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wheelsup · 3 years

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the taming of the shrew | two

if i be waspish, best beware my sting

after some setbacks, penelope is willing to do anything to get you back on board. but has spencer already ruined things?

A/N: hello! im so sorry that this posting schedule is super inconsistent. the more i thought about this chapter, the less i liked the more technical aspects of it. but! i hope you enjoy to plot aspect of it nonetheless <3 thanks for reading!

category: fluff, slow burn series, spencer reid x fem!reader

wc: 4.4k

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Since that phone call with Penelope, she’d been over nearly every night for a week with plates of treats and onslaughts of apologies. Each time she came knocking, you told her there was no amount of persuasion that could change your mind. And yet the following night, she’d be there, a new type of pastry in hand and a new set of reasons why Spencer was worth the trouble.

First, she brought blueberry muffins and reasoned that deep below that prickly exterior, he really was everything she promised –– sweet and caring. But that must be deep, deep down. Like, The Lost City of Atlantis, deep down, because you didn’t expect it to surface any time soon.

Then, she brought fudge brownies and explained that his behavior wasn’t personal –– he was getting snippy with everyone lately. And while you maintained that anybody would have a hard time getting along with Spencer, you were absolutely positive that it was now impossible for you.

Quite frankly, it wasn’t just Spencer who was unwilling to play nice. You hated him. More than you’ve ever hated a stranger.

You wished him a lifetime riddled with minor inconveniences that would drive him to the edge of insanity. You wanted him to miss all his trains by just a quarter of a minute; close enough so that he could see it leave the platform, knowing he almost made it on. You wanted him to constantly feel like he was about to sneeze. You wanted his socks to be perpetually wet, and if he should happen to put on a dry pair? You hoped he stepped in a puddle.

That was all you could think about as you laid out on your couch, munching on one of Penelope’s lemon bars while she paced around your apartment. She kept going on and on advertising Spencer to you. As annoying as it was, she was also saving you a ton on groceries that week.

For the most part, you filtered her out. Not a single word that came out of her mouth was believable anymore, especially not when she was talking about Spencer. Despite what Penelope thought of him, you saw in him what she refused to accept.

As her speech came to a close, she looked at you like she expected a response to dignify her prattling.

“Give it a rest, Penelope. He’s a lost cause,” you laughed dryly. “He doesn’t need –– nor does he want –– anyone in his life.” At the very least, he definitely didn’t want you.

“Yes, that’s the problem!” If you’d been listening to her, you would’ve heard her saying the same thing. “He doesn’t want to date!”

Your head just about exploded when she said that.

There had been countless, fruitless conversations about this, and all along she saw the gaping hole in her supposedly airtight plan?

“If he doesn’t want to DATE, then WHAT was the point of this?!” Your fingers pressed the bridge of your nose; you suddenly felt a headache coming on. Funny how it always happened around the time of day that Penelope came to visit.

Penelope stopped pacing. She stalked over to your couch, picked your legs up by your ankle, and moved them to make space for herself. You begrudgingly sat upright as she took her place beside you.

“Because he’s not himself anymore. He’s not open like he used to be. Not to the people who care about him the most, and certainly not to the world.”

Penelope toyed with the hem of her dress, distracting herself from her quivering lip before pressing on, “Spencer Reid has always wanted love. And it’s not right that he no longer believes he can have it.”

You hadn’t seen Penelope look so desperate until now. It was concerning. Because what could make her look so hopeless? What could make Spencer so hopeless?

“Penelope, I don’t know what’s wrong with your little friend, but… there’s a lot more bubbling inside him than you’re letting on.”

She chewed up the insides of her cheeks, wincing to herself at your incredibly accurate claim.

“You are hiding something, aren’t you?” You narrowed your eyes on her. You were no detective, or whatever exactly her team did, but she was just awful at concealing her thoughts.

“It’s not my story to tell,” she murmured.

She could already feel herself about to give it away and doubled down her mental defenses against it. Focusing extra hard on keeping Spencer’s privacy intact. If only you knew her track record with secrets, you’d be proud of her for staying quiet this long.

“What isn’t your story?”

“That his girlfriend died last year.”

She spilled it before she even realized what she was saying. You’d just asked so nonchalantly that she forgot she was talking aloud. Penelope turned purple, terrified now that the whole truth was out there.

You couldn’t even take satisfaction in the fact that your trick worked. You were just as mortified as Penelope, and if you weren’t already sitting down, you knew you’d need to. You assumed there was something deeper going on with him, you didn’t think it was a dead girlfriend. That was some Nicholas Sparks shit.

“He pretends like he’s fine but I know he’s not. And if he found a way to move on, maybe he’d start feeling as okay as he claims to be,” she sniffled before snot could run from her nose, tears lining the rims of her eyes. “I know I should’ve given you the full picture, but I didn’t think you’d go for it if you knew…”

You were too floored to process it all right away. This added a whole new layer of complicated to an already uneasy arrangement.

“Well, I know you’re right about one thing. I would’ve said no.”

She gave you a set of pleading eyes, praying you’d see where she was coming from.

“I know,” she whispered defeatedly. “But maybe... now that you know, you can understand why he acts out the way he does.”

“Penelope, I can’t just… make someone move on, or –– or get them to believe in love! Especially when it’s fake.”

How on Earth did she expect you to pull that off? Did that guy from A Walk to Remember move on when Mandy Moore died? You hadn’t seen the ending of the movie, but you assumed not.

“I’m sorry, this is just… a lot bigger than the favor I thought it was ––”

“What if I could return it?” she cut in. The gears in her head started to turn, figuring ways to patch up the holes she made.

“There’s nothing I need from you.”

That couldn’t be true. Penelope looked around the room and it didn’t take her long to think of it.

“I can help you sell your art,” she tempted, gesturing to the scattered canvases. “You make all your income from this, right?”

You didn’t want to give any fuel to her fire, but you nodded. “What if… what if you didn’t have to settle for local buyers? What if I told you that you could make way more money selling them to the whole world?”

You chortled at her idea.

You were a local artist, through and through. Your art got put in local galleries and sold to local buyers. Nothing more, and that was fine with you. You realized it a long time ago that it was just a pipe dream to think you’d be more.

“I’m serious! You could get a separate painting studio, and stop living in one? Huh?” She wrapped her hand around your shoulder, waving the other in the air, urging you to picture it with her. “Imagine this: a kitchen that’s separate from your living room. A bed, inside it’s own four walls, and more than twelve feet from where you cook your meals.”

Pushing aside her so blatantly insulting your apartment, if that were a possibility, you’d want nothing more. But it already sounded foolish and you hadn’t even heard how she planned to pull it off.

“Penelope, I’m fine where I am. I make the money I need, and that’s... it’s fine.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You know, I can hack all search engine results to make sure you are what comes up first anytime someone enters the word ‘painting’, right?

An airy chuckle left your lips. Of course she could. You patted her thigh twice and stood up, prompting her to follow you to your door –– hopefully, so she can show herself to the other side of it. “Still no, Pen.”

“Just take some time to think about it!” Her voice carried through the wood as you shut it on her.

There was this one bench in Kenilworth Park – the one that overlooks the crystal clear pond – that you’d always been able to rely on to fix any problem.

There was hidden magic in the bushes that sprawled out from the edges of the water, surrounded by spiky green blades of overgrown grass. A simplicity you loved in baby ducklings paddling into the tiny body of water, swimming close together so they don’t get lost in, what seems to them, a whole ocean. And clarity provided by the freshest air in the world, under the shade of the big oak trees on a late summer afternoon.

But at the present, none of that came close to being enough.

The artist’s block started off as a minor inconvenience, but without your permission, had stretched into weeks of steadily declining motivation. Each new idea felt even worse than the last, and you were acutely aware that there would come a point where you’d officially hit maximum capacity for how awful they could get.

Still, that didn’t seem to light a fire under you. You happily coexisted with the blank pages of your sketchbook. Staring down at them, laying open on your lap in their stark-white glory, you felt like you were playing a waiting game. If you stared long and hard enough, maybe they’d flinch.

Unfortunately, you never got to find out who won, because your phone rang inside your pocket. As if the caller had interrupted an incredible genius at work (which couldn’t be farther from the truth), you hastily raised the phone to your ear, slamming your sketchbook shut.

“Hello?” Your voice wasn’t as kind as it could be for someone with nothing better to be doing. Two seconds later, you learned who was calling and came to regret it.

“Hi, This is Rebecca from District Arts, calling with a message from Andre ––”

“Oh, hi!” you tried to walk back your previous tone, straightening up in your seat and pitching your voice higher, “Yeah, I’ve been waiting to hear from him!”

While Rebecca intimidated you, Andre happened to be your closest friend at the gallery. He worked closely with the artists to curate their collection and help them make sales.

“Does he want to sort out what to set the opening bid prices at for my new pieces?” A handful of days ago, you sent him pictures of your new work and were waiting to hear his thoughts. You’d always been able to trust his opinion, and a vote of confidence from him might be just the thing to inspire you.

“Uhm…” There was a criminally long pause on the other side of the line, ended by Rebecca’s weary inhale. “Unfortunately, we’re calling to inform you that your pieces will not be included in the next rotation.”

For a minute, you weren’t sure what to make of what she said. You’d never heard those words before.

“What – what do you mean?” you laughed nervously. She probably misspoke. Perks of friendship aside, Andre always included you in sets.

“Ugh, let me just get him…” her voice faded away as she put the phone down.

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring statement you were looking for. In the time it took for the call to switch hands, your confusion finally melted in. And then quickly boiled into anger.

The District Arts gallery changed their entire collection every two months. The pieces shown accepted rolling bids throughout the full eight weeks, finally selling at the end of term to their highest offer. After that, the pieces got taken down, sent to happy new owners, and the entire gallery reset with entirely new works.

So if you missed one rotation, that meant waiting two months to get back in.

“Andre, how am I just cut from the gallery!” you barked before he could get a word in. If he didn’t like your work, he could’ve just said so.

“No one said that ––”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, something you found yourself doing quite frequently lately, and took a deep breath in and out. It was seemingly just for show because it did absolutely nothing to calm you down. “Why wouldn’t you put me in the next set? I’m in all of them!”

“I know you are!” He sounded just as upset. “It’s just that… we give you the biggest space we have, because you always manage to fill it up. But this time… I’m not so sure you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed. “What makes you say that?” You asked that, but you knew.

“You’ve only finished three pieces… I’m worried how you’ll deliver seven more before we set up.”

“But… it’s four weeks away, I could do ––”

“And it took you four weeks to make what you have... I’m sorry. We couldn’t take that gamble.”

He took your silence as an opportunity to turn off the work talk and speak, just friend to friend.

“You know that I trust you and I’d hold that spot if I could. But, I also know what you’re going through right now, and… I don’t know, maybe letting yourself rest would be a good thing?”

Your heart paused. By, “knowing what you’re going through”, you assumed he didn’t mean the little artist’s block.

“If you’re implying that I can’t do my job because of what happened with Cyrus –”

“I’m not, I’m not....” he backtracked as quickly as he could. “But take another look at the paintings you showed me and tell me if they feel like you.”

Even if he was right, you wanted to fight him. You wanted to cry. You wanted to beg that you didn’t need that big space; you were willing to downsize and just turn in the three that you had. Even if they got shoved into the corner where hardly anybody bothered to look. You just couldn’t afford to go two months without the income.

But even with tears beading up, you realized that the gallery couldn’t afford it either. They needed to bring in money and you couldn’t do that for them this time. So they were right to go to someone who can.

“Right,” you sniffled, recollecting yourself so he can’t hear the shakiness in your voice. “I understand. It’s a big risk, like you said… It’s for the better.”

Andre tried to thank you for being understanding and spewed some sort of encouragement. The words flew over your head. You managed to toss in a few ‘mhmm’s and ‘sure’s at the right places to coast you along until the call finally ended.

As soon as it went dead, you dropped your phone to the side and brought your hands to your face, rubbing them furiously over your cheeks. Your fingertips pressed hard into your eyelids, trying to forcibly reabsorb the tears threatening to spill.

It almost worked, until you tried to breathe.

A full sob escaped in that one gulp of air and you succumbed to it. But the loud crunching noise of some pedestrian walking over the falling leaves destroyed your sense of privacy, and you quickly wiped away all signs of your breakdown. The crunching stopped just short of your bench and on instinct you flicked your eyes up to see who the intruder was.

You did a double take. It was him. That fucking asshole.

