consuming at the time, but details like who has the nicer jacket or backpack are things you will never think about the second you step onto a college campus or office.

If there's one lesson I've learned in dealing with guys over the years it's this: You need to impress yourself and see if there's a connection. Never do anything for a teenage boy/man that would make you feel like you're sacrificing a part of yourself or any type of self-respect.

There's always a chance he will like you if he gets to know you, but the best way to know is to live your best life: Work hard at school and extracurricular activities, socialize whenever you can with your friends, make jokes with your peers, ask to study with your friends along with your boy interest.

Appearing confident in yourself and knowing what you want are two of the most attractive qualities a person can have.

P.S. - Please live by your previous sentiment: Never trade platonic relationships for romantic ones. I won’t let a guy be the reason that would get my friendship destroyed.

This is golden advice that more women need to internalize. It will only do you good and save you a lot of unnecessary heartbreaks in the future.

Focus on your future and create moments of joy – even for small periods of time – in your daily life. Being born into wealth is the luck of the draw, but building the life you desire and learning to thrive throughout your journey, that's an invaluable skill that no fancy iPhone can replace in the long run.

Hope this helps xx

18 notes · View notes

superloves4 · 1 month

Text

I still taste the past - Chapter 9

Relationships: Curufin/Finrod, Celegorm/Aredhel (background) Summary: Finrod wanted to see Curufin, get his closure after all they had gone through, end things once and for all. What he gets is a journey through the memory of where they've been and the choice of where they will go. TW: none. A/N: Enjoy!

Masterlist - Also on AO3

He supposed he should be glad of something, at least no one had followed them and spread around the events of that fight. He didn't think he had it in him to answer any probing question at the moment.

Finrod returned to the party, his family was worried and Amarië had searched for him, he didn't want to disappoint them but he was too emotionally drained from his fight with Atarinkë to continue with the festivities, thankfully his dirty clothes and a sudden head ache gave him the perfect excuses to leave early and just throw himself into his bed, dirty clothes and all.

Tomorrow, he told himself, I will deal with this tomorrow, I just need some rest, I can fix this, tomorrow.

Tomorrow did arrive and Finrod decided to wait for Atarinkë in their usual spot where so long ago he'd first invited Atarinkë for a game of chess, it had always been their ritual, Atarinkë had never been late for one of their games. So he waited. And waited. And waited.

"Findaràto," someone was shaking him "Findaràto."

When his brain finally connect he jumped, hoping to find Atarinkë there, late and remorseful, or angry, or even happy, he didn't care, he just needed to talk with Atarinkë. Only it wasn't him.

"Disappointed?" Aikanàro asked with a chuckle.

Finrod looked around but there was no sign Atarinkë had even been there that day "Sorry, I was waiting for someone, didn't think I'd fall asleep, do you need anything?"

Aikanàro shrugged and they spent the rest of the time talking. Atarinkë never came.

He then waited the next day and again he waited on nothing. It would only be on the fourth day that he would discover Atarinkë had pulled away from the project and all the Fëanorians had decided, not to return to Formenos where Finrod would have followed him, but to travel again, no particular destination in mind.

The message was clear, Atarinkë had said his goodbyes and this time he'd been serious, time to move on now. Then why did it feel like Finrod was falling with nothing to hold on to? Why eating felt as if it had lost all flavor? He'd never felt so utterly helpless before.

His parents thought it was due to Amarië return to the vanyar and he didn't have the heart to correct them, let them believe in that love they'd made up if it made them happier, maybe Atarinkë had been correct about their parents. He tried to continue his duties but trying to complete the pavilion on his own was not a viable option anymore so he pulled away from the project, he'd been so happy about it, all the little things they had made, even as Atarinkë fought him all the way, was theirs, this project was supposed to be for them to be together, there was no reason for him to stay without him.

He continued to trudge along, he finished his studies and his apprenticeship, he left Tirion for the sandy shores of Alqualondë, he had fun playing games with his siblings, he'd swim at the beach, dug a way out of the feeling of helplessness and found some more meanings outside of Atarinkë. His heart could bleed but the world had not stopped yet. Finrod continued.

One day, months after Atarinkë had left, Finrod felt that his brothers were laughing at him, Artanis tried to shush them, a look of boredom on her face, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Ammë and Atya have prepared something, but you will not learn it from me" she answered, chin up.

He tried everything, her favorite sweets, owed favors, saying he'd owe her a favor, alas, his sister resisted every bribery and he'd spent the rest of the week figuring out what it could be. It wasn't a new project, he'd been clear he was not ready for that yet, it couldn't be another sibling... could it? No, if it was so he would not have been the last to know. Besides the family was already excited enough with the news of Angaràto being the first of them to beget a child, no need for another one just yet.

He should've figured out it was Amarië long before he set foot in the parlor.

She smiled prettily at him and Finrod remembered Atarinkë screaming that she was in love with him, but he looked at Amarië and all he could think was the black pit inside of him that missed Atarinkë.

"Your parents invited me," she explained "I thought it was from you at first, if it's a bother I'll leave, no need to feel obligated."

Amarië was sweet and kind and she wanted to love him. Finrod was tired of dark corners and picking out thorns.

"No, please, I'd love to be your host for the time being."

And for that month, Finrod felt like a person for the first time since he and Atarinkë started to truly fight, he and Amarië had fun, walks around the beach, exploring the city, they had several conversations about their people, what their families expected of them and what they'd become without those expectations. Every passing day he could feel his parents hopeful gaze and his inescapable doubt.

"You know you do not owe me anything, right?" Amarië asked him one day when they were, oh, so cleverly, left alone.

Finrod flushed, pricking himself with the needle of the embroidery he'd been doing on a handkerchief and Amarië calmly passed him, her own more scruffy work.

"I'm not doing anything outside my will," he finally answered, head down.

Amarië smiled "No, but it's not what your heart wants either."

Finrod stared in distress into her kind face, he wanted to love her so much, he had wanted that their moments together had meant something different but as it always did, their time together had only reinforced what he already knew. He and Amarië were friends.

"It doesn't matter what my heart wants," Finrod got up so he could kneel to Amarië "I want to love and I want to be loved, and my love for you goes deep Amarië but you are correct there is someone else I love, it is not someone I can be with and I don't want to deceive you or give you any false promises."

"But if you are still willing to take me as I am I can at least promise to treat you with all the kindness and respect you deserve, love can always bloom when two people care for each other and I will always care for you."

Amarië smiled, tears of joy streaming down her face "May I be selfish?"

Finrod smiled back and took her hand in his "I certainly hope so."

Finally, after many years, his parents dreams were realized and a party was quickly organized at the news, everyone around him commemorated and messages were being sent to Tirion right as he sat in the settee, watching everyone's reaction to his betrothal. Finrod was happy. Finrod had to be happy.

Not everyone shared the cheerful surrounding however, instead Artanis seemed to frown the more time passed and now sat on the opposite settee, glaring at him.

He chuckled "Something wrong? I thought you'd like for another woman to be in the house."

Artanis stared at him and Finrod would grow uncomfortable under her scrutiny before she finally replied "You don't love Amarië."

"And she knows that," he defended himself "But love is an amazing thing and can always grow later."

Her frown, however, deepened "It won't."

Artanis left and Finrod remained, alone, to ponder those words.

#briefly weirdo kid artanis #silm fic #my writing #curufinrod #curufin #finrod #finrod felagund #the silmarillion #silmarillion #feanorians #silm #trans curufin #not really explored tho #dysfunctional to functional #curufin/finrod #finrod/curufin #tolkien

4 notes · View notes

mambalae-s · 11 months

Note

Hii, I’m a new follower so I hope I can join the event,, but your writing is so nice!!

My favourite chara is daishou!! (absolutely whipped for him omg (and his girlfriend OMG))

I’ll give you both something i love abt my self, and smth I’m still working on, I really love my tummy, idk what it is, it’s just so nice to me, not too flat, and very soft, I’ve got that healthy little pouch where all the organs are lmao :) whereas I’m still trying to love are the stretch marks all around my hips and down my legs (like they legit go all the way down the inside of my legs, it’s weird) I know they are completely natural, but I don’t see them on my friends a lot and it makes me a little self conscious :/ (but I’d rather just joke about them to others then admit this)

A little bit about me is that I’m a very easy going person, not wanting to be involved in drama, and im quite friendly and can get along with pretty much everyone, but a little anxious.

I’m a relatively quiet person when I’m a group, I’d rather just listen then engage in the conversation, but if it’s just the two of us? I won’t stop talking. When im comfortable with someone I turn into a menace tho, constantly teasing and joking, it’s how I show love <3

My love language (other that teasing) is quality time and physical touch, I love being around those I love.

As for NSFW,,, I’m a big fan of the idea of having my hands held above my head + some light choking, probably in missionary

My ideal date with daishou might sound a bit plain or boring but id want it to be something mundane and domestic- something like driving around at night (watching his face as the street lamps light him up in pretty colours) and then getting McDonald’s or smth to eat in the moonlight at a park. It doesn’t take much to make me happy, but the idea of this makes me so giddy for some reason <33

Thankyou in advance, I hope I’m not too late for this :) <3 enjoy your night/day wherever you are!

hello my dear! thank you very much for requesting by me and for following me! i’ll admittedly need to do a bit of research on daishou — it’s been so long since i’d seen him and i want to do the best i can!

