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symphonyofthewrite · 3 years

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If These Walls Could Talk

Freaking GORGEOUS cover art by Junki Sakuraba on Instagram and Deviantart!! Definitely go check him out!! His art is incredible, and from what I can tell he’s really nice dude. He absolutely went above and beyond with this prompt. 10/10 would commission again. (And probably will once I save up enough money XD)

The wonderful art later in the chaper is by niuan_ on instagram!!

It wasn’t made/commissioned for this fic--(though I’ve since commissioned her to make cover art for me, so stay tuned for those!)--but when I saw it I couldn’t believe it!! That’s one of my favorite images in this chapter, and I couldn’t believe another artist made a piece for the same idea independently!!

I'll put the links to their profiles either in the replies or a reblog (since tumblr is dumb about links)!!

Also, FYI, I'll be using this post as my "reblog post" meaning I'll reblog this post with the later chapters of this fic, so they're all in one place. So if you want to read more of this fic, check the reblogs on this post, chances are more chapters will be there!!

Comments and reblogs are MORE than appreciated!! If you have a spare minute you will really make my week, and motivate me to keep writing!!

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary:

“My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Chapter 1: "Lisa”

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at the foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

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lizzie-saltzman · 3 years

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I’LL CRAWL HOME TO YOU

A Hizzie fanfiction

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman Fandom: Legacies Rating: M Chapters: 1/? Summary: In many ways, meeting Hope in a different reality had helped Lizzie put things in perspective, and perhaps even understand her in ways she hadn’t before. Understand them, their connection, the palpable animosity that had turned into a reluctant friendship and now something far more tangible. The rest, well, she doesn’t tell Josie. Not about waking up after three weeks away from her real home, tucked under the covers of Hope’s bed with their clothes discarded around the dormitory, with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and her hair sticking to her cheekbones. There were some things better left unsaid. (Upon her return from an alternate timeline a Malivore monster teleported her to, Lizzie must deal with the aftermath of her time spent away, and her newly doormat feelings for Hope Mikaelson.) READ HERE ON AO3 or under the read more

Chapter 1: The hero thing's not just for the broody, you know?

Professor Saltzman’s office is dimly lit by the lamp on his mahogany desk, wind rustling loudly against the open window that slams against one of the bookshelves incessantly behind Lizzie. Josie, frustrated, silently closes her hand and slams it shut, half startling her twin, who sits perched atop of her dad’s desk, picking grapes out of a yellow bowl.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It's not every day you’re transported into an alternate timeline by a mud pit monster”. Josie paces, hands crossed over her chest now, worried wrinkles creasing between her eyebrows.

Lizzie looks behind her, towards the window frame, holding a grape to her mouth.

“I’m fine”. Lizzie says, exhaling, turning, and continuing with a grape halfway in her mouth. “Starving. Out of all the things I could assume dimension traveling does to you –– you know, aside from the crippling motion sickness that you feel when you come through a hell portal –– I would’ve never thought hunger was one of them. Do you think this is what vamps feel when they’re first turned?”

Josie stops, her frown more prominent. “I’m pretty sure the answer’s no”.

Lizzie shrugs, swinging her legs and hopping off Alaric’s desk, leaving the bowl behind.

“Well, I’m fine”.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? We tried everything to find a way to get you back. Alyssa Chang helped. She felt bad about… Everything, but I don’t think there’s a book about dimension hopping anywhere in this school, so we had to wing it. Unsuccessfully”.

Lizzie rolls the sleeves of the sweater she’s wearing, an apologetic smile on her lips, whether it's about Alyssa Chang and her attempt to mend things between them or not thanking Josie for trying to save her despite the odds set against them when she had the chance, she doesn’t know. Or maybe it's not about Josie and Alyssa at all…

“It was weird. Different. Everything was. Mystic Falls looked exactly the same except the Salvatore School didn’t exist ––”

“Dad mentioned you said that”. Josie interjects.

“–– And for a while I thought about setting out to find our doppelgängers, or us or whatever, but then I thought about all those movies where the time traveling hunk finds himself in a different timeline and it all goes to hell, and I got a little freaked out so I wandered around town for a while, went to the Mystic Grill and... Saw dad.”

Josie doesn't have to look at Lizzie to know exactly what her tone means. “Oh?”

Lizzie’s face falls. “Yeah. He was drinking. A lot. I didn’t stay long enough to talk though. How do you explain to him that you’re his daughter in a timeline where fairytale monsters try to kill us like, bi-weekly? So I decided to come here instead”.

“And that’s when you found out our school didn’t exist?”

“Another one did. Hope’s”. Lizzie deadpans.

That finally makes Josie quit her pacing, making Lizzie feel less on edge, not having to watch her walk back and forth in the small space of their dad’s office anymore. It's been making her anxious, twiddling with the bowl of grapes that she absentmindedly pulled to the corner of the desk while she was talking. She pushes it away from the edge, waiting for Josie to recover, to give her that look that urges her to continue.

“The Mikaelson School. That’s how I got back. She helped me make a portal back home, but we spent weeks researching magic that helps you travel through time and space. It felt like I was stuck in an episode of Star Journey ––”

“Trek”.

“–– But she was different. I mean, she was still Hope but cockier, meaner…” Hotter. Lizzie catches herself, reaching again, for the bowl of grapes just to find something to do with her hands. “Her parents were alive”.

Somewhere out there, in a world parallel to their own but not quite right, Klaus Mikaelson and Hayley Marshall were still alive. Somewhere out there, in a timeline not too far from this one, Hope had grown up with the care and love that she lost when she was barely fifteen years old. Grief changes people, forges them into unimaginable things; for this Hope, her Hope, it was all about atonement, weighed by the guilt of her family legacy and the isolation of being the only one of her kind. In that world, Hope didn’t carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, didn’t feel the need to isolate herself from her peers or the fear of losing the people she loved every waking day of her life. In many ways, meeting Hope in a different reality had helped Lizzie put things in perspective, and perhaps even understand her in ways she hadn’t before. Understand them, their connection, the palpable animosity that had turned into a reluctant friendship and now something far more tangible.

The rest, well, she doesn’t tell Josie. Not about waking up after three weeks away from her real home, tucked under the covers of Hope’s bed with their clothes discarded around the dormitory, with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and her hair sticking to her cheekbones. There were some things better left unsaid.

“Are you planning on telling her?” Josie asks, breaking Lizzie from her trance. “She might want to know. Maybe”.

She wouldn’t know where to start. She wouldn’t know how to soften the blow. She wouldn’t even know if Hope would take any of it kindly, knowing there was a world where she could have been happy, where no one she loved had to die to save her. Let alone a world where she ends up tangled in her bedspread, sweaty and naked ––

“Lizzie?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. I think I should talk to her”. Finally, she leaves the bowl of grapes alone, picking one last one before stepping forward. “Do you know where she is?”

“Last I knew she was with MG, they were looking for the monster.”

“It's been weeks! I thought you guys would’ve killed it by now”. Indignantly, Lizzie crosses her arms.

Josie grimaces. “Lizzie, it's only been two days”.

Lizzie sets towards the door.

“Lizzie, wait!” Josie pulls her by the back of her sweater. Lizzie stumbles, but catches her balance. “It's not safe. You could be sucked back in through a portal”.

“I’m not going to leave Hope and MG fighting that thing alone. At least I know how to make my way back this time”.

And she shrugs her off, disappearing out the door before Josie has the chance to stop her.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

A piercing, painful hiss echoes through the trees, scattered around the back of The Salvatore School. Hope clutches a sharp, lethal looking knife in her hand as she flies through the linen of maple wood, crashing through the branches and huffing loudly as she rolls through the mud covered ground, leaving tracks in her path and skidding to a stop near a pair of white boots. She groans, rolling over and finding, not the starry night sky and the leaves rustling above her, but Lizzie Saltzman, looking straight ahead at the snake-like monster screeching in the distance.

There’s no time for pleasantries though, as Hope pushes herself up on her elbows. “Lizzie, watch out!”

And Lizzie ducks, instinctively; a log flies past her head and crashes against the tree behind her, taking Hope’s hand to help her back on her feet and using it as an opportunity to siphon enough magic to be useful in a fight. When she looks ahead, wiping her dirty hands on her sweats, she spots MG through the branches, face down on the mud and seemingly unconscious.

“Is MG okay?!” Lizzie shrieks, right as the giant snake creature uses its tail to send another branch flying past their heads. They duck for cover behind a tree and Hope peeks around to get a good look ahead.

“He’s fine. The monster caught us by surprise and snapped his neck. I’ve been keeping it distracted, waiting for him to wake up”.

“Yeah, he’s doing great, Hope! Way to go!”

Hope ignores her. The wind picks up pace, looking like a storm is approaching, taking the leaves from the muddy ground with it as clouds line up in the sky and obscure the moonlight. It’s waning; the full moon is only a few days away ––

“Where’d it go?”

Suddenly, it's eerily quiet; Hope’s shoes make crunching sounds against the leaves below, stepping out from behind the tree with her knife pointed forward. Behind her, Lizzie follows, turning around and walking backwards until she collides with Hope’s back. It doesn’t seem to startle Hope, who momentarily reaches behind her to touch Lizzie’s wrist.

“This is freaking me out”.

“Be quiet”. Hope hisses.

And Lizzie presses her lips together; she’s sure Hope can hear her rapidly accelerating heartbeat. The last time her heart raced anywhere near Hope Mikaelson they were in various states of undress, and Hope had grinned triumphantly as she cornered Lizzie against ––

“Uh, Hope? Hope!” Lizzie reaches behind her. Hope must have sensed her tension, because she turns around just in time to see it too. The snake-like creature slithers out through a hazy looking hole, baring its teeth and launching itself through the air. Lizzie puts her hands up, but she’s roughly pushed out of the way as Hope takes a guarded stance on the ground and chants a spell under her breath.

“Ictus!” It sends the monster flying backwards, into the portal it came out of. Lizzie groans as she scrambles off the ground and the portal closes with a resounding hush. Hope rushes to Lizzie’s side, examining her body for injuries, but she comes out of the collision relatively unscathed, save for a bruise she knows she’ll be feeling well into next week on her left shoulder blade.

“Are you okay?” Hope sounds genuinely concerned; she knows that worried look in her eyes, she’d seen it, not only on the other side of the portal, but here too. Except this time it’s not Landon that Hope is cradling, it's her, and she’s searching for any signs of distress just like she would’ve in another lifetime.

Lizzie swallows, nodding. “I’m fine”.

“You need to go”.

“Like hell I am!” She protests, pushing Hope away from her. “I’m not letting you fight this thing alone”.

Hope is startled by the whiplashing display of softness and animosity, but she doesn’t have time to question Lizzie’s sudden change of demeanor, because below her, the monster conjures another portal, and his hook-like claws extend to yank Hope’s feet from underneath her, sending her crashing against the ground and tossing the knife at Lizzie’s feet.

“Hope!” Lizzie launches herself forward, catching Hope’s hand as she’s dragged back a few feet behind her. The monster is strong, strong enough to drag both of them down into a hell dimension, but Lizzie acts quickly –– “Immobilus!” And anchors herself to the ground as Hope attempts to pull herself up and away from the monster’s claw. Lizzie grits her teeth as Hope struggles to get back up –– she yanks and the monster pulls harder. Hope digs her fingers into the dirt and turns to kick the monster’s claw away from her. It hisses, raising it’s razor sharp hook and sinking it down on her arm.

Lizzie can hear Hope’s breath hitch, the pain making Hope let go of her arm as she’s dragged a few inches down the ground again. She pulls herself up on her hands and knees, crawling towards Hope in an attempt to reach her, but when her fingers slip right through Hope’s when she tries to launch herself forward again, she watches Hope’s foot almost touch the edge of the portal. So Lizzie chants, and the creature shrieks so violently it lets go of Hope’s forearm. When Hope turns, the monster’s claw is bent in two –– Lizzie had broken whatever bone was underneath it as a last minute effort to save her.

The adrenaline between them is palpable. Hope pushes herself up on her feet in such a graceful way it distracts Lizzie long enough to stay on the ground until Hope holds out her hand. She takes it, pulling herself up and wiping the leaves away from her sweat pants.

“Thanks for the save”. Hope huffs, making sure Lizzie’s found her footing before letting go of her hand. Lizzie closes it, disappointed by its absence.

“The hero thing’s not just for the broody, you know?”

Hope laughs, Lizzie grins. The wind picks up pace again, making Hope turn ahead, where another portal appears between the trees. Hope quickly picks up the knife from the ground, ready to strike again, but when the creature fully emerges from the portal, it does nothing but stand there, looking at them with its wings outstretched.

“Ew! What kind of Harry Potter crap is that?” Lizzie makes a face, already taking a few steps back behind Hope.

“A snake. We think”.

“How do we kill it?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure beheading is lethal for all supernatural monsters”. Hope grips the knife harder. The creature hisses, rattling its tongue in Hope’s direction before slithering back through the portal and disappearing into nothingness.

The wind finally settles and the clouds clear, slowly but surely, making the stars visible in the sky again. Whatever sense of impending doom had made its way through Hope’s body, it's gone now. Lizzie however, frantically looks around, expecting the snake to attack any second. Hope looks at her, at her shaking fingertips, the frantic turning, the way she looks for MG from the corner of her eye, but only lets Lizzie freak out for a few seconds, before she reaches for her wrist.

Lizzie’s breath hitches. She looks down at Hope’s hand clutching her wrist and urging her to stop. She swallows, looks at her for reassurance.

“I think it’s gone”. Hope says. “The wind stopped blowing”.

Lizzie nods.

Behind them, the leaves blow. They turn at the same time, only to hear MG groaning as he comes to, slowly getting to his feet. He rubs the back of his neck, looks around for the creature, until he spots Hope and Lizzie in the distance.

“Heeey, guys. Hey. Did we kill it?”

Hope and Lizzie roll their eyes in unison. They’re standing too close for comfort, enough that Lizzie feels the crevices between her boots wetting, she looks down, blood tinting her white Doc Martens and the leaves below them. When she turns to examine Hope, she notices the gash on her arm, so she reaches for it, frowning.

“Does it hurt?”

It’s soft Lizzie once again, Hope notices. With worry in her eyes and a gentleness to her voice she’s a little unfamiliar with. Hope swallows. “A little”.

“We should patch you up”. Lizzie lets go; for a second she almost takes Hope’s hand, but decides against it. Instead, she tucks them inside the pockets of her sweat pants as they both turn to the direction of the school.

“Guys?” In the distance, MG calls out. “Wait up. I think I need an aspirin”.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“MG looked happy to see you”.

Sitting at the edge of Hope’s bed, Lizzie smiles, carefully wrapping a bandage around Hope’s forearm, where the monster had dug its claws and left a sizable gash on her skin. Rationally, she knows Hope will heal, but finds no reason not to aid the healing process and make Hope’s pain more manageable. Besides, it's an excuse to sit close to her, even if she’s not particularly interested in the direction this conversation was going. She’s more interested in knowing how Hope felt about her return, rather than anyone else’s.

“I was gone a while”. Lizzie offers, concentrating on the bandage. Hope lets her have her way with her arm, lifting and lowering at her own discrepancy. “Though, Jo told me it was only for a couple of days. It was weeks there”.

“Really?” Hope asks curiously.

“Like three weeks, a little more”. She doesn’t give Hope a chance to ask any more questions, continuing. “What was that thing anyway? The monster. Does it have a name?”

Hope looks at Lizzie’s hands as she finishes wrapping the bandage around her. “Wade called it a Dimensional Warper, I guess from one of his games. Dungeons and monsters ––”

“–– Dragons”.

“Yeah, that. Anyway, he said that Dimensional Warpers create portals to other timelines and dimensions, and can move freely between them. It warped you to another reality when we were tracking it down, we were closing in on it, or you were. With that tracking spell.”

“Do we know why it's here?”

Hope shakes her head. A beat. “Probably me”.

Lizzie says nothing, grimacing and, taping Hope’s bandage together carefully, rattled by the idea that something so gruesome was capable of completely disappearing anyone from their world. But what had been three and a half weeks for Lizzie, had only been two days for Hope. She can’t help but wonder how much time it would’ve taken them to find her –– would they have tortured the monster, would they have found a spell that could warp her back to this reality, would they have never gotten to her at all? What about Hope? What if Lizzie hadn’t run to the woods just in time to help?

“We tried my aunt Freya’s grimoire”. Hope breaks the silence, probably sensing Lizzie’s sudden uneasiness. “We tried everything. Alyssa Chang and your sister read so many books I think they paper-burned their fingerprints off. I’m just glad you’re back, and that you’re okay”.

“Yeah. Me too”. Lizzie says, plainly, looking at Hope’s arms, the tank top, the twig stuck to her hair that she reaches for and takes between her fingertips. “I had help”.

“From who?” Its genuine curiosity. Hope’s eyelids flutter, as Lizzie continues to pick the leaves from her hair, distracted suddenly.

“A very powerful witch”.

Lizzie offers nothing further, and Hope senses that whatever happened on the other side, Lizzie was not ready to share yet. If she knows anything about Lizzie Saltzman though, is that she will, eventually, when she feels like sharing, even if unprompted. It makes Hope smile for a second, but it drops, when she wonders if Lizzie had actually gone through something horrible somewhere none of her friends or her family could help her.

She turns to ask, to make sure she’s okay. Their eyes meet; Lizzie lowers Hope’s arm and closes the first aid kit. It’s electric, like a jolt, deja vu, but maybe it's just Lizzie’s wishful thinking. This Hope could never possibly have an interest in her, could she?

Hope clears her throat.

“You should probably get some rest and I should find Kaleb and the rest of the vampires. Make sure we have someone on the lookout, in case the snake decides to make a comeback while we’re sleeping”. Not that Hope is planning on sleeping with an impending threat still lurking around school grounds. “Thanks, for the help and for patching me up”.

“You’re welcome”.

They look at each other again, stand up at the same time. There’s little to no space between them and Lizzie takes a sudden step back, losing her footing. Hope grasps her by the arm before she tumbles. “Sorry”. Hope says.

“Don’t be. Thanks”.

And Hope lets go, taking the first aid kit from the bed before Lizzie gets a chance to. “I’ll just put this away”. Lizzie nods.

After Hope puts the first aid kit back in her closet and turns around, Lizzie’s already gone.

#hizzie #hizzie fanfic #legacies fanfiction #hizziefanfiction #hope x lizzie #idk how else to tag this but w.e have it jsbkdnf

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littlebitoffanfic · 4 years

Text

The Warriors Smile

Fandom: Pocahontas Characters: Kocoum, Kekata, Nakoma, Pocahontas Relationship: Kocoum AN: So I remember seeing this request for Kocoum, but I cant seem to find the specific request. I remember it being about him not dying and the reader traveling with John and the reader falling in love with Kocoum and respecting his culture, but the details are foggy. Im not sure if this was what you had in mind, but I hope it satisfies you for now and if ive totally miss remembers the request or its not what you were looking for, just let me know 😊

You didn’t like being on deck when it was such a storm. You were useful as a medic, but your training didn’t extend to battle the harsh sea. But after John had jumped overboard for Thomas, you came to make sure they weren’t injured. John saw your sour face when the men started talk of killing anyone you came across in the new world. After he came down from the crows nest, he tried to cheer you up, not knowing that you only stayed on deck to speak with him. “You look like you were the one who fell overboard.” He leaned against the banister, his face scrunched up in fake concern. “I wish you wouldn’t call them savages.” You mumbled to John, not having enough energy to fight with the rest of the crew. “But they are.” He looked at you perplexed. “Besides, everyone else on this ship calls them sav-“ “You’re not everyone else, John. And they look up to you. You cant have not noticed Thomas following you around like a shadow.” You saw the smirk pull at his lips meaning he knew what you were talking about.

“He listens to you, too. Hes becoming pretty knowledgeable with medical stuff because he follows you around like a child.” John fires back, and he was right. But only because you warned Thomas that you might not always be around and he needed to know enough in case something happened to you. “Just, just remember. They’re humans too.” You huffed, wanting to move the subject back. “But they’re different.” John kicks off a boot to pour out some water. “They aren’t as different as you think, John. We’re different. Most people on this ship are different. Different eye colour, hair colour, height, weight, built.” You wave to the crew who weren’t paying any head as they secured the deck. “But i bet they have hearts that beat, lungs that breath and blood that runs red.” “Maybe I’ll find you a savage for you to find out.” John smirks at you as he tries to lighten the mood, but the moment he saw you weren’t impressed, he stopped. John could normally read you like a book. You had bother grown up together, and he pulled you along on his adventures many times. He got into fights and you patched him up. You had warned him that you were just a nurse, and one day you might not be able to patch him up. But he dismissed you as a ‘rambling wife’. Not that you were married, or anywhere near a relationship. In truth, you were sure you two would rip each others throats out if left alone too long. But people often assumed there was more than friendship. “I truly hope you are joking, John. No one deserves to die for simply being alive.” You shake your head, disappointed as you stand, rubbing your arms. You turn to disappear back into your quarters, hoping your words might have some weight with the man.

