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felix21im · 3 years

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"Ice Cold", a Leon Kennedy x reader fanfiction

As an Art and Design student all you want to do is just knuckle down and finish that one goddamn piece you've been working on for months. Too bad your time is constantly stolen by your Waiter job with minimal pay, but hey, at least the tips are good if you unbutton your shirt that one more time.

Masterlist

Chapter 1: Bourbon

“That’s gotta be moved over like two inches to the left.” You muttered to yourself. Your eraser ran across the sketches and removed the pencil lines that you had created earlier. Studying interior design was one of the best ways to secure you that internship you’ve been working so hard for.

“Yoo hoo!” A whistle was heard from beside you, your fellow colleague and best friend tapped you on the shoulder, pulling you out of your study-induced trance. “You’ve got another table to serve. They literally just sat down so make sure that you greet them.” You let out a sigh, laying your latest drawing to the side. On the way to the table you check your hair in a mirror before putting on a smile. You can see two middle aged men talking while looking at multiple files placed on the table. You walk toward them. "Good evening, is there anything I can get for the two of you?"

The larger man with the shorter hair began to speak for the both of them. “Two bourbons please.” He said simply.

“Will they be with ice?” You ask, beginning to write down their drinks order on your small notepad.

“Yeah I’ll have ice in mine please.” The one with longer hair requested with a polite point and a smirk. The other man simply shook his head at the question of ice. You smiled at the two of them as you turned around. A few minutes later you return with both of their drinks and put them in front of them, being careful not to spill anything over their work-stuff. They both thank you with a small nod before you go around to your other tables. A few hours pass and people come and go but these two men still sit at their table, talking, drinking and taking some notes. You went over to their table a few times that evening to refill their drinks or bring some small things to nibble on, but you couldn't find out what they were talking about. It seems that as soon as you went over to them they changed the subject. “A super secret mission.” You chuckled to yourself as you stood at the bar, packing your study materials away. You can’t clean a bar with books and paper all over it.

While cleaning you heard someone clear their throat and you looked up. In front of you stood one of the men, the one with longer hair. “Oh my, excuse me. Can I help you with anything?” The man chuckled lightly and looked at the mess in front of you. “My friend over there and I wanted to get another drink before paying. But it seems you are quite busy here.” You looked at the mess and then at him and you couldn’t stop yourself from checking him out. It seems he noticed it, but didn't say anything. “I’m sorry for that, it won’t happen again. I’ll deliver your drinks to your table right away!” The man nodded and went back to his friend, sitting directly opposite them but also facing the direction of the bar. You let out a small sigh before putting the books away and preparing the drinks for the men. The man never said what drinks he wanted but considering the two of them have only been drinking bourbon, bourbon was a good choice. Before starting you tightened your apron, greatly exaggerating your waist, although you could barely breathe you knew that it made you more attractive to patreons. The patreons liking you equals more tips. While making the drinks you made sure to add enough ice in the second drink, so they just might forgive you for your behaviour. As you placed the two glasses on your serving tray you noticed the long haired man give you a small smirk. You went to their table once more and put the beverages in front of them while smiling at both of them. You also left a bill on the table before heading back to the bar, the echo of your shoes making you feel anxious as you walked, causing you to begin holding your tray in both of your hands in front of your stomach. On your way back you heard one of the men say something, which made the short haired one shake his head. You were wondering if they talked about something you did but didn’t want to be rude and ask them about it. It was pretty late already so only a few other people were still at the restaurant. You wanted to get home at some point that night so you hoped that the last guests would be leaving soon. Just as you thought that, you saw the two men you were serving get up and leave the restaurant. Before going through the exit door the man with longer hair looked back at you and gave you a wink. You let out a small laugh and shook your head. You went to the table they left from to clean up and collect the money. You noticed a small note with something written on it. A phone number, you realised. “Call me ;)” was written beside it. You looked around and put the piece of paper in your pocket with a light smile on your face. That smile quickly turned into a shocked face though as you noticed a massive tip laying next to the bill. You didn't even know what to do, so you just stood there looking at the money. As you looked at the flurry of green bills you could hear footsteps behind you and soon your coworker stood next to you, also looking at the money.

“Well, someone seems to like you”, they laughed “Maybe those apron and shirt tricks you do work too well.” You shook your head and left your coworker standing there as they chuckled at their joke.

A little while later the restaurant was empty thanks to the closing hours, and you cleaned the last tables. But before you had the chance to leave as well, you saw the door opening once again. “I’m sorry, we’re closed!” You looked up and saw the long haired man standing in the doorway. Other than just his hair you could instantly tell it was him, the fancy suit helped a lot. “Did you forget anything? I actually think you left too much money when you left with your friend.” You picked up the cash that was placed in an envelope under the bar and began to get the money out of it. “I can give it right back to you, if that's why you came back.”

The man shook his head and slightly chuckled. “No, the tip was meant to be like that. I was actually wondering..”, he stepped closer toward the bar you were standing at. “..Why didn't you text me yet.”

You had to laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I didn’t have the time yet because I had some work to do and you left that note like ten minutes ago!” You chuckled yet again. “Trust me I was going to call you!”

Now it was his time to let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I'm sure you would have. Anyways, now that I’m here again and it seems your work is done, how about we get your favorite drink together?”

“I mean we are closed…” You raised your eyebrows and crossed your arms over your puffed out chest. “But I’ll let you get a drink this one time.” He seemed satisfied with that answer so he sat down on one of the bar chairs, followed by him tapping the empty space next to him. “At least let me make your drink before I sit down!” You playfully rolled your eyes and began pouring liquor into a shaker. You noticed him looking at his phone after receiving a message from someone. “Someone at home is missing you already?” You asked jokingly as you placed your fruity, yet strong, favourite drink on the bar.

He shook his head. “Not at all. Just my.. Colleague asking what I'm up to.” He put his phone on the counter. You went around the bar and pushed a glass towards the man and sat down on the empty stool beside him. “I never got your name. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He smirked as he took a sip from the drink. “Not bad.”

You chuckled as you pointed at the name tag that was attached to your shirt. The man looked at you dumbfounded. “Well, this is awkward now. Doesn't seem like a fair trade anymore.”

“I’ll just hope that you were being respectful and you didn’t want to look at my chest.” You winked and couldn’t contain your laughter as you did up the buttons on your shirt, hiding the “money makers” as your best friend would call them. The man looked at your chest for a moment as you did up your buttons before quickly looking away. You could see his face get a little red, although you weren't sure if it was a reaction to what you just said or the alcohol finally showing effect. He cleared his throat and seemed to want to change the subject. “Ehem..the name’s Leon S. Kennedy, by the way.”

“Ooo S. Kennedy huh? Am I going to have to guess what the S stands for?” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you talked.

“Go for it.” He laughed and took another sip of the drink.

“Uhhh… Steven?” A head shake. “Sam?” A no again. ”Sexy?” A chuckle but still a no. “Ugh I give up!”

“It’s Scott.”

“Scott, huh? Sounds kinda cute.” You laughed as you looked at Leon and then the clock behind him. “Even though we haven’t spent much of an evening together we’re going to have to call it quits, I have to lock up now.”

Leon turned around to look at the clock. “That’s a shame.” He turned back to face you. “Y’know I’ve got some drinks back at my place if you’re interested.” He raised his eyebrows as he asked for the date to continue.

You thought about the offer for a moment, you didn’t have any classes in the morning so maybe it would be fun. “Wine?” You asked and he replied with a nod. As the two of you stood up from your stools you quickly paced around the restaurant making sure everything was perfect. The lights were off. All of the switches were off. And finally the security alarm was turned on. You shuffled Leon along as you left the restaurant, making sure that he wasn’t trapped in there when you locked the door. “Alright, that’s everything!” You placed your keys into your work bag and slung it over your shoulder. As the two of you walked to the parking lot you looked down at your phone and secretly texted your roommate saying you were going to be out much longer than anticipated and that your location was being shared with them. Just in case.

Leon fished his keys out of his pocket and tapped a button on the car keys, causing a nearby car to light up. With the size of that tip that Leon left an expensive black sports car belonging to him shouldn’t have been a surprise. “Woah! What car is this?” You asked, not knowing anything about cars apart from the fact that most of them have four wheels.

“It’s a Porsche Nine-Eleven.” He replied. “It’s my favourite.”

“Your favourite? Meaning you have multiple cars?” You questioned. “Can I borrow one? I don’t even have a car.” You chuckled as you opened the door to the luxury car. Leon chuckled too as he got into his seat and tapped a few buttons on the dashboard. The entire car began to roar as it’s engine was turned on, making your entire body shake. Making your entire body heat up. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” You asked.

He chuckled. “It’s because your heated seat is on. I can turn it off if you would like.”

As the car traveled you looked out of the window and when turning to your left you noticed that the lights in the car softly lit up Leon’s face as he drove the car. Showing off his sharp jaw and slight stubble.

After a twenty minute drive you step out of the car onto the gravel driveway and you hear the stones crunching underneath your feet. Leon walks up beside you and leads you up the stairs to the front door. Reaching into his front right pocket he pulls out his keys and unlocks the double doors, allowing you to walk through before he did so too and then close the door behind him. “Woah! You have such a cool house!” The large modern chandelier reflected onto the marble flooring in the entryway. Leon kicked off his shoes and pushed them over to the side of the wall, prompting you to do the exact same. “You have no idea how much I hate these shoes, they are so uncomfortable, especially when you wear them for twelve hour shifts without sitting down.”

“Why on earth do you wear them if they hurt you?” He asks as he takes off his jacket, hanging it up on a coat rack beside the door. He reaches out his hand to take off yours as well, to which you respond with a smile. You turn around and he carefully takes it off of you, followed by him then placing it on the coat rack next to his own.

"I don't have much to choose from when it comes to clothing. Just in general our work uniforms aren't really the best of the best."

Together the two of you went into the kitchen and you sat at a bar stool, leaning on the counter. As you waited for Leon to fix you up a drink you noticed just how empty the house has been so far. “Wow it’s quite empty, going for the minimalistic vibe huh?”

Leon shook his head as he placed two wine glasses down on the counter, both with ice. “I just haven’t gotten around to decorating this place yet.” He poured both glasses full and sat then leant on the counter in front of you, placing your drink next to your hand. “I mean I’ve only been here for like 3 years but I’m a busy man.”

You picked up your drink and almost dropped it after hearing that response. "Three years? You must be reaaally busy if you didn't have time for at least some decoration. What are you doing all the time anyway?" You took the drink and a small sip before standing up with it still in your hand. Leon looked at you kind of confused, but following you nevertheless. You walked around the kitchen, then the other rooms. You were talking nonstop about the stuff Leon could put on the walls, the floor or just anywhere really. He couldn't even say anything because it seems you were in your own world already planning the entire interior design of his house. Leon was following you through all the rooms as if he was actually visiting you and not the other way around. While planning the designs for Leon’s home you realised just how excited you were to do this officially as a job in the future. Creating your own interior design company and being your own boss was something you had in mind ever since you were a child. After who knows how long you both finished your drinks and also the house tour. You ended back at the kitchen where you started and both sat down on what seems to be the only chairs in this humongous house. Leon went away for a few seconds before returning with yet another bottle of what appeared to be some expensive wine. “You’re not just trying to get me super drunk so you can kidnap me, right?” You asked him jokingly, but also slightly worried. After all, what were you doing here in a complete strangers house?

“If I was going to kidnap you I would have done it already, buttercup.” You gulped but shrugged it off after looking at Leon, who smiled at you. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad being kidnapped by him. He's got quite the nice home after all. Leon stopped you in your thoughts as he handed you a glass of wine. "It's really good, trust me. Nothing against your favourite drink, but still very tasty." You took a little sip from the wine and looked at him with big eyes.

"Wow. This is actually really good. I've tasted many different brands of wine but never one like this. You do know your stuff, huh?"

He let out a small laugh which also made you smile. You didn't know if it was the alcohol but you suddenly felt really hot sitting so close to this handsome man. "Anyway, what are you doing besides working at that restaurant? I saw some school books at the bar earlier, were they yours?"

You nodded lightly. "I'm currently studying Art and Design but I needed some money to even afford all that stuff. So that's why I ended up at that restaurant." He looked at you, maybe even a little sad. But maybe you just started imagining things.

"You don't have any family that supports you or anything?"

You shook your head. "That's kind of a difficult topic. My parents aren't really what they used to be after.. well, let's just say some inconveniences." You took another big sip, showing Leon that you didn't wanna talk about it anymore. Even though he wanted to ask, he stopped himself before ruining the whole evening, or well, night. You sighed and looked at him. "On our tour I think we missed the bathroom. Mind showing me the way?" He nodded and led you through the house. As you were in the bathroom Leon went up to his workroom and picked up an envelope. He went downstairs again and hid the filled envelope in one of your jackets' pockets. After a while you rejoined him in the kitchen looking really tired. "Leon, I don't wanna sound rude but I’ve had a long day and I think I really need some sleep. Do you mind calling me a taxi?" He saw just how tired you were so he didn't try to make you stay any longer. He grabbed his phone, called you a taxi and gave you some money for it.

You wanted to decline, but Leon didn't want to argue so you had no chance but to pay with his money. "I brought you here in the first place so the least I can do is pay for your ride home", he said. You both then went to the entrance where Leon helped you put on your jacket. After that you both sat down outside on the stairs waiting for the taxi to arrive. Neither of you said a word, but it wasn't a weird silence, you both really enjoyed each other's company and after a few moments of sitting on the cold stairs a car arrived. Leon brought you to the door and you told the driver your address. You gave Leon a small wave as the taxi began to drive off...

#resident evil #re2 #re4 #re6 #resident evil vendetta #leon Kennedy #leon s Kennedy #leon x reader #leon Kennedy x reader #leon s Kennedy x reader #x reader #resident evil x reader

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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The Long Con Part Nine

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing, fluff, me pretending that I know literally anything about art history or art forgery— again. Summary: You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop.

You offered to help Marcus with the wedding errands that needed to be done, but he could see how distracted you were by the print-outs he’d been able to get of the x-rays and craquelure of Leda and the Swan. He shook his head, nodding to where you’d already set up shop at his desk. “Don’t worry about wedding stuff today,” He reassured, smiling. Then he tipped your head up for a quick peck and left.

You wound up spending much of the day holed up in Marcus’ room, sitting at his desk with the numerous print-outs, a marker, a notebook, and his laptop. You looked for comparisons between the x-rays of the Mona Lisa, Da Vinci’s sketches of Leda, and the other reproductions that you were more familiar with. Jill actually had to come up and draw you out of the room by taking Marcus’ laptop charging cord hostage.

When Marcus returned that evening, he found you folding programs with laser focus.

“Having fun?” He teased, settling down beside you on the floor. You were leaning back against the couch, as you had when you and Marcus had been putting the favors together.

“Mhm,” You hummed lightly, peering down at the program and lining up the corners of the paper before smoothing down the middle. Marcus picked up an unfolded program, beginning to fold them as you did.

“How were um-- Errands, how’d they… You know?” You asked absently. “They were fine. Tuxes have been acquired, venue’s got the final headcount, seating chart and favors, photographer’s got the shot list.” “Has Marnie called the hotel they’re staying at and found out if there was an upgrade available?” You glanced at Marcus, “Might be able to get something if she mentions it’s her wedding weekend.” Marcus’ brows rose. “I don’t think she has, but I’ll find out.” “Should probably check in with wherever the rehearsal dinner is being held, too,” You added, turning back to the programs. “I’ll keep that in mind...Are you okay?” Marcus asked as you dropped another folded program atop the pile. “Mhm.” “Hey,” Marcus reached out, setting his hand on your arm. You glanced over at him. “S’wrong?” “You seem a little tense,” He scooched closer, thigh pressing against yours, “I can take over program folding,” He added. “She’s mad at me,” Jill called from the kitchen. “I am not mad!” You called back. “What happened?” Marcus frowned, glancing between the two of you. Jill came into the living room, leaning over the back of the couch and peering down at the two of you. “I made her come out from hunching over those photos that you printed out this morning,” She told Marcus as you pointedly folded another program. Busted. “How long were you in there?” Marcus asked, rubbing his hand over the back of your neck gently. “Since you left. I only got the damn cord away from her half an hour ago,” Jill answered, pushing off of the couch, “Speakin’a which, you hungry, Marky?” You snickered, muttering, “Marky.” “No thanks, mom.” “What about you, honey?” “No thank you, Jill,” You glanced back, offering her a smile before dropping another program atop the pile. Marcus watched her go before he leaned a little closer. “Were you able to work anything out?” He asked, picking up another page. “Nothing substantive,” You grumbled, folding the page and setting it aside. Marcus set his on the pile before he drew you into his chest. You pouted a little, slouching against him as you reached for the next page. “You know I’ve got the team working on this, too, right? And the team working out of the Louvre.” “I know,” You mumbled. “So relax,” Marcus murmured, turning his head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m incredibly relaxed. I’m also very focused on folding these programs.” “Sweetheart, programs do not need to be that perfect.”