//two videos into research: huh… i don’t think ive ever thought about his smug grin and those sharp teeth as much as i have today… what is this power that these volleyball men hold over us? is it sorcery?? witchcraft???

╰┈➤starlit wanderlust — daishou x bailey

╰┈➤ song — like your god by mehro

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 suguru’d gotten the impression that you were fairly quiet for someone managing a 2.v league volleyball team. while you took very good care of everyone, you didn’t ever pass much time with them outside of practice

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 even during group dinners, you seemed more than content to listen to all the players talk and enjoy laughs amongst themselves while you ate in silence. you’d just always seemed a bit polite and reserved, and he’d always find himself wondering after you and the things on your heart. he wants to know more about you, his curiosity coasting on liquid courage and the taste of cold beer, and he takes the first step.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 you smile at him as he shifts closer to you, and he’s so terribly startruck and he prays that it isn’t too obvious as he asks if you wanted to get out of the confined eating room. there’s some kind of relief he sees in your eyes that melts his smirk into something far softer as you both sneak through the sliding doors, thankful that the noise is covered up by his team’s cheers.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he sees you take this really deep breath, stretching your hands above your head as an invisible weight falls off from your shoulders. you explain to him that you’ve only felt a bit drained by the day’s events, all evident by the furrow of your brows and the relieved smile you give him as you tell him thank you.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 suguru doesn’t want the night to end just yet though. he’s eager to spend this one on one time with you, where he can perhaps see a bit beneath the layers of the kind and caring manager that quietly looks after her team, and he prays once more for that very same liquid courage as he asks if you’d wanna grab a bite. “it’s still pretty early, and i know you hadn’t eaten much while we were in there.”

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 you can’t help but wonder how long he’d been watching you, because you really were playing around a bit with your food while sitting with everyone. you hadn’t had much of an appetite at the time, but when suguru suggests burgers, you give in to your growling stomach and fluttering heart, and you let him take you by the hand to a nearby mcdonald’s

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 you learn a lot more about one another over shared fries and burgers dripping in all kinds of different sauces by the beach. laughter melts into the sounds of crashing waves and your eyes twinkle beneath the moonlight as suguru recounts stories of high school feuds. you offer him a side hug when he opens up about harder things, hoping that you can provide some comfort for this sweet individual who’d always kept his eyes on you.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 a friendship blooms there on beige brown sands, and overtime, it becomes frequent escapes after each closing meeting, both of you laughing with hands intertwined while the rest of your team watches you grow closer together until, finally, suguru takes one final sip of that bravery tasting like french fries and lettuce drowning in ketchup, and he bites the bullet and finally asks you out.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 the two of you are near inseparable! every waking moment is filled with a kind of playfulness that courses through your veins like a drug, and it feels like laughter and teasing remarks, smells like shared inside jokes that shine right through your chest until you’re weak in the knees.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 there’s always a blanket in the back of suguru’s truck for the two of you to have on your midnight excursions to a nearby fastfood joint, both of you huddling to the back seat and setting up one of your phones with a video or series playing while you cuddle up together and enjoy your meals

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he learns just how much of a silly little tease you can be during moments when you’ll suddenly slap his hand away just before he bites down on his burger! the first time you do, he’s so caught off guard that he stares in disbelief at your scrunched up grinx he’s struggling to fight off his own laughter, but it’s hard as he fails to question your audacity with an open ketchup packet in hand

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 how can he even remain too serious when you’re laughing like the sound of bells?! there’s no fight in him as you push his attacks away, purely wanting to make you laugh more until your thighs were squeezing together as you tried to warn him through joyful tears that you’d pee yourself if he kept going. all he has to say is that you shouldn’t have misbehaved if you didn’t want retribution

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he’d end up chasing you through the empty parking lot that night at 11pm. both of you will need to be up early for work the next day, but with you squealing and giggling as you try to wrestle out from his grip, tomorrow could stay away forever

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he’ll punish you by nipping and kissing your cheeks while he tickles you until you’re apologizing and begging him to go easy on you.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he’ll melt and forfeit only if you give him a kiss and share some of your fries with him! he’ll still let you cuddle up close to him despite your transgressions of course, but he’ll get you back by swiping ketchup across your nose while pretending to go in for a kiss. “didn’t feel too great now, did it!”

NSFW HEADCANONS

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 something that absolutely drives suguru wild is the way your body looks folded beneath his while your legs are wrapped round his waist. he thinks your tummy looks so damn cute that it makes his brain melt, especially watching how your entire body shakes as he fingers you through orgasm after orgasm while he bounds your hands above your head

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he can’t help the low groans he lets out while you’re screaming his name and begging him to slow down — the sheets beneath you are already soaked from you squirting over and over on his hand, but he keeps going, rubbing circles over your clit and slapping your pussy with his fingertips everytime you cum and make a mess.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 “uh-uh, stay right there, baby.. m’ not done with you yet.” he’ll tut at you if you start begging him and telling him it’s too much. “you can handle it, right? you have to, or else m’ not gonna give you my cock. gotta make you cream all over my fingers first.”

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 and he says that, but he’s fully aware of how cruel he’s being to you — you’ve already gone and made such a big mess, after all. your thighs and ass are completely covered in your cum, sticky and slick and glistening so prettily while your hole squelches with each push of his fingers, but he wants more still. he can’t hold back his own moans while he’s feeling how your pussy walls practically squeeze him down to the knuckle, contracting around those digits like a vice each time he presses the tips up against your g-spot. “so fuckin’ tight, darlin’. hm? want my cock that bad, don’cha? gonna take good care of this pussy, baby, don’t you worry that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he won’t give you his cock until you’re positively fucked stupid, till your brain’s nothing but mush and you start begging him mindlessly for him to fuck you. those pretty little cries of yours just get him going so much that it’s even hard for himself to hold back. his balls hurt and feel too damn sensitive with all the cum that’s just bursting to be let out inside your pretty little cunt, to the point where his erection feels too painful.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 there’s nothing in the world that can compare to the feeling he gets when he finally slides inside of you. his grip tightens around your wrist while his head hangs low, mouth wide open with dirty swears of your name. he doesn’t ever spare even a second before he starts pounding your walls — he’d held back for far too long, and he can’t find it within himself to hold back, not when this pretty little cunt feels so good wrapped around him.

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 he’ll drop one palm from your wrists to squeeze the flesh of your waist and hips while he fucks you into the mattress, your skin slapping together not loud enough to hide all those dirty moans that you let out beneath him. and he’ll make you cum on his cock over and over till your body writhes and you’re too overstimulated, because maybe he’s a little bit greedy and pussydrunk and keeps wanting to tip you over your limits again and again.

mamba celebrates 100 — jjk and haikyuu selfship event!

#aphrodite.#olympia.#haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagine #i hope i did good by him!#haikyuu selfship #haikyuu drabbles #i hadn’t realized he has the same first name as geto!

7 notes · View notes

ro-written · 1 year

Text

Who Killed Markiplier?

Episode 1: *Thunder Crash*

A/N: This is basically a remake of the first WKM video but with the reader/viewer's thoughts and actions lol

Warnings: Cussing, Second Person POV, spoilers???? if you havent watched WKM go do so now lmao, someone dies, light angst, you're a simp for Damien

Word Count: 4.6k ... Blame Mark

I felt tired.

Drained.

Worn out.

I felt…

Fuck I didn’t know what to feel anymore.

Only if he dictated it.

He had me running here and there, playing all types of roles. My head felt as if it was spinning at all times.

All this running about and yet I still can’t run away from him.

—

The mansion was…grand. To say the absolute least. Tall, sprawling, intimidating. Something you would only see in films. Fitting for an actor, I suppose.

You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Damien.

You wouldn’t be at the party if it weren’t for Mark’s invitation, yes. But Damien was the only reason that truly sold you on going. You knew Mark by…proxy…of sorts. He seemed like a well-enough guy, if not a bit full of himself at times, but not a complete jerkoff. At least, not when you were around him.

Damien dragged you along to a few of Mark’s parties in college. They had been childhood friends and Damien had been your closest friend in the entirety of the school, having met in a Political Science class. You knew going to these parties would make him happy to see his best friends, but also made him nervous. Therefore, you would attend with. Just as someone to be next to him so he had someone at all times. Even though I am not a party-goer either…

“Oh bully!” A booming voice shook you out of your thoughts. You were suddenly face-to-face with a man in what looked like safari expedition gear. He had quite an impressive mustache, as well as a shining monocle. “And here I thought I was gonna be the last guest to arrive.”

You gave a gentle smile as he put his hands behind his back and bowed a bit.

“My friends call me the Colonel. You’re welcome to do the same, should it please you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Colonel.” You have heard of him before. Damien’s eccentric hunting friend. He was part of the trio of best friends that Damien was a part of. You had also heard that he…well, it was better to not poke around in other people’s business I suppose.

“After you.” He gestured towards the door, inviting you to enter the lavish mansion.

The grand door opens, and you are met with a young man who seemed to be around your age.

“Ah, bonjour! Welcome to Markiplier Manor. Your invitation please.”

His hand stuck out, awaiting the letter you had received only a few days ago. On it had your name written with a title. District Attorney. I will never get used to it.

“Very good, very good. Right this way. Good luck at the table tonight. I shall fetch you a drink forthwith.” His polite smile graced his features as he nodded and turned away. Looking forward you could see Damien talking to a man you were unfamiliar with. Just seeing him was enough to relax your shoulders and allowed you to take a deep breath.

