#he says at the end of the chapter that this description is 'entirely disinterested'. which like on the one hand i get | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cryunderthewillowtree · 1 year

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Coral Streaks – Chapter 11

Synopsis – In which she loves him, but he's utterly, painfully clueless. Awra always believed love should be easy – a beautiful gift from Eywa herself. But when she falls for the oldest Sully, it's a love filled with trial. A tale of coming apart and finding your way back.

Related Warnings: Eventual Smut (Aged Up Characters), Language, Descriptions of assault, Harassment

Characters – Neteyam x Fem Metkayina!reader

Related Tags: Major Angst, Slow-Burn, Friends-To-Lovers, Heartache, Tension, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Posting this from my Ao3 account, please feel free to head over there to read this story as well! I realised only after being 14 chapters in that I spelt Omatikaya wrong this entire time – my apologies in advance. But please enjoy this story nonetheless!

[Do not interact with this story if you are underage.]

It’s agony, Awra thinks, having to spend so much time with her parents and the clan elders; but anything is better than accidentally running into Te’lau in the village again. Or Eywa forbid, Neteyam. After her unceremonious departure a few days prior, she’d been ignoring the Sully family all together – even Kiri and Tuk; the latter who had sent her hurting glances during clan dinners or when they’d breeze past each other in the village. Awra’s heart had broke when she saw Tuk tugging on Kiri’s arm in sadness, whispering about Awra’s absence while her eyes watered. Kiri had said nothing, placing a gentle hand on her sister and tugging Tuk away with the rest of the family. Great, now Kiri hates me too, Awra sighs to herself.

At the beginning, Neteyam being the sweetheart that he was, had tried his best to reach out; but to no avail. She’d made sure to avoid all his usual haunts, and that meant having to give up her favourite weaving spot down by the beach. It pained her to weave in the silence of her family marui instead of by the ocean, but she really couldn’t handle having that conversation with the Ometicayan right now. He had tried for days to see her, only to get silence in return. Neteyam had even gone as far as to try waiting outside her family’s marui pod for her at sunrise, hoping to catch her before she disappeared into the buzz of village life. His presence outside their home had caught the attention of her mother, who quickly demanded an explanation.

“Why has he been loitering outside our marui?” She had questioned, hands on her hips. Awra just sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat. She could not find the strength to argue nor defend herself. She put down the strands of sea leather in her hands, staring up at her mother wearily.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m not trying to see him anyway.” Her reply was haphazard, and a little rude in hindsight, but her mother just nodded and let her be; reassured by the disinterest on her daughter’s face. Safe to say, her mood had been sour the past week, and with her Iknimaya coming up, it was set only to get worse.

Awra spent all her free time at her family’s marui weaving – baskets, mending loincloths, pieces of tapestry and ceremonial garb for other young hunters. She’d knotted and strung until the tips of her fingers were raw, folding and bending seagrass and sea leather from dawn to eclipse every single day. Her shoulders ached viciously at the end of every day, but she couldn’t stand to be alone with her thoughts. Every waking hour was filled with chores – mundane tasks to keep herself busy and take her mind off Te’lau.

“You know ma’ ite, there is more to life than…weaving.” Her father had commented one night, as their family gathered around the fireplace in their marui. The flame crackled, spitting embers that danced in the cool night air before drifting down onto the pieces of charred coal below. “You should be spending more time outside. With others, preparing for your Iknimaya.”

Awra stared mutely at the fire, eyes gazing into the depths of the orange and amber. She nods, sighing quietly as she pushes a strand of her out of her face. “I know, maseumpu.”

“You look sickly. Have you been eating?” He pushes, raising a hand to lift a bowl of water to his lips. He takes a sip carefully and swallows. It’s deafeningly quiet in their marui – it was well past eclipse and the village had long gone to bed after a day’s work. Her mother was cutting fruit on a block of wood, humming under her breath.

“I’ve not been feeling well, masempu.” She answers, crossing her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She inspects the way her arm bands glint in the light of the fire, the turquoise stones catching the gleams of amber flickering in the fireplace. “I’ve been worried, about my Iknimaya. I’ve been troubled, so I’ve not been well.” She admits, a half-truth.

He nods, still facing the fire. For a beat, all she can hear is the gentle thudding of her mother’s knife raking against the block of wood, the soft squelch of fruit being cut. Then, her father speaks. “You should consult Te’lau. He is a fine warrior, and will be able to guide you in your preparation.” She feels her heart shrivel. Her father continues. “It will be a good chance for you two to get to know each other.”

He chuckles at that, but all she can feel is the massive lump in her throat. She hugs her knees tighter to her chest, lungs constricting. Her father doesn’t notice her change in demeanour, low chuckles reverberating through their marui. Her mother offers slices of fruit on a wooden board, to which Awra politely declines. She had been sneaking away from meals, avoiding her parents every chance she could when there was food present. She didn’t want them seeing the way she’d stopped eating – her appetite almost non-existent now. They’d been burdened heavily with other clan matters, the last thing Awra wanted was for them to start worrying about her. So she’d spend mealtimes hidden away in the seapools, tinkering with sea critters or hunting for interesting rocks to pass time. Her stomach growled, but food tasted bland on her tongue. Everything she bit into, she’d spit up later, so she stopped eating entirely.

The tension inside their marui was palpable, but Awra was too tired to care. She could feel her mother staring perplexed at her, eyes no doubt tracing the lines of her ribs. Her parents share a knowing look, and her father clears his throat.

“I remember when I was courting your mother,” her father starts, a small smile on his stern features. Awra looks up at that, interest sparked by the unusual sentence. Her father sounded so casual, and if she were being honest, it was a little strange given the circumstance. She stared at his facial tattoos, taking in the way they flickered in the dimness of the marui, illuminated by the fire. He looked less fierce now, smaller and more approachable like her masempu, and not mighty Tonowari the Olo’ eyktan. She used to adore his tales of courtship and Iknimaya when she was a child, giggling as he bounced her on his hip. As she got older, his stories jaded her, and she grew distant. Now sitting there, she missed this – the feeling of togetherness, sharing nostalgic stories over fruit in their family marui. It all seemed so long ago, and she couldn’t help the smile that tugs on her lips when her mother claps her father on the back in embarrassment.

“Aren’t you done telling that story?” Her mother retorts, an amused smile on her face. “I’m sure ma’ ite is tired of hearing it by now.” Her father laughs at that, a hearty sound that rumbles from his chest. She’d forgotten how much she missed his laughter, how it filled her with warmth and feelings of security as a child; dashing around their marui during tickle fights or games of tag. She covers her mouth to stifle a giggle, mood feeling lighter for the first time all week long.

“I’ll always tell the story, no matter how old we get.” Is her father’s smug reply, eyes softening in adoration as he looks at her mother. Her mother rolls her eyes, nudging her father good naturedly. He chuckles at that, and Awra can’t stop the smile that tugs on her lips at that. Her parents were always so serious during the day – fulfilling their duties to the clan, watching over the welfare of others. She rarely got to see this side of them anymore, teasing and bantering with each other so freely in the comfort of home.

Home. That concept had seemed so foreign up until this current moment. Watching her mother teasingly swat at her father, their smiles illuminated by the gentle ochre of a fire. Watching the shadows dip and twirl in the marui as her father retaliated with a playful block and hearty chuckle. Awra giggles at their playful tussle, the atmosphere blissful despite the earlier heaviness. For a long moment, all Awra could hear was the sound of her parents’ childish bickering and the gentle crackle of the flame, as well as her own soft puffs of laughter.

“Even our daughter laughs at your childish ways.” Chides her mother, a cheshire grin on her usual stoic features. She swats at her husband, laughter ringing out inside the marui. Awra brings a hand up to stifle the sound of a snort, amused by her mother’s antics, as her father raises his hands.

“I am not doing anything. I am simply sitting here, as you try to swat me to death woman.” Comes her father’s cheeky reply, laced with mirth as her mother gasps in indignance. Awra shrieks with laughter at that, breath coming in hiccups as she watches on. Her mother’s tail is thumping the ground in mischief, fruits long forgotten on the wooden board as she lunges at her husband. Awra watches her father’s eyes widen in shock, before he raises his arms to block his mother’s teasing shoves.

“You–” Her mother is about to rain another impish blow on her husband, but the sound of a horn erupts through the village, tearing through the silence like a dagger through fabric. The sound is piercing, and immediately, the peace and fun of the evening is shuttered to a grinding halt. Like the pair of well-practiced soldiers they are, Awra’s parents leap apart, grabbing their spears and darting out of their marui. Awra struggles to her feet, days of not eating making her fatigued. She stops to grab a beaded shawl to cover herself with before running after her parents. As they make their way towards the edge of the netted pier overlooking the South of the village, Awra feels her heart sink. The horn was not a sound associated with positive events in the village.

As she approaches the pier, she notices a crowd has gathered, looking out eagerly at the sparkling waters. Her parents are talking to someone in the crowd, and she stands a distance away, not wanting to get pulled into the mass of bodies. She cranes her neck, and narrows her eyes at the sight of a village boy, Ao’nung, standing on the pier as Neteyam yanks on his queue fiercely. She can’t help the way her breath hitches at the sight of the Ometicayan boy, blinking as she takes in his visage against the backdrop of the sea at eclipse. He’s breathtaking.

She steps closer to the crowd. She can’t hear what is being said, but Neteyam looks upset – anger marring his beautiful features. Ao’nung looks remorseful, a bruise under his eye as he violently shrugs off Neteyam’s grip on his queue. A sound from the water draws her eyes, and she is shocked to see Lo’ak getting off an ilu. The younger Sully boy has murder on his expression, and the way he glares at Ao’nung speaks depths of his fury. What did Ao’nung do this time?

She watches her father exchange words with Jake Sully and his son, before Ao’nung is being forced into a crouch. She’s watching intently, ears straining to pick up a shred of the conversation. There’s a tense buzzing among the Metkayina villagers near her, and she hears whispers of the words ‘beyond the reef’. Her heart stops at those words, eyes flitting between Ao’nung and the younger of the Sully boys. Surely that troublemaker Ao’nung had enough sense not to take a prank too far, right? Going beyond the reefs was a death wish and a half. The deep waters were home to Akula, dangerous beasts who hunted anything that splashed and moved; including Na’vi. She bit her lip, dragging her eyes back to Neteyam’s form. Awra takes in the way his back is straight, his chest rising and falling as he stares Ao’nung down. His fists are clenched tightly at his sides, tail standing straight up behind his back. From this angle, she can’t really see his expression, but he looks livid. And then, as if sensing her stare, Neteyam pivots on his heel and turns ever so slightly. His eyes meet hers, and for a second, all she can see if the unadulterated wrath swirling in those amber depths. His lip turns down, and he breaks the eye contact, turning back to his father.

Something in her twists painfully, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The Sully family stalks past her, dragginf Lo’ak back to their marui. She watches them leave with a heavy feeling in her chest as she dares to allow herself one glance at Neteyam’s retreating form. It stings – the way he doesn’t pause in his gait as he strides past her, and the way he doesn’t stop to acknowledge her at all. She feels rejection burn in the depths of her gut, but she says nothing; just clutches tighter at the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Jake and Neytiri follow closely, holding Lo’ak by his arm. Neytiri doesn’t spare Awra a glance either, preoccupied with staring her youngest son down as he rolls his eyes. Jake offers her a curt nod as he passes, and she returns it with a stiff grimace. She turns, seeing Kiri and Tuk trailing behind. She catches Kiri’s eye, and forces a smile on her lips, hoping to at least make peace with the Sully girls. Tuk frowns, eyes downcast as she holds Kiri’s hand. Kiri’s frown deepens as well, holding Awra’s eye contact before shuffling past quietly.

Awra takes in a long breath. It fills her lungs with the cool night air, but anxiety and guilt swirls in her stomach. So I’ve managed to make the entire Sully family hate me, she thinks. Fantastic. Just fantastic. She chews her lip to ribbons, and a cursory swipe with her tongue picks up the metallic tang of blood. She picks at it with her canines, watching the Sully family grow smaller and smaller as they advance towards their marui. She forces her eyes away, lip still caught between her teeth.

That’s when she smells him. Alkaline and bitter – like unripe fruit. It burns her nose, and her lip curls in disgust. Te’lau emerges from her peripheral, a smug look on his face as he takes in her expression.

“Getting ignored I see?” He sneers, daringly placing a hand around her shoulder. Awra recoils, his clammy flesh against her back and neck revolting to her. He grins, canines on display, taking joy from her discomfort. “Aw, don’t look so sad. Don’t you think it’s for the better?”

Awra hisses at him, baring her teeth. She shrugs his arm off, readjusting her shawl around her shoulders. “Leave me alone.”

Te’lau just snickers, retracting his arm as he stares her down. His eyes flit from her face, to her chest then to her legs, before roaming back up to her face again. He licks his lips, tilting his head as the horrible sneer on his face widens. “Might as well give it up, princess. They hate you now. Don’t go chasing after things you can’t have.”

His tone is condescending, like a parent scolding a child for stealing fruits before mealtimes. It irks her deeply, and she scowls at him. He cocks his head in the direction of her parents, who are speaking to a handful of villagers at the netted pier still. She glances over at them, and her father shoots her a small smile when he notices Te’lau. His eyes dart between her and Te’lau’s larger form, and nods his head reassuringly at her. Almost as if to say, here’s her chance.

“Even your father thinks this union would be for the betterment of the clan.” He says coyly, reaching for a braid dangling near Awra’s right ear. She flinches, and he sniggers, grabbing the braid and twirling it in his fingers. “Stop wasting your time with those…outsiders.” He spits the last words, spittle flying out of his mouth. Awra shivers in disgust, tail coiling around her thigh as the seconds grow more and more unnerving. Te’lau senses her distress, lips pulling back into a frightening smirk. He releases the braid, and it falls against her face.

“Leave me be, Te’lau.” She tries, willing her voice to be strong. “I won’t repeat myself.” She puts up a front, squaring her shoulders as she stares him in the eyes. He snarls at that, and she fights the urge to bare her neck. She can feel her eyes water at the sound, and she takes a step back instinctively.

Leaning in, he bares his long fangs at her menacingly. She shivers. “Or what princess? What will you do. Little Awra, without her saviour.” Her stomach twists in a mix of fear and shame, and she takes another step away. Her arms are curled protectively around her middle, almost as if to shield her body from his gaze. He licks over his teeth, and she feels her neck start to ache.

“You’re mine, Awra. Do you understand? You’re mine. And there’s nothing you, or your pathetic forest boy can do about it.” The aching increases tenfold, and she whimpers discreetly. He steps towards her, casting a careful eye over his shoulder to make sure no one is watching this exchange. She realises woefully that the villagers have started to dissipate, and her parents’ backs are to her – caught up in conversation. She bites back another whine, hand coming up to cover the bite wound on her neck.

His eyes rake over her neck, watching the way she clasps her fingers over it. He grins wickedly, taking delight in her pained expression. “It hurts, doesn’t it? I’ll bet it does. It’s meant to hurt. So you’ll never forget who you belong to.” He snickers darkly at the pinch of her brow, leaning closer until his breath is hitting her cheek. “Who’s going to save you now, Awra?”

Awra feels her knees buckle, and she catches herself before she falls. He sneers at her, looking down at her as she sits on the netted path. He shoots one more vile smile in her direction, before turning and running off. With him away, she feels like she can finally breathe; and she takes greedy mouthfuls of air. Her head spins, and the aching in her neck and shoulder finally starts to ebb into a dull throb instead. She shudders involuntarily, a hand coming to lay over her heart; pulsing erratically under her skin. In, out, repeat. In, out, repeat–

“Awra? Awra!” Awra looks up, and her sister is barrelling towards her with unshed tears in her eyes. She looks distraught, lips turned down into a frown. Awra’s arms open immediately, swaddling her sister as Tsireya collapses into her side with a small sob.

“Tsireya? Where have you been? What happened?” She asks, untangling herself from her sister to swipe at Tsireya’s cheeks. Her sister is sniffling, doe eyes glassy.

“I–I was with Tuk.” At the mention of their names, Awra feels a pang of hurt flash in her chest. She ignores it in favour of pulling her sister closer to her. “We were by the seapools but–” Tsireya chokes on a small sob, and Awra rubs her back soothingly.

“Mawey, sister. Tell me what happened.” Awra reassures, browbone pinching.

“I–I heard Neteyam and Lo’ak got into a fight–”

Awra blinks. “They got into a fight?” Tsireya nods, sniffling. “What about? And with who?”

“It was Ao’nung, and a couple of his friends. They were bullying Kiri, and then Neteyam and Lo’ak got into a fight with them on the beach. It was bad I heard.” Tsireya’s eyes are still watery as she binks up at her sister. “I heard Lo’ak was made to go apologise, but Ao’nung pranked him and left him outside the reef.”

At that, Tsireya’s lip wobbles. Awra shushes her, cradling her close to her chest. “I was so scared when I heard sister, I thought he wouldn’t make it back.” Tsireya whispers, voice shaky. Awra nods solemnly, heart twinging at the sound of her sister’s hurt. She knew Tsireya had a crush on Lo’ak, and cared deeply for him – even if he was a troublemaker sometimes. Knowing he was out there, alone, had been too much for Tsireya’s sensitive heart to bear.

“It’s okay now, sister.” Awra says, voice a soothing hum. “Lo’ak is back, and he is safe. There is no need for tears.” Tsireya just nods, wiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” She asks, looking up at Awra with puffy eyes. “Jake–Mr Sully seemed very upset.”

Awra hums, nodding. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. But if you want, you can go check up on him; make sure he’s okay and has someone to talk to. In case he needs it.”

Tsireya nods in agreement, giving her sister one last squeeze. “I will do that. Thank you Awra. You always know what to say.” Awra smiles at her sister, hugging her tightly in return.

“Now go on then, I’m sure he can’t wait to see you.” Awra teases, urging her sister in the direction of the Sully marui. Tsireya just giggles shyly, leaping to her feet before waving Awra goodbye. “Don’t be home too late! I won’t cover for you if masempu asks!”Tsireya smiles and nods, before taking off, tail waving behind her as she runs.

As she watches her sister leave, she lets her smile drop. She blinks wearily, clambering to her feet. She meets with her parents, both of them with disappointed expressions on their faces. Her father’s lips are set into a thin line, frown lines set deeply into his forehead. Her mother spares on last glance back at the pier, before pulling Awra back in the direction of their home.

On the walk back to their marui, her mother rehashes the tale of what happened. Awra pretends to be surprised, gasping and nodding where appropriate. She can feel herself simmer in irritation at the mention of Ao’nung’s deplorable pranks, and can’t help the sick satisfaction at the thought of Neteyam being the probable cause of that nasty bruise under his eye. Deserved, she smiles to herself. She was never one for violent confrontation, but she loathed the idea of bullying; especially when it concerned Kiri or Tuk. The Sully girls were mild-mannered and kept to themselves alot, which is their silence hurt even more.

Back at their marui, her mother busies herself cleaning up the mess from dinner. The mood inside the marui is sullen after the night’s events, and Awra busies herself helping around the marui to prepare to go to sleep. The wooden boards for food are stowed away while the uneaten fruit is discarded. Awra unfurls the large sleeping mats, setting them down meticulously.

“Where is Tsireya?” Her mother’s voice breaks the silence.

“She told me she’d be busy for a couple of hours, mother. She will be home soon.” Awra lies, nervously avoiding her mother’s gaze.

“Busy? At this late hour?” Her mother questions. Awra bites her lip.

“I didn’t ask with what, mother. But I believe she is helping Nysu’ri blend herbs.” Awra is picking at a corner of the sleeping mat nervously, praying to Eywa that her mother buys the excuse.

“I see. She could have least told us before going.” Her mother chides, and Awra heaves a sigh of relief. It goes unnoticed by her mother. “You children will be the death of me.”

She tries to ignore the twang of hurt she feels at how easily her sister gets to spend time outside of her duties. She pushes it down, deciding she didn’t have energy to dwell on it at this current moment. She lays down on her mat, curling up on her side. She watches as her mother settles down next to her, hand cradling her belly. A beat of silence passes.

“You look troubled child.” Awra hadn’t noticed her father entering the marui. He sets down his spear by the door, before crouching down on one of the sleeping mats. “Care to speak your mind?”

He stares at her expectantly, eyes warm. Awra feels strangely vulnerable, fiddling with her fingers as she stares up at the ceiling. “Not really.” She whispers.

“And why is that?” Her father questions. Her mother is sprawled quietly on the mat next to her father, placing a hand on his thigh.

“Just–nothing to talk about I guess.” She lies, picking at her nailbeds.

“It is not good to keep things to oneself.” Her father says, voice deep. Awra shrinks even more at that, cheek smushed into the sleeping mat.

“I know–”

“And yet you choose to do it.” His reply is laced with mirth, and she huffs indignantly.

“Yeah well, I just–” Awra trails off, not quite knowing the next words to say. Tell them about Neteyam? That’d mean certain death. Kiri and Tuk?