He was standing there, looking dumber than you could even remember, with his hands in his coat pockets and a curious look on his face as he watched you cry. Tucking your sketchbook under your arm in haste, you made it a point to stand up with as much aggression as possible, rolling your eyes at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” you barked. “No need to yell at me this time.”

You bristled past him, barely refraining yourself from checking his shoulder as payback. You wanted to believe you were better than him, but it did sound incredibly tempting. He stood there for a moment before turning on his heel and following you.

“Wait,” he groaned.

You didn’t listen, neither stopping nor slowing down.

“I said wait,” he huffed as he caught up to you, popping up at your side and jogging along as you kept going.

“Yeah, because I need to listen to a guy who yells at strangers in bookstores.”

Now that you’d brought up the elephant in the room, your feet started moving even faster, working double time to get you away from him.

Damn the fact that he had those long legs. He didn’t even break a sweat trying to keep up. He was inescapable.

“Well, if you waited like I asked, you would’ve gotten an apology for the ––”

“Gee, thanks!” you yelled, stopping for only a second to turn to him and give him a mocking bow of your head, hands clasped together like you were praising at his altar. “I was waiting with bated breath for that! Thank you, kind sir, for now my life can go on.”

“Look, I’m actually sorry,” he snapped. Then in realizing the irony, softened his voice, “I’m sorry for being rude. I was having a bad day… not that that’s an excuse.”

You stared at him blankly, just watching his mouth moving quickly and waiting until it finally stopped.

“Did you need something?”

“Did you… did you not hear what I just said?!”

“No, sorry,” you smiled, voice sweet like sugar. “My ears filter bullshit. Wanna try again?”

He scoffed, looking away like he couldn’t believe you before stepping even closer. “What’s your problem?”

“Me!? The fuck –– what the fuck is your problem?” You turned and stormed off again, seething at his audacity. Spencer just couldn’t relent his annoying tendencies and followed yet again.

“My problem is that I’m trying to be nice, and you’re not letting me!”

You got a good, hard laugh out of that. “Okay, first of all, having to apologize for yelling at me and pushing me isn’t exactly the best starting point for the journey of becoming a nice person.”

“Like I said, I was having a bad day.”

Under your breath, you muttered, “Well, I hope this one’s even worse.”

“Why are you such a ––” He stopped himself from finishing that thought. Even in his worst mood, he wouldn’t cross that line.

But he didn’t need to finish it, you knew exactly where he wanted to take it. The soles of your shoes scraped against the loose gravel as you came to a grinding halt, ears ringing.

“A what?” You turned to face him, a sarcastic smile on your face growing wider as he started to shrink more and more. You got up close in his face, daring him to say what he really wanted to. So he could reinforce your belief in exactly the type of person he was. “A what?”

Spencer pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to say it no matter how much you challenged him. If he wasn’t going to have the balls to say it, you decided to take it upon yourself.

“Tell you what, you keep thinking about it and get back to me the next time you’re in a cunty mood.”

The word he was thinking of was probably not as bad, but you had a habit of escalating things. Even if you took this one too far, you didn’t care.

Before you tried to take off again, Spencer’s hand flew to your elbow. He tugged you back, forcing you to turn around and face him. He didn’t know his own strength; without any resistance, you came stumbling into his chest, at risk of falling over if it weren’t for his tight grip on your arm.

It took you a beat to push him away with both your hands on his chest, vocalizing your disgust for being so close to him.

“Can you stop trying to disagree with me for a second? I’m trying to tell you that you’re right, I was being a… well, you know…” He avoided the word. Apparently ‘cunt’ was where he drew the line. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

Your nostrils were still flared and blood hot as ever, but he made you pause. He looked sincere, if not a little tinged with guilt as well. You were suspicious of it.

“You saw me crying and felt bad, didn’t you?”

He laughed darkly. “Well, I saw you, yes. Did I feel bad? No.”

“Oh, my God,” you growled, berating yourself for getting close to believing he might be capable of decency.

“I’m joking! I’m joking.” He squeezed your elbow twice in earnest. “I did feel bad, but that’s not why I wanted to say it.”

“Okay.” You weren’t ready to give him a real smile, so you flattened your lips into a thin line and nodded once slowly, and left it at that.

You still weren’t a fan, but the apology did dampen some of the resentment. Maybe he wasn’t the worst person alive. You’d settle for saying top ten most annoying, instead.

Minutes later, you came to the startling realization that he was still on the path, just two paces behind you. You flinched when you saw him out of the corner of your eye, not expecting him to still be here.

“Uhm. Where are you… why are you still following me?”

“I’m not. My car’s that way,” he gestured to the parking lot at the end of the long walkway. “I forgot my loaf for the ducks.” He didn’t mean to offer that information up, it just slipped out. He could practically see your smug expression coming before it even got there.

“You’re not supposed to feed bread to the ducks. It’s bad for them.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t care to explain this to you, but he couldn’t have you thinking he was any less competent than he really was. “It’s a special bread made from water and seeds that were ground into flour. It’s duck-safe.”

“They make duck-safe bread?” Now that was something you’d never heard before.

“No… I make duck-safe bread,” he said softly under his breath.

You didn’t know how else you were supposed to react to that besides laughing wildly.

“You make it?” He nodded like you were the crazy one here. As if he wasn’t the one spending his spare time grinding up seeds and baking loaves of bread for ducks, donning a frilly pink apron and oven mitts as he did so. At least that’s how you imagined it. “Why not just feed them the seeds?”

“Because, loose seeds will sink in the water and can potentially clog waterbeds and cause foreign bacteria growth in the pond.”

“So you… hand-make the seeds into a little loaf of bread so it doesn't do that?”

He confirmed. You pondered silently for a moment, then absolutely had to ask, “You ever eaten the duck bread before?”

Spencer was caught off guard by that question. His cheeks deepened to a rosy color.

“Yeah, well, it was the house so…” he laughed nervously and stared at his sneakers. “It’s actually not too bad.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by that. You remembered what his grocery basket looked like, and given those same options, you probably would’ve tried the duck bread too. Still, you cracked the smallest of grins at knowing he makes bread for ducks. The one, sole redeeming fact you’ve learned about Spencer.

You reached your car first, and Spencer stopped in front of it with you.

“I’m actually sorry, you know,” he whispered once more, hand resting at the top of your car door as you opened it. He wasn’t talking about the incident at the bookstore.

“Yeah…” For a while you were so busy being angry at Spencer that you forgot about your own problems.

He noticed your nose was still red around the edges, eyes still a little bleary. “Are you okay, by the way?” His voice was too soft, too genuine.

You shook your head no.

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head again. And then you had an awful thought.

You knew he was just offering to help just to say it, because that’s how people react when you say you’re not okay even if they don’t care. But there actually was something he could do for you… Something that Penelope could do.

“Uh, no but…” you fixed your hair and tucked it behind your ear, seamlessly switching to a flirtier voice. “If you still feel bad about the other day, you’re welcome to make it up to me.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side, unsure of how he could do that.

“Hang out with me sometime.”

“H-hang out?” You could tell that it flustered him, even if he tried to play it off. He swallowed thickly, nose twitching and brows scrunched together.

“Relax, I really do just mean hang out.” You were lying through your teeth. He didn’t need to know that.

As if he didn’t want to think about it for a second longer and just get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, he agreed without thinking it through. He didn’t even ask why an almost complete stranger would want to hang out with him.

You stuck your hand out, expecting him to hand over his cell so you could put your contact into it. He rocked on the balls of his feet, watching as you input your contact and sent yourself a text on his phone.

“Hi, this is…” you read out your message as you typed, pausing at just the right place. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Oh-uh, I’m Spencer.”

A devilish grin took over your face, hidden from his view while you were looking down at the screen. He was going to be easy to fool.

agh! im still not in love with how this chapter is turning out, but it came to a point where i just had to stop fiddling with it and just post it. any feedback or comments about this story is very much appreciated 💕

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if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years

Text

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds.

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s.

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague.

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask.

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out.

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly.

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered.

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.”

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out.

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?”

You and Will shared a look.

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said.

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued.

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any.

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely.

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.”

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence.

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.”

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it.

“You packed lightly,” he stated.

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self.

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence.

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned.

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather.

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on.

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out.

“Who are you?”

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed.

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested.

“You haven’t flown away.”

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised.

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She.

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.”

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained.

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned.

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.”

“How is Chiyoh?”

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did.

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance.

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too.

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you.

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment.

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.”

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused.

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down.

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered.

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered.

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?”

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out.

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.”

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it?

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?”

“Why didn’t you come with me?”

You stared at each other.

“I love Will.”

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side.

“Will is drugged.”

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.”

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy.

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.”

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table.

“Are we expecting company?”

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up.

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel.

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened.

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will.

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room.

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.”

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish.

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.”

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal imagines

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three-gulons-in-a-trenchcoat · 3 years

Text

We Gon' Burn The Whole House Down

words: 1.4k

[Notes: ahhhh it's finally completed! this was actually a prompt I started first, forgot about it, lost motivation, and eventually came back too heh. I am proud of this one though]

Also: I would recommend listening to this song while reading this since it's what the story, as well as the title, is based on. For mobile users, or if the link isn't working, listen to Burn the House Down by AJR thanks!

*This Story Contains Spoilers For Unlocked*

“Keefe was right, you really haven’t decorated your room much.” Sophie glanced up from where she was rubbing Iggy's belly, the small (now blue and green) fluffball letting out a whine of dissatisfaction at her retreating fingers. “I guess I’ve just never had much time to decorate,” she sighed. Tam shrugged,” I guess I can’t complain, my room at Teirgans isn’t that decorated either.” He stared at the papers framed around the room, Keefe had gotten into the habit of giving his friends old pages from his sketchbooks, insisting that they were useless to him in his quest to find memories about his mom. His gaze lingered on a drawing of Luna and Silveny, curled up in the grass together. The mama alicorns head rested on top of her baby’s, both of their eyes closed as they dozed. Currently, the two alicorns were playing in the pastures with his sister. He was sure Wynn and Greyfell were there too.

Faint chatter echoed downstairs. The collective had gathered in Havenfield for another meeting. They've been having a lot of them lately.

Ever since Keefe left.

Sophie cleared her throat, looking away from the pictures. Her body felt heavy.

Tam seemed to notice her discomfort, and he turned to her, his eyes softening, “I’m sure he's alright.” He murmured.

Sophie resumed her scratching, Iggy's grumbling purrs filling the room, “I hope so.” she whispered.

The silence stretched on for a moment before Tam cleared his throat,“ This is a bit awkward isn't it?” he asked.

Sophie looked up, “What do you mean?”

Tam huffed slightly, and Sophie noticed how he shifted in the same spot, so she patted the bed. He hesitated for a moment before sitting down.

“I mean, I know we’re friends, but….” He trailed off.

Sophie understood, “I guess I haven’t been the best at including you and Linh huh?” she said.

It felt weird, she knew Tam, and she knew they both considered each other friends but, they barely talked to each other outside of Blackswan stuff, or when all of them were hanging out together.

Tam was only up here because he asked to see Keefe's artwork.

Tam nodded, “It’s partially my fault,” he grimaced, “If I hadn't joined with the Neverse-”

“Don’t say that.” Sophie said firmly, her eyes meeting his, “We all know it wasn’t your fault.”

Sophie knew he didn’t believe her. His eyes betrayed him. Unfortunately, she knew that guilt all too well.

The silence was back, and thicker than it was before.

“Have you ever listened to music?” Sophie found herself blurting. Her face ran hot, wishing she could take the words back. Of course, he could you idiot, her mind reprimanded, his family literally does that for a living.

Tam opened his mouth.

“Human music,” Sophie added quickly.

Tams mouth closed, “No, I haven't.”

“Do you want to?” Sophie offered.

Tam cocked his head, his eyes skittered around the room, “How?” he asked dumbly.

Sophie sat up, walking over to her dresser. She crouched down, reaching into the bottom drawer. It's not like it was illegal to have human items, In fact, the collective and Councilor Terik knew she had kept some human things with her when she came to the Lost Cities, but you could never be too sure.

She withdrew, holding her iPod and some earphones, “With these.”

Tam blinked as she walked back over, sitting down and plugging the earphones into the jack. He stared at the iPod curiously as Sophie turned it on.

“It’s human obviously,” Sophie explained, tapping the screen and opening her music. She smiled softly, it had been so long since she had listened to any of her songs.

“Are they human artists?” Tam asked, peering over her shoulder to look at the screen.

Sophie nodded, “A lot of human music is stored in this app so that people can listen to it from anywhere.”