“Oh,” he noticed you walking towards the two of them. “There you are, old friend. How are you settling into your new office?”

You smiled at his concern. Always watching out for everyone. It’s what makes him a good mayor.

“It’s a little…new. But I’m just glad the hard work paid off.”

“Now, I know it’ll take some getting used to, but there’s no one I would rather have alongside me to protect this great city of ours.”

His words make your face burn. Ever since you two were in undergrad, he always had to say these little comments that made you flustered. You just always chalked it up to the fact that it’s hard for you to simply take a compliment. So you simply nod and smile, giggling slightly at his enthusiasm and the wave with his cane.

“Now, I’ll see you at the table soon, but try not to rob me blind again.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation as your eyebrows shot up.

“Maybe be better at the game and you won’t lose so much Damie,” you laughed. He smirked and nodded.

“We’ll catch up,” he leaves you as he walks off, probably towards the Colonel that had walked in behind.

With his presence gone (something that left a piece of you feeling disappointed, although you would never admit such a thing) you took it as an opportunity to explore around a little. Every piece of furniture, every bit of decor, every inch of the house was elegant. It screamed “money” right in anyone’s face who walked in. The lights and color template of the room made you feel warm and cozy. Or maybe it was the lingering excitement of being in Damien’s presence.

You moved from the entry room into the dining room, where someone you could only assume was Mark’s chef was working in silence. You walked up to him, ready to introduce yourself, when he moved to speak before you could.

“If you’re looking for hors d’oeuvres, I’ll get ‘em when I’m good and ready!”

Your smile immediately fell as you jumped back away from the man. He began to walk away, and as you walked behind him to move on to the next room, he swung back around.

“And stay out of my kitchen!” His grating voice threatened.

“Now, now,” A voice came from behind. “Let’s not be rude to our guest.” The butler had returned with a tray of drinks and stood giving the cook a very disapproving stare. He turned to you and put a hand up to offer his apologies.

“So sorry about that,” he grabbed a glass off the tray. “Here’s your champagne.”

“Um, it’s quite alright. You would be surprised how often I get yelled at in my line of work.” You lightly laughed and grabbed the offered drink.

“Enjoy your evening.” He smiled and turned to walk away.

Right before you could continue exploring the house, a voice came from atop the stairs.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all!” He was dressed in a red robe with his hair gelled back. “My name is Markiplier. Thank you for joining me on this auspicious evening. So good to be surrounded by such close and trusted friends.”

His posture stood confidently, slowly stepping down the staircase closer to where you were standing. He is exactly how I last remember him. So confident in front of an audience. It was like he was born to play this role.

“Now, this evening, it’s not all about the poker. It’s not all about me. It’s about you.” He pointed towards you and smiled. It took you aback for a second before you realized he was referring to everyone, but you just so happened to be standing the closest to him.

“So drink up and be merry! Life is for the living! And who knows? I could be dead tomorrow.” He laughs out, and you laugh lightly, surprised at his dark humor. It wasn’t something you quite remember…but people change over the years. Especially when you haven’t seen them in a while. You took down your champagne as the night’s festivities commenced.

Through the haze of all the alcohol, you rinsed Damien at poker, watched as he did a keg stand, lost at beer pong, flipped off the butler (and can not remember why for the life of you), and were suddenly smacked by the man Damien had talked to before. That’s what put you on the ground, staring at the paintings on the ceiling. Your head bobbed around until Damien’s figure came into your line of sight. You blinked and suddenly, he was right in front of you, lightly patting your face.

You blink again, and this time you were falling into your bed, facing towards the clock.

Onl–…only 1 am?????? The paarrrrty needs to keep go-going……..

—

You woke up to an annoying ringing and a killer pounding headache.

Groaning, you sat up, reaching over to turn the alarm bell off. You stretched your arms out above your head and moved side to side, attempting to wake your body up and cure its soreness. Standing, you quickly changed before heading out to greet everyone, and definitely not make fun of their hangovers.

Right outside your door stood the butler from before, holding a tray with one glass of…some mixed substance.

“Ah, good morning. Hope you’ve had a good night’s rest.” You wiped the sleep from your eye a bit and smiled at him and his thoughtfulness.

“I’ve prepared for you a seltzer with cocaine. Best thing for the morning after, if you ask me.” Your smile dropped and your eyes widened a bit. You took it, out of courteousness and held it as he moved away.

Behind him, looking over the rail, was Damien. He stood in front of the enormous windows, casting a glow around his body. He was fully dressed with his hair gelled back and his cane at home in his right hand. He turned around to look at you, a smile on his face.

“Ah, there’s our little monster! You really knocked ‘em dead last night.” Your face heated up at his words, smiling and shaking your head as you set the…concoction the butler gave you on a side table. “I haven’t seen you go wild like that since our days at university.”

“Well, the little monster doesn’t get to let loose like that very often I suppose.” You cocked your head to the side as you look into his bright eyes.

“Good to let the beast out every once in a while, eh, old friend?” You let out a little huff, glancing down at the white rose pinned into his suit jacket. “Then again,” He started, looking down at the ground in confusion. “I’m-I’m still not exactly sure as to what we’re supposed to be celebrating here.” You nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. It did confuse you, but you were just an outsider. The fact that Damien seemed to be confused about the party piqued your interest.

“I mean, it’s good to have the gang back together, but…out of the blue like this seems…” He trailed off, getting lost in his thoughts as he looks over the banister downstairs. “Anyway, now is not the time to become conspiratorial. Life is ours to choose, as I always say.”

“Yes, you’re never-ending motto. I remember you frequently telling me in university.” You laugh, eyes twinkling. You pick on him for it a lot but, if you were being honest, it was something that got you through the toughest of days.

“I have some work to finish, but I’ll meet you at breakfast. We’ll all catch up soon.” With a nod, he walked off to do whatever executive work he decided to bring along with him. Always busy, that one.

You reflected on his last sentence. We’ll all catch up soon. It felt heavy to think about. After everything that happened between Mark and the Colonel, and Damien attempting to play mediator, the statement held much more meaning than one may realize.

Suddenly, you find yourself at the bottom of the stairs. You glance around at the lavish manor, hands behind your back to keep from knocking into anything. One of these portraits must be worth my pay for the next five years. You turned around to eye a knight’s armor that gave you an odd feeling being near. Like it was watching you just as you watched it. You started to back up when a sudden noise made you swing around. Before you knew it, a body was dropping right in front of your eyes and landed on the ground with a resounding thud.

Your heart dropped to the very pits of your stomach.

Mark.

Thunder crashed throughout the mansion as you stood staring at his gaping face.

“Did anyone hear that lightning?” You turned to come face-to-face with the man Damien had been talking to before, the one that had hit you last night.

“OH MY GOD! THERE’S BEEN A MURDER!” Another clap of thunder resonated off the walls.

“Excuse me,” the butler came around the corner. “But did you hear light–OH MY GOD MURDER!” Crash.

“Did you–? MUUUURDER!” The chef yelled, pointing at Mark’s lifeless body. Crash.

You were suddenly being pulled closer toward the first man, wearing a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat.

“What the hell happened here? Who’s in charge around here? Trick question: the guy. And he’s dead now, which makes ME in charge. So you better listen up good, bucko. ‘Case you haven’t been paying attention, there’s been a bit of a…killin’.” Everyone looked around, waiting for the next thunder crash.

Silence.

“And you’re my prime suspect. So you better get to explaining right quick as to the what, where, when, and why you happen to be here upon this man’s death!”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to create the right words to tell this guy it wasn’t me. Your brain was short-circuiting, with no thoughts except the image of Mark falling right in front of you.

“Sir,” the butler cut you off before you had a chance to speak. “The body is cold. He’s been dead a while.” You blinked in awe as, who you assumed to be, the detective laughed.

“A likely story! That I happen to believe completely. All right, you’re off the hook for now, but I’m a detective, and–”

“Oh yeah?” the chef interrupted. “Prove you’re a real dick!” The detective pulls something from his robe.

“Here’s my badge. Asshole.” He turned to you, a series of pictures falling from the badge. “Ah, those are my old partners. Don’t ask me about them. Fine! I’ll tell you.”

Damien, where are you?

“Each one of them died. Each death more tragic than the last. A few of them even died in ironically hilarious ways.” You cocked your head, looking towards the cook who gave you an ominous wide-eyed stare.

“Which made it all the more tragic. But hey, you look like you’re up to the task. You’re my new partner.” Your heart lept from your stomach to your throat, as you shake your head violently. He just laughed.

“That’s what all my old partners used to say. Right before they died.” You glanced at the cook again, and he seemed nervous for you.

“All right. Hand me that fingerprinting kit behind you, partner.” You turned to grab it but it was nowhere to be found. Turning back around to ask where it was, you found that the detective already created a closed-off crime scene.

“Thanks, partner!”

You squatted underneath the police tape, watching as the detective inspected the body. A pair of footsteps signaled to you another presence entering.

“What the hell happened here?” Damien asked, face and voice riddled with concern.

“Oh! Mr. Mayor. I’m so sorry. There’s been a murder.” A crash echoed as the butler informed Damien of the previous moments.

“A murder?” Clap. “Who?”

“It’s Mark.” The chef broke it to him. You looked at Damien, eyebrows drawn. You didn’t want to know how he felt. They were childhood best friends.

“I’m afraid he’s telling the truth.” The detective inputted from his squatting position. “Mark’s been…killed.”

“Why? Who would do this?”