“Awra–”

“It’s about Kiri.” She rasps, finally meeting her parents’ gaze. “And Tuk.”

“What about them child? Are they troubling you during lessons?” Her father asks. “Last I recall, it’s your sister who’s been training them whilst you’ve been unwell.” At that, her father glances towards the entrance of the marui where Tsireya was surely out with Lo’ak. While I’m stuck here.

“They’ve been distant. And I don’t know why.” Another lie. She knew exactly why, she just couldn’t bring herself to face it.

Her father hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried asking them why?”

Awra shakes her head. A few stray braids fall against her cheek, and she sighs wearily. Her mother frowns, shooting her father a concerned look. Her father’s gaze softens, eyeing his daughter’s small form, curled up on the sleeping mats.

“Maybe you should take a break from your duties tomorrow.” Awra’s head shoots up from where she’d been resting it on her knees, an incredulous expression on her face. Had she heard that right?

Her father chuckles, shaking his head good naturedly. “Yes, yes. Take a break tomorrow, and sort out whatever it is going on with the Tuk and Kiri.” She gapes at her father, before her mother narrows her eyes at her.

“Don’t think this means you can skip on your chores forever, ma’ ite.” Her mother adds sternly, much to Awra’s chagrin. “We noticed you’ve been…distant and sickly. If these matters plague you, we simply wish for you to tackle them so you may feel better. Your rites are approaching, and we want you to be healthy and ready when the time comes.”

Awra nods, a little too excitedly. She smiles, excited at the prospect of a day of freedom and rest. “Thank you mother, thank you father. I will spend my day wisely.” She replies, canines poking out. Her father nods, a rare gentle smile on his face.

“And take a break from weaving.” He adds, a small chuckle rumbling. “We have enough baskets to last the hunting party ten eclipses.” Awra giggles at that, nodding. Her mother smiles at that, staring pointedly at the heaps of seagrass baskets stacked in a corner of their marui.

“Off to bed now.” Her mother orders, gesturing towards the sleeping mats on the floor. “Your father and I have clan matters to attend to at sunrise tomorrow, so make sure you prepare your meals and keep the marui clean.” Awra nods, biting her lip to stop her excited grin from peeking out. It was going to be a great day.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam angst #neteyam imagine #neteyam avatar #atwow #avatar the movie #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar

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krystalwinterswrites · 10 months

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See You Again (At The Ending)

[Summary from AO3: Five jumps too far into the future, ending up in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. God decides Klaus is a nuisance and kicks him out of the afterlife. These events are both years and seconds apart.]

[Short Description: Klaus survives the apocalypse AU, in which Five and Klaus spend years together through the apocalypse and the Commission, all while Five is trying to find the right equation to get back home and Klaus is trying to figure out why this time-traveling, space-jumping kid seems vaguely familiar.]

Part 4: See You Again

Beginning of Work | Previous Part

[Notes: This chapter has already been published on AO3. It also will make zero sense without context from original chapters. This chapter also includes original characters, which makes it even less comprehensible to those who haven't read the rest.]

Chapter 24: Drowned Rat

It’s the day of the Kennedy mission. They’ve received their files, and Klaus is in the process of exiting the room.

“You coming?” He motions to the door, looking at Five expectantly. Seems everyone wants Five for something recently.

“Actually,” Five says. “I’d like a word with the Handler. In private.”

Klaus’ gaze flickers between him and the Handler. “But—”

“And I’d rather not waste everyone’s time.”

His shoulders drop. “Fine. But if you’re not wasting people’s time, make it quick. I’ll be in the hall.” He’s unnaturally professional. All morning, Klaus has been a mix of emotions and nerves. This is a forced calm.

The door latches shut.

“What ever could you want from me, Number Five?” the Handler asks, leaning back into her seat and flicking some of the ashes off her cigarette.

“You said I ‘was’ erased, not that I erased myself.”

The Handler turns back to her work with disinterest. “I’m aware.”

“What erased me?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out in your own time,” the Handler says, flipping through files.

“So there is something.”

She smiled. “Someone.”

~~~

When Five time travels back to 2019, he didn’t expect to drop into the middle of a lake. He didn’t expect to be fished out by members of a caravan and set on the ground, looking like a drowned rat.

What he definitely didn’t expect was to stand and see that the ground was a lot closer than normal.

He looks down at his unscarred hands, his too-big suit, and his child’s body.

“Shit,” he says.

He can’t gather much of what they’re saying, but he does know that they’re in the middle of a desert. The Sahara. He’s lucky he landed in an oasis, and especially lucky there was a caravan passing through. They can help him get home. Or, at least in a position where he can get himself home.

He’s not sure how close he is to the nearest airport, but he knows he can’t teleport all the way across the ocean. He’s exhausted from traveling through time, and he doesn’t think his powers will be recharging any time soon to so much as blink to the other side of the lake, much less find his way home.

And if he even gets home, will Klaus be there? Is Ben still with Klaus? What about Viktor? He has too many unanswered questions, and the only way to answer them is to get home.

It’s several days of walking before he finally reaches a place where he feels he can genuinely rest. He can’t help but be reminded of the apocalypse. Of walking hours out of every day, just so they could live to see another.

But this is a much nicer journey. He knows the worry of starvation is only left because of his past. He knows that everything will be fine, that he’s with people who have traveled through this space a million times without struggle, but it’s still frustrating.

The worst of his concern lies with his injuries. For the first time in a long time, he has managed to terribly mess up a jump, and now he is missing an entire finger—smallest, right hand. He is also fairly certain that he had messed up his hip somehow because it keeps aching when he moves. That, he can probably fix with another jump. But he has no idea how he’s supposed to fix his finger.

It’s not the worst outcome. Worst case scenario, they fail, and the world ends again. Right now, they still have a fighting chance.

He just needs to find Klaus, and then they can move from there.

~~~

Once they finally reach an airport, he immediately books himself a ride home. He can’t exactly buy his own plane ticket, so this comes in the form of blinking onto the plane. It’s a struggle—his powers are still far from reach—but he manages.

Traveling like normal people is slow. Tedious. It’s noisy and frustrating, and he wants nothing more than for it to be over. He doesn’t know how anyone else manages. Even as he reaches his destination, he feels sluggish and annoyed. When he stumbles out of the plane, all he wants to do is sleep for a week.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he works his way into the city, navigating the crowds with practiced ease.

It’s odd how that works. It’s been at least a decade since he’s even been in the rubble of this city, yet he still remembers his way around as he did when he was thirteen. The streets are all the same, with the odd building here and there that has changed. He’s only a while away from the Academy when he sees the news report:

Multiple Reports of Gunfire at Mansion of the Late Reginald Hargreeves

Five paused, staring at it uncomprehendingly with displeasure. Gunfire? Near home?

And then his frown pulls into a smile. It must be the Commission, after Klaus. And that means Klaus is probably here.

That, or the Commission is grasping at straws. He can’t let his hopes get too high, but there’s excitement mixed with urgency in his step. He’ll see Klaus again.

He’ll see everyone again.

Of course, it’s at this moment that he spies Cha Cha and Hazel across the street from him.

Shit, he thinks eloquently before ducking into a nearby alleyway. For most people, slipping into alleyways is the worst course of action. It’s very easy to get cornered without knowing the way.

For Five, getting cornered would be preposterous. His powers may still be recharging, but he knows he can jump into a building if he needs to. His only hope is that it won’t be a repeat of the LA incident.

Unluckily for him, he can practically feel them watching him. He doesn’t know if he’s being paranoid or if there’s reason for the feeling, but it doesn’t matter.

He blinks as far as he can in the direction of the Academy.

Regretting his life decisions, he stumbles towards the nearest wall to lean against it for support. He’s certain he can find his way, especially after looking around, but he’s just so tired. He can’t help it: He faints, right in the middle of the street.

~~~

It’s a wonder he doesn’t get kidnapped. Though he supposes he has been moved to a secondary location without his consent, and they won’t let him leave. That’s pretty much the definition of kidnapping. But who cares? It’s the police. They do what they want.

He’s set up in a little waiting area he knows is made for witnesses. Somehow, it feels patronising just to be in the room. They’re expecting him to be either some scared kid or some teenager who ran away from home, he guesses. He supposes the latter was true, once. And for that, he’s stuck in this situation.

At least he can save the world. He doesn’t know how, exactly, but he can. Without his mistake, they probably wouldn’t know the apocalypse is coming to begin with.

He’s not sure Klaus would have made it back on his own. In fact, he’s almost entirely certain he wouldn’t have. Klaus probably wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to join the Commission. Everyone there certainly had seemed to hate him for their entire stay, although everyone loved Five for some reason. Probably because he killed people efficiently, while Klaus hesitated at every step.

And because he can teleport. A talent he is planning to employ before a cop walks into the room.

A very familiar cop.

“Eudora Patch,” he says, his voice deceptively level.

Her surprise barely shows. “I am Detective Eudora Patch,” she says. “I’m the one who found you.”

“Passed out on the street,” he recalls. “Not the most comfortable place for a nap, but not the worst, I suppose.”

She nods, her expression morphing into one of concern—not too much concern, but the polite concern that is reasonable to show towards witnesses. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“No. I can’t.”

Well, he can. But he won’t. It’s not any of her business.

“Alright,” she says, clearly recognising that this conversation will probably lead nowhere. Still, it’s her job to get all the information that she can. “What’s your name?” she tries.

Five… doesn’t know how to answer that.

Does he even have a name? Does he exist?

He wonders if he’s causing some kind of paradox that he should be concerned about, but he can’t recall anything from the handbook. The best he can think of is the grandfather paradox, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t somehow killed his mother. He was erased just from jumping twenty years into the future. That, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t cause a paradox.

Regardless, the fact remains that he doesn’t know whether he exists. And if he does, “Five Hargreeves” would sound fake.

He says the first name that comes to mind. “Aidan.”

It’s one of the names Klaus said randomly during the first few months of knowing him; it had been something of a running joke for Klaus to try to find a name that worked for him.

That is, until Five threatened to stab him with the fork.

“Okay, Aidan,” Eudora responds, writing down what’s probably his name on a sheet of paper. “What’s your legal guardian’s name?”

He can’t say Reginald Hargreeves because the man is, fortunately for everyone, dead. Grace probably doesn’t exist in government records, and even if she did, she can’t come to the station because her programming won’t allow her to leave the house.

He’s not even sure Klaus is here, so he certainly isn’t an option. He can’t say Allison. If they only told her that her kid was at the police, she would freak out about Claire, and he doesn’t want to do that to her. Luther won’t go along with it, if he’s even back from the moon yet.

Viktor might go along with it, if only to figure out what’s happening. He would certainly want to help a lost kid in any way that he can. He might expect Five to be one of his students at first, and then Five could explain the situation to him.

Still, the name that falls out is, “Diego Rodriguez.”

Eudora raises an eyebrow before she manages to regain her composure. “And how can we get in contact with him?”

“You can call his workplace.” Five gives the name and what he can remember of the number. All he knows of it is Klaus’ scattered knowledge, and he’s not even sure if that’s accurate. “Rodriguez” was a vague, possibly incorrect memory that Klaus had only tangentially been related anyway.

With a hint of annoyance, Eudora stands. “I’m going to call your guardian. Once he’s here, we can answer more questions and get an official statement. Okay?” If her tone is any indicator, it seems he got the surname right.

“I understand,” Five says. Here’s his opportunity for escape.

The second Eudora disappears from view, Five disappears as well. Comical as it could be to watch Diego walk into the room, confused after having been badgered with questions about a hidden kid, it will only delay him.

So he blinks away.

The station is farther from home than he was previously, as he is infuriated to discover. It seems everything is keeping him from returning home. The world is against him.

It’s not surprising. The Commission would never make this easy. The police incident wasn’t its fault, but some other problems occur thanks to it. He can’t help but freeze when he sees another familiar face across the road. Nora is here. He wonders if this is the time she belongs to, and if he’s just being paranoid. He wouldn’t expect Nora to be around while Cha Cha and Hazel are already on the job.

He wouldn’t put it past the Commission to recruit someone by telling them the world was about to end. That they would die if they didn’t.

He wonders how many Commission agents were employed right before their would-be deaths. It’s a pretty tempting offer: Travel through time, preserve the timeline, retire to wherever and whenever you want after just five years of service.

Nora’s head turns towards him, and he blinks away before she can catch sight of him.

He lands on a rooftop.

It’s a very familiar position. In crowded cities, sniping targets from rooftops had been his preferred method. If he needed to, he would make his way through the crowds to his target, stab them, and blink away in the chaos. He would poison someone’s cup. He would do whatever he needed to kill someone. But he preferred the nice, clean kills bought from a shot to the head. Less pain. Not that it was cleaner than poison.

From the roof, he can see the crowds pass below. The streets are surprisingly barren. When he was a kid, they were always full of people, begging for a glance at the Umbrella Academy. He supposes it’s different now. There is no longer an Academy; he’s no longer a celebrity. If anyone’s going to be recognised in public, it’s Allison.

He won’t even be recognised by his own family, if it’s true that he’s been erased. It means his entire life has become a lie, some sort of sick joke the timeline is playing on him.

Some joke Klaus is playing on him, if he’s right that Klaus doesn’t remember him.

Why wouldn’t he say it was so? Wouldn’t it be easiest to admit he didn’t know Five? If Five weren’t his sibling, then he had no obligation to look after him in the apocalypse. Why bother? He’s just another mouth to feed. Another wound to treat. Yet Klaus had helped him anyway, ever the kind one in the bunch.

The least he can do is save the world, as promised. We can do this, he thought to himself. It was something Klaus had said a lot, convincing himself more than Five. Now, the words are a comfort.

They can do this. He just needs to find out how.

His eyes catch on Nora again. She’s looking around, confused. Maybe he hadn’t blinked away in time; it seems like she’s searching for him.

And there’s Sebastian, tugging at her arm, spurring her onwards towards whatever destination they’re finding. With him around, Five doesn’t doubt that they’re here on Commission work, especially since Nora appeared to be searching for him.

Maybe he can use this. He needs to deal with the Commission anyway. This is his opportunity to help out.

It’s nearly impossible to get close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation without being noticed. But Five is the best of the best. He manages.

“—don’t understand why you insisted on sightseeing. We have a mission to complete, Nora,” Sebastian is saying, disgruntled. Five can’t remember when he became so frustrated. The Sebastian Five knows is stubborn, but more withdrawn. But it may be years since the last time Five has truly seen him.

Nora sighs, loudly. She’s normally more quiet than that, as obvious of a presence she tends to be. Every time she and Five were in the same room, he could pretty much feel her burning hatred. It was impossible to ignore.

“Seriously, Nora. You aren’t one for these things.”

“Maybe I’m interested at this time. I’ve never been around this place.”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “That’s never interested you before. What’s new now?”

“Have you ever seen buildings so tall?” Nora asked, twirling around. “Streets so vibrant? A noise so full of sound? Face it: Everywhere we’ve gone has been dead. This is something alive.”

Sebastian snorts. “Won’t be in a week.”

“If we succeed at our mission.”

“You’ve never been concerned about failure before.”

“No,” she says. “But you know who we’re dealing with. I dueled with him during his first few months at the Commission, and he was still difficult to take down. And Klaus isn’t too bad himself.”

“Since when have you said anything nice about Klaus?”

Nora shrugs. “He’s entertaining. Can’t all notions have experienced little position updates? See”—Nora makes an all-encompassing gesture—“I’ve changed my opinion. This world is interesting. I’m sure there’s something worth saving in him. If he just returns to the Commission—”

“People can’t just return to the Commission.”

“I know. If they leave, they’d better have a plan,” Nora responds. “But surely they could pull some strings. It’s Five. He’s one of the Handler’s favourites.”

Five pauses. One of? Last he knew, he had been her only favourite. What changed?

“The Handler isn’t in charge of the Commission, and she never will be. She can’t change everything, Nora,” Sebastian says with a hint of derision.

She whirls around, and Five can tell she’s struggling not to put a knife to his throat. “Say my name in that tone one more time, Sebastian. I dare you.”

Good. They’re fighting. Maybe he can use this. Maybe he can use their presence in general to his advantage. If he needs to, he can reach the Handler through them. Make some kind of exchange. But only as a last resort. If he never sees the Handler’s face again, he’ll be a happy man.

He realises too late that Nora’s gaze has flickered his way. He tries to act normal, but he can tell she’s spotted him. He really wishes he had a gun—or any weapon—but he’ll have to improvise if a fight breaks out.

But one doesn’t.

“See something?” That’s Sebastian, but Five is taking care not to look directly at them anymore.

Nora’s voice is light. “No. We should go check out that donut shop, and then we can regroup with the others before searching the mansion. They’re bound to be there.”

“You sure? Weren’t we going to—”

She scoffs. “They know who causes the apocalypse. There’s no way they aren’t tracking him down at the moment. Sooner we deal with them, the better.”

“If you say so,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s following the spirit of “if you say so”. His voice is growing distant, though, so that’s good.

Five dares to glance their way. They’re walking away, heading towards the Academy.

He narrows his eyes at Nora’s retreating form. Did she just… intentionally give him information? Of all the people he would expect to help him, she’s the last in line.

With a sigh, he follows them. He may be walking into a trap. This is probably foolish. Still, he wants to hear what Nora has to say. And he probably can afford a detour.

A plan begins to form.

~~~

He slips into the alleyway next to the building where Nora and Sebastian are apparently staying. And then he waits.

It isn’t long until Nora appears, exiting the building through the back door.

“Knew you’d be here,” Nora says. “Now, I have until Sebastian finishes his shower before he notices I’m gone. So I’d suggest you spit it out.”

Five glances towards the building. “How many agents are you with?”

“Plenty. We’re supposed to track down and kill both you and Klaus.”

“Great!” He claps his hands together. “I want in.” It’s a tentative plan, but it’s what he has.

“You what?”

“Help me kill Klaus.”

Nora blinks. “Why would you turn on him?”

“I’ve recently discovered he’s been lying to me this entire time.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “Vengeance sounds very appealing at the moment.

“You just hid your hands. Your tone changed, too. Your body language definitely spiked.” He hates perceptive people. “That could be a coincidence. But I’m willing to bet it isn’t.”

“I—”

“Look, I don’t know what you want, exactly, but I know what I can bring to the table. I’m certain you do as well. So what do you want, pipsqueak?”

He’s two seconds from throttling her. He refrains, instead stating his request. It’s a simple deal, arranged in a moment.

They’ll protect each other. They’re at a truce. For now.

It’s more of a stalemate; they’re both stuck, trapped by their poor choices. And now they’re allied against a common enemy. The odds are completely against them, against Five. There’s nothing he can arrange that would efficiently turn the tides. No way to move his pieces, no way to change the game.

But Five is certain he’ll be the one to win.

End of Chapter 24

Link to AO3 | Link to Next Part

#my writing #fanfiction #five hargreeves #tw injury #tw police #tw kidnap mention

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Stranger In The Crowd

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having recently ended the process of moving, Y/N is rightfully very tired but also very excited for the new chapter of her life. Funnily enough, this new chapter includes a newly formed long distance friendship/crush with a very special person from San Diego.

Requested by @boiled-onionrings Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request and I’m really sorry you’ve had to wait so long for it to be posted but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

I let out a heavy sigh, relieved to finally be at home after such a long day of standing around in the Georgia heat with only a thin layer of fabric to protect my eyes and head from the scorching sun. Yeah, anyone who says that tent did well at protecting everyone under it today is nothing but a liar. I was in a short, strapless white summer dress, the fabric of which barely had any weight and consistency to provide heat of its own yet I still damn near melted. Ok, I’ll admit, some of the roasting heat probably came from the energy and force I put into singing the songs of my band’s new album ‘Starting At The End’.

The mini concert we held in this large open field was meant as an introduction to the city of Savannah where all the band members - myself included - are actually from but we all moved to the West Coast to pursue our music career. And now that we’ve grown, and the majority of us are married, one of us is a father now as well, we’ve decided to return to our hometown. The decision was so spontaneous and was executed so quickly due to no one objecting to it that it still hasn’t me that I’m no longer in LA. The heat isn’t helping my ‘processing’ process but I’ll get to it eventually. Do I miss LA though? Not sure I do - I think I more miss the people I was closer to while I was there.

Suddenly, as if perfectly timed, my phone dings, notifying me that I’ve received a message. I don’t have to look to know it’s from - there’s only one person I actively text and his name is....

C ~ Your virtual buddy Corpse here, making sure you didn’t die of a heatstroke today. If you did indeed survive, just reply to this message, if not....don’t do anything, I guess.

I can’t help but giggle at the sight of the message. I promised Corpse I’d text him after the concert to let him know I was ok, but the even dragged out for longer than anticipated so I’m guessing he got worried.

How cute.

Me ~ Alive and well, but I do feel like a popped tire of an overloaded truck. Hope that’s a visually appealing description

Corpse and I met on the charity livestream Jacksepticeye organized and invited our band to so we could play Among Us with some of the best gamers and streamers on the internet. It was a huge honor and a ton of fun, definitely an event I’d like to repeat in the near future because I had such a good time and I know all my bandmates did too. We all got acquainted and even became official friends with the gamers that were practically our hosts, Corpse becoming the closest friends I’d earn. That livestream happened months ago and we still text just as consistently.