“Agree to disagree.” You felt Marcus’ fingers tuck under your chin and turn your head to look at him. You paused in your folding, blinking up at him. “You sure you’re alright?” He asked gently. You were not— but what was one more lie in this house? “Yeah,” You murmured before you leaned up, taking a chance and pecking Marcus’ lips. You felt him smile as he cupped your cheek, keeping you close as he deepened the kiss. You sighed, relaxing a little more and resting a hand on his thigh. As the kiss broke, you rested your head against his neck, closing your eyes as Marcus rubbed his hand over your shoulder. “...Feel better?” He asked quietly. “I think so.” “I can do that anytime,” He added after a moment, and you smiled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

-- “You still doing that?” Marcus asked. “Hm?” You glanced back at him, catching sight of him in his pajamas. Jill had relinquished the laptop cord shortly after dinner, and Marcus had freed you of program-folding duty. “What...Time is it?” You asked, frowning. “It’s a little after midnight,” Marcus walked over to stand behind you, bracing his hands on the back of your chair and looking over your work, “You comin’ to bed?” You knew that you should— it had been a long day (after Jill had finally ceded the charging cord), and you were a bit tired. “Uh… N--No, not yet—” “C’mon,” Marcus murmured, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, “You need to get some sleep.” “I know, I’m gonna, I just— I think I’m really close to something here,” You admitted, looking up at Marcus, “I wanna chase it down. I’ll take it into the living room so the light doesn’t keep you up,” You added, starting to gather up some of the materials. “If you’re sure,” Marcus conceded softly, “But get some sleep, huh?” “I will.” “Promise?” You glanced up at Marcus, smiling. “Promise.” He nodded, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading to bed.

You leaned away from the markups on the coffee table, dropping your marker with a shaky hand.

You’d made a call to where she’d been sent, and found out she had had her sentence shortened. She’d been out for nearly three years— she’d missed parole; there was a warrant out for her arrest. You hadn’t wanted to believe it was her work, you hadn’t, but you’d found the messages she always left. One was in the x-rayed under layers of the wreath of flowers around the swan’s neck: ‘Dominus ad ludere’. And then, another x-rayed layer, within one of the grey layers of the painting, near the darkened fold of the swan’s wing: ‘Ad opus domini’. The master at play, the master at work. The lettering was small, difficult to spot, but you knew that handwriting, and you knew exactly where to look. You couldn’t help the sick, twisting feeling in your stomach as you picked up your phone. You grabbed your notebook where you’d jotted down your notes on the sketches and brushstrokes, the notes that she’d left behind, and you hurried out to the porch. You sat on the porch swing, peering out into the dark and settling your notebook on your lap. You tucked the phone against your ear, listening as it rang. “Special Agent Melinda Yuen,” Came the answer when the phone was picked up. You were fond of Marcus’ colleague; aside from Marcus, she was who you’d worked the closest with. “Hi, Mel, it’s me,” You said quietly, glancing toward the door. “Hey, professor! How ya been?” “Fine,” You smiled a little at her question, “You?” “I’m alright. If you’re calling looking for Marcus—” “No, I… I wanted to talk to you. Marcus sent me some of the stuff from that da Vinci picked up in Orléans. I took a look at it, it’s definitely not authentic.” “You got notes?” “You have a pen? I’m going to tell you exactly where to look.” You listed off the points and layers that you were able to identify, as well as the suspect for her to look into. Melinda went quiet on the other end for a moment. “Professor, isn’t that your grandm—” “Yes,” You answered hurriedly, “It is.” “...Shit.” “My feelings exactly— Look, Mel, I’ve gotta ask you a favor.” “Sure.” “Don’t...Don’t tell Marcus who called this in until he’s back in D.C.” “Why not?” “Just, please?” You pleaded softly, glancing toward the door. “...I don’t know, professor—” “I’m not asking you to keep it from him forever, just-- Couple’a days.”

“Alright,” Melinda sighed softly, before, “How do you know when he’ll be back, anyway?” “Oh, he uh— mentioned he was going to his sister’s wedding. I don’t wanna ruin his weekend, you know. Figured if I got you on the first ring on this number he must be down there, ‘specially with this big of a case in the office,” You fibbed quickly. “You figure correctly,” Melinda chuckled, “I’ll get these notes over to the team. Night, professor.” “Night, Mel, and thanks.” “Hey, thank you.” You lowered your phone, hanging it up and peering out over the backyard again. You sighed softly, pushing the swing back and forth with one foot. “Can’t sleep?” You jumped at the sound of the question, huffing a shaky laugh at the sight of Marnie. “No,” You confirmed, “What about you?” “Nope,” Marnie sighed, walking over to sit beside you, “I was working on my vows.” “Big speech-writing day in the Pike household,” You teased. “That Marcus’?” Marnie nodded to your notebook. “O-Oh! No. Some uh… Stuff on that painting. Inconsistencies, little things,” You set the notebook down between the two of them, giving Marnie the option to pick it up. She left it be, giving you a little bit of relief in what had been a mostly hellish day. “Think it’s serious?” You shrugged, “Could be inconsequential.” You were already lying to Marnie so much, what was one more? Though, frankly, it made you feel a little crummy. You were growing very fond of Marcus’ family. They were warm, and welcoming. You’d always imagined having a family like them. “You and Marcus seem good, you know?” Marnie said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “I mean...Happy.” You smiled, lowering your eyes. “Your brother is... amazing. All of you are, I mean— I don’t know any family that would open their home to someone they don’t know for a night, let alone an entire week. And your mom— the way she pulled me out of Marcus’ room earlier,” The two of you chuckled, “Well. I’ve appreciated everything since I’ve been here, how kind you all have been.” “Oh,” Marnie reached out, patting your hand lightly, “We’re happy to. ‘Sides, Marcus is clearly smitten with you.” Your stomach churned with unease as you peered down at your hands. Marcus was a better actor than he gave himself credit for. You knew you’d make a liar out of him. “Makes two of us,” You mumbled. Damn, but that was the truth. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @blueeyesatnight ; @elen-aranel ; @yespolkadotkitty ; @artsymaddie ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @lunaserenade ; @winniedaboo ; @empress-palpat1ne ; @randomness501 ; @nutmeg-20 ; @leonieb ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @lou-la-lou ; @captain-jebi ; @supernaturalgirl ; @naturenebula21 ; @evelynseventyr ; @giselatropicana ; @heatherbel ; @marydjarin ; @annathewitch ; @absurdthirst ; @hnt-escape ; @writingletterstothefire ; @misswriter ; @bison-writes ; @xx-small-town-witch-xx ; @ajeff855 ; @hellovanessax ; @drinkingwhileblogging ; @strawberryperegrine ; @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan

#The Long Con #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike/Reader #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike imagine

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my-funky-little-cowboy · 3 years

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This is a really delayed @rdr-secret-cupid piece for the wonderful @alwaysbeliev. This one got re-assigned pretty late, but I do hope you enjoy. I wrote a little piece about how Arthur got into art. I included a little drawing of Arthur’s first sketch, since it was so late, I hope you enjoy!

Leather and Graphite

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Bessie Matthews Themes: Fluff Warnings: None Words: 2,929

“What the hell were you thinking?” Hosea growled, releasing Arthur’s arm as they approached a bored looking horse.

“The guy started it!” Arthur argued, rubbing his arm.

“We were supposed to be scouting only, now we gotta move on, they are gonna be on alert now.” Hosea couldn’t look at the boy and he stepped into the saddle.

He thrust out a hand for Arthur, who climbed sullenly onto the horse. The ride back to their camp outside of town was silent.

“Oh, you’re back early!” Bessie looked up from her darning, putting her work down as Hosea and Arthur dismounted.

Her smile fell as she looked up at Hosea’s face, her eyes slowly moving to Arthur’s shrunken form behind him. “Is everything alright?”

Hosea scowled and turned to face Arthur. “Why don’t you tell her about our trip to town.”

The kid held his hat in his hands, a sheepish and pained look on his face. Hosea turned and took the reins, leading Amelia off to get her settled with the rest of the horses. Bessie patted the crate next to her.

“Come and sit, tell me what happened.”

Arthur plopped heavily beside her, his heels digging into the soft earth as he pushed his lanky legs out in front of him. He had grown so much in the last couple years, Bessie thought, looking down at him. She knew what this was about, he had started another fight, blown their cover.

“So, what was it this time.” She said gently, picking up the pair of trousers she needed to mend.

“It weren’t all my fault!” Arthur started, his voice cracking.

“It never is,” Bessie hummed.

-- || --

Bessie looked up from her journal, as Hosea stepped into their tent, he had been quiet and distant all night. His frustrations with Arthur had been bubbling all evening and she worried, it was unlike him to get so angry. He sighed heavily as he changed for bed.

“What’s wrong?” she said quietly, closing her journal.

“It was a good tip, Bessie, and now we are going to have to move on.” Hosea grumbled, “maybe it was a mistake to bring him along.”

“Oh, you don’t mean that, it was a little disagreement.”

“This is the third time this month he has gotten into a fight with someone in town! That anger of his is gonna get him caught, or worse, killed!” Hosea’s voice caught in his throat.

Bessie smiled knowingly. That was it, he wasn’t mad at Arthur, he was scared and worried for the boy.

“Mr. Matthews, is that concern I hear?” she said jokingly. “He just needs another outlet. What happened to that journal you bought him?”

Hosea scoffed, and shrugged. “I couldn’t get him to do his writing lessons in it, much less anything else.”

He crossed the space, settling down onto their pallet. He pinched the bridge of his nose, Hosea didn’t know what to do about Arthur. The teen had been letting his anger get the best of him more and more lately. Bessie was right, he needed another outlet, but the only things the kid seemed interested in were horses and fighting. He laid back, cradling his head in his arms.

“We could get him a horse?” Hosea mulled the idea over in his head. “No, then we would have another horse to take care of.”

Bessie chuckled lightly and snuffed the lantern, joining Hosea on the pallet. She kissed him gently on the cheek before resting her head against his chest.

“I may have an idea, I’ll talk to Arthur in the morning.” She felt Hosea’s arm snake around her, pulling her close and she hummed contently.

“What would I do without you?” Hosea said quietly, pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head.

-- || --

Arthur was a fairly early riser, the kid seemed to have a lot of trouble sleeping, and Bessie had taken advantage of the early morning peace more than a few times with him. He sat quietly, stoking the fire with a stick, the percolator bubbling with coffee he had undoubtedly brewed more than once this morning.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Bessie said softly so as not to spook him.

He looked up, dropping the stick into the flames. “Mornin’, missus Matthews.”

Bessie smiled and took a seat on a log near the fire, pulling out her journal. She flipped to an open page and began sketching quietly. Arthur watched her curiously, he had always wondered what she was putting in that journal. Hosea had gotten him one a while back to practice his writing, but what did he need that for? They were outlaws and crooks, so he hadn’t seen the point.

Her hands danced quickly across the page in long strokes, and Arthur found himself entranced. He wanted desperately to see what she was working on, what could possibly keep her interest, it was just writing, it wasn't like one of those fancy stories Hosea would get him.

He poured himself another coffee. “Ya want some coffee?”

Arthur held out a cup as Bessie looked up from her journal, laying her pencil down, she took the cup from him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She smiled, cradling the cup in her hands.

Arthur looked to the floor, a blush blooming across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No problem at all,” he muttered. “You workin’ on a story or something?” He glanced down at her journal.

Bessie took a sip from her cup, she had snagged him.

“Oh, just capturing the moment.” She said over the top of her cup. “I like to capture moments I want to look back on.” She motioned for Arthur to join her on the log.

He cocked an eyebrow, settling next to her. “Capturing the moment?” He furrowed his brow, looking down at her journal.

His eyes scanned the page, the camp was laid out roughly, the lake just beyond the tents a gentle mist etched over the water. He was there, tending to the fire, just like he had been when Bessie had joined him.

“You draw missus Matthews?” He asked, unable to take his eyes off the page. “Why?”

“Why not? I enjoy it. You ever tried?” She turned to a blank page, offering the journal to Arthur.

“When I was a kid,” he held up his hands, “but I ain’t ever seen the point.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow incredulously. She flipped the journal back to the beginning, running her fingers over the page to flatten it out.

Arthur’s eyes scanned down the page, he recognized the scene, the small town nestled in the valley as they had come through the mountains on their way east last spring. The sun had filtered through the clouds and the shadows danced through the valley. Arthur remembered that day, he had done his best to commit it to his memory. Beside the image was a page of beautifully written words, they looked nothing like Arthur’s own handwriting, sloppy and slanted and uncertain.

Bessie flipped the page, and he saw his own smiling face, holding up the rabbit from his first hunt with Hosea. They went through the journal, through each memory, so many that Arthur had forgotten. He looked up at Bessie as she flipped to a new page.

“I like to sketch out the good memories, ones I don’t want to ever forget. “I’ve learned something over all these years. Even your most life-changing memories fade with time. The ones you swore you’d never forget, might someday not be quite as clear. But if I sketch them, it’s like leaving myself an open window.”

Arthur traced his hand over one of the pages. He’d never thought about it like that, he’d forgotten about his first hunting trip with Hosea, it had seemed so long ago. They’d been spitting out birdshot all night. He was sure he had damn near chipped a tooth eating that rabbit, but it had been fun. He looked back up at Bessie.

“You think you could teach me to draw, miss Bessie?”

“Ain’t much to it,” she smiled, “just look at what’s around you and try and capture it on paper.”

She looked around camp, seeing the horses grazing lazily under some trees. Flipping to a new page in the journal she handed it to Arthur, pointing over to the herd.

“Draw what you see, let’s try with the horses. Just capture the shapes first.” She held out the pencil for him.

He took the pencil from her hesitantly, looking down at it in his hand.

“I can’t draw horses!”

“Have you tried?” Bessie countered, “Just try, break them down to shapes and go from there.”

Arthur huffed and put the pencil to the paper, looking up at the herd as they grazed. The pencil moved shakily across the page, trying his best to break down the shapes. Bessie smiled, watching as he worked. He was doing pretty well, each of the horses’ forms coming together on the page.

He felt her eyes on him and looked up, her smile reassuring him. He glanced again at the herd, who had started to stir as the sun climbed higher into the sky. He closed his eyes, biting his lip in concentration, willing the image of them as they were into his memory.

“Looks like your subjects are moving on.” Bessie placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “That’s okay, it happens like that sometimes. But if you get down the shapes, you can go back to it later.”

She stood, leaving Arthur with the journal as she went to start her chores. He had gotten a good start, his lines were a bit shaky but she expected as such. He had seemed so focused, the normal boundless morning energy of the teen quieted by the experience. She would check back with him in a bit, knowing how unsettling it can be to have someone standing over you while you work.

Arthur put the pencil to paper again, closing his eyes as he pulled up the image of the horses in his head. He sketched lines, following the shapes he had created, connecting them and fleshing them out to match what he saw in his mind.

He sat back and looking down at what he had done, the shaky lines and vague shapes made his heart sink. He flipped back to the image that Bessie had been working earlier, running his fingers over her smooth lines, her looping and elegant handwriting. The frustration started to bubble within him and he closed the journal.

“What you got there, Arthur?” Hosea poured himself a coffee.

“Oh, I--” Arthur’s hands moved to cover the journal.

“He asked me if I could teach him how to draw.” Bessie replied for him, hefting the stew pot from the fire.

Arthur scrambled to help her, taking the pot from her and delivering it to the butcher table.