“That’s exactly what me and my new partner here are here to find out.” You squinted at the detective as he looked toward you.

“Um, excuse me. I feel like we should call the authorities for them to handle this matter.” The butler chimed in.

“Look, buddy, as far as you’re concerned, I AM the authorities.” The detective once again pulled out his badge.

“The fact of the matter is, I believe the killer is right here amongst us in this very house. With that freaky lightning storm outside, none of us would get very far, anyway.” You nodded along with him, lips pursed together.

“In the meantime, we’re stuck here. But I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. The rest of you, get back to your rooms, hunker down, and pray to God you’re not next to be murdered.” Crash.

“I’ll…I’ll check on our other guests.” The butler notes, walking away.

“I’ll get back to cooking. All this death made me hungry.” Odd man.

You moved to go toward Damien, still staring at the white sheet on the floor. His mind seemed to be racing a million miles an hour.

“I…I-I need to talk to the Colonel about this.” He gripped his cane as he stepped backward, then proceeded to walk purposefully away. Your chest hurt seeing him that way.

“All right, partner. It’s time to get to work.” You squatted down in front of the detective. “Judging by the temperature of the body that I measured rectally…which is obviously the most accurate way to get the inner body temperature of a corpse. That’s a fact, totally procedure. Don’t tell anyone I did it.” Man, this guy talks.

“I am sure Mark was killed around 1:30 a.m. last night.” He stared off into the air as if reading some sort of clue written in the room. Suddenly, he jumped up, finger-pointing toward you.

“So what were YOU doing at 1:30 a.m. last night?”

“I…I was in my bed. You had knocked me down, Damien checked on me, and then I was laying in my bed. I remember seeing the clock as I fell asleep.” You managed to rush out, your authoritative voice switching on just as it would do in a courtroom setting.

“I’m gonna ignore the strange fact that you sleep with your eyes open.” You stood up, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “But it checks out. So, we need to figure out where everyone was and what they were doing around that time or, at the very least, who saw Mark last.” You nodded in agreeance.

“You need to get out there. See if you can piece together the story of what happened last night. I’ll stick around with the body and run more…tests.” You watched the strange man as he went down, sniffing his fingers. Where the hell do Damien and Mark find these people?

You duck under the caution tape, walking towards a room that seemed to have quite a commotion stirred inside.

“Oh, how can you be so flippant?”

“Flippant?! I’m taking this matter very seriously.” You peeked through the crack in the door to see Damien standing there yelling at a familiar voice.

“Oh, don’t give me that horseshit! I know you hated him, but…goddammit, he reached out to you!” Damien’s voice, the pleading tone behind it, made your heart clench.

“Oh, what do you want from me, then?” The voice inquired back lackadaisically.

“Wh–I want you to care!” The sudden shift in his voice made you jump. You had never heard Damien yell in that way before, especially not toward his friends. It scared you, making you realize how there’s still a lot to the man you have yet to learn.

“Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”

“I can’t believe you.” Damien pointed his cane at the other man. “You come find me when you pull your head out of your ass!” He suddenly turned and almost walked right into you, stopping just at the door. You took a step back, scared at how you were just caught eavesdropping.

“S-sorry…”

Damien aggressively grabbed the door open and brushed past you, not saying anything past a whispered: “Excuse me.”

You decided to muster up your courage and step into the room to face the man he had been talking to. The one that was causing him so much strife. You turned the corner only to be met with the Colonel sitting in a chair, hat down.

“Damien, I don’t–oh.” He looked up to realize exactly who he was talking to. His entire tone shifted. “Ah! Good to see you again! You were quite the rapscallion at last night’s festivities.” He stood from his chair to greet you.

“But…you’re probably here to help the detective with his ‘investigation of murder.’” Crash. “Anyway. I’ll help you, I’ll tell you what happened to our dear friend Mark.” He seemed to be exaggerated in his movement. As he flailed his arms around, pretending to be Mark from last night.

“‘Oh, look at me! My name is Markiplier now! Forget all my friends or the people that helped me along the way; just look at my money! Oh, I need to pay people to be my friends! Ha ha ha! You like me? Too bad! Oh, glug glug! Oopsie poopsie! I can’t hold my booze. Gotta go off to the little boys’ room. Who wants to join me? I’m gonna go up there upon my stairs. MY house has more than ONE staircase. Oh, look at me and how great I AM! Oh no, I'm falling! Aaah, I’m dead.’”

You stood staring at him as he finished up, what you could only assume to be, a little ranting session about his frustrations toward his once-friend.

“And that’s what happened. Probably, anyway. So, if you need to corroborate this story with anybody else, just be on your way and investigate the entire house. Go now. I’ll be here when you’re done.” With his hand flicks, you made your way out of the room, very confused to say the least.

Just before you left the room, however, the butler pops out from the doorway.

“Come with me. I need to show you something. Now, if you’re looking for answers, there’s really no mystery at all.” He winds you down a hallway, walking with purpose towards…something.

“There’s not a single detail of this house that I'm not privy to, and not a single guest that I have not personally vetted.” He stepped to walk in front of you, leading the way. When suddenly, he jumps around toward you, finger out in front.

“Now I warn you: what you are about to see is not for the faint of heart. A domain of evil this is…” he leads you to a set of stairs descending into what seemed to be some sort of basement or dungeon. “...but in we must go. … You first.”

You stepped down the stairs into a cellar. There was an entire wall dedicated to holding wines, with some bottles sitting on the center shelves. Your heart raced as you looked around, looking for any clues as to what may have happened last night. Looking down, you found a broken wine bottle.

“Why did you–”

“AVERT YOUR EYES!” The butler came rushing in around you towards the shattered glass. “I’m so sorry you had to see this! Master would be so displeased! If only he were still alive!” A sobbing came from the man as you slowly stepped back towards the stairs. Then, finally deciding it was okay, you ran up them to get far away.

Making it to the top of the stairs, you turn to your left to see the chef in the kitchen, chopping away at something. You decided to question him about where he was last night.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my kitchen!” You jumped, stepping back, a knife held tightly in his hand.

“I’m just…helping the detective question people.” Your eyes flicker between the man’s eyes and his knife.

“Oh. You’re helping that dick with his little investigation, huh?” You nodded, hands in the air to show you were unarmed. “Well, I might look like a sweet and innocent man, but some people with short lifespans might think otherwise. I can’t imagine why, can you?” You shook your head, jumping back a step.

“Last night, after I got rid of all of the evidence…” You held your breath.

“...of that delicious meal I prepared, and wiped down all the fingerprints…” Your eyes widened.

“...from those filthy dishes. And sopped up all that blood…” Your teeth clenched.

“I retired to my room at 1:00 a.m. and left my little buddy in charge like I always do.” He turned to present the lifelike statue sitting on the counter. He gave it a little kiss on the cheek before putting his arm around it like an old friend.

“He sees everything. Why don’t you ask HIM what happened last night?” You shifted toward the statue and began to watch the video from the cameras in him.

—

The footage flipped back further and further in dates and moved locations around the manor til it finally found something of value. The detective talking to Mark.

“Abe!”

“Mark! Good to see ya.”

“Great to see ya. Look, I’ll cut right to the chase. Chef, butler, good?”

“Chef's an asshole, but he’s clean. Uh…butler, he’s a new guy. Also an asshole, but he’s clean.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The footage cut.

—

You stepped away from the “Little Buddy.” Looking around the kitchen, the chef you had expected to be staring you down was no longer around, having seemingly disappeared into thin air. Skeptically, you stepped out into the hallway to see if you could find anyone. Passing by a set of double doors, you decided to walk outside to get a bit of fresh air.

The day was so beautiful. The sky was clear and the birds were chirping. You could see over the entire town. The town that you and Damien were in charge of keeping safe. The realization has hit you more than once, but every time it hits you with a baseball bat right in the gut.

You could hear someone’s footsteps pacing around nearby, and you followed the sound over to where Damien was swinging his cane around, deep in thought. He finally turned to you, startled. It was the first time you had seen him since he snapped earlier. He let out a gentle sigh as he walked towards you.

“Look, I’m sorry you saw that argument with the Colonel. I lost my temper and it wasn’t right and…he must be in shock.” He looked down to the ground as if trying to figure out his words.

“Don’t apologize Damien. You are under a lot of stress right now. I can’t imagine how it all feels for you.” You offered him a smile as you rubbed at your palms, a slight nervous tick.

“The Colonel’s an eccentric; it’s his best quality and his worst. But he’s my friend, and…so was Mark.” You looked down, at a loss for words on how to comfort him.

“I know I’m supposed to be a leader in this scenario, but I can’t help but feel lost!” His voice shook as he continued. “I’ve known Mark for years, since we were kids! … And he’s just gone?” His eyes pleaded to you. They were begging you to say something, but you didn’t quite know what to say or offer him. His face firmed.

“I don't have any answers right now. I just need to be alone…to process all of this.”

“Of course Damien…take your time.” Your hand twitched, aching to reach out and rub his shoulder with some sort of semblance of sympathy. But you held back.

“We’ll talk soon, but I need to think.” He walked away, head hanging.

A sudden whisper from behind you made you whip your head around to a bush.

“Hey! Partner! Get over here, now! Hurry up!” You raced forward as the Detective started walking into the manor.

“You’re not gonna believe this; I can barely believe this! The body: it’s gone. It’s just fucking disappeared. Look!”

Sure enough, as you walked into the gathering room, the taped outline of the body was all that was left. Nothing else remained as evidence of the crime.