C ~ Oh I know EXACTLY what you mean. Anyway, as to not exhaust you further to force you into typing, how about you send me pictures to sum up your thoughts and emotions and plans for the evening

This is OUR THING trademark, mine and Corpse’s and no one can take it away from us. It’s a significant element of our friendship that enables us both to understand one another when one of us feels the way I described in my message - a popped tire or a deflated balloon. I’m usually the exhausted one - blame the many shows we do and the many meet-and-greets we organize for our lovely fans. It’s the type of exhaustion none of the band members mind at all, but we definitely need some time to recover from it.

As I go to sit down on my couch, the flower crown I’ve been wearing slips off the top of my head, falling on the floor, creating a soft noise that attracts the attention of one of my many cats - Sasha. She’s the youngest and most curious kitty in the family, always protected by the other four - Luna, Cassie, Silver and Lynn. Those four are far lazier and a lot more disinterested in comparison to Sasha who immediately runs over to see what’s fallen.

I smile to myself, taking the flower crown and undoing it to lessen it by a few stems to make it smaller, all the while being watched by the curious Sasha whose interest is rewarded in the end when I put the now adorably tiny flower crown on her head.

While she still hasn’t shaken the thing off I manage to snap a pic which I send to Corpse who opens it mere seconds after it was delivered.

C ~ Sasha’s pulling off your aesthetic better than you. Sorry, someone had to let you know

I burst out laughing for two reasons - 1.The message itself, damn it! It’s hilarious; 2. Corpse has learnt the name of each one of my cats and never mixes them up - not even Luna and Lynn who look almost identical. That amount of attention to detail is astonishing and very meaningful to me, it genuinely warms my heart and that may or may not be dramatic but it’s definitely not exaggerated.

Me ~ You think I haven’t caught on yet?

C ~ Well, if it makes you feel any better you pull off my aesthetic better than I do

He’s referring to the e-girl look I did for one show the band had in downtown LA one night. I was drunk and looking forward to trying new things so I improvised the hell out of my outfit but I apparently looked presentable enough to leave a good impression on Corpse despite the pic I sent him being a bit blurry and being a mirror selfie in the bathroom of the very bar we were performing in. It goes without saying that the mirror was dirty too - had a bunch of writing on it which Corpse said only added to the aesthetic. Looking back on it now I kinda agree, and luckily so did the fans in the comments of that same photo when I posted it on Instagram.

Me ~ Means a lot actually. Nowhere near enough to aid the burn of having a cat pull off cottagecore better than I do, but still helps XD

As if sensing that we’re talking about her, Sasha hops on the couch, poking her head over my phone to look down at the screen.

Now this is gonna be golden.

I take a selfie with my phone in my lap, the camera capturing both me and Sasha at a rather unflattering angle which has me losing my mind laughing when I send the picture to Corpse who immediately sends back a string of cry-laughing emojis.

C ~ I can’t tell which one of you is cuter

Me ~ If that was a compliment, I gotta say I appreciate it greatly

C ~ Just telling the truth ;)

It’s times like these that the butterflies in my stomach remind me just why I’ve started catching feelings for this man despite all the distance between us and despite barely knowing him - he knows me more than I know him but I don’t mind it, oddly enough.

I’m fond of our connection and though I sometimes dream of something more, I’m also content with what we already have considering that ‘something more’ seems rather unattainable as of now.

My phone dings again, clearing the fog of thoughts and presenting me with a new message from Corpse.

C ~ Oh, by the way, look what I got....

That message is followed up by a picture of a ticket. A plane ticket to Georgia!

While I’m still busy stomaching this and dealing with my quickly rising excitement, he sends another message.

C ~ I hope to catch a The Silver Rays concert while I’m there. Heard they had an adorable frontwoman ;)

My breath catches in my throat as a wide grin spreads across my face. The thought of having Corpse so close to me sends those aforementioned butterflies in my stomach into a raving mood and they practically explode my insides with excitement and joy like I’ve never felt it before. I can’t wrap my brain around the fact that we’re about to go from having an entire country between us, to being just some ways away - him in the audience and me on stage without a single clue of who to look for. That’s part of the excitement though, I guess, part of the guessing game that’s gonna make our meeting all the more interesting.

He’ll be a stranger in the crowd and I’ll be a performer on a stage - seemingly two people who have no relation whatsoever. But damn does it go beyond that: No one has to know how hard I’m falling for that stranger in the crowd.

Me ~ I’ve heard so too, can’t confirm it though

If this is gonna be a guessing game, I’ll flip the tables a bit - I won’t take any guesses. I’ll let the answer come to me. I’ll give the first move over to the stranger in the crowd, let’s see what he does.

C ~ I’ll check and let you know, don’t worry

Not worried whatsoever, Corpsie. I’m not worried at all.

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

The Power of Luck [Chapter One]

Read The Power of Luck on AO3

Masterlist [All Works]

Masterlist [The Power of Luck Series]

Written for Maribat March Day 6 - Miraculous Side Effects

The Ladybug Miraculous had quite a few side effects. Marinette was able to think quick on her feet, she was a skilled tactician in battle, and her reaction time was half that of a normal human. Most notably, the Ladybug Miraculous granted its user the force known as Miraculous Luck, which, depending on the situation, was sometimes more of a curse than a blessing. Marinette didn't get to choose how that good luck manifested. For instance, when she needed an extra day to finish a history project, her school closed down due to a gas leak. Or when she wished for a fresh start after the defeat of Hawkmoth, her parents were offered a deal to grow their bakery business in America.

Marinette assured her parents that she didn't mind moving. After all, most of her class had already moved on. Lila had been deported to Italy, narrowly avoiding jail time. Chloé (much to her dismay) was sent by her father to an all-girls boarding school in England. Adrien was taken in by his Aunt Amelie (as Gabriel was in jail and Emilie was declared brain-dead) and moved to England as well.

No one else from Marinette's class left the country, but many of them moved out of Paris. Nathanial was accepted to an elite art school in Marseille. Max was accepted to a gifted program at an elite school in Bordeaux. Officer Raincomprix was transferred to Toulouse and took Sabrina with him. Juleka and Luka both started homeschooling after their mother sailed the houseboat down the Seine to the city of Rouen.

Worst of all was the loss of Alya. Her parents were horrified that the son of Hawkmoth was in the same class as their daughter, and promptly pulled Alya out of class and decided to move out of the city. Alya begged them for weeks but nothing came of her protests. In the end, Alya left too.

The Miraculous Luck could do a lot of things, but it couldn't keep her friends together. Those who remained at François Dupont filled holes in other classes. Marinette tried to make the best of her new class, but she felt no real connection to them. When her parents proposed the move, Marinette jumped on the opportunity. In Gotham, she wouldn't be haunted by the ghost of her old life.

Marinette cut her hair, leaving it choppy and just above the shoulders. She donated all of her brightly colored clothes to the thrift store down the street and created a new wardrobe for herself. It was toned down and mature, much more fitting for Gotham.

Marinette left Paris a much different girl than the naive fourteen-year-old who thought she could save the world. She was ready for a city like Gotham, a city that didn't make any promises, a city where Marinette could set down some new roots.

-----

At first, it was easy to fly under the radar at Gotham Academy. It was a school filled with the self-absorbed children of millionaires and billionaires, after all. Marinette was there on scholarship - her good grades, leadership experience, and working-class parents combined to cut her tuition down by 75%. Marinette quickly learned that scholarship students were at best ignored, and at worst mercilessly bullied. So Marinette kept her head down and vowed that she would get through the year unscathed.

There was one variable, however, that the Miraculous Luck wasn't able to account for. Marinette's entire plan fell apart thanks to one boy: Damian Wayne.

Marinette became acquainted with Damian Wayne through the school's rumor mill. She learned that he was one of the most wealthy and most attractive people in the school, but he was thought himself too good to spend time with any of his fellow classmates (Marinette couldn't fault him on the last bit; she also found the students at Gotham Academy to be difficult, to say the least). Marinette also learned through the school's rumor mill that Damian spent quite a lot of time staring at her. Given that Damian had never paid the slightest amount of attention to a Gotham Academy girl before, this was a big deal. Suddenly Marinette was the farthest thing from under the radar. Everyone who used to look down on her wanted to be her friend. It was exhausting.

Marinette resolved to ignore Damian Wayne - an easy task, given that she still didn't even know what he looked like. Now that everyone was staring at her, it was hard to

"Why?" grumbled Marinette. "Why couldn't my so-called Miraculous Luck help me get through one normal year of school?"

Tikki shrugged from her spot inside of Marinette's backpack. "Maybe all of this attention will turn out to be a good thing?"

"I doubt that." Marinette glanced around, checking that no one had spotted her talking to her backpack. There was one spot in the cafeteria that was hidden from view, a window-sill nestled behind a pillar, bordered by a wall on one side and an out of order vending machine on the other. Marinette sat on the window-sill every day to eat lunch, with Tikki as her companion for the meal.

"I think your problem is that you're overthinking this. Miraculous Luck always works out in the end, even if there are some obstacles in the middle."

"I just want this horrible school year to be over," sighed Marinette, setting her head down in her arms.

"Don't give up yet, Marinette. I have high hopes for this school year," said Tikki.

Marinette had some serious doubts but picked her head up anyway. Maybe this year wouldn't turn out the way she expected. Marinette defeated Hawkmoth, the greatest villain Paris ever faced. She could survive a year of high school.

-----

Marinette was going to survive her senior year of high school. Damian Wayne on the other hand... Marinette still wasn't sure if she was going to let him survive the year, after everything he put her through.

"Excuse me?" a sickeningly sweet voice piped up from behind Marinette.

Marinette put on her best disinterested-face, took out one headphone, and turned around. "Yes?"

There were three girls standing behind her: a blonde, flanked on both sides by a brunette and a red-head. The blonde girl had a smile on her face but a devious look in her eyes. Marinette had long ago learned to spot manipulators, and this girl had it written all over her. "Are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Yes."

"My name is Julie Cooper. I was just wondering... Are you dating Damian Wayne?"

Marinette huffed in exasperation. "What do you think?"

Julie's eyes narrowed. "I just wanted to warn you. I mean, did you really think that Damian Wayne would seriously date a girl here on scholarship? You should break up with him before you get hurt."

"It was a rhetorical question. I'm not dating Damian Wayne. It's just a rumor."

Julie instantly perked up. "Oh, good! I was beginning to think that Damian had lost his mind. I mean, I'm sure you would be a nine or a ten at a public school, but at Gotham Academy, you're like a seven, maybe an eight on a good day. Most of the girls who go here are actually hot, not just," the girl waved her hand towards Marinette. "Above average."

Marinette wasn't sure if Julie meant for her to feel flattered or offended, but her words had the strange effect of making Marinette feel both all at once. "Um, thanks? I'm going to go now."

Julie's brunette friend suddenly paled as the girl started to tug on Julie's sleeve. "Um, Julie?" she whispered.

"What, Nora?" Julie's eyes widened as they fixed on something behind Marinette.

Marinette turned around to see what the cause of their concern was. Or rather, to see who the cause of their concern was. It was a boy, tall and scowling. "Are you done here, Cooper?"

Julia nodded, a nervous edge to her voice, "Bye, Marinette." She and her two friends hurried off, exchanging frantic whispers.

"What do you want?" asked Marinette with a sigh. She was tired of dealing with boys who were only interested in her because Damian Wayne was interested in her.

"I wished to apologize."

"For Julie? Did you put her up to this?"

The boy looked confused. "No, of course not. I meant that I wanted to apologize for everything, not just Julie Cooper."

"For everything?" The truth suddenly dawned on Marinette. "You're Damian Wayne! I didn't think that you would be so tall."

"You didn't know what I looked like?" There was real shock in his voice.

"Well, by the time I learned that you had been staring at me everyone was staring at me, so that wasn't much help in figuring out who you were."

"You could have googled me."

Marinette shrugged. "I could have, but it felt weird to google one of my classmates. I pretty much just resigned myself to never figuring out who you were."

"I should have approached you sooner. I've wanted to apologize for a while, but every time I've caught you alone you've looked like you wanted to be left that way."

"I'm not a fan of most of the students here."

"The students here can be..." Damian searched for the appropriate word. "Tiresome. I resigned myself to a dull four years of high school in their company. That is, until I saw you."

Marinette cocked her head. "Why me, though? I'm nothing special."

"You're different than everyone else here."

Marinette stiffened. "I know. I've been told. I'm here on a scholarship which means I don't belong," she snapped

Damian shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. You move through life differently than all of the other students here. You don't care about the gossip or drama - at least, not until you were right at the center of it all. You've seen the real world, so you float above the high school drama. You're just so... so..."

"So what?" Marinette's tone softened.

Damian ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. The addition of the messy hair added a certain charm to his otherwise polished exterior. "I've been brainstorming for the right word for weeks. The best I can come up with is pure. You don't let yourself become affected by anything in this school."

It was a very flattering description of her. It was also very on the nose. "I'll forgive you, Damian Wayne, but only on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to get to know you, and I have a feeling that you feel the same way."

Damian nodded. "It's a deal."

Maybe her Miraculous Luck wasn't so useless after all. Marinette had expected to go the whole year without making a single friend. Now, it seemed that she might make one after all.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #daminette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #MaribatMarch2021 #maridami #marinette x damian #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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esfawkes · 3 years

Note

I am almost 100% sure this has been asked before but I think the tumblr search engine just hates me, but what is Vesperion's physical description? (hair, eye colour etc all I can remember is that he apparently has a great ass lol) you know for...science.

Yeah, Tumblr’s search is… not great, lol. This is the first public description of Vesperion I posted:

The new RO is Vesperion Verathae – the nephew of Queen Alapharen, your siblings’ mother. You meet him about mid-way into chapter two, at the end of your sister Ilythis’s party, when he goes out of his way to try to humiliate you in front of everyone. He’s a petty rival who can grow into a proper – and formidable – enemy as the two of you grow older. He seeks to undermine you whenever the opportunity presents itself because he’s been told stories of how your mother murdered his aunt since he was a small child. He hates the Maeliahs and you in particular.

You are, of course, able to become friends with him as you grow up and then later on become lovers, or go straight from enemies to lovers. Or you can just stay enemies.

Vesperion himself has mastered the disinterested aristocrat persona – he’s all one eyebrow raised, mocking smirks, and wry comments – and some may call him cold, but there are things he’s very passionate about. Being close in age and cousins, he and Terrisen often train together, and Vesperion loves fighting. He enjoys outmaneuvering opponents, using their strengths against them, and can be quite cocky when he wins. He has a fairly barbed wit and is able to see through someone quickly and effectively to deliver the most devastating remark possible, and his smart mouth often gets him into trouble. Where Nethica is charming, he is unsettling.

He’s very close friends with Terrisen as a child. As he gets older, he occasionally spends an evening out with Nethica and his friends, despite him and Nethica often butting heads. Unlike Nethica, however, Vesperion isn’t much of a philanderer – he doesn’t do half-measures and prefers an “all-or-nothing” approach.

As for his physical appearance, he has copper hair, amber eyes, fair skin, and a tall, athletic build. His features are angular, like most Verathaes, and his eyes are upturned like a cat’s.

All of the above still applies for the most part, and his appearance is unchanged! Here is the current official description for him:

He’s tall and has an athletic build with fair skin, bronze hair, and amber eyes.

Copper and bronze both work to describe his hair color, and russet could work too. It’s a very warm but desaturated mid-tone color. Maybe something like this? But y’all are free to interpret the color how you please, from a warm brown to a burnt orange color.

His hair is kept relatively short and has some curl to it, the kind that would straighten into waves were his hair longer. My friend Liv made a moodboard for him once and used this picture, and it comes to mind a lot when I picture Vesperion. I also drew Vesperion myself once, but I don’t like how it turned out and it isn’t really how I picture him, so I’m not going to link it, lol. It’s not like when I drew Nethica, which is pretty much exactly how I picture him, lol.

As for his eyes, I’d say they’re a sort of orange-yellow color. Not gold, but not brown either. Very much like a fox’s. His skin tone is, as I said, fair and has a warm undertone.

His entire color palette really is just shades of gold, copper, and bronze. His house colors of red and gold really suit him.

#seven heirs #vesperion verathae #i used to draw the romance options regularly #but that was forever ago and my style has changed a lot #might get back into it again #also i am still proud of how nethica came out even if there are a lot of things i wish i had done differently/want to fix #my favorite character portrait i did/most accurate is probably kosphoren's #but as ever y’all are free to ignore me and imagine the characters however you like #if you want to give vesperion long hair or something go for it #romance options #asks #anonymous

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (1) – Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons story

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Wordcount: 3.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Introducing the reader’s backstory, exploring her life as a wife and then as a single woman who is slowly getting to know herself as an individual person.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There are mild curse words, a bit of a sad vibe regarding falling out of love and getting a divorce, description of several bad dates and good ones that end badly, mention of getting drunk, mention of sex toys, mention of one night stand.

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines, and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

I forgot to mention, bc I’m dumb and bc we’re becoming one body with two souls, but this chapter (as most of the decent, edited things I post) was beta read by the magical @joheunsaram (she’s recently lost her previous blog and she’s rebuilding it, please go say something nice and YOU SHOULD FOLLOW HER SHE’S A QUEEN ,,,,, my queen 🥺✨)

Enjoy 💜✨

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

When you fall in love with someone, the feeling is like entering a chocolaterie. The scent engulfs you, full and rich and sultry, igniting your senses, the heat making your skin glisten in a light sheen of perspiration, making you exceedingly vulnerable to pointless stuff, like the way your lover exhales. Or their hands skimming your arms.

At least, that was what your best friend had told you.

You had none of that. To you love was a daisy being twirled under your nose, sharing cotton candy, the smell of crisp apples, flannel sheets, the sound of dead leaves crackling under matching footsteps, a sturdy but shiny steel band around your finger suddenly substituted by a golden one.

That had been the beginning of the end. When practicality and simplicity had turned into conventionality and disinterest.

When gifts stopped being things you loved and became things he thought you loved. And then things everyone loved.

When love became a chore, that's when everything crumbled. When kisses became just a good morning and a welcome back, when there were no more laughs echoing in the kitchen, when leaves kept falling but it was your footsteps alone making them crackle, when flannel sheets kept feeling warm but still something was missing — because someone was missing — when suddenly there was no more time for fairs and cotton candy, when daisies became roses, Love stopped making sense. It stopped having a meaning for you.

You were no longer sure of the life you had built with the man of your dreams, the boy you had fallen in love with when you were eight, the guy who had walked with you across the corridors of your high school, who had made you twirl under the lame disco ball of your prom, who had gone through college finals with you, who had spent three summers making your hangout spot into a home, turning the small old shack into a proper place for you to build a new life together. He was your first kiss, your first valentine, your first time. He was the man at the end of the aisle, the man who would walk with you until the last of your days.

But one day he started running and you still walked.

Or maybe you were both running in different directions, no longer on the path to the same destination, your priorities somehow switched.

Of course, it wasn't his fault.

It wasn't yours either.

You had both participated in this small unraveling, and you had both expressed the intention of changing, of finding compromise, an in-between, without either of you actually making the effort of fixing your trajectory, small habits and old pet peeves pulling you even farther apart.

The attempts — multiple ones — were painstakingly embarrassing. There were tears on both sides as you wondered what had caused this sudden rift that separated you — except it wasn't sudden, only your realisation was; the crevasse had been there for way longer. Maybe it had started as a small chipping the very day you met him, and it wasn't until now that you realised how the small sign had turned into an ominous presence, and then into unfathomable, inevitable doom.

And then the divorce.

It had been disgustingly easy, both parties agreeing on the procedures.

You didn't want the house. And you didn't need it. He didn't either.

Selling it had been exceedingly painless, you had shared the money, since he wanted to offer you stability. He already knew you would both suffer and he didn't want you worrying about rent. He was still your friend, after all.

Going back to being alone scared you at the beginning, until you realised that few things were truly bothering you. At least there wasn't this ghost of a human making you doubt all of your plans. You could plan dinner five days ahead or improvise. You could go to the restaurant as a last minute deal. You could go on long walks without the 'I'm sorry baby, emergency' making you rush back to town.

It felt like a bit of a liberation.

And your family's bookshop was doing well enough, since it was situated near the college and it also offered printing service.

Of course there were bad days. Sometimes you woke up searching for a body beside yours, however that feeling had significantly subdued after you had gotten used to the new bed. You missed human contact, being close, intimate with someone, having someone who knows you that deeply.

And then the true nightmare.

Finding someone new.

You were genuinely uninterested in dating. You had given it a go and it had sufficed.

It wasn't your world.

How could it possibly be?

You had never dated. You had basically offered your heart to the person that has always owned it. It's not like you had any experience in that labyrinth that is dating. All those unspoken social norms and the pining and tension. You only knew the comfort of a warm hug, the beauty of a kiss sparking from innocence and affection and slowly turning into steady, warm passion. You didn't like infernos, you liked candles. You liked the domestic hearth. You liked moderation.