------time skip ---------------

When John disappeared from the landing party, you found yourself wondering into the surrounding woods. You knew you would be chastised for it later, but you didn’t care. It was so beautiful. you wouldn’t go too far, venturing about 15 minutes away from the others until you found a clearing. The way the sun shone down on the forests was like something out of a fairy-tale. You were so lost in the beauty of it all that you almost didn’t notice the small chirping coming from the ground beside you. Glancing down, you saw a small bird. It had a yellowy orange chest, with a blue back and black markings. Crouching down, you wondered why a bird would be this close to the ground. It seemed dangerous. Unless something was wrong with him? The bird began to jump to you, but you saw its left leg wasn’t taking any pressure and it hobbles a little. “Shhh.” You picked up the small bird with ease and sat down with your legs crossed, your skirt making a small nest for the animal to sit in. “I think you have dislocated your leg, sir.” You mused, gently wrapping the bird in the towel and making sure you could still get to the leg . You grabbed some small bandages you used for fingers and smaller cuts and folded it in half so it was the length of the birds leg. You wrapped the small leg till you felt it had enough padding without hindering the bird too much and then tied it up. “All done. My fee will be in the mail.” You laugh to yourself, even though there was no one around to hear your little joke. You unwrap the bird, which tweets happily. “Lets get you somewhere high.” Getting to your feet, you hold the bird in your hands, leaving the towel and your medical supplies on the floor as you searched the surrounding trees till you found a branch about the hight of you eyes. Taking the bird over, you place it on the tree, but the branch wasn’t thick enough and you didn’t think it was high enough either. “Higher?” You ask, even though the bird has no say as you pick it up again, venturing to another tree which was higher up. The bird didn’t even move from your hand as you reached up to let it go onto the branch. It started tweeted, looking up to a near by tree. You followed its eyes and saw a small bundle of sticks and twigs nestled between two thick branches. The problem was that the nest was about 10 foot off the ground. You groaned, walking up to the tree and looking up at your new destination. There was a branch that you could grab onto, but you didn’t know if you had the upper body strength to pull yourself up and hold yourself with just one free hand. Moving the bird into one hand, you reached up and grabbed the branch. You managed to walk up the tree and pull yourself up till you were eye level with the branch you were holding, but your arm was shaking. You were almost parallel to the branch as you glanced down, seeing you were now a good 5 foot off the ground. Before you could even reach out and attempt to put the bird up to its nest, your arm spasmed and you lost your grip. You didn’t even have a chance to yell as you fell, preparing yourself to crash on the ground. Until arms caught you. Your eyes had been scrunched shut, expecting pain, so your mind immediately thought John or one of the others had found you. Opening your eyes, you forgot how to breath. The man who had caught you was unbelievably handsome. Strong cheek bones and jaw line with dark brown, intelligent eyes that stared back at your own. You knew your surprise was painted on your face, but his was stoic, like a warrior. He had long hair with shaven sides, like a mohawk, but the hair fell to the left and down to his shoulder, and white feathers adorned the back of his head. The man lowered you to the ground gently. You both watched each others every movement, trying to work out if the other was dangerous or not. Just because you refused to call them savages didn’t mean you trusted them completely. You were on their land, their homes. They were within their rights to chase you off or punish you if they saw fit. The bird chirped in your hands. Apparently, you had tried to protect the bird from the fall rather than try held yourself. Great self-preservation skills. The man took a few steps back from you but before you could ask why, he ran at you. You let out a small yelp, turning away to try protect yourself. But then you heard a grunt. Looking through your hair, you saw he had ran right past you. And up the tree. He was holding himself on the branch, managing to get enough momentum to get past the lower branch and brace himself on it with a straight elbow on one hand. The sheer strength in his arm was shown by the muscles. He reached out to you, eyes darting to the bird. You instantly understood and went to him, placing the bird carefully in his outstretched hand. He rose it to the nest and the bird jumped happily into its home. You smiled widely, happy that the animal could recover from its injury in its home from a little while. Perhaps you could bring it some food later. The man looked back to you, and you caught his eyes. Despite your smile, his face stayed stoic. Taking a step back, you allowed the man space to jump back down, landing elegantly before straightening back up. He towered over you, and you suddenly felt rather intimidated by his presence as your eyes fell to the red markings on his chest. Two clawed paws. Like a bears or wolfs. You opening your mouth, about thank him when you heard voices calling your name. Whipping to look over your shoulder to where the voices came from, you started to panic. If they found this man, he was dead. Looking back to him, you saw his eyes darting to the sound as well, his stance strong. In fact, you could see that he was growing more hostile with every call. “you need to go.” You whispered, drawing his attention back to you. But his eyes showed confused. He couldn’t understand you. You tried make a shooing motion with your hands, but he only grew more perplexed. Eventually, you were drawn to more drastic measures. You placed your hands on his bare chest and pushed him back behind the tree. He stumbled slightly, before his stance became really aggressive. But he was out of sight now. You backed off, pressing your fingers to your lips as you silently begged him to stay hidden. And just in time. “[y/n]!? Where have you been?” Thomas called out to you and you flashed the man a small smile before walking back to your items. “Frolicking through the flowers, are we?” Ben laughed but ti quickly stopped. “Whats that on your hand, lass?” Looking down, you saw some of the red paint from the stranger had rubbed off onto your hand. “Oh, I found an injured bird.” You wiped the evidence on your skirt as you gathered up your things. “We better get you back.” Thomas looked to the sky, the sun lower in the sky. “Okay. I’ll follow.” You nod, throwing your bag over your shoulder. The two men retreated back into the woods, you following behind. But not before you could steal a glance back to the tree, seeing the stranger watching. You smiled at him before turning back. You heard the men grumbling about having to dig for gold. You would certainly make sure Ratcliff had a piece of your mind if he thought for a second you’d be digging. however, the moment you got back, all hell broke loose. Guns were firing, and crys that there was savages. Ducking behind a waggon, you saw them firing at some people in the trees, and they hit one. That might have been the end of it, but then you saw the man from the forest. He scooped up his fallen alley and carried him back into the wood as they all retreated. Stuck in a conflict, you stayed hidden as you thought. You owed him something. Not your life, but he had saved you from a broken hip or a concussion. And you knew they probably wouldn’t be able to treat a gun wound. You thought of the man, suffering in agony before dying with no understanding of what had hit him. So you did the unthinkable. Racing into the woods, you followed them, until they reach a village. You almost collapse when you see the colony of small huts. The crew would slaughter them as sure as day. A deep sickness filed your stomach as you press your hand over your mouth. You took an oath to help people, not hurt them. Holding the strap of your bag, you take a shaking breath. You could very well be walking into certain death, but that man needed your help. Taking a deep breath, you circled the outside of the village until you saw them taking the injured man into a hut. That must be either his home, or a medical place. You would bet the latter. Slipping inside, the group were too preoccupied with the wounded man to notice someone who wasn’t like them had entered. You felt like you had just entered a sleeping lions den. So you cleared your throat. Like lions, they turned and bore weapons at you as if they were fangs. “No, I want to help.” You held your hands up to show you meant no harm, but the men couldn’t understand you. You looked around, trying to figure out a way to show them you wanted to help him. Pulling the bag open, you pulled out the bandage you had. Showing it to them that it wasn’t a weapon, you began to wrap it around your arm. “Help.” You repeated, pointing to the gunshot wound. Their eyes narrowed, but none protest as you moved closer to the injured as you unravel the bandage from your arm. You would need it. You inspected the gunshot wound. There was no way he could survive this without medical help. But you would need the take the bullet out, clean the wound and sew him shut. You didn’t notice the chief looking to the man you had met not an hour ago. There was a silent understanding between them to let you be unless you caused any issues. And the shaman had said he didn’t know how to heal such wounds. “I need to take the bullet out.” You spoke, knowing they couldn’t understand everything you said. You rummaged to the bottom of your bag and found the spare bullets that the men had dropped. Pulling them out, you showed the man you assumed to be the leader one of the bullets between your thumb and pointing finger. You then mimicked how the men held the guns and made a quiet gun shot noise before showing them the bullet flying to his wound. Eyes widened as they realises what you were saying. “We need to take it out.” You pull out your bullet remover. It was a relatively new invention in the medical word, only about 50 years old but it was a key part of your tool kit. But you didn’t know it they would understand that. Your eyes flickered to the head healer, who looked to chief. A breeze came through the tent, making you shudder while the small group closed their eyes for a brief moment. When the chief opened his eyes, he nodded to the head healer who looked back to you. “Save him.” He told you, making your eyes widen at his English. But you nodded, and got to work. They let you work without question but with watchful eyes. You warned it would hurt, and apologised. But the man gritted his teeth and managed to stay still. Bullets were kind of a speciality of yours. It wasn’t something you were proud of, but it was a fact. the bullet was out with 5 minutes. But that didn’t mean it was over just yet. You sewed up the wound, trying to make it as neat as you could. “You’re doing really well. Im nearly done, I promise.” You glance to the injured man, and you could see the relief in his eyes. “Why did you come?” Their leader asked you. “To help. Im a medic. I took a vow to heal people where I could.” You answer truthfully as you wipe away the blood from around the wound and placing a gauge over it. “Your people caused this.” The chiefs words made you flinch. “My people are ignorant and arrogant. I am not like them. I don’t want a war or anyone to get hurt.” You shook your head, feeling the guilt in your stomach. “Why?” he knelt next to you, his eyes watching your face closely. “All blood is red. Its my job to heal that.” You look at him, hoping he might understand your reasoning more than you did. “We cannot let you leave.” The chief stated as he stood, but you had prepared for this. “if you don’t, they will come to find me.” You answer, looking up at him. “Then how do we know we can trust you?” he asked, his chin rising as he spoke to look down at you. “You cant.” You answered honestly, your eyes dropping. “But I can trade you supplies. Like these. To help if you do get into fights. I don’t have much, but it will help you.” The chief regarded you for a moment, his mind thinking over your deal. “Are they dangerous?” The leader asked you as you focused than you needed to on tying the bandage. Pressing your lips together in a straight line, you nodded once. “Leave by night fall. Do not return.” He spoke with authority and you nodded, thankful he was allowing your freedom. “Thank you.” You bowed your head to him out of respect as you packed your things. “We will fight this enemy, but we cannot do it alone. Kocoum-“ the chief was answered as the stranger from earlier stood and followed him. “Send messengers to every village in our nation. We will call on our brothers to help us fight.” He walked out the door, the stranger from earlier at his side as he addressed his people. “These white men are dangerous. No one is to go near them.” You sat back on your heels, unsure what to think. Had you condemned your friends? But these people had a right to know, to protect themselves, didn’t they? You were conflicted, torn between the right thing to do. The lead healer hummed a little, regarding you. You held out a spare gauge and bandage to him, which he took along with a bottle of anti-septic. “Its incredible, how calm he was.” You look at the man, who lay with his eyes closed as if in a trance. “I will speak on your healing once it is done.” He muses, but his eyes danced with some amusement as you smiled at him. He pushed a bowl of water to you so you could wash the blood off your hands. Just as you were drying your hands, the stranger from earlier stepped back in. Kocoum. “I hope to meet you again, child. But not in such circumstances.” The healer smiled, nodding to you before he continued his chant from earlier, signalling it was your time to leave. Kocoum snuck you out the back, and guided you through the forest in silence. You followed without question, occasionally falling behind a little but always catching up until you saw the wooden logs being hauled up to build a fortress. Placing a hand on Kocoums arm, you stopped him. “You shouldn’t go any further.” You told him, your eyes screaming apologies to him as you stepped in front. “But im glad we met again, even if the circumstances were awful.” Kocoum nodded, and you were sure if he was agreeing with you or simply acknowledging your words. “Goodbye.” You step away from him, and he gives you a small bow, before he moves behind a tree, hiding. When you emerge, it feels like the entire crew fauns over you, worried. But Ratcliffe suddenly appears, parting the crew like a sea as he regards you. “Where did you run off to?” he asks, his voice not showing any concern for your wellbeing but probably for your lack of labour. “The guns and fighting scared me. I ran to the woods for cover and got lost.” You lied. “And did you… find anything?” Ratcliffe prys, leaning down as if to intimidate you but you stood your ground. “No.” You shook your head, not breaking under his pressure. he huffed, demanding everyone gets back to word before retreating to his quarters. As the crew disperses, you steal a glance to the woods, unable to see Kocoum anymore.

-------------time skip ------------

You told yourself that you were just going to feed the bird. That’s the only reason you were going back to that clearing. But you weren’t. That man had plagued your sleep, and you wanted to see him again. walking through the forest, you wondered if you were lost, until the clearing came into view. Digging into your bag, you grabbed the paper bag of bread pieces and seeds you had managed to get your hands on. Walking up to the tree, the bird appeared on the lower branch that you could reach, apparently recognising you and tweeting happily. You took a palm full of the food and held it up to the creature, who happily jumped onto your wrist to peck at the food. “Thank you.” A voice spoke from behind you, making you jump. But when you saw it was Kocoum, you relaxed. You had never heard him speak before. “How is he doing?” You ask, going back to your task of feeding the bird. You could just leave the seeds on the branch, but you wanted to be doing something. “He grows stronger every day.” Kocoum informs you. “That’s good. I cant imagine the fear he must have felt.” You muse, as the bird jumps onto your fingers, hopping across your hand to stand on your palm to peak at the food. You were grateful because you could lower your arms, which were hurting a little. “Why did you follow?” Kocoum suddenly asked as you turned and sat at the bottom of the tree. In truth, you knew it was risky. Any instinct you had told you to run away, but you were so interested by him that all you really wanted to do was talk. “I already told you. I don’t like seeing others suffer.” You move the seeds into one hand, freeing your right hand. With the back of your pointing finger, you stroke the birds head, smiling. “Plus, I own you for saving me from a nasty fall.” He didn’t laugh with you, but you didn’t mind. You were a stranger to him, an enemy even. Kocoum stayed standing, but backed away so he wasn’t looming over you. It suddenly dawned on you that you knew his name, yet he didn’t know your own. “Im [y/n].” you suddenly say, wanting to right that wrong. “Kocoum.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I know.” You smile, amused by the birds trust in you as you petted it. Looking up, you saw Kocoum was confused and, perhaps, suspicious. “I heard the others call you by that name.” Your explanation seemed to ease his suspicions, but not completely erase them. He sat with you for an hour or so, and you told him about your home. You didn’t want to ask about his own in case he thought you were going to relay information. When you noticed that your absents would soon be reported, you stood. Placing the bird back in the tree, you told Kocoum goodbye, but he followed you. At first, it made you a little uneasy, until you reached the edge of the forest and it dawned on you that he was making sure you got back safely. Before you could turn and thank him, he was gone. For the next few days, you found yourself running off to the clearing, and most times he was there. There was the occasion that he wasn’t, but he seemed to like your little meeting. You were both suspicious of each other, but it seemed to ease out as you both spoke. Well, you spoke and he listened. He would ask questions, and seemed interested in you, but didn’t seem like much of a talking. You joked about it, saying that it was fine because you could talk the ear off anyone, so you could easily make up for it. And, at the, he smiled. You nearly fainted. In the setting sun, in this beautiful clearing with this handsome man, he smiled at you. Your legs were jelly as you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Your voice like bird song.” Kocoum’s words would be the death of you, you were sure of it. Now a blushing mess, stumbling over your words, you knew it was time to head home. He accompanied you as always, and yet he stayed a little close than normal. Just before you reached the outskirts, he grabbed your hand. “Stay safe.” He whispered, and you could see the corner in his eyes. “You too.” You returned the concern before the two of you parted.

-------time skip ----------

Whatever was going on with John, you were worried. Pacing by your tent, you wondered where he had ran off to at such an hour. He should know better than to do this. You didn’t want to confide in anyone in case they told Ratcliffs and he got angry. In fact, you hadn’t seen Thomas around either recently. Stopping, you glance around. Something felt off. Suddenly, the calmness of the night was broken by screams. Grabbing your medical bag, you followed the others. Thomas came running, crying out for help, that John had been attacked and taken. You rushed to calm him but the others got there first, demanding to know what happened. “I kill one of them.” Thomas whispered, swaying back and forth before dropping his gun. “You- you did what?!” You nearly shriek, but managed to keep it down as the men gathered weapons. “I shot one. They took John because I killed one of their own.” He scrunched his eyes up, but when he opened them again, you were gone. Running into the forest, you felt yourself trembling as you raced to the tribe, treason be damned. Maybe you could help, or exchange something for John. You didn’t know. “[y/n]!” A voice called out, making you nearly fall over as you stopped, heart beating so loud as you saw a woman running through the forest to you. She stopped when she saw you had noticed her. “Kekata told me to find you. He said… you could help Kocoum.” She seemed unsure as she spoke, her eyes darting around. “He- He was the one shot?” You whisper in disbelief. And she nods. You followed her as she raced back to the hut where you had went to heal the first man. Sneaking around the outside of the village, you both managed to slip inside without notice. Kekata sat by Kocoum side, who was still. You were praying he was asleep. Passing Nakoma, you raced to his side. “It isn’t as the first one was.” Kekata spoke to you quickly, and you could hear the worry in his voice. “No, its in a more dangerous area.” You nodded, confirming his worries. A hand was placed on your shoulder, making you turn to Kekata. “I wanted to give Kocoum a fighting chance. But I do not expect a miracle from you.” his words sunk in as he stood, preparing to leave. You didn’t know what was going on. What was going to happen. “I do not trust the white men. But I trust you. you might save one life, but I suspect blood will still fall at sunrise. Stay here. This is my safe haven for you, for what you have done for us. A debt repaid. Do not come out of this hut. Do you understand me?” Kekata spoke with such urgency and hints of aggression that all you could do was nod. “If he wakes, sound the horn.” Kekata draws your attention away from Kocoum to look the elder. He was standing at the entrance, gesturing to the corner. You didn’t follow his direction, instead noticing Nakoma, who seemed confused and almost fearful that Kekata was leaving you alone with an injured Kocoum. “But I do not know if it will stop the war.” War. The word hit you like a bolt of lightning as the realising dawned on you. You knew what would happen now, but you couldn’t think about it. You just had to focus on saving Kocoum as the two left the hut with no further words. Putting on your calm façade, you told yourself it was just another patient. Your hands shook a little more than normal, and you paused before you went near the wound. But once you got to work, you were immersed. All the items you had given them were laid out to your side, along with your own and 2 bowls of water. Time seemed to drag, and you felt sick, but you pushed through. You heard things happening outside the hut, the warriors marching to battle, but blocked it out until there was silence. Working by candle light, you blinked away an odd tear and focused. Maybe, if Kocoum did wake, you could spare John too. Then its not a life for a life. Shaking away the grim thoughts, you worked through till you heard the morning chirping of birds. It was still mostly dark out. Once you were finished, you sat back. The cloth you had been using to clean the wound was bloody, and you didn’t want to use it any more. Ripping a piece of your shirt, you knew it was freshly cleaned this evening. The first bowl of water was more blood than water now, so you moved on to the fresh bowl and used the rag to carry water and run it over the wound to clean it. You went to the water and wet another tore bit of your shirt before coming up and sitting beside his head to clean his brow. Your eyes darted to the paint on his chest, but you didn’t dare touch it. It wasn’t your place to remove that sort of thing. You didn’t speak, not needing to offer any comforting words to anyone, but the silence was near unbearable as you waited for something to happen. For war to break out? For Kocoum to wake? You really couldn’t put your finger on it. After what felt like a millennium, you noticed his eyes were moving behind his eyelids. You held your breath, your lips pressed together in a harsh line as you tried to keep yourself calm. However, the moment his eyes fluttered open, you broke. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks as you pressed a hand over your mouth to hid your sobbing. The fear which had had your body in a tight grasp eased the moment he woke, and you had done so well keeping yourself calm while you had been alone that you were overwhelmed. His eyes found you, and he began to sit up, despite the pain he must be feeling. Leaning on his left elbow and forearm, he pushed himself up into a sitting position before you could even talk. “Don’t sit up, it will be painf-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence as a large hand slipped behind your neck and he drew you to his lips. The moment his warm lips met your own, you were a goner. The nurse had left you, replaced with the girl who was screaming with excitement as he kissed you. The kiss was intense, but controlled and carful, just like Kocoum. He controlled every aspect and, if you had been standing, your knees would have been weak. It was so perfect, like a dream which you wished to never wake from. Some part of you was convinced you had falling asleep by his side and you were dreaming all this. You reached up to his face, your fingers gently grazing across his cheek before mirroring his own hold on you by slipping your hand around the back of his head to just above the base of his neck. with your other hand, you gently wrap your hand around his wrist, your thumb pressing against the veins, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. A small shiver ran through your body as you moved closer, running your hand along his arm and to his chest. Pressing an open palm above his heart, you could feel the steady beat. Pulling back, you felt the air flood into your lungs and the tent suddenly seemed to much bigger and brighter. You couldn’t help the red in your cheeks, or the smile on your lips as you look at the man who had stolen your heart from the very moment he had caught you. Much to your surprise, you saw a smile tug at his lips, his eyes dancing with a joy you had never seen before. No one had ever looked at you like that. He looked so happy, so full of life. Suddenly, what was happened beyond the tent hit you like a wave as you jolted back. “We have to tell them you’re alive.” You suddenly say, and you see the happiness be replaced with concern and confusion. “They think you’re dead. They are going to kill John in revenge but Ratcliffes marching to war with them.” You began to panic again as you turn to where Kekata had pointed before he left. In the corner was a horn. Moving from his side, you grabbed the horn. Turning back to Kocoum, you knew you couldn’t ask him. He was already moving way too much and you were terrified his stitches wouldn’t hold. Getting to your feet, you went to the mouth of the hut and looked up at the blue sky, praying it wouldn’t see red today. Taking a deep breath, you raised the horn to your mouth and blew. The sound was deafening but you pushed through for a solid 10 seconds before lowering it. You didn’t know what it would do, or who could hear it. Perhaps you were too late. Some leaf’s rustled as a wind ran through them in your direction, but what you felt was not the wind you knew. It was a small gust, and it seemed to run up your body, winding around your legs and waist before passing your head and fleeing, taking leaf’s with it. You stared in the direction it had went, and something told you that there was still a chance. You jumped when you felt a hand on your lower back, turning to see Kocoum standing behind you. “We need to go to them. They will need proof.” As he spoke, you knew he was right. “But, you are still healing.” You press a hand to his chest, desperate to keep the heart beating within it. “I will have time to heal when this is done.” Kocoum spoke with conviction, but you pressed firmly on his chest. “No, you could undo your stitches.” You shook your head, until a small figure appeared from beside the hut. Your eyes darted to her, nearly jumping at her sudden appearance before you recognised her as the girl from the night before, Nakoma. She looked at Kocoum as if he were a ghost, a hand pressed over her mouth before she stepped forward. “I’ll go. I’ll tell them you are alive.” She nods firmly, before turning on her heel and running off towards wherever the battle was going to happen. Hopefully, the horn was enough to cause a moment of doubt, and Nakoma would be the voice of reason. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late. You pushed your worries to the back of your mind and turned to Kocoum. “You need to rest. Please.” You take his hands in your own and guide him back into the hut and towards the mat. Despite his protests, you helped him lie back down as you chested the stitches and saw they were fine. Although, even if everything did turn out okay, you were sure you would have a battle trying to keep him still to heal. There was not much else to do, but wait.