“Is that so?” Hosea glanced slyly at Bessie.

“Ye-yeah! She is showing me how to draw horses! Though, can’t say I’m much good at it.” He picked the journal up off the ground offering it back to her.

“It’s just a matter of practice,” she took the book, “it’ll become second nature in no time.”

Bessie flipped through the pages, finding Arthur’s sketch. He had done much better than her first time, his lines were a bit uncertain, but they very much looked like horses, and he had been able to capture a decent amount before his subjects had moved on.

“This is a wonderful start, Arthur. I know exactly what I’m looking at! Which is more than I could say about Hosea’s first try.” Her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“My dear, you wound me.” Hosea gasped, grabbing his chest dramatically.

“Hosea draws too?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “How come I ain’t ever seen you draw anything then?”

“Not my fault you never asked.” Hosea said dismissively, shrugging. “You finish up your chores this mornin’?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Want to go fishing with me? I’m sure Miss Bessie would love to change it up, and I could really go for some fish stew.” Hosea winked at Bessie and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah!” Arthur said excitedly.

“Go get your things then, and get the horses ready.” He watched as Arthur scampered off before turning to Bessie.

“I can’t say I ever thought you’d get him to sit still for five minutes, let alone start drawing.” Hosea wrapped his arms around Bessie’s waist, peppering her neck with light kisses.

“He didn’t need much of a push, he’s really quite good. He has a good eye for detail.” She held up the journal for Hosea. “Those horses moved on shortly after he got the shapes down.”

Hosea chuckled, running his hand gently over the lines.

“Let’s hope he keeps with it. Maybe someday he can make a living out of it, get out of this life.”

-- || --

The afternoon had been quiet, the fish bit lazily at their lines and Hosea moved around the other side of the lake to see if he could have better luck. Arthur’s line moved slowly with the breeze. They had been at it for hours but only had a few small perch to show for it. Hosea had been convinced that this lake had some big bass, but they’d yet to pull a single one.

He liked these quiet afternoons with Hosea, the man had become something like a father to him. He wasn’t sure if fishing was his favorite, but Hosea loved it, and it got him time away from chores.

Arthur watched as Hosea cast his line into the clear water, the ripples reflecting the sun’s rays, creating a pattern of perfect rings on the glassy surface. His mind wandered back to what Bessie had said about why she kept a journal and he dug his rod into the soft earth near the water.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the journal that Hosea had given him back when they were teaching him to write. Flipping to a blank page near the back he settled down on one of the fallen logs by the shore to write.

Spent some time with Hosea today, I never know if the man is telling me the truth or spinning me a tale. But he’s kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it. I know he was madder than a tom cat yesterday that I got into that fight. Today we went fishing, not much biting, but that didn’t stop Hosea from having a good time.

I’m trying out this journal again, ain’t quite sure what to say, but missus Bessie says it’s a nice way to look back on things we may not always remember. So I’m gonna try.

Bessie is teaching me to draw. She draws the most beautiful pictures I’ve ever seen, and her handwriting is real pretty, nothing like my chicken scratch. Maybe she can teach me how to make them fancy looping letters, that’d be nice.

He sketched Hosea down near the water, the ripples from his line breaking up the surface of the lake. It was easier than the horses from earlier, Hosea had committed to his spot and only a light breeze blew through the trees and across the water.

The clicks of his reel pulled him out of the drawing and he looked up to see the tip of his rod arching toward the water. He snatched it up pulling back to set the hook, feeling the line go taut as the fish fought against him.

He pulled the fish from the water, it put up enough of a fight to draw Hosea’s attention and he had made his way back over.

“Looks like a decent fish, what you got there, Arthur?”

Arthur held up the fish, “Seems like maybe some kind of bass?”

Hosea clapped excitedly. “Our white whale!” He chuckled “Few more of those and we’ll have a proper stew!”

-- || --

“How’d that lead shake out?” Bessie looked up over the top of her journal as Hosea ducked into their tent.

“Looks promising. That couple is sitting on quite a bit of cash. I’m sure they wouldn’t miss some of it.” Hosea pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“How’d Arthur do?” Bessie closed her journal as Hosea joined her on their palet.

“The kid should have been an actor.” Hosea smiled, leaning back.

Bessie glanced over, raising an eyebrow. Hosea sighed, knowing the look all too well.

“I shouldn’t have to say it, you know it’s true.” He rolled his eyes, trying to hide the smile.

“His improvement is amazing. The way he sees the world, I have never seen anything like it. It’s like he sees the world in pictures, that he can pull from with such incredible detail. He’s nearly filled that journal. I think it’s been good for him. To have a place to keep his thoughts.”

Hosea was quiet for a moment. Arthur had seemed calmer, the kid appeared to enjoy the journal, whatever he was putting in there. He had been a bit hesitant to ask him what he was doing, worried it would discourage him.

“I imagine it is, he’s a kid. We’re adults, he doesn’t have anyone his age to talk to, so an outlet probably does him some good.” He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “You were right, per usual.”

She pressed a kiss to his jaw, closing her journal. “I know,” she said gently, wrapping her arm around him.

#rdr secret cupid 2021 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #bessie matthews #rdr2 fanfic #fluff #horses #hyde tries writing #hyde draws shit

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writingthingsisdifficult · 3 years

Text

Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel fan fiction #fanfic #female reader #fluff #angst #marvel

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starrysupercell · 3 years

Note

Sooo... Now that its my wif- Tara's birthday... Are the Mystics (And Bo) gonna celebrate it :D? I can imagine Gene trying to set up some kind of surprise party for her, that would remain a surprise for like 4 minutes...

DANG IT. Past 12. TwT

But here you go! An outline for how Tara’s birthday is celebrated this year. 🧿 best fortune teller in Starr Park tbh. Your wife says hi 💜

I really gotta start keeping track of the Birthdays to have these things planned out.

One of the many good things about how much time Tara and Gene have known each other, is he knows she'll figure it out.

The surprise for her will be not the fact that there's a party because she can easily see that, but the extent of it, because she can promise not to sneak a peek at it.

(But now she's curious! Also, she's so used to checking on the future,* it takes a very conscious effort to not do so.)

So, while Gene keeps Tara preoccupied by taking a walk around the Park, Sandy, the Tribe, Gale and Mortis (because they're also friends with the Mysticals bc of the skins, shush.) are in charge of decorating.

So, with only two responsible adults in this group, how well do you think this is going to go? :)

Gale: So do you have a plan for the setup?

Sandy: hm? >.o oh. Yy*yawns*eah. here you go... *hands him a paper*

Gale: ...this just has a rough sketch of the main room and a couple of balloons.

Sandy- mm..felt sleepy but there's still.... -.-...time to...zzzz....

Gale:

Mortis laughs because well they'd just have to wing it! (He would definitely ask Emz for help, but she's busy with the teen crew for plot convenience) As long as decorations are already bought, it should an easy thing in setting it up the way they want it to look.

....decorations are already bought, right?

Sandy softly snores, and the Party Crew realizes that's their answer.

Meanwhile, Gene and Tara walk through the Park. The plan is picking up a few extra gifts along the way before heading back to the main party.

Their first stop is Barley's for some drinks! He gifts one bottle of Tara’s preferred drink, but does charge for the rest. Along the way, we see Brawlers greeting Tara and wishing her well on her birthday.

Colette’s very enthusiastic! She knows all the Brawler’s birthdays, and wanted to make something for Tara!

She doesn’t really have extra money recently, since there was some recent change in management, and she usually makes more detailed items, but because of the money problem, couldn’t buy as many materials she needed, but she’s derailing, so she hands Tara her wrapped gift.

It’s a cute hand-made Shade Plush!

Tara is delighted and thanks her for it. It’s a pleasant surprise, and she appreciates it. Colette fangirls a bit, thanking her, and then waving bye as the Mystics carry on.

Back at the Bazaar, they're trying to brainstorm on what to do. Well, half of them present are. Sandy is asleep and Nita + Leon are playing around the house.

Mortis says the only things he has back home are.. well, decorations of a more... gothic type..you know,.. (Halloween decors. they’re Halloween decors.)

Gale also offers up... some Snowtel hangings, but again, ‘tis not quite the right season to be jolly.

Bo suggests makeshift decorations. The twins are good at crafts! .. but more so along the lines of forest materials, not sand and...

Everyone’s drawing a blank, and decide that they could gather up their own share of materials, and see what could work best. Their time limit won’t really allow a break after all.

So Gale contacts Lou and asks him if he could meet him halfway with everything he can carry. Try not to get caught by the Penguin boss. Lou, ever the chaotic good guy agrees.

Bo gathers up Leon and Nita and they head out to see what they can scrounge up.

Mortis wonders if he should call up Frank too since he’ll be here later to set up and provide the music, but decides to be ~generous~ and just send a flock of his Bats to pick some things up for him. He sees them off adoringly.

With a content sigh, he lounges back and waits for his precious lovelies to return with his ideal decorations. Sandy sleeps on...

Back with Gene and Tara, the next item to pick up is the cake. Piper has the order ready-- a black forest chateau cake.

“Magnificent taste, darlings!” she compliments. she has it all boxed up very fancily. “It’s on the house. Take it as my gift for you. Happy birthday!”

She’ll also be attending the party later. Tara thanks her for the cake. She and Gene then take their leave.

Along the way to their last stop at the new Castle environment for the food, (because while they don’t know Ash very well yet, Tara loves trying out the new items and pizza is always great for a party.)

“Hey, Tara! ...hold up.” Edgar jumps down from a building they’re passing, just because he can and . “...this is from the rest of the Gang. Me too, I guess. Happy birthday.”

The party squad are actually worse off than before.

The Shaman Tribe are back, and the Twins became interested in using fabrics to try and make something too. so they’re playing around with it pretty much.

Gale just arrived, with Lou joined along because he was interested in the party planning too. (So, the snowtel is understaffed right now.) but they’re just chatting instead of working.

Mortis’ bats haven’t arrived yet, and he’s getting worried. They don’t usually take this long in running errands for him.

Leon and Nita are practically playing catch right now. They knock over something that looked priceless. Oh, a crystal ball, perhaps. Bo reprimands them.

They haven’t gotten much closer to making up the room...

There’s a knock, and the group freezes because oh no, they’re out of time. but it ends up being Frank. A very unhappy Frank who was suddenly surrounded by screeching batties who kept picking apart the house while he was packing up his set up for the party. They followed him there afterwards, along with several things.

Mortis tries joking it off ;; , and then very quietly and off-handedly apologizes when Frank doesn’t find it very funny.

But then so hey!!! you’re here so decoration time, everybody! let’s hop to it!

Gene’s Lamp, Sliver, floats in. Sent by Gene himself to check on the progress. They were nearing after all. The Lamp’s alarmed by what it sees. That is, absolutely nothing.

It glares around, and spots Sandy still sleeping. Sliver floats over to him, and hops on him-- Wake up!

Sandy does so, but is very grumpy. “what?”

Tara’s Birthday.

“yeah? what about it?”

Don’t you care?

“obviously.” he swats at the lamp. “it’s tomorrow.”

>:( Today. It’s TODAY.

“,” Sandy looks around, as wide-eyed as he could be.

broken crystal ball, a mix of decorations, and nobody currently fixing up anything from the looks of it.

They’re on the way.

Sandy makes a face. “ok... game plan on the fly.”

The final stretch of the day out.

Gene and Tara are nearing the Bazaar, and along the way, Gene starts to get heartfelt.

He reminisces how they first met, how far they’ve traveled together, how much longer they’ve yet to go.

He wishes he could think of something to give her that meant something like the other gifts that she received that day.

He was a Genie, but after everything they’ve been through, she deserves much, much more than what he could ever imagine to conjure up for her.

Tara smiles. “(Don’t... put me on too high a pedestal, my Friend.”)

Don’t sell yourself short either. You’ve done so much.

“(Yes. I have.)” Tara muses unhappily, thumbing the doll.

Gene suddenly gets the idea of what his gift could be, but he needs his Lamp to start on it.

Right before the two opened the door, a pair of bats were hanging up the last decoration.

And when the two walked in with the final party supplies at hand and are amazed at the display.

intricate ice sculptures and a more snowy feel set up where the food would go. the music section where Frank set up (who was talking with Mortis.) had a darker aesthetic, including the balloons over there.

Lastly the rest of the place was decorated with very cute works of art. no doubt the Tribe kid’s handiwork. she recognized it from when they stayed over, and the gifts Bo’s gotten from them and shown her.

You’d think that the seemed like the mix of fancier silver decorations, a more gothic theme and natural crafts would look odd together... and well, it was quaint, but it was very pleasing to see.

a patchwork of oddities, not unlike this park, really. She’s always been fond of odds and ends. Tara loved it!

Sandy yawns and walks over to them. “we actually just got done with the set up. but if it makes you feel better, we can still hide right now and yell surprise.”

Tara laughs. It’s okay.. it isn’t like she could be-- but she appreciates it. Sandy shrugs, like he didn’t just call all the shots and work in a hurry with the other eight. “you’re welcome.”

Lou offers to help set up the food and cake. Gale helps too, after presenting his gift too.

Frank and Mortis notice the arrival of the Birthday Gal and wave her over. They chat animatedly-- it’s been so long since they’ve had the chance to catch up! They should plan something soon. Tara agrees, and their gift is from the both of them. I can see it being a very nice piece of clothing, though I’m drawing a blank as to what.

The Lamp reunites with Gene, and their perspectives merge again. Oh. the party was really cut close, huh? but it worked out well! what a relief. a scrap book of actual memories is what you have in mind? how very sappy.... She would like it.

Lastly, Bo walks up to Tara, greeting her and wishing her well on this day. He hopes she likes what they helped with ....he then has the Twins apologize for breaking a few things around the house--

Tara dismisses it easily. They can be replaced. The Twins, that is. (joke to scare them.) But really, as long as they were careful from now on, it was okay. the cub and chameleon agree with no hesitation and then run off to cause more mayhem, but quieter this time.

The Psychic smiles. The guests would be arriving soon, and it was already so lively.

Time to party~!

_______

*I’m still deciding on the extent of her powers, so future sight might not be a thing, because of the characterization I have for her. I’m thinking something along the lines of “Can see past events, and make very informed guesses based on what she knows about people, but cannot see the future itself.”

#Brawl Stars #Birthday #Tara #My Outlines #Mystic Triad #Shaman Tribe #Mortis #Gale #Frank #my interpretation of Gene is um different from canon #if it's confusing #maybe i'll explain. uwu

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Was It A Dream? (Sungchan Yuta x reader ft doyoung, jaehyun)

A/N : hello again!! This is a light, and fun fanfiction. It’s intended to make you just imagine how fun and chaotic it is to live with two brothers like Jaehyun and Doyoung. You have your eyes on Sungchan and Yuta, until one day they notice you. Join the fun of bickering and expect some plot twist okay!

WARNING : none, it is not rated and Yuta is flirty here. Doyoung and Jaehyun are your brother, but they’re also finding their way to win their s/o’s heart.

HERE WE GOOOO!!!

"Drooling over those two soccer players again?" Your second brother snickers when he finds you sitting on the podium watching the school's soccer team practice. You don't take your eyes off the two young men who look super charming to you especially when they are playing soccer.

Without looking to your older brother you reply "So what? Like you're not eyeing that cheerleader boy too?" That hits him right on the spot, Jaehyun has no words to attack you back. Just when you thought you can gaze on the two princes of your life; your oldest brother surprises the two of you.

"Yak! Doyoung stop doing that! We can have heart attacks!" Jaehyun wipes his shoulder as if cleaning himself from his own brother's touch. You don't get surprised that much and still watch at the two man, the tall Korean guy from your math class Sungchan and the Japanese guy who shares writing class with you, Nakamoto Yuta. They were both older than you but you've fallen for their charms. Both are the aces of the team and you always stay after school on their training days to just watch them from afar.

"Let's go home! I can't believe my sister and brother are this creepy." Doyoung shudders when he sees how focused Jaehyun is in watching that cheer squad leader, Taeyong and his sister (y/n) is sending laser beams to Yuta and Sungchan. 2 men at the same time! Doyoung just shakes his head and notes his watch, it's time to go home. It's almost five and as a student on his last year, Doyoung has extra classes to attend and he was tired. He wants to just go home and sleep, unlike Jae and you who still have the energy to sit there and look like a creeper.