And dating was all about extremes, from strangers to 'I'm inspecting your throat' on date one. And then suddenly it's date three and the same guy who brought you to a pizza place and a diner is suddenly going out of his way to bring you to a pretentious, expensive restaurant as a way to propitiate the possibility of you dropping your panties.

You had allowed this foolery only three times. Apparently all the suitable suitors were either really prone to pushing the pedal or had a passion for tongue gastroscopies.

The first one, Albert, had been quite the gentleman on date one. On date two he started making inappropriate jokes with a heavy body shaming undertone — a bit cliché for the stereotypical gym rat. And on date three he had dropped all pretenses at politeness and had outright palmed your ass in public, which made you rightfully uncomfortable. As you pointed that out, he proceeded saying that after all it was your third date and it was time to loosen up a little.

You didn’t even bother staying for dinner, left a bill on the table and left.

No matter the first disappointment, you decided not to let that disrespectful fool slow you down. And since your best friend knew everything about rat headed number one, you allowed her to set you up with one of her colleagues after she reassured you he was nothing like the one before.

Except somehow he was. The first date was at the local pub, and you somehow found yourself getting along well, his jokes were funny and he had good timing, he was relaxed, confident but still a bit clumsy and shy. He could be a good candidate.

But that was before he pushed his tongue to your tonsils as he kissed goodbye.

You gagged.

On date two he admitted you weren’t exactly his type. You were glad to reciprocate the statement after he told you his dream was having four children and a farm, alluding to the fact that his bride needed to be the perfect housewife.

You were pretty adamant that was not the kind of future you wanted for yourself.

Candidate number three was a guy you had met while grocery shopping, and somehow he had impressed you in an absolutely positive way on date one and two. Everything had been perfect, he was kind, considerate and well-mannered. Date three had been innocent, simple, down-to-earth. And then date four. Perfect dinner at his place. He had made you swoon and he had a very pretty cat he was very affectionate with.

He was the first man you had felt desire for in a very long time — almost eight months after your divorce.

The sex had been decent for being a first time.

And then he had entirely disappeared and never texted or called you back, which didn’t sit entirely wrong with you. You wished him all the best but you were actually glad. You liked being you and doing your own thing: having someone too much down your neck, getting in a relationship, having to check in with another person again felt more like a burden than a win.

Maybe it was just a coping mechanism to avoid facing the fact that he had been someone you could have liked, someone you could have built something with.

You were a happy woman, and it’s not like you really felt lacking or incomplete, like some of your single friends felt. And you had no intention of starting a family anytime soon, no matter if your old high school classmates had begun popping out kids left and right. You were more than happy to live the teen and early-twenty years you had spent in a relationship.

You were getting to know yourself in a way most of your friends didn’t have time to — you could already see them going through a midlife crisis after their kids became old enough to navigate life by themselves, which meant no more need for overprotective, and sometimes borderline suffocating, mothers, who suddenly found themselves with too much free time and too little tasks to complete.

Knowing your needs made you a stronger, better woman, and solitude had gifted you a level of introspection and balance that you doubted they could ever reach; maybe that was an arrogant consideration, but you knew there was no way knowing and loving yourself would ever bring you to crying over disrespectful, ungrateful youth whose only fault was that of growing up out of their mothers’ plans.

Unfortunately, there was no way your family — especially your grandmother — could ever tolerate the idea of you not needing a man and a family to be happy.

“Oh, come on, isn’t it time for you to bring a nice fellow back home?”

You shook your head as you and your grandma took a walk along the river, the sunny March afternoon feeling way too nice to stay at home. “Granny. There’s no people like Grandad anymore.”

“Oh, darling. You’re starting with the wrong role model. Not even back in my days we had men like him. He was the exception.” She nodded to herself with a sweet smile, remembering the husband she had lost a few years back.

“It’s so frustrating. And after all that happened… You know how it was. We were together for years. He was the only one I had. I don’t even know how to do these things. And books cannot teach you stuff like that. The more you read, the more you realise that most of these men had never even seen a rom com.”

“Oh, come on, but you have the internet these days! Can’t you find him in there? You have all these phones and computers and everyone has them, there must be a good one in the internet.”

She always said that “in the internet”. Like it was a physical place.

“I don’t even want to look in there, Granny. There are so many dangers in there.” You shuddered as you thought at the funny instagram pages where the people posted screenshots of the worst descriptions. All the embarrassing playboys and the fishermen and the lame wanna-be poets.

“Right… How can you know he is really is a person?” She considered, patting your back proudly. “You’re pretty. And you’ve always had the most perfect bum of all your cousins. Just like mine!” She grinned cockily, giving a playful smack to your ass, making you laugh loudly.

“It won’t last long.” You said, looking down. Solitude scared you sometimes. Being old and alone could be hard on the spirit and you had a feeling that old hag you would curse your dumb arrogance and inconsideration. However, for now you were still somehow making it through. Your divorce was finalised almost ten months ago. You could still consider yourself just fresh out of it.

“You’re smart. And I’m sure you have a lot to offer. You’re a good woman, and you’re far from being too old. There’s never a thing such as too old. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Look at me.” She said. “I’m still living a good life. Herbert has left me but I’m still here. Walking. Cooking. Drizzle keeps me good company.” She smiled sweetly at the mention of her dog, a lovely large poodle elegantly strolling at her side, its light grey fur finely trimmed by your grandmother’s expert hands. She had been a hairdresser for decades: learning how to keep Drizzle’s coat had been a cup of tea for her and he’d kept her distracted from grief after your grandpa passed away.

Her face formed a meditative pout. “Maybe you should just get a dog. Or even better, a cat. You’ve always looked like a cat child to me. So quiet and focused, like you knew some secret that nature would speak to you alone. You were always so attentive as a child!”

You smiled and looked at the path under your feet. Drizzle stayed unbothered as a loud, angry dachshund walked towards him, barking annoyingly. You had never felt sympathy for that small evil breed.

“I think I could get a kitten one of these days. Or a cat, from the shelter.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it in the internet!”

“So we’re really doing the party thing?”

“Listen, baby. It’s gonna be your first party as a free woman. Real mind blowing birthday sex.”

“I’m not a virgin, you know?” You stared at your face in the mirror, spreading some moisturiser over your forehead, inspecting the small lines there. You shrugged and let them be.

Maybe you would spend your best years single and find a sugar baby in ten or twenty years. Wait, weren’t those called toy boys?

Who cares.

Maybe it was time to get the post-grad you had always dreamed of. You would need to check your bank account before making that decision — maybe finally telling yourself yes could be the real birthday gift. That is, beside the huge dildo waiting in your drawer. Not being attracted to men or women didn’t mean you didn’t like sex.

You just found it difficult to imagine being with someone.

“Darling I’d bet an arm and a leg he never gave it to your right. You just need a bit more experience.”

All you needed was a hot bath, some candles and a good book. No man, no one night stand, no birthday sex could possibly make you as happy as decent jazz, wine and a novel.

“Why aren’t we doing that wine tasting at the winery out of town?”

“Because I want you choking on cheap alcohol, having all the fun you didn’t have on your twenty-first birthday because you were planning your own wedding. And I bet you’re the only one who wasn’t fucked in the bathroom of the Wickhead.”

Terry could be incredibly crude, but you loved her nonetheless. You loved her even more for it. She had never hidden anything from you, she had told you even the most embarrassing details of her own life. And she had always been the kindest, most faithful friend: she had driven you way out of town when you were eighteen and your period was late and you needed to buy a pregnancy test without all everyone and their dog knowing; she had chosen your wedding dress for you, spotting it and telling you it was going to be the one before you could even see it. When your marriage had started crumbling, she had spent countless nights with you, keeping you company when your husband was busy with his business trips. Though Terry had insinuated cheating, you knew he would never break your trust like that, and she had decided to trust your better judgement.

You had simply fallen out of love with each other.

And when you had moved into your new apartment, Terry had helped you repaint the walls and build the extra bookcases and install the shelves and fill your wine stand. Before leaving she had grabbed an unfamiliar box from her car, placing it on top of your bed, opening it and spreading out a set of “single necessaire”, as she called it. A couple toys, lube, condoms. To celebrate your re-found sexual promiscuity, she had said, though you objected, it was hard rediscovering something you had never had.

She had shaken her head and left you to “familiarise” yourself with everything.

“You know I’m not exactly a party person, Terry. This will end badly.” You said, sitting on your bed with your back against the headboard, your legs stretched out before you.

“You can allow yourself some fun once in a decade, you know?” You could hear her scoff on the phone.

“But I do have fun. Book. Wine. Bingo!” You explained, rolling your eyes as the booed.

“Come on, do it for me. Do it for your single friend who wants to get drunk and possibly sixty-nine? Please?” The other thing wrong with Terry is that if you ever met her in person, you would face the sweetest five foot three and a half — she insisted on the half — human being you could ever meet, with pretty wavy blonde hair and wide, sweet green eyes, the most boopable button nose and a sprinkle of freckles on her golden skin. She literally glowed in sunlight and her flowy gowns always made her look like a goddess: you could see men fighting for her, dying for her and going to war for just one of her gentle smiles.

“Don’t you have a FWB for that sixty-nine thingie?” You asked with an exceedingly inquisitive tone. It had been a while since she last updated you.

“Dumped him.” She replied curtly.

You tutted before exhaling. Emotionally constipated people — what’s wrong with them?

“He’s dating someone since he was ready for a relationship.” Terry sounded a bit colder than usual.

“And you weren’t?” You asked. You felt your tone hesitate with slight concern. You knew she would just put up a wall and ignore your question.

Fortunately, she didn’t. “I’m not ready to talk about that. It’s complicated, Frog.”

She was hurt and wanted a distraction.

“Okay, Terry. We’re going to get rip roaring drunk this Saturday.”

The line went silent.

“You know I love you right?”

“I love you too, sweetie. Now go to sleep, you have an early shift tomorrow.”

The line went silent after you bid each other goodnight, your body settling underneath the sheets once you realised your eyes were fluttering shut as you tried to read a few pages to put yourself to sleep.

Placing down the book, you hugged the extra pillow, settling your face in the corner between your sleeping pillow and your spare one, the heavy woolen comforter acting like a weighted blanket. You placed another pillow behind your back, making a soft cocoon all around you.

Yes, sometimes you still missed being hugged to sleep.

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fanfiction #thetruthuntoldnet #thebtswritersclub #Taehyung strangers to lovers

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percontaion-points · 3 years

Text

Handbook for Mortals chapter 15

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 15

[Image description: A screenshot taken from the “Handbook for Mortals” PDF. It is of a text conversation between Zade and Mac, which only includes emojis. Zade sent Mac a crying emoji, while Mac sent back a “disinterested” emoji.]

Holy fucking shit, are we really doing this right now?

The cast had just walked the red carpet for the premiere of the revamped show. I had talked to so many reporters on the carpet, and I could feel the anxious excited energy in my blood.

I'm not quite sure how shows in Vegas are handled, but it honestly seems weird that not only would they have a red carpet event for redesigning a show that was already around and never actually closed, but that reporters would show up as well.

The cast had just walked the red carpet for the premiere of the revamped show. I had talked to so many reporters on the carpet, and I could feel the anxious excited energy in my blood. I wanted to do cartwheels down the hall but I refrained somehow, partially because it would have hardly been appropriate considering the dress I was wearing.

This might be the only instance of Zade doing her fancy dress we're going to get. Sorry for those who predicted that she'd do this at some point.

“Yes. I told someone I loved him. Not that I was in love with him. It’s two totally different things.”

“Looked pretty similar. I heard him say he loved you more than life itself. Pretty intense words, don’t ya think? And what about movies and a guitar shop?” He narrowed his eyes as he waited for my response. I guess if you didn’t understand the situation, those words would have sounded pretty intense. He was right about that.

“Forget the movies and guitar shop. This isn’t about that, anyway. I promise you it’s not what you think it is,” I said as calmly as I could.

Pete’s voice sounded over the radio. “Top of show, everyone. We go in two minutes.”

“Well, what is it, Zade?” He gritted his teeth again and I could see his jaw clenching. I wasn’t sure how to respond. The cause of his anger—and how I should respond—became even clearer as he continued, “You’re just like Clara. Maybe worse. At least she had the decency to come clean when I confronted her.”

Mac isn't a man; he's a bunch of red flags in the shape of a person.

“Clara’s gone, Mac. She’s been gone a long time. But clearly you still need to let her go.”

I don't know how long that this incident with Clara happened, but it's clearly been long enough for people to not have known her.

This guy needs intense therapy, if he's still hung up over what happened with Clara. It's clearly impacting his ability to form relationships, even years after the fact.

Like I'm sorry that she hurt you and broke your heart. But not every woman is some evil, manipulating harlot. And if the only thing that you're doing is looking for future heartbreak, you're going to miss a lot of chances to actually be happy.

“Heaven help me,” Cam muttered to himself.

Chapter 15 summary: Everybody works hard to revamp the show. There's some big new illusion that Zade has been working on with Charles, but they're playing it close to the vest to the point that not even the other performers not involved with the illusion have seen it yet.

After the final rehearsal wraps, Charles takes everybody out to dinner. At the restaurant, Charles insists that Zade sit next to him, and thus “demotes” Sofia to sit somewhere else. He also asks that Jackson sit on Zade's other side. Sofia ends up sitting next to Mac, who looks beyond livid over the entire thing.

Later, Zade goes into Charles's office to thank him for all that he's done for her. The two of them are like “I love you... LIKE A FATHER.” and “I love you... LIKE A DAUGHTER.” Mac happens by right around then, and misses the subtext of family love going on between Charles and Zade.

Mac then goes to confront Zade right before the show is about to start. He tries to call her out on “two timing” him, but Zade legit doesn't know what's happening. Especially because Mac knows that she's also been casually dating Jackson as well. But Mac goes on and on, and compares her to the girl who broke his heart, Clara.

Mac then storms off, practically in tears over the entire thing. All because this asshole couldn't be bothered to ask her about her relationship with Charles. He knows that he can't do his job, and calls for Cam to take over for him for the night. Despite the fact that Cam hasn't done this for over a year, and doesn't know the cues... and forget about the cues for the new illusion.

#Handbook for Mortals #chapter 15 #Mac (HBFM)#Zade #can we not?#shitty men are shitty #runs on miscommunication #Charles (HBFM)

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mrs-hatake · 4 years

Text

Seven First Kisses (intro)

Summary: You were a Lotte Duty Free store employee who has never been in a relationship before. One day, you meet with a genie who grants you wishes to pick the perfect partner for your first kiss among seven different men.

Celebrities (not in order): Sanji, Dabi, Kakashi, Aizawa, Ace, Zoro and Levi.

Word count: 2185

Face Claim: Gin Akutagawa

A/N: as you’ve guessed, this is based on the popular web drama, Seven first kisses. I only have the first chapter written as it was posted on my aff years ago but I will try to update as often as possible!

a kpop version of this is also posted on @ikonct95

p.s, ignore any errors. I will proof read later.

B/D = Birth Date

On (B/D) 2020, You were busy working at the Duty Free of Japan’s largest international airport. The sound of people muttering which items they should buy and the sound of cash registers dinging were like music to your ears.

You moved to Japan three years ago as an English teacher. Being a teacher was a wonderful and rewarding job. The fact that you helped shape the kids of the future sent an exciting shiver down your neck. It was fun for a while but You soon grew bored of it; the never ending routine, having to use your own pocket money for class supplies and living in a tiny apartment, you’ve had enough. Luckily, one of your friends’ brother works at the airport and she threw in a word for You. After two years of being a teacher, You signed up with the airport and never looked back.

You usually enjoy your job because You love meeting new people. But today, You were totally not feeling it.

“Thank you.” You said with a bow and a smile as you gave a customer their bag. You sighed once You were sure the customer is long gone.

Today is my (Age) birthday, but I don’t have a boyfriend to celebrate with this year. I didn’t have one last year. Or the year before. I have never dated a man before in my life. Single since birth.

You shook your head to get free of those negative thoughts that only seem to invade your mind when You had nothing to do.

Need to focus!

You reprimanded yourself.

You straightened yourself once you saw a man from a distance walking towards You. Your mouth slowly dropped open as the man grew closer.

He’s so handsome!

You could feel your heart picking up its pace at the mere sight of him; tall, handsome and charismatic. A tiny spark of hope of him asking you out on a date on your birthday ignited within You.

“Excuse me?” His voice was light.

“Yes.” You answered dreamily.

“Trash…?”

“…What?”

Well, that woke You up from your daydream.

“The trashcan…?”

Your smile faltered as You watched the man raise his empty plastic cup of coffee, “I want to throw this away.” He explained.

“Oh…”

You quickly plastered on a smile, “I’ll throw it away for you.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” The man returned the smile.

“Honey!” A woman’s voice is heard from behind the man.

“Did you finish shopping?” The man asked the woman who now stood next to him.

“Yeah.” She replied as she wrapped her arm around his and walked away.

You looked down in slight disappointment, ignoring the way the couple laughed away at whatever one of them had said.

My (Age) birthday present is an empty cup?

“L/N F/N!”

“Yes?”

Your head turned sharply to the side in surprise at the sound of your manager’s voice. He beckoned Your towards him with a wave of his hand. Quickly, you walked over to him.

–

“Hurry, hurry!”

You struggled to carry the two heavy duty free boxes while trying to catch up to your boss who seemed like he was just carrying a stack of paper as you both walked along the hallway that had pictures of very famous Japanese celebrities hung on the wall.

The sound of a man calling his girlfriend and pecking her lips lovingly and talking to her in a baby manner caught your attention. Your lips formed into a pout at the two of them.

You tore your eyes away from them and looked at the pictures of the celebrities on the wall and sighed sadly.

“Single since birth, (Age) years old and never been kissed. I wish I could have a great boyfriend before I die. Like, right now..” In your haziness, You didn’t realize that You had said that out loud.

You jumped as your boss called your name, telling you to hurry up.

You returned to the front desk with slumped shoulders and a loud exhale. You ignored your two coworkers who were obviously talking about You even though You were standing just five feet away from them.

You were looking down at your phone when a loud clunk made You look up.

In front of You stood a tall and very beautiful woman who had a lovely olive complexion and lusciously long black hair. The woman in front of You seemed disinterested at everything around her at first but when she made eye contact with You, she gave You a small but kind smile.

You couldn’t help but stare at her, dumbfounded.

“Ah…the trashcan is…” You regained composure instantly and tried to take the coffee cup from the woman’s hand.

“Where is the jewelry store?” Was the woman’s question.

You smiled as You replied, “If you go down one floor, the jewelry store is located behind the escalator. Is there a specific brand you’re looking for?”

The woman pretended to be thinking before she answered, “No, I’ll just find it. Thank you.”

“Have a great day.”

“Wow…” You breathed out once the woman was out of earshot.

Working in an airport, You were exposed to all sorts of people. The kind, the rude, the impatient and the chilled ones. You always had to see well-dressed customers who looked charming as well but that woman was simply dazzling. Her entire aura screamed elegance and her beauty was radiant that it left You speechless.

Tearing your eyes away from where the woman had disappeared to, You noticed that the she had left her coffee cup behind on the counter.

Of course…

You lifted the cup and was surprised to find a dark green passport beneath the cup. You snatched the passport as worry washed over your face.

Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Shit!

You ran from the front desk as You realized that the beautiful woman had left the passport behind. You rushed down the escalators as the voice of your two coworkers followed You. You looked around for the woman on the lower level but couldn’t find her. Your eyes scanned the hundreds of faces in hopes to catch a glimpse of her but couldn’t spot her. You then walked into a random jewel store and asked the saleswoman, “Hello! Did a really tall beautiful woman with long hair come through here?” You knew that your description was vague but You had hoped that the saleswoman was just as awestruck as You were when You had seen the beautiful woman that she would know who You were talking about.

“No.” The woman replied apologetically.

“Thank you.”

You stood by the escalators and scanned your surroundings once more while repeatedly slapping the passport on your left hand. You rushed back upstairs and to the front desk where You asked your two coworkers “Did anyone come here searching for something?”

“No, no one.” One of them replied in annoyance while waving her hand in front of your face. “I couldn’t even go to the bathroom because of you! Why did you leave?”

You looked at her in surprise as she dragged the other coworker to the bathroom.

“Why do they always go to the bathroom together?” You exhaled loudly, “Seriously…”

You looked down at the green passport but your eyes widened at the sight of the sparkling engravings.

“Huh? This isn’t a passport!” You exclaimed while flipping the green booklet, “What is this?” You asked yourself as you opened it.

Inside the booklet was a picture of the beautiful woman from earlier with a brief description in a foreign language that You did not recognize.

“Excuse me. Did I…” A woman who sounded distressed interrupted your train of thought.

“Ah! This!” It was the beautiful woman from earlier, “I was running after you to return it…”

“Thank you so much!” The beautiful woman thanked You, a grateful smile on her pillowy lips, “I thought I lost it. Thank you so much! How can I repay you?”