Tam's eyes flashed with understanding, and Sophie handed him an earbud. He stared at it.

Sophie giggled slightly, pointing to her ear, “In here.”

The tips of his ears turned slightly red, and he looked down, “Right.” he mumbled sheepishly, placing the earbud in his ear slowly.

Sophie scrolled to her most recent playlist (recent meaning a couple of years Ago) and clicked on her most recent play.

She had only found this band when she was bored and homesick, scrolling through her recommended.

The song started almost immediately, and Tam’s brow furrowed, trying to understand the language.

Used to keep it cool

Used to be a fool

All about the bounce in my step

“It's in a human language,” Sophie explained.

Watch it on the news

Whatcha gonna do?

I could hit refresh and forget

Trumpets started in the background, following the beat of the song, and Tam relaxed slightly, “That kinda sounds like one of the instruments my mother uses.”

Granted, Sophie could understand the lyrics just fine, but she knew Tam couldn't. Even so, he seemed to like the beat as the song progressed, and she smiled lightly when she saw his head bobbing along with the music.

She noticed the song fading slightly, and her mood lightened, she had always been a fan of beat drops in songs, especially these ones.

…..Is that right?

The trumpets sang faster as the tempo picked up, and Tam's eyebrows raised slightly.

Lose

Mind

The beat dropped, and Tam's mouth gaped slightly. Sophie laughed softly at his expression. She had to admit when she had first listened to it, she had a pretty similar reaction. There was something about the distant drums and the background bass that really tied the whole song together.

We gon' burn the whole house down

Tam smiled, glancing up at Sophie, “What are they saying?” He asked, and Sophie noticed his foot tapping her carpet to the rhythm as well.

Sophie quoted the lyrics as they faded out, “We gon' burn the whole house down.”

Tam snickered, “Are humans a bunch of arsonists or something?”

Sophie laughed, “Some maybe, but these lyrics have a different meaning I think.”

Tam glanced down at the iPod, which was flashing lyrics, but not in a language he could understand.

Sophie was no singer, but she did want Tam to understand the song, so without meaning too, she began to quote the song as it continued.

“…Gawking at the tricks up your sleeve,” She said it quietly, and Tam looked up

“Are those the lyrics?” He asked.

Sophie nodded, continuing, “Too good to be true, But I'm in a room, Full of entertainers and thieves, Used to let it go.”

The trumpets picked up again, and Tam must have realized that the beat was about to drop again because he followed Sophie’s words slowly.

“Woah no,” Sophie smiled, moving her head in time with the lyrics as Tam copied her.

The two had turned to face each other, with Tam slowly mouthing the lyrics (A little bit off time-wise, but Sophie didn't blame him) And Sophie nodding along.

“Way up way up we go, been up and down that road, way up way up oh no,-” Sophie started.

“We gon' burn the whole house down.” A large grin broke out on Tam’s face, and Sophie found herself smiling with him. She had never heard him sing before, and it sounded nice. His voice was smooth and drifted slowly, almost like he was whispering the words instead of singing them.

They finished the song like that, with Tam slowly learning the repeating lyrics and timing and Sophie helping him out occasionally.

The song finished loudly, with the beat dropping one last time as the riff slowly faded out.

The grin stayed on Tam's face as he glanced back at the iPod.

“That was…nice.” He murmured, and Sophie gazed at him.

“I listen to human music sometimes, when I want to remember my old home.” Sophie said, looking down at the iPod, “Dex fixed it up so it's powered by sunlight too,”

Tam nodded, and he glanced back up, looking sheepish, “Are there maybe..more songs by them?”

“AJR?” Sophie questioned.

“Is that what they're called?” Tam asked, then nodded quickly, “Yeah, them.”

Sophie smiled, clicking right below the song and opening up the band's full list, her eyes widened slightly, “There are more since I last listened to them.” She said.

“How many?” Tam asked, leaning over.

“About 60.” She murmured.

Tam shrugged, and then he smirked, “Can we listen to all of them?”

Sophie smiled back, laughing slightly, “Sure.”

#sotam #sotam platonic #sophie foster #tam song #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #unlocked spoilers #ask #ask me anything #prompts #writing prompts #kotlcfanfic #kotlc fanfiction

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it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream · 3 years

Text

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x Reader) Chapter 18

Warnings: swearing, angst, sexual harassment? (Andreas is a creep)

Word count 2.9k

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It wasn’t a mirage, your weren’t going crazy. You couldn’t believe what your Mum was telling you.

“She just thought she killed me, I could sense you were there and I knew her true motives. Before she could strike I confused her with my magic, tricking her mind and everyone arounds minds into seeing what I made them see. In reality, I was still standing there, hidden by a vale of magic, very much alive. I’m so sorry I put you through that, but she knew you were hiding there, your reaction needed to be real or she would never had believed I was truly gone.”

You didn’t know if you were crying sad tears or happy tears, all you knew is you were relived that it was all just a cruel trick of the mind and not reality. You were exhausted and couldn’t help but yawn as you sat around the fire. Looking around you watched the withered and tired faces of your friends too, Sky, who’s hair was disheveled from the amount of times he’d ran his fingers through it, a trait he’d no doubt picked up from Silva. The other specialists, rigid and too on alert to fully relax and rest. Your Winx girls, all weary eyed and weepy from your mothers story. Sam, still rattled from his almost deadly encounter with the Burned one and then Mr Harvey, who probably had the most to worry about. His children in danger, the reappearance of his thought dead childhood friend, his missing childhood friend Silva and the fact the school is under siege. Would you ever catch a break?

Budging up and being flush, side by side next to Farah Dowling didn’t seem like a weird thing to you anymore. If anything her not so deadly death put things more into perspective for you. You would be lost without her after just finding her again. The warmth that radiated from your mother was comforting, your eyes felt heavy, but still, your mind didn’t rest. No, not without your Saul.

One by one your friends turned in, calling it a night. Now that your mother was back and had helped Ben Harvey reinforce the barrier, it might be the first night some people actually got a decent sleep. Just like old times you were sharing a room with the girls. The ‘Winx Cabin’ as Musa liked to say.

It wasn’t long before you were snuggled down under your stolen duvet, wondering about what would happen next. Surely the next step was getting Saul back, but how? Your thoughts were interrupted by your mother, approaching your bedside she dipped down. You were on the bottom bunk, Stella on top.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that. Bringing all these people to safety, finding a way to stay strong even when you thought all hope was lost. I’m sorry for what you had to see, but i’m here now and trust me, we will get Saul back.” With that she whipped the tears that fell from your eyes, kissing your forehead she whispered something you couldn’t quite make out and then before you knew it you were sleeping, for the first time in a few days.

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Saul smiled at you. The same old smile that made your heart squeeze in joy and so so so much love. You had never loved anyone or anything as much as you loved the man in front of you. You knew looking at him you would take a bullet, arrow, blast of magic, whatever it was, you would die for him.

His fingers traced the line of your jaw, calloused but at the same time soft and tender, he knew how to touch you, you were his, to him you were the most precious thing in all the worlds.

“What are you thinking about?” His rough voice made your core tingle, your nipples hardened against the light fabric of your top.

“Us, how much I love you, how i’d do anything for you.” His eyebrow raised and he couldn’t help but smile. If he felt anything like how you felt in that moment, his heart would be beating 2x faster and his emotions would be overwhelming.

“Before I met you, I didn’t really believe in Soulmates. I knew they were a thing, just like i’m a Specialist and you’re a Fairy, but part of me thought it couldn’t be real, maybe because I didn’t think I deserved someone as amazing and loving as you, but now I know, I know that all this time I’d been wrong. I love you more than you could ever know Y/N.”

Lately you were used to waking up with tears in your eyes but your pillow was soaked. You’d been crying in your sleep, your eyes were bloodshot red and your nose blocked. God, another memory. Your heart was starting to physically hurt from being away from Saul. Maybe it was a soulmate thing? You had to get him back. It had to be today, you couldn’t wait any longer.

——————————————————————————————————

“You can’t just barge in there without a plan, it’s a suicide mission!” Your friends were having none of it. You’d decided that you were travelling to wherever the hell the Royal prison was and you were going to get your man back. Your mother had seen where they had taken him, being a mind fairy had its uses.

“Well you’re more than welcome to come with me, but I need to get him back, I can’t wait any longer! God knows what he’s going through and i’m not just going to sit here and wait for someone else to swoop in and save the day. It’s not going to happen!” You looked at all of your friends, they all had people now, boyfriends, people they were getting to know, they should know how it felt, even if it was just a fraction of what you felt for Saul.

“Terra what would you do if it was Helia, or Stella, what if it was Brandon! I could go on and on but you know what i’m getting at. If it were any of you in the situation, you’d be doing the same thing!” The shouting had attracted the rest of the camp, the Specialists running over to see what all the commotion was.

“You know, I agree with Y/N.” You were certain that Sky would have your back, even though he was fighting with his emotions as well, Saul was more a father to him than Andreas, he’d been alive this whole time and instead of seeking out Sky, spent his years fathering Beatrix instead.

“But first, I think we need to get a few things.”

With that, a plan was set in motion. As all good plans went by teenagers, it was on a need to know basis, which meant the adults… didn’t need to know. They would stop you if they knew what you were planning which is exactly what you didn’t need right now.

The plan was simple. Well, it seemed simple. You, Bloom, Stella, Sky and Sam would go through one of your portals back to Alfea for the supplies that you’d need to get Saul back. It was a risky plan, but everything you needed was in your Suite. You’d be in and out before anyone knew you were there.

——————————————————————————————————

The castle seemed quiet. The whole atmosphere seemed different since you’d last been at your school. It looked darker, less vibrant, sad almost. Everyone would be in bed by now which gave you the perfect opportunity to get in and get out again. Your portal had opened right in the centre of the living room. Your heart shattered when you noticed things out of place, up turned furniture, items strewn across the room. It wasn’t as bad as you’d expected though.

Sky and Bloom stood watch at the suite door while you got to work. First you’d need a bag, luckily your man had no shortage of military grade duffle bags laying around. Next, Sauls wardrobe, you grabbed some outfits for him, packing jackets, shoes, boots, the lot, not knowing where you might have to run to next. Then it came to weapons. The vault didn’t look like it had been tampered with. You looked sheepishly at Stella and Sam when they let out a low whistle. Impressed. Wait until they saw what was inside.

The code hadn’t changed for as long as you’d known the vault to an entire bedroom war room existed. The date Saul found you crying over one of the monsters your father had created and Rosalind had used, even before you found out you harnessed ancient magical abilities. With a click, the door swung open and you listened for the sure gasp of your friends behind you.

Guns lined one wall, Knives another. You went over and clicked a button on a hidden panel and even more sections of room appeared. Multiple stacks of uniform, cash, smaller objects like tiny daggers, grenades and smoke bombs and even some tactical equipment like ear pieces and tiny cameras. Your man had everything, was he a Specialist, a spy, an evil hit man? Who knew when you looked at his haul. It was pretty impressive. Each with a bag, you started filling up with everything you could take, swords, guns, even the little things. Anything that would help you in your quest to getting back the man you loved with every fibre of your being.

After you’d cleared out the vault and heaved the bags into the centre of the room, you packed a bag for yourself, you didn’t want to have to steal again just to get clean clothes, plus, it would be nice to have some home comforts. You saw Stella eyeing up your stuff, it hit you. You suddenly felt guilty.

“If were quick me and Sam could go and grab some clothes and personal things from the Winx suit, but not a lot okay. We’ve already been here too long.” She nodded and smiled gratefully. Bringing Sam was a brilliant idea, his ability to walk through walls would no doubt prove to be useful over and over.

You met him in the dorm, your swirling black portal closing behind you with a swoosh. Nothing was out of place, un-like yours and Sauls suite. It was as if time had just stood still. You both wasted no time, as quickly as you could the packing began, clothes for each of the girls, Stella’s makeup bag, Musa’s tapes, Terras travel bag of potions and powders as she liked to call it, Blooms sketchbooks and Aisha’s books.

Looking at the time you cursed in annoyance. You wanted to get things for the Specialists, Mr Harvey and your mum too but there was just no time, you had to get back to the others. With the bags, you and Sam in the middle of the room, the portal opened around you and you were sucked into the darkness.

——————————————————————————————————

“Well, look what we have here. I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back so soon. Theres me thinking Saul used to go for the smart girls, obviously I was mistaken.” You froze as you stepped out of the darkness. Andreas. His sword was flush against Skys neck, Bloom and Stella pinned to the wall by some of his royal guard goons.