Within an hour, Nakoma ran back. By the look on her face, it wasn’t good news. You held your breath, waiting for her verdict. Thankfully, the sound of the horn had reached Pocahontas in the forest as she ran to save John. Apparently, this was the one John had been sneaking off to see. She had manged to stop everything, even speaking sense to her father before Nakoma had appeared, telling everyone that Kocoum was alive. But then she grabbed your wrist. “Your leader, a shot hit John. Hes bleeding.” As she spoke, you felt sick to your stomach. Another bullet. Grabbing your bag, you stuffed your medical supplies in. “I’ll go. Will you stay and make sure he doesn’t move? His stitches are fresh and it could do damage.” You didn’t wait for her to respond before taking off in the direction she had came. Something guided you through the woods, until you appeared at the bottom of a hill. You saw your crew on the other side at the bottom of a sheer drop, and Kocoums tribe were on the hill. There was relief on everyone’s face from your crew at your appearance. But you were worried. You had patched John up a fair few times. Your worries were that this time, you couldn’t. Climbing the hill, the tribe parted for you as you came to John. “Another bullet, eh?” you dropped to your knees beside him. he was lying with his head on Pocahontas lap as she soothed him. “Yep, I’ve heard you’re pretty familiar with them.” He tried to laugh, but winces, holding his side where the blood was. When you saw the position of the hole in his shirt, your heart sank. Pulling away the material, your greatest fears were confirmed. “John, the entrance wound is right on top of the scar from before.” Your voice shook and, for the first time since you arrived, you felt useless. “What does that mean?” Pocahontas asked, unsure why that was an issue. “It means I cant help him here. He needs to go back to England and get it surgically removed by a doctor. I don’t have the tools or the ingredients to do it here and I’m totally useless-“ Tears welled in your eyes as you were overcame with emotions. But John interrupted you. “Hey, hey, hey. From what I heard, you’ve been very useful. Theres only so many times a sailor can patch up his ship before he has to put it to specialists, eh? And this ships taken a few waves or two over the years.” He chuckles, wincing yet again. But he soothed you immensely. “I’ll get your bandaged up, give you some stuff for the pain. Im sure Thomas will be by your side the entire way home.” You smile, reassuring both him and yourself.

-----------time skip --------------

You stood by the sea, waiting as John asked. He said she would come say goodbye, and Kocoum had agreed the same. “So, let me get this straight.” You sat, crossed legged by Johns side. “Me and you, two people who get mistaken as a couple all the time, each started a relationship with two members of a tribe who were due to be wed?” “Yeah, funny how things work out, eh.” John smirked. “Look.” Thomas, who had been standing on watch, pointed to the mist that lay thick on the forest floor this morning. You couldn’t see anything at first, until there was the silhouette of not just Pocahontas and Kocoum (you were partly annoyed that he was walking so soon), but also of at least 8 others. The crew held their breath, clutching their guns, until it was revealed the others were carrying baskets of food for the journey home. You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. As Pocahontas came to John, you stood. But Thomas met her, taking off his hat out of respect. “Going back is his only chance. He’ll die if he stays here.” Thomas spoke with her, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. You watched the two with such amazement and respect. Powhatan and Nakoma approached. Powhatan pulled off his shawl and lay it over John. “You are always welcome here. Both of you.” He looked to you as well, making you smile with gratefulness before turning to speak only to John. “Thank you, my brother.” He smiled down at John before retreating. John said farewell to the animals, he then turn to Pocahontas. He cupped her cheek in an intimate way. He asked her to come, and she refused because she was needed by her village. But when he offered to stay, she said he needed to go. Their love would be broken by distance, and as she leaned in and kissed him, you took your leave to go see Kocoum. “Stay.” He took your hands in his own, holding them tightly against his chest as if he never wanted to let them go. You couldn’t help but smile, but you faltered in answering. Was it selfish to stay? John was leaving Pocahontas, with an open invitation back. What if something happened on the way home and they needed a medic? Were you abandoning your promise by staying here? But you were staying as a healer as well, so did that balance everything? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a hand clapping your back. “Sorry to interrupt.” John called over to you. the smirk on his face was not one you trusted. “You know, [y/n], I think that we need a new nurse. One whos not going to run off and heal the enemy. Not that you’re the enemy now.” He quickly added to Kocoum. “No, I think that you should be somewhere that’s peaceful, somewhere that you cant run into trouble. Like, oh say I don’t know, here? Just something to think about.” If he hadn’t been shot, you might have kicked him. Had everyone been eavesdropping this whole time? Looking back to Kocoum, you couldn’t help but beam at him. “I think that means I can stay.” You nod, bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement. Kocoum smiled, and you heard him let out a breath that he had been holding. Something small flutters to your side, and you turn your head to see an old friend. The bird, with the blue back, was hovering beside you, chipping before flying into the sky. Something told you that you would see the little guy again. You raced to say goodbye to the crew, and Thomas promised you that he would take care of John no matter what. You told him that you believed in him. John didn’t like long goodbyes, so gave you a handshake along with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, anyway.” You smile. “oh, I’ll be back as soon as I can stand.” He joked. “You know, I would roll my eyes, but Kocoum only got stiches a day ago, and he came to stay goodbye, so I have no doubt that you men are stupid enough to do that.” You returned, swatting his arm. But soon, it was time to part. The sadness you felt from seeing the ship sail into the distance was no unfelt, but as you felt the warmth of Kocoums body beside you, you couldn’t help but be excited for this next chapter of your life. You were welcomed in the village both as a healer and Kocoum’s wife, and quickly became known as the only one who could make the warrior smile.

#pocahontas #kocoum #Kocoum x reader

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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DM questions, a new round.

"i am very curious for the vids on amara right now, because I feel like I did not understand a lot of the underlying text from her plotline."

My Amara heavy vids are Reflection (S14 orig)/Destiny's Reflection(S15 update), End of the Line, and Xanthosis. However they're more how she interplays to the storyline for the mains rather than a breakdown of the mythological significance at large. I'd say check my talk on Absence. Somewhere I do have a cosmogeny post from like S13, where I break down the Qabbalah on this but I can’t seem to find it at the moment and would be a bit extra. Almost overcomplicate things right now since it went into the tree of life and pillars, even if that’s quite predictively mapping out our path right now episode by episode.

I will say: not all mentions of “absence” on my blog are specifically in regards to Amara, but rather, to a collective mindset. The fandom -- frankly, humans in general -- tend to think in dualities. A subtle point in the subtext of this all is that dualities are often more a matter of being and unbeing. Darkness isn’t a thing, it is an absence of light. Death isn’t a thing, it is an absence of life. Evil isn’t a thing, it is an absence of good. It wasn’t by magic that I pre-quoted Cas in well...Absence once I saw the episode title while dealing with Jack being soulless. (x) This is something to learn moving forward-- or uh unlearn. Be absent of former dichotomous coding. This is critical in other things like The Absence of Life which is going to be incredibly crucial to grasp coming up. (x)

Many authors talk about the Absence of Cas as a narrative tool, and while this is very valid, I find it’s almost too targeted. It’s a valid tool to start thinking about empty space: absence of Cas in AUs, the loss of Cas in the alternate future, and more--you’ll find me showing how Amara’s exit itself paralleled Cas and both handled Absence. But this is a very large scale idea that also impacts the sum of our cosmogeny really. You don’t think of it being “Cas” and “negaCas”, it’s just... absence. Something that isn’t there. Now expand that on these ideas.

I once etched this out on paint to try to streamline it when it comes to our Alpha and Omega (11.23), aka our Form and our Void (11.2).

"For the graphic, i just watched a few vids on alchemy and the 'souls' 'occultum' and 'eden' stand for 'soul' 'mind/spirit' and 'body' respectively right? But I am a bit confused about the end of the second paragraph, because from one of your posts I gathered that the souls are collected/destroyed/taken by amara and then "returned" to the empty. But in the graphic you seem to be implying the exact opposite? I think? Anyways it was very helpful to put all the different info into context thanx!”

They're pulled out into Absence, Absence is the lack of Being, Being is the created world. Beyond the created world there is the Empty. In the Empty there is only the Shadow.

And you're kinda close on the soul stuff. I'm at work so pardon if I'm going to be brief, I have a boss in my ear on a conference call but the long and short of it is... soul, mind/grace, body. But body is also the physical world. As above, so below. Everything, and I do mean everything, ties into this. Souls, heaven, how reality is structured -- if you haven’t yet, check my heaven meta as it tries to communicate this but also make sure to read through the rest here. (x)

The soul is the foundation of all things, the mind reflects the soul and identities grown of it from the creative collective, body/earth is the perception of the world and vessel in which we grow.

VISITA TERRAE RECTIFICANDO INVENIES OCCULTUM LAPIDEM

Visit the interior parts of the earth; by rectification thou shalt find the hidden stone.

Or, “loosely translated,” In order to be in the Occultum, the Occultum must be in you.

The alchemists often referred to this as the “Marriage of the Sun and Moon,” which symbolized the two opposing ways of knowing or experiencing the world. After this Marriage of the Mind, the initiate experiences an increase in intuitive insight and the birth of Intelligence of the Heart. This newly found faculty produces a sense of reality superior to either Thought (Mind/Grace), or Feeling (Soul), alone.

The soul lights and powers the mind, the mind perceives the body, the body is vessel of the world and gives meaning and form for the soul for the mind to receive, relive and understand, as opposed to the unformed and seeking Shadow in oblivion wondering if it even exists that just wants to sleep. This is also not so different from the world orbiting around the sun despite previous confusion, if sun = soul, but the moon reflects the sun’s life and is a key catalyst for making life achievable on earth in many ways. Wherein moon = mind. Hmmm what was it that led Cas right to the occultum before it passed in the same order as the last sphere this year?

"Yes! I believe I actually understood everything you just said perfectly fine! (Three hours ago this basically just would have been gibberish to me, for real!) but for real, tysm for explaining, you really have a way to get everything down short and precise, even if i have to read a few things double. Just one more question, you saying they are pulled out into absence, and then the circle gif: does this mean in the grand scheme of things that the circle is finished by the time "a soul goes back to the empty" (very loosely described). Or is the circle a bigger one where it began with "the empty" / "the ink man(was one of 'his' names I think)" waking up -> everything forming out of nothing. And will end at some point with everything returning to nothing. Just to start anew - and therefore cause another unrelated circle? Sorry I this makes absolutely no sence at all "Waking up" referencing the big bang of course - "everything returning to nothing" meaning the collapse of the universe - and the "start of another circle" meaning a second big bang"

There's actually two takes on this! Very good question! Ironically, most gnostic branches believe the ascent does return you to the formless shadow, and it's called a Nihilistic view. Basically you return to the source of the machine as the one. On the other hand, more hermetic structures are called Optimistic, in that the machine is self-created by us to learn and master ourselves through and achieve enlightenment by returning to a *reflection* of the core. In supernatural, this would be the Garden, where the unconscious shadow being built over in creation reaches down as the subconscious serpent and asks who you are-- man returning to the garden.

In fact, Jack’s role in this (including the Luciferian parts I’ll talk below) in being the one TO return to the garden corresponds with phanes and the orphic egg, the (remastered) being that CAUSES that big bounce. (x) Why yes, I AM going to just keep throwing season 14 posts at you because this structure is a few years building at this point.

The Shadow may be the source but a still raw and unformed one, it's the fish before it crawled out of the cosmic water if you will.

Whereas the question of Being or Unbeing, first sourced in ideas like Chuck and Amara, came as thought. Thought and Mind made the world in Being.

So Chuck Had A Dream, and built it, but off the back of a primordial Shadow soup that already existed before him.

So the Thing that wonders why, or even if it exists, does exist as a formative Prima Materia, first material, on which the mind itself was made, but in reaching into the created world also has a new form. There, the crossroads of man and divinity, the Garden, where Jack reclaimed his soul.

Chuck is the first Mind to create by Grace and the Word (Logos, notice the book between Dean and Castiel) and half of the first question. Abraxas: Abrahadabra: I speak, therefore I am.

Chuck would thus be (half of) the Shadow's mind in its first form, but lacks the actual essence that defines the Shadow, and the Soul. Some schools of gnostic thought believe that humans were originally created, their body forms, by the Demiurge (Chuck), but they had no souls. So the Shadow descended as a serpent, sometimes Lucifer sometimes not (I don't think SPN is doing that part--or more, as above, is using Jack, the orphic child, as Phanes), to teach them the difference between good and evil, but that forbidden fruit wasn't an apple or whatever, it was giving them a soul, because the soul is the one true good and foundation of it all.

There is no evil, there is only the absence of good.

But the acquisition of that made them more than Chuck's dream, but able to have their own.

Hope, art, dreams. Those are human things.

Yes, they are.

The soul breeds the mind, the mind perceives the body, the body shapes the experience OF the soul as perceived by the mind, and these things make our heavenly thrones, thought boxes if you will

Supernatural is actually asking the audience to ponder the meaning of life.

What about all of this is real? Is it our circumstances?

No. The where isn't significant as much as what we do with it.

What about all of our Lives is real?

People, families. We are.

This is real.

Why do we exist? What is the meaning of it all?

The meaning is what we make between each other.

Who are we when we are first born? Are we as an infant who we become? Would I be a completely different person if I lived a different chain of circumstances and knew completely different people? How many lives must I live to find my way?

Chuck wants them to believe that the Gold they have made in this world and their interpersonal relationships cannot stay. Perhaps in his world that may be true. But man and his soul and his mind is a mortal beyond the body of this world

If they break Heaven from the chains he put around it then he has no power over man. It's the same reason he sealed Amara away. He knew they were equals and he couldn't stand it.

Man has the same right to the throne that Chuck has. Only his propaganda machine and keeping people in the ecosystem of his boxes is what gives him Authority. But as Fortuna says, don't play his game. Make him play yours.

As Dean said when he threw Michael in the Box.

My mind, my rules.

In that box, Dean was God. Everyone else was just All The Same. Michael couldn't snap his fingers and nuke them all, he didn't have Chuck's given right of being a wavelength of intent across the realm.

"In this place, I'm God!" cried the mayor in Peace of Mind.

Each and every heaven box is a potential world made by man, a timeless place shuffling their greatest memories and ideas, but left empty by the lack of other souls in it. The souls remain the one true thing and he who has the most souls is god.

Man is god, end of story, Chuck's just... an architect.

And every human can be one.

Perhaps my greatest frustration in this fandom is trying to slam out post after post explaining how wall to wall this incredibly deep philosophy is, to try to point out its resounding and powerful message to an entire audience, only to be met by resistance over silly fan warring about wanting or not wanting a ship like. Honestly, I don’t care if someone doesn’t like ~Destiel~ like. Get over it. You can see it as a long series (15.09, 15.13, etc) of platonic bro marriages of the platonic bro mind for their cosmic taxes to get a discount on the loan for their galactic fucking refrigerator at this point, but you are fundamentally doing yourself an entire assed disservice on the very moral bone structure of this show to not be willing to absorb this, much less prepare for how this will usher out our ending.

I don’t care if you ship Dean with Anna or Lisa or some other ancient shit, I don’t CARE if you prefer some Cas ship from 1492, tuck all that away. Please, for the love of everything holy, try to understand these lessons that the writing crew are even using to try to help counsel everyone through the ending of a show that took up much of our lives and, beyond that, learn how to carry these lessons into the real world in a way that just might maybe make you a better person who is able to have a better experience in their life.

#supernatural #spn #meta #my meta #pagan life #amaah #amara #death #darkness #absence #dichotomy #souls #cosmogenesis #vitriol #occultum

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earthpodd · 4 years

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I Hope We Will Never Have to Take Back What We Said in the Night

Fandom: My Engineer.

Pairing: Ram/King.

Word Count: 3,3k.

Summary: Unceremoniously, King let himself fall onto the mattress with his arms extended and eyes gazing up at the light blue ceiling.

"Ah! So comfortable!" As if he was not already being too imposing, he went on to grab one of Ram's pillows and hug it against his chest.

"Come, Cool Boy, lay down with me," he said, while patting the spot on the mattress right by his side.

Or the one in which King is not sure about his feelings, but spending the day with Ram might be just what he needs to open his eyes.

Author’s Note: Okay, this has been a wild ride. I haven’t written anything in quite a long time, so I’m most definitely rusty. All of the mistakes are my own, though I do thank @gulfkanawut for helping me find typos and fix a few odd-soundings sentences (you’re amazing, twin!). Tittle is from “All Eyes on You” by St. Lucia. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this. I love my boys and wanted to contribute to the fandom somehow.

Read on AO3.

"Cool Booooooy," King called out in desperation, his gaze locked down and legs frozen, unmoving. He was surrounded, ambushed, with no place and no chance to run.

It was the first time he had been to Ram's house, and despite having heard about the dogs, he didn't expect them to get anywhere near him.

"Cool Boy!!!!!"

The urgency in his voice didn't seem to work in making Ram return any faster, and even though the dogs were doing nothing but sniffing at his trousers, King was still scared shitless. Every second near them was a reminder of that one time he got attacked in his childhood.

Relief crossed his face, albeit momentarily, when his saviour finally showed up, carrying with him a few sachets of dog food.

With just one look, Ram got the dogs to move away from him and sit obediently on the corner of the living room.

King didn't notice at first, but behind Ram there was a boy, looking at him amusedly, as if he was holding back his laugh.

King recognised him as Ram's brother.

"What are you laughing at?"

He sent Ruj a dirty look and expected him to cower, like that one time he threatened to send him back to school, before finding out he was Ram's brother, but that didn't happen. Instead, it seemed to do the trick and Ruj finally burst into laughter.

Much like with the dogs, all it took was a look from Ram for Ruj shut up, covering up his laugh with a cough.

When Ram then pointed at the corridor with his chin, King saw Ruj shake his head. It was like the siblings were having an entire conversation with just their eyes, without uttering a single word.

Curiosity sparkled within him. His relationship with his sister was nowhere near anything like that, but again, him and Ram had different personalities.

Patting his clothes to get rid of any lingering dog hairs proved itself to be a useless task. There were none in sight and King couldn't even use that to cover up the embarrassment he felt with Ruj's witness of the scene.

"Cool Boy, let's go study," he called, placing a hand on top of Ram's shoulder and putting an end to the silent discussion between the brothers.

The action seemed to settle the issue as Ruj soon left to go wherever it was he was going. Probably his room.

Turning to him, Ram only had to take one glance at his hand for King to remember it was even there. He had grown accustomed to touching Ram in order to communicate with him.

Sometimes it was hard always having a mostly one-sided conversation, but he couldn't seem to be bothered by that. It was worth the effort. Ram was worth the effort.

The thought made him remember the aftermath of that one time he took Ram to his flat and his sister ambushed them.

"When are you going to introduce your boyfriend to mom and dad?" Kumfah was never one to beat around the bush, and sometimes King didn't know whether he loved or hated that about her.

Despite telling her many times that Ram was not his lover, she still kept bugging him about bringing him home to meet the folks.

Honestly, it was not the first time she had gotten caught up in one of her fantasies and let it merge with reality, but it was the first time King had a feeling she could maybe be right.