You smiled kindly, “It’s okay. I’m just doing my job.” You lowered your head humbly.

“Please, I insist” The beautiful woman proclaimed. “Thank you. If I didn’t have this… I wouldn’t be able to go back.”

“Ah…where are you going?” You asked curiously, “It doesn’t seem like a passport…” You trailed off.

The beautiful woman chuckled.

Instead, she said, “I want to repay you. Please tell me one wish.” And then proceeded to hold onto your hands.

You made a funny face at her, “A wish?”

The woman nodded her head.

“No, it’s really fine, ma’am.” You insisted. Unsure of what the woman meant by ‘wish’ and You weren’t sure if You wanted to find out.

“I really want to repay you. Just tell me anything! Hurry!”

You were taken aback at the woman’s impatience. You played along, not wanting to offend the woman, and thought of that one wish that You had been wishing for since you were 15 years old.

The beautiful woman looked at You with intensity, still holding your hand.

“You just made a wish saying you’ve been single since birth and never been kissed?” The woman stated.

“What?”

You blinked in confusion.

The woman smiled knowingly. “I know what your wish is.”

The woman pointed at the desk behind You and six cards appeared out of thin air.

“What the fuck?” You gasped at the sudden appearance of the cards.

In each card, there were black silhouettes in the shape of a man with a large, white question mark in the middle.

You turned to face the woman in slight fear and confusion.

“You’re going to meet a great man in 10 seconds.” The woman said with a calm smile.

“What?” You stuttered, heart racing in fear and body shaking in nervousness at the sheer madness of it all. You must be dreaming. That was the only logical explanation.

“Oh! My balloon!”

You got distracted by the sound of a child’s cry. You looked at the child whose balloon was drifting away when suddenly, everything around You started moving in slow motion. The handles on the wall clock moved agonizingly slow, the woman throwing popcorn into her mouth, standing next to the restrooms, was doing it at such a slow speed that You had to blink your eyes a couple of time to make sure You weren’t hallucinating. Everything that surrounded You moved in a very slow pace and made You slightly panic.

“It’s already 10 minutes before work is over.”

“Awesome!”

Your coworkers’ voices faded into the background noise and things no longer moved in slow motion.

You shook your head and turned to face the beautiful woman from earlier but was surprised to find her gone. You looked around but the woman was nowhere in sight. As You looked around, You did not notice the figure walking towards the front desk until he was a couple of feet in front of You. You squinted your eyes trying to see who the figure was and when he stood directly in front of You, your eyes widened and you let out a quiet ‘Oh my God!’

The man was dressed in a velvet maroon suit with his hair styled upwards into spikes. His thick lips were formed into a lazy smirk and his eyes were filled with mischief. He laid his hand on the counter top as he leaned his body forward.

“I heard you’re getting off work soon.” His voice was teasing.

Your two coworkers looked at You in amazement and jealousy, a fact You were unsure of.

“I’ll wait up by the front.” The man instructed.

“What? Me? You’re going to wait for me?” Your voice raised its pitch with every syllable.

The man nodded his head and smiled at your amusing confusion.

You looked at your coworkers who were just as surprised as You were.

The man smiled one last time before walking away.

One of the coworkers stood beside You and asked, “Do you know him?”

“Wasn’t that Levi Ackerman, the famous actor? Did he just come and speak to me?” You were in a state of shock but your voice was filled with glee.

“What do you mean, actor? He’s the newly-rising IT tycoon, the number one most charming single man in Japan, Levi Ackerman!” the second coworker frowned at You.

You stared at the retreating figure before throwing a shocked look at your coworker.

“Come on, stop teasing me!” You playfully slapped her arm, “He’s the actor, Levi Ackerman!”

The two coworkers continued to frown at you.

“Why do you keep insisting on him being an actor? We just told you he’s a tycoon.”

You ignored at their bickering and searched up the man on google. And true to their words, he was indeed not an actor.

“He’s not an actor? What in the world is going on?” You muttered to yourself quietly as You skimmed through several articles until the end of your shift.

Well, one thing for sure is that You needed to find that beautiful woman and ask her what’s going on because You had a strong hunch that that woman has something to do with this.

#alternate universe #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #levi x you #levi imagine #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #Attack on Titan Imagine #attack on titan x reader

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aewriting · 4 years

Text

Loathly - Chapter 7

Good morning, everyone. For your enjoyment, here is Chapter 7 of my “Sir Gawain and the Dame Ragnell” Malex AU! This is the big reveal, folks!

Here are all parts on AO3.

Warnings for homophobia, threatening situations, magical transformations.

***

Lady Guerin whirls around to face Alex. He has never seen her like this before. Wild-eyed. Scared.

“Please, my dear sir,” she says, crossing to him quickly, reaching for his hand. “Please, promise me that, whatever happens tonight, you shall wait until morning to take action.” She shakes her head. “I vow to you that I mean you no harm, that I shall inflict no physical damage upon you.”

“My lady,” Alex says carefully. He can feel her hand trembling. “You are frightening me.”

“I am frightened too,” she says, voice unsteady. She twists her head around to look out the window. “Please, Sir Alex. You have said that you care for me. If, if that is indeed true, please give me this evening.”

Alex takes a deep breath. “I… I feel that I know not what I am agreeing to…” He feels off-balance, wary. But Lady Guerin looks so desperate... “I promise,” he says.

Lady Guerin slumps at that, embraces him. “Thank you, thank you.” She releases his hand and crosses quickly to a large wardrobe at the far end of the bed chamber. She flings open the large double doors and begins pawing at the various silks, linens, brocades and furs.

“No, no…” she is muttering. “By the gods…”

“My lady?”

“All of my night things, my night things, that I brought with me…” she runs a hand nervously through her hair.

Alex frowns. “I… I believe your garments are most likely still in your private quarters. If you like, I can send for – “

“There is no time,” she says harshly. Her eyes alight on the nightgown that has been laid out for her for the evening, one befitting a royal bride. It’s all silk and lace, and she eyes it warily. “By all the gods,” she mutters, stalking over to the nightgown and grabbing it in her fist. Turning away from Alex, she unfastens her cloak and begins unlacing the neckline of her gown.

“My, my lady!” Alex exclaims, alarmed now. “I… forgive me, but I thought I was clear about my… intentions tonight. Or, or lack thereof – “

“I… I know,” she says, distracted, fingers fumbling with the laces. “You have been very clear.” To Alex’s relief, she has pulled the nightgown down over her head and is removing the rest of her garments underneath the nightgown, preserving her modesty as best she can. Her fine dress is in a careless heap at her feet and… well, that may actually paint a proper picture if anyone begins to question the validity of this marriage or its consummation…

“Sir Alex!” the woman exclaims, and Alex snaps to attention, meets her eyes. “It is time,” she says simply, nodding to the window. “Stand back, and please…” her voice breaks. “Please remember your promise.”

Alex has barely opened his mouth to reply when it happens.

It is not gentle.

It is not ordinary.

It is not natural.

Alex watches, slack-jawed, as the Lady Guerin transforms.

All told, it cannot take more than a minute, but to Alex, it seems much longer. He stares, helpless, as the woman’s body twists and shifts in bizarre ways… ways that should kill. But the Lady Guerin barely makes a sound. She seems almost… almost accustomed to this. He can tell there is pain, though, with the way she is grimacing, with the way her face is twisting cruelly.

She, she asked him to stand back. He must stand back.

She made him promise not to fetch a guard, not to raise an alarm… not until morning.

And with a horrible realization, Alex knows, knows that this has been happening the entire time he has known this woman, since encountering her on the road. All those evenings, he had attributed her early retreats to fatigue, modesty, disinterest or discomfort, even, while at court. But that was not it. She knew. And said nothing. This, this creature is his wife.

Does she mean to kill him? Harm him in some way? Alex rubs nervously at his right leg but cannot tear his gaze from the metamorphosis in front of him. For… for that is what this is, he realizes. He has been so focused on the violence of the changes that he is only now realizing what the Lady Guerin is changing into.

Her nightgown has ripped. Multiple places. The fine lace at the breast, the seams of the shoulders. For the Lady Guerin is… a lady no longer.

Alex steps back unconsciously. Where the Lady Guerin just stood, there is now a man.

That, that is not description enough, though.

This, this is a handsome man. By the gods, one of the handsomest men Alex has ever seen. Finely built, skin golden, as if he’s used to spending time out of doors. Through the ruined gown, Alex can see his chest, see the muscle, the hair there. Not, not a pelt, like some men have, but not the smoothness of a boy, either. Alex’s eyes narrow. He looks to be about Alex’s age. His face is very fine, crowned by unruly curls. Alex narrows his eyes, then, leans just a bit closer, for it is the eyes that have him transfixed.

They are large, amber. The same as Lady Guerin’s.

“This is sorcery,” Alex breathes.

And the man… the man just stands there in the ripped nightgown. Stares at Alex with those wide eyes and stretches out his arms.

“Well, yes.”

Alex can hear his own heart pounding in his chest. He has been to battle. He has lived four and twenty years with his hateful father. But nothing in his life has prepared him to confront this, the black arts…

“What are you?” he asks, voice low.

The… man? Creature? Sorcerer? He bites his lip a bit, and it is so like the Lady Guerin that Alex wants to scream. “I’m Antarian.”

A shuddery gasp escapes Alex. “By the gods…” he mutters. “This whole time,” he says, “this entire time?”

The man nods.

Alex glares at him. “And now…?” He regards the man warily. “Have you… have you been in my head?” The man frowns, opens his mouth as if to speak, but Alex barrels forward. “Rummaged around? Seen, seen what I want? Exactly what I desire in a man?”

The man’s eyes widen, and for a moment he looks almost… pleased? Surprised? “I… no!” he says, louder than he anticipates, apparently, because he immediately looks to the door where they both know there is an armed guard.

“Explain yourself at once,” Alex orders, mustering up every ounce of his military background and royal authority. “For while I have sworn an oath to the Lady Guerin, I have made no pledge to you.”

With that, the man sighs heavily. “The Lady Guerin and I are one and the same, Sir Alex.” He glances around the room. “May I sit?” he asks, inclining his head toward a chair near the fire. “I intend to tell you everything, but first… I am sorry.” The man looks down. He appears genuinely contrite, and Alex… by the gods, Alex must keep his wits about him. “I know that by concealing this from you these many months, I have deceived you. I… I had my reasons, which I will explain, but I am sincerely sorry, Sir Alex. Truly, you are the last person I would ever wish to harm, and yet I know that my behavior has done exactly that.”

It is so… like something the Lady Guerin would say. Even the way the man looks as he says it, Alex can see flashes of the Lady Guerin. Alex chews at his lip, regards the man carefully. He did promise the Lady Guerin. If there is but a chance that this man is truly her, somehow…

“Here is what is going to happen,” he says, looking over the man, then looking away quickly. “I will fetch you some… proper nightclothes.” He doesn’t miss the manner in which the man’s eyes flash at that. “And then we shall both sit by the fire, and you shall explain to me, in detail, how all of this came to pass.” The man nods. “And at dawn, well, we shall see where we are.”

He can see some of the tension leave the man. “Thank you, Sir Alex.”

***

It shouldn’t be having this effect on Alex, seeing the man dressed in one of Alex’s own nightshirts. They are nearly the same height, and their builds are not dissimilar. The man is almost maddeningly casual with his body, sprawling thoughtlessly on his chair, leaning forward now and then to stoke the fire. Alex, on the other hand, feels exposed, self-conscious, with his wounded leg on display and his nerves frayed.

“You are Antarian,” Alex finally says. A statement, not a question. “What enchantments have you used to appear this way?”

The man stares at him for a long moment. “This,” he says, bringing a hand to his chest, “is me. My true form.” Alex tries to school his features, keep his face neutral and impassive. “The enchantment I am under is not of my own doing.” He peers at Alex. “What do you know of Antar, Sir Alex?”

Alex leans back in his chair, looks at the man thoughtfully. “There are… many rumors. It is hard to find out anything definitive, what with the mists.”

“The mists, yes,” the man nods.

Alex has heard tales of those damnable mists as far back as his memory stretches. They start just past the fabled Antarian hunting grounds where his father killed the stag. “Those who go in – “

“Don’t come out,” the man finishes, matter-of fact.

Alex’s eyes narrow. “Why is that, exactly?”

The man stares at him a long moment. “It is to do with the various… qualities. Of Antarian blood. Antarian ancestry. It affords us a way to navigate the mists in a way others cannot.” He must see the way Alex is staring at him, uncomprehending. “We do not navigate the mists by sight. We feel the way. Any time we are in close proximity with another Antarian, there is a, how to explain it, a link. A connection. A feeling. The more Antarians in one place, the stronger that feeling. That is what pulls us through the mists. Directs us.” The man lifts his chin. “Would you believe that this is the most I have ever shared of Antar, the truth of Antar with an outsider?” He shakes his head.

“I have heard… different things,” Alex says, carefully. “About Antar. According to some, it is a hellscape. Full of sorcery and black magic. Creatures that change form,” he says, looking pointedly at the man. “They say the Antarians can read minds, take you over, make you do… anything.” Alex swallows nervously. “They say the Antarians can control the elements. Fire, water… It is said they can kill you with a glance, a touch.” He regards the man warily. “It is why my father guards the Antarian border so fiercely. Of all our neighbors, it is Antar that he fears the most. I think that is the only reason he did not assemble troops against King Noah, after his threats.” Alex sees the man’s face darken at the mention of the Antarian king. “You… as Lady Guerin, you told me that you had troubles with King Noah. Was that true?”

The man looks at Alex, stares right in his eyes. “Everything I told you was true, Sir Alex.”

Alex nods, looks away. Has to. He glances at the fire. “Others,” he says, clearing his throat, “tell a different tale. To them, Antar is a paradise. No war. No famine. Magic and powers, yes, but used for the common good. Harmony and peace and…” he falters. “Love. Of every form. I have heard that in Antar, it matters not if one is a man or woman, in the eyes of the law. Or the gods.” Feeling emboldened, Alex continues. “Morals are different there. Intimate practices, as well.”

The man looks thoughtfully at Alex for a long moment. “It is somewhere between the two extremes. As most things are,” he says with a smile. It fades quickly. “Two years ago, I would have told you it was a paradise. For to me it was. But I know now that not everyone had the same experience as I, and not everyone abided by the social contract we had so carefully constructed. And that left all of us vulnerable.”

“I do not understand.”

“I was cursed by the King himself,” the man says. “That is why I am like this. I, I angered him, uncovered certain truths about him.” He frowns. “You must understand, Antar is different from Unidos. Even though the King was displeased by me, threatened by me, it would have been unheard of for him to kill me outright.” He eyes Alex. “That is also likely the reason he did not kill your father straightaway when he poached the stag. Honor would not allow it. Riddles, though, deception and curses… such is the province of King Noah,” the man says bitterly.

The man seems lost in his thoughts for a moment, just staring at the fire. His voice is low when he finally speaks. “I must be… careful. With my speech. When King Noah cursed me, he was very clear that, should I reveal certain details of my enchantment to anyone, I would find the affliction to be permanent.”

Alex swallows nervously. “Go on.”

The man looks on edge again, his fingertips twitching against the cloth of his nightshirt. “As I mentioned to you earlier, this is my true form. My real face. But as you know, this appearance cannot stay. As my husband, you have a choice. You must choose whether I shall remain in my natural form, as you see it now, by day or by night.”

“I, I don’t understand.”

“I can only inhabit my true form for half the day. Either by light of the sun or by dark of night. With King Noah’s enchantment, it cannot be both. And per the curse, the choice is yours, my husband.”

“It’s why you pushed for marriage, that first day, out on the road…” Alex murmurs.

The man nods. “I, I knew I may not get a chance to modify the enchantment otherwise.” His head drops. “But I did not expect you. Your kindness. Your wisdom. Your wit.” A small smile plays at the man’s lips, but he quickly sobers. “But, per the laws of this land, you are my husband, and your decision stands. Am I to be myself by day or night, my Lord?”

#my fic #sir gawain and the dame ragnell au #loathly #malex #roswell nm

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Game of Survival - 2 (Bucky x Reader)

FANDOM - MARVEL

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEM!READER, LIGHT HINTS OF STEVE X READER

WARNINGS - SMUT, VIOLENCE, ANGST, GRAPHIC BLOOD AND GORE, SWEARING, DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

DESCRIPTION -

“If you do bad things for a good reason, they’re still bad things.”

When a serial killer decides to save the world, who can she turn to for help? You went to the people who supposed to be the professionals, the experts, the heroes. You should have guessed they would try to save you as well.

Chapter Two (Read Chapter One Here)

All Bucky could think was that you were divine, you were dangerous and the cold disinterest in your eyes as you sat and watched Tony explain your crimes to him, Steve and Sam left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“What’s the difference between her and say… that Daredevil guy? Or us for that matter. Why does she get the mantle of serial killer when you say she’s never taken an innocent life?” Steve asked, eager to believe the best in you.

“It’s not what she does Cap, it’s the way that she does it. She doesn’t just kill, she’s a butcher.” Tony sighed heavily, pushing a file across the table to them.

Steve was the one who reached for it first, flipping it open.

Bucky was the first to realise what he was looking at, his own twisted mind putting the pieces together. Sam and Steve took a little longer. They were soldiers, they had seen their fair share of death but this wasn’t the same, this was just darker. Their minds rebelled against what they were seeing, trying to protect them from the horrors on the photographs.

Eventually though, they fought through it.

“Jesus Christ.” Sam said, looking ill.

Steve remained impassive, stone faced and that was more telling than anything to Bucky. Steve was horrified.

“You did this?” Steve asked you, looking at you coldly.

“Would help if I knew what you were looking at.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Steve slid the file along the table, more pictures spilling out and exposing more horrific crimes to them.

“Oh, yes. That was me.” You smirked.

“Why?” Sam asked, well more demanded.

“This one, he was a particularly nasty piece of work. He liked taking innocence, true innocence that was untouched by the world and obliterating it in the cruellest ways his twisted mind could think of. So I repaid the favour, twisted his body up to match his mind until his heart gave out.” You explained, and for the casualness of your tone you could have been explaining the weather.

“He was alive when you did that?” Steve asked, shock clouding his features.

“Well what would have been the point in doing it after he was dead?” You asked, genuine befuddlement in your voice.

“What was the point in doing it when he was alive?” Sam snapped at you.

“Before you get too comfy on that high horse, take a look at his victims.” You challenged.

That left everyone silent. That was what you did, that was your calling card. However evil you were, however despicable or heinous your acts, nobody could easily condemn you. You expected Captain America to try though, and weren’t ashamed to admit your surprise when he didn’t.

“So why are you here? I assume you aren’t handing yourself in.” The Captain asked, genuinely curious.

“I’m here to save the world.” You announced, throwing your hands out to the sides as you made your proclamation to add a touch of dramatic flair.