“Drop the sword, we both know you’d never hurt your own son.” His mouth cocked to one side in an evil smirk. Your hands flexed at your sides. You were ready for a fight, lord knows you needed to take your anger out on someone.

“That’s where you’re mistaken.” To emphasise, he pressed the sword harder against his sons neck, small beads of blood pooling around the broken skin.

By now, your eyes were as black as the night sky. You could tell the sight had unnerved the guards, their hold on your friends loosening.

In a flash Stella warned you to close your eyes and her light erupted around the room stunning those who didn’t react fast enough. Luckily, you and your friends knew what she was doing and the only ones effected were the people it was intended for. It didn’t stop Andreas from charging forward though, his heavy muscled body colliding with yours, sending you flying to the floor with a hard thud. Your ears were ringing, the knock to your head making you feel like a cartoon with tweety birds flying around. With blurry eyes you could see Bloom and Sky fighting off the Royal Guards, while Sam and Stella were running to you. Andreas got to you first, landing his fist on the side of your mouth, his body coming over yours, pinning you down, straddling your waist.

“I see what Silva saw in you, pretty little thing.” His breath fanned across your face, his tongue sneaked out between his chapped lips and darted across your cheek, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Too bad, when i’m done with you, you won’t be so pretty anymore.” His fist came back again, but this time you were ready. Sauls fight training kicked in, you bucked him off you and rolled away from under him, it surprised him which you used to your advantage. Your hands thrown forward, black tendrils of your smoky magic sprung free, encasing Andreas. They wrapped around him like vines, tightening, his arms unable to lift from his sides. With one flick of your wrist, you sent his body hurtling into the wall. Then there was silence.

Bloom and Sky had taken down the Guards, Stella and Sam had gathered all of the supplies and you, you looked around at what was left of the room you once shared with your Saul. Meeting in the middle, you took Skys hand as he took one last look at his unconscious traitor of a father, before you all sank away into the abyss and back to the safety of your camp.

——————————————————————————————————

The camp was just as quiet as the school had been. There was no way they could have found you, right? You’d half expected your mum and Harvey to be screaming at you by now but the screaming didn’t come. Instead, raised voices could be heard beyond the barrier that protected you all from whatever was out there. This couldn’t be good. One knee to the ground, you were unzipping a bag with weapons, passing them out to those around you. Swords for you and Sky, a gun for Sam, Bloom opted for her magic and Stella, Stella had her badass ring, which before now you didn’t know doubled as a frikin magical sun staff? She shrugged when you looked at her.

“We will be talking about this later you secret sun ninja.” You jumped when the voices got louder. Following the direction of the heated talking, it didn’t take you long before you saw…actually, you weren’t sure what you were seeing.

A man and a woman dressed in some weird sort of black armour, face to face with your mother, the other Winx girls, the specialists and Mr Harvey. Now you as well. Your appearance attracted the gaze of the scary looking strangers. You raised your sword.

“Who are you and what the hell do you want, it’s been a long fucking night and I can’t deal with anymore shit right now.” You groaned, holding your head, a pain blooming behind your eyes, that fight with Andreas must have done more damage than you thought.

“Princess, we come in peace. We are mere messengers sent by your father, King Tenebris. You are all in danger, in 30 minutes royal troops will descend on your camp, we’ve been monitoring the situation. Rosalind deceived your father and now he wants to make amends with you. You are in danger if you stay here. Please come with us.” Information overload or what. You scoffed. These people and your father were just as bad as bloody Rosalind, why should you believe them?

“Why should we trust you, when all my father did was send the burned ones to attack my school!” The female guard took a confident step forward and held out her hand.

“An hour ago, your father ordered a specialist trained team of dark guards to extract Saul Silva from the Royal prison of Solaria. He is waiting for you at your fathers castle where you are all invited for safe housing.” Your heart felt like it skipped a few beats, how did you know it wasn’t a trick?

“He said you’d think it was a trick, he asked me to give you this.” In her hand, the dog tags Saul wore everyday. He never took them off, you touched the diamond ones around your neck. They were telling the truth. You looked to Musa and your mum, the mind fairies nodded, conforming the truth.

A booming sound ricocheted through out the forest. Time was up, it was time to go get your man.

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

Heyyyyy! So, a lot went on in this chapter but I hoped you enjoyed! We get our Saul back next chapter yipeeeee <3 Bit of a longer one for you as a sorry for my lack of posting recently!

Let me know what you think in the comments, like, share and FOLLOW ME <3

CHAPTER 19 ------ CLICK HERE

Taglist:

@tinktohispan

@azure23x

@alexiapayne12

@codykosuckmytoe

@lllyyysss02

@blue-aconite

@a-scrumptiouslywingedstudent

@music-of-melody

@cecedrake2217

@anreeixcobra

@sporadicsaladcloudgoop

@616hotchners

@janelongxox

@lflores2008

@shadowhuntyi

@yungkvte

@bshelley322

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 12

First

Carapace stared at the two different files on his computer, his mouse hovering between them.

What should he do? Should he force himself to finish his schoolwork tonight so he could have the next day off once class was over? Or should he work on a video for TikTok while he had motivation?

Or he could do both…?

He made a brief trip down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and his eyes narrowed when he saw that the coffee machine had mysteriously disappeared, as had all the coffee pods.

Chat hated coffee, but Rena and Chloe both accepted some when offered --.

Oh, who was he kidding? He knew the culprit.

He made his way up to the attic and he found Chloe and Ladybug cuddling under some blankets (or, rather, Chloe was cuddling Ladybug, Ladybug was sketching something and listening to music). It wasn’t even a particularly cold day, but he had long-since lost the need to question most of the weird things that miraculous holders did. It was probably a miraculous thing, it was whatever.

His nose picked up the distinct smell of coffee and he caught sight of the mug Chloe was using to warm her hands. Or maybe she was holding it for Ladybug. Or both. Whatever.

Ladybug didn’t even look up from her sketchbook.

Chloe did, though, barely lifting her head off of Ladybug’s shoulder to meet his eyes.

“Bonjour,” she said. Detached and formal, but it was better than her usual habit of just… rudely jumping into conversation without saying hi. He would take it.

“Salut,” he said. “Where’s the coffee?”

Chloe hesitated, then nudged Ladybug. She blinked behind her mask and pulled an earbud out of her ear.

“Mmm?”

“Carapace wants coffee.”

Ladybug looked a little put out but pointed her pencil at the desk, where the stolen coffee machine now resided.

He nodded and made his way over. He reached into the jar of coffee pods and then paused.

“I went shopping yesterday. How many has she had?”

Ladybug, who hadn’t yet put her earbud back in, flushed red. “An amount. Who are you, my dad? Leave it alone.”

“You’re going to die --.”

“No, I won’t. I’m monitoring my dosage.”

He opened his mouth to argue, and then decided it wasn’t worth it. “Whatever. I’m taking the machine back downstairs.”

This got a pout.

The blanket moved. He heard Chloe gasp a little as if she’d been jabbed in the side. She gave Ladybug a slight glare before rolling her eyes and sticking her lower lip out as well.

Now he was getting two pouts.

“Don’t give me that. Just be glad I’m not cutting you off entirely.”

This got Ladybug to shape up. She quickly put her earbud back in and went back to sketching.

Chloe looked between them and gave an exasperated huff, then went back to attempting to steal her friend’s(? Carapace was kind of confused about their relationship, if he was honest) body heat.

He took the machine down and poured himself a cup, then went back to his computer.

… damn. He’d taken too long and now his motivation to edit footage for TikTok was gone.

Whatever, he thought as he took a sip of his coffee, at least he could get his schoolwork done.

Okay, so, mistakes were made.

He groaned and rubbed his face sleepily as he detached his face from his desktop the next morning, his phone alarm blaring that it was time to wake up. The caffeine had kept him up until five in the morning. He’d forgotten that Ladybug had gotten the highest dosage she could last time. Damn it.

He slowly reached for his phone and pulled up the screen to turn off the alarm.

His eyes landed on the time.

He had fifteen minutes to get across Paris for class.

Not possible for him as a civilian, but Carapace…

Wayzz gave him a tired look, as he usually did when he was about to use his miraculous for personal gain, but he ignored it as he scooped everything on his desk into his bag.

He sniffed his hoodie and decided it was fine.

He did apply some extra deodorant, though. Just in case.

“Shell on,” he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulders just before he transformed and jumping out of his window.

Being the ‘nice hero’ was a bit inconvenient when he needed to get places quickly.

He had to stop every few rooftops to wave and smile at people lest he run into a chimney or walk right over the side of the building in his distraction. Beyond just his image, people are getting akumatized over anything these days, so it was necessary that he be nice to them. He was just grateful no one thought to ask for a picture or something.

But he managed to be on time. Barely. He detransformed in an alley near the school and sprinted the rest of the way to class. The door was pushed open a minute before it was due to start. However, in his haste, he tripped over the sill. He faceplanted.

Great, he thought bitterly as he rubbed his sore cheek. At least no one would suspect him to be a hero after that.

He walked over to an empty seat and plopped himself down, fighting the urge to sink into his hoodie as eyes followed him.

Thankfully, class was starting, so everyone was quickly distracted by the lecture.

It was about theater in the east for once! Cool!

A mere twenty minutes into class, the TV flickered to life and there was a collective groan as a few people leaned forward in their seats to see if the akuma was even worth heading to the nearest shelter for.

He barely even looked over. The people that had leaned forward had settled back into their seats pretty quickly, so it probably wasn’t anything major.

He smiled a little to himself. The best part of the new arrangement of everyone living together was that they all knew each other’s schedules. This meant he didn’t have to worry about being called upon during class --.

His phone vibrated in his bag.

Nope, he decided. He had just imagined that. Surely, they knew that he wasn’t able to do anything --.

His phone vibrated again. And again. And again.

The people around him were sending him annoyed looks.

He cursed in Arabic and pulled it from his bag.

Kittychat: It’s a water one and no one has any powerups. :(

Queenie: Carapace.

Foxyou: Spam him lol

Queenie: You’re right.

He scowled as his phone started blowing up thanks to the three of them.

Capot: im in class

Kittychat: Oh. Sorry. :(

Queenie: Don’t be sorry! We need him!

Foxyou: If we spam him enough he might get kicked out

Great. Now his phone was blowing up again, courtesy of only Rena and Chloe this time.

“Monsieur…” The professor began, looking through his attendance sheet momentarily before apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort to find his name. “Would you like to share with the rest of the class?”

He sighed a little. Fine. Guess he’d do his stupid job or whatever.

“Sorry, my friend is new to Paris and she’s freaking out about the akuma. It’s her first one. Can I go check on her?”

“Sure. Just remember to do the homework. It’s due tonight at midnight.”

He nodded that he understood and reluctantly gathered his things. Within a few minutes he was out of class and transformed and on his way towards the body of water the akuma had claimed.

It just HAD to be a water one.

Hawkmoth probably did it on purpose, too. He loved being an inconvenience, Carapace wouldn’t put it past him to have figured out he was in a rush thanks to his running around that morning and deciding it was time to make a water akuma.

He sighed for what must have been the millionth time that day as he spotted the giant tentacle monster in the river.

Sure. Why not?

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @mialuvscats @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write

#a miraculous tiktok account #carapace #nino lahiffe #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #queen bee #chloe bourgeois #chat noir #adrien agreste #rena rouge #alya cesaire #miraculous team #miraculous fic #ml fic #chloenette #chlonette #adrino

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

The sketchbook

Prompt number: 27 “give me that”

Fandom: IT

Paring: Stanley Uris x reader (aged up to juniors in high school)

Rating: T

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Bullying. Swearing I think. Mentions of a boner. The use of the word flamer.

A/N: It’s a short one today boys and ghouls. I wasn’t super motivated and energetic during the day and SNL started tonight, so priorities lmao. Anywho, enjoy day three of fictober. Also it’s spooky season so my brain is stuck on IT.

You had been encouraging Stan to become an artist since the start of freshman year when he finally worked up the nerve to show you his sketches of the birds he watched for hours on end. Each drawing was done with so much love and care, the thickness of each pencil stroke clearly thought out beforehand, and the birds looked so real they would fly off the page if you left the book open long enough. Stan never believed your praises, claiming you had to say it because you’re his best friend, and said that being an artist wasn’t a suitable and reliable career. So he never took art as an elective, always accounting.