Mark was gone.

#markiplier #who killed markiplier #damien x reader #damien x da #markiplier egos #markiplier fanfiction

9 notes · View notes

hinatastinygiant · 7 months

Text

11 | Rose

Pairing: Daichi x Fem!Reader

Only in Whispers

BACK TO PRESENT TIME ~ OIKAWA'S P.O.V.

With Iwaizumi and Ushijima's help, I begin to look for Kageyama. Even though I told Ushijima we were good without his help, he insisted on tagging along. "I have two hands," he said... or something like that. I couldn't really hear him over my groaning.

Iwaizumi isn't much help either. "Why did you do that to Bokuto?" he constantly asks. "That was, like, really creepy."

"Dude, shut up. I thought that's what he was hinting at. It's always what people are hinting at. I told him I was sorry," I explain to him.

"I don't remember hearing that," Iwa rolls his eyes.

"You should be careful," Ushijima joins in with his useless help that no one asked him for. "Daichi might cart you off to jail with the killer."

"Do you need to be constantly reminded that you are not needed here?" I ask him. "If you wanted to be useful, you could go off on your own and find Kageyama for me."

"I have two hands," he repeats, which is becoming increasingly annoying. I don't even know what the hell that means.

How did I get stuck with these two losers? I ask myself. I mean, I know I'm cuffed to Iwaizumi, but damn.

Thankfully, we finally arrive at Kageyama's room. Unfortunately, no one answers the door when we knock.

"Guess no one's here," Iwaizumi says.

With a shrug, I open the door and look inside just to make sure. "Yeah, you're right," I sigh before taking a seat on the bed with Iwaizumi. "This is so dumb. He's probably walking around somewhere. We'll never find him."

Iwaizumi then looks at me with his wide, innocent eyes and I can't help but grin as I look back at him. "Wakatoshi, I think it's really time for you to leave now..." I tell him without looking away from Iwa.

This time, I feel Ushijima's glare, but he doesn't say his stupid new catchphrase. Instead, he begins to walk out the door, but before he completely disappears, he stops and looks at the two of us once more. He then shakes his head and shuts the door before walking out.

DAICHI'S P.O.V.

I feel awkward walking around with Sugawara, to be completely honest with you. We used to be really close when we were younger but we haven't talked in a long time. There's no particular reason why we're no longer close, and no particular reason why we're hanging out again right now.

"Hey, Daichi, how're things going with Y/N? " he asks me, probably just to get some conversation going. "I didn't know the two of you were seeing each other."

"She's cute," I shrug. "I guess we'll see where things go. I mean, it's strange, but I feel like I've known her forever after all this crap we've been through together."

"I'm happy for you," Suga replies.

"Thanks, Suga," I reply.

"How's the job going?" he then continues.

"Well, I'm sure you know that I retired from being a detective after last year... Now I'm just a street cop," I admit to him a bit nervously. I hate the judgment that comes with telling people that. "So, it's good, I guess."

"What made you retire?"

"It was a very emotionally draining job," I sigh. I usually don't admit that much to people. Instead, I typically come up with some sort of excuse to convince people it makes sense.

"That makes sense," he nods. "I remember all the emotionally draining work we did back in the day for the team."

I smile. "I miss those days with you guys... and being that close with you all."

"I do too," he agrees, returning the gesture.

Just then, we arrive outside Kenma's room. I knock and wait a moment before opening it slightly. Inside, the room is dark, and we can both see Kenma fast asleep in his bed. As I turn to say something to Suga, I notice him give me a strange look, as though he doesn't believe me about what we were just talking about. God, I can't wait for this whole thing to be over with. Sure, I miss my friends, but this is a really weird way to reconnect with them. I wish the circumstances were different.

"Now what?" Suga asks me.

"We leave him here," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "We'll come back to check on him in a little bit. There's no need to wake him. But we do need to tell the others where he is so they don't suspect it's him."

With that, we close the door and head back down the hall.

"So, you don't think it's Kenma then?" Suga asks me.

"No," I shake my head. "How could you sleep after murdering someone? A friend, too."

"You're right," he agrees. "I just can't help but think that if one of us is the killer, it's going to be so hard to live with."

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "Let's just hope it's not one of our closest friends."

SAEKO'S P.O.V.

I am so happy when Ryu asks me to join his group with Noya. Finally, some actual time with my little brother. It's been years since we were around each other this much.

As we walk together, Noya begins to ask me about myself, claiming, "I feel like I haven't seen you in decades!"

I look at Ryu with a smile as I respond, "Well, I'm glad that's over now."

"Same with me," Ryu adds with a grin. "I thought I lost you forever."

"No, not until the end of the night, that is," I joke. "Then we can never see each other again!"

"Oh, come on, sis. You know I won't let that happen," Ryu laughs.

"I'm only kidding," I chuckle. "I have to say, though, it was a little strange that Kiyoko invited me. I know the two of you had a complicated relationship, so why add me into the mix?"

"Maybe to get him off her ass," Noya chimes in, laughing. "So she wouldn't have to deal with him. He'd be too busy with his own family drama."

"Hey, uh, that reminds me... Not to change the convo, but what happened with Asahi?" Ryu then asks his friend.

"I don't really want to talk too much about it yet," Noya gulps. "It's kinda new, but I've been seeing someone lately."

Ryu and I exchange a look. Noya isn't being his usual bubbly self anymore which is odd. I always thought Noya had feelings for Asahi. Who is he dating?

Only in Whispers

2 notes · View notes

icharchivist · 1 year

Note

a happy early white day to you, icha! I’d say for your princess treatment I wrote about chikage but. let’s be truthful I did that for me. anyways tsumugi and itaru as leads… eyes emoji. this whole event was just very sweet and cute so I honestly don’t have much to say abt it, only I was thinking abt chikage during it just because. I think he’d be such a fun addition to this event due to the whole like. mildly antagonistic vibes he has with izumi. in a good way I’m not saying he’d kidnap her again I just do think like those two would probably actually snipe at each other instead of being as nice as everyone is here. or maybe he’d be just as nice as well and the contrast would be charming… who’s to say. loved muku stepping down so some random girl could get the white horse on the carousel… prince behavior. suddenly remembered that as a kid I very specifically wanted to be like… yknow how in classic shoujo setups there’s like popular prince character girl likes initially and the bad boy she eventually gives her heart to. anyways that popular prince character in general I wanted to be a shoujo prince as a kid but like unfortunately when ur like 8 acts of chivalry are really limited to just like. holding the door open for girls in your class. which I did do and wonder why I was not super popular. all this is to say I think me and muku would get along great. itaru saying work is busy because staff got shuffled around… chikage? that’s my guess abt it. the real highlight of this event tho was the tasuku tsumugi itaru dynamics it truly warmed my heart. like… the way tasuku was gonna accompany tsumugi to the amusement park the way they are supporting each other after having not been able to for so long and the way itaru after a draining days work goes with tsumugi anyways. i like to think it’s because in terms of energy tsumugi’s one of the least draining people out there. and then the way itaru says not to worry abt taxi fare and doesn’t specify anything more because like. of course tasuku will come for the two of them. the way itaru and tsumugi make up a bunch of bullshit on stage and itaru just has like, a truly great amount of fun talking about the eye of the abyss and whatever. like! he enjoys being nerdy! he enjoys acting! idk I just thought the three of em in specific were very lovely? like the way that their interactions just felt very peaceful and warm. the way tsumugi didn’t think of calling tasuku to pick them up but itaru did because he knew it would be fine. its just… nice. also my personal headcanon is citron drew one of the acting roles, said “i refuse to be a part of the monarchy!” or smthing like that and handed it over to muku bc… the role of a prince/sir or whatever, I think he’d appreciate it

omg HI KIRI <33333 It's so nice to see you, happy early white d- what with that intro i almost had a mini heart attack 😭😭😭

BUT HEY WELCOME TO ONE DAY PRINCESS! one more event down ;D

It was really nice to see Tsumugi and Itaru as lead this event, their dynamic is just so nice.

and oh god you're actually talking about Chikage hold on. hold on. Need a sec to have the brain working again. But yeah Chikage would be pretty funny in this vibe. though honestly after reading his backstages, this guy is a complete menace. "midly antagonistic vibes with Izumi" from Izumi's side maybe, the guy is laying in the most soul destroying devoted love declaration and pretends to be Izumi's boyfriend for no reason because smiling and going "well i'm joking of course. or was i.". I do NOT trust him with playing a prince being all lovey dovey with Izumi. and i would love to say "at least it's the first event since he joined so maybe he wouldn't be this bad" but then i remember he started doing those in his first backstages and i'm supposed to be normal. That said i think Chikage appears in Itaru's backstage for this event? i don't remember well. So at least he's lurking while everyone is being silly i love them.

Actually now that i think about it considering the Spring chap ends on a cliffhanger that is immediately continued in the main story, i wonder if it doesn't mean ODP is set somewhere in the middle of the Spring chapter. Which. yeah okay there you got me it would mean Chikage is prob also still antagonistic to MC and specifically not here because he heard everyone make a fuss and went nope. nope nope nope nope, without me guys, i'm here to destroy my brother not for this bullshit. I could imagine that just fine. So yeah perhaps early at that point he probably would have just be the mean bitch of the gang. Please help.

coughs sorry it was the Chikage tangeante. I'm very normal when it comes to discussing Chikage. MOVING ON.