“She brought us evidence of… something. Something big.” Clint said, nodding to you.

~~~~~~~~~~Three Days Ago~~~~~~~~~~

“Watashi wa too-kai ni itte imasu, watashi wa watashi no shigoto no sewa o shite iru ma, mihari tsudzukemasu.”

“Hai, bosu.”

The thing that always amused you was that nobody ever looked up. When Sora Kawashima got onto the elevator, not him or his retinue of bodyguards glanced up and saw you balancing above them. As soon as the doors closed, you let go, falling lithely onto the ground and landing in a push up motion.

“Ki o tsukete!” Someone yelled, pushing Sora behind him.

Balancing all your weight on your arms you kicked your legs out in opposite directions, unbalancing two guards and sending them toppling to the ground. As they fell, you rose, unholstering two long blades as you did.

“Anatahadare?” One of them snarled at you.

“Watashi wa shidesu.” You said coldly.

As you spoke, declaring that you were death with your words, your actions backed you up. The blades spun through the air, leaving a glittering trail of blood droplets that painted the wall of the elevator. They fought back, of course they did, but they were money muscle. There to look intimidating, break knew caps and fire guns.

You were a well honed killer, trained to fight from the day you could walk. There were plenty of people in the world who could take you on and win, none of them were in that elevator though. They died in a glorious display of blood and carnage until there was a thick puddle of the viscous liquid covering the floor and you stood in the centre of a pile of partially dismembered bodies while your target covered by the doors, desperately prising them open. He flinched violently when you chuckled and pressed the door release button and he fell through them, not looking back as he sprinted away.

People usually didn’t want to die. They fought back, that wasn’t unusual, it was more common for them to run though. So when Sora Kawashima ran, you weren’t at all surprised. Let him run, he wouldn’t get far. All his bodyguards were already dead, quickly and easily disposed of, though they had gotten in a number of minor hits. You were dribbling a thin line of blood from your skull and it was annoying, but not debilitating.

What did surprise you was that he didn’t run for the stairs, for an exit or even somewhere to hide. He ran for his own office. You calmly followed, your footsteps silent in contrast to his thundering ones. You curiously cocked your head when you arrived at the office and saw his rifling through his desk, inputing a code on a safe and taking out something small.

“You will not succeed.” He told you, switching over to flawless English.

“You know who I am?”

“You are the one they call The Executioner.”

“Then you know, I never fail.” You said.

He held up the thing he’d been so desperate to get, a slim USB stick and while your face remained impassive, internally you were franticly trying to figure out why it was so important.

“The six will be five but they will continue.” He declared and dived towards the glass doors leading to the balcony.

You were faster, but he was closer and he made it onto the ledge before you could stop him. With a victorious grin he opened his fist and dropped the flashdrive and pushed himself back from the ledge.

It was a choice, one he was forcing you to make. Did you grab him, or the flashdrive?

He was a monster, a big name in human trafficking, selling people and their parts on the black market. You had planned to cut him open while he was alive and conscious, pump him full of adrenaline so he was forced to watch as you carefully removed as many organs as you could before his body gave out. But he didn’t want you to get that flashdrive, which meant you really needed to see what was on it.

And if it was nothing, then he would still be dead.

You leapt over the balcony, sailing into the air and grabbed the ledge with one hand, snatching the drive with the other. You saw his eyes as he fell, panic and terror. But his gaze was firmly on the drive in your hands and you knew it wasn’t the imminent death that put such fear into him, it was that he had died for nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~Today~~~~~~~~~~

“What kind of evidence?” Sam asked.

“A usb. And it’s… well it’s complicated.” Tony sighed.

“It’s a well detailed manifesto, an intricate plan. One that states the end of the world is nigh.” You informed them.

“Hang on now, it doesn’t quite say that.” Clint rebutted.

“It’s a recipe, for a virus. Or, part of it anyway. As well as part of a plan to release said virus.” You argued.

“It doesn’t mean it’s real.” Clint said.

“What do you think?” You asked, turning in your chair to look at The Black Widow.

She had been quiet, watching everything with a calculating gaze.

“Bruce is studying it now, seeing if there’s even potential of a threat. But you carried this across the world, being chased all the way. I think we need to consider that it may be a credible threat.” She said.

“Hence why this darling little psychopath is wandering around freely and not in a cell.” Tony said.

“If you agree that there’s a threat then I’ll tell you everything I know. Until then I am withholding the information and using it to make sure nobody does anything stupid.” You said smugly.

“Stupid like breaking into the base of The Worlds Mightiest Hero’s while they are on the FBI’s most wanted list.” Clint snorted.

“I’m hardly the most wanted, they barely put any effort into catching me.” You said, shaking your head.

“They have an entire joint agency taskforce dedicated to catching you. FBI, CIA, Interpol, Scotland Yard, The UN!”

“And they’ve never even come close, they aren’t trying that hard.” You scoffed.

“So, we’re just supposed to hold hands and sing kumbaya with The Executioner while Banner tries to figure out if we need her or not?” Sam checked.

“Pretty much.” Tony shrugged.

“Why is everyone alright with this? Cap?” Sam sighed.

Steve looked you over, studying you.

“Until we know more, she stays.” He decided.

“Great, we can have a slumber party. I’ll bring the popcorn.” Sam huffed.

“Sweet, not salty. You’re salty enough Icarus.” You told him.

“What’s your name, or shall we just call you The Executioner?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes.

“Call me whatever you like.” You shrugged.

“Will you at least tell us your name?” Steve asked politely.

You smirked and gestured to Clint and Natasha.

“I’m sure someone can tell you if you really want to know, but I don’t really use it anymore. First rule of being an internationally wanted criminal, don’t use your real name.” You told him, standing up.

“Where are you going?” Sam demanded.

“Well you made me hungry when you started talking about popcorn so I’m going to go raid your kitchen, I probably won’t poison everything while I’m there. “ You promised sweetly as you left the room.

“Are we really all ok with this?” Sam asked seriously.

“No, but the fact that she came here proves she’s worried. She’s not stupid, she wouldn’t walk into the loins den without a good reason.” Clint sighed.

“I think we’re all brushing over the obvious here. Her methods, while brutal and violent don’t change the fact that everyone she’s killed was a bad guy. She does what we do, just with a little more blood.” Natasha said.

“It’s the methods that scare me. You saw the way she looked at those pictures, no remorse at all. Her eyes practically lit up. She enjoys it.” Sam argued.

“She’s not the only person here with red in their ledger and I’m not just talking about myself. We’re all soldiers, weapons manufacturers, assassins, spies… So she’s a serial killer? It’s not that big of a deal.” Natasha said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Not that big of a deal!” Sam repeated in disbelief.

“I took her up on that offer to look at that guys victims you know.” Tony interjected.

“And, what do you think?” Steve asked him.

There was something haunted in Tony’s expression when he answered.

“I could never do what she did, but I’m not sorry she did it.” He said.

That seemed to throw Sam and Steve for a loop.

“Listen, I’m not saying we give her a medal. I’m saying that somewhere in there is a good person who’s doing bad things.” Tony explained.

“If you do bad things for a good reason, you’re still doing bad things.” Sam sighed.

“I did bad things for bad reasons once, I changed. She’s already halfway there.” Natasha said.

“And she did come here, risking a lot for nothing more than a possible threat I suppose.” Sam said to himself more than anyone else.”

“Wheres Bucky?” Steve asked, realising his oldest friend wasn’t in the room anymore.

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

Bucky’s mind was racing as he thought about everything you had said, they way you had said it and your possible motivations. More than that, he was trying to figure out why he was so drawn towards you. He hadn’t made the conscious choice to follow you to the kitchen, his feet had seemed to develop a mind of their own and carried him through the compound. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to talk to you though, alone.

“So you’re some kind of avenging angel?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe as you sliced an apple in half and bit into it.

“No sweetheart, I’m a killer. My victim of choice just happens to be the bad guys. Could have just have easily been something else but this is where the cards landed for me.” You answered, spearing the other half of the apple onto the knife and offering it to him.

“And that’s the first time you’ve lied so far.” Bucky said calmly, ignoring your offer.

“Oh, you’re good.” You told him, pulling out the knife and flipping it.

“Yes, I am. So why not just tell me the truth?” He pushed.

“Alright, I like killing. Nothing feels as good as making someone bleed, except knowing that the person whimpering for mercy is someone who other people are afraid of. I like being the monster that the monsters are afraid of. Was that a lie?” You told him, twirling the knife absentmindedly in your hand.

“No.” He sighed.

“You were really hoping for a pretty answer about justice and punishing the guilty weren’t you?” You asked with a smirk.

“Why would I want that?” He asked flatly.

“Because redeeming me could have been the last stepping stone on your own path to forgiving yourself.” You said simply.

“Guess we’ll never know if that was true.” Bucky said, dismissively.

“Forgiveness is overrated, and for someone like you unobtainable. Get used to the weight of that guilt soldier, you’re going to be carrying it for a long time.” You informed him heavily.

“You don’t know me.” He insisted, more than a little annoyed.

“I know you have a soul. And that’s why you’ll never be free of the things you’ve done. But if this makes you feel better, I would never kill you.” You said gently, throwing the knife into the sink.

“Why would that make me feel better, you couldn’t even if you tried.” He said derisively as you walked past him, wandering back into the corridor.

“But I would never try. Let that sink in for a second.” You smirked over your shoulder and then you were gone.

The Executioner, the killer of killers wouldn’t kill him. He did let it sink in. You were the self-appointed judge, jury and executioner of the guilty and you had judged him innocent. It shouldn’t have made him feel better, but it did. It was like having the devil tell you that you weren’t a sinner, it was a cold, empty kind of comfort but a comfort all the same.

His little talk with you hadn’t really cleared anything up for him, he was still confused. You were beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. You were cold and somehow made him feel strangely warm.

It dawned on him that you weren’t actually cold at all. You had seen through him, know why he was asking you why you did the things you did and told him that you would never kill him, tried to offer him comfort. In your own twisted way, you had offered kindness.

Why the hell did that realization have him smiling?

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puddygeeks · 4 years

Text

𝔅𝔞𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 - 𝔖𝔲𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔫/𝔒ℭ - ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔈𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: Following the footsteps of several generations of Creed hunters, Faye’s upbringing revolved around training to continue the family legacy. Since her parents death, she has been content to work alone until a chance encounter with the Winchester’s shatters everything she believed. Despite her complicated past and initial reservations about the boys, she finds herself crossing paths with the troublemakers at regular intervals. Faye discovers more in common with Dean than she could ever have anticipated and leaning on each other becomes a habit they can’t quit.

A/N: I needed a project to give me a creative break from We Come Running, so thought I’d delve into Supernatural. This will not have a posting schedule, as I don’t need another thing to stress over! But I’ll update whenever I need to write outside of The 100 Universe. I don’t have a huge plan for this fic, but I can say that it will not be a full rewrite of the show that includes every episode like my other works. It will dip in and out of the Supernatural storylines whenever I feel she has something to contribute. I hope you enjoy this new style of writing that I’m trying <3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: OC x Dean Winchester

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Language, alcohol abuse, violence, character death.

Chapter One

I stared back at my reflection in the cheap motel mirror with a strong feeling of unease. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I adjusted the blonde wig into place so that none of my natural hair was visible and checked that my makeup adequately covered the small holes that remained in my face once my piercings were removed. The black suit jacket slid easily over my shoulders and I stepped into my neat black court shoes with a wobble. I seized the worn holdall containing my ordinary clothes with attitude and stomped out to the car. The blaring sound of my trusty playlist filled the clunky old jeep and I felt myself gradually relaxing over the course of my journey to the local police station.

This part of hunting had always grated on me. Over the years, I’d learned to embrace the lifestyle of living on the outskirts of society and enjoyed the simple pleasures of expressing myself however I wished. I wasn’t limited by the same restrictions as everyone else, I didn’t have to conform to office dress codes or feel the social pressure to dress my age. It was only when I needed to pass as law enforcement to gather information that I had to force myself into a characterless uniform and stiff appearance. Everytime that this was necessary, I felt like I stripped away all of the benefits of the hunter lifestyle and instead was left feeling like an outsider as I tried to fit into the regular world.

I parked around the corner from the station and made one last check of my appearance to ensure that nothing suspiciously unprofessional was on show. Before stepping out of the vehicle, I took a deep breath and forced myself into the facade that always gained me access to anything that I wanted. I strutted into the station with an unnecessary sway to my hips that I knew were well displayed in the pencil skirt that I wore and felt my stomach churn at the sickening manner in which the officers in the room watched me pass. It was worryingly simple to flirt my way past the first officer at the desk and into the captain's office. I didn’t even show my badge, all it took was a charming smile over the top of my horn rimmed glasses and a lingering sweep of hair behind my ear.

The Captain was a middle aged man who at least remembered to ask me for ID before he eagerly spilled the details of the strange case. He roughly commented that I seemed very young to be working alone, FBI agent or not and I smiled through my discomfort as I grilled him for the information that I sorely needed.

I was smoothly exiting the office in a determined march for my car and sorely needed change of clothes, when the Captain called out to announce the arrival of another couple of agents. My stomach flipped with nerves as I rolled my eyes and made an offhand comment about poor organisation at the bureau. It wasn’t the first time that I’d bumped into actual feds on a job. As a matter of fact, I’d learned early on that it was one of the many risks of investigation, but every time that I had to improvise my way out of their scrutiny left me feeling drained.

I allowed the Captain to lead me outside the front of the station with a forced air of calm whilst I mentally rehearsed the lines that I had prepared for this situation. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to call in another favour; every time that I needed to give a number for real investigators to call to confirm my identity cost me another night of stroking a hunter colleagues ego.

My nerves dissolved into amusement as we neared two obnoxiously tall men in black suits that I recognised immediately. One of them had shoulder length, chestnut brown hair and kind eyes that twinkled as he fixed me with a warm smile. He was clearly younger than me and there was something in his posture that indicated a calm nature that was beyond his years. The other smoothly slid off his sunglasses with a brow cocked in interest as his gaze roamed my figure before landing on my face. He had shorter brunette hair and mischievous eyes that seemed to challenge me as they met mine. He had chiseled, handsome features and broad shoulders that hinted at a muscular physique hidden away beneath the suit jacket. There was no doubting that they were both attractive, but were absolutely not federal agents and everything about them screamed trouble. The Captain asked whether a little lady like me would need help arguing with two such large men over jurisdiction, but I convinced him to leave us with a polite smile and a falsely flattered giggle.

“Good to meet you. I’m Agent Stark, this is Agent Banner. We’re from the Atlanta Bureau. Could you bring us up to speed on any case details that you’ve been given?” The flirtatious man that I had easily recognised to be Dean Winchester spoke first, introducing the two of them as they both briefly held up their fake ID’s and I peeked between them with my brows raised. I’d heard descriptions of these men more times than I could count but they didn’t do justice to the hulking reality that stood before me. It wasn’t unusual for men to tower over me; at 5’4 I wasn’t exactly tall. However, I was surprised to find that the impending attitude they were often characterised as displaying seemed to be absent and I wasn’t remotely intimidated by them.

“Stark and Banner?” I repeated as I surveyed Dean with amusement and he furrowed his brows together in confusion. I wondered if they’d ever been doubted before from the obvious shock in their body language and couldn’t help sensing an opportunity to seize the upper hand with the infamous hunters. “That’s really what you’re going with?” I drawled as I smiled smugly at them and noticed that they subtly glanced between them with concern. “I thought the Winchester’s would be better at this.” I teased as they visibly stiffened and stared at each other in alarm. I revelled in the knowledge that I’d caught them off guard as I crossed my arms and waited for them to formulate a response.

“You’re a hunter?” Sam breathed in a tone that was more of a statement than a question. He scanned me in an analytical manner and I quickly understood that he was the more logical of the two. I stretched out the silence as I prepared my answer and enjoyed watching Dean squirm nervously as he considered that Sam might have made an error in judgement.

“Yes I am.” I confirmed firmly and caught sight of a slight sag in Dean’s shoulders. It occurred to me that he was the protector of the two and I stored this information in the back of my mind for future use. “And this is my job. I’ll handle this case from here, so you two can feel free to move on.” I revealed with a disinterested shrug as I held my ground. Confusion flitted across both of their faces at almost the exact same time and I was struck with the impression that they weren’t used to hearing women say no very often.

“Well, hold on a second. We’re all here, we might as well help you out.” Dean suggested in a manner that tried to be helpful but mostly sounded condescending and I cocked a brow at him. Sam studied me closely as my face grew stern but Dean seemed to be completely unaware of his effect on me.

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. Besides, witches tend to fight much harder against men anyway, you’ll only spur them on.” I crooned as I started to wander toward my car in an effort to end the undesirable conversation and rolled my eyes when they followed with a shared look of concern. “Not every girl is a damsel in distress you know. I’m sure there’s plenty of other jobs you could pursue with girls who will be awaiting your rescue. I work better alone.” I clarified with an annoyed expression as I increased my pace to suggest that I wanted to be left alone. Dean caught my wrist to pause me in place and I whipped around on the spot to view him with suspicion.

“Hey, I don’t know what your problem is but we’re offering to make your job easier.” He remarked with a confident attitude and I scoffed. “Look, you don’t want our help, that’s fine but don’t just take off. You seem to know exactly who we are and we don’t even know your name. Give me something here.” He drawled with a keen expression and I chuckled under my breath.

“There’s not a hunter around who doesn’t know Sam and Dean Winchester.” I commented as I removed myself from his grasp and stepped out of his space with a look of disapproval. “And you don’t need to know my name. You can call me Agent Brooke if they ask any questions about who’s taking the case.” I clarified before I turned on my heel and strode to my car without a backwards glance.

I stopped back at the motel to change out of my feminine agent disguise with a tense feeling of stress. I had known that I was likely to run into the Winchester’s at some point or another, but it didn’t make the experience any less jarring. I’d been anticipating it for almost ten years whilst I worked jobs all over the country and although I’d met numerous hunters along the way, I’d somehow managed to avoid them. They were exactly how I’d expected, full of over-confidence in both their ability and charm. Enough years had gone since I ran away from my past that there was only a hint of bitterness remaining for them and I’d found that toying with them was more for my own amusement than as a result of envy. I’d grown accustomed to pushing people away and working alone so sharp, deflective humour was more of habit than anything personal.

I shook out my shoulder length purple hair and ran my fingers through it to relieve the soreness from the wig. I took a shower to clean off the taint of the act that I’d been forced to perform as an agent and changed into an old band t-shirt, black ripped jeans and a pair of black doc martin boots. I returned my black studs into the two piercings under my lips and the silver ring into my left nostril. It took some time to replace all of the ear jewellery but once I had, I started to feel like myself again. I quickly applied some black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow for my own satisfaction as a small act of rebellion against my earlier self presentation.

I settled on the edge of the bed with my laptop to pour over the new intel that I’d received and set aside time to form a plan of action. I couldn’t concentrate properly on my task as the memory of the boys’ clueless expressions floated through my mind and after a while of battling it, I threw the laptop aside in frustration. There was a common coping mechanism amongst hunters of burying your feelings instead of dealing with them and I had depended on this unhealthy strategy for more years than I cared to acknowledge. The act of finally matching faces to the all too familiar Winchester names had stirred up memories that I’d long been repressing and I struggled to contain the feelings that came with them.

I felt a pang of guilt as Bobby’s voice rang in my mind, scolding me for not accepting their help. He’d always recommended teaming up where possible; he considered it a good chance to learn from other hunters' experiences and to make contacts that you could utilise in future. Fortunately for me I didn’t have to do anything Bobby’s way any more. I was an adult now, if I wanted to drink myself into a stupor and pass out in my motel room, there was no one here to scold me for doing so. It was a weak justification but as I slipped into a whisky fuelled coma, I felt relieved that I had been able to drown out the criticism.

The next few days were spent in town interviewing people close to the mysterious deaths and was pleased not to hear any mention of the boys. It seemed that they hadn’t processed their investigation any further and I convinced myself that I had successfully managed to scare them from town. This assertion allowed me to focus on preparing for the upcoming confrontation. I discovered that I was dealing with a duo of witches and planned carefully to ensure that I couldn’t be overwhelmed by them. I packed a plentiful supply of weapons and visited the home of one of the previous victims to set traps. I knew that I could lure them to revisit the scene of the crime with a few simple social arrangements to inspire jealousy and used this to ensure that the fight took place somewhere that I could control.

I waited in my car, parked in the dark street for hours for any sign of the witches' arrival and was pleased to find that they were exactly as predictable as I expected. The back door allowed me to creep into the home and I could hear them frantically searching the rooms for the next victim that I’d led them to believe would be here. I carefully approached the living room where I’d planted traps with baited breath and as I neared the door, I was startled by the loud crash of a boobytrap springing into action. My stomach lurched at the unexpected sound of a mape crying out and tiptoed closer to peek inside.