Now almost done with your junior year of high school Stan always seems to be sketching in his book, running out of pages in a mere month. One day in english class you peer over his shoulder and see the most realistic drawing of an eye you have ever seen. Just looking at it you can tell that the imaginary person the eye belongs to is laughing, there’s an unmistakable sparkle to it and the eye scrunches slightly.

Noticing that the pages are running low, and knowing that his dad won’t buy him another sketchbook anytime soon, you take your saved up allowance to buy Stan the thickest and best sketchbook the art store has to offer. Bev teases you relentlessly for being so obvious about your feelings, and the boys tease Stan for blushing when you give him the present. The losers were always trying to see what Stan is sketching, upset that you’re the only one he shows, but he doesn’t even show you over half of the drawings he’s done.

He leaves his sketchbook closed and off to the side at lunch, usually helping you with last night's math homework while the losers eat. Usually nobody touches said book, but today Richie is feeling particularly troublesome. The boy with the glasses is giddy because he and Eddie finally kissed and they're going out on their first date tonight, so the trashmouth shows his happiness by being invasive with everyone else. The boy had already ruffled through your backpack earlier in the day and stole a smoke from Bev. Richie’s long fingers wrap around the book, neither you nor Stan notice until the book is being pressed firmly to Richie’s chest and away from your grasp.

“Where’s my book?” Stan asks a few minutes later, pushing the math homework and lunch trays roughly.

“Oh you mean this?” Richie smirks, confidently holding the sketchbook up between his thumb and index finger.

“Give it back to him Richie,” you roll your eyes, you know that even in his mood Richie won’t actually flip through the book. Luckily for every loser, Richie had learned which lines not to cross over the years.

“Or I could just take it,” Henry’s victorious laugh seems to reverberate off the walls of the lunchroom as he grabs the sketchbook from Richie’s fingers. Richie looks panicked and like he’s about to vomit at the turn of events, beside him Eddie’s face scrunches up in disgust at all of the germs being collected on the leather-bound book.

“Give me that back,” Stan’s voice goes up in active, quickly standing from his seat. His attempts at reaching for the sketchbook are futile, Bowers only backing away further or raising his arms up and out of Stan’s reach.

“It looks like Uris here isn’t a flamer after all,” Bowers laughs, his friends joining in, as he flips through the pages filled with Stan’s beautiful artwork. “He’s got a creepy little crush on (Y/L/N), I bet he gets a boner drawing these!”

“Give him the book back Henry,” your voice is hard and annoyed. You don’t let his taunts get to you, there was no way Stan was actually drawing you.

“Look at this one!” Bowers ignores you as he laughs louder, pointing out a picture to his friends. “(Y/L/N) you look good in a swimsuit.”

Before you can respond, Stan launches himself at Henry, successfully grabbing the sketchbook and tearing it from the bully’s grip. Luckily none of the pages ripped, each drawing still in perfect condition. You try to get Stan to meet your eyes, you want to know if he really was drawing you, but he refused to meet your gaze as he packed up his bag. Stan doesn’t say a word to anyone, instead he slings his bag over one shoulder and quickly leaves the cafeteria. Bowers and his friends are laughing in delight, you’re too focused on the boy in his khakis, baby blue button up shirt, and his mop of curls receding figure to yell at Henry.

“Bail me out of detention,” you look Richie in the eye as you say this, knowing he’s the only one with the skills to get you out of there. You quickly stand from your own seat and grab your bag, following Stan into the boys bathroom you just watched him disappear into.

You hear quiet sniffles when you push the door to the bathroom, said sniffles stop once the door creaks and alerts Stan that someone entered. He’s hiding in one of the stalls, his shiny brown shoes peeking out from under the stall door give him away.

“Stan please talk to me,” you stick out a hand to push on the stall door, but it's locked and doesn't budge. You let out a little sigh, turning and locking the door to the bathroom before heading back to stand in front of his stall. “I’ll stay in here all day if I have to, please talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” there’s a shaking in his voice that surprises you.

“Stan, baby, what are you sorry for?” you don’t notice your slip up, letting out the pet name you wish you could call him Stan unlocks the stall door, eyes wide and slightly watery as he stares at you.

Instead of responding Stan hands you the sketchbook, letting you see every drawing for the first time. Bowers wasn’t kidding, the book is filled with drawings of you. You midlaugh, you lounging in the hammock with your showercap on, you in your swimsuit at the quarry, you looking up from a textbook when you study with him. You’re taken aback by how beautiful he’s managed to make you look, causing you to wonder if this is how he sees you.

“Babyboy, these are beautiful,” you breathe after a few tense moments. You finally tear your eyes away from the drawings and are greeted by his bright red cheeks. “What?”

“You need to stop doing that,” he murmurs quietly, looking down at the yellowing tiles beneath his loafers

“Doing what?” you’re head tilts to the side, you replay everything you’ve said that could make him uncomfortable.

“Calling me baby and babyboy,” he chances a quick glance at you, before once again avoiding your gaze.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” you rush out. “I didn't realize I was saying that! And the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable! I’m so sorry Stan-”

“I never said you made me uncomfortable,” courage surges through him as he takes a step closer to you and finally meets your eyes. “I like you (Y/N), if you couldn’t already tell, and I can’t listen to you call me that knowing you’ll never do it again. And I want you to do it again-”

“I like you too, Stan,” you lean in for a quick kiss to cut off his rambling, running your hands through his curls as you pull back. “My babyboy.”

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Note

Maybe one with Kima and Allura? The reader is an artist and one day they start to leave little notes with sketches for them in random places where they can find them and it's just them being a good friend trying to make them smile during the day.

Aww, I love Kima and Allura so much, their relationship is just so precious 🥰 I hope this turned out well

Also might’ve let myself get carried away with the idea, it’s a bit long 😅

Little Notes

Allura & Kima & Artist!Reader (Platonic)

You were making your way over to Allura's for a visit knowing she had been stressing out over Kima being missing from her mission in Kraghammer and hoping to calm some of those nerves. You walk up to the doors of her tower and give a knock, after a small wait the door opens to reveal the arcanist herself.

"(Y/n)! It’s been awhile, how are you?" She asks slightly surprised by your sudden appearance.

"Hello Allura, sorry about not informing you of my arrival." You sheepishly scratch at the back of your head in apology. "Do you mind if I come in? If not I can just-"

"No no, it’s alright." She stops you and steps out of the way for you to enter the tower. You welcome yourself in and go to sit in your usual spot whenever you’d visit. "I’m actually glad you decided to pop in, I’ve needed a distraction what with everything going on." Allura admits. At this point you pull out your sketchbook and pencil you always carry with you and start to add some fine line work to a piece you’d been working on for weeks now, never seeming to get it quite right.

"I know you’ve been stressing over this, which is exactly why I wanted to come over. So why don’t you tell me about what you’ve been up to recently." You suggest, not looking away from your drawing. You knew this wouldn’t bother Allura because for the years you've known each other, while it looked like you weren’t paying attention to the conversation you actually were, listening very carefully to every word being spoken to you. Allura went on to tell you about her work with the council and some of the worries she has for Kima, you adding in your own thoughts to the conversation every now and again. She then told you about her allies, the adventuring group known as Vox Machina that she asked to help find Kima, you knew about this group and what they did for the royal family but didn’t know them as personally as Allura did.

"I just hope nothing terrible has happened." Allura finally concludes after her long rant. You give an amused hum and sigh, taking proper notice that you’d wandered away from your project and had several random doodles covering the page. However instead of hindering you this placed a wonderful idea into your head.

"Relax Ally, if these people are as capable as you say then they’ll find Kima in no time. Just relax and breath, alright." You look up at her this time seeing her nod and take a few deep breaths. While she was distracted with that you carefully tear out some of the doodles, writing little messages of encouragement on the back of them and stand up. You sneakily slipping one of the notes between the cushion of the chair having it stick out just enough to be noticeable but not too obvious. "It’s been lovely, thank you for having me over but it’s getting late. I should really be making my way home."

"Allow me to walk you out." Allura offers which you happily accept, sneakily hiding the little drawings along the way in various places for Allura to hopefully find later. "I really appreciated the visit, helps to confide in a friend. You’re welcome back anytime." Allura gives you a quick hug that you return before the two of you part ways until next time.

It had been a while since your little visit and felt it only fair to check in and see how everything was going. When you arrive you’re relieved to see that Kima had returned in one piece, while Allura was occupied with thanking Vox Machina for their efforts you quietly shuffle over. You then watch as Kima and Allura share a small moment by staring at each other before they run into each other’s arms, you smile a little at this before deciding to quickly jump in.

"No it’s fine, just pretend I’m not here." You joke gaining everyone’s attention, you walk over to the two and without missing a beat Kima gives you a playful punch in the arm. "I swear to Bahamut Kima, you’re gonna break my arm one of these days." You slightly hiss from the pain.

"Nah if I meant to do that, it'd already be broken." Kima says slyly, you roll your eyes before properly hugging your friend, slipping a little note you’d made into her armour.

"Well now who’s this one?" The red Dragonborn asks. After some proper introductions with the group Allura invites everyone into her tower for tea, you hang back a second unsure if you should join them or just head home early.

"Don’t just stand there, the offer stands for you too." Allura gives a warm smile and ushers you inside.

"I know I just didn’t want to feel like I was overcrowding the place, plus I’m sure you’d like to catch up with Kima." You say meekly. You make your way up and automatically go to sit in your usual spot, pulling out your sketchbook as both a distraction and to continue on a commission for a client you’d received. Enjoying some tea and listening to the conversation between everyone else, Kima leans over your shoulder to look at your work.

"The hell is that supposed to be?" She asks quietly, staring at your drawing.

"Art." You reply cheekily. You catch her rolling her eyes at the corner of yours.

"I know what it is, but what is it?"

"The client asked for something abstract, so this is the result so far." You precede to erase and redraw a few of the lines you’d made until you felt satisfied.

"I don’t get it." You stifle a laugh, Kima didn’t really have an artistic eye but you appreciated that she at least tried to understand your craft whenever the two of you got to interact with each other.

"Shouldn’t you be involved in this conversation? Not to be rude or anything but it sounds important." You look up at Kima now to which she scratches at the back of her head, you can now see the blush on her cheeks.

"His questions were making me a little uncomfortable." She gestures over to the goliath, Grog. You give a reassuring pat her on the shoulder, sneaking another note into her armour before you realize something.

"Sorry to interrupt but what time is it?" After some fumbled reply’s Allura gives you her best estimation. "I have to go, I’ve got client to meet today and sooo much work to do. Thank you for the tea Allura, it was lovely to meet you all and thank you for safely bringing Kima back." You give a bit of a rushed goodbye as you gather up your things and hurry out of the tower, pausing briefly at the door to hide one more note for Allura to find later.

Time came and went, work piled up leaving you busy to no end, the only contact you had with your friends being the letters you’d write each other telling of what you’d been up to. However once the dragons came your world went crashing down, you had longed for a break away from all the work on your shoulders but not like this. Your home was in shambles, your hard work that took you months to complete destroyed in seconds, you considered yourself lucky to have made it out alive. Now you were but another refugee in Whitestone praying for a miracle while doodling in your sketchbook, the only thing that survived with you albeit slightly charred at the corners.

"Oh my gosh! You’re alive!" You hear a familiar voice call, looking over to see Kima run up to you. You give each other hug and once you let go Kima punches your arm.

"Every time I swear." You sigh with a small laugh, rubbing your arm.

"Gotta keep that arm strength up for your art stuff." Kima jokes, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "Anyways, do you know where Ally is?" You shake your head.

"I don’t, but I assume she’s alive, that woman’s a tough cookie." Kima nods in agreement.

"Would you like to help us?" Keyleth asks.

"Me? No I couldn’t, I’ve never really been the adventuring type, I much prefer swinging around a paintbrush over a sword." You politely decline the offer. "But I would like to advise one thing," you pat Kima's shoulder, once again slipping in a note you’d made into her armour in hopes of bringing encouragement. "Don’t do anything rash that could get you killed." Kima gives a quiet "yeah I know" and with that you watch the party continue on their way.