"Aaaaawwwwwwhhhh!!!~"

The shrieks and squeals were sure to turn him dead one day, and King made sure to show his sister she was being too loud by popping a finger into his ear and massaging it as if it was hurting.

"Are you thinking about him? Of course you are! Look at your face! Aaaawwwh!! This is so cute. My brother finally got a boyfriend…"

King didn't even pay attention to the rest of Kumfah's onslaught of words, but she was right about one thing. He was, indeed, thinking about Ram.

He wondered what he had to endure on the ride back home with Kumfah. Poor Nong.

Shaking his head as if he was actually having a conversation with himself, King finally looked back at his sister. "You're being too loud."

Kumfah pouted at him and all he could do was sigh, turning his attention elsewhere. He was glad their mom hadn't heard the word vomit his sister just spewed. He was not ready to have this conversation with her yet.

First he needed to figure out his own feelings.

A hand pulling on his arm brought him back to the present, and from the look of slight exasperation on Ram's face, he had probably spaced out for a lot longer than he had intended to.

"I'm going, Cool Boy," he gave Ram a soft smile and finally started moving towards the table with books and notes splattered across the surface.

The whole point of his visit was so he could help Ram study for his exams. Not that King himself didn't have his own exams to study for, but this gave him an opportunity to spend some time with Ram away from others.

"Okay, let's start with this one here."

Grabbing one of the notes, King took but one glance at the equation and started marking with his pen where it had gone wrong. "You forgot to invert the signals here…"

Their study session went on much like that, with them leaning close to each other and King explaining to Ram how to fix his mistakes and prevent them from happening again in the future.

King was very patient and always paid attention to the expressions on Ram's face so he could tell whether he had understood what he was explaining or not, and which part.

The quietness made him think that Ram was probably every professor's dream. He didn't talk, he was attentive and willing to learn.

Those were all great traits in a student.

"Mom told me to bring these for you."

It wasn't until he heard Ruj's voice that King even noticed Ram had stood up and was visibly looking a bit pressed.

He tried to make him sit back down by reaching for his hand, but the moment their fingers touched, Ram moved away an inch.

King tried not to read too much into it. It was not like Ram had ever seemed bothered by their shared touches, or even uncomfortable.

In a second Ram was gone down the corridor, and in his place was Ruj, now sitting across from King with a teasing expression that could only mean trouble while placing a plate full of snacks on the table.

"Why is my brother always shy about you?"

The question came with a straightforwardness that could match that of Kumfah.

Thankfully for King, Ram chose that moment to come back into the room.

"Where did you go, Cool Boy? Bathroom?" He asked, so he wouldn't have to respond to Ruj's question. In all honesty, he was pretty much the one feeling shy now, and he didn't even know why.

Ram answered him with a mere shake of his head and then showed the juice bottle he had in his hand, offering it to King.

"Oh, you went to get it for me?"

He really couldn't help smiling fondly at the gesture. King didn't think Ram even still remembered that time they went out to have dinner together for the first time.

Ram, as per usual, doesn't respond, and just averts his gaze, shyly looking away from him and raising an eyebrow at his brother instead.

Ruj just sighs, as if he had been told he couldn't watch his favourite drama anymore and gets up from the table, moving back into the corridor. "If you keep trying to stay alone with him I'm gonna tell mom he's the one always making you shy."

As the threat hangs out in the open, King's sees the same semblance of desperation on Ram's face that he saw when they were ambushed by Kumfah.

On second thought, maybe their relationships with their siblings were alike, after all.

-x-

"...and then you just have to do that and you're done." King explains, looking intently into Ram's face to see if he understood the explanation.

They had been been studying for the past six hours and just now they had finished going over everything Ram needed to study for the exam.

Saying that they were tired would be an understatement. King had even started rubbing his eyes to draw away some of the tiredness.

Standing up, he started gathering his things, shoving them into the bag he brought with him. "I'm going home now, Cool Boy."

His words seemed to have fallen into deaf ears because no sooner than he had finished his sentence, a hand was already pulling him back down.

The questioning glance he threw at Ram was responded with a tilt of the other's chin, gesturing towards the clock hanging on the wall. It was already a little past eight in the evening.

"Don't worry. I can still catch the bus. It's not like I live very far from here."

Ram just gives him a hard look and shakes his head, as if saying that he was having none of that.

The gesture inspires some fondness in King's heart.

"If you want me to stay, then you're gonna have to treat me to dinner."

King is all grins and playful glances, wondering what would be the reaction he was gonna get from his Cool Boy.

As he should have expected, Ram quickly got up, dragging him along as he started moving to the front door. At this point King was already used to this habit of his of dragging him places.

"You know, you don't have to always drag me to get me to go somewhere with you. You can just ask," he didn't expect to get a verbal response for this, so he was visibly shocked when he heard Ram's voice.

"It's easier this way."

"Did you just talk to me?" It was always both a surprise and a joy when he got Ram to talk to him. He could still count on his fingers how many times he had heard his voice. They were not many.

In response to that, Ram only stared at him impassively, and resumed the fast pace of his walking. King didn't even know where he was taking him.

"Where are we going?" He asked at last, but Ram just kept dragging him out of the apartment building until they reached a small food cart with an old lady operating it.

The old lady smiled broadly as soon as her eyes landed on Ram, her arm raising to wave as she greeted. "Nong Ram. You finally come to visit auntie again."

Ram just smiled back shyly, greeting the old lady in a polite way with the wai before he walked closer to the cart to take a look at the menu.

As if only noticing him now, the old lady turned her gaze on him, her eyes now becoming full of mirth as she asked. "Who's the handsome boy you brought with you? Auntie's never seen you bring anyone here before. Is he your lover?"

This was starting to get ridiculous. Why did everyone always think they were lovers? They didn't even do anything couples usually did, at least not as far as King was concerned.

Ram only shook his head, but King caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, and, for the first time, he couldn't decipher it.

Brushing that thought aside, he finally took a look at the menu Ram was holding out for him. The old lady no longer seemed interested in asking questions, but she kept looking at them like she knew something was up.

"Just some Pad Thai is fine with me," he concluded, handing the menu back to Ram and looking around to avoid the old lady's knowing gaze.

Ram signaled that he wanted two of it and then just stood to the side, waiting, with his arms folded across his chest and a blank expression on his face.

He was the picture of a Cool Boy.

The tattoos and the unapproachable vibe he gave off just added to that, yet King much preferred the glimpses he got of the boy under the façade. The one that was protective and caring, shy yet still sweet, and who enjoyed messing with others for fun.

That was the Ram he wanted to see much more of. But the question was, why did he want that?

He was so distracted, thinking of an answer to that question he didn't see Ram approach.

"Go!"

Wow. Two times in a day. This must be some kind of record for them. King had never gotten Ram to talk to him more than once in a day, and even then it was a rare occurrence for Ram to grace him with his voice.

"Cool Boy, are you in a good mood today?" King wanted to make sense of why Ram had even talked to him again.

Were they finally starting to grow closer?

For some reason, instead of answering his question, Ram just started walking ahead.

Was he shy?

-x-

"Here! Eat this, Cool Boy," King offered as he tried to feed Ram with his chopsticks. He was surprised he even let him and obediently opened his mouth to accept the food.

They were back in the house, just sitting at the counter on the kitchen as they ate together. Ruj had joined them at some point, but was mostly keeping to himself.

"Why are you eating ginger? You never eat it when mom makes it."

Maybe King spoke too soon. Ruj was definitely no longer keeping to himself and was now staring at his brother in disbelief, as of it was such a big thing that Ram was eating ginger.

"Is it because it was P'King who gave it to you?"

Ram chose that moment to take a sip from his glass of water and ended up choking. His face heating up in all shades of pink. He was looking pretty bewildered, like a deer caught in headlights.

His brother seemed to enjoy teasing him.

"Wait until I tell Mom about this."

King decided it was about time he acted in his Cool Boy's defence. "Hey, kid! Shouldn't you be sleeping by now? It's time children go to bed."

He tried to put as much authority as he could in his voice without sounding too imposing. It was Ruj's house after all, and he was still just a virtual stranger. He couldn't go around giving orders.

"I'm still telling Mom!"

And with that he left the kitchen, almost in a hurry.

King followed him with his gaze, and when he was sure Ruj was gone, he turned to look at Ram. "Are you okay, Cool Boy?"

The whole choking scene seemed long forgotten and Ram was back to fiddling with his chopsticks.

"Eat your food. It's gonna get cold."

Okay, maybe he was still shy.

King just grinned and then went back to eating his food, throwing subtle glances at Ram every now and then.

-x-

"You're not making me sleep on the floor, are you, Cool Boy?" King asked with the hint of a teasing smile playing on his lips as he watched Ram rummaging through his wardrobe for blankets.

"This bed is big enough for the two of us."

Unceremoniously, King let himself fall onto the mattress with his arms extended and eyes gazing up at the light blue ceiling.

"Ah! So comfortable!" As if he was not already being too imposing, he went on to grab one of Ram's pillows and hug it against his chest.

"Come, Cool Boy, lay down with me," he said, while patting the spot on the mattress right by his side.

Ram looked at him as if he had grown a second head, but eventually joined him in bed.

As soon as he did so, King shifted around, like a hyperactive kid, until he was laying horizontally across the bed and with his face near Ram's torse.

He held his chin on his hands and just stared down at Ram, who was staring up at him.

They kept that staring game of theirs going until King just up and decided to lay his head down on Ram's chest, his face turned so he could still look at his Cool Boy as he did so. "Why is your heart beating so fast?"

Or was it his own that was pounding against the cavity of his chest. He couldn't really tell.

Slowly, and oh so reluctantly, he watched as Ram slowly reached for his head. He stopped midway several times, but then, finally, his fingers found King's hair, softly caressing his tresses.

They stayed silent, but it was like all of their words were conveyed by that touch alone.

King sighed, maybe wistfully, maybe in defeat.

He had come there looking for answers, and it was now time to accept his fate.

"Cool Booooooy…" He softly nuzzled into Ram's chest, drawing his face even closer to the other's own. He didn't know what he wanted to say, or even if he wanted to say anything.

Turning his body yet once again, he half laid on top of Ram's torso with his palms spread across his chest while his chin was propped atop them. "What are you doing to me?"

Did he even need an answer to that?

Ram, for his part, remained silent, only gently threading his fingers through King's hair, like he was caressing something precious.

"Did everyone know before us?" Before me?

He thought of the girls from the bus, of his friends, Ruj, his sister, and even the old lady from the food cart. They could all see it before King came to terms with it himself.

King thought he was perceptive, but in the end he was the biggest fool. He had fooled himself into thinking that his interest in Ram was nothing beyond the challenge of getting through his walls.

When did that change? Or has it never been just that?

"Stop thinking."

King had to chuckle. It had been so hard to even make Ram look his way in the beginning and now it was already the fourth time he had talked to him just today. How things had changed.

"What am I supposed to do then if I can't think?" The question was purely rhetorical, but still he looked deeply into Ram's eyes for an answer.

Their faces were so close…

"Eeeeeeek! Cool Boy…" His face was absolutely heating up, and he tried to escape, maybe hide his embarrassment, but Ram's grip made him stay exactly where he was.

Ram's face was decisive, eyes sharp yet calming, and King couldn't help giving in then.

It was brief, just a mere brush of their lips, but enough to make his heart start pounding crazily once again.

He didn't even notice his eyes falling closed, yet he had to open them to look at Ram, to really look at him, the way lovers do, the way he didn't let himself do before.

"Now I'm the one who's shy."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but he didn't care, he knew Ram had heard him and had understood what he was trying to say.

"Sleep!"

It was the only response that he got and the only one that he needed as he adjusted his body so he could lay with his head on Ram's chest and his arm drapped over him.

Ram's heartbeats were going to be his lullaby, and tomorrow, well tomorrow was going to be a new day for them.

King couldn't wait for it.

THE END.

#my engineer #my engineer the series #kingram #ramking #Perth Nakhun #lay talay #My Engineer มีช็อป มีเกียร์ มีเมียรึยังวะ #fanfiction #my work

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

The Arrangement

Part 18

Summery: You are a young girl that was raised in a small church in Dallas, TX. One of the only churches left in the state that still practices arranged marriages. When your betrothed ran off to California you thought you'd escape the fate you were trained for ever since a small child. Now upon the death your parents your fate seemed to be inescapable as he's returned, and is ready to take you as his bride.

Book Warnings: Arranged marriage, loss of virginity, smut, unprotected sex, angst, language, suicide attempt, battles with anxiety, struggles with mental illness, age gap (about 11 years), I think that’s it, chapters will have warnings of their own!

Chapter Warnings: Angst, social anxiety, some fluff in there, I think that’s everything.

Word Count: 2219

A/N: This book is a book about Christian and church based arranged marriages, I would like to take this moment to say that I DO NOT have ANYTHING against the Chirstian faith, and mean absolutely no harm to anyone! Especially Jensen’s family! This is a complete work of fiction, and should be treated as such!

Beta’d by the amazing @deanwanddamons who was awesome enough to do all this for me! It was a lot of work, and she deserves all the praise for it!!

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Want More? Check Out My Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***SERIES MASTERLIST***

You don't really remember the rest of the flight into California. You slept pretty successfully most of the way,which surprised you a great deal, seeing as you were so nervous about flying to begin with; but the combined nervousness, and lack of sleep last night because of said nervousness, helped you drift off nuzzled safely in Jensen's arms, and knock out without much of an issue.

Jensen gently shook you awake after the plane had landed and was now holding your hand as he guided you through the airport toward the car that was waiting for you all.

Clif was gracious enough to get everyone's bags and things, so that you all could go hide in the car, safely away from fans. No one wanted to get the fandom's hopes up about a reboot, just in the event that it didn't happen; and every time Jensen and Jared were seen together there was a fresh waive or rumors concerning the return of the show.

You couldn't wrap your head around the way people seemed to flock to them, stalk them, and follow them around to no end. Sitting on the computer for days, looking for a sighting of them.

Jensen had been slowly introducing you into this lifestyle of being married to someone like him. He'd been taking you on dates and things close to home, and you knew it was only a matter of time before someone posted your picture online, and everyone learned your name. Jensen knew that as well, so he'd been slowly teaching you how to deal with all this madness.

Today, the fans got a picture with you at the airport, so you assumed by now that everyone in the fandom was speculating, and trying to tear you apart bit by bit. That's one reason why you didn't have social media, even though Jensen didn’t mind if you had it or not. He really didn't care for it, but it was necessary because of his line of work, advertising and what not.

You just didn’t want to see it. All the rumors and things that were bound to circulate about you. The way the two of you married wasn’t exactly “normal”, well for most American’s anyway, and you were sure people would still favor his ex wife over you ,even though she was the one that cheated on him.

No one tried to approach as all of you made your way to the car, while Clif gathered up everyone’s things, and you were grateful for that. You had enough of ‘being out in the wild’ as Jared called it.

Jensen's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, looking down at it. Your heart started to hammer in your chest at an alarming rate.Was he already getting flack about being married to you? Would the fandom convince him that he should leave you?

"Looks like they got our rooms ready for us. All Clif has to do is pick up our keys, and we can go straight there. They said the meeting isn't until tomorrow. So we got today to rest up before the crazy starts."

You sat there looking up at him. His arm wrapped around you the best that he could in the car. 'Before the crazy starts.' What did he mean by that?

"Oh yeah," Jared said, shaking his head like he was amused at Jensen's lack of enthusiasm. "You know tomorrow will be long. Sitting in a room all day, trying to make everyone happy and meet everyone's demands before the show comes back."

Jensen just hummed in agreement, looking out the window as Clif pulled the car off toward the main road, dodging people as he went.

Jensen's phone went off again and he laughed a little before silencing it.

"Looks like Y/N has made quite the impression on the cast already. Felicia, Brianna, Rob, and Richard want us to all meet them for dinner tonight so they can meet her." he said to Jared with what you thought may have been a proud smirk, but you weren't so sure.

Your heart jumped up in your chest, and you quickly looked down at your lap so that he couldn’t see how nervous you were. Of course he saw right through you. He'd learned your every move. The man was more observant than you gave him credit for.

Squeezing you tighter to him, he puts a light peak on your forehead. "It's okay baby girl, they will love you."

You half smiled at him and snuggled yourself into his side, thankful for the bucket seats in the back of the SUV. He calms you, even when you feel like everything is raging against you. His warmth, his smell, the way you can lightly hear his heartbeat through his chest keeps you grounded when nothing else seems to be able to.

California was so different than what you had expected it to be. There seemed to be people everywhere. Everything was so bright all the time. The weather was warm, maybe even warmer than Texas, and it was December. Everything seemed a little more free here.

Upon arrival at the hotel, Clif ran and grabbed everyone's key cards, and once we were all settled into our rooms with little difficulty Jensen came and wrapped his arms around you.

"How are you doing sweetheart? Are you okay today?"

Letting him surround you with his strong arms, and pull you into his chest, you close your eyes and just let him hold you in that moment. You were tired, that was for sure, even though you had slept on the plane. You were stressed.Things were about to change, and the last time things changed a great deal for you, let's be honest, you lost a lot, and your mind felt like it just couldn't keep up with it all. Then there was this dinner thing tonight.

"I’m okay. Jensen, Do you really think this whole meeting your friends for dinner thing and bringing me along is a good idea? I mean, Jared still isn't my biggest fan. What if they all hate me too?"

Jensen placed his forehead on top of yours, making you look him in the eyes.

"Baby, everything is going to be fine. Jared is coming around. Don't worry about him, and as far as everyone else, they aren't as protective over me as Jared is. So don't worry. Everything will be just fine."

Jensen didn't seem nervous, even though you felt like you wanted to jump out of your skin. Looking down at yourself as he pulled away from you for a moment, you decided that maybe a shower and fixing yourself up a little bit wouldn't hurt. Fans may be out and about, and people knew what you looked like now. So going to the restaurant looking like a hobo wasn't really the best idea probably.

"I'm going to go take a shower, and get ready for tonight." you tell him quietly. He nods, giving you a little bit of space and time to yourself.

"Okay, I'm going to go call them and see where we all are meeting, and what time they want to meet up. I don't want to be out too late, I want to have some alone time with you tonight."

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

Less than three hours later you found yourself with Jensen sliding his hand in yours as the elevator descended to the bottom floor of the hotel. Jensen said the restaurant that all of you were eating at was walking distance from where you were staying, and you two should be fine just walking, that Jared was going to walk with the two of you as well.

You physically trembled with nerves, but you said nothing, just clung to Jensen's hand like if you let go you'd die.

"Everything is going to be fine Y/N.We've been married now for a while, they're going to love you. We've got a private table in the back of the restaurant, so fans won't be a problem. This is California, so they're used to seeing people like us in the area. Walking there isn't going to be an issue. Just relax baby." he said, bending down and kissing your lips lightly as the elevator came to a stop, pulling away just before the doors opened.

You could already see Jared standing in the foyer of the hotel, looking around at the different flyers and things that were set up for tourists. He towered a good head and shoulders over most people in the building, so it wasn't like he was hard to spot.

The walk to the little place that was something like a sports bar was only about three blocks up from the hotel.just as Jensen said.here was no one that even gave the three of you a second look. Jensen and Jared made fun of each other and anyone they saw along the way, laughing and joking like two teenage boys, rather than two grown ass men.

Once inside the place, the hostess took you to the back of the place and seated you in a room where everyone was already waiting. The little room was completely concealed from the rest of the restaurant. Felica, Briana, Rob, and Richard all yelled their greeting as the three of you came into the room. They were like a bunch of kids that hadn't seen each other for a long time, each one getting up to greet the boys individually.

"Jen, is this your wife?" the blonde woman you knew to be Briana from watching the con videos, said. You didn't realize you were hiding slightly behind him until you noticed that she had to lean around Jensen to come face to face with you.

"Yeah, everyone this is Y/N. Y/N this is Rob, Richard, Briana, and Felica."

They all greeted you warmly, but kept their distance, almost scensing you were nervous. Was it that obvious?

"Y/N a little shy guys, she's not used to all this, this all new to her." Jensen said, squeezing you tightly and planting a kiss on top of your forehead as he guided you around the table, sitting you next to Felica, before taking a seat on the other side of you.

"So you guys ready for tomorrow?" Rob asked Jensen.The two of them dove into speculation and theories as to what was going to be brought to the table tomorrow. You sat there quietly as you watched all of them talk about things that were above your head. That went on for most of the dinner, only really breaking from their casual flowing conversation as the orders were taken and food was brought. You couldn't help but feel awkward, because you had nothing to interject into the conversation, then you couldn't help but be glad you didn't have to talk.You were a complicated creature.

"Y/N, how are you liking being married to Jensen?" Felica asked, leaning over and talking quietly as the boys were joking and making bets on if they would get this or that if they agreed to come back. Briana leaned into the conversation as well now, interested to hear what you were going to say.

"It's great! Jensen is wonderful." You really didn't know what to say.

In all honesty even though you and Jensen had been married for months, you really were just now starting to get to know each other, and getting comfortable with each other.

"I know that you guys didn't come by marriage the conventional way, but I can tell you this, the man is head over heels for you." Briana said, taking a swig of her drink, looking at you more like a motherly figure than probably should have been allowed at this table of over grown adult children.