“Sam!” I recognised the panicked voice of Dean from the next room as I reached the door and was able to view Sam tangled in my trap.

Dean burst through the entrance hall in a rage as Sam struggled with one of the witches who was somewhat thrilled by the containment of her new captive. I growled under my breath as they trampled over my carefully laid plans and tried to quickly analyse the best way to take control of the rapidly escalating situation. Dean charged toward his choking brother in a manic attack before the second witch revealed herself and launched him across the room with merely a flick of her wrist. It was evident from their reactions that they had only expected one enemy and I rolled my eyes at their chaotic behaviour.

“Dean! Let him go!” Sam wheezed between pants as Dean was crushed against the wall by magic so forceful that it cracked the plaster around him. I fidgeted nervously on the spot as I realised that Sam was turning blue from oxygen deprivation and I fell into the room in a moment of impulse. The two witches had their backs to the door that I rushed through and were paying little attention to each other as they individually toyed with the boys. I entangled my fingers into the back of the tangled hair of the woman who was choking Sam and yanked her backwards toward the circle that I’d prepared earlier. The moment that Sam stumbled out of my trap, I caught his attention with a wide eyed stare.

“Pull the rug!” I ordered with a firm authority before lapsing into well memorised incantations under my breath to activate the containment. He crouched to rip the rug out from under my captive’s feet without question, revealing a freshly white painted circle on the ground. Now that the shock of my assault had passed, the witch easily fought out of my grasp and whipped around to face me with an expression of absolute outrage. I jumped back to remove myself from her reach and now that the circle was active, she was unable to cast or escape. Sam leapt to the side in a frantic bid to reach a sword on the ground and the moment that he gripped it, he rushed toward Dean with a fiery determination. The witch in the circle released an agonising scream that warned the other of his approach and I flinched as I instinctively covered my ears. Dean slammed to the ground in a wheezing heap as his assailant turned to lift Sam instead and he dropped the sword with a clatter as he scraped against the wall.

I snatched the sword in a desperate movement and dove from the room before either of them could plan to attack me. The boys were manically yelling behind me as I rushed through the house to my bag that I’d stowed at the back door. My shaking hands grabbed a pot of salt and a flare before I sprinted back to the door that I’d entered the room through originally. I dumped a shaky line of salt in the doorway before I sparked the flare and lobbed it into the room to draw attention away from Sam.

Whilst the fighting descended into chaos, I scrambled to the entrance hall and past Dean’s crumpled form at the other end of the room. The remaining attacker was still distracted by the flare which allowed me to stalk up to her from behind and I swung the sword with as much force as I could muster. The blade neatly removed her head in a clean cut and it flew across the room with a satisfying thud. The witch in the circle howled in anguish and when I brought my attention to her, I realised that her eyes had turned completely black. I didn’t hesitate for a single moment as I grabbed the flare from the ground and tossed it into the circle. It set alight the fuel that I’d doused it in earlier and I rushed through the blessing to dispel the demon.

I leaned forward with my hands on my knees as I panted from the exertion and listened to the sounds of the witch sizzling to nothing. After a few moments of recovery, I heard Sam and Dean struggle to their feet and their heavy footprints alerted me to their approach. I straightened up to fix them with a disapproving look.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I spat in an accusing tone and they shifted awkwardly as they viewed me. I couldn’t believe that they had ignored my direct request to leave and as I stared at their guilty faces, I felt frustration building in my chest.

“We thought you might need help.” Sam muttered in a poor excuse and I crossed my arms in annoyance as I scoffed.

“Oh yeah, thank god you guys were here to save me. I’d never have managed without you.” I drawled with a heavy sarcasm and I noticed that Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “You two are supposed to be the best hunters around and you just almost got all three of us killed!” I scolded in a raised voice and although Sam squirmed at my words, Dean only seemed to get defensive.

“Look, we messed up, alright. But what the hell kind of a hunter sets up contraptions like that?” Dean argued as he indicated to the trap that Sam had found himself tangled in. It was a method I’d used regularly for years now to ensure that I always had a back up plan if I found myself outnumbered or cornered. It was difficult to hunt without anyone to watch your back and I’d adapted to the challenge.

“The kind of hunter that works alone, not all of us charge in without a plan. I thought you’d be smarter than that with all the training you’ve had.” I confirmed as I surveyed him with dismay and immediately kicked myself for hinting how much I knew about their upbringing. I dropped my gaze to the ground to avoid his expression but from my peripheral vision I could see that he raised his brows at me whilst Sam observed us in silent interest.

“You’ve got a lot of assumptions about us for someone who claims they don’t give a shit...Faye Creed.” Dean drawled as his words tore my eyes back to his face. He smiled smugly at me as he paused to emphasise my name and I felt a lump form in my throat. My back stiffened involuntarily and I rolled my eyes at them both.

“So, you finally thought to consult Bobby. Guess you aren’t as dumb as you seem.” I sneered as I ran a hand through my hair and tried to present as unphased by their research into me. I knew that it had been foolish to hope that they would allow me to walk away without any interest but I didn’t expect to see them again once they had found the information. “Only a matter of time, took you longer than I expected though. How’d you get him to narrow it down? I don’t use his aliases any more.” I enquired with a controlled interest as I wondered what it was that had given me away. I had been careful about my choice of words in our first meeting and I expected my disguise to protect me from them as much as it did the police. The thought crossed my mind that Bobby may still be keeping tabs on me if he was aware of my FBI presentation and I pushed it away to deal with later.

“Not that many hunters with a British accent around.” Sam commented from the side with a charming smile and I shrugged in defeat. There was little I could do to hide that and it was an ongoing identifier that I wished I could remove.

“Took me longer than I want to admit to figure out that alias too, Agent Brooks.” Dean remarked and his voice drew my attention back to his intrigued smile. “Eric Brooks, Blade. That’s a pretty obscure reference, even for a comic nerd. No wonder those ID’s tipped you off.” He detailed with an obvious admiration in his tone and I felt a genuine smile escape my cool expression.

“So, what did your Nick Fury tell you about me to make you so convinced that I needed your help?” I grilled as I raised a brow at Dean with a more flirtatious interest than I intended. I couldn’t contain the playfulness that he encouraged from me despite my determination to keep them at a distance.

“Nothing. Just a name and a warning that you were bad news.” Dean confirmed with a mischievous delight in his eyes and I chuckled under my breath.

“Actually, he was remarkably tight lipped about it all. Maybe you could fill us in on how you know each other?” Sam interrogated, a warm smile attempting to cover his curiosity. I waved my arms in front of me as I stepped back slightly in defence.

“Oh I’m no snitch. That’s the old man's story to share, if he even wants to.” I deflected as I gathered my things to leave and increased the distance between us subconsciously. “Seeing as I saved your asses from your own idiocy tonight, I’ll leave you two clean-up duty.” I declared as I indicated to the remains of the witches that were spread across the room and they glanced at each other regretfully. “It’s been fun, see you around.” I crooned with an exaggerated solute as I wandered from the room.

The disgruntled complaints of them gathering the pieces of our enemies was clear even from the back of the house as I grabbed my duffel bag and I reached out to touch the door handle before I paused in place. A thoughtful sigh escaped my lips and my heartstrings pulled me back to the room they were in. I leaned carefully on the doorframe as I peered inside and cleared my throat to gain their attention.

“Could you...could you boys pass Bobby a message for me?” I asked nervously and they glanced at each other uncertainly before Sam shrugged in response. “Just tell him that I’m sorry. He’ll know what for.” I relayed and quickly turned on my heel to stomp out before they could ask any questions.

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cryunderthewillowtree · 1 year

Text

Coral Streaks – Chapter 5

Related Warnings: Eventual Smut (Aged Up Characters), Language, Descriptions of assault, Harassment

Characters – Neteyam x Fem Metkayina!reader

Related Tags: Major Angst, Slow-Burn, Friends-To-Lovers, Heartache, Tension, Hurt/Comfort

[Do not interact with this story if you are underage.]

Existence was truly a miserable thing. Awra could testify for sure. She was sure the Great Mother was playing tricks on her to prolong her suffering.

She’d gotten little sleep last night – what with the late hour and the frequent tossing and turning. Every subsequent waking hour was spent ruminating over what happened with Neteyam, upsetting her mood and making her completely disinterested in doing remotely anything around the Ometicayan people. Much to her despair however, she’d forgotten she had agreed to help Tsireya teach the Ometicayans how to freedive near the reef today. Outstanding, she gripes. Another day spent having to dodge and avoid Neteyam always bode well for the day.

When they reached the end of the first circle of corals, Tsireya gestured for the Ometicayans to dive. Out of the corner of her eye, she could feel him; staring intently down at the seabed pondering his next move. She rolled her shoulder out of habit. At least he’s not staring at me. Tsireya dove, followed by Lo’ak, ever eager to impress. Awra turns towards Kiri, who shoots her a small smile before diving forward and swimming after her brother. She pauses, glancing at Neteyam from the corner of her eye. He’s still not moving, eyes transfixed on the water surface. Immediately, she feels an awkward tension in the air.

“Are you just going to ignore me again?”

Awra startles at the sound of his voice, smooth and almost confident in the way it carries across the water. It almost irritates her how he doesn’t sound the least remorseful, and she bites her tongue. At her lack of reply, he sighs her name. “Awra.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She answers, voice clipped with annoyance. She finally turns to face him, both of them treading water to stay afloat. He’s effortlessly beautiful under the sun, as usual, gazing at her with an unreadable expression.

“Must you make this so difficult? I said I was sorry–”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Neteyam. Can’t you get it?” She bites back, baring her teeth. “This isn’t a situation a simply sorry can fix.”

“I don’t like it when you ignore me.” Frustration bleeds into her words, making her throat close up. She’s never seen him angry before, he only ever uses this tone of voice with Lo’akl. “All you do is ignore me. Pretend I’m not there. I don’t understand why.”

Awra groans in irritation. “You don’t understand why? C’mon Neteyam, that’s just playing dumb as this point.” She feels herself getting more agitated in the moment, voice raising in pitch. “I literally kissed you. Kissed you! And you pushed me away.” She trails off, averting her eyes. She hates to admit how much his rejection had stung, how much it had hurt when he’d told her it was a mistake. But she was too proud to tell him.

“Look, I know what I said. I didn’t mean it that way.” He offers placatingly, trying to wade closer. She backs away unconsciously, putting distance between them. His ears turn down, swallowing. “I didn’t mean it that way, Awra. I promise you.”

“Sounded pretty clear to me.”

He clicks his tongue. “I said it was a mistake because it was late, we were tired and alone. I didn’t want us to do something we would regret in the morning.” Awra feels her heart sink even more at that. So typical of Neteyam to be all prudish and responsible at the wrong time. “Do you understand me? Awra?”

“Doesn’t change what you said.” You whisper. “Sounds like you were trying to find a way out. And if that’s what you want, then you don’t have to have this conversation with me right now. I’m telling you I hear you loud and clear Neteyam. I get it.” Her eyes sting, but she refuses to cry. Not in front of him.

“Awra, I–” He pauses, biting his lip; contemplating. “I’m sorry. For saying it was a mistake. It wasn’t, and that’s not what I meant.” She rolls her eyes.

“Sure. Okay.” Awra begins wading back to shore, the urge to run away again stronger than ever. She wades with more intensity than necessary, sending sea water spraying back at the Ometicayan with every stroke of her tail. So maybe she’s upset, he should know.

“Awra please, listen to me.” He pleads, and she can hear him swim after her. She doesn’t stop, wading quickly through the crystalline waters to the shoreline. She hears a splash from behind her, and he grabs her by the arm. She’s yanked backwards from the force, and forced under the water’s surface. All at once, there’s water rushing up her nose and into her mouth, her eyes clamping shut as she flails her arms around for purchase. She feels the vice grip on her arm disappear, and pushes herself upwards for air.

“Shit–!” She hears him panic as she resurfaces, coughing salt water out of her nose. She glares at him, making his ears flatten against his head.

“You really have a knack for getting on my nerves.” She says simply, voice betraying her irritation. “And you never seem to get the hint.”

“Just listen to me, please?” She really didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help but notice how pretty he looked in the sun – dark blue skin glittering with water droplets. She doesn’t answer, a silent cue for him to continue. He takes a deep breath, a stern look crossing over his features. It’s a look she’d come to associate with Lo’ak, because it’s the expression Neteyam makes when he’s about to chide his younger brother for doing something reckless. Awra scowls at that.

“Don’t patronise me, I’m not–”

“Awra.” The sound of her name makes her stop in her tracks. He doesn’t sound condescending in the least, more tired and wary than anything else. “Listen.” She sulks, but stays silent, childishly avoiding his gaze when he tries to make eye contact. He shakes his head at her, an incredulous smile on his lips at her petulant behaviour.

“I meant it when I said I was sorry for hurting your feelings. It was not my intention. Not in the least.” He starts gently, still holding her arm. “But I was serious when I said I didn’t want us to do something rash that we’d regret in the morning. I have – we have responsibilities, and it wouldn’t be right for us to throw it all away for something we aren’t sure about.”

“I was sure.”

“How can you be certain? You do not know me.” It’s an innocent statement, but it hurts. It hurts because it’s true. The realisation makes her throat close up – and solidifies her worry that this entire roulette they’d been playing was one-sided. She thought about the nights she’d spent sneaking out, loitering precariously around his family’s marui just to make jokes and talk. Had it all been friendly then?

“Look, Awra, I like you. I do, but –” He stops himself, biting his lip.

“But what?” She snaps, making him look up. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, you shouldn’t have kissed me first. You could have pushed me away, told me to go away, hell anything. But you– you just let me kiss you. I let you touch me, Neteyam. I guess I just thought–” Her voice cracks, and she curses her voice for wobbling. She dares to look up at his face, just to see his reaction. He’s looking at her with almost pity, eyebrows furrowed in the middle as he bobs up and down on the surface of the water.

It’s silent, suffocatingly so. She can’t stop the tears from escaping her eyes, clearing her throat and swiping at her face. Anything is better than having Neteyam feel sorry for her. Eywa forbid. She didn’t need his affection, nor his attention nor his pity. No, he could keep that to himself.

“Hey guys! You coming or what?” She’s snapped out of her reverie by Lo’ak’s voice. She didn’t notice him coming up for air, but he’s waving at her and Neteyam. “Bro get over here! I wanna show you this cool new trick Tsireya showed me!” Neteyam just gives his brother a thumbs up, but looks on with worry as Awra wipes at her eyes.

“Awra–”

“Coming!” She shouts, cutting him off. She didn’t want or need to hear anything more the Ometicayan had to say. She didn’t want anyone else catching on either. As she dove into the water, she could feel him there, behind her. Almost following her with each stroke discreetly as he could. She blew bubbles in annoyance, using her tail to speed up, cruising through the water until she reached the first cluster of brightly coloured corals on the seabed.

At this time of day, aquatic life was vibrant – and the corals were full of fish and other sea critters. Oranges and purples bled together in the clear water, and seaweed tickled at their toes as they dove for seashells. She could see her sister off to a corner of the reef foraging for a special kind of rock, probably to give to Lo’ak. She couldn’t help but smile. The younger Ometicayan was a troublemaker, but at least he didn’t kiss girls then claim it was a mistake. She rolled her eyes when Neteyam appeared beside her, holding onto a piece of coral for leverage under the water.

Leave me alone, she signed angrily. He shook his head, cheeks puffed out comically as he held his breath.

Can we just talk about this please? He signs back. She shakes her head, blowing bubbles in his direction as she swims towards Tsireya. Her sister notices her, cocking her head in confusion at the frown that is surely still on her face.

Are you okay? Tsireya asks, signing quickly as she looks on in worry. You look upset.

Awra shrugs, sighing and letting out another stream of bubbles which float to the surface. She gestures to Neteyam, who is still hovering behind them at a cluster of corals hesitantly. She can see him watching her and Tsireya, but doesn’t make any move to swim over. He doesn’t look remorseful or angry – just confused. Awra tears her eyes away from him, looking at her sister and signing, meet me at the surface. Tsireya nods, carefully stowing away a smooth, flat stone she’d collected into her shoulder sling before pushing off the seabed. Awra does the same, using her arms to make large strokes to carry her up to the water’s surface quickly.

She breathes in, the air clean and salty as she inhales. Tsireya surfaces next to her, shaking the water droplets out of her hair. “What’s wrong sister? I haven’t seen you this upset in a long time.”

“It’s Neteyam.” Awra admits, albeit a little worried. Tsireya’s eyebrows raise, but she says nothing. “Something happened yesterday, and it’s just–”

“You didn’t mate with him, did you?” Tsireya interjects, voice dropping to a sharp whisper.

“No!” You shriek. “Of course not. I’m not stupid enough to do that.” Tsireya looks relieved, shoulders slumping Awra’s response.

“Thank the Great Mother.” Tsireya sighs in relief, hand resting over her heart. “Eywa knows what mother and father would do if you had.”

You huff. “Yeah, I’m well aware of their expectations.” Awra bites out scornfully. Tsireya places a comforting hand on Awra’s shoulder, swimming up next to her sister.

“Then what’s wrong, Awra? You guys seemed to be getting along so well.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. But I’ve been wrong all along it seems.” Awra huffs. Around them the waves move gently, rocking their bodies gently. Tsireya urges her to continue, rubbing soothing circles into her arm.

“We–we kissed, last night.” Tsireya gasps at that, hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock. “Yeah, I know I know. But he kissed me first, and I just thought that maybe it meant he liked me. Y’know? So I went along with it.”

Tsireya frowns, worry all over her gentle features. “Sister–”

“But I was wrong okay? He kissed me, and I kissed him back and he told me it was a mistake.” Awra rambles, facing away from her sister. “I–” She hesitates, biting her lip. “I let him touch me Tsireya. I let him touch me, and he told me he didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Tsireya’s frown deepens, and her grip on Awra’s shoulder tightens. Her sister looks sad and worried all at once, lines marring her features as she takes in Awra’s slumped shoulders and defeated expression.

“I don’t know what to do now sister. I thought after he kissed me that maybe he liked me back. But it appears I have been delusional all this while.” You mumble dejectedly. “It hurts. I try to ignore it, and pretend I don’t care but I can’t. It hurts, and it burns in my chest and it’s all I can think about whenever I see him.”

Tsireya’s eyes dart around, trying to find something to say but nothing comes. All that she can do is hold on to Awra tightly.

Awra sniffles, clearing her throat. “He tried to talk to me, just now, when we were diving. I couldn’t get him to leave me alone. Everytime he talks to me, or looks at me, I feel breathless like I’ve been underwater for days. Everytime I see him, I feel like I’ve resurfaced for air. But it pains me knowing he doesn’t feel the same. And maybe, deep down, I don’t want to make up and play nice because I want him to hurt. I want him to know how this feels.” At that admission, she lets a tear slip, and she feels it run molten down her cheek. She doesn’t try to hide it, and Tsireya gently rubs it away with the pad of her thumb.

Awra looks up at her sister, large aquamarine eyes clouded with worry and sadness. “I’m sorry, Awra. You should have told me sooner. I didn’t know you were in so much sadness alone.” At that her sister wraps her in a hug, and Awra buries her face in her sister’s neck. They’re treading water on the water’s surface so it’s awkward, but it feels good to finally have some comfort. Awra feels herself melt into Tsireya’s embrace, more tears rushing to her eyes. She hears Lo’ak’s voice in the distance, accompanied by Kiri’s nagging and Tuk shouting. If she strains her ears, she can just about make out the sound of Neteyam’s quiet nagging as he asks his siblings to quiet down. She hides her face, not wanting the Ometicayans to see her cry.

“Tsireya, Awra! Are you guys coming? We’re going to check out the sea pools!” Come Kiri’s voice, lilting over the sound of the waves.

“Yeah!” Comes Tuk’s excited shout. “Kiri and I are going to look for special stones to put in my hair!”

“Later you guys! Why don’t you go ahead first, Awra and I will catch up!” Tsireya answers, gently pulling Awra towards the shore on the other end of the sea pools.

“Are you sure!” Lo’ak chimes in, waving from atop his ilu. “We’ll see you guys there right?”

“Yes, don’t worry! Go ahead!” Tsireya waves the Ometicayans goodbye, before checking on Awra. Awra wipes the tears from her cheeks, letting her sister guide her towards a rocky part of the shoreline.

“Did he go with them?” She asks, voice raspy. Tsireya just nods.

“He’s really sweet to you.” Awra says with a watery chuckle. “Lo’ak.”

Tsireya turns purple at that, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Oh, well, yes. He is.” She says, a shy smile on her lips. They settle comfortably on the rocks, tails curled behind them as they watch the water glitter under the sun’s rays.

“I really like him, ‘reya.” Awra admits quietly, gazing down at her hands. Four fingers, and a thumb. “I like him a lot. More than I care to admit.”

Tsireya giggles, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she does so. Awra can’t help the smile that rises at the sound of her sister’s infectious laughter. “What’s so funny!”

“Nothing sister, it’s nothing.” Tsireya teases, dimples showing. “It’s just that, I’ve not heard you sound so in love since well, y’know.”

Awra smiles shyly in return. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It has been a while hasn’t it.”

Tsireya nods, grabbing Awra’s hands and interlacing their fingers. “Listen here sister, you should go and tell Neteyam how you feel.”

Awra shakes her head fervently. “You don’t understand ‘reya. I already did. Or is kissing someone not enough of a declaration of feelings. How obvious do I have to be?” Tsireya just shakes her head again, smiling at her sister.

“You do not understand the way of men, sister. They are,” she thinks of the next word slowly, “slow.”

“Slow? What do you mean slow. Neteyam is like, the smartest Na’vi. Or something.” Awra trails off at that, embarrassment curling at how quick she was to praise the Ometicayan boy. “Not that I care or whatever.”

Tsireya shakes with laughter. “No Awra, you’re not listening to me. Men are…simple. Straightforward. You cannot beat around the bush about your feelings. He’s probably afraid of hurting you, you see?”

“He won’t hurt me.” Awra sulks.

“He doesn’t know that.” Tsireya placates. “All he sees is you. Future Tsahik, oldest daughter of Olo’ eyktan Tonowari and Tsahik Ronal. He knows what you hold upon your shoulders, sister. He’s probably the only one who understands.”

Awra nods. “I know–”

“He knows your romance is,” Tsireya pauses, “unbecoming. And that’s why he probably hesitates to pursue you as a mate. Because he knows it cannot be.” At that, Tsireya untangles their hands, placing one over Awra’s heartbeat.