You did what you could with what little resources you had to build up and regain some normality to your life, starting a little side business of making motivational cards for anyone needing an extra pick me up. Folks seemed to really like it, each card having a personalized picture and message written on it, doing what you could to help keep hope alive in these trying times. When you met up with Kima and Allura again Allura was relived to see you were still alive and standing strong. They invited you over to the abode they were staying at together, which put a new idea into your head. Before you arrived for your visit with them you had made more of your little notes for them, this time making a few that you hoped would help spark the romance between the two you’ve seen since day one (secret wingman). When you arrived they gave you a quick tour of the place, leaving opportunities for you to slip the notes into various places around the house, making you wonder if this time they were doing it on purpose having finally caught on to your little gimmick. You all sat down and sipped away at some tea or coffee while talking about the actions going forward, as the evening came you bid your friends a goodnight and made your way back to your temporary living quarters…

More time flew by, the Chroma Conclave was since defeated and Emon was slowly rebuilding itself, a time of peace finally setting in and you had a lot of work ahead of you if you were ever going to be able to buildup your home from scratch. The only downside was you didn’t have the gold to pay for everything, your work as an artist didn’t always pay a lot but it was enough to keep you stable but having to pay to acquire materials for the house and art studio was another story entirely. Your then approached by two very familiar people.

"Allura! Kima! So good to see you both again. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to write or visit often lately, been quite busy trying to re-establish myself." You greet your friends and notice the large bag Kima's carrying.

"It’s alright we’ve been rather busy ourselves with everything going on. We actually wished to talk with you." Allura gives you a gentle smile.

"Well I’d normally like to welcome you into my home, but as you can see it’s… not much of a home yet." You half-joke gesturing to the still ruined state of your house, the broken paintings you once had all having been stripped away when the Cinder King still ruled.

"That was actually one of the things we wished to speak with you about, Kima if you would." She turns to Kima who in turn hulls the bag over her shoulder letting it clatter to the ground, and you can hear the jangling of coin inside. "I believe this should help accommodate everything you need for your home and work." You stare jaw dropped at the bag filled to the brim with gold.

"I-This is very generous of you. I simply can’t just take your money." You say out of shock at the large gold pile in front of you.

"Think of it as payment for all you’ve done for us." Allura smiles and gives you an expectant look.

"All I’ve done? I haven’t really done anything to help."

"Sure you have, back when Kima was missing finding those papers with the little drawings and messages really helped keep me calm and cheer me up through all the stress." Allura explains.

"Yeah, or the ones you managed to slip into my armour. Little distracting at first but invigorating when I was in a tough spot in battle." Kima jumps in. You just smile, all you were doing was trying to be nice and encouraging to your friends unknowing of the effects it apparently lead to.

"Still, not all is from us." Allura suddenly cuts into your thoughts, you look at her confused. "That was the second thing we wanted to talk with you about. Some of this is a sort of upfront payment for a few commissions from our friends, half now to help you and half later once you've completed their requests."

"There’s more!?" You were almost lightheaded from the information, but shake it off and refocus yourself. "I’d love to, please fill me in on all the details."

"First off Keyleth asked for a landscape piece of her home in Zephrah, Keyleth will easily help bring you to and from her home whenever you’re ready. Next Percy wanted a portrait made for castle Whitestone, he said he’d fill in the rest of the details upon your arrival. Finally," Allura gives a bit of a sigh, "there’s Taryon… he wants a, and I quote, 'self portrait made with nothing but the finest oil paints you can get your hands on for the Slayer's Cake.'"

"So basically the plan is to visit Whitestone once my home's rebuilt. That should be fine, one question though, who’s Taryon?"

"Trust me, you’ll know who he is when you meet him."

"Sounds like quite the character." You say with a hint of nervousness. "Well if that’s everything, I should get to work. Thank you again for everything." You go to collect the heavy bag of gold only to pause when you hear Kima speak up.

"Ally did you still wanna… you know ask about the thing?" She had leaned closer to Allura to ask but you still heard her.

"What thing?" You question to which Allura perks up a bit in realization.

"I almost completely forgotten. Right, there was one more, very special request." You look at the two in silence, Allura walks up to you and takes one of your hands in hers. "(Y/n), Kima and I have a very important and special request of you." You just nod and wait for her to continue. "We were wondering if you could make us something special for… for our wedding." You stare wide eyed in awe.

"You two are getting married? That’s amazing! About time too." You cheer.

"Not so loud please, we just want a simple and private wedding you know, a few eye witnesses for the event. You don’t have to make anything grand, if anything we’d like what you make to be similar to the notes you’ve always left us." You press your hands together and hold back the urge to just scream to the heavens in happiness for them. When you manage to calm yourself enough you look back that the couple and give them a large smile.

"I’d be honoured to make something for your wedding." You give them both a hug and reset your sights on your shambled home. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a house to get built."

"Hold on, I still have one more thing for you." Kima interrupts this time. Before you can ask you feel a punch impact your arm, you suck back the pain as you rub the spot she hit. "Alright now your free to start." She gives you a smug look.

"Every. Single. Time." You playfully glare back. You had a long road ahead of you and you were certain it’d only be a matter of time before the peace is disturbed again but for now you wanted to focus on the present. Like you said, you had a lot of work to do.

#critical role #critical role & reader #vox machina #vox machina & reader #allura #allura vysoren #kima #kima of vord #allura x kima #allura & reader #kima & reader #npc appreciation month #nothing romantic here

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Klaine one-shot “Artistic Differences” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Kurt and Blaine have known each other all their lives. They've loved each other almost as long. But as Blaine uses his love for Kurt as inspiration for his music, Kurt has yet to reciprocate. And since painting is Kurt's entire world, Blaine is worried about what that might mean for the two of them. (2703 words)

Notes: I had been writing this for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'opinion'. I finally finished it. Wee! XD

Read on AO3.

Baby, you're not alone...

'Cause you're here with me...

And nothing's ever gonna bring us down...

'Cause nothing can keep me from lovin' you...

And you know it's true...

It don't matter what'll come to be...

Our love is all we need to make it through...

Blaine stops singing when he notices an echo haunting his lyrics, lingering on the high notes for longer than written. He listens with eyes closed, smiling at his keyboard.

His boyfriend Kurt, humming behind the melody.

Blaine has been ironing this song out for the past three hours now but Kurt hasn't complained once about the constant stopping and starting.

He never does.

Blaine peeks over his shoulder as he continues to play with the harmonies and watches Kurt, focused on the canvas in front of him, swaying to the rhythm of the music, happily sandwiched between his two passions - art and music.

It's a mild and sunny Saturday - a whole day devoted to cleaning up commissions and tying loose ends on weekly projects before their one day off together. Blaine and Kurt share a studio space - normally unheard of for an artist and a musician, but they make it work. It helps that they've known one another for so long that being alone together is the same as being alone with themselves. That also means they get the inside scoop on what the other is working on long before the public does.

And what they're not working on, which has begun to bother Blaine.

Blaine adores everything his talented boyfriend comes up with. Even regarding his more controversial works, there isn't a thing Kurt has painted that Blaine finds objectionable. Kurt puts his heart and soul into every painting, no matter who it's for, and no matter the subject. A writer from Artforum once wrote: "Kurt Hummel goes beyond the veil to showcase not just the external, but the core of every subject - their drives and motivations. It pairs nicely with the transparency of his own soul, which shines through the gouache and the gesso to leave the viewer with a tangible piece."

And therein lies the root of Blaine's problem.

A glance at one of Kurt's canvasses and the world knows everything it needs to about what he loves.

But one subject in particular has gone wholly unrepresented.

“How come you've never painted a portrait of me?” Blaine asks.

"Hmm... what's that, love?" Kurt mutters, switching out brushes, then moving from a blob of Titanium White to a smear of Winsor Blue.

"How come you've never painted a portrait of me?" Blaine rises off his piano bench and relocates to the wooden folding chair behind Kurt's easel in the hopes of pulling his attention a bit. "You've been an artist for as long as I've known you, and I've known you your entire life. But not once have you ever painted a portrait of me."

“Why do I need to? I have you right here," Kurt says, pretending to bop the tip of Blaine's nose with his brush. "Besides, these aren’t personal." His gaze bounces between the three canvases set on easels in an arc in front of him. "They’re bought and paid for.”

"But what about your private stuff? You've shown me your sketchbooks and your digital art files. Unless you have some hidden folder marked 'secret boyfriend art' that I've yet to come across, there's not a single piece of me in any of your work."

Kurt doesn't steer his gaze away from the apple he's adding highlights to to acknowledge his pouty boyfriend, but the corner of his mouth hitches. "If you say so, dear."

"I know so," Blaine grumps, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping back in the chair so hard he nearly topples it over.

"That's your opinion."

"You're evading."

"Is it really so important to you?"

"Yes! It would be nice to be immortalized by my artist boyfriend!"

Kurt snickers. "Are you that much of a narcissist?"

"Your art is important to you! More than that - it's your life! You paint everything that you love! You've made dozens of paintings of Finn, your father, your mother, your Navigator... "

"My Navigator is my baby. It deserves love. I don't get to drive it much living in the city," Kurt defends. "Besides, those paintings I posted on Instagram landed me a huge contract with Lincoln, and that paid for our month-long tryst to Bali. You're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful... " Blaine pauses, the smile on his face a souvenir from thirty straight days of overindulgence in sex and alcohol. "I think I more than proved that on that private beach? Under the moonlight?"

"Yeah, you did," Kurt growls, silently hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

"But... " Blaine picks up and Kurt's heart sinks.

No luck.

"... nowhere am I present in your work. Not that I've seen. Not even in the abstract. And that makes me think... "

"Think what?" Kurt mutters, his playful attitude fading the longer this conversation drags on.

Blaine sighs, realizing how much like a spoiled toddler he sounds. But he's in too deep to stop now. "That you don't expect me to be around long."

Kurt's snicker turns into a full-blown chortle. "We've been together forever! You staked a claim on me in kindergarten! Are you suddenly going somewhere?"

"Can't you take this seriously?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous!"

Blaine huffs. "Great. So my feelings are ridiculous."

"No, Blaine, your feelings are valid. This argument is ridiculous. Believe it or don't, you don't know everything about me. Or my work. What does it matter what I put on a canvas? I told you that I love you! That I would always love you! I tell you over and over and over! Those are my words! My truth! Listen to my truth!"

"B-but what if you change your mind?" Blaine grimaces when that toddler inside him begins throwing an all-out tantrum.

"Then I change my mind!" Kurt groans, slamming his free hand down on an open tube of Dandelion Green, sending a thick ribbon of paint a good four feet. "I'm allowed to change my mind! And so are you! But I don't see that happening!"

"Then why won't you marry me?"

Kurt pulls a face, probably without thinking about it. "Because I'm not very fond of marriage."

"Why not? Your parents had a great marriage! And your father has a wonderful second marriage!"

"But your parents don't have a very good marriage, do they? Nor your older brother, who's been divorced twice already! " Kurt argues, frustration causing him to forget himself and clean his stained hand on the untucked hem of his shirt instead of a rag. That should be a huge red-flag for Blaine to back down, yet he doesn't. Common sense? Sorry, don't know her. "And the national average isn't that great, either. Doesn't it mean more that I choose to stay with you instead of feeling obligated to?"

Blaine doesn't have an answer for that, even though the answer is obviously yes. Of course, it does. And in high school, that would have been enough to shut Blaine up. But admitting to that feels too much like conceding, and this one time, this is an argument he wants to win. "Did you hear that song I've been working on?" Blaine asks, switching gears so quickly, it puts Kurt on edge.

"Yes," Kurt replies, his voice becoming tight quickly. "It's lovely."

"I wrote it for you."

"Thank you. It sounds wonderful. Another huge hit in the making."

"It's the 15th song I've written in your honor."

"Wow," Kurt says dryly, predicting the direction this is heading. "That many?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's an incredibly kind and loving gesture, one that I didn't know required reciprocation."

"It doesn't require reciprocation. But it would be nice."

Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine's agenda. Tit for tat. Is that how this is supposed to work? "From what I remember, those songs made you a pretty penny."

"So?"

"So, it's not like you wrote them for me and kept them between us. Most of those songs are chart-toppers."

"But I didn't release them for the money! I wouldn't care if they didn't make me a dime! I put them on the albums because I'm not afraid to let the world know how I feel about you!"

Kurt's brow furrows as he fights through a blooming headache to decode that declaration. Once he gets it, he gasps. "I'm not hiding you away if that's what you're implying! You go with me EVERYWHERE! Every gallery opening, every art show! There have been articles written about our relationship! You're no dirty little secret!"

"I never said I was."

"No?" Kurt chuckles bitterly. "You're sure implying it a great deal!"

"That's not what this is about."

"You're right. It's not. Blaine!" Kurt tosses his brush into a mug of water and starts pacing the floor. "I am a gay artist walking a very fine line."

"I'm a gay artist, too!" Blaine says, offended.

"But you're a musician. And a songwriter. Musicians are supposed to use love as their muse. Writing about your relationship is expected... unless you're Taylor Swift, apparently."