You smiled tightly and nodded, not really responding as you looked back down at your hands folded in your lap.

The conversation carried on from there with them getting to know you a little more as the men acted... well, like themselves.

It was finally time for the night to come to a close, and everyone stood and said their goodbyes. You were just about to walk out of the room with Jensen, when Briana yelled at you over the guys heads, running up to grab your arm.

"Felicia and I can't go to the meeting in the morning. Our isn't until tomorrow. Let's go get our nails done while we wait for the guys to come back and tell us the news!!!"

"Yes let's do it!" Felica interjected before you could get a word in.

"Well it's settled, two against one, we will pick you tomorrow Y/N!!" Briana said, grabbing her coat, kissing Jensen on the check and running off. You just stood there blinking for a moment. More social interaction. Great!!

"You will get used to her." Felica said, laughing as Jared grabbed her hat and took off running with it toward the street, and she chased after him yelling profanities, and laughing.

Jensen laughed by your side, slipping his arm around you. You looked up at him, just watching him as he interacted with his old cast mates. He looked years younger around his friends when he finally let himself go. You couldn't deny him this opportunity to be around everyone again, and if they decided to bring the show back, seeing him like this was worth the fear.

You only hoped one day he'd laugh with you like that.

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#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles series #jensen x you #jensen x reader #jensen series #jensen fanfiction #dean winchester #x reader inserts #jawritter #jawritter 1k celebration

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt73

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Marinette could only sigh. She knew Chloe was still pissed at Damian for the way that had happened but she hadn’t expected her to start up the argument with his family present. She also had to wonder at the girls end game because there was no way this was it.

“It wasn’t optimal, but things worked out for the best in the end. Granted when a girl tells you to get out of their bedroom you may want to listen in the future.” Damian turned the full force of his glare on her until one of his brothers, Jason if she remembered correctly, opened his mouth.

“And what were you doing in her bedroom Demon Spawn? I knew the two of you had to be more than just friends for you to be willing to freeze us out like that.” Marinette watched Damian turn his glare on his sibling and Chloe was growling again. So apparently friendly teasing wasn’t appropriate around his family.

“I believe I told you the last time I was here that things weren’t like that, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop making such insinuations in front of my girlfriend.” Her tone was full of haughty disdain, a tone she’d learned from Chloe over the years. Jason just gaped at her, looking between her and Chloe, who hadn’t bothered to stop growling. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the grateful look Damian shot her before it turned into bored annoyance. “Just because no female is willing to invite you into their personal space doesn’t mean everyone suffers the same deficiency.”

“Oh I like her. We should definitely keep her.” Just about everyone in the room started when Cass spoke then most burst into laughter and started teasing Jason. Marinette took the opportunity to talk quietly to Chloe.

“I don’t know what your goal is but you have no idea what the dynamics between Damian and his family are. There could be a good reason he hasn’t told them about things yet and you pushing the issue is really not helping.” She felt more than heard the other girl let out a sigh.

“Fine, but he’s going to have to do something if he wants to stay in Paris. What other excuse can he give but the truth?” Marinette frowned in thought. She had a point but Damian was resourceful, he’d figure something out. “That was an impressive display of creating chaos though bug. I’m starting to think you should have been the one to get Plagg.” She gave a non committal hum before once again resting her chin on Chloe’s shoulder to watch the fall out.

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Outwardly Damian kept a bored look but inside he felt like smirking. Marinette was very good at misdirection. He glanced over to see how Luka was reacting to the insanity that was his family and noticed his father and Babs headed towards Marinette and Chloe. He moved closer, not sure if he was more worried about his father or Chloe saying something about him.

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng-”

“Please call me Marinette.” He saw his father's eye twitch in surprise that she’d interrupted him while Babs didn’t bother trying to hide her smile.

“Marinette then. I wanted to thank you for helping Damian. He seems to have grown a lot as a person under your influence.” Marinette and Chloe both just frowned at him. Even Babs was side eyeing him. Marinette put on her most innocent and wide eyed expression and he was honestly frightened of what was going to come out of her mouth.

“Well, perhaps if you’d treated him as an individual and a valuable member of your team instead of an addon or a spare he would have been able to grow here.” When he’d told her all of his frustrations at being treated like a child rather than a teammate by his entire family he hadn’t really considered how protective she was with people she considered friends. Not that he would admit to being her friend mind you. His father was too stunned to respond for a moment.

“Damian is still young and learning. I treat him as such.” Marinette and Chloe were giving him the exact same bland look. They were spending way too much time together.

“He goes out with the rest of your team and faces all the same dangers, exactly how does treating him differently help him or you?” Chloe’s imperious tone honestly surprised him given their general animosity towards each other.

“But if you feel that he’s doing so well in Paris maybe it would be advisable to extend his stay. Both my parents and the Mayor have already offered to house him for the duration. I really think it would be inadvisable to do anything to hamper his continuing development.” Marinette had that innocent look again. Babs was trying hard not to laugh and his father didn��t seem to be able to formulate a response.

“Obviously he should transfer to a better school. It’s utterly ridiculous that a multi billionaire would even consider enrolling his child at that cesspool regardless of the reason.” Chloe just sounded disgusted. His father finally opened his mouth to respond but Marinette just talked over him.

“There’s a great arts school where he could explore his talent in drawing since he’s already so advanced in most regular subjects. We’ll send you the application once he’s filled it out so you can sign it.” He watched as his father just nodded as the girls railroaded him. It took him a moment to realize that they’d just gotten him to agree not only to Damian staying in Paris, but had effectively gotten him transferred to the same school Luka went to.

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#maribat #marinette dupen chang #Damian Wayne #bffmaridami

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undeadsnorlax · 3 years

Text

Can Anybody Tell Me Why I’m Lonely Like a Satellite?

heyyy my first fic for @badthingshappenbingo. starting things off with my favourite space boy

Ao3 link

Prompt: Loneliness

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV Series)

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, angsty as hell

Wordcount: 2603

A day in the life of Luther on the moon.

***

Wakey-wakey.

“Urgh…” Five more minutes…

Come on. You need to get up.

Luther groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the blank metal ceiling. It took him a few more minutes to open his eyes properly, and a couple more to roll over and check the clock with another groan. 22:47.

“It’s early,” he mumbled, swinging his legs around and rubbing his face down. Well, early in his sense, at least.

Fifteen minutes won’t kill you. Means you could go to bed earlier later tonight, technically.

Luther considered this and nodded, slowly getting to his feet and walking toward the door-

Thunk!

“Every time!” he cried, rubbing his forehead. He’d learn to duck eventually.

He stretched his arms until his fingers brushed the ceiling, then placed a hand at the bottom of his back and arched it, grunting at the dull crunch his spine made.

With a few more stretches, he dragged his feet over to the counter, smiling at the small potted umbrella plant there.

“Evenin’ Ben,” he said softly, large fingers stroking the leaves before picking up the tiny watering can.

Hey Luther.

Luther let out a sigh, tapping one of the radars beeping away on the workstation below the plant.

Something wrong?

“Nah, nothing.”

He shrugged and went about doing his other ‘morning’ chores. Checking the base’s oxygen levels, collecting any trash, seeing if there was any response from home.

Nothing. Of course.

Luther dressed in his space suit, taking the bag of trash out and dumping it with the rest.

He allowed himself a moment of freedom, pure gleeful joy as he bounced light as air across the moon’s surface. He’d been up here two and a half years and this part still never got old. He was in space!

He pushed off from the ground hard, floating a foot higher before landing with a weightless thud. Grinning behind his helmet, he tilted his head to look up at the Earth in front of him.

It was awesome, thinking about how one planet could contain so many billions of people going about, living their lives.

Including four of the ones he’d grown up with. What would they be doing right now? Vanya would definitely be going to bed, and maybe Allison was doing a late night movie shoot. Klaus would probably be partying and Diego doing...whatever he did.

Luther let out a heavy sigh, his grin fading. No use in wondering like that. Just reminded him of how everything fell apart.

He was brought back into focus by his stomach rumbling. He clasped at it for a moment, staring blankly at the stars, before trudging back to base to eat.

Running low on those.

Luther narrowed his eyes as he opened a packet of soy paste, slumping down heavily on the nearest chair.

“I know,” he said quietly, squeezing every last drop into his mouth ravenously.

He also knew this would do nothing but numb his hunger for only a few hours, knew this wouldn’t have been enough food for him even before his accident. For as little as he did physically up here, his body still craved energy, and this shit just didn’t cut it.

You asked Dad for more, right?

“Every time.” Luther glared at the plant. “I’m due more soon, okay? Today or tomorrow…”

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, staring at the empty packet. Reluctantly, he went to the box and got another, pretending it was something more elaborate instead. One of Grace’s amazing dinners, a rich beef casserole in a thick red wine sauce, with potatoes and vegetables, maybe some kind of pie for dessert, with ice cream-

He groaned, swallowing the mouthful of saliva he’d formed at the mere thought.

Not helping?

“I miss real food.” He rubbed his middle, feeling at least a little more full, enough to concentrate on work.

Have you checked your bandages?

Luther licked his lips, before shaking his head, looking away like a naughty schoolboy getting a scolding.

Do that. Please? It’s been a few days.

“Okay, okay.”

He went to the cramped bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror first. He looked rough.

Dismissing that observation, he slowly zipped down his top, careful to not get it stuck on his body hair.

How’s it look?

“Better. Honest.”

The bandage itself, on his right side just above the ribs, looked a little grubby, dried dark brown stains having seeped through. Carefully, he picked at the medical tape keeping it in place, wincing every time it caught a stray hair, but managed to rip it off and inspect the wound underneath.

A laceration done in such a way there was a small chunk of flesh missing, but it was healing nicely.

Luther reached for his first aid kit, pouring out some antiseptic onto a cloth and pressing it down. He winced again, gritting his teeth, but knew it was all worth it to help it get better.

As he prepared clean bandages to patch it up again, Ben chimed in.

It was scary when you did that. You were so scared.

Luther’s gut churned with unease, remembering the frantic, near manic state he went into a few days prior. It wasn’t the first time it had happened either. A sudden burst of wild emotion overwhelmed him, forcing him to his knees as he tried to let it pass, but the feeling inside him just got worse and worse.

Are you okay now?

“I don’t know.”

He bandaged himself up again, before he traced along a similar mark on his stomach, healed now into a bright pink scar.

His fingers curled into a fist, zipping up his top again before he could do more damage to himself. Ignoring the urge hadn’t done much good the last few times, but maybe this time he’d figure out a way to not hurt himself again.

Doubt it…

He went back to sit at a console, rummaging through the mess of paper cluttering the table.

What’re you doing today?

“Going through these.” Luther scratched his chin as he thought, eyes skipping down the page. “Need to arrange them in order, rewrite them neater...pretty boring, right?”

What work isn’t?

Luther chuckled, splitting the paper into small piles. “Got that right.”

And then silence. Luther became engrossed in his work, only moving to either stretch his back or use the bathroom, and even that wasn’t often.

Sure, it was boring but...it was his kind of boring. One of his earliest memories was pouring over a book on the solar system, using it to try and figure out the constellations he could see from his bedroom window. Him and Five raced to have their hand up first during their physics classes.

It became a one man race after he vanished.

Luther tapped his pen against his temple, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind was drifting, thinking of his siblings again.

He tried not to think of Five too often, but he still wondered what the hell could have happened to him. Sometimes he wondered if his brother had just settled somewhere. Gotten taken in by a nice family who looked after him.

He didn’t like the alternative. The portrait that hung in the living room reminded him every day for over a decade of the alternative.

That’s how he tried to feel about Ben. He was in a better place. He was at peace. Happier, maybe.

Again. Better than any alternative.

He wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife.

With a heavy sigh, Luther pressed his head down against the desk, closing his eyes for a second...

Luther…?

He jolted to sit up again, muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxed, picking the piece of paper that had stuck to his forehead. “Wha’?”

Drifted off bud. Not long.

“Ah. Right.”

You have been working hard for a while.

“It’s not that long-“

Luther cut off upon seeing the time. Eight hours had passed since he started. “Oh. Dang.”

You deserve a break.

“No, I’m...I’m nearly done, it’s fine.”

Luther…

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t mean to snap. He flinched the moment he did, putting his head in his hands.

Look, I get it.

“No you don’t. You’re a plant.”

Luther turned on his seat to face said plant, scowling at the thing. “You’re a voice in my head.”

Helps though, doesn’t it?

Luther wrinkled his nose a little, turning away and tapping a finger against the desk.

Helps to have someone to talk to.

“Crazy Luther Hargreeves, all alone on the moon with a plant that sounds like the brother he let die,” he muttered.

You know that’s not true.

“It’s true enough.”

He suddenly became aware of another console that had been letting out several beeps. Luther gritted his teeth and made his way over, reading the screen.

DELIVERY INCOMING

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL 0823

“Told you more food was coming,” he said, going to suit up once more. He’d missed it landing with his quick nap by about ten minutes.

Out on the moon’s surface, Luther tilted his head back, taking a slow deep breath. He could see the pod the package came in at the usual spot, but he desperately needed some quiet.

Inside his base, there was always some kind of noise. Little things, the consoles and monitors gently humming away in the background, the soft drip of a tap he might have left on. Constant.

Even back home in the mansion after everyone left, he grew used to the creak of floorboards, the structure settling around him. Every opening door making him perk up and hope someone was walking through, coming back.

Outside, on the surface, it was silent. It was like he could hear his body working, every thump of his heart that sent blood coursing through his veins.

In space no one can hear you scream…

So he did. He bent his knees, and took a deep breath and screamed at the top of his lungs. Everything contained within his helmet.

Straightening up, he screamed again, a rush of catharsis overwhelming his brain. It felt good to scream. He should do this more often. Better than hurting himself.

His chest ached a little as he caught his breath once more, staring dazed at the ink black sky above him.

So much...nothing. The night skies were never this clear back on Earth and maybe now he was glad because being confronted with such a sheer vast nothingness every day was sure getting to him. Would explain why his plant was talking.

Luther scrunched his eyes tight, and went to get the delivery. He dragged it inside, changing from his suit once more and tearing the box open.

Anything good?

He glanced up, narrowing his eyes, before getting out smaller boxes of soy paste. He sighed, inspecting the writing. They always said they were different flavours, but he mostly got the same soggy muesli or stale bread taste with every packet he consumed.

That…doesn’t look like a lot.

“Shut up, I know…”

Luther set one aside and put the rest in his food cupboard. He didn’t take a chair this time, just slumped down on the floor and gently squeezed the contents through the packet, huffing heavily.

Luther, that’s not going to last.

“I’ll make it last,” he mumbled, unscrewing the top and sucking gently, trying to savour it, “I have to…”

He tried to focus on the gentle hum of the base instead, closing his eyes to help. He wasn’t sure what had happened in recent months that his food packages were becoming less frequent, and less in amount, but it didn’t help anyone to dwell on that. Dad was busy, he had stuff to do…

C’mon big guy. You know that’s bullshit.

Luther glared up at the ceiling. That was new. Hearing Ben’s voice had happened surprisingly quickly, the moment he decided to name his plant after him. He never heard anyone else’s voice, but having Diego’s growling in his brain was almost a welcome change.

Almost.

You really think he’s that concerned for you up here?

“Shut up…”

Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance.

“Shut up!”

Luther slammed his head back against the console, grunting from the quick hit of pain. When Diego’s voice didn’t go away, kept taunting the same message of should have gotten out when you had the chance, he did it again...and again.

Until there was silence.

Too much silence.

Using the counter for support, he got to his feet and went back to his desk, staring at the piles of paper in front of him.

“This mission is of the utmost importance, Number One.”

That’s what his father had told him after explaining he was going to the moon. He’d blankly affirmed, not pointed out how pointless it was to refer to him by his number when it was just him left (because look what happened last time he said that), and gone along with it.

His whole life, Luther had been raised to lead a team and save the world. His team had left one way or another, and the ‘world saving’ work he did was mostly thankless.

But here he was. On the moon. Part of the mission. Everything was part of this lifelong mission. All the data he was collecting, the experiments he ran, they were important for...something.

Luther stared at his hand, the greyed skin and dark fur that kept making him forget it was his hand. This was all part of it too, somehow. It had to be.

Otherwise…

He finished his work. Filed away the pages neatly and made plans to send them out tomorrow.

For a moment, he hesitated by the umbrella plant, reaching to touch it’s delicate leaves.

“...Ben?” he said softly.

Nothing. Of course not.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself back to his bedroom, grabbing his personal notebook from the side table. He flicked through the pages until he landed on the poem he’d been struggling with for the last week, tapping his pen against the words.

Constellations are families, each star has their purpose, their name and position.

They work together as something bigger, part of the galaxy’s nightly exhibition.

There must be times where they can do nothing but fight,

When it grows so tiring to always be shining so bright.

Luther clicked his tongue, frowning at the words. Of all the hobbies he could have taken to pass time up here, he never anticipated poetry, but he was really getting into it, having filled pages already, some of which he’d sent back...just in case Dad was curious.

He could just see his plant on the counter through the door. He went to call Ben’s name again, but he cut himself off and shut his eyes, focusing on the hum of the base once more instead.

The voice in his head was never Ben. Ben was dead. Five had gone long ago. Allison, Diego, Klaus and Vanya were back on Earth living their lives. Had been living their lives quite easily without him.

He’d managed by himself. He was exactly where he wanted.

In space. On the moon. Just him.

Number One.

By himself.

Like it had been for years now.

Tomorrow he’d wake up and go through this again. The self-doubt and the spiralling and the focusing on work so hard to forget what was really happening. Maybe his plant would start talking to him again.

But really they know that no matter how much they argue and moan,

Being a family at odds is far better than being one star all alone.

#the umbrella academy #trope: loneliness #tua fic #luther hargreeves #undeadbthb #badthingshappenbingo

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wouldpollyapprove · 4 years

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Lost and Found

Request: Hii would you write for Polly with #8 from the fluff list about the episode where it’s her birthday and Tommy gifts her the house and Aberama found her daughter and they surprise her with her daughter sitting in the house when she gets there? With a lot of cute fluff between her and her daughter?

Polly Gray x Daughter! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None?

A/N: I think I failed on the lots of cute fluff part, but it is what it is I guess. I also want to let you guys know I want to write for more fandoms so send me suggestions.

Masterlist

Polly was irritated to find out that Tommy had informed everyone about her birthday. It was the one thing she never liked celebrating. She always let the day pass each year, keeping her age to herself, and move on with her life. It wasn’t that she believed it would be selfish to celebrate, she just saw no purpose. For years, she let the day go by in silence because it told her that it was another year without her children. Polly tried not to dwell on the fact that she was a childless mother. She focused on her niece and nephews, raising them as her own. Though, deep down, it wasn’t the same.

All she wanted was to see her children again, to be reunited with what she had lost.

There were many nights that she woke up in a cold sweat, the memory of her babies being ripped away from her. She could never understand what would possess someone to take children away from their mothers. And then there was the night she dreamed of Anna.

It was a horrible dream, her heart clenched and whispered to her that her beautiful little girl was dead. Tears sprung and rolled down her cheek, it was a fate that had crossed her mind before.

But she still had hope. She still held on to the notion that God was answering her prayers.

Michael and Y/n were still out there and breathing, she could feel it in her gut. No matter how much gypsy magic she consumed to prove her point, her gut told her she already knew the truth.

“Come on, Pol, I got a surprise for you,” her nephew beckoned for her.

Still flustered with the surprise celebration, she trailed after him, hurrying to get out of the betting shop. Tommy led her to the car, opening the door for her.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

The drive was silent but pleasant. They drove through the nicer parts of Birmingham, passing dress shops and department stores that were two stories tall. Fancy restaurants and gentlemen’s clubs lined a few streets. Then the roads widen and the buildings shrunk until they became houses. Fancy brink houses, one after the other, with green grass and trees along the street.

It was lovely.

Tommy pulled in front of one of the rows of houses and turned the engine off. He hopped out of the car and walked up the walkway to the front door, his aunt right behind him. Upon entering the house, Polly couldn’t keep her jaw off the floor. Never had she set foot in such a fine home.

Every girl wanted that house. They wanted fine china in the dining room and a living room furnished for a king. They wanted order among the expensive decor. Polly was never able to get that. Not with a husband who drank himself to death or a brother that left his family for her to take care of. The little girl in her, the one that looked through catalogs that her mother used to buy from, wanted nothing more than what she was surrounded by.

“Lovely house. I take it that it’s ours?”

Tommy shook his head, “No, Polly. It’s yours.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head. What would she do with so much space? “I can’t. This is too much. There’s too much space from just one person, Thomas.”

It was absurd for her to turn down what she had always wanted, but she had to be realistic. Polly Shelby Gray never was allowed to keep what she held dear, that was just how life worked for her. Perhaps it was her maiden name that did her in, but either way, she couldn’t change that.

“Polly, Esme told me that you went and saw that gypsy.”

She rolled her eyes, of course, the girl let it slip.

“And she told me why you went,” he continued. “This house, Pol, is for you and your children.”

“My children are gone, Tommy! They are gone!” she snapped at him.