"Okay we're going home now." He stresses his words and pinches yours and jaehyun's shoulders before walking away to the parking lot. "Aish why Doie can't let us have our time?! He's just jealous he doesn't have anyone to look at." You complained Jaehyun reluctantly picks his bag and stands up "Come, I am not walking home." He reaches out his hand for you and you take it. He pulls you to stand and you reluctantly leave the stadium.

"Oh she's going home already?" Yuta asks to his friend when there's a slight break and he sees you being dragged by Jaehyun. The tall man looks to the area Yuta's watching and nods "Guess Jaehyun brought her home by force."

Yuta smiles "She's never taking her eyes off you." Says Yuta and playfully punches sungchan to tease him. Sungchan laughs "I thought she has her eyes on you! I swear she's always sending you that heart eyes when you're running on field."

Yuta smirks "Was she checking out on both of us at the same time?"

Sungchan shrugs his shoulder and finishes his last bottle "I don't know, shall we see who is she actually crazy for?"

Yuta ponders but curiosity takes over his mind "Actually I am curious of that! What do we do?" Sungchan whispers something to the Japanese guy's ear and his smile widens when he imagine how fun will this be. "That sounds interesting!"

---

"Hey (y/n)-" Sungchan taps your shoulder before you stand up from your chair to leave the class. You turn to look at the man tapping your shoulder

"Oh Sungchan-" you look a bit surprised. The tall guy smiles "I saw you yesterday on the podium, guess you like soccer huh?" Your mind wants to scream "no i'm just there to watch you and Yuta...." but you'll just creep him off so you nod your head "Um yeah I grew up with two brothers so I'm more into sports than drama." You lied. Your brothers don't watch soccer :")

"Cool I have a ticket for you so you can watch us. It's the VIP pass. You can come meet us when we're done." Sungchan hands you a ticket and you can't contain your happiness. Well the VIP ticket is expensive and hard to get, even if you have the money sometimes the tickets are sold out already so you're super happy when you get this.

"Woah thank you! I'll definitely come and watch you!" You keep the ticket and walk with Sungchan in the hallway. Your heart is not calm at all, you're going to burst any time soon if this guy did not stop talking to you. "What's your next class?" Sungchan asks you since he also has another class to attend. "Writing, I gotta go." You nervously squeeze your bag and Sungchan did the most unexpected thing. He nods and brings his hand to ruffle your hair "Okay then, guess I'll see you again on my training day." He winks and walks away leaving you speechless with his words and act.

Before your mind can work again someone else has already place a hand over your shoulder. "Hey writing starts in 5 minutes, if we don't rush there, we'll be late." Another deep voice greets your ears. You shake your head, trying to get rid of all ridiculous hallucinations you're having but when you feel your shoulder heavy and someone is breathing next to you.... your legs feel like giving up. "Yuta?" You stammer Great… Sungchan just left you after his heart fluttering actions and this flirty Japanese guy is here.

Well Yuta's known for his flirty side and his tsundere side looks like he is on his flirty side today. "Come (y/n) we need to rush." He squeezes your shoulder and drags you to walk with him to the class. You follow his large steps, your heart beating even faster when you feel his body sticking into yours. You made it on time to the class. The last chairs available are the one in the back and you're sitting next to Yuta for the first time. Yeah you never have the balls to sit beside him, you'll just get distracted and you don't need that right now. But here you are! Seating next to Nakamoto Yuta who's laid back on his chair, playing with his pen, and then focuses on scribbling something. You try to keep your eyes on the board but his hand movement you can see from the side of your eyes caught your attention more. In the end, like attracted to a magnetic field, you turn your head to find out what is making him super focused.

Yuta caught you staring into his paper, trying to figure out what he is scribbling and before you can look away, he holds your hand rips his notebook and places the paper on your hand. Then he pushes your hand to you, and you stare at the paper on your hands. There Yuta just drew a sketch of you holding a hand banner with his jersey number on it. On the bottom corner right, he added his signature and a small note "For my number 1 sweetheart fan

You want to gawk at him that no you're not his number one fan, or yes you are but your mouth can't say anything. "Wow this is nice. Thanks Yuta..." you look into the Japanese guy and wonder just how many more talents he had that you never know. You know Yuta's great in writing, especially since this class is about fictional writing, he aces this class. His plots and imaginations are wonderful and now his drawing skills can make him a successful comic writer if he did not want to be a soccer player! Really Japanese people are mostly great at arts eh?!

"You like that?" Yuta asks when he sees the glimmer in your eyes. You nod "I love it! Gosh Yuta you can be an illustrator and even make a comic out of your stories."

He chuckles "I know, but that's not what I want."

"So what do you want?" You curiously ask him and the man smirks "I want you to come with me this afternoon to a cafe I love."

Boom! Yuta just asked you out on a date. "Me? You're asking me?" You point yourself Yuta nods "Yes you, who else am I talking to?"

You stutter "I- I mean yes I'd love to." He closes his notebook and picks his pen "Okay then, see you at two on the union building."

He leaves after throwing a sweet smile to you and you're once again glued to your seat. You squeal secretly when there is no one and what did you dream of having two of your stars hitting on you. You meet Yuta that afternoon, he treats you on a coffee and both of you ramble on your favorite anime that he watched too. With his Japanese tone he can tease you with some of the male lead lines and you're really dying inside. "Yuta, thank you for the treat, it was great talking to you!" You bid farewell because he needs to attend his soccer club.

"No problem, you're going to watch me?" He asks while standing up and picking up his bag. "I want to, but I have essays to write." You frown.

Yuta ruffles your hair "Himnae! You can watch me in the real match this week. See you!" He waves when he sees your ride has arrived. Yes Jaehyun picks you up and you disappear behind the door.

“Pinch me! Hyung pinch me!!” you shake Jaehyun’s shoulder. He looks at you with an annoyed face and pinches you on your cheeks.

“Happy?” he mischievously grins and pulls your cheek harder. You wince at the pain and slap his hand away “Enough!”

“You ask for it!” he taunts, and you bring one hand to soothe the red cheeks, “I AM NOT DREAMING!”

Jaehyun just shakes his head at your antiques, he drives safely back home while you’re busy opening your bag to check the ticket Sungchan gave and Yuta’s drawing. When you find both of them in your possession, you kiss both papers and laugh happily. Jaehyun really looks at you like you’re being possessed, and he should slap you to reality, and he did that on the red light.

“WHAT?!” you yell when he slaps you hard enough.

“I thought you might be possessed.” He shudders

“I am not. Look, I got a VIP ticket for this week’s match and a nice portrait of me from Yuta!” you show your brother the papers and he pulls out an “Eeew you’re like a crazy in love teenagers.”

You taunt at him, “Admit it if you’re jealous. I don’t care what you say. I am not dreaming; today is not a dream and this week I’ll be seeing my men up close!”

Jaehyun laughs at you nevertheless, well he is happy as long as you’re happy and Doyoung? Guess he’ll just stay quiet until Doyoung watches you boast about the same thing to him too.

“For your information, you just got a ticket right?” Jaehyun suddenly asks you when both of you are taking the lift to the sixth floor.

You nod your head and Jaehyun just smirks, “I won Taeyong’s number already.”

If the lift door is not opened, you will already scream out loud “What?! When?”

But since the door is opened and other residence and your oldest brother comes in view you decided to stay quiet.

Doyoung notices the fishy look on Jaehyun’s face and your surprised face. He wonders what silliness he should deal with again today, but he won’t ask if no one is going to tell.

In the end, Doyoung figures out about your meeting with Sungchan and Yuta. He also hears Jaehyun boast around about his closeness to Taeyong now, and he’s tired watching the two of you bicker about being closer to have them in your hands.

“You two, actually (y/n) bet to me that Jae wouldn’t get Yong’s number but he did, so you owe me 20.” Doyoung suddenly smirks as he hands out his palm of hand and you roll your eyes as you stand up to get your wallet and pay him.

Doyoung then turns to Jaehyun, “And you, when did you win Taeyong’s number?”

Jaehyun thinks for a while, “Yesterday?”

Doyoung smirks, “I have gotten Jeno’s since last week. Pay up!”

You hang your mouth when you realize just how smart and tricky Doyoung is in making you lose and Jaehyun lose too.

Jaehyun felt cheated, but in the end he has to pay up too. Both you and Jaehyun look cross to Doyoung and together mutter,

“JUST WAIT AND SEE.”

end.

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taliaquinn · 4 years

Text

Why Me!? Chapter 12

Mass Panic immediately ensued following the texts.

Rose couldn’t help but tear up at the thought that she won't be wearing the beautiful new dress she designed with Marinette. Alya was panicking because she knew how much Marinette's MDC dresses cost. Yes, she stalked her website, but only to trash talk it with Lila, Lila even told her how some of those designs were her idea and Marinette stole them.

Adrien decided to try and call his ex-classmates but was shocked to find that he was blocked . He decided to try calling Marinette but was even more shocked to find that the line was disconnected.

Alya finally had enough of the chaos and decided to try and get control of the room again. She blew a shrill whistle “EVERYONE QUIET, Look we lost only a few people, most of them bullies, we don't need them together we can handle this”

No one would admit the queasy feeling they got at the pit of there stomachs. They knew Marinette might've been a bully but she was an excellent president.

Gotham Airfield Gotham City, U.S.A 7 a.m

Marinette stirred and was shocked to find that her parents were up and getting there carry on luggage. Quickly glancing out her window she was shocked to find that they Landed in Gotham. Eep. Quickly gathering her art supplies she followed her parents down the steps.

Suddenly she heard a squeal “Oh my gosh she’s so adorablleeeee, Bruce are you sure this is your kid?”, she looked up to see a blonde girl jumping up and down while clinging to another boys arm.

Mr.Wayne seemed to have a look of eternal suffering etched on his face. “Yes Stephanie I'm sure, How’d you even know we were going to be here ?”

“Tim told me” The guy she was clinging to slightly grimaced while side-eyeing Mr.Wayne who was giving him a glare.

“Of course”

‘MARIBUGGGG” Dick quickly ran towards the steps and scooped her up and twirled Marinette around. Marinette couldn’t help but clutch to her supplies for fear of dropping them while giggling.

“Hi Dick,really happy to finally be here” She hugged him back, while he put her back down. Suddenly Dick was abruptly shoved away

“My Turn” Suddenly Marinette was engulfed in by a blonde tornado.

“Steph you’re suffocating her let her goooo” The guy Tim said as he was approaching them.

“But shes to adoranble~” the blonde said, still holding Marinette captive. Why was it always the Blondes who tried to kill her?

Oblivious to her plight her parents went on ahead and greeted Bruce and Dick who had to stumble back to Bruce's side after being viciously shoved.

“Bruce I want to say a huge thank you, We can’t wait to get Marinette situated and head back to Paris,” Sabine said making sure to quickly shake his hand and giving Dick a quick hug.

“Ha, I swear all three of us eventually dozed off on the flight,” Tom said while moving to do the same.

After a few more seconds Stephanie finally released Marinette.

“Oh gosh, you’re too adorable for words~ My name is Steph” Wait did Bruce have a second daughter? Marinette thought he only had one other daughter, Cassandra?

“Are you another one of Bruce's kids?”

“What!? Oh gosh,you’ve only been here for a few minutes and you already recognize that Bruce has an adopting problem, pfft luckily I am not one of those poor suckers. I am just here to eternally annoy them plus I’m besties with Cass, Bruce’s other daughter” Stephanie explained.

She quickly pulled Tim towards them. “This is one of those poor suckers, Marinette this is Tim Drake, He’s constantly sleep-deprived and suffers from severe caffeine addiction”

“It's not severe”

“Yet”

Marinette couldn’t help but snort. Being a Fashion designer/superhero/ highschooler, Marinette has learned how to make a dang good pot of coffee. Also how to tell if she’s hallucinating or not from lack of sleep. Seriously there was this one incident where she was seeing hamsters take over the school's library, there was also that one time where she saw a mob of pigeons chase a man, but that turned out to be pigeon man who got akumatized again.

“A fellow addict, nice to meet you,” Marinette said.

Stephanie suddenly started looking at two before seemingly coming to a startling revelation

“ OH GOD, THERE'S TWO COFFEE ADDICTS NOW!!!” She yelped. She suddenly scurried away in a desperate attempt to call Alfred and warn him about the new incoming addict.

Dick glanced down and noticed that Marinette dropped a few of her pens and markers. He knelt to pick them up quickly he handed them to Marinette.

“You like to draw?” He asked giving her another quick hug

“Yeppers I mainly focus on designing outfits and making them as well, where’d you think your jackets came from?”

“ No way, I thought you bought them!!! I love mines and I know for a fact Bruce loves his.”

“Well yeah I make a lot of my clothes, I have a website where I sell some of the clothing, I also do commissions” suddenly Dick was once again shoved away.

“MDC!!” Tim exclaimed

Marinette jumped back a few steps before suddenly realizing that he was a fan.

“M.D.C are your initials, I knew I recognized the Jacket from somewhere”

“Yep based off another Jacket I sold on My website, except some of the detailing is different”

“You’ve gotten recognition from Audrey Bourgeois and Gabriel Agreste,” Tim gawked. Dick was busy grumbling complaints “What is it with you two and shoving me”.

Marinette quickly went over to help him up. She quickly got one of her suitcases and opened it up pulling out a few articles of clothing. Quickly she handed Tim his jacket, and since she wasn't aware of Stephanie's existence she settled with Handing her a Trench Coat since it was cold.

Stephanie immediately shed her current coat and shoved it at Tim to hold. She put on the trenchcoat and admired the embroidered birds around the sleeves.

“Oh my gosh, you have such a good eye”

Stephanie immediately shed her current coat and shoved it at Tim to hold. She put on the trenchcoat and admired the embroidered birds around the sleeves.

“Well duh kinda necessary” Marinette teased

“Wait you didn’t bring any of your supplies?” Dick responded, noticing that Marinette didn’t bring Big enough suitcases to carry some of the bigger sewings and designing supplies.

“Well, we had to kinda leave in a rush so…. I didn't have enough time to pack some of the bigger supplies”

“I have an idea! We can go around Gotham and buy some of the supplies!” Dick suggested.

“Maybe on the weekend Dick, We gotta take her to the manor and let her and the Dupain-Chengs meet the rest of the family,” Bruce noted joining them. Honestly, though Bruce was more worried about a certain butler ripping him a new one for taking so long to introduce him to his newest granddaughter.

College Francis Dupont Paris, France 8:30 a.m

People walking into Bustiers Class couldn’t help but be disconcerted at all the empty seats the next day. They all decided to sit on the right, some glancing at the empty seats on the left.

Lila finally walked in and with the flip of her hair, she strolled straight and made sure to take a seat next to Alya. Right in Marinette's old seat. It was odd seeing someone else sit there. Eventually Madame Bustier walked in and only took a momentary pause upon seeing the small class size.

Adrien slowly walked in and lightly jumped at the new class size. He took his usual seat next to Nino. However, it wasn’t too long before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Both he and Nino turned to face Alya and Lila.

“Hey, Adrien you mind switching seats with me? I wanna sit to Nino” Alya announced. Adrien, however, didn't miss Nino’s slight grimace. However, Lilas's look of pure hopefulness was the thing that made Adrien slightly grimace as well.

Regardless of how Adrien felt he knew he had to say yes.

“Sure”

Meanwhile in Mendelievs….

“I call dibs on sitting next to Kagami!!!” Chloe loudly exclaimed and made a mad dash towards the empty seat next to Kagami.

Nathaniel immediately moved to sit next to Marc. Sabrina sat next to Juleka. Ivan decided to sit next to Max. At first, it was a slight adjustment getting used to Mendelievs class, she taught and had control over her class. No way was she going to permit and outburst or arguments when she taught. However, she did permit them to talk whenever she was done teaching.

“Marinette just quit ?” Probed Aurore. She was furious at the fact that Marinette was essentially driven to quitting.