"Yeah. What's up with that?"

Kurt shrugs. "I don't know. The point is that the second I make a piece of art about our relationship in any way, shape, or form, I'm afraid that's all it will be about, no matter what I intend."

"Isn't art supposed to be subject to interpretation?"

"That's just it! If I hint that my art has anything to do with you, that will become the only interpretation. Because too many straight people see the homosexual experience as solely about the right to fuck who we want to fuck and nothing else. I make a portrait about you or dedicated to you, and after that... " Kurt's eyes leave Blaine's face, scanning the room and his canvasses all around for help making his argument. He finds a painting of a forest they hiked through in Bali and stops there "... a tree that I paint will no longer be just a tree. It will become a symbol. In a forest of evergreens, if one needle is slightly browner than the rest because the paint oxidizes weirdly or whatever, then it'll be about you and me on the skids and nothing else. And I don't want that to happen."

Blaine turns in his chair to find the painting Kurt is staring at. On the surface, it's trees, dirt, and sky, but underneath, it's much more than that. That painting of their beloved paradise is perfection - so much so that he can feel the sun on his face, the breeze kissing his cheek, smell the sunscreen on his skin. "I understand what you're saying, but... "

"But?" Kurt grinds out between his teeth. This is the frustrating thing about arguing with Blaine. Even when he says he sees Kurt's point of view, he doesn't seem to really.

And when he's not winning, he gets dismissive.

"... I think you're overthinking things a little."

"And you're not?"

"Another evade," Blaine says, pointing at him in a way reminiscent of his brother's only acting technique.

Kurt grabs the hair at his temple and pulls to keep from flinging the palette in his hand like a frisbee at Blaine's head. "Isn't it more important that you know how I feel about you? You inspire me every day! Your love, your support, your music - they feed my soul! But do I have to plaster it on a wall to make it real?"

"That's kind of an empty question because you don't! There are no paintings of me! Not even in our apartment! And I'm sorry, but I think that's very telling!"

Kurt nods, his lips pulled taut. "You're right, Blaine. Not one. And it is very telling." He drops his palette on his work table and circles the room, grabbing finished canvases and carrying them over. He positions them purposefully, placing some under UV lights he has mounted to runners on the ceiling.

"What... what are you doing?" Blaine asks with worry, wondering if Kurt is about to do something hasty, something that will ruin his paintings, waste all those hours of work, jeopardize the money he has yet to collect for them.

Kurt doesn't answer.

He doesn't even look at him.

He works silently, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps heavy as he collects paintings Blaine forgot about, paintings that had made Blaine bristle because they were of places they had been to together, things they had made a point to see only with each other, but not a one included him. Those Kurt flips upside down.

He swipes a squeeze bottle of clear liquid from his army of supplies. It could be water. It could be paint thinner. Blaine doesn't know, but he's not certain he wants to find out. He's about to leap off his seat to stop him, but Kurt switches off the overhead lights, turns on the UVs, and Blaine stops. He watches in horror as Kurt douses the flipped canvases in fluid, but the paint doesn't run. Whatever is in that bottle, it sticks, but only in certain areas, and before it dries completely, Kurt dusts the paintings with a fine powder, one that brings hidden images to life beneath the lights.

“Oh my God,” Blaine mutters, stepping back to get a better look.

Every painting, in one way or another, is of him. Of them. And not just recently. There are images of them from college, high school... middle school. There are profiles of Blaine in the negative space between flowers of one painting, and in the clouds of another. A fluorescent image of teenaged him playing guitar to a silhouette of Kurt sitting beside him. There are shadows of them dancing, singing, even a daring one of them making love up against a wall.

And the flipped landscapes? Their vacation pictures, as it were? The glowing dust reveals portraits hiding in plain sight, painted upside down and invisible to the naked eye. All of these images, Kurt painted in ways where no one would detect them if they weren't looking for them. If they didn't know they were there.

And they are in every. single. one.

Now that he's seen this, it's safe to assume all of Kurt's works carry similar Easter eggs, even paintings long gone.

"Why... why didn't you tell me about this?" Blaine asks, too stuck on stupid to move, walk from painting to painting and examine them properly.

"Why did I need to? I love you. I've told you. What else did I need to prove?"

Blaine shakes his head slowly, ashamed of himself. What an imbecile he is! Kurt is absolutely right. He loves him! He didn't need to prove it! The hurt Blaine felt - that was on him. It wasn't Kurt's responsibility to fix it. There isn't a day that goes by where Kurt doesn't show his love to Blaine in one way or another. Blaine didn't need this. He really didn't.

And right now, he doesn't feel he deserves it.

On a side note, how wrapped up in his own crap has he been that here, in this space that they share, where proximity has forced Kurt to memorize every song Blaine has been writing for his latest album while he paints, that he never realized just how frickin' talented his boyfriend is!?

"Kurt... " Blaine finally finds the strength to take a step forward, drawn to that ghostly image of them making love. It's a simple shadow of the moment, but it evokes a powerful memory "... these are incredible. How did you... ?" Blaine expects an answer before he can finish. Kurt is rarely shy about discussing his work.

Though Blaine should use this opening to his advantage - apologize since those should have been the first words out of his mouth.

But he gets nothing.

"Kurt?" Blaine looks over his shoulder in search of his boyfriend, ready to make amends.

But Kurt is gone.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine #blangst

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quickspinner · 3 years

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Month of Miracles Day 9 - Tradition

Find the prompt list here!

I’m mixing up the prompts a bit here because I had a plan for ‘Moments of Wonder’ that can’t happen until a little bit further on in the Hallmark AU. I was just gonna do the next prompt while I got a little bit ahead on the Hallmark ones since they tend to be longer, but...this one wouldn’t leave me alone and I didn’t have enough time today to do both. Honestly, I might not be able to keep up the one a day through the next week, but whatever I miss, I’ll catch up on Christmas week where we have some planned time off.

Marinette understood why her mother thought this trip would do her good, but the truth was that she felt at loose ends rattling around in Gina’s old-fashioned but large house, all alone. At home, there was always somewhere to pitch in, something that needed doing. Gina kept her life pretty streamlined, and when she was home, she delighted in fixing up anything that might be out of sorts in her home. Gina was just too efficient, so other than keeping her plants alive, which really wasn’t that difficult since Gina kept mostly hardy breeds that could survive being left under the care of a neighbor for weeks at a time, there just wasn’t much for Marinette to do.

Finally Marinette planted herself on the couch, set the TV to a channel covering the most recent fashion shows, and sat down to sketch. She’d have a lot of work to catch up on when she got home, so she might as well take advantage of some of this quiet time to get ahead.

She sketched a few basic silhouettes to warm up and get the juices flowing, but after that...nothing came. Every time she started a line, she quickly rubbed about it again. Stop editing yourself, she scolded. Just get it out, and you can fix it later.

It didn’t work. Everything she did felt wrong. Audrey’s complaints echoed in her mind. Too derivative, too pedestrian, where’s the art, Marinette? That’s why I hired you, and all you ever give me is this trash! Did I make a mistake bringing you on?

Did Audrey make a mistake? Marinette put down her sketchbook and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she dropped her face against her legs, fighting down the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard and tried to breathe.

Okay. So she couldn’t draw right now. That was okay. She’d do...something else.

She got up, leaving her sketchbook on the couch and the television on, and went into the kitchen. She started pulling out ingredients without conscious thought, the spiral in her mind continuing until she actually stood in front of the mixer, measuring cups in hand.

Marinette took a deep breath. She began measuring out ingredients, repeating the recipes in her head as she worked. This, at least, was something she could do. Nobody got all twisted up over cookies, after all.

Well. Except Audrey are you trying to destroy my figure you’re FIRED Bourgeois. Marinette pushed that thought aside. Rose would appreciate cookies, she was sure. Gina’s neighbors would too. Maybe even Sally...would it be insulting to take some to Sally? She tried to remember if she’d seen cookies for sale in the café, and finally gave up. She’d just make some, and figure out who could eat them later.

This was something she could do, and nobody could say she didn’t do it well, and that...that mattered to her right now. She could feel herself relaxing into the process, and she began to consider what she could make. Gina’s supplies weren’t as extensive as Tom’s, but there were still plenty of options to choose from…

Her first batch was in the oven, and she was making some simple Russian teacakes for a breather, when Gina’s old-fashioned doorbell rang.

Frowning, Marinette grabbed a towel from the oven and went to the door, wiping at least one hand as clean as she could get it before she opened it.

If she’d expected anything, it was a package delivery, or maybe even a neighbor stopping by with some cookies of their own—this seemed like the kind of place where that stuff happened.

On the doorstep stood a grey-haired woman with a bright smile, glasses that made her blue eyes look huge, feet well apart, and her hands solidly on her hips. Behind her stood Luka Couffaine, his lips pressed together in exasperation, propping up a large Christmas tree. He gave her a tight smile when her eyes flicked over him, but the woman in front of him had a presence that was impossible to ignore.

“Um,” Marinette said, smiling uncertainly. “Can I help you?”

The woman stuck out her hand. “Hello, lass. Marinette, isn’t it? Anarka Couffaine! Yer grandma be a friend of mine. When I heard you were keeping house for her while she’s away I thought we’d best be bringing over her tree!”

“Her tree?” Marinette asked, mystified. She glanced at Luka, and couldn’t help a smile when he mouthed I am so sorry at her over his...mother? Surely she must be his mother. Only a parent could put that look of embarrassed frustration on a grown man.

“Aye, Gina always gets a tree from us,” Anarka was saying. “Thought she wouldn’t be needing one this year since she’s gone. Hated to think of her not having one when she gets back, but it makes sense, no one here to take care of it and all. But since you’re here, all’s well. You can decorate it and have it ready for Gina when she comes home. She’s still planning t’be back for Christmas Day, aye?”

“Uh, yes,” Marinette said, reaching up to tug a pigtail and remembering just in time that she’d pinned up her hair, and that her hands were still dusted with flour despite the wiping. “She and my parents and all were supposed to meet back here for Christmas Eve, so I guess—but I don’t know if—”

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Anarka burst out cheerfully. “She’ll definitely be wanting her tree, then. No worries, lass, we know where everything is. We won’t be in your way but for a moment.”

She didn’t push past Marinette, but it was clear she intended to move forward, and Marinette backed out of the doorway on instinct.

Luka gave her a kill me now look as he hoisted the tree and followed his mother. Marinette giggled in spite of herself, and closed the door behind them.

True to her word, Anarka knew exactly where to find Gina’s Christmas tree things, and ordered her son around with a brusqueness that left no room for argument or debate. Marinette hovered, a bit at a loss for what to do. She wondered if she should go change into clean clothes, but Anarka said they weren’t staying long, and she still wasn’t done in the kitchen—

The oven timer chimed, and she automatically turned to tend to it. She hesitated in the door to the kitchen for just a moment, but Luka was half under the tree, getting it adjusted in the stand while Anarka barked orders. Neither was paying any attention to her, and even if she wasn’t cooking for anyone in particular, she couldn’t stand to let perfectly good cookies burn for no good reason.

She’d just gotten everything settled when Anarka’s booming voice behind her made her jump. “I’ve got to run, lass, but Luka can finish getting things set up. I’ve already told him what to do and where to put everything. We left the box of decorations out for ye, so ye can get things all nice for when Gina comes home. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, so, goodbye for now. Don’t forget to check the water in the tree every day!”

Marinette didn’t even have time to answer before Anarka was seeing herself out.

As soon as the door banged closed behind Anarka, Luka made a beeline for the kitchen. Hands against the doorframe, he leaned in. “Hey.”

Marinette turned to look at him from where she stood rolling some kind of round cookie in powdered sugar. “I swear I tried to talk her out of it,” he told her, ears burning. “I’d have had more success wrestling a bear.”

Marinette laughed, blushing, and Luka couldn’t help his grin. She looked adorable, with her hair pinned up and her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, flour streaking the red and green, frilled apron she wore. “I can imagine,” she replied, placing the sugar-coated ball carefully on a pile of others already in a dish on the counter. “She seems like someone it’s hard to say no to.”

Luka shrugged. “That’s my mom.” They looked at each other for a moment, Luka thinking about what a sweet picture she made and her thinking—probably that he was completely weird, standing here staring at her. “Anyway,” he said hastily, pushing himself back upright, “I’ll get this finished up and get out of your hair. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry and I had nothing to do with this...whatever this is.”