The young man was unfazed by her outburst. He knew that it must have pained her greatly to raise him and his siblings and never get to do the same with her own. It was unfair, he knew. They were taken during a time that the poor were looked down upon like discarded waste. Well, the Shelby’s were not waste and that would never happen to them again. Not if Thomas Shelby was still breathing.

“What if I tell you they’re not gone,” he said slowly, giving her time to react.

His aunt shook her head. That was impossible. She had watched them be taken from her and she knew good and well that children like her own never came back.

“I can even prove it, Polly.”

She shook her head again. “Don’t you play with me, boy. Not with this.”

He shrugged and walked into the kitchen. It was her loss if she didn’t believe him. He would probably be just as skeptical, but the hope in her told her to follow him.

And so she did.

Thomas had stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, waiting for his aunt to catch up. Polly looked at the kitchen that was as big as the betting shop. Now that was a dream. But what caught her eye was not the polished stove or the electric icebox, it was the girl sitting on a stool at the table in the corner of the room. The girl hadn’t noticed their presence, likely because the book in front of her had captured her attention.

“Is that…?” Polly trailed off. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be either one of her girls. They were gone. They were gone…

“It’s Y/n, Pol. It’s your Y/n,” Tommy told her, a soft smile on his lips.

His aunt had done so much for him and he knew it was only right to repay her for her kindness. And this was the only thing she deserved.

She deserved to have her family back.

“It can’t be,” she breathed out, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. It couldn’t be her little girl, could it?

Without any encouragement from her nephew, Polly approached the girl, thousands of questions running through her head. Where had Y/n gone? Was she taken care of? Was she separated from Michael and Anna? Would she want anything to do with her real family? Would she accept Polly as her mother? Would she love her?

She cleared her throat and watched as the girl, as Y/n, turned around, her lips turning up in a smile once her eyes landed on her mother. A sigh of relief escaped her lips at the reaction.

“Y/n, oh, my beautiful girl,” she cried, a tear slipping down her cheek. In an instant Y/n wrapped her arms around her mother, tears of her own cascading down her face. It had been too long.

Y/n and Anna were the unlucky ones. They remembered their mother and pined after her every day. Anna was the only one of the two that did something about it. She ran home until she couldn’t run anymore. Y/n never did that. She stayed put because she was a good girl, but she missed her mother every single day. Once she was grown, she knew that she had to find her mother and so that’s what she did. But what she didn’t realize what that someone was also looking for her and that was Tommy.

Polly pulled away and wiped a tear away. “Let me see you. Oh, you have grown so much.”

“I missed you,” Y/n told her. She knew that it didn’t need to be said, but she had to say it. It was the one thing she had wanted to say to her mother for years. “I know, darling, I missed you too.”

The two talked for a while after that. Polly had so many questions, she wanted to make sure that her daughter was alright and had been taken care of. She wanted Y/n to know that she never stopped loving her and she was always on her mind. And Y/n wanted to know what had happened since she had been taken. She wanted to know about her cousins and her father and everything in between. She wanted to know the family that she had missed out on for so many years.

It was getting late and Tommy had already left, saying he had business he had to attend to. The conversation had died down and Y/n stood from her seat, she knew it was best to get going. Birmingham was not the safest city to walk around at night.

“I should get going before it gets too late,” she told her mother, the words being forced out as she didn’t want to leave.

“Stay. Please.” Polly begged. “There is plenty of room here. I can get one all fixed up for you. Just stay, Y/n.”

Y/n smiled, “Alright, I guess I can stay.”

#the peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinder fanfic #polly gray #polly gray imagine #polly gray imagines #polly gray x reader #thomas shelby

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dirthavarens · 4 years

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Birthday Variables [Bookerbeth]

Fandom: Bioshock Infinite Characters: Booker Dewitt, Elizabeth Comstock Relationship: Booker/Elizabeth Rating: Explicit Warnings: SMUT AHOY. Word Count: 5,499 Notes: This started as an Anonymous ask for the “send me a ship and a prompt” and I got a LITTLE carried away. It’s the night before Elizabeth’s birthday and she finally get what she wants

READ ON AO3

or read below;;

New York City, October, 1912;;

It had been months since they discovered the truth of their connection, since his death, and his revival. The Lutece twins may have been able to take her away from Booker, but they could not take Booker away from her. Not again.

Not ever again.

With infinite wisdom and foresight came a price, one that she would pay time and again if it meant her first and only friend was still planted at her side, protecting her. She knew when tears would appear, when she would close them, what would happen in them, and yet she still held a sense of wonder and adventure very close to her heart. He brought a unique perspective into her life and made decisions entirely of his own volition since she brought him back on the shore of his betwixt.

The weather in New York was far different from that of Columbia, even more so was the filth that lined the streets, but Elizabeth paid no mind. They only stopped by his rundown one-bedroom every so often to pay the bills enough to keep the lights on and occasionally sleep off whatever adventure they had gone on. Though, Elizabeth had brought in a personal flair to breathe life into the dust covered hazy room.

A love seat, a dresser, some of her personal art, and some of the more prominent necessities, were all brought into through the tears she created. Of course, she had access to libraries aplenty, but she kept those in her tears, bringing through whatever book she wished and devouring it before Booker could even begin his. Not one for the books, that man.

The first week they were in New York, Booker insisted on sleeping on the floor or passed out at his desk, cigarette often still in-hand. He had been working non-stop to put the pieces together, to track down any signs of the Lutece twins, specifically Rosalind, and her connection to a debt collection agency. Although, at the time, with Annabelle gone, he had been too far into the bottle to remember much of anything, let alone care.

They maintained more than a comfortable friendship and Elizabeth found herself aching for him to be at her side in the middle of the night. She would lay awake and silently watch him nurse a glass of bourbon as he read the newspaper. Her fingers would ache and her heart would pound at her ear. She knew nothing terrible would come of it, there was no fear of rejection, but a barrier needed crossing.

And one night she crossed it. A nightmare had her screaming into the air and she scrambled to sit upright in bed. Booker reacted before she managed to get up, his hand cannon in one hand, her wrist in the other, ready to pull her behind him. When she admitted it had just been a nightmare, he offered her a drink and it was enough to loosen her tongue. She spilled more truth than she had wanted. That she loved him, that she felt too far from him when he slept ten feet from her, that he was her only friend.

From that night on, she fell asleep cradled in Booker’s arms, tucked squarely against his interminable warmth. She had loathed it in Paris, the late August sun bearing down on them as they stood atop the Eiffel Tower and her own excitement kept her warm enough, but Booker was still there at night to hold her close to him. Though, his warmth had proven itself useful as of late as she learned the first snowfall came terribly early and it was to be an unbearably cold winter.

They had shared their first kiss atop the Tower, in a cliche moment of romance, and Elizabeth could nearly feel herself plummet to the ground while soaring on the wind. From then, she sought to steal a kiss whenever she could. She adored the way his unchecked stubble felt against her cheeks and always pulled from him with a smile.

Kisses were nice, but she could see something more in his eyes. More than that, even. She saw her own desires reflected plainly, but neither took the initiative to make the first move, to take their relationship to that point. For all intents and purposes, they were a couple. The fact of their relation lost to them as they had never known the other as father or daughter, but as friend and something approaching lover.

She could feel his arousal from time to time, as she would sit in his lap, panting between pairs of parted lips. In their shared breath, he would mutter profanities before he put his hands at her hips and gently rocked her against him until she picked up the motion on her own. Elizabeth was far from naive. She knew of his desires and could hear him in the bathtub, her name falling from his lips in a voice she wished to hear at her ear. Oftentimes, her hand would wander between her thighs and stroke at the sensitive bundle of nerves before sinking into her entrance. She felt a voyeur, a sinner, but if she could not have him physically, she would at least find pleasure in knowing she is the focal point of his arousal.

“Hey, thought you’d be in bed by now.” Booker’s voice broke through her thoughts as he walked into the apartment. Elizabeth noticed him carrying a small parcel bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in another. His drinking had slowed significantly since they had started traveling and not running for their lives. But when Booker found some time, he’d sniff out a bottle.

“I have too much on my mind and can't sleep,” she explained with an experimental tone. Perhaps tonight she could talk him out of his clothes and into their bed. After all, Booker didn’t seem the prudent type.

He gave a knowing hum and nodded his head, grabbing at two glasses from atop the icebox after setting the bag down where she could no longer see it. With her curiosity piqued, Elizabeth wanted to use her omnipotence to peer inside. However, gestures such as these, she knew, were uncommon coming from him. He preferred his sentimentality to come from protecting her and doing what he could physically to please her.

Well, almost physically.

He waved her over to his desk with but two fingers and she crawled from the sheets. Her nightgown was from another time in the future, shorter and thinner than any she had seen in any store in 1912. The ivory silk-like material floated over her form, but complemented her shape, giving credit where credit was due.

She caught sight of Booker eyeing her up from the corner of his eye while she cleared a space for her to sit on his desk. His jade eyes trailed her form as though he was looking at meal and she awarded herself a small, satisfied smirk that she withheld from his gaze. Not that he was looking anyway, his sights homed in the points of her nipples against the fabric of her sleepwear.

“Same stuff as before?” Elizabeth asked, amusement edging her voice, as she sat atop his desk, legs crossed.

“Nah, I was gettin’ tired of Jim Beam and decided to go with Old Crow. A bit smoother, but not by much. Might help you sleep,” he returned roughly, like a man caught in the middle of a drink.

Good.

When he regained his composure, Booker poured each of them a drink, Elizabeth’s considerably lesser than his own. She slowly inched closer to him and brushed against his leg with her own as he took a slow sip. She had grown tired of dancing around the subject. And tonight was as good as any because tomorrow they would be off to Paris as the tower was being built and then from there, it was her choice. Her twenty-first birthday would be the first she spent as a free woman.

She grabbed the glass he offered her and took a sip, the alcohol immediately making her recoil until she remembered how he showed her how to drink it. Open her throat and let it slide back, the burn wouldn’t be so bad that way. Just like drinking medicine.

They sat in silence for a moment before Booker’s curious green eyes looked up at her.

“You know what you’re wearing is lingerie? Might be from another time, but I know lingerie when I see it.” His words were plain, matter-of-fact, but she saw behind the apathetic veneer was an interest she wanted nothing more than to expand on. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk, the chair creaking as he shifted his weight towards her.

“I saw it in a store and thought it was worth buying. Do you like it?” She slid closer to him, her foot resting along the inside of his leg.

He glanced down at her foot then back to her and took a drink. Subtlety was gone from her mind. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

They met in July, formed an inseparable bond by August, fell in love shortly after. She knew marriage was the first step, but in their precarious situation, such things could not happen on paper. She didn’t care if she’d be marked as a harlot or a heathen for the rest of her days. Not when she had Booker.

She took another sip from her glass and cleared her throat when the burn settled in her stomach. Warmth spread through her body as the alcohol quickly went to work.

“Booker, why haven’t we made love?” she asked abruptly.

He raised a brow at her, eyes wide as he set a pack of cigarettes back down on his desk, and cleared his throat. Elizabeth felt the air around them grow dense with tension, but she needed to know without having to use her gifts. Booker collected himself and took another sip before he stood, positioning himself between her legs.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he replied and left his glass to the other side of the desk. Her breath hitched when he placed his hands on either side of her. “But if that’s what you want for your birthday...”

“How’d you kn--” she began then remembered. “Oh.”

“Hard to forget dates like that. They stay with you no matter how much time passes.”

There was a forgotten emotion that flitted in his gaze but it disappeared before Elizabeth could place it. In its breadth came a much more germane state, one that she welcomed with open arms.

“What brought this on?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing. It’s something I’ve wanted for months. Ever since that day. Ever since I watched you come back to life.” Her confession was honest and said with her eyes bounding between him and the amber liquid in her glass. “I figured that if I don’t initiate it, then it will never happen and I’ll never...”

He leaned in and stole a slow kiss that tasted of alcohol and cigarettes on her tongue as she opened her mouth to his. The first time he kissed her, Elizabeth hated the sense of burnt tobacco in her mouth and carried mints on her to erase the taste. But as was in many cases, she adapted with ease and found the taste to be enjoyable at times. It was befitting of him, as rugged and weathered as his palms.

“I know you’re interested, Booker,” she started again when he pulled his lips from hers. His breath played against her mouth and she had to keep herself from leaning back in. “I know you want this, and now you know that I do, too.”

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her against him, barely giving her enough time to set her drink down. She prepared herself for a kiss but was left empty as his lips found her neck. “All you had to do was ask.”

Nervous giddiness built within her and she held to his shoulder and wound a hand into the short hairs on the back of his head. Booker had explored her with similar kisses before, but none ever had such prominent intent. They had been lackadaisical and playful. His teeth raked against her jugular, drawing a gasp from her and sending warmth to pool in the pit of her belly as her excitement grew.

“Aren’t you all-knowing?” he asked against her skin and pulled a strap of her nightdress over her shoulder. “Why did you wait?”

Elizabeth pressed into him as he ran his mouth over her clavicle, a mixture of tongue, teeth, and lip as he explored the expanse of her chest. A low moan served as response when the hand at her hip scooped her up. Her legs wrapped around his broad form as he easily carried her over to the bed. She shrugged the other shoulder strap off and the silken fabric hung loosely from her nipples as he held her above the mattress.

“I don’t use my omnipotence for my own sexual gain, Booker.” Her lips found his, her hands at either side of his face, and showed him that she was in the mood to talk no longer.

With the message having been received, Booker deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers while a low groan sounded in his throat. He lowered her to the mattress and positioned himself above her. Elizabeth’s breath hitched when he ran a hand down her torso, over the swell of each breast, and down to her abdomen before bringing it up to rest at her cheek.

There was a familiar pressure at her core. It was the same sensation she got while she pleasured herself to hearing his moans and pants when he thought she slept. Though, it felt urgent and she felt a slickness start to ease its way from between her folds.

Her hands moved to his belt and slipped it through each loop with ease after unbuckling it. She threw the leather to the floor and grabbed at his button-up. For a moment, Elizabeth considered tearing it off of him, leaving the buttons to land where they would. But Booker beat her to the punch.

He leaned back on his knees and unfastened each button with intentional slowness. His chest was not something she hadn’t seen before. In fact, she had seen in so many times she knew the exact number of scars he had, but that information was not prudent as he pressed his knee against her core.

The contact sent a zip through her that crackled with more electricity than Shock Jockey ever could, and she shuddered. Her eyelids fluttered as he shifted his knee, working on the last couple of buttons quicker than he had the first three. She reached up, pushed the fabric out of her way, and placed her fingers into the band of his slacks.

The forming mass within his pants had not escaped her when she unclasped the button. With an eagerness that she never experienced, she pressed her palm against his erection. Elizabeth glanced up to see Booker looking down at her with approval, his hips swaying into her touch. Admittedly, he was larger than she had expected, though she wasn’t sure why she was surprised.

He dwarfed her when it came to size. Booker stood just over six feet and she came in an entire foot shorter. Not to mention he was broad and muscled, while she was sleek and slender. The two couldn’t be more opposite.

Elizabeth shook the thought from her mind, not wanting to intimidate herself too much. She was intent on enjoying her first time having sex, especially with Booker. Her safety and comfort were not in question on his part. He always moved at her pace, but was leaping the second she said jump.

She ran her hand along the length of his erection and gently squeezed when she reached the top. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Hard but pliant, though not by much.

Booker rocked into her touch as he shrugged his shirt off and tossed it across the room. Her fingers hesitated for a moment at his zipper, noticing that he wore no undergarments. The tuft of sand-colored curls that lined down to his pelvis was left uninterrupted and Elizabeth ran her fingers along the straight patch. In response, Booker took it upon himself to pry her legs open further and place his hand where his knee had taken residence.

Another hitched breath escaped her mouth when his thumb lightly traced over her clit through her underwear. He teased her nub enough to make her hand falter for a moment longer before she regained composure. Her grip was quick at his zipper and she pulled it down to reveal the flushed tip of his cock. His pinstripe pants hung loosely at his hips for but a moment because he was leaning forward over her and kicking them off.

Elizabeth caught his lips in a kiss and found herself moaning at the sensation of his erection bouncing against her. Booker smiled against her mouth and tugged at the hem of her clothing, a silent demand for her to remove it.

Without hesitation, she adjusted herself and peeled the silk from her body. There was nothing but her underwear now, and Booker’s hand was working its way between her skin and the fabric. His middle finger slipped between her folds and both of them shuddered in time when he was met with an abundance of her juices.

“Fuck, Liz...”

The nickname rang at her ears as he sank the digit into her core. So far was the feeling of his finger inside of her as opposed to her own, Elizabeth thought it was something entirely different. She let out a breath as she adjusted to the girth of his finger. Again, she thought of how she was going to fit his erection within her body, but this time with desire instead of fear.

“God, you’re so...” he breathed and leaned down to take her breast into his mouth. She lifted into his mouth and rocked against his finger, her body writhing in opposing directions as she let out a string of breathy moans. “I’m afraid I might break you.”

Her hands moved to her underwear and she peeled them off. Admittedly she did not care that they were essentially ruined for the night as she heard them fall against the floor. His finger continued to work in and out of her, prodding and curling within her. Her thoughts clouded and Elizabeth was abuzz with crashing waves of warmth and shocks of something she had only experienced in privacy.

Though, Booker had been the cause of most--if not all--of her orgasms since they escaped Columbia.

His lips moved from her breast, touched her chin, then left her entirely. The loss of contact caused her eyes to shoot open and search for where he had gone. She saw him hovering over her abdomen and thought she might go mad at the sight.

His dusty blond hair was mussed and there was a glint in his gaze as he met her eyes that left her dizzy and full of need. Elizabeth held back a moan as his lips returned to her skin, his kiss at her hip rougher than any kiss before. It sent her reeling, her head falling back to the pillow as she released a strangled gasp.

“Oh, if you’re enjoying this, darling, just you wait,” he chuckled and she glanced down to see the look of a predator in his eye. Booker gave her wink before crawling from the bed and knelt on the floor. “Put your legs on my shoulders.”

Her thoughts too cloudy to question, Elizabeth obeyed and positioned herself squarely in front of him, knees bent over his shoulders. She caught sight of his hand slowly working his shaft and shivered at the soft glistening coming from his cockhead. He removed his hand from himself after she was situated and pulled her to him until her thighs rested against his collarbone and his mouth was directly at her core.

“Relax, Elizabeth. I have to get you as ready as I can. I don’t wanna hurt you if I can avoid it.” Booker’s reassurance touched a soft spot within her and she pushed herself up on her elbows to watch.

Without another word, he experimentally traced up between her folds with his tongue and rounded her clit. Elizabeth nearly collapsed from the electric pleasure that shot to and fro in her spine before it crashed directly into her core. Her eyes stayed fixed on him as best they could at the combination of sensation and focus as he swept his tongue over her again.

When Booker met her eyes and flicked her clit with the tip of her tongue once, twice, one more...

Elizabeth groaned, her head falling back against the mattress and reached for his hair. She squirmed beneath him, relishing the heat between her legs as he lapped and sucked at her core, his stubble scratching and tickling between her thighs.

He was driving her closer to the edge of cliff she never knew could be so high. Her hips jutted and rolled against his mouth, lifting into the air, but Booker only held tight to her, letting her writhe against him as his tongue focused entirely on her clit, striking the nerves just right...so incredibly right...her world plummeted into darkness and reemerged with bursts of blinding light.

“Booker!” His name split into the air, loud enough to ring through to the neighbors above, beside, and below, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care when Booker’s tongue was working such magic on her. And when he pulled back, Elizabeth caught sight of him licking his lips with his jaw glistening with her juices.

“This might be uncomfortable at first.” Booker pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before he sank and worked his forefinger into her. What? What could possibly be--

She watched as his middle finger squeezed beside the other and ease into her. The sensation of being stretched by him, his fingers working in tandem to prime her, was unlike anything she could imagine. He took his time with his preparation. On occasion, he would hit a spot that made her moan or curse and every time, he would chuckle, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Boo--” she panted, voice hoarse and heady with arousal. “Booker, please.”

He removed his fingers from her and crept over her, his lips meeting hers in a kiss so desperate Elizabeth thought she might cry. She tasted her own release on his mouth, thinking the flavor strange. However, the permanent taste of bourbon and tobacco backed the taste enough for it to heighten the ecstasy driving her. Her body was shaking as he led her up until her head was back at the pillows, her form crying out with overwhelming desire.

“I’ll go slow, alright? I don’t wanna hurt you,” he ushered against her lips as his hand grabbed at his cock to align it with her entrance. “Try to stay relaxed.”

Elizabeth tried to follow instructions, but he was running his dripping erection against her entrance and it had her shivering and rocking her hips against him. Instead of stopping her, he moved in synchronicity with her, meeting her peaks and nearly dipping into her when she ground her hips down.

“Elizabeth.” Booker whispered her name with such reverence, she thought it might be a prayer. He bent over her, his forehead pressed to hers as he prodded her entrance with his cockhead. “I’m going to start now.”

She nodded and locked her attention on his features. Slowly, he pushed into her and Elizabeth did her best not to wince, but tears pricked at the edges of her eyes all the same. He was hard and pulsing and too snug inside of her and she clung to his back, digging her nails into the already scarred expanse.

“God, Booker...” she cried, burying her face into the sweat-coated nape of his neck. He had prepared her, but she had not anticipated such a different feeling. “It hurts...”