Now, about Muku. Muku is such a sweetheart 😭 and ohmygod. Prince Kiri lore unlocked…. I don't understand how you couldn't get popular with all of this. Though ngl now it's really projecting the image of Kishima gsnk onto you. Incredible. But yes i see it now, i think you and Muku would get along so well, i love it so much.

oghhhh just seeing Chikage's name out of nowhere is making me go haywire now please help. But i could imagine that you're right yes.

Tasu/Tsumu/ita have indeed such a nice dynamic. It's also really nice to see Itaru "almost quited the company because he could never be as passionate as anyone else about theater" is out there enjoying a good day with the biggest theater addicts of the company. Feels nice feels organic. I love Tasuku having fun with them, and yeah, i agree with you, Tsumugi must be one of the least draining people out there. Must be really soothing to hang out with him just like that.

AND YEAH THE PLAY WAS SO FUN. I love how Itaru improvises to save the play. It's something that stands out to me too since, yknow, Sakuya improvising when Itaru couldn't follow the script back in RomeJuli was the reason Itaru felt supported and felt the passion for theater he ended up feeling? so to see Itaru specially save the day by improvising on stage feels like a call back to that everytime to me. Like Itaru was saved once by someone covering up for him and now he will know where to be on the look out to cover up for his troupesmates no matter what. But i genuinely love how it reflected on this play and wht can i say. Itaru living out his dream of being a hero while Tsumugi is having fun playing a corrupted evil guy is just making my heart go bonkers. Oghhhh them. The way they were so in synch about all of this is really so fun to me. Nerd boys save the day.

And i love all you bring up also about their dynamic with Tasuku in that whole time. god it's so cute, they're all so cute.

AND PLEASE for the Citron thing. I could see it, and i would definitely see him hand over the roles to Muku when he can. One stone two birds, getting rid of the icky feeling AND having Muku be happy, what's more to ask.

thank you once again as always for the throughout thoughts on the event!! it's always such a blast to live and to relive the events that way!!

So next is the Summer Main chap. :). Hope you'll have a tone of fun with that ;DDD can't wait to see your thoughts there as well.

Take care :3c

#ichafantalks a3 #ichareply #aranarumei

4 notes · View notes

curetapwater · 2 years

Text

Now that I'm on this train of thought, how am I doing with Gerald in this fic? Obviously, he had to have his worst qualities sanded off in order for the story to work. Shadow has two options to fit the overprotective parent archetype required of this story and Black Doom hasn't a protective bone in his body so... Gerald it is!

The thing is, canon Gerald responds to losing Maria by swan-diving off the deep end. He tries to end all of humanity, and to do so he becomes abusive to Shadow in ways he'd never before dreamed of. I've talked about it before but the extent to which he treats Shadow as a person deserving rights and autonomy shifts massively at this point. Pre-ARK raid, he literally calls Shadow his son. But in the final stage of his life, he comes to view Shadow like the object that those who ruined his life had viewed him as all along. To me, this relationship seems unsalvageable. I think the reasons Shadow remembers him fondly are because his only other frame of reference for fatherhood is Worst Dad Ever Black Doom plus I'm not sure he ever learns the extent to which Gerald fucked him over in SA2.

The thing is, Magic of Pegasus breaks if the parents in that movie are replaced with Gerald without fine-tuning. Shadow's main goal in the story is to break the metal curse placed on Gerald (and everyone else, but the image of Gerald specifically being cursed in front of him is where the emotions come from). His relationship with Gerald here is, instead of being outright abusive, just incredibly strained (hell, Shadow ends their last proper conversation with "you have no son"). And even if Shadow felt nothing for his father, he still wants to save him on the grounds that the kingdom needs a proper king. Basically, if Gerald isn't to some extent a good person here then Shadow's motivation breaks and the Wand of Chaos loses thematic significance as a symbol of hope.

My reasoning as to why King Gerald is rather different from canon Gerald comes down to nature vs nurture,something I find very fun to explore in AUs. Canon Gerald didn't just lose Maria, he lost everything. The ARK raid and his subsequent imprisonment were such devastating blows to everything he lived for that it completely transformed his worldview into something far darker. Obviously nothing he did after this point was justified, but still, this is the reason he did.

GUN doesn't exist in this fic though. Losing Maria still tore a hole through Gerald's heart, but he only lost one person. He still has his home and some semblance of control over his life (even if this control is rapidly fading with every territory that Eggman takes over), and he of course had Shadow. His life might not be ruined, but he's treated as the king who's in charge and wouldn't need help with silly commoner stuff like therapy. The closest thing he has to a support structure is Shadow, who is a traumatized child and absolutely not equipped to carry the brunt of Gerald's healing process. I know firsthand how draining it is to be treated as a loved one's main source of happiness. In this sense, while this Gerald would never weaponize his Shadow, he's still objectified him. Just in a different way. There is love between both of them, but Gerald's way of coping with his grief is not sustainable.

Basically, I wanted to keep their relationship messy but I couldn't have it be irreparable lest the narrative not work. So my question is, how am I doing? Does this work as an alternate universe version of Gerald, or is he so unrecognizable that it took you out of it?

#shadow and the magic of pegasus

11 notes · View notes

demonprincezeldris · 2 years

Note

Imagine that surprise, though. They’re completely unaware of what the other is planning. Meliodas and Zeldris each in their separate chambers, packing a single bag of things to bring. Some clothes, some keepsakes (Zeldris packing a hellhound plushie Meliodas had gotten him as a toddler, that he’d kept hidden for decades at this point.) And a few weapons, of course.

They sneak out of the castle, somehow not noticing as they take parallel routes to the underkept, isolated portal on the far side of the underworld. Honestly, the only reason they weren’t on the same path was because Zeldris took the longer one that loops through Vampire territory to pick up Gelda.

Then they both walk into the overgrown clearing at the same time, freezing mid step and staring at the other, rapid fire registering the bags resting over their shoulders, the location, and the timing.

“M-Meliodas! What are you doing here??”

“...I could ask you the same thing.”

“...”

“...You’re leaving. Aren’t you?”

“...Yes. And… You’re…?”

“Also leaving, yes.”

“Wh… Where?”

“...Stigma. Elizabeth invited me. I’ll be joining her there.”

“STIGMA-!? I- Elizabeth-? Oh- I- Uh-”

Gelda clears her throat. “We are ALSO on our way to Stigma. Arthur invited us.”

“What she said.”

Meliodas nodded slowly, and Zeldris was startled to see him almost hesitant as he lifted a wavering hand. He just stared for a moment when he held it out. “Then. We should. Go together?” Stunned silence, almost gaping at the hand, at the fact that his unshakeable older brother was NERVOUS. Then Gelda jabbed an elbow in the side and he jolted out of it, almost diving forward to accept the gesture and shake firmly.

They slipped through the portal together and began the trek across Brittania. It was still night time out, thankfully. Gelda, both having fire as her magic, and having fed from a demigod, would not die upon being exposed to the sun. BUT it was incredibly draining to be in, and she’d get a nasty sunburn. Like. Sun Poisoning level sunburn.

They slipped into the forest, honestly surprised they hadn't met resistance yet, and glancing at each other, shifting a little bit closer, instinct to guard each other's back. Then Zeldris was tackled.

(Meliodas: A surprisingly peaceful domestic moment. When will it be ruined?

Arthur: Zeldris!!!!!

Meliodas: There it is.)

Meliodas whirls around on him, sword drawn and snarling, but he pauses. The goddess was hugging Zeldris tightly and rubbing his face over his hair, and though Zeldris squirmed, embarrassed, he made no real move to break away. Arthur finally looked up and blinked. "Who's this?"

"This is my elder brother, Meliodas."

"Oh! A pleasure to meet you then, Meliodas! I feel like I've heard that name before… oh, I won't worry about it. Come on then, this way!"

He started to usher them towards camp, and Meliodas half reluctantly sheathed his sword. They had entered the main area, and the brothers scanned over the crowd warily, the people doing double takes a few gasping with fright.

"Meliodas!!" He looked up, bristling a little in alarm as he himself was tackled by a goddess. Unlike his brother, he did manage to stay upright when he caught her. Barely. He did stumble back a bit before balancing. "Elizabeth." He half breathed out, relaxing just a little bit and tightening his grip around her waist. "Hello."

She was beaming, and pulled back to hold his shoulders, radiating happiness. "You came! And you brought your brother too!"

"He brought himself. This was entirely coincidental."

"How funny. Arthur's fault?"

He hummed and she giggled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, causing blood to rush into his face. She grabbed his hand and dragged him along, the poor demon still looking a little shell-shocked. Zeldris squeezed a little tighter on Gelda's hand, shifting closer to her protectively as Arthur guided them in. Arthur and Elizabeth where rambling to one another, but quieted as they got closer to the base.

The base where the archangels were waiting.

"Princess Elizabeth." Ludociel drawled. "And Sir Arthur. I do hope you have a good explanation for bringing demons into this land."

"Course we do!" Arthur said with a grin, throwing an arm over a mildly startled Zeldris. "They've come to join Stigma!" Muffled gasps rang around and the brothers, once again, shuffled closer to one another. Ludociel scowled. "That's impossible! As if the sons of the Demon King would ever do that! This is a trick!"

"Sons of the… Demon King…?" Arthur said slowly, blinking. "Ohhh… That actually makes a lot of sense." Gelda snickered, shoulders shaking as she saw Zeldris giving him an almost OFFENDED look. "You mean to tell me you didn't know?"