“Yup” Chloe responded popping the p, “But now she’s staying with Family in Gotham for a bit, she even texted to mention how she might transfer schools and stay in the states”

“B-but sweet Marinette in Gotham, don’t they have like a gajillion crazy villains? At least the Akumas’ damage in Paris can be reversed and they're only temporary” Aurore mentioned

“Marinette is tough, plus she’ll be away from this crazy school” Nathaniel offered while finishing up a sketch for his and Marcs’ comic

“Plus Marinette said she’ll call us once she’s comfy and everything” Chloe finished.

“Poor Marinette”

Wayne Manor Gotham City, USA 9:00 a.m

Marinette knew Mr.Wayne was rich but holy cow, he makes both the Agreste and Bourgeious fortune look like pennies. She never understood how rich he was.Seriously he has a fleet of luxury vehicles in his garage. The inside of the manor looks photo-ready, AND all of his kids have gone to a 30k a year school. Thank God she was going to a Normal School.

Mr.Wayne made sure to take Maman and Papa to a luxury hotel suite to get them settled before bringing them back to the Manor. She quickly said goodbye and gave them big kisses on their cheeks.

Marinette was occupied still gaping at the giant Chandelier when suddenly she was face-to-face with two teenagers.

Dick immediately noticed that there was an awkward staring contest going on and moved in to ease the awkwardness.

“Marinette this is Cassandra shes the fourth oldest,” Dick said while introducing the two. Marinette was occupied gaping at Cassandra. She was so pretty. Cassandra took a quick step forward before quickly putting her hand on Marinette's shoulder.

“Cass” She gently chided.

Marinette only slightly stumbled before yanking out a sweater from her duffle bag and practically shoving it at her. Sue her she was intimidated and impressed.

“Me?” Cass was surprised. She took the sweater but couldn’t help but hold it close to her. It was so soft. Marinette made it for her, and she didn’t know her!!! Cass couldn’t help the grin that was overtaking her face. She made sure to get closer to take a long glance at Marinette who was giving a cynical Jason his own sweater, along with gloves. Nervous. jittery. uncomfortable.

“Huh, you are most definitely too sweet for this family" Jason couldn't help but coo at the sight of the petite blue-eyed girl.

"I'm Jason Todd, technically dead and black sheep of the family. Whenever you get tired or pissed at Bruce, trust me that is a guarantee, feel free to crash at my place.” He piped. While shrugging off his leather jacket and putting on his new turtleneck sweater. Holy crap was it soft.

Technically Dead? What in the world!? Are they choosing to ignore that!? Marinette was so confused. Seriously first off Cass has the biggest grin on her face and seems to be studying Marinette, Jason Todd just admitted he’s still technically dead!? Are all siblings this confusing? She’ll have to ask Luka. Seeing as he seems to be the only one in their friend group who has a sibling.

Taking a glance around the entrance. Marinette noticed that she suddenly had older siblings and even a younger one. One week was all it took. Marinette took a glance at Cass she mirrored her grin. She realized one thing.

THIS FAMILY IS INSANE!!!

And now she's a part of them. Crap.

Tag list:

@another-fan-of-anotherplan @damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @thezestywalru @dreamykitty25 @souleateralicestein @thestressmademedoit

A/N:

I hope that all of you lovely peeps are staying healthy and safe. Please enjoy todays chapter. Feel free to reblog and leave a note <3.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb au #maribat #batfam #marinette deserves better #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #class salt

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ankhisms · 3 years

Text

the always wonderful shelley @shanheling tagged me to do this thank u so much!! i think that everyone i wanted to tag has already been tagged to do this but if you feel like doing this feel free to consider urself tagged by me!! im putting this under a readmore bc its long and i ramble a lot

the piece i was tagged to explain my process on is this oc piece! unfortunately i have a habit of deleting my original clip studio file once ive finished my art and saved it as a new png file, so i dont have the file to show the sketch and different stages of this piece. but I still can go through my general process and talk about how i did that piece!

1. planning

honestly i think about the art that i want to do a lot, and in this last year or so ive thought about the art i want to do more than ive been able to actually create and finish that art that i want to do. for my planning i tend to do a lot of different thumbnail sketches for the art im thinking of

these are some examples of thumbnails, a lot of times ill do thumbnails just on pencil and paper and with some of these theyre done quickly with my fingers on my phone note function on a day where i was feeling too bad to get up and draw on paper but still wanted to get the thumbnail ideas down. two of these are for the same songxiao piece that i still havent finished and i have more thumbnails digitally on clip studio for the same piece, i do a lot more thumbnails when a piece isnt working the way i want it to and theres times where ill completely scratch a thumbnail or a sketch and start over in order to do more thumbnails because i dont feel happy with some aspect of it.

two of these are small gouche painting thumbnails for two pieces i did maybe a month or so ago, i did the thumbnails and then tried to expand on them digitally and im wanting to do more thumbnail paintings like this in the future because it was fun

for the piece of my oc trio it was based off a series of ask prompts i got for a few different outfit prompt memes i had reblogged, so i based their outfits on the ones in the meme. when im drawing figures i tend to try and get the movement down in the poses when im sketching, i do several rough sketches of the pose before beginning to start setting down lines (if im doing lineart at all because sometimes i dont like doing lineart and do a more lineless painting kind of style). i really try to get my art to convey some kind of emotion, in the oc piece i wanted it to feel fun and like youre seeing three best friends while theyre out on the town having a fun night

2. creating

this is the only real example i have of a piece in the middle of being filled in and created, this piece is one that im really not very happy with & have had lying around for a while and ill probably scrap it and try to come at it from a different perspective at some point. but anyway it still shows what i do, i lay down a kind of neutral gray color underneath my final sketch/lineart if im doing lineart in that piece and then i start picking out the colors that i want for the piece and kind of setting out a pallette for myself. i dont do this color pallette thing 100% of the time but i do it really often, especially if im working on a commission or a larger piece where i know theres going to be a lot of colors or if its a piece where im not sure exactly what color scheme i want so laying out the colors together helps me kind of decide what kind of scheme i want. i am sooooo picky about my colors in my art i am genuinely obsessed with colors in art and there are times where i really have to stop myself from working on something forever just constantly adding more colors or putting little tiny changes and gradients in the colors.

after ive got the colors i want down i tend to try and block out parts of the piece with the base color for that section, and then i start to paint with the colors that i want to go on top of that base color from there.

once im satisfied with the colors/shading/rendering and everything ill go back and look over things and will fix things that look off or sometimes completely redo segments if they dont look right to me. when i was younger and mainly doing digital art using my phone and my fingers i would use a lot of filters and overlays on top of my art once i was done, and honestly im glad to not be doing that anymore because i dont think it made my art look any better. i do color adjustments and sometimes will put on a color overlay or a layer to emphasize the shadows and the light in the piece, but i try to keep those layers to a minimum and like i said before i have a tendency to obsess over the colors and ill spend a good amount of time in the color adjustment tool of clip studio and then ill just decide "actually it looks fine as it is" so yeah!

3. posting

i feel like i dont have a lot to say here gbfm i mean i honestly have a lot of thoughts about the relationship between artists and social media and how social media changes our views on art including our own art and how we can feel like we constantly need to be posting new art and just become content machines churning out new stuff. but ill save that rant for another time. i used to be really concerned about how many notes my art would get when i was younger, and i dont at all blame anyone who still is very concerned about that bc it sucks when u work hard on something youve created and then you dont get a lot of recognition for it, but honestly within the last two years or so i feel like ive begun to have a lot healthier relationship with posting my art. i really just post my art on my art blog, reblog it to my main blog, and then thats that yknow! i do really appreciate any and all support people give me, it means the world to me, but for me having the mentality where i dont need to post all the art i make and i dont need to be posting every day or every week or every month even has been a lot healthier for me because then im not constantly asking myself why didnt this get notes is my art awful??? and yeah i just kind of post it and my brain goes okay were done with that art we gotta make more

ive honestly been struggling a lot with art thru the pandemic and if youre reading this and have been struggling with creating in any way recently or even before the pandemic, please know theres no shame in having trouble creating and it doesnt make you bad at whatever it is u create!

thank you for reading this, feel free to consider urself tagged by me again if u want to do this!! love u all

#showyourprocess #beep beep its a txt

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

This Bites (Indruck)

The prompt for the 24th was: Midnight Ball. This one is NSFW, and a vampire AU, so there are mentions of blood (but nothing graphic).

Technically the ball begins at nine in the evening. Midnight is the highpoint, the turnover from October 30th to the most revered day of the year.

Indrid and the other residents of Sylvain Manor have spent the day preparing, decorating the halls and ballroom while removing inconvenient items such as mirrors (he’s grown used to not seeing himself in them, but he wishes to offer his guests the courtesy of not giving themselves away).

By nine thirty, the band is playing lively waltzes as couples spin across the floor and friends laugh in small clusters, sipping wine and tasting the various delights Barclay prepared. The cook is nowhere to be seen, but Indrid knows he’s snuck off to his quarters with a certain human, the werewolf unwilling to wait until midnight for his kiss.

His friend's starry-eyed love is the only reason he will ever permit a monster hunter anywhere on his grounds. Indrid is not a violent man by any means, but he will do whatever is needed to keep himself and the others in his care safe.

A downside to this approach is that he is warier of some of the townsfolk than he otherwise would be, and they in turn see little of him and think him aloof. Which is why he’s lurking in the corner at his own party.

An absurd, charming laugh catches his ear, and when he locates the source he’s certain his long-stopped heart restarts.

The man is dressed in a deep brown suit, cut to accentuate muscular arms and pleasingly strong looking thighs. He must be one of the local farmers, or perhaps a tradesman, as his shoulders and slightly weathered face point to work outside and his bearing lacks the self-satisfaction of a member of the aristocracy. He’s talking with Dani and her human girlfriend, Aubrey, smiling a little crooked when Aubrey tells a joke. Then another dance begins, and the two women excuse themselves to the main floor.

Indrid waits to see if someone else will approach him, not wanting to interfere if the man is here with a partner or a friend. But the man simply sips his wine and steps back into the corner out of the way of the widening crowd of dancers. Indrid inches along the banquet table, terrified of being presumptuous. Then the man adjusts his tie, no doubt from the heat of the large fire in the fireplace, showing a delicious stripe of neck.

A quick check of the future indicates his approach will be well-received, and he’s at the man’s side in four quick strides.

“May I have this waltz?”

“Uh” The stranger looks behind himself, then back at Indrid, “sure. Can’t promise I’ll be much good.”

“I am not known for my grace either, so we will make a fine pair. Shall I lead?”

“Only if you promise not to crash me into anyone.”

“I will do my best.” Indrid places a gloved hand on his hip, enjoys the warmth seeping through when their fingers link.

After two bars of the song, he says over the music, “since an introduction seems only proper, my name is Indrid. What is yours?”

“Duck.”

He grins; hearing that name was just as charming in the moment as it was in his head.

“It’s a nickname.” Duck steadies him with the hand on his shoulder as Indrid nearly collides them with another couple, “there, uh, there a reason you asked me to dance?”

Indrid cocks his head, “I wanted to. Cliche though it may be, I spotted you from the across the room and wished to know you better.”

“Oh” red blooms across his cheeks and he looks down, which causes them both to elbow an unfortunate passerby, “fuck, sorry. I, uh, well, just didn’t come here tonight thinkin anyone would be that interested in dancin’.”

“Not even the person who invited you?”

“Aubrey’s awful busy, wouldn’t you say?” He nods towards the two women trading kisses as they dance.

“Ah, of course. Well, I am certainly glad she brought you.” He hopes his smile comes across dazzling rather than predatory, a fine line he trips over more often than he’d like.

Duck meets his eyes, studies him a beat, then grins right back “Seems to me there’s plenty of arm-candy here already.”

“Yes, but I suspect you are far more than a handsome face.”

That laugh again, making Indrid melt like the candles, “Jesus, you get right to it don’t you?”

“Oh, ah, apologies, I did not mean to be too blunt.”

“I don’t mind, darlin. Like I said, just wasn’t expecting itoof, sorry.” Duck sends a chagrined glance at the man whose foot he just stepped on.

“Would you like to continue talking somewhere less, ah, perilous for us and everyone else?”

“Lead the way.”

Indrid chooses the gardens as their destination, annoyed when more and more clouds cover the moon, obscuring his view of the plants and--more importantly--of Duck.

“Damn, this is impressive stuff out here. Some of this is real tricky to grow.”

“Really? I must admit my own knowledge of gardening is limited to appreciating its results.”

Duck trails his hand up the trunk of what Indrid is mostly-sure is an Oak tree, “Takes all kinds of things to make a healthy garden. Healthy forest too. Too much light, too little water, the wrong place to try and take root, those kinds of things can make it hard for a plant to grow, same as a human.”

“I take it you have an affinity for helping one of those two categories grow.”

“Try to help both when I can. Love takin care of the forest, but Kepler’s my home; I wanna keep it safe, wanna see it grow rather than crumble away.” He moves to another tree, admiring it, and Indrid follows him through the grove, listening as he talks about the plants, about the town, about his work as an arborist. Duck makes him laugh, draws him into an involved conversation about the merits of different orchards and the manners of cats compared to ravens.

“You been in Kepler long?” They’re shoulder to shoulder now, strolling through the last, stubborn roses of the year.

“For a time. I wandered around quite a bit before arriving here. I had a run of, ah, of bad luck. Or maybe it was inevitable that I found my way here.”

“Eh, fate and shit ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Bitterness edges around his words, “and some folks give it more credit than it deserves.”

Indrid, futures and timelines churning in his mind, finds this statement perplexing and inspiring in equal measure.

“Fate being what it may, I think we ought to return inside” He points to the mounting clouds, “I’m certain we are about to be rained on.”

Duck sniffs the air, “Smells like it. Wouldn’t mind all that much except this is the only suit I own.”

“Can’t have such a lovely thing getting ruined.” Indrid purrs, taking Duck’s offered arm.

They make it to the top of the front stairs just as rain patters on the cobblestones, and two younger vampires vacate their seats by the fire the moment they notice Indrid eyeing them. Someone brings them drinks as they talk, Indrid too focused on Duck to notice who it was or what they gave him until he sips and discovers wine, which he does not like. Well, if nothing else, holding it will give him some way to occupy his hand and keep it from creeping up Duck’s thigh.

With the exception of occasional glances at the clock or around the room, Duck’s attention is on him the entire time. As the hands of time move closer to midnight, the conversation turns to Indrid’s hobbies and his fondness for art.

“I draw as well, for pleasure and, ah professional reasons.”

“You got any specialties?”

“A few. Would you like to see them?”

“Hell yeah.”

It’s a short trip up the stairs, Duck keeping their arms linked until they reach the door of his study, having to separate so Indrid can unlock it. As they enter, Duck spots the commission he’s been working on.

“You do portraits?”

“Indeed.” Indrid looks over his shoulder, “are you offering to model for me, Duck?”

“Depends on the kind of modelin.” Duck grins before turning to shut the door.

Picking up his sketchbook, there’s a click of a lock. Goodness, here he thought he’d need to use the rain as an excuse for why Duck would surely need to stay the night in his bed.

He’s debating the two sketchbooks, prouder of the plant ones but needing to be sure there are no disaster sketches in the mix, when Duck grips his upper arms, spinning them face to face.

“Indrid, look, we ain’t got much time. We gotta get out of here.”

“I...I do not understand.”

“Look, I don’t know who invited you, but this party ain’t what it seems. And, uh, I ain’t exactly either. This is a fuckin vampire ball.”

“And you are a…?” He’s certain Duck is not vampiric, but why would he tell him if he was human-

Oh no.

“I’m here on a mission, it’s a long story, but I’m a vampire hunter.”

Oh no

Indrid looks at the future, something he ought to have done much sooner, and steps out of striking range.

“I’m supposed to take down the vamp who runs this place, but I ain’t been able to spot him, which means he might know I’m here. I’m gonna make a break for town, and I want you to come with me. Indrid I, I can’t stand the idea of you bein where Baron Cold can get you.”

“I” he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate your concern Duck. But I promise you I’m in no danger from the baron. After all, I have no intention of harming myself.”

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

See, this is why he kept telling Minerva he wasn’t cut out for this. Because not only has he been romancing a vampire all night without knowing, he’s been flirting with the guy he’s supposed to kill.

Indrid must have worn a glamour to disguise himself the last time he was seen in town. Duck’s been working from the wrong description this entire time.