He brought a hand to the back of her head and carded his fingers through her hair. “I know. Give yourself time to adjust. I want you, but if you want to stop, we can.”

The thought of stopping snapped something in her and she pulled back, shaking her head wildly in disapproval. Booker was inside of her, ready to make love to her and she wasn’t going to stop because of a pain she was slowly growing accustomed to. “No. I want to keep going. It’s like you said, right? I just have to give myself some time to adjust.”

There was a smile forming on his lips that gave her some reassurance and the finger that came up to wipe at the tear at the edge of her eye settled some of her nerves. She gave a breath and scrambled for something that might help.

Distractions always aided in pain. Her rage had blinded her to the hole in her back, too many bullets whizzing by her had kept her focused on Booker. A distraction was what she needed.

“Booker,” she began softly, swallowing the pain, “...kiss me. Kiss me and keep going.”

He obeyed. He met her mouth with abandon and the world returned to the haze it had been before. Elizabeth groaned into the kiss when Booker sank further inside of her and slowly filled her an inch at a time, withdrawing slowly before sinking deeper.

A groan escaped from him and she drank it in with fervor as the pain began to subside. She still felt too-full, but the pressure released a ravenous hunger in her for him to take her, and she wanted him to know. She pushed down on him as he rolled into her and sent his cock deeper into her, pressing against something within her that caused another cry to split into the air.

“More,” was all she managed to say between the steady thrusts of his hips. And he happily gave her more by sinking into her until she could feel his skin against her own.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he muttered against her mouth and grabbed at her hips. Before Elizabeth realized what he meant, Booker had her in a steady hold and drove himself into her, faster and more forcefully than before.

An instance of pain dissolved into a fire that resided deep inside of her, burning up and making way for the pleasure that seized her. He met her lips in sloppy, haphazard kisses as he repeated the motion again and again. They held a steady tempo, each thrust brushing somewhere deep in Elizabeth that had her breathless, her mouth dry, and crying out for more.

Pressure built with every motion, her lower half trying to escape his hold, but each movement brought her walls clenching around his cock. And every time she constricted around him, a near feral grunt would sound in his throat. With every noise he made, the pressure built higher, her pleasure increasing with his own.

Then something changed, he lifted her hips and pushed her legs back until her knees were level with her face, his dick falling from her for a moment. The sudden loss of him inside of her left her aching painfully with need. She had been so close...

But Booker kissed her forehead, realigned himself, and thrust into her without the tenderness of the start. Elizabeth muffled another cry as he filled her completely, their skin slapping together.

“Elizabeth, don’t hold back. Let it out. I want to hear you come for me,” he urged with a strained growl, his pace erratic but hitting something inside of her and beyond that made her unable to hold out. She twisted and writhed against him, seeking purchase anywhere she could with her lips, her teeth, any part of him.

In the midst of blissful chaos, Booker wiped her hair from her face, and Elizabeth looked up at him through blurred vision. Despite her body nearly thrown from a mountaintop and the ache deep within her, she felt tender warmth spread throughout her. “I...love y-you...Booker DeWitt...”

“I love you,” he returned, his words nearly drowned by the sound of their sex.

Each point of contact was met with a cry from her lips until her head was numb and the pressure was too much to take. She reached her peak in stunned silence at first, her eyes opening wide before her entire body clenched in around him, legs shifting to find purchase, nails digging into him, her walls trapping him inside of her.

With a deep groan, Booker’s hips jutted against her; and as she felt his seed spill into her, Elizabeth’s final note was a strangled cry, tears pricking at her eyes. Every nerve of her body was overloaded with too much stimuli as she collapsed back onto the mattress.

Her chest heaved, her lungs burned, her mouth was terribly dry, her every muscle ached, but she had never felt so satisfied in her life. She wiped at the tears falling from her eyes before Booker could get a negative impression, if that was even possible.

She felt his spent cock pulsing and softening inside of her while he collected his faculties. His exhaustion brought a pleased grin to her lips and Elizabeth sighed contentedly when he pulled out of her with a wet pop.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips before he fell to the bed beside her. She laughed as he stretched out like a satisfied cat, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, and cheeks flushed from exertion.

Elizabeth felt like she was made of batter, nearly too exhausted to move, but she forced herself to roll over and set her forearms on Booker’s torso. Her grin was permanent as she kissed his jaw.

Booker glanced at the wristwatch he left on the end table beside the bed.

12:05 AM.

“Hope that was a good enough start to your birthday,” he hummed with a breath of laughter.

“It was...” Elizabeth paused as she searched for the words. In all of her infinite knowledge, she found herself scrambling. “It was incredible. Does it always feel so good?”

Booker thought for a moment, as though unsure of what to say. “Depends on the person. If you’re compatible, it’s usually something like this.”

“But not exactly?”

“No,” Booker returned and leaned forward to kiss her. “That’s the difference between fucking and making love. Sex is usually great, but there’s more to it when you love the person.”

The sentiment was strange coming from his mouth, but Elizabeth found herself beaming and curled up beside him. They laid there for a few moments, both content with the silence surrounding them.

Booker was the first to rise from the bed, pulling his pants up and moving to lean against his desk. He grabbed his cigarettes and lit one with his vigor, taking a hard enough drag for Elizabeth to hear the crackle of the tobacco burning. He exhaled with an air of satisfaction she hadn’t seen from him before and her inquisitive nature must have been reflected in her expression because Booker was already preparing an answer.

“A smoke’s always tasted great after sex. Don’t know why, but it does,” he explained as he grabbed her glass and went to the bathroom. She heard him rinsing and filling the glass, and when he came out, Booker handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she started as she sat up to take a drink.

Something slid out from between her legs and Elizabeth immediately clenched them together, her eyes wide as she looked to Booker, who was biting back a smirk.

“That’s normal,” he said as he put out the cigarette and offered her a hand. “C’mon, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

She slipped her free hand into his and finished her glass in one gulp before setting it on the nightstand.

Elizabeth watched--no, marveled--at the sight of Booker being so caring and dare she say it, domestic. The man who killed with his bare hands and had a body count higher than she ever needed to know, was showing her a tenderness that she could never fathom, but knew to be true.

She thought then of everything that she would have deprived herself, deprived him, had she left him drowned in that river.

There’s always a man. There’s always a lighthouse. There’s always a city.

But that didn’t mean it had to end the same way each time.

#my writing #bookerbeth #booker x elizabeth #elizabook #lizabook #dewincest #i am a SAP for them #hyperfocus came in clutch for this one kiddos #bookerbeth fic

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futurewriter2000 · 4 years

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Love Me Like a Sister - pt. 9 - final part

A/N: Woop final part is out and epilogue is coming out soon and it’s so cute and fluffy but yeah can’t wait to finish with series and requests. I wanna try out some other fandoms.

You slept. You slept like a rock, not moving and taking in shallow breaths, meanwhile Harry held his coffee in his palms and sat on the armchair in front of you, watching this beautiful creature in her sleep.

Your hair has grown longer since he has last laid his eyes on them. Their colour was more natural and he could see the dye only on the tips of your hair. He simpered at the memory of the first time he saw you with dyed hair. It was fourth year of Hogwarts and you continued with it for a year until it drove Hermione up the wall and you finally decided to let your natural hair outgrow the dye. It started with a joke, to which he continued with teasing you about dying your hair and he never truly thought that you would do such a thing but fourth year came and you were wearing those hair with a bright smile on your lips, directed only to him. He was shocked yet excitment was pushing through him. Nobody could pull confidence as much as you did.

Except now when he saw you. Years later, your eyes were drowning and your smile was forced, it only let him wonder how could that same fourth year turn into a sorrowful woman.

The answer was clear. It was he who did that.

But despite the guilt he was feeling the memory of you and those dyed hair still lingered in his mind.

*flashback*

‘ “Like what you see, Potter?” you asked as you jumped on the sofa next to him.

He could only stare at your hair and laugh. “You’ve actually done it?”

“Obviously.” you rolled your eyes and pushed the books that laid in between the two of you. “It was your idea. Why are you acting so surprised?” you teased and he continued to laugh.

“I never thought you’d go through with it..” ‘

*end of flashback*

“What are you smiling about?” you said as you saw that same boy looking at his steaming coffee and smiling like a fool.

His head shot up and his eyes spread themselves wide. He quirked a corner of his mouth and said. “The time you completely changed your hair and Hermione went completely barmy.”

You smiled at his answer and sat up. “Oh.” was all you could say.

He was calm. He was apt and to the point. He was different. You have expected this Harry who would start stammering or trying to appologise but again, that was the Harry most of the people knew. You knew a different Harry.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, more seriously and direct.

He slowly put down his coffee mug and intertwined his fingers together. “I saw you and you ran.”

“It wasn’t easy seeing all of you after what had happened.” you said, wrinkling the space between your eyebrows. “And how we parted was not quite a happy memory for me.”

“The war was hard on all of us, especially on those who lost friends and family.” he spoke calmly and before you could say anything, he cut in first. “I’m not sorry for how I left you. I lost the only person who was as close to me as a parent. That tore me apart and if I lost you- you!” he was more serious than you have ever seen him. “Than I would walk to Voldemort himself and let him kill me.” he finished but all you could do after his words was stare.

All he said was confusing. “I don’t understand.”

“I left you because I loved you too much. I’d rather see you hate me than love me, (y/n). And I knew that if I wouldn’t have left the way I did, you would try and fight beside me, risk your life-”

“I did it anyway.” you said, tears gathering in your eyes. “I went to see Halsey and I saw him dead in the corridor. I saw you half-dead in the arms of a giant, I saw Fred dead, I saw Remus and Tonks, Lavander, Collin- I saw so many people give their life for you and for Hogwarts and what? You expected for me not to do the same?! My sister was there, my friends, you- and you thought breaking my heart the way you did would make me want to stay away. It was nothing but selfish!”

“IT WAS TO PROTECT YOU!” he exploded, raising up to his feet and immediately calming down. “I wanted to protect you.” he spoke more calmly and threw himself back on the armchair, burrying his head in his palms. “All I ever wanted to do was protect the one person, who I care for the most and I had to fuck this up as well.” he mumbled to himself but you heard him quite clearly.

You uncovered yourself and threw the blanket to the side. You knelt down to him and put your hands on his thigh. His head turned to you, his eyes glistened and his mouth parted less. “Was I really that important to you?” you asked, looking up at him with kind eyes.

“You still are.” he said as if you should have known this already. “That night I thought you and me are meant to be.” he placed his hands on top of yours, see a smile reach your cheeks and tears fall from your eyes. He smiled as well. “I’ll never be sorry for trying to protect you. My life is so complicated. All the people I let in my life got hurt or killed.”

“I got hurt, Harry. By you and by my sister. It kept going on and on. Distancing yourself away from me is not going to help neither of us.” you smiled and let your hand reach up to his cheek. The harsh stubble that was now growing on it felt nice under your fingertips. You moved closer to him, your lips apart only for you to say one last thing. “Plus. I can take complicated any day.”

He leaned into a kiss before you could let your mouth curve into a smirk. He kissed you with passion, lust and force. His lips were stuck on yours like honey. He never wanted to let go of you. He never even thought of trying because how he feels without you is how he has felt every day in his life at 4 Private Drive . Miserable.

And with you? - With you he felt like a desperate man, who couldn’t control his mind nor body. With you, something else took over. Something more than love.

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley imagine #hermione granger #hermione granger imagines #hermione granger imagine #golden trio era #golden trio imagines #golden trio imagine

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jackie-talks-about-starkid · 4 years

Text

Starship (Rewatch #4, 9/30/2020)

YouTube publish date: April 30, 2011

Number of views on date of rewatch: 4,171, 828

Original Performance Run: February 11-23, 2011 at the Hoover-Leppen Theatre in Chicago

Ticket price: $25

Director: Matt Lang

Music and Lyrics: Darren Criss

Book: Brian Holden, Matt Lang, Nick Lang, and Joe Walker

Cast album price and availability: $8.91 on Amazon and iTunes

Release date: April 29, 2011

Parody or original: original content, inspired by Starship Troopers, The Little Mermaid, and Alien

Main cast and characters:

Bug - Joey Richter

February - Denise Donovan

Commander Up - Joe Walker

Taz/Buggette - Lauren Lopez

Tootsie Noodles/Pincer - Dylan Saunders

Mega-Girl - Meredith Stepien

Junior - Brian Holden

Roach - Brant Cox

Specs - Julia Albain

Krayonder - Joe Moses

Musical numbers

Act I

“I Wanna Be” Characters: Bug, Roach, and Ensemble (playing inhabitants of the Bug World)

“Get Back Up” Characters: Taz, Up, and Starship Rangers

“Life” Characters: Bug

“Hideous Creatures” Characters: Starship Rangers and Bugs

“Kick It Up A Notch” Characters: Pincer, The Mosquitoes, and Bug

“Status Quo” Characters: Bug

Act II

“The Way I Do” Characters: Tootsie Noodles, Mega-Girl, February, and Bug

“Beauty” Characters: Roach and Bugs

“Kick It Up A Notch (Reprise)” Characters: Junior

“Beauty” Characters: Company

Notable Notes:

This production won the 2011 “Best New Work” award from BroadwayWorld’s Chicago theatre awards

Starship is Starkid’s first show that they produced independently from the University of Michigan! The show opened in Chicago, where the following few shows were produced before a majority of the most active members moved to Los Angeles prior to The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, which opened in 2018

StarKid had their own short segment on MTV that highlighted certain aspects of the production such as Criss’ music and the puppetry (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlnIXIGrjVg). At that point in time, Darren Criss was already a television favorite due to his role as Blaine Anderson on Glee, who joined the cast during its second season

The show’s cast album debuted at number one on Billboard’s Top Cast Albums within three days of its release and at the 134th spot during that week’s Billboard’s Top 200 chart (x)

The opening sequence features cameos from other StarKid members such as Chris Allen, Tyler Brunsman, Richard Campbell, Britney Coleman, Arielle Goldman, Devin Lytle, Lily Marks, Nicholas Joseph Strauss-Matathia, and Brian Rosenthal.The same sequence was narrated by actor Bob Joles (AKA Man Ray in Spongebob Squarepants)

***Fun Facts provided by Abby:

Nick and Dylan think the worst StarKid song is ‘Hideous Creatures’

During a rehearsal, Joey told Nick that he thought the choreography for ‘Beauty’ was boring. Then Nick asked him, “Do you want to choreograph the number?" and then walked out of the room.

There was a theoretical sequel to Starship in which Taz and Up arrest Spaceclaw but get injured by an explosion. Up ends up in the hospital because of his injuries, and while Taz waits for him to heal, she has flashbacks of when they first met and the missions they went on together (Taz’s quinceañera, etc.)

Lauren: I'd like to imagine that Taz has that same hairstyle just in a big quinceañera dress

Once during rehearsal, they were all in a bad mood during ‘Beauty’. Darren wanted to surprise the cast with a visit, so he burst into the theatre singing the song and was just met by silence

At LeakyCon 2014 on Orlando, StarKid were invited as guests and performed a staged reading of a one-act sequel to Starship called Starship: Requiem.

Official synopsis: The story follows the adventures of Mega-Girl the robot and her half-witted Starship Ranger husband. The newlyweds are sucked into a black hole of trouble when they go to visit Mega-Girl’s human-hating family, including her overbearing mother-unit, her jealous sister-unit and the return of her hunky ex-boyfriend-unit. (x)

Cultural Context: 2011

The production’s MTV segment aired a little over a week after Glee’s “Original Song” episode, which featured Kurt and Blaine’s long-awaited first kiss [rip Pavarotti]

Prince William and Kate Middleton get married

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 premieres on July 15th

Beyoncé announces her pregnancy during her performance at the MTV Video Music Awards

“Friday” by Rebecca Black gets released in March

In early May, President Obama announces that Osama bin Laden was killed by U.S. forces

New York becomes the sixth state to legalize same-sex marriage on June 24th

The 9/11 Memorial Museum opens to the public on the tenth anniversary of the attacks

Content Analysis:

During my time on social media, I have found that Starship is one of the StarKid shows that gets discussed the least. Up until the show’s debut in StarKid’s history, the only shows they’ve done were AVPM and AVPS, both major viral hits, and MAMD, which reached popularity partly because it was released after StarKid became known for AVPM. Coming off of their great and unexpected successes with these productions, one would think that there would be a bigger fandom for Starship. It’s their second show that is based on original content rather than being a parody, and the production quality is the strongest in their repertoire, considering the funds they gained from their album sales for MAMD and their growing merchandise sales for their Potter musical series.

Personally, it’s one of my favorite StarKid shows because of the production quality and because the performances are so strong. Joey Richter makes a perfect leading man, and seeing how his general abilities as a performer have grown since MAMD has been delightful. His vocal range got stronger and more pronounced and he has a very confident stage presence, especially since Starship was StarKid’s first production independent of the University of Michigan’s monetary assistance and performance space. Lauren Lopez and Dylan Saunders do such an incredible job at playing two completely different characters themselves within the same show. Saunders plays Tootsie Noodles, a lovable idiot with a heart of gold who falls in love with a robot of all things, while also playing Pincer, the villainous instigator of the plot. Lopez has a similar about-face in character portrayal. She plays Buggette, a bug who’s in a helpless one-sided romantic relationship with Bug, and then two seconds later Lopez transforms into Taz, a kickass Latina Starship Ranger with excellent comedic presence and the undisputed leader of the group before Up regains his confidence as commander.

Starship is very unique in that about half of the characters in the show are portrayed by puppets, which themselves are incredibly designed, but unlike other productions that use puppets, they do not detract from the actor’s performance of the character. StarKid did a very good job in ensuring that the puppets are not a gimmick, but rather a compliment, to their individual actor’s portrayal of the character. All actors who play puppet roles do such a great job of vocalizing their character that, despite the design of the puppet not having the ability to change facial features, make the puppets feel so alive that it’s almost like watching a live-action animated movie (the good kind we’ve yet to experience, not the Disney kind). If there is any one thing that Starship represents for the company as a whole, it’s that character creation and embodiment make up the heartblood of the performances. Aside from the vocal performances, the facial expressions and physicality of the performances add so much to the puppetry performances, even when the focus on the character isn’t their physical representation but their dialogue and place in the plot. Regardless of whether or not the recording is emphasizing the puppet itself during a scene, the actor controlling the puppet is using perfect facial expressions and has matching body language with the puppet, which not only helps the actor stay in character, but gives more life to the puppet itself.

While I am eternally grateful that StarKid to this day ensures that their musical productions are put on YouTube for free, there are two very clear downsides that make themselves especially present in the recording. One is that, unlike in live theatre where any audience member can choose who and what to look at onstage at any given time, the camera is the one dictating what each audience member can focus on. Generally speaking, that isn’t too much of a detriment as most of the shots StarKid uses tend to showcase the most important characters during each scene, which any audience member would do if they were to attend a production live, but because StarKid members are so adept at character performance, it really makes me wish that I can look more at the ensemble’s performances during group scenes, or secondary character’s reactions during smaller scenes in which their character may not be the main focus.

Another thing was the general editing style. Though it did not necessarily take away anything from the performance itself or make watching the recording any less enjoyable, there were some editing choices that I felt were too distracting for what the scene called for in the show. For example, when Crayonder mentions to Taz that he thinks that Commander Up has “gone soft” since the injury he sustained in the Robot War, twice does the camera pause on his face and a record scratch and ‘booooo’ track is heard overlaid onto the scene. I understand the comedic nature of that bit in retrospect, but for a viewer, regardless of whether or not they are watching the show for the first time, it’s very distracting and forcibly shifts the audience’s focus on the story and the characters to a one-off joke. For a first-time viewer, that editing choice especially does not have as much impact as it does for a recurring viewer, as at that point in the story, the audience is only just being introduced to the characters and has no personal connection to Up and his backstory, making the effect of the joke less successful. As well, throughout the recording, and during the first act in particular, the show has a lot of quick and experimental cuts in the frame that I feel don’t allow the audience to sit enough with the action and the performance happening onstage, instead making the audience pay more attention to quick facial gestures rather than allowing the audience to take in the performance of an individual actor or an entire scene as a whole. Overall, the editing just reminds me that I am watching this beautifully done live-performance through a screen rather than being there for the performance in person, and lessens the potential impact of the recording as a whole.

Regardless of the editing, Starship still has some of the best character performances and musical numbers in StarKid’s production history. One that really stood out for me during this rewatch was Denise Donovan’s portrayal of February. Her character gets introduced as a classic ditzy character who initially doesn’t have a lot of agency in the story, but through good writing and likable performance, grows into the most sympathetic and dynamic character in the show. Donovan’s performance makes February more human than the trope she represents, and plays off her character so well that her jokes make her more endearing than a throw-away character that’s used just for laughs and a love-interest. Starkid tends to do this with a lot of the trope-y roles that they write for their productions . The writing and the direction have a very unique way of taking seemingly predictable, one-dimensional characters and fleshing them out into entire human beings with backstories and arcs, making their comedic impact all the more enjoyable because the audience genuinely likes them.

#@TeamStarkid #for my independent study #starship #team starkid #starkid productions #starkid musicals #starkid #musical theatre #musicals #theatre #@stillunsteady #thank you!