"Well, you never told me!"

"...Arthur… You're a dumbass."

Gelda erupted in laughter, quickly reigning herself back in. Arthur just looked a little miffed, and Meliodas stepped forward.

"Archangel Ludociel. I understand your wariness, I would do the same in your position. However much I dislike you, I am doing this for the good of my people. They are hurting, and the war needs to end. If I need to betray them to stop the fighting, then so be it. THAT is why my brother and I are here." A quick glance at Zeldris, who gave a firm nod, confirmed that. Ludociel narrowed his eyes. "Say I believe you. Who's THAT? For the matter, WHAT'S that? It doesn't feel quite like a demon." Zeldris bristled at the flippant addressal of his mate, but Gelda remained passive, tilting her head a little.

"This is Princess Gelda of the Vampire Clan. Vampire's are a subservient, cousin clan to the demon's who rarely leave the underworld. Much like the Celestials are to the goddesses. She is Zeldris’s lover, and thus, came with us."

They argued back and forth, Ludociel getting more and more hostile, while Meliodas kept himself as calm, poised, and unthreatening as possible. Zeldris took up the same stance next to his brother, both of them maintaining they meant no harm, and only wanted peace for the clans.

Eventually, he gave in. They'd be permitted to stay, but nothing would be accommodated for them. They agreed, and their two goddesses ushered them away, finally. Elizabeth joyously spun him around in the air as he let out a, frankly undignified, yelp, but laughed and hugged her back. He turned to his brother, smile softening. "I'll ask my daughter if she can make something to help Gelda with the sun. I'm sure she can."

"Thank you- Daughter??" It took him a minute to process that point as Meliodas laughed, already retreating. "No- Meliodas- I HAVE A NIECE?? COME BACK HERE AND EXPLAIN!!!"

Arthur expected quite some hostility from Ludociel at the thought of bringing Demons into their camp, let alone a Vampire. They're fighting against the two races for the gods' sake!

He quickly led them to his tent, a ways away from the main group. The two sat on Arthur's bed as he looked out at the forest. "You both can stay here for now. I'll let Meliodas know where you are, so his daughter can give Gelda the sunscreen she needs." I'm going to try and find you some food. You must be hungry.

"Famished.Thank you, Arthur," Gelda said, smiling at him.

Zeldris was still in shock. "I have a neice."

Arthur snickered at Zeldris' shock. "Let me know if you need anything else. And maybe tonight we can go and try to find some bedding for the both of you."

Without another word, he walked away, leaving Gelda and Zeldris alone in the tent.

#Zelthurda #Angel of Chaos AU #Melizabeth

7 notes · View notes

thecalmdaisy · 1 year

Text

How to Kick Depression in the Face Gracefully.

" Don't let your mind control your reality."

Here are some ways that helped me overcome my depression. Also, if you have any steps to help others in our depression community, please share on your own personal platform. You never know who might have needed your advice.

1. Only You Truly Understand Who You Truly Are as a Person.

Those of us who have been through the dark path of depression know how challenging it can be to combat negative energies. This is because our minds are constantly thinking of negative things that have happened in our lives in the past or currently happening in the present. Now trust me when I say I know it's hard to just let go and be positive about certain situations. But, if you want to improve mentally, you can't ignore it. This was literally the first step I had to take to start the process of getting back to the person I had lost due to the worries and fears I had created within my head. When it comes to battling these negative energies, you must tell those negative thoughts, “You do not belong to me or with me, and I know who I truly am”. Do not let negative energies overwhelm you, and remember, no one can judge you more harshly than you can judge yourself.

2. Be Positive and Express Positivity.

(Speak Affirmations Daily)

Speaking positively about yourself and your life can boost your motivation for every day. When I wake up in the morning, I thank God for another day, smile at myself in the mirror, and I tell myself I AM beautiful and that I AM going to have a wonderful day. As long as you know and believe you are in control of your happiness, nothing or no one can steal it from you.

3. Sweat It Out in a Healthy Way.

For some reason, when I sweat, I feel so good afterwards. Many times, I don't just go to the gym. I actually go outside into nature and enjoy the beautiful world God has created for us. I break a sweat by riding my longboard, roller skating, or just going for a stroll along a nature trail. I don't know what it is, but something about the blue sky, fresh air, and green trees can really put your mind at ease. Well, at least for me, it does. But whatever works best for you in a healthy way, go for it.

4. Take Up a Hobby You Love or Explore a Hobby You Have Always Been Curious About.

Every person usually has at least one hobby they enjoy immensely, and if you don't, I believe it's time you found your passion. Having a hobby during such a tough time is a great way to get your mind off of things, and it's a great way to bring some type of joy into your life. I know when I went through depression, I couldn't find joy in anything, but after I cleared my mind of those negative energies, I began to go out more again and found a piece of joy in the process. In my case, it was longboarding, and I have been addicted ever since. It allows me to feel free, like a bird with no wings, and yes, I realize that sounds strange, but for me, that's the way it feels.

5. Cut Out Negative People.

Hold on. Let me grab those scissors for you, because it's time to cut out those negative people in your circle. If anyone in your life treats you disrespectfully, drains your energy, uses you for their personal gain, or abuses you in any way, IT IS TIME to cut them completely off. They are only holding you back from your true potential. So, save your time and energy by moving on to people who are better vibrational matches. There are people who want to see you succeed; there are people who care about your well-being; and there are people who will be there to uplift you and not judge you. After you cut off all that excess weight from your life, you will feel so much lighter. When I looked back at my journey, I realized how much I had allowed people to use me for their own personal advantage. Please remember to listen to your intuition because disregarding it will only hurt you.

6. Pamper Yourself.

Do something kind for yourself from time to time. There is nothing wrong with taking some time out of your busy schedule to pamper yourself. I understand how life can be busy and hectic sometimes, but there always has to be a bit of time in your schedule JUST FOR YOU. My own work schedule is crazy. However, I always find at least an hour to start a new TV series, do a facial mask, listen to my favorite music, dance, and any other thing that makes me feel good.

7. Food Choices Make a Big Difference.

Consume greens, fruits, fibers, and proteins to boost your energy. At one point in time, I ate burgers and fries faithfully, and yes, they were delicious, but I realized the effect it had on me. As a result, I lost a lot of my free time to sleeping, feeling sluggish, and unmotivated. Make sure you stay as healthy as possible. Occasionally having your favorite cheat meal is fine but not every day to help your body and mind out.

8. Pray Often.

While I was experiencing depression, I didn't pray as much as I should have. In the beginning, I was ashamed of who I was, and I didn't know if God would forgive me for all the sins I had committed over time. But as time passed, I realized this is exactly what the enemy wanted me to believe. If you do not already know it, the enemy loves misery, and you can either stay in that misery, or YOU CAN move forward into your greatness. People were not created to be perfect, and God knows that. Always remember, God will forgive your sins, but that does not mean you should continue down the same path. It means you should try to be a better person by exchanging your bad habits for positive ones. Also, remember to meet God halfway because God can only do so much behind the scenes. Therefore, it is crucial that you continue to take the steps needed to help yourself, and don't forget to call upon your guardian angels. They are always surrounding you, ready to help you whenever you are ready to allow them into your life so that you can reach your fullest potential.

By: "V"

6 notes · View notes

nerdferatum · 2 years

Note

For the writers asks, 5, 18 and 19

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

Not really! I'm a boring, non-superstition person

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

On the opposite wall, leaning against it like she was wounded, stood the woman she had been thinking of without pause for the last few weeks. Her hair was loose and hid half of her face, but Nat was able to see the shock in her eyes. Not fear, only surprise. Her amber skin was so different from the dull color in the painting. Like her eyes – which looked so miserable before – now a much richer and deeper tone of dark brown, shining with recognition. The woman that was a statue, her own Galatea, looked at her for a long minute while both of them remained still. Her mouth was a little open from the astonishment, forming a small and perfect “o”.

This was the first scene I imagined before writing the Pygmalion AU. To no one's surprised, I was obsessed about mythology when I was a kid, and this story always stood up to me, for no particular reason. So the first time I saw this photoshoot, I inmidiately thought about that myth and I wanted to do something with that concept. Many, many years later, someone tagged a post with those photos something like 2n sewell vibes" and now we are here, one complete fanfic later.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I don't remember when it started because my first memory of me writing is when I participated in a competition for my neighbourhood's schools and high school. I was around 10 years old and I must have been writing for a while already, because it was my mom who told me to do it. I think we had to write little snippets and short stories for class and my teachers told my parents about them because it was the only times I would be actually interested in school. I'm pretty sure I started writing just because I liked books and reading, and continued because I won that competition four of the six years I tried it.

I stopped writing for a few years at the same time I stopped drawing. I felt drained of any creativity and I was more than happy consuming it. It wasn't until I met the people that are my friends now that I could find any passion in making things again, mostly because I have someone to share them with. I usually feel like they aren't being honest about what I do and it hurts, but at this point, if they are lying (or anyone talking about what I do for that matter) I know it has nothing to do with me and it's their business how they want to handle that. They have never had an issue talking about my art and providing constructive criticism, so I don't know why they wouldn't do the same for my writing.

I don't have any real expectation with anything creative, tbh. I always dreamt to become a writer and sometimes I still fantasise about it, but I know I'm not really doing anything to achieve that and that it would probably hurt me more than it would make me happy. I might still try some day, though, just because I can.