“You gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“I wish I was.” Indrid’s lips twitch into a frown, “just as I wish you were joking about coming into my home to hurt me.”

“It’s gotta be done.” Duck says more to himself than to the vampire.

“No, it really doesn’t. For goodness sake, two minutes ago you didn’t want me to get hurt!”

“Yeah, because you probably put me under a fuckin thrall or some shit!”

“I did no such thing. Believe me, if you were under my thrall, you would know.” Indrid says flatly, only to hiss when Duck removes a stake from his trick pocket.

“It, it don’t matter. Because I ain’t under now.”

“Duck, you don’t want to do this.”

He doesn’t dare answer, in case the truth comes out. But before he can move, Indrid slides his glasses down his nose, revealing red eyes.

“You will not move.”

His muscles lock up, his feet turn to lead, and he gets bitter confirmation that how he felt about Indrid all night came from nowhere but himself.

“As I said, my thrall is very obvious.” Indrid plucks the stake from his hand, tossing it into the fire. Pats down his sides, roots through his pockets and the tops of his boots, muttering all the while.

“Foolish...distracted...should have known....rude human.” He punctuates the last words by hurling Duck’s sword (disguised as his belt) out the window.

“Hey, I ain’t the one bitin folks.”

Indrid whirls, snarling, “I have not nonconsensually taken anyone’s blood in years.”

“And you were gonna do what once you got me up here?” Duck manages to cross his arms.

“Show you my drawings! I thought you wanted to see them.” The vampire has the audacity to look hurt.

“I did.” The truth darts out before he can stop it, and so he covers with more annoyance, “But I don’t buy that was really all?”

“Fine, if you must know, I was going to suggest that you spend the night on account of the weather, and perhaps you would like to do so in my bed.”

Yeah, okay, he was definitely going to bite him.

“Just” Indrid hugs himself, “just go. I will let the thrall down, and not alert anyone to your presence.”

His body comes under his control once again.

A half-second before Duck moves, Indrid says, “Don’t you dare.”

Duck’s already committed to his attack, figuring he can at least subdue Indrid and get him into town. He doesn’t get the chance. Indrid grabs him and spins him with significant strength, slamming him into the bookcase. He can’t get his right arm free as it’s twisted behind his back, and the left is pinned, splayed out beneath Indrid’s gloved fingers. Apparently all the Chosen strength in the world can’t help him against a pissed-off vampire.

“That.” Indrid growls in his ear, “was not polite.”

“Would you knock it off with all that manners bullshit and just get it over with?” He mumbles into the hardcovers.

“Get what over with?”

“The thing you brought me up here for.” He turns his head, glaring at the vampire who, for his part, looks confused. Then he grins, bringing his mouth dangerously close to Ducks neck.

Cold, but very lively, lips connect with his, Indrid humming when Duck tips his head to deepen the kiss.

The vampire pulls back to nuzzle his cheek, “That was what I hoped for from you. But since you seem rather, ah, fixated on the biting..”

“AH!”

A chuckle vibrates up his neck as Indrid latches onto it, and Duck clenches his teeth, terrified that if he speaks, he’ll ask for more.

When Indrid releases the skin, the hunter stares at the bruise.

“There, there ain't any holes.”

“I told you” Indrid lazily kisses his face, “I only do that with permission.” He gazes at Duck over the rims of his glasses, “is that something you wish to give me?” The hands lift from his wrists, the weight from his back, “or do you wish to depart?”

“I want” he rests his forehead against the books, “I want to, uh, to, know what it’s like. If you, uh, if you want toFUCK, ohgodohfuckAHhnnnn.” His whole body tenses when the fangs sink into the base of his neck, and for a moment he’s worried he’ll pass out in Indrid’s arms.

Then the steel in his spine melts, pleasure rushing in to replace it, dripping into every vein. His fingers flex and curl helplessly, Indrids hands too busy forcing Ducks chin up and clinging to his waist to hold them.

He’s never been this turned on in his goddamn life, and wishes he’d learned this about himself any other time but now, with anyone other than a vampire who has three hunters guilds, one assassin network, and two governors hungry for his head.

Memories bubble up beneath that wish; Indrid in the hours prior, laughing and smiling when Duck told stories or bad jokes. How at ease he felt walking in the gardens with him, as if there was nowhere else he was meant to be. The look on his face when Duck agreed to dance

He moans, squirming in Indrid’s hold, knowing he’s lost and unable to care that he has.

The vampire isn’t faring much better, groaning into the bite, the hand on Ducks shirt gripping tighter and tighter. When Duck gasps at a burst of pain the groans and growls turn to a purr, the teeth retracting from his skin and replaced by soft licks and gentle kisses.

“Is, is it always like that.”

“No. It is neutral to pleasant in most cases.”

“So what the, the fuck was that?”

“At a wild guess, you are discovering some new and interesting things about yourself.” Indrid grins like a fox that’s just been given free reign of a henhouse, “would you like to learn more? Or would you like to go?”

“More, fuck, Indrid please I, I’m-” he’s not certain what he’s trying to say, only that he wants Indrid to understand how badly he wants this.

Indrid kneels, sets a hand on the small of his back, “Stay.”

The vampire makes quick work of his suspenders and pants, yanking them down to his ankles. Black gloves land near his left toe just as cold fingers caress the back of his thighs.

“Mmmmmm, has anyone told you these” he squeezes, rubbing his thumb into the inner part of his thighs, “are downright sinful?”

“N-not for awhile.”

“A shame.” Indrid nips the left side of his ass, snickering when he swears. His right hand slips between Duck’s legs, rubbing his dick once before teasing up and down his folds.

“My, my, that is flattering. A handsome hunter, wet just for me.”

“Indrid, I swear, if you don’t stop teasin I'm gonna get my cross from wherever you tossed it.”

“I don’t think you are” Indrid rubs more roughly, neither touching his dick or sliding inside, “I think you are going to stay right here and let me sample this” he slaps Duck’s ass lightly, “for as long as I like.”

Duck giggles, “sample? It ain’t a whiskeyEEh, fuck, oh fuck me.” He thunks his head into his forearm as Indrid scatters bite marks across the sensitive skin. He’s not taking blood with them, seems content to watch the purple and red bruises as they bloom.

Three fingers push up into him and he yelps, surprised.

“You did ask me to fuck you.” Indrid’s tone is level even as the slick sound of his fingers fucking him fill up the room.

“It, it was, AHHnnn, a figure of, of speech, you, you fuckin-”

“Choose your words carefully, my sweet.”

“--unfairly good lookin, menace of a vampire.”

He’s spun fast enough to get dizzy, still trapped against the shelves by Indrid’s hands on his hips.

“I’ll show you a menace.” Is all he says before closing his lips around Duck’s dick, fingers still curving and thrusting inside him.

“You, y-you, fuck, and I got real different definitions of menaceOhhhhhh yeah, fuck yes, Indrid, that’s so good,” He cuts off into whimper when Indrid’s head dips down to bite his inner thigh. Threading his fingers into silvery hair gets him another bite and a moan of approval, Indrid continuing to rove his mouth between his dick and his thighs, sounding all the while like he’s enjoying a gourmet meal.

“Sh-shit, Indrid, I��m close, keep doin that, pleaseplease” just as the orgasm starts building, Indrid pulls away, sitting on his heels with his hands in his lap.

“Is somethin wrong?”

The vampire stands, hands caressing Duck’s hips, cock hard beneath his dress pants,“There are rules, sweet one. Humans who break into my home to kill me do not get to cum.”

Duck whines, only to have Indrid shush him like he’s a fussing dog before kissing him.

“I, however, do get to cum” He undoes his fly, “using whatever method I see fit.”

There’s a tremendous ripping noise as he grabs Duck’s left thigh, pulling it up to hook precariously around his hip, as Duck’s still-booted foot tears out the cuff of his pants.

“And you, dearest hunter, are the method I prefer.”

With that, he shoves his cock into him, dropping his head to kiss his neck as a Duck moans without caring who hears him.

“Goodness, it’s been so long since I had my way with a human, I, I forgot how warm it is.”

“Warm you up whenever you want darlin. Fuck, fuck” He tries to hold his own weight but it’s getting harder, as all he wants to do is go limp and let Indrid take whatever he wants. His head is swimming with the slap of connecting skin and the protests of the bookcase, with Indrid’s moans as the vampire noses his neck.

“Ah, this will do nicely.”

That same moment of complete tension, his body reacting to the teeth piercing his skin. He tightens around Indrid, weakly bucks his hips in search of release as the vampire switches to furious, sharp thrusts, releasing Duck’s neck with a messy gasp.

“Nmmm, I hate to stop, but I hate even more for you to grow weak and faint. After all, I need you awake until I am finished.” He presses Ducks thigh up, the angle borderline painful, as his hips stutter. Duck’s nails dig into the wooden shelf as Indrid’s words sink deeper and deeper into his core. He moans at the thought of letting the vampire fuck and feed from him until he passes out, of being helpless in a bed somewhere, his world starting and ending with-

“Indrid” he whimpers as the vampire cums, slamming all the way in and grinding with high gasps as he finishes in him.

Slowly, his foot finds the ground and Indrid holds him closer, both of them panting. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of his jacket.

“You really ain’t lettin me cum?”

“I believe my rules were quite clear.”

He sighs happily, the denial somehow just as pleasant to his mind as the completion would be. Indrid smiles as he presses a kiss to his temple, laughs softly when Duck gives one to his shoulder in response. He feels so safe here, Indrid draped around him, that reality’s return is akin to a knife in the gut.

“What happens now?”

“Well” Indrid pets Ducks hair, “as of this moment, there are two futures; you depart, are scolded by your fellow hunters and assassins, and return next week with the same goal that brought you here tonight. Or, you prove just as stubborn as you were earlier tonight, and come back to me tomorrow evening, heedless of your mission.”

“Seems to me there’s one of those you'd like me to do.”

Indrid steps back, still holding him but able to more easily meet his eyes, “There is one I would prefer, yes. But ultimately it is not up to me to tell you which path to take. Your destiny is yours to decide, even if you decide something that does not work in my favor.”

This is too heavy a conversation to get into with his pants down. Not when he’s not sure what the right thing for his town, his friends, himself is. Not when Indrid is still so close, smile blood-tinted but so tender Duck wants to tuck it away and keep it safe.

He knows what he wants, just not what he should do.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it.”

Indrid nods,guides him in for one final kiss, soft and sweet as a sunrise, “That is all I ask.”

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

He watches Duck from the bedroom window, his figure growing fainter the further he gets down the road.

Then the human turns, pausing long enough for Indrid to realize he sees him. Not knowing what else to do, he waves.

Even from this distance, his night vision lets him catch the flash of that smile. The hunter blows him a kiss, which he pretends to catch.

And the futures of Duck coming back to him tomorrow night jump another twenty percent.

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #promptober #vampire au

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kittymaverick · 4 years

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Mystery Case Files 21: The Harbinger commentary and review, part 2.

outSpoiler free review first: Holy SHIT GRANDMA studios, talk about knocking the ball out of the park. Not only was that a solid good MCF game to start off with, you’ve now set up the expectation for the next game so high, I’m honestly a little afraid for you. Like... do you know how high the bar is now that you’ve hinted about the content of the next game? Right, coming back to Harbinger for a second. Barring one tiny little slip up which I think was just something that got lost in translation (English is like that), the lore of MCF managed to stay intact, which needs to be applauded. At one point, I almost questioned if there might be almost too many references, especially with that happens to the references in the game itself. (Yes, I, the MCF nerd and fanatic, actually had that thought). I still flip-flop a bit on whether this was a good execution, or a good but shaky execution. For one thing, the way it’s executed... wow, that’s some heavy stuff emotionally. Which is why I’m questioning if that’s “good”, because I suppose there was a line of emotional heaviness I didn’t expect we’ll cross in MCF, but GRANDMA took it there. And so far... part of me is guiltily okay with it, but wow... The studio’s art style does suggest that a detraction from from MCF’s usual Elizabethan English Horror Story with a side of Soul Steampunk and Celtic Druidism would not necessarily be a bad thing. That GRANDMA chose otherwise though, and stuck with a very, very MCF story (albeit more limited to the Celtic legends part), takes guts. What I do wish we’ll get, after the next game, is a story line that’s a GRANDMA original, sort of like Eipex’s the Black Veil, because I think the studio has potential in creating something that’s more them without pulling away too much from MCF. Anyway, that’s the spoiler free review part. Back to my spoiler filled commentary!

Aisling: I know I act suspicious, but I’m just a psychic! MD: I know I’m just a detective, but people keep dying around me, so hey, we’ve got that in common. Aisling: James gave me this cube by the way-- huh? *Emblem of MD appears* ...I’m sorry, that ancient celtic emblem... has a bloody hat. It has a bloody hat. I’m DYING.

Realized I jumped back too far to do this retroactive commentary. Oops.

MD: Okay, well, maybe he isn’t dead yet. We could probably dig him out-- *Nigel turns to bone* MD: ...Never mind. He’s beyond saving. Someone get the coroner!

Six thousand mirrors in the room, and not one shows your face. MD: A technique I have perfected over the two decades of my career. Didn’t save you from getting married to a homicidal madman though. MD: ...I don’t think he picked me because of my looks to begin with.

...Hey MD, I know paper work wasn’t exactly involved and all, but did you actually divorce Charles, or did you just betray him? MD: *DEATH GLARE* You know what, pretend I never asked. MD: You’d better.

MD: Let’s see what skeletons Nigel has in his closet. You know, the last time you found skeletons in a closet, quite literally... MD: Shut up, I was trying not to think about that! (This happened in Key to Ravenhearst. The Skeleton was Charles and Victor.)

Okay, so James was a MCF fanboy, Marge you met on one of your American trips, Nigel was a Fate Carney, John worked on a restored Ravenhearst. I don’t want to say her Majesty might have under exaggerated the number of keywords there were going on here... MD: Oh no, she definitely made it out to be less important than it seemed. She also definitely sent me in because the report she’s going to get out of this is going to be spectacular. The idea that HRM might be the ultimate MCF fan in-universe tickles me with delight. MD: And fills me with utter dread.

Nigel’s shadow puppet theatre: I got fired from the carnival! Boo! MD: Nigel, getting fired from Fate’s Carnival probably saved your ass. Temporarily, until whatever is going on here got you. MD: .................... What? Oh... MD: Yeah. Oh geez I’m looking forward to the case after this now! 8D MD: Why is it that the more I’m tortured, the more gleeful you are?

*Telephone rings* MD: Hello? Marge: HELP ME SOMETHING IS HERE AAAAHHH Well shit. MD: Yeah, she’s done for. Let’s go see the body.

*Gibs collects collectibles before going to body* *I die laughing because that’s my priority too*

MD: Oh no Marge I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you in time... ...Yeah right, says the person who doesn’t want to get their hand on the black stuff. MD: Look, my sorrow doesn’t in anyway override my desire for hygiene, okay? Reminds me of that one time I called some detectives from the last century dandies for refusing to stick their hand into a barrel of rainwater...

MD can I point out how you’re making detailed sketches of MARGE’S BODY in your journal? MD: Look it’s this or pyromania, okay? Don’t judge me. Also, I’m starting to think people that meet you on your cases shouldn’t bother locking their diaries. You always manage to crack them open.

Marge: Oh James is such a darling, I should get him to marry my daughter, then I’ll be such a happy mother-in-law. .............................. MD: ...................... Well, um, I guess Marge was a cougar on the inside, maybe? MD: Yeah, let’s phrase it like that (Restrain desire to make crude NSFW jokes...)

Marge: DAMN THAT GIRL FOR STEALING MY BOY. Marge, seriously, there’s officer Davis. I’m sure he’s just as nice! MD: And not on anyone’s death list. For now. MD: Don’t say that...

Davis: Well, I guess that’s one more evidence against Aisling. HOLD IT! MD: This note here shows clearly that Marge intended to frame Aisling for an attack on her! And the diary entries clearly document how much she hates the suspect. Therefore, the evidence shouldn’t be permissible-- Davis: Yeah, but Marge is dead, and there really isn’t anyone else in town left. *Record scratch* MD: ....It could be... you? Davis: Harhar, look here’s the evidence, go talk to Aisling. MD: Urgh, fine. It’s okay, MD, I was rooting for you there at least!