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fangirl-screaming · 4 years

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A, C, and K :0c???

Thank you so much for the ask anon!!! 💕

A) Ships that you currently like a lot.

Ok these are going to be only the romantic ones in my recent fandoms because if I include all the family/platonic ships, it would've been a long, long list.

I absolutely adore Catradora, Glimbow, Seamista, Scorfuma and Entrapdak from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. (The gays were strong on this show and I'm loving it 🏳️‍🌈!!)

I'd literally die for Rayllum, Janaya, Ezran/Aanya and Ruthari from The Dragon Prince 💕.

Lukivia, Axlivia, Je(ss)tra, Jesskas/Lukesse, Luktra, Olitra, Harpvor and Magnugaard from Minecraft: Story Mode are just 👌👌👌👌

Troy/Benson from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, give it up for my two boys!!

Airspeed, Garycato and Ash Graven/Little Cato from Final Space, my precious babies 😟

Even though I've distanced myself from this fandom a bit, I really like Kidge, Plance, Hidge, Klance, Shadam and Lotura from Voltron: Legendary Defender.

Kataang, Sukka, Zutara and Maiko from Avatar: The Last Airbender! I love themmm 💓

Jlaire, Toby/Darci, Dromura, Staja, Kreli and Señor Uhl/Miss Janeth, Stricklake and Varvatos/Nana Domzalski from the collective series Tales of Arcadia! I'm really excited (and hella scared) about what Wizards will bring us.

These are a bit smaller ships, but I'm starting to ship Miko/Five from Glitch Techs; June/Jack and Dirk/Quint from The Last Kids on Earth!

C) A ship you never liked and you probably never will.

Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf from A Series of Unfortunate Events. Don't come at me.

(For the record, the age of consent in Turkey is 18 and I'm going to build my arguments on this. I'm not "hating" on the ship, I can't stop you and I won't hate if you like this ship, I'm just stating why I find it problematic. Alright? I don't want unnecessary hate or drama. Also, I read the books but I didn't watch the TV show, so I'm going off with what I remember from the books.)

(Also, spoilers.)

Starting off, Violet is 14 (she ages and is 16 at the end of the series but it doesn't change anything in my eyes) while Count Olaf is at least 35 (his hair has whites and all). Usually I don't have a problem with age gap relationships if both ends are over the age of consent and the want of relationship (is that how you say it??? English isn't my first language I'm sorry) is reciprocated by both ends. I don't think the "relationship should be reciprocated by both dudes" box is checked because 1- Count Olaf only wants to marry Violet because of the family's fortune and 2- yeah have I talked about how this guy forced Violet to marry him and he almost succeeded? And now Olaf's literally stalking the Baudelaire siblings, changing into different personalities in order to get his hands on the fortune?

That doesn't exactly spark a "healthy relationship feeling" in me.

Again, I will neither stop you nor hate on you if you like this ship or if you make content about this ship. I'm not hating on it either. I'm just stating why I don't like it.

K) What character has the best/your favorite development arc?

This has to literally be the hardest question on this list 😂

Um, I could be incredibly basic and say "Zuko's redemption arc" which is one of my favorites, but I have wayyyy many more than that. Here are a few:

Usagi's arc throughout Sailor Moon, my god she gets one HELL of a glowup!! From an annoying crybaby to the BAMF we know as the reincarnation of Princess Serenity. Holy crap sis you slay!!!

Catra's redemption. Just... AAAAAAAA!!! It's amazing!!!

Wolf's development from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts. I'm just so happy to see her finally be able to let her guard down and have such good friends after so long! We know she deserves it. She's amazing.

Freaking 👏 Olivia 👏 from 👏 Minecraft: Story Mode. Like s1 ep 1- she's super anxious and she overthinks a lot (which honestly, SAME). S1 ep5- bRO she kicks ass and she kicks that ass with SASS. I love her with all my heart.

Jim Lake Jr. I love how he went from "screw this I didn't ask for this bs!" to "y'know what I didn't ask for this bs but here we are!". It really shows how much he has grown and how he starts to accept what has already been done instead of denying it and he tries to accustom his life around the given circumstances. I forgot how many times I yelled "JIM I LOVE YOU" to my tablet screen as I was binging Trollhunters tbh.

I'm sorry if this is a bit too long, but here are your answers anon!! Thank you so so much for asking!!! 💕

#fang answers some stuff #anon ask #anonymous

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amethystlogan · 4 years

Text

It’s More Than Just a Squishmallow

Alternatively - Patton’s Excuse to Buy All of the Squishmallows

Summary - Patton is adorable and gifts his famILY squishmallows. Fluff and comfort ensues.

Warnings - minor anxiety from Virgil towards the end

No romantic ships, a bunch of platonic fluff

Human AU

Patton loves many things. His roommates-turned friends-turned family top the list, but are quickly followed by a variety of small enjoyments, such as cookies, movie nights, onesie pajamas, all manner of fluffy animals, and many, many fandoms. But also on the list is a thing that Patton loves, but can quickly become problematic - plush toys and stuffed animals. The problem occurs because when Patton loves something, he can easily go a little... overboard, to say the least. Usually it’s easy enough for the others to reign him back in, especially when it comes to his collecting such things. After all. the six of them sharing an apartment leaves limited space for him to accumulate too many things. The general rule established was as long as Patton could keep his collections confined to his space, it was fine.

However, all reasoning went out the window when Patton discovered squishmallows. The others knew things could quickly get out of hand the moment he came home from a run to the store with the soft, squishy, cat-shaped blob clutched in his arms, his face practically glowing with happiness and excitement. Not even Logan, who would normally be strict about sticking to shopping lists and not splurging on such unnecessary purchases outside of special occasions, had the heart to chastise him.

The cat squishmallow found its home on Patton’s bed, and the others hoped that would be the end of it. But then Patton came home with another. And another. Almost every time he was sent on a shopping trip by himself, he came back with an embarrassed blush and proclamations of, “But look how cute he is!” and “It’s just one more, Logan. What’s the harm?”

But now, Patton faced a dilemma as he stood in front of his bed, dinosaur squishmallow in his arms, with no place left to set it down. With his new squishmallows, combined with the other stuffed animals he’d already had, there was barely enough room for him to sleep, let alone continue his new collection. He pouted, looking down and the dinosaur. He needed to figure out something! If there wasn’t room in his space, he needed to justify using the shared space in the apartment. And he knew he could probably puppy-dog face his way into keeping this one, but it would likely be the last.

Patton sighed, sitting carefully on the edge of his bed, dinosaur balanced carefully on his lap. As he sat, smiling softly at this small, cuddly friend, he began to think of his real friends. Of their smiles, their hugs, their moments of happiness and almost child-like behavior that they seemed to save for Patton’s famILY movie nights or pajamas only Saturdays.

From across the room, lying on his bed with his sketchbook in his lap, doodling with Disney songs playing in his earbuds, Roman glanced up and could practically see the light bulb go off in Patton’s head. Roman paused his music and pulled out an earbud. “You good, Padre? For a moment you looked like Logan when he finally solved that twelve sided Rubix cube.”

Patton looked up, his eyes shining with excitement. “I’m good, Ro! Hey, can I ask your opinion real quick?” he asked, bouncing off his bed over to Roman’s side of their room, dinosaur in hand. “Absolutely!” he replied, setting his sketchbook aside, “Always happy to contribute in a moment of inspiration.” “Do you think Janus would like this?” Patton asked, holding up the dinosaur. “Run out of room to keep them yourself?” asked Roman, watching as a penguin squishmallow slowly slid off of Patton’s bed and onto the floor. Patton followed his gaze and shrugged impishly. “....Maybe?” He gave a small smile, and Roman couldn’t help but smile back. He turned back to the dinosaur Patton held. “Hm, I think Janus would love him. He likes all sorts of reptiles, and due to the general blobbish shape of these, he kind of resembles those snakes he is so fond of. This dino could be the perfect companion! Especially for those all-nighters he spends with his nose in his law textbooks.” Patton giggled, “yeah, maybe he’s pillow-y enough to convince him to actually go to bed, before Logan goes after him with his laminated sleep schedule again.” “Excellent idea. I think he’d really appreciate it, Patt.” “Thanks, kiddo! I’ll give it to him when he gets home.”

Janus had accepted the dinosaur with dignified gratitude, trying to express that he liked it without seeming overly excited, as he attempted to maintain his smooth indifference without hurting Patton’s feelings. But anyone could see that the dinosaur had immediately taken residence, metaphorically in Janus’ heart as a prized possession, and literally at his desk as his new study buddy. It was to no one’s surprise when Janus threatened to physically fite Remus after he almost spilled ink on the plush after bumping into Janus’ desk when leaving their room with his arms full of various messy art supplies. Janus could pretend sentimental affection for the toy due to it being a gift from Patton, but it was obvious he was soft for the dinosaur.

Thanks to the ink incident, it was clear to Patton which squishmallow to get Remus next time he was out. He practically squealed when patton handed him the purple, squishy octopus. “He won’t mind if you get ink on him, ‘cause he could use it for camouflage!” Patton explained, as Remus immediately hugged the toy to his chest, regardless of the ink and paint all over his shirt. “I love him!” Remus shrieked, pulling Patton into an equally crushing hug, before running off to his room, proclaiming, “Me and Inky are gonna plunge the depths of the ocean for inspiration! Anglerfish ink prints dead ahead!”

Logan shook his head fondly, failing to hide his smile at the interaction. “I suppose I should refrain from informing Remus that and octopus of such bright coloration would likely not be capable of accompanying him to such depths due to lack of sunlight?” “Oh, let him have his fun.” Patton said, flopping onto the couch next to Logan. “They’re adorable squishy blobs of animals, it doesn’t have to be realistic.” “I suppose there is some truth to such a sentiment, although I’m sure we are both aware he will begin to speak to it as though it is conscious.” “I know, but that’s part of the fun, too.” Logan gave a small smile to indicate understanding, if lack of agreement, before returning to his book.

And so,to cater to Logan’s clearly more scientific and practical preferences, patton got him a unicorn, but in key chain size. He figured Logan would be able to look past any scientific inaccuracies with an animal that wasn’t even real. And they were all aware of Logan’s fondness for the fantastical, as evidenced by his own onesie. Logan had given Patton a look over the top of his glasses rim when presented with it, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He had long ago given up the pretense of being all seriousness all of the time, and found to his surprise that the others respected him no less for it. However, he did choose to only indulge in such frivolity on occasion, such as his onesie only making an appearance at their monthly movie marathons. He did appreciate the mythology and folklore behind such creatures, but was grateful for the smaller, more inconspicuous size of the plush Patton had selected. He chose to attach it to the strap of his shoulder bag for library trips, but carefully tucked the unicorn into the bag. He would never deny sentimentality, but would prefer not to have it on display all of the time. And if Patton caught sight of him gently squeezing the small squishmallow with a fond expression after a particularly stressful day, he chose to make no mention of it.

Roman had honestly been a little trickier than Patton had expected. He’d been standing in that toy aisle for way to long, but it was a difficult choice. At a glance, his eye was caught by a lion squishmallow, which had seemed perfect for their own Gryffindor prince. But sitting behind the lion was a soft, light grey and white owl that drew Patton to reconsider, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain or describe just yet. But the longer he stood there looking at it, the more convinced he was that the little owl was just meant for Roman, even if he couldn’t say why.

It became clear when he got home, and found Roman in their room, almost in tears. He was fighting a major bout of artist’s block, and couldn’t seem to put pen to paper. No idea seemed good enough, bold enough. The white expanse of empty paper intimidated him, and he couldn’t find the courage or impulse that usually drove him through such moments. Even if he could make something, the mere thought of posting it anywhere, it scared him.

But then Patton came in, pulled the sketchbook from his lap, and handed him that little owl squishmallow before pulling him into a hug. As Roman accepted the embrace, and began to calm down, he looked at that owl, soft and comforting, and he found that moment of reprieve that the others could only associate with Patton. Roman knew that he could always come back to his work later, with a fresh mind and new motivation. For now, he had Patton, and when Patton couldn’t be there, he had that little owl.

When Harry Potter faced hardships, he didn’t need the Gryffindor lion to bolster his courage, but a moment with his friends, or with the loyal owl that was there for him until the end. Hedwig the Second, as Patton affectionately called her, became Roman’s go-to for artist’s block, stress, sickness, or anything where he just needed that moment to regroup.

Virgil knew it was coming, he just didn’t know when. What had started as a simple excuse to buy more squishmallows had grown into a mission of sorts, and Virgil knew it was only a matter of days before he was gifted a squishmallow of his own. He didn’t entirely know what to expect, but hoped it would be a bat, or black cat, or something of the sort that would at least fit his aesthetic. His half of the room he shared with Logan was an emo’s dream after all. He figured Patton knew him well enough to suit the plush to the black and purple scheme he had going. But after Logan’s unicorn, he really couldn’t guess what Patton would do.

The very last thing he expected was the pastel blue dragon squishmallow that might have been as big as Patton himself that Virgil found sitting on his bed when he got home from class. But he couldn’t find it in him to care about his “rep” for the moment, as he was about two steps from an anxiety attack. He’d woken up that morning on edge, it was just going to be one of those days. Class had been awful, he hadn’t understood the lecture, and his fellow students had decided to be louder than usual leaving the lecture hall, only making him more uneasy and overwhelmed. Then he’d nearly gotten run over in the crosswalk coming into the apartment building. It didn’t help that it was one of those rare afternoons when everyone else was out, either in class, at work, or at rehearsal for Roman.

So Virgil stood in the doorway of his room, in an empty apartment, shaking, trying to fight back tears, and found himself facing the light, fuzzy blob of comfort that he knew had come from Patton. Virgil choked out a laugh, wiping at his eyes as he toed off his shoes and climbed into his bed, cuddling the dragon close. He breathed deeply, and slowly. In, and out. He could almost hear what Patton would be saying. He was okay. Logan could help him sort out his class notes. The car hadn’t really been that close outside, the sudden honking was just jarring. He was okay. In, and out. He was home, he was safe, it was quiet. The others would be home soon. He fell asleep shortly after calming down, with thoughts of his friends in his mind and the soft, soothing crinkles of the dragons wings and scales under his fingers.

It may have looked quite out of place in his room, but to Virgil, it didn’t matter. That dragon was his new protection from overrunning thoughts when the others couldn’t be there. And when Patton got home that night, he found himself tackled in hugs, and the dragon found a permanent spot right on Virgil’s bed.

Suffice to say, the others never again thought it a problem that Patton like to collect a few too many of the things he loved, because his famILY was still at the top of his list.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #squishmallows #patton is an adorable bean

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knightowl725 · 4 years

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Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 7

Fandom: Critical Role

The finale of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt. A soft end to their story.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57553867

The party the Nein threw that next evening signaled the end of the semester. Lights were strung up about the large tree and the house. Tables were thrown about in the dining room, on the porch, the path through the graveyard, and around the tree. Covered in cheap paper tablecloths, they boasted every color they could find at the party store.

Bowls of snacks littered every surface amidst clumps of bright confetti. There were small bins of party hats, plastic kazoos, bubbles, glow sticks, noisemakers, and similar little toys meant for a child’s birthday party.

Jester and Caduceus had spearheaded the planning, decorating, and supply runs. Jester had finished her finals early in the week, and Caduceus had none to worry about. The others helped here and there, when time allowed and nerves prevented studying.

With the two non-drinkers responsible for party planning, Nott had volunteered to get the alcohol. Which was promptly shot down, so Beau handled it. After serious debate among the group and objection from Nott, the Nein had opted for beer and wine. Keep it simple, keep it controlled. They weren't freshmen anymore, and Fjord had work tomorrow.

Fjord, as luck would have it, was the one with the latest final. An evening final for a class he couldn’t wait to be through with. After spending hours in the lecture hall, carefully pouring over every answer thrice, he turned in his exam with a sense of peace.

Then, excitement. It was time to party.

By the time he made it home, the sun had fallen and the party had begun. Punch and streamers, music and bubbles, glow lights around every neck, cheesy little plastic champagne flutes in every hand, everyone was decked out.

More than the Nein had been invited. Just about everyone they knew had. Reani was here, Fjord’s only outside invite. Molly had made it to town in time and was showing off his latest tattoo by completely unbuttoning his shirt. Kiri, the sweet, barely grown freshman the Nein had “adopted” at one point, was there with a few friends.

Keg and Calianna he hadn’t seen in ages, and there was Beau talking to her mentor. Yasha was near Molly, playing her harp along with the music coming from speakers. Jester was dancing on her own under the tree, laughing and spinning until she stumbled. Nott was on her phone, panning it around like she was showing the party to her family. Caleb and his quiet classmate Essek stood to one side, leaning in as they poured over some book held between them.

People he knew better than himself. People he hadn’t seen in months. Warmth and peace and brightness all around him. Fjord was home.

He’d thought he’d found home years ago on the open seas, the eternal shift of the boat beneath his feet making real how shaken he’d always felt. But that hadn’t been quite right. He would sail the oceans again, someday, but this… Firm ground, surrounded by Her, knowing he and his friends were safe. This was home.

“Fjord.”

Fjord blinked into awareness and smiled up at Caduceus. “Hey.”

Caduceus searched his face for a moment, then smiled. “It went well?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“You should join the party. I made those sandwiches you like.”

Gently, always gently, Caduceus took his hand and led him over to the tree, near where Jester had roped Nott into dancing with her. His hands were soft, warm. A little dry. Among the tables there was a platter of the mushroom and moss sandwiches only Caduceus would will into the world.

“No one else has touched them, but…” Caduceus chuckled, releasing his hand.

“They don’t have any taste,” Fjord told him, taking one of the pre-sliced halves. He took a bite and shifted to face Caduceus. “It looks amazing. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves.”

Caduceus lit up, looking out over the party. “They do, don’t they? It feels good to have people here again.”

“Your family used to live here when you were young, right?”

“We all did, yes. All the Clays under one roof. One by one, everyone else left. Most didn’t go far, but still. It was too quiet for too long.”

“Is that why you started renting it out?” Fjord asked.

He nodded, his face gone a little somber amidst the party energy. “I was lonely. And having help with the bills was good. That’s why I couldn’t have been happier when everyone started moving in. And now I have a full house again.”

Fjord smiled, taking another bite. He remembered full houses. He remembered cramped spaces with people who didn’t want him there. He remembered no privacy, no breathing room, no owning or boundaries. He supposed it made sense, then, that he’d been drawn to The Champions when they repeated that cycle for him. But he was free now.

The Xhorhaus was a tight fit, yes. But he had his own space. The people there had fought for him to be with them. He loved and was loved in turn. And life was fun.

He finished his sandwich, distracted seeing how Caduceus laughed at the growing circle of dancers.

“Mama!” Jester’s excited cry burst from the dancers as she bolted from the tree to meet her mother on the path.

“Jester’s mom is here?” Fjord asked.

Caduceus nodded. “Yes, Jester convinced her to come celebrate and sing a song for us. She was very excited.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Family is important,” Caduceus said as they watched Jester and her mother embrace and talk. “Both the one we’re born into, and the one we build for ourselves.”

Fjord’s breath felt...strange. Short even though he knew he was breathing properly. His heartbeat felt heavier as he reached forward, slowly, to take Caduceus’s hand.

Almost as if in reflex, Caduceus gave his hand a squeeze. Fjord felt his heart sink. Caduceus was just like this. Nurturing in his own way, a guiding force for all of them. He was a helper and a caretaker in every sense. Fjord was not special.

But then he looked over to Fjord and smiled, and Fjord had to look away to keep his face from bursting into flames.

“Everyone!” Jester yelled out as the music came to a sudden stop. “Everyone, listen! My mama is going to grace us with her very beautiful voice, so please listen and enjoy the wonderful talent of the Ruby of the Sea: Marion Lavorre!”

Shouts and clapping resounded among those present. Fjord didn’t clap, he couldn’t without letting go, but he did yell out his encouragement.

The speakers came alive, slowly beginning a new track. From beneath the large, beautiful tree of the Blooming Grove, Marion began a slow, heart-wrenching love song.

“Fjord.”

He turned to look at Caduceus. The firbolg glanced between Fjord and Marion for a moment, almost like he was losing the nerve to speak.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” Fjord replied just as softly, but more lighthearted. “I’ve done nothing. You’ve done...everything to help me. I’m just here.”

Caduceus smiled, and a deep warmth filled his eyes. There was a little sadness there, too, matching the song as it filled the space between them. “Exactly.”

There was pain there, something briefly exposed in Caduceus that needed care. Fjord would ask about it later. He would prepare the earth between them to grow something more. From their shared vulnerabilities, their shared pain and laughter, maybe they could grow something as strong and beautiful and lasting as the tree overhead.

For now, Fjord only kissed him. It was soft, brief. This was hardly the time or place, but when had been better? When would be better?

When they parted, Caduceus chuckled in his soft, deep way. He tightened his grip on Fjord’s hand the slightest bit. As they turned back to hear the rest of Marion’s song, Caduceus leaned over and rested his towering head against Fjord’s.

Fjord sent his thanks to the Wildmother. For everything.

#my writing #fjorclay #teahaw #critical role #multi-chapter

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