Weird questions for writers

#that last one was a long reply i'm so sorry #and thank you for sending these!#answered

2 notes · View notes

sobsicles · 3 years

Text

claire's not expecting them to be at the door. she blinks at the sight of four men all huddled on the stoop with flowers and what appears to be bags of food flowing from their arms. jack is peeking above a bouquet, beaming at her.

"who's at the door?!" jody calls from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the sound of grease popping and the clanking of pans and spatulas meeting over and over.

"god," claire calls back, because she likes to think she's funny.

there's a beat of silence, and then jody's sticking her head out the kitchen. the moment she sees them, she breaks out into a grin and saunters over, shoving the spatula in claire's hand as she chatters away.

"what's going on out there?" donna asks as claire escapes back to the kitchen to poke at food jody is apparently willing to burn just because the winchesters decided to show their faces today of all days.

"judgement day," claire says dryly.

donna shares a look with patience. "haven't we dealt with that already a few times?"

"only by association," claire admits, "but i wouldn't put it past them to bring it along with 'em now. the boys are here."

"oh, isn't that nice?" donna chirps, already popping up from her chair. "i didn't know they were stopping by today."

"wonder how sam's doing," patience agrees, wandering out the kitchen right along with donna. claire can hear everyone cracking up and talking in the living room.

trust the winchesters to shake things up just by showing up. can't have one goddamn day, can they? well, that's not true. in their case, as far as claire is concerned, they're shitty for showing up and shitty for not. someone has to knock 'em all down a peg or two, so she might as well be the one.

"what did that chicken ever do to you?" kaia asks teasingly as she sidles into the kitchen and stops by the stove, hip-checking claire out of the way to take over.

"the boys are here," claire informs her.

kaia raises her eyebrows. "like, the boys as in the winchesters, or is this a milkshake pun?"

"i can only be so gay, sweetheart," claire says, shooting her a flat look.

"raise the bar a little. could be gayer. you can always be gayer," kaia teases, reaching out to sneak her hand around claire's hip, her eyes bright with amusement.

"you know what? you're right," claire agrees and immediately tries to cop a feel while kaia laughs and dances out of range.

jack appears in the doorway. "hello," he says, whispering for some reason. "claire, i need your help."

"no," claire says, not even glancing at him. she continues to try and put her hand up kaia's shirt, just to see her laugh.

"can i borrow twenty dollars?" jack asks.

"no. aren't you god?"

"yes, but i don't get paid to be."

"well, sucks for you. borrow money from cas," claire mutters, settling in behind kaia as she focuses on the food on the stove, swatting lazily at claire's roaming hands.

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from sam."

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from—wait, why does it matter if it's from dean? just borrow from him."

jack huffs. "i can't. i need the money for dean. i have a card, and i read online it's customary to give money with a card. also, will you sign it?"

"you got dean a card?" claire asks, craning her head around to stare at jack skeptically.

"yes."

"don't tell me it's for what i think it is."

"mother's day," jack confirms unironically.

claire wheezes out a laugh. "oh my god."

"there's a pen in the catty on the fridge," kaia says, clearly amused.

"yeah. yeah, this is—yeah." claire chokes on more laughter and stumbles towards the group of pens in the magnet container on the fridge. she waggles her fingers at jack, clearing her throat, lips twitching. "hand it over, beanstalk. you're a fucking genius."

"oh! thank you," jack declares cheerfully, passing over the card. "so, can i borrow twenty dollars?"

"hell no," claire says. she braces the card against the fridge and swallows down a laugh. sam has already signed it. this just gets better and better. happy mother's day, old man, aka the secondary source of my mommy and daddy issues. you're going for gold with this double-whammy, she writes.

"but i need it," jack insists, staring at her with wide eyes.

claire shrugs. "tough break, kid. what, cas doesn't give you an allowance? is it just me, or are dads getting stricter these days?"

"i didn't think about it in advance," jack admits sadly. "i want to do it right for the holiday. it's mother's day, claire."

"i'm well aware. sorry to break it to you, kid, but last I checked, your mom's as dead as mine," claire tells him, her voice flat. he frowns and she forces herself not to feel bad. everything that sucks for him sucked for her first, so her sympathy levels are a little drained. "father's day will roll around eventually, and you've got a long line of those, so wait your turn."

"i've already done something for my mother today," jack says slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. "i visited her in heaven."

claire snorts derisively and passes the card back over. "must be nice."

"it was," jack agrees, completely missing the point. "i really can't borrow twenty dollars? i'll pay you back."

"nah," claire says. "who cares anyway? wait, why is dean the mom?"

"well, castiel is my father."

"ah, so it's about them having the hots for each other, then? really, kid, you coulda just made dean your step-dad."

jack blinks. "they have the...hots for each other? you mean sex. they have sex?"

"you know what?" claire points at him with her free hand. "i'm not gonna burst your bubble on that one. you've got enough issues on your own without wondering if mommy and daddy still have a spark, so I'm gonna leave that alone. i've got five dollars. take it or leave it."

"deal," jack says immediately.

money is exchanged, and jack looks like he's on cloud nine. claire's just stoked to see the expression on dean's face when he gets the card. it's a homemade card and everything, nothing like the two claire, kaia, patience, and alex got for jody and donna.

claire helps kaia finish up the chicken, which promptly gets set aside to wait on the rest of the food in the oven. sam wanders in at some point to drop off the food they brought. dessert, by the looks of it. pies and cakes that go in the fridge. it's kind of them, but claire would shoot herself in the foot before she ever admits it.

she lets kaia tug her into the living room where everyone is already at, rolling her eyes at how cheered everyone seems just because the winchesters happened to grace their doorstep. really, they all suck.

but also—and claire will never admit this, not even to save her own life—it's nice to see 'em again. it's nice that they've come to celebrate the day in jody and donna's name, giving them flowers and such. it's nice that they hang around for a bit and don't bring the world crashing down on everyone for the duration of their stay.

and, well, it's nice to see cas, too.

he perches up next to the couch that claire is squeezed on with alex, donna, kaia, and jack. kaia is practically in her lap, but claire is secretly glad for the excuse. while everyone talks and has conversations across one another, cas focuses entirely on her.

another thing claire will never admit is how reluctantly pleased by that she is. it warms her. stupidly, it turns soft and gooey in her chest that he automatically gives her his undivided attention over everyone else, even jack. but, then again, it's not cas' day, so she doesn't have to look too close to that feeling. it's mother's day, so it's not about him.

when the food is ready, they reconvene in the kitchen, and that's when they crack out the cards and gifts. claire is practically vibrating with laughter before jack has even brought his card out. before that, though, she smiles softly and strokes kaia's thigh under the table as jody and donna read their cards and chuckle at the messages, their gazes warm and their smiles sweet. they look happy. they deserve to be.

"okay, last one," claire announces, grinning at jack. she's starting to think she likes this kid if he's an agent of chaos like this.

and okay, maybe she hates him a little in abstract, but in detail, she finds that she does actually like him. you kinda just wanna put him in your pocket without meaning to, she's learned. there's too much to explore with the whole psuedo sibling thing and parents that aren't parents, as well as parents that are but didn't choose to be, only he did choose one of them, and it wasn't her. it's complicated, but underneath it all, there's a vibrant love there that she can't look directly at. sometimes, she despises that she's included in it; yet, just the same, she's thankful that she is.

"oh hell," dean mutters, swinging his gaze between alex and patience. "one of you...ya know? did we miss something?"

claire snorts.

"what? no," alex replies, grimacing. "i have no idea what claire's talking about. claire, what the hell are you talking about?"

"jack?" claire prompts in a wheeze.

"here you go," jack chirps, holding out the card to dean, beaming. "happy mother's day."

the expression on dean's face is somehow even better than claire imagined. she howls with laughter while sam buries his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking. cas squints at jack, and jody's eyebrows fly up at the same exact time that donna grins.

"is this a joke?" dean sputters.

"no, no, nope," claire chokes out, nearly fucking crying with laughter. "happy mother's day, dean."

"you gotta take it, man," sam agrees, clearing his throat and biting back a smile as he bobs his head dutifully towards the card.

dean fixes sam with a flat look and snatches the card. "you're all so fucking—sam, you signed it?!"

"happy mother's day," sam says, his mouth pinched, visibly trying not to laugh.

"do you like it?" jack asks earnestly. "i made the card, sam signed it first, and claire provided the money."

"i—" dean stares down at the card, then heaves a sigh and looks up at jack. it's clear to him that—out of everyone—jack is clearly taking this very seriously. he offers him a weak smile, then swallows. "yeah, s'great, kid. thank you. sam, you are dead to me. claire, i will be spending this on something you hate. cas, this is somehow your fault."

"yup, sounds like a mother to me," jody declares, holding up her beer with a smile.

"welcome to the club," donna agrees, holding hers up as well. "everyone else annoys the shit out of you, but you love 'em anyway."

dean sighs and clinks his beer to theirs.

#sobs adventures in writing #happy mother's day to all the spn moms!!!#dreamhunter #destiel adjacent #sort of?#look i just wanted to write something cute okay let me have this lmao #sobs says things #claire bear #jack jack #dean bean #cas bby #jody mills #donna hanscum #kaia nieves #spn ladies #sammeh

1K notes · View notes

jbreenr · 3 years

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have.

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request.

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were.

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence.

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse.

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen.

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone.

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through.

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen…

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to.

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing.

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours.

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then.

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him.

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears.

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention.

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

694 notes · View notes