Aisling: Death, death is all around us! *Flees* MD: Okay, Aisling, that’s really not helping and only making you more suspicious! But since you’re away, I’m going to rifle through your trailer. Um, now who’s suspicious???

Hm, you know, this place would have been great for a holiday spot. MD: I don’t know, given my records with holidays... ...True, you’ll probably end up doing exactly what you are doing now. MD: That said, I think I’ll take a slice of apple pie since no one’s looking. Does the agency pay for your food on your cases? MD: They’d better because I’m giving the recipes to Her Majesty if they don’t...

Aisling: I came here to save John but he’s locked upstairs, please help! MD: Um, if you had let me come with you... maybe some time could have been saved? Aisling: But what if I get killed first then? MD:........ She’s got a point. MD: Dammit, fine...

Hm, so John’s ancestor worked on the original Ravenhearst... We’ll probably need to open up the original game to see if that was the guy that fell from the construction site. (My guess is it’s not, because that carpenter was originally meant to be Rose Summerset’s husband, so it should have been Summerset. Plus Rose’s kids were the twins and Victor.)

Oh damn, a model of Ravenhearst-- MD: Hm, it’s missing a weather vane. ........... MD: Look, just because I burn the place down several times, doesn’t mean I don’t care what it looks like, okay? Can you point out the window that you escaped out of by any chance? 8D MD: *sighs* This one...

Aisling: John, NOOOOOO. MD: Right, gotta cut him down quick! He might still be alive. *Proceed to spend over minutes solving puzzles* MD: I swear, this happened very fast in actuality... Never as fast as the plot demanded though...

*Puts weather vane on model* *Model turns into a raven* MD: ???????????????? Okay, I need to take points off for THAT ridiculous transformation and animation. XD

Aisling: I can’t take this anymore! MD: I know this is hard, Aisling-- Aisling: Here’s the next slab, btw. ....This mood whiplash... I’m dying.

Um, so apparently the banshee wasn’t trying to destroy the world, but was trying to restore herself, which... you disrupted. MD: Look, Allison and her friends needed rescuing okay? I couldn’t just sit idling by. ...If that was disrupted, then how DID Aisling turn human then??? MD: .....Let’s save that mystery for another time because I feel a headache incoming... (Fix edit: It seems to imply that the ritual was only disrupted, not failed, so Aisling did get her skin back, though now she doesn’t remember being a banshee...)

Aisling: I’m a banshee? That’s... That’s impossible. MD: Well, I’ve been through a lot to say most impossible things are actually probable in reality, though if you somehow don’t remember me shoving you back into the cave, um, then I’m grateful. Once you do, please don’t kill me. BTW, your turn on the cube of mystery!

Aisling: Well, if I’m a banshee, I guess I should go back to Dire Grove. We can catch the next ferry. MD: You know that’s a really long trip right? It might take us the better half of a day-- Or a single puzzle’s worth of time. MD: ...Where was THAT kind of fast travel all these years??? I do like how it’s implied that you guys had a huge detour with picking people up and dropping them off though.

Ais: Okay, we’re here in Dire Grove-- AH! MD: Wow, even nature is saying NO to you. Ooooooor it could be a certain immortal druid-- MD: Please don’t. It’s fine! We have a banshee. MD: All she does is predict death! Oh yeah, forgot about that...

*Aisling gets “kidnapped” by green energy* Gibs: That can’t be healthy. MD: That’s honestly pretty normal at this point for us. At least she didn’t get dropped down a tube.

Um, what’s with the Chinese incense in a Druid’s domain? X’D (I’m going to pretend they traded that...)

(I honestly don’t have a lot of stuff to comment on in the section in Dire Grove, because there isn’t much to snark about. Which, I guess, comes to show that 99% of silliness comes from MD dealing with PEOPLE, alive, dead, revived, or otherwise not really a human.)

*Aisling goes back to banshee form* MD: First, no hard feelings about last time, right? Aisling: *stares* MD: Please, thank you, and I’m sorry??? Aisling: You did help me out, so I guess it’s fine. MD: *sigh of relief* BTW, four people technically did DIE though in the process. Aisling: Um, that wasn’t me, if you recall your lore correctly. MD: True enough, but STILL. Just pointing it out. You want her to scream in your ear? She’s still got time for that.

HOW AISLING BECAME A BANSHEE, AGAIN. Aisling: To make a long story short, there was a lot of puzzles Puzzles which you had to personally solve, without MD’s help? Aisling: It really makes you appreciate how hard MD has had it for the last 21 years...

Did... did you just KILL four people to restore your spirit? Aisling: I just helped their soul cross over! I swear! Aisling, you’re being really SUS right now and I’ve practice how to spot a liar lately! Aisling: I only predict deaths! And then find the souls and tell them where to go. I swear that’s my task. EVERYONE VOTE AISLING AISLING IS THE IMPOSTER

Is one of your abilities literally “summon joyride”???? Aisling: it’s a carriage A carriage can be an awesome joyride if you use it irresponsibly Aisling: How does MD tolerate you? They don’t, they’ve just had worse company and I’m a lesser evil. 8D

Aisling (actually Gibs): *suffers through the last giant super puzzle* ...Yeah, REALLY makes you appreciate what MD goes through. Aisling: Is it always this bad??? Sometimes. I’ve seen worse.

Gibs: THAT CARRIAGE IS BADASS. See, I told you it was a joyride. Aisling: You know, I think I’ll float back to the MD. No joyrides. Awwwwwwwwwwww... Okay, now let’s rewind back to when MD started their rant. **************************************************

Aisling: BTW, this energy is still floating about. And I think I know why. Will you accept this energy and use it to save the world? MD: Oh hold ON a minute. You want ME to do WHAT? Aisling: Save the world. You heard what I said. MD: Okay, listen. I started this detective job mostly because I thought it was cool, and it was for the first couple of cases where all I had to deal with was bust the criminal organization STAIN and recover the Hope diamond for the Queen. But then that’s where all my trouble started because she sent me to this creepy manor which turned out to be a prison to not one, not two, but FOUR ghosts. What’s even worse is the first time I went, I thought I only had to rescue Emma. I was wrong, and for the longest time, I thought Fate Carnival folks were dying from my mistake. Turns out later it was completely personal. This was everything that happened before I met YOU. (Again, really sorry about kicking you back into the cave and getting you stuck in the situation you were in in the last who knows how many years...) Afterwards, I went to the Louisiana which got me on the bad side of a certain ghost pirate, who turned out to be the grandfather of the guy killing the carney folks from his mother’s side. Which was why he was killing them by the way. She sold him to Fate’s Carnival. Anyway, after figuring out that I’ve dun goofed, I went back to Ravenhearst manor, which turned out there was a WHOLE OTHER SECTION I didn’t discover last time, which was somehow a very personalized and twisted marriage proposal that I didn’t notice until too late. I burned THAT down for good measure before taking a break in some place near a lake. But then that guy’s FATHER took up issue with what I did, which I didn’t even started, to be honest. He tried to kill me for whatever grudge it was that he had. I had to stab his horocrux with my badge to get him to stop that time. But then it turns out that father ALSO has some offspring here in Dire Grove, and I had to come back to prevent THAT from going down in flames as well. Thankfully, I think they remained sane. I can’t say the same for the twins, who turned out to be the evil guy’s kids. They most definitely went insane, and REMADE Ravenhearst, which I had to burn down for THE THIRD TIME. All that plus the jump I took landed me in an asylum, which turned out to be the one where both the evil bald guy and his dad was imprisoned once upon a time. Of course, the guy’s father tried to kill me, AGAIN. Took care of that, and also removed the shard that was driving me bonkers. It only gets worse from here though. I got chased around by an woman with a clock for her heart who I had to defenestrate out a clock tower. She didn’t stab me, but then the guy who probably ENGINEERED MY ENTIRE LIFE did, because apparently he wanted to use my soul’s virtue to anchor death to the mortal world or something. I got an immortality feather out of that, I guess, so it wasn’t too bad, but I basically DIED. And then afterwards there was that undead guy who was really hung up about his biker jacket. Next was the evil guy’s ancient youngest son nearly destroying the world (4th wall break: THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT) trying to revive him which thankfully DIDN’T HAPPEN BECAUSE OH GODS I WOULD HAVE DIED FOR REAL ON THE SPOT IF IT DID, FEATHER OR NOT. Then a creepy woman in a mirror had to be locked back into the mirror dimension. And that’s when my agency had a fucking SECURITY BREACH which turned out to have been in the making for YEARS. And then the pirate guy came back and nearly enslaved me. I had to blow up his ship and exorcise him from this world. And AFTER all of that, I was finally sent to Blackmoor, where I met YOU, and also saw a bunch of people marginally related to me die from a cause we still don’t have any answers for. *DEEP INHALE*

Aisling: Okay, so your point is.... MD: My POINT is.... out of ALL the sane and wholesome people in the world who don’t have ANY BAGGAGE whatsoever, why do I, the Master Detective, have to be the one to save the world here-- Charles: Hello. MD: *SCREEEEEEECH*

CHARLES IT’S BEEN FOREVER-- wait, you’re not here to serve the divorce papers are you? Charles: Of course not. I’m asking MD to come back home with me. MD: WHAT?! Charles: Where else would I welcome you back to? *Evil cackle* ......... 8D8D8D8D8D8D8D8D Aisling: ........... :| :| :| :| :| :| :| :| :| MD: .................D:< D:< D:< D:< D:< D:< D:< MD: Aisling, hand that energy over, I’ve a WORLD TO BURN.

I have to point this out... the last time we saw Charles IN THE FLESH in game, was Escape from Ravenhearst, which was NINE YEARS AGO, likely TEN by the time Crossfade comes out. Happy Tenth Anniversary of your wedding, Master Detective? 8D

MD: AS IF.

#Mystery Case files #The Harbinger #MCF

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ericsonclan · 4 years

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The Comfort of a Blanket

Summary: The twins and Tenn watch a movie and have a pleasant evening together until something happens to Minnie's blanket.

Read on A03:

Minnie sat on the couch enjoying the comfort of her blanket as she watched a movie with her siblings. They were watching Spiderman: Into the SpiderVerse for the millionth time. It was one of Tenn’s favorite movies so whenever he could convince them they would sit down and watch it. Tenn’s eyes were glued to the screen as he watched the different heroes face off against Kingpin. His body leaned forward and his arms wrapped tighter and tighter with each second of the film. Sophie wasn’t paying much attention to the TV; her focus was entirely on her sketchbook.

The sound of her pencil racing across paper could be heard faintly behind the loud action scene. When they had started this watchthrough of the movie, Sophie had been hit with a bolt of inspiration. Quickly mumbling that she was drawing different people from Ericson Diner with their own superspider designs, she’d gotten completely lost in her art, only occasionally glancing up before being hit with another wave of inspiration. They were getting towards the end of the movie when Minnie leaned forward to grab the popcorn only for a drink to be tipped over, the contents of which landed directly on her blanket.

“Shit!” Minnie jumped up to her feet, causing her siblings to also stir and look over with concern. Sophie haphazardly tried to grab the remote, pausing the movie after a minute.

“Are you okay, Minnie?” Tenn looked back at his older sister who looked devastated by the event that had played out.

“I’m fine,” She let out a sad sigh, lifting up her blanket “I can’t say the same for my blanket though,” She carefully examined the stain that was forming where the drink had spilled. Renata had given her this blanket and now she had ruined it.

“Don’t worry, Minnie. We can wash it. “ Sophie walked over to stand beside her.

“I don’t want it to get damaged or anything though,” Minnie had a worried expression on her face as she looked at her twin.

“That won’t be a problem,” Sophie gently took the blanket from her sister’s hands before motioning Minnie to follow her to the laundry room. “If we use this setting and grab-'' Sophie grunted as she stood on her tippy toes to reach the laundry detergent, letting out a happy noise when she had succeeded, “Grab the unscented tide pods,” Sophie glanced over at her twin who gave her approval before she tossed the blanket into the washer along with the detergent.

With a few button presses the washer began its progress, slowly spinning around the blanket.

“Is everything okay?” Tenn called from the back living room.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Minnie replied, walking back with Sophie so they could finish up the movie. They only had about fifteen minutes left which felt unusually long for Minnie as she waited impatiently for the washer to be done. When the credits had rolled the three siblings sat around for a moment, not sure what to do next.

“People are going to flip out when they see these,” Sophie carefully placed away her sketchpad with an excited smile.

“So, what do we do next?” Minnie asked, hoping her siblings would come up with some good ways to pass the time.

“We could do that art challenge that I’ve seen lately,” Tenn nervously fidgeted with his fingers as he spoke.

“Oh, which one?” Sophie immediately perked up whenever art was involved.

“It’s the one where one person draws someone in the room then they pass the paper to the next person who draws them and so on until everyone has been drawn,” Tenn explained the rules as carefully and clearly as he could, hoping his sisters would agree to the idea.

“Sounds fun to me! What about you, Minnie? You game?” Sophie looked over at Minnie who seemed less excited at the idea. Unlike her two other siblings she sucked at art, especially drawing.

“I don’t know,” She paused when she saw Tenn’s face fall. “Ok, I’ll give it a shot.”

Sophie and Tenn looked over at each other, overjoyed that Minnie had agreed. Sophie soon ran off to find some paper, returning swiftly with a handful of pencils and paper. Tenn was the first up.

After finding a good angle to draw from he started his sketch of Minnie. His eyes became laser focused on the paper as he drew. After ten minutes he turned around his paper, proudly displaying his art.

“That’s really good!” Sophie exclaimed, leaning forward to get a closer look.

“It really is,” Minnie agreed, impressed that he was able to get so many of her features right.

Tenn looked away, the smile on his face growing at his sisters' praise. Minnie was up next. Picking up the pencil she began her sketch what she was sure was going to turn out to be a disservice to Sophie’s face. Her tongue stuck out slightly as she concentrated on her sketch, erasing a section before trying again. After about fifteen minutes she had decided it was as good as it could be and reluctantly showed it to her siblings. Sophie grasped the paper, bringing it closer to her face.

“I love it,” She whispered, staring at her sister’s art.

“It’s hideous,” Minnie mumbled, falling back into the couch.

“I think it’s good,” Tenn offered his sister a gentle smile which she returned.

“I’ll be right back. I gotta add these to the collection,” Before Minnie could object Sophie was gone, her feet loudly banging on the steps as she ran upstairs. After a few minutes she returned, a huge grin on her face.

“Alright, I guess it’s my turn,” Sophie plopped herself back in her spot, snatching up the pencil as she stared at her brother. She studied his face for a few minutes before she started. Her pencil lightly brushed against the page as she worked, her eyes lighting up as she continued to draw. After around twenty minutes she dramatically turned around the paper, revealing a beautiful black and white sketch of Tenn. He looked so peaceful as a kind smile played on his lips.

“Holy shit, Soph, your art just keeps getting better and better!” Minnie exclaimed.

Sophie nervously played with her cap at Minnie’s compliment, a shy smile on her face. “Aw, thanks,”

Minnie paused when she heard the washer signalling that the cycle had been done. She got up from her spot and made her way over to the laundry room, switching the blanket over to the dryer.

“Make sure to put it on the gentlest cycle,” Sophie’s voice carried over from the back living room.

“Ok, got it,” Minnie double checked the setting. Starting up the cycle, she returned to her siblings.

“So what’s the next game?” Sophie kicked her legs lazily on the side of the couch.

“I could get my guitar and we could make up some songs,” Minnie offered to which her siblings immediately agreed. Getting up, she made her way to her room where her black acoustic guitar laid proudly on its stand. Securing the strap, she made her way back to where her siblings were already trying to come up with some fun lyrics.

“So how are we going to do this?” Minnie asked as she tuned her guitar.

“We should each come up with one line of lyrics and then the next person goes until we complete a song.” Sophie suggested, sitting up from her spot.

“Alright,” Minnie took a few more minutes tuning her guitar then began to strum some notes for her siblings to start out the song.

“There once was a dog that was a poodle,” Tenn began to sing softly.

“He looked like a day old noodle,” Sophie sang out, not caring that her voice wasn’t any good.

“And he had buggy pupils,” Minnie added.

The song continued on from there. Each sibling struggled to find a good sentence to add to the song when it was their turn. After it had finished they decided to play a few more rounds which went just as well as the first time.