“But you cannot let these things stop you, sister. You must tell him you feel. And it has to come from here.” Tsireya pats Awra’s chest, over her top where her heart would be. “Inside here.”

“But what if he rejects me anyway. I don’t–I can’t deal with that ‘reya.” Awra admits, head hanging low as she thinks about the look of anger and confusion on Neteyam’s face earlier that afternoon. “I’d rather not.”

“No, sister.” Tsireya interjects, shaking her head. Her long ornate braids fall over her shoulders, framing her face. Her sister is beautiful, and Awra can’t help but smile at the thought of her and Lo’ak together.

“I don’t know what to say.” Awra sighs. “I’ll just make things worse like I always do. And then mother and father are really going to skin me alive. And cook me.” Tsireya makes a face at her gory description.

“Like I said sister, it has to come from within. Follow your heart, and you won’t go wrong.” Awra’s mood lifts at Tsireya��s calming voice, a small smile on her face. Tsireya smiles in return, dimples forming little divots around her lips.

“And if I fail?”

“I’ll pray to Eywa for you. It will happen if it is meant to.”

Awra sighs, stretching on the rock. “We should head back. They’ll be looking for us.” Tsireya stands, offering a hand and pulling Awra up to her feet.

“I’ll be sitting by Lo’ak for dinner, if that’s okay.” Tsireya says quietly, almost like an afterthought. Awra turns to her sister, a grin on her face. Tsireya narrows her eyes at Awra’s mischievous expression.

“Of course it’s okay! You guys are pretty cute together.”

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

Dinner with the Metkayina people was always an event. Everyone gathered at a central marui – far larger than the pods families used to sleep in. This pod was meant for clan gatherings or discussion, and was a place of great importance. Inside, the walls are decorated with woven trinkets – almost like songcords for the clan. Every bead, shell or stone signified a great milestone that befell the Metkayina people and was strung up as a reminder of the clan’s great history.

When she younger, Awra used to sit and play in the central marui or Ta’khu, while her father worked on village matters with her mother and other clan warriors. When she grew older, she grew preoccupied and stopped frequenting the Ta’khu with her father. Since then, the only time she’d step foot inside the marui was during mass dinners. And even then, it was a dread and a half. Her father would parade her around in an attempt to secure a suitable mate, much to her shame and embarrassment.

Please masempu, she’d whine. It’s so embarrassing. Hush, he would say, holding up her hand like a trophy. She felt exposed and vulnerable, and started to dread coming to these dinners. Most days she’d wear a shawl to cover her shoulders – being stared at from every possible angle was violating and made her feel small. Today was no different. As she neared the pod, she could feel herself become uneasy, gripping Tsireya’s hand tightly as they hoisted themselves up into the Ta’khu.

Inside, it’s warm and humid, and she can feel a thin sheen of sweat break out as she sits next to her father near the head of the Ta’khu. Tsireya greets their father quickly and bids her farewell, before skipping over to where Lo’ak is crouching, waiting for dinner to be served. She stops her eyes from travelling, willing herself to look away. She smiles at the look of elation on her sister’s face as she takes her place next to her father.

Tonowari greets her with a nod, crouching at the inner-most part of the Ta’khu. It’s customary for the Olo’ eyktan to seat at the top of the pod, so he may see all his people as they dine. Other Metkayina people filter into the pod slowly, settling into a circle around a feast of fruit, meat and other dishes. The smell is mouthwatering.

“My daughter, where have you been?” He asks, turning to face her with a stern expression. In the dim light of the evening, shadows cast an eerie glow over the tattoos on his face. Awra feels herself shrink under his steely gaze.

“With the Sullys, masempu.” She answers. He looks up at that, glancing over at where the Ometicayan family is sitting. She allows herself a quick glance in that direction as well, and to her surprise, Neteyam is already staring at her. She looks away quickly, willing her beating heart to calm itself. Not here, not now, she reminds herself.

“How has the teaching been?” He probes, reaching for a piece of fruit from the spread of food. As he does so, other Metkayina people start eating as well as a sign of respect. She’s thankful there’s chatter in the pod, and feels at ease with lesser eyes watching her.

“It’s been going okay. They are learning fast, I believe they will be able to ride the ilu without any problem very soon.” Awra says, picking up a slice of meat and nibbling on it. She can feel someone staring in her peripheral, and she prays to Eywa it’s not Neteyam.

“That’s good, that’s good.” He trails off, chewing and swallowing. She enjoys the silence, basking in the warmth of the pod. “Have you had your eye on anyone yet? You know it’s almost time for your Iknimaya.”

And with that, Awra feels her heart sink. “Not yet, masempu. I haven’t really been looking for anyone.” She feels him shift, and swallows nervously.

“Why not, ma’ite? We have plenty of fine men for you to choose from! Warriors, hunters–” He stops himself, a hand on his chest. Awra shrinks into herself even more, the piece of meat she’d been nibbling on now lying forgotten on the floor in front of her. He exhales harshly, turning away from her. All at once, she’s suddenly seven again, and cowering in fear after doing something wrong.

“I’m sorry, masempu. I will look for someone worthy.” She offers timidly, tail curled tight around herself. He doesn’t respond, just exhales again. She takes it as an affirmative, turning away from him. She looks up at the Sully family and sees Neteyam staring at her – eyes large with inquisitivity. The rest of the Sullys are eating, scooping the food up with their hands and in Lo’ak’s case, shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth. She looks over at her sister, who is giggling quietly at Lo’ak’s antics.

Are you okay? He signs discreetly. Her eyes widen, and she glances at her father to make sure he was busy. Her father is speaking with one of the young warriors, eyes diverted from where she is sitting. Awra turns and signs back, not really.

Do you want to talk about it? She looks over at her father again, still occupied in conversation.

Biting her lip, she signs yes. She sees him blink in surprise.

Wanna go for a walk? Meet you outside.

Her heart skips a beat at the idea of being alone with him again.

Okay.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam avatar #neteyam sully #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #atwow #avatar the movie #neteyam imagine #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam angst

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sign-from-god-complex · 5 years

Text

A Gift From Me To You - Chapter 2

Link to Chapter 1

Chapter summary: Roman recalls the beginning of a friendship; Logan is reminded of his childhood; Virgil panics.

Warnings: A slightly more in-depth mention of suicide and a brief description of a panic attack.

A/N: I hope this lives up to expectations??? You’d think I would be less nervous about posting fanfiction at this point, but I’ve worked real hard on this fic so I’m lowkey very anxious, haha. If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just let me know!! I expect there to be about 5 or 6 chapters? Just so y’all are aware.

AO3 link

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Patton and Roman arrived at school about ten minutes before the bell rang. Patton had stayed over at Roman’s after driving to see him that night and they’d spent the evening talking about what the soulmarks meant.

Pat was adamant that nothing had really changed. After all, he loved Roman no matter what the soulmark said, though it was nice to see the universe recognise that. Roman, after he’d calmed down slightly and after some persuading from Patton, agreed. He loved Patton and would have continued to do so even if the soulmark had never shown up. Now it was just… more official.

They’d decided they weren’t going to keep their marks secret. It would have hurt to hide them away after they’d only just discovered them, and anyway, if the drama club knew, it wouldn’t be long before the entire school did too. So they’d walked hand-in-hand to the front gate of the school before splitting up to head to their respective classes. Roman’s first class being maths, with their best friend Logan.

Logan had been an odd one, right from the very start.

Unsurprisingly, Patton makes friends left and right. He makes friends with anyone who’ll give him the time of day, and even those who won’t. Truly, Pat’s friendliness was one of the things Roman loved the most about him. He didn’t have any concept of social class, didn’t stay in his lane within the high school cliques, he just wanted to make sure everyone felt accepted and loved. It was truly heartwarming.

However, the first time Patton had shown up to their regular lunch table dragging a nerd by the arm behind him, Roman was a bit taken aback.

Patton had explained, very quickly and with lots of enthusiasm, that this was Logan and he was in his history class and he was so smart and he was his project partner for this and that, etc. etc. Roman had stopped listening after about 5 minutes. He loved Patton, truly he did, but sometimes he went a little bit overboard singing other people’s praises—which was fine when it was Roman’s praises he was singing, but it was a little boring when it wasn’t.

He’d tuned back in to Patton just in time to hear him say, “So what d’you think?”, his look questioning.

Roman had cursed himself out in his head for not paying attention. He certainly wasn’t going to let Patton know he wasn’t listening, cause he’d get that little concerned crease in his forehead and Roman would feel terrible. Which only left… giving some kind of answer, and sending a prayer out into the universe that it was an acceptable one—not that the universe had ever been great at answering his prayers before.

“Oh… yeah, sure…” he’d replied.

Patton’s answering grin had nearly blinded him. Roman had given a relieved sigh at the fact that clearly, he’d given the right answer, before Patton had turned to Logan.

“See, Logan! I told you he wouldn’t mind!”

Suddenly, Roman had become a lot more concerned about what exactly it was he’d agreed to.

It had appeared that Roman had agreed to let Logan hang out with them from that point on, as he’d seemed to have joined them on a majority of their out-of-school outings and he’d begun sitting with them at lunch regularly.

At first, Roman had been a bit put out by this. Patton was his boyfriend and he barely got to spend any time with him alone anymore! He’d tried his best to be nice despite his feelings though, because he’d known that if he’d been rude to Logan, Patton would have been crushed.

He’d almost perfected his act of polite but disinterested when a particularly bad day had caught up with him.

He’d had a horrible audition the night before, and he’d had to walk home in the rain since no one was there to pick him up. That’s not to mention that he’d come home to realise he’d left his window open and all the papers and writings he’d left on his desk had been soaked and completely ruined.

The next morning he’d realised they were out of breakfast foods and he’d have to skip breakfast and go out and get more that afternoon and on top of that, his favourite red coat had a stain on it. Everything had just snowballed until Roman was in a particularly foul mood.

Unfortunately, Roman hadn’t had any of his classes that morning with Patton, so he hadn’t seen him until he’d also seen Logan.

“Patton. Nerd,” he’d greeted with a slight sneer in Logan’s direction.

“Prep,” Logan had replied, taking his regular seat next to Patton at the table. And suddenly Roman hated that he was allowed a ‘regular’ seat.

“So how’s the geek squad going today? Oh I’m sorry, did I say geek squad? I meant squadless geek. Hah! You’re alone!”

Logan raised his eyebrows, looking unamused.

“Well, I was certainly doing better before I was exposed to your unfortunate visage. Did you know you’re the loudest person in this entire school? Both in personality and… attire. Even looking at you gives me a headache.”

Roman was shocked. Logan just looked at him, one eyebrow quirked, expression completely calm. He’d snarked back. Suddenly, Roman was a lot more interested.

After that day, banter had become a regular feature of the friend group, though it had certainly held less sting. Roman had started to actually pay attention to what Logan said, and although a lot of it was nerd speak that he didn’t understand or care about, Logan did occasionally say some interesting things. They’d gotten into more than a few heated arguments, though they were always pretty quick to make up afterwards, with Roman spouting some nerd-related nickname and Logan gently insulting him. And one day Roman woke up to realise the nerd he’d spent so long ignoring and disliking was actually one of his best friends.

Said best friend was currently picking at a bandage wrapped around his wrist; a bandage that had definitely not been there when he’d seen him yesterday.

“Heya, specs,” Roman said, dropping into the seat next to him, “What’s up with your wrist? You hurt it or something?”

Logan looked slightly pained before his usual calm expression took over his face again.

“Yes. I’ve just strained it from too much typing, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

Roman raised his eyebrows at that. Patton always worried about him overworking himself. If he heard Logan had injured himself doing just that, no bathroom he could hide in would be safe.

Logan had a tendency to push himself past his limits, insisting that he had to finish this assignment tonight or he had to spend all night studying for this test. It drove Pat insane trying to get Logan to take care of himself for once—truly a never-ending journey.

Roman had even tried to give his input on one occasion, telling Logan that grades weren’t the most important thing and who cares about how you do on one assignment anyway. Logan had become so instantly furious with him that Roman had never tried again, simply pointing Patton over to him whenever he felt it was needed and taking his leave. He loved Logan, but he certainly could be scary sometimes.

Before Roman could relay any his thoughts to Logan, however, the teacher entered the room. Roman rushed to grab his book out of his bag before he could get called out. Logan refused to talk during lessons, so Roman would just have to wait until after class.

————————

As soon as the bell rang, signifying the end of the period, Logan swept his books into his bag and rushed out the door before Roman could even open his mouth to speak to him.

He knew Roman was going to speak to him. Logan wasn’t the world’s most excellent liar, in fact it would be fair to say he wasn’t very good at all, so he knew he needed to minimise the number of questions about his wrist in any way that he could. If this included spending less time outside class with his friends, well, then so be it.

Logan couldn’t risk them seeing it. He couldn’t risk them cooing over it, telling Logan how pretty it was, how lucky he was that he finally had a soulmate. Logan didn’t want a soulmate.

Not anymore.

When he was younger, soulmates had fascinated him the same way they’d fascinated Roman, but not for the same reasons. While Roman had adored the romance of it all, Logan had been interested in the science; he’d wanted to know how soulmarks were formed and why.

When he was about 7, he’d gone around the neighbourhood one day with a little tape recorder asking every couple he knew—both with matching soulmarks and without—a series of questions. People are always more willing to answer the questions of children, as they feel they have to indulge them, and Logan used this to his advantage.

The last couple he’d asked were his own parents. Though he knew a lot of the answers to his questions already, he still had to ask them, for the sake of scientific accuracy.

It had been a good day. The sun had shone through the window onto the kitchen table where they sat. His mother had laughed at his father as he’d pretended to forget the story of how they met, nevermind that they’d both told it to him a hundred times. After he’d completed his questions he shook both their hands before his father lifted him up and set him on the counter to help with dinner. His mother had giggled as he tried to steal pieces of food that she was chopping up and his father had spun him around as he laughed.

Logan thought that in that moment his parents had been the most beautiful he had ever seen them, because they were happy. Though, it seemed it couldn’t last.

Logan had gone over his data later that evening and found… nothing. There was no consistent level of similar or correlated personality traits, there were no common favourite foods or colours, there was nothing in Logan’s data set to indicate that these people should be any better suited for each other than any others.

All his research was useless. Logan didn’t understand, and he hated not understanding.

Within the next week, his mother was gone. Strung up in her room, her beautiful smile missing from her face, her body limp and lifeless.

Another thing Logan didn’t understand.

There would be no more stealing food off her chopping board as she cooked dinner, there would be no more listening to her correct his father when he joked that they’d certainly met at a clown festival, right? There would be no more hugs or evenings on the couch or her comforting him when he was sad.

And he was sad.

His father’s smile seemed a little more fragile after that, and slowly as time went by, he stopped smiling altogether. Logan was left to get himself to school and complete his homework alone at the kitchen table. He was fine. He had school work to do, he needn't worry about anything else. School work didn’t require him to feel, it just required him to think, and that’s the way he preferred it. Emotions were awful, ugly things. He didn’t need that.

When Logan had come home to find his father on the couch, too still to be breathing, so reminiscent of the way his mother had been, Logan was reminded of why he’d avoided emotions in the first place.

The call to the emergency services had been teary and had since become hazy in his mind. He’d joined his father in the ride to the hospital and by the time he’d finally awoken, Logan was furious.

He’d yelled at him. He’d yelled and yelled until his voice was hoarse and his breaths were quick and choppy. He’d yelled until one of the nurses had to come in to tell him he was disturbing the other patients. He yelled until he was sobbing on the floor, mourning his sense of innocence and the childhood he never got to finish.

Mourning the mother he barely got to love.

So, when his 10th birthday came and went, Logan was pleased that he hadn’t developed a soulmark. Soulmates were dangerous, he knew that now, no matter how much he’d once thought them beautiful.

And, if somewhere—pushed back into the dark corners of his mind or maybe buried deeply in his heart—he longed for his soulmate to be Roman or Patton, well… that was no one’s business but his own.

————————

Virgil’s first class seemed to drag on forever. His head was still reeling with the events of the previous night, and he just wanted to get to English with Remy so that they could… well, he wasn’t exactly sure what. He just needed to talk to them to try and get his goddamn feelings sorted out.

So, of course, it was just his luck that first period ran late and he barely had time to get to English class before the teacher showed up. Taking his usual seat at the back of the room next to his best friend, Virgil grabbed out his book and scribbled down a note, before passing it across the aisle to Remy.

D’you wanna see it?

Remy had been practically buzzing since the moment Virgil had walked in. It was a massive change of pace from how’d they’d been last night, but to be fair, it had been 2 am and they’d both been in a slight state of shock.

They quickly grabbed out a pen and gave their reply.

GUURL!! OF COURSE I WANT TO SEE IT!!!

Virgil chuckled slightly under his breath. Remy was certainly an excitable person when given good reason to be. Their energy was sort of limitless, and yet at the same time, they were pretty much always tired; it was a weird balance Virgil had yet to figure out.

Virgil was about to pull back the sleeve of his hoodie when he was interrupted by a whisper from the two boys sitting in front of him. Normally, this wouldn’t have given him pause, but who they were whispering about was a… point of interest for Virgil.

“Did you hear what happened to Roman Prince last night?”

Ah, yes, Roman Prince. Roman Prince, the head of the drama club; Roman Prince, the most handsome person you’ll ever meet; Roman Prince, who Virgil had had a crush on before he’d even realised he liked boys.

Roman Prince, who didn’t have a soulmark, but did have a boyfriend, and was far too good for Virgil anyway.

That Roman Prince.

Remy looked impatient and Virgil just held up one finger to indicate he needed a second.

“No, what happened?”

“He developed a soulmark!”

Virgil felt his heart stop in his chest.

“What? Really?”

“Yeah! He had, like, a breakdown in front of the entire drama club cause he thought it was a prank, but I saw it change! Like, ‘simple flower’... then BOOM! ‘Bouquet of flowers’. It was like blinking or something.”

Virgil had gone stock still in his chair. His blood was rushing in his ears, drowning out the sound of the room around him.

He’d been willing to write it off as a coincidence that they’d both spontaneously developed soulmarks on the same day, but that… sounded like his soulmark. Which was impossible, right? I mean, Roman Prince was extraordinary. He was the most talented actor and singer Virgil had ever encountered (though he may be slightly biased); he got the lead for the musical almost every year, and nobody was ever surprised. Even his boyfriend was extraordinary. Patton Hart was one of the kindest people at this school, always looking for people to stand up for or to help out.

Virgil was just… ordinary. He didn’t deserve Roman; Patton deserved Roman.

He was about to raise his hand to ask to go to the bathroom so he could have a breakdown in peace when his eyes caught on a piece of paper sitting on his desk.

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET OUTSIDE. I WON’T PICK UP, I JUST NEED AN EXCUSE TO LEAVE.

Virgil stuffed both the note and his cellphone in his pocket before getting the affirmative from the teacher and dashing out the door. He grabbed out his phone as he ran down the corridor and was just about to hit call for Remy’s number when he ran directly into a solid object and was sent sprawling to the ground.

“Woah! Slow down there, dark and stormy night,” Virgil heard a voice say, “You’re gonna hurt yourself running around like that.”

Virgil turned over only to meet the eyes of the last person he wanted to see right now: Roman Prince. Virgil didn’t reply, just stared for a few moments before searching around frantically for his cell phone, hoping he hadn’t broken it in the fall. He spotted it, just in time to see Roman lean down to pick it up.

“Oh, you’re friends with Remy Wake? I know him! Cool dude.”

Virgil’s brain granted him the small mercy of processing that sentence enough to provide some kind of appropriate response.

“Them,” Virgil croaked.

“Sorry?”

Roman sounded confused, but Virgil pressed on.

“Remy’s genderqueer; they use they/them pronouns.”

Honestly, thank god that his need to make sure Remy’s gender is known and respected outweighed his increasing panic. And his panic was definitely increasing. He needed to get out of this situation before he made an even worse impression than he already had and had a panic attack in front of the guy.

“Oh, my bad! Thanks for letting me know!”

Roman gave Virgil a dazzling smile, which made Virgil feel slightly lightheaded, before reaching his hand out to help Virgil back to his feet. It was fair to say that any semblance of calm Virgil once had in this moment was completely blown out of the water at this point, because there, on Roman’s wrist, was a bouquet of daisy-like flowers. An exact match to Virgil’s soulmark.

Virgil scrambled to his feet, ignoring the hurt that flashed across Roman’s face as he denied his offer for help. Before Roman could even blink, Virgil had snatched his phone out of his hand and disappeared down the corridor.

Locking himself in the furthest bathroom stall, Virgil sank to his knees. Tears were stinging in his eyes and it was getting harder and harder to control his breathing. He tried to dial Remy’s number but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

How could the universe have gotten things so wrong?

Virgil knew the groups that Roman hung out with. He may be a drama geek, but he was one of the most popular and talented people in the entire school. His boyfriend was one of the kindest and his best friend was one of the smartest. Virgil didn’t belong anywhere in that picture. The only thing Virgil was “one of the most” of was anxious. Yeah, Virgil was certainly one of the most anxious people you’ll ever meet, but anxiety doesn’t gain you awards or popularity. Rather the opposite.

“Hey, kiddo, you alright in there?”

A voice cut through his thoughts and Virgil’s stomach dropped through the floor as he recognised whose voice it was.

Patton Hart, aka Roman’s boyfriend.

————————

Chapter 3

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Tag list: @bunny222 @jadedfantasies231 @221b-quote @reinefandoms @i-really-dig-the-purple @bionic-egypt @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @mistress-jinx09 @soijusthavetoask @iamsexuallyattractedtopans @the-writersblock @theunoriginaldaisy @therubyjailcell @sandersfandersblog @hghrules

General tag list <3: @mutechild

#I can't believe I wrote sprain instead of strain I'm such an idiot hahah #those are different injuries #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #lamp/calm #lo can write

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