“Oh, Minnie, can you play that song you wrote the other day?” Tenn asked, leaning back in his chair as he hugged a couch pillow.

“Sure,” Minnie replied with a gentle smile on her lips. The song started out slow and quiet as Minnie’s voice gently entered in. Soon the whole room was filled with her singing as her siblings sat back, completely taken in by the song. After a few minutes the song had finished. Sophie quickly requested one of her favorite songs of Minnie’s. The three of them sat around, the melody of the guitar and the soft cadence of Minnie’s voice the only things audible in the room. Tenn and Sophie kept making requests until Minnie stated that she needed a little break. Her fingers absentmindedly strummed the guitar as she chatted with her brother and sister.

Suddenly she paused, the faint tune of the dryer cycle being done could be heard from the laundry room. “I hear it calling to me,” She gently placed down her guitar, rising to her feet. “Blankie!”

She was off like a shot, sliding across the floor as she entered the laundry room. She quickly opened up the dryer door, sweeping up the warm mess that was her blanket. She gave it a fast examination and noticed that the stain was gone. Moving it towards her face, she inhaled the blanket’s scent. Her nose was overcome with the sweet and spicy smell that she had grown so fond of: cinnamon.

It still smells like Renata.

The smile on Minnie’s face grew as she strolled to the back living room, happy that her blanket was okay.

#twdg #fanfic #twdg minnie #twdg minerva #twdg sophie #twdg tenn #twdg renata #twdg minata #ericson's diner au #fluff

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keeroo92 · 4 years

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Be My Nightmare Chapter 17

Coming Home

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

Word count - 3,124

Warnings for surgical procedure, somewhat graphic. Blood and gore, minor.

_________

~~~~Nico~~~~

Nico took a deep breath and stepped forward, ducking under the yellow tape criss-crossing over the open doors of the subway. The acrid stench of death hung in the air, mixing with the signature piss and sweat of the underground. Not a pretty smell.

But the view horrified her, too. Cracked glass and smeared blood, a few bullet casings and two blue-clad bodies lying on the floor like dolls discarded by a child with a new toy. Her comrades deserved so much better.

Her heart clenched as she saw their frozen faces. It was Franklin and Taylor; she’d chatted with them by the water cooler the other day. Taylor told her that stupid joke about the zero and the eight, and Franklin… he was only just learning the ropes. His whole life ahead of him.

It made her want to scream.

She wasn’t unfamiliar with the unfairness of life. It twisted her up and spat her out more than once over the years. She’d fought tooth and claw to get where she was, struggle didn’t surprise her anymore. Misfortune had a cruel tendency to affect kind folks more than those who deserved it, but she always hoped to change that, even just a little. To leave the world better than when she entered it was all she wanted from life, despite how difficult the battle was. She could deal with the bad shit.

Still sucked to see the bad shit, though.

We gotta catch this fucker.

Balled fists held tight at her sides, she forced her eyes away from the corpses of her brothers in arms to scan the scene for any evidence that might lead to tracking down the psychopath who ended their lives. Anything would do, any thread she could tug to unravel the mystery and get to slap cuffs on the bastard. She’d never wanted to catch a criminal so badly, so deeply it kept her awake at night.

I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re going down, V.

The background check hadn’t given them much - he’d come from a middle class family, nothing remarkable about his childhood other than his fascination with art. By all accounts, while his young friends were off causing mischief, he’d be found visiting a museum or practicing his brushwork.

That is, until the shooting.

Regardless of his crimes, her heart went out to the poor bastard. Surviving a mass shooting by the sacrifice of a friend was enough to traumatize anyone. It was a damned shame (and an embarrassment to the healthcare system) that he didn’t get the help he needed afterward.

Still didn’t excuse killing folks, though.

At least they had one lead to follow - the doctor. After the dark-haired lunatic fled her apartment, it didn’t take long to get a search warrant. Techs were combing through the place, but they already had enough to put her away for at least a decade. Lobotomizing her own father, un-friggin-believable.

Tony was in shock, caught completely off guard by the doctor’s actions. His own hand-picked medical consultant, in league with the killer they hunted. A twist for the history books, he’d said. She’d never seen him so dumbfounded.

Despite being proven right about her suspicions, it turned Nico’s stomach to see the emptiness in Waras’s father’s eyes, the lack of humanity left behind. He was lucky to be alive, supposedly, but Nico had her doubts. Maybe death was a kinder fate than what the poor man endured.

He’ll never be the same. None of us will.

“I got a blood trail!”

Nico’s lips curved into a predatory smile. Franklin must’ve wounded the fucker, his last act one that could lead to the arrest of his killer. Cold comfort to his loved ones, but still. It was something.

~~~~Kotomi~~~~

The familiar click of her heels on cement vanished amidst the cries of the crowd. Enraged faces lined the entrance to Mundus Psychiatric Hospital, signs and shouts overwhelmingly oppressive. At least they weren't throwing fruit today. She’d count her blessings.

The protests first started a few days after the local news announced that V was the lead suspect in the recent killings, and that he’d escaped the historically secure facility. Citizens fearing for their safety flocked to the streets, calling for the hospital to close and the patients to go elsewhere, though nobody seemed to know where. As long as it wasn’t here.

Nobody cares about an actual solution, just that the problem gets dumped on someone else’s lap.

Then one of the orderlies told the tale of the fire, heightening the rage and terror. Malphas still hadn’t figured out who talked, but when he did, heads were going to roll. The director’s professional reputation was irrevocably tainted, along with the entire staff (though his was the only name being slandered in the streets).

It shocked her to see normal people so furious. People who barely registered the hospital’s existence before, now vilifying it at every opportunity. It didn’t matter that the place housed mostly harmless individuals, or that the staff genuinely tried to help them heal. All the goodwill vanished in the wake of V’s rampage.

“Bitch! Don’t you care that folks are dying?!”

Kotomi flinched as a protester caught her gaze and stepped forward from the picket line, foam-flecked lips spewing vitriol. She moved faster; maybe she could get inside before it got any worse.

“How many innocent people have to get slaughtered before you fuckers close this shithole?! Give ’em all the chair, I say!”

She crossed her arms and curled her shoulders inward, her heart hammering as she tried to pass the man by. She only wanted to go to work. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? She hadn’t done any harm.

That’s not quite true…

In a way, it was all her fault. If she hadn’t frozen up during the fire, maybe things would have turned out differently. Why did she always freeze when it mattered most?

Her thoughts stopped as the man grabbed her shoulder, his grip tight enough to bruise. His rancid breath fanned over her face as he shouted at her, the words lost in the wake of her terror. Quaking legs barely kept her upright as her body flooded with adrenaline, her pupils dilating and sweat blooming on her palms and forehead. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he’d let her go? Could she just wait it out?

What choice did she have?

And then a familiar voice called her name, a pair of worried brown eyes replacing those of the protester as Rob led her inside. Someone else coming to her rescue yet again, because she lacked the strength to save herself.

“Are you alright, Dr. Ishida?” he asked.

She forced her fingers to relax their iron grip on her purse strap. “I- I think so.”

Rob sighed and glanced back at the crowd, their shouting audible through the glass door. “They’re getting bolder. I’ll talk to Aaron again, there’s got to be something we can do.”

But they both knew there was little point. Until V was caught, nothing would quench the fury of the citizens or lessen their drive to close the facility. Maybe her mother was right, she should’ve gone into a different field. It might be time to walk away.

~~~~V~~~~

The artist grimaced as he limped along, his palm pressed against his thigh to staunch the bleeding and ease the pain. Each step he took brought another pang of agony, and he couldn’t find an exit wound- the bullet remained. He’d have to get it out and treat the wound. First, however, he needed to find a safe place to recuperate.

He leaned against a shipping container, cautiously lifting his palm to check the blood flow. It was slowing, at least. Progress. His belt proved an effective tourniquet.

A gust of icy wind reminded him of his precarious position. The warehouse district wasn’t prone to pedestrians, which meant fewer eyes to spot him, but it also meant he stood out like a sore thumb to anyone who wandered by. He couldn’t afford to stay here long.

Keep moving. Can’t stop now.

He hobbled on, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, itchy as it dripped through his hair. Aches ricocheted through his body, his muscles tired and close to quitting on him. He needed rest, a reprieve and a chance to plot his next move. Where could he go?

His friends stayed oddly silent. Did they abandon him? Unlikely, but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Either way, he had only himself to rely on.

Relying on others teaches one not to stand on their own. This is better.

Before long, his mind wandered to the worst three minutes of his life. It was inevitable after the reminders at the subway, the familiar crack of thunder as guns fired. How much pain had Nero endured that day? They said he’d been hit six times.

“Six… Six twelve Oak street…” he muttered. His vision swam and the artist faltered, shaking his head at his own foolishness.

He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Today was the day; he’d been looking forward to it. He’d had his doubts at first, but with each session Nero’s skill improved. The edges of his latest tattoos featured crisp definition, the whorls perfectly curved to follow the natural shape of his biceps.

The artist didn't notice the flush in his face and the dazed film in his eyes as he turned and set off in a new direction, his steps unsteady but determined. A slight smile graced his lips. What design would Nero add to the canvas of his flesh this time?

~~~~Reader~~~~

You sprinted to your ancient car, barely noticing the absence of the undercover cop car as you forced the engine to roar to life. No doubt they’d seen V leave and given chase, which meant you didn’t have the choice of going back to your apartment. The police would search it from top to bottom.

They’re going to find the sketches…

It seemed so long ago that the artist first grasped that tiny nub of charcoal in your office, portraying your face in shades of grey. The roller coaster hadn’t stopped since that day, and it showed no signs of slowing.

But fuck it. No sense dwelling on what could’ve been, the life you could’ve had if you hadn’t requested his case. What was done was done. Time to get on with it.

You flicked on the radio as you pulled onto the main road. An aggressive guitar solo blared out and you winced as you turned the volume down, switching the channel a beat later. Social media probably had better info than the radio, but reading and driving didn’t mix.

“-unarmed but extremely dangerous. Police are advising locals to leave the area immediately. Last sighted exiting the subway station on 119th street, but current whereabouts unknown-”

The subway. Smart.

As if you’d expect anything less.

Within ten minutes, you reached 119th. Flashing lights and sirens greeted you, blue-clad officers milling around as one of them plastered crime scene tape over the railing. Mid-morning sunlight streamed down like a sick spotlight.

If V was here, he was beyond your reach.

Shit.

You turned at the next cross street. The police undoubtedly had your license plate by now, you’d need to do something about that. No sense lingering in a place chock full of them. But where to go? Where would V go?

A soft ding stole your attention; a new message. You crossed your fingers as you pulled over to check your phone.

It wasn’t far, maybe a five-minute drive. Thank the heavens, at least now you knew he hadn’t gotten arrested. Yet.

Still… the message had you worried. It lacked his usual eloquence and wit, and didn’t say whether he was physically okay. Shots fired, the TV said. You pursed your lips and pulled back into traffic, mind whirling with uncountable ways V might be injured. By the time you parked a block away from the quaint, two-story house, you could barely breathe through the anxiety.

Grabbing your backpack, you didn’t even bother locking the car as you speed walked to the yellow front door. What would you find within? If they hurt the artist, would you be able to help? What if only his corpse awaited you?

You swallowed thickly and tried the doorknob. Unlocked; you took a deep breath and entered. Nothing immediately jumped out at you. Photos of a white-haired teenager lined a nearby wall, a hall table holding mail and a dish to leave one’s keys in beneath them. No blood stained the walls, no sounds of pain echoed from another room. It was quiet.

“V? Are you here?”

No answer. Not good. You set aside your backpack and tried again, making your way through the home. Each second he didn't respond only heightened your fear, stinging your tongue with metal. He had to be seriously hurt or incapacitated somehow, and neither option helped the situation.

“V? Come on, where are you?” Your voice shuddered.

“...curse my stars…”

You spun and raced toward the voice, tearing open a door you’d missed before to find the artist, curled up on a massive bed. Blood stained the sheets, concentrated near his thigh. Sweat coated his brow and his eyes stared at nothing, unseeing in the grip of his pain and madness.

“...love so high…”

“Don’t worry, V. I’ve got you,” you murmured as you cupped his clammy cheek. Dilated eyes, sweat and warm to the touch. Most likely an infection. You shoved aside your feelings; time to get to work. Right now, he needed your medical care more than anything else you offered.

Fabric rustled as you took a seat beside him and searched for the source of the blood. Through the fabric of his jeans it was impossible to tell, so you quickly tugged them off, taking care to reapply his improvised tourniquet once the cloth was out of the way. Heart pounding, you finally found a darker spot in the tensor fasciae, close to his hip. There was no exit wound.

Oh, V… you walked here with a bullet in your leg?

At least it wasn’t too deep. Odd, but you’d take what you could get. A thin trickle of crimson oozed from the wound, but he wasn’t in danger of bleeding out yet. Assuming he hadn’t bled too much during his escape…

“I need to find supplies to treat you. I’ll be right back,” you said, stroking damp hair from his brow. His skin was on fire. He didn’t respond.

You pursed your lips and left him, searching the bathrooms and kitchen until you had what you needed. A moment more spent thoroughly washing your hands, and you returned. The artist hadn’t moved an inch.

Is he having an episode, too? Maybe that’s for the best, it’s possible he won’t notice when I take out the bullet.

The best you had was a longer than average pair of metal tweezers. If they didn’t do the job, you’d have to widen the wound. Thankfully it wasn’t close to any major arteries, so you were confident you had the skills to remove it safely. A few inches to the left, and he would’ve already been dead for an hour.

“Okay, this might hurt,” you told him, pausing for a moment before dousing his thigh with a mixture of bottled water and table salt. After a moment you turned him so the excess fluid spilled out, leaving the wound clean and ready. You gave him one last look as your fingers wrapped around your tool. The head lamp you found in the kitchen flared to life with a touch and you straddled his injured leg, keeping it as still as possible.

“Now for the really fun part…”

The artist twitched feebly as you probed the hole. For once it seemed his episodes were a blessing; if he were even remotely coherent, he surely would have screamed.

Centimeter by centimeter, you searched for the signature resistance of metal surrounded by human tissue. More blood leaked from the wound, drenching your hands and slowing your progress. Muttered verses occasionally interrupted the squelch of your work, but you paid his words no mind. A distraction surgeon never helped.

At last you found it, an unrelenting hardness amongst the fibrous muscle. You tapped around the bullet, getting a feel for its dimensions before making your move. The tweezers barely opened wide enough to take hold, but they did the job and you felt the bullet disturb the surrounding tissue as you slowly drew it out with a satisfying plop.

You sighed and set aside your prize. Another round of improvised saline later, you carefully sutured the wound closed and bandaged the area. The artist still made no indication of awareness, just lying there as you put him back together.

The moment you set down the roll of bandages, you started trembling. V’s blood covered your hands, the sour stench of sweat and chemicals hanging in the air. As pointless as it was, you couldn’t help but wonder why life had to be this difficult. The last twenty-four hours alone had your nerves begging for a break. What a sick world, where you had to remove a bullet from the man you lo-

Holy shit.

Air slipped from your gaping mouth as you fell back against the wall. A manic chuckle followed, then another. Was this what love was like? You’d never come close to it before, to this burning like fire in your soul. The thought of losing V mere hours ago had you in tears, falling apart like an infant without its mother for the first time. When you were with him, despite his murderous and unpredictable nature, you felt safe.

And the things you’d done for him - withholding medical information, lying to your boss and risking your medical license, everything you’d spent years working towards; not to mention what you did to your father.

He’d forced you to face yourself, someone you didn’t even know anymore. Changed your understanding of the world and of art, torn asunder your preconceptions and lit the way to new views. The eloquence of his speech, the grace in his movement, the curve of that smirk and the way his presence changed the atmosphere of any room…

I don’t know if this is love, but I don’t have another word that fits. Not even close.

It was twisted; it was soaked in blood and violence, but you felt more authentic than you ever had. You smiled. Decades ago, you accepted that you might not be capable of love.

How wonderful to be wrong.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#Be My Nightmare #my writing #v x reader #v x oc #dmcv #devil may cry 5 #fanfiction #fanfic #au #slow burn #angst #tw: gunshot wound

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