Marinette giggled. “It’s fine.” Her shoulders came down a little, and Luka gave her one more grin before he went back to setting up the tree. He was starting, he reflected ruefully, to have some dangerous if only thoughts. If only they’d met sooner, if only she weren’t leaving in a couple of weeks...

If only the people in his life weren’t so damn pushy, so that he wasn’t sure how much of the attraction he felt was sincere or mutual. If only he could be sure he wasn’t seeing things because Rose put the idea in his head.

Luka wasn’t sure what had put his mother on the scent. It was, just barely, possible that her motives were exactly what she said they were. Gina did buy a tree from them every year, and since they were friends it was usually more of a visit than a delivery, and Anarka had more than once hauled Luka out to help set the thing up when he was home.

Luka doubted it though. Either Rose had blabbed, or someone else had. Sally, maybe, who might have seen him holding her hand at the café, or maybe one of the townspeople who had seen them say goodbye outside afterwards, smiling and friendly. Marinette blushed so easily, and he did find her extremely pretty. it might have been easy for someone to get the wrong idea.

The television was on, but Luka hadn’t paid any attention to it until Marinette’s name caught his ear. He looked up, and saw a good-looking blonde man on screen, waving to the crowd before he turned to help a lady out of the limo he’d just exited. There was a smaller picture of Marinette on the arm of the same handsome blond in the corner.

Luka put it together with what Marinette had told him at the café, and pressed his lips together, irrationally angry at the man. Clearly he has a type, Luka thought sourly, looking at the new woman on his arm as the couple proceeded down the red carpet. Luka glanced back at the kitchen, and then walked over and turned the television off. Marinette didn’t seem like she was watching it, and she certainly didn’t need to see something like that by accident.

He finished up, making sure to clean up after himself as best he could, stacking the boxes that had held Gina’s things neatly where his mother had found them. Conveniently there was a broom in the same closet, so he was able to sweep up the needles he’d inevitably tracked all over the house.

He put the broom back, and went back to find Marinette. Whatever she was making smelled amazing. Luka paused in the kitchen doorway. Marinette was concentrating hard, piping icing onto cookies laid out in front of her. Even focused as she was, he couldn’t help but note that she looked more content than he’d ever seen her, smiling and at peace, humming softly to herself. She leaned back to study what she’d done, and the humming turned to singing.

Luka took a quick step back and turned, putting his back to the wall next to the door, one hand going to clutch at his heart as it suddenly decided to gallop away.

She was singing one of his songs.

So she’s a fan, he scolded himself. I knew that. And why should he care? By the end, Luke Stone had been almost an entirely separate entity from himself. An illusion created to sell music, not a real person.

Except Luke Stone still played Luka Couffaine’s music. And it was one thing to know Luke Stone had fans, to see them screaming in a crowd or throwing themselves at the security ropes to get to him, but...it was entirely different to hear sweet, sincere Marinette, thoughtlessly humming Luka’s songs just because she was happy and she enjoyed them. It was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? To know that people appreciated the music, and not just the image. It was no wonder his pulse was racing.

Luka sighed and closed his eyes. I’m in trouble, he admitted to himself.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

#quickspins #monthofmiracles2020 #hallmark au #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #promptfic #quickfic

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birdsaesthetic · 3 years

Text

Jane’s sketchbook

Summary: Jane freaking out over losing her sketchbook, my participation for 12 Days of Blindspot.

A/N: I wrote this a while ago then ignored it... But then I saw these prompts from @holidayblindspot which reminded me of already having written something that goes with one of the prompts, so I thought this was a sign for me to edit it real quick and post it. I’m so exited to be sharing this here because it’s beautiful and really worth sharing. ENJOY!

Day 5: A ruined day.

“Kurt,” Jane called from across the front room, to which Kurt immediately looked up and responded, “Yeah?”

“Have you seen my sketchbook?”

Looking around him quickly yet carefully, Kurt murmured, “No,” he then looked up at her, who seemed stunned at having heard the No from him.

The two were in the middle of unpacking the boxes they brought up with them from their old apartment in New York all the way to the new one in Colorado, which, after managing to unpack the majority of the boxes and placing their contents ever since morning, it finally started to feel like home. Like their old apartment in New York.

Doing so had been so fun at first, each one was having a glass of red wine in hand and there was loud music playing in the background and, since there weren’t curtains covering the windows just yet, there was the beautiful addition of bright and warm sunlight streaming inside the spacious front room that felt so rewarding and motivating. But when the sun went down, taking with it its light and warmth, the work got monotonous, and so by now they were both exhausted and hungry.

Jane was also confused now.

She looked down at all the boxes scattered on the floor around her, which were almost empty by now, and she felt the world spinning around her in confusion and fear for having been unable to locate her sketchbook among all these boxes.

“Why? Couldn’t you find it?” Asked Kurt, seemingly confused too as he approached her.

Creases were starting to form on her forehead as she shook her head in confusion. “No,” she said quietly, then jumped from one box to another, double checking each one, randomly, quickly and with both hands, as if she were digging into a hole. And then, after all of that, which was in a span of thirty seconds, she shook her head yet again, though this time in disappointment, and looked up at Kurt in a plea for understanding. “I don’t know why I can’t find it because it should be here. I put it here. I put all my small things here, and I didn’t have a lot of things!”

Kurt was standing right before her by now, hunching over to check inside the boxes again. It was helpless, he knew; she’d already rummaged in all those boxes with eager hands and big eyes and yet found nothing... But if there was a one-in-a-million chance, he would absolutely take it when it came to her.

When his eyes, wide open, met hers, he suggested, “Okay, maybe you’ve just got confused. Try to remember where you’ve last seen it.” She swallowed hard and tried to do as told, mouth slightly open. She settled her gaze at a random spot on his chest as both of them stood close against one another, then she pushed her mind so hard to visualize where she’d last seen the sketchbook and what she was doing, so she could retrace her steps in the process and hopefully remember something.

But it was after a long, unbearable moment when Jane pushed her lower lip out in a sad pout and gave a shake of her head. Kurt hugged her loosely then. “It’s okay, we still have another set of boxes to be delivered here tomorrow morning.” He reminded her. “Hopefully we find it within one of the boxes then.”

Jane pulled back to look up at him, the sad look remained on her face. “But those coming boxes only have the kitchen supplies!”

“You don’t know, maybe you forgot it there!”

“It’s not possible... I put it here,”

“Everything is possible.” He encouraged, then added, “Aren’t you hungry by now, though? Because I’m so hungry! How about pb&j for dinner, huh?”

“I don’t mind.” Jane muttered with a shrug.

Together they decided to call it a day after dinner and climbed into bed, crawling close to each other as they lied down against the mattress. Their foreheads were touching as they shared a loving gaze, then Kurt whispered, “Can I get my good night kiss, or you don’t feel like—”

“No—yes, of course you’re getting your good night kiss!” She rushed to say, reassuring him just before she smiled the tiniest of smiles and kissed him hard on the lips, to which he kissed her back even harder. After that, she placed her hand over his arm that had been wrapped around her waist beneath the blanket, lifted it, rolled over to her side, and again let his arm be wrapped around her waist. This was how she’d always loved to sleep with him: she’d turn her back to him and he’d take the cue and cuddle her from behind with a light arm across her waist beneath the blanket and a soft kiss right behind her ear that would make her hum and snuggle deeper into his embrace until they’d look like two spoons in a drawer, very tight against each other.

As she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, hoping to raise up to a promising morning that would bring with it her sketchbook, she could swear she saw the vague afterimage of the sketchbook in her eyes, but then she opened her eyes and only saw the darkness of the bedroom...

She didn’t own a lot of things, really. The only things she owned and loved so much were that sketchbook and her marriage ring. The engagement ring was as if glued to her finger ever since she had worn it years ago. As for the sketchbook, she had always made sure to keep it within her hand reach, though this time around it oddly disappeared!

It was the very first purchase she made solely for herself when she started to receive a regular paycheck after working formally for the FBI. At first she didn’t know what to do with such a decent amount of money since she’d already been provided with a place to stay in, clothes, a cell phone and food—usually her detail had dropped food at her place without even asking for anything back, which made her really embarrassed.

It could be the crack of dawn or early morning when Jane fluttered her eyes open the next day, and after a long moment of gazing at Kurt’s sleeping face, she gave him a soft kiss on the temple then eased herself out of bed. With her eyes half closed, she managed to step the few paces toward the bathroom, rinsed her face in the sink, brushed her teeth and finally put on a comfy sweater she gripped from the hanger.

Yawing, she stumbled across the front room that was messy with boxes they hadn’t even bothered to flatten or push away last night, until she made it into the kitchen. There she stood in the center, stretched her neck, and yawned some more with her eyes pressed close. When she reopened her eyes, the sight of a can of cocoa shoved in the far corner suddenly inspired her. And so, as if drawn by a magnet, she stepped toward the refrigerator, opened it and examined its contents, though there wasn’t much to see. There was random stuff and among them was a brand-new bottle of milk, which she only needed to fix a cup of hot cocoa for now.

She took it out then brought up a pan. There she poured some of the milk, dissolved cocoa powder, and finally put it on the stove to simmer. Standing with folded arms in the dim lighting in the kitchen, she stared down at the pan as the milk boiled within it, and after a full minute of waiting, small curls of steam rose into the air and the scents of cocoa powered revolved all around her, to which she felt torn between wanting to savour it immediately or just stand there and inhale it. But she awaited a bit more. Next she poured everything into an oversized cup with a faint smile.

Warming her fingers with the cup, she made her way to the dining table, then settled on a seat there as she began taking small sips of the hot cocoa before it had even cooled off, to which it took her by surprise at first at how hot it was, scalding even.

During such times, when she woke earlier than she would and was by herself, she would bring up her sketchbook and sketch on it whatever she was feeling at the given moment. It was the perfect timing and place to do so; her thoughts would emerge so originally in the early mornings, they wouldn’t be conflicted nor affected by the day’s activities just yet.

She hadn’t known how good she was at sketching until one day she held a pencil, a very sharp one, and began sketching without any struggle. Back then, when solving her tattoos had been what her life was basically all about, she used to sketch them individually in hopes of finding any connection that might help figure out what they actually meant. But then as the days passed, she thought she wanted to do something else, something that was in a good way stirring her heart down to the depths, just like the way her spoon was stirring her cup of cocoa now.

And so, with her pencil sharp, she began with a light outline of a face, next she worked on the eyes, which she made them like the shape of almond. She let out a sigh then, knowing that the eyes must be the toughest part, before continuing with them. She drew the first pupil, purposely making it darker than the eye, then did the same for the other eye. She added a little shading underneath the eyes and from there she started with the nose, extending two lines where the inner corners of each eye were located.

The rest went easy: she did the eyebrows, the lips, the beard and then the hair, creating a solid and visible looking hairline from the sides of the head.

It was Kurt’s face that she sketched and it looked impressive at the end. She made him look as if staring at her, and made his expression soft with a faint smile—the way he’d usually look at her.

It was quiet around her now, not a single sound, until she heard running waters within the bathroom and, a minute later, she saw Kurt emerge and approach her. “Mornin,” he smiled, his face awash with decent sleep, his hair... so fluffy she couldn’t help but think it needed a trim, so badly.

“Mornin,” she replied.

He bent down and stole his morning kiss from her then hummed. “You taste like a really good hot cocoa!”

“Because I was drinking one.” She told him, showing him her cup, almost empty by now.

“Can I have the same?”

“Sure.” She got up and started doing the same thing she did earlier, taking the same measurements.

“Did you sleep well, Jane?” He asked as she waited by the stove for the cocoa to simmer. “Yeah.”

“You don’t look like you slept well.” He claimed.

“I slept well, Kurt. Now tell me, when is our ship gonna get here?”

“Maybe after a bit.”

She served him his cocoa in a brand-new cup, and he took it with all smiles after thanking her.

When their another set of boxes arrived, after some time, Jane tucked all of her hair back behind her ears and, kneeling down, she eagerly began looking thoroughly in each box along with Kurt. As she’d said before, the boxes contain kitchen supplies: dishes, cups, mixing bowls, knives and spoons, a cutting board, blender, vegetable peeler and a number of whisks.

But even after all this effort, they couldn’t find it, Jane’s sketchbook, among all of those things.

She stood up on her feet then, and took a deep breath, tired and disappointed, her palm wiping away the sweat on her forehead and her eyes, helplessly, maintained searching in the mess of boxes on the floor.

“It’s alright, I’ll get you a new one, I promise.” Kurt tried to soothe her, to which she looked up at him and, shaking her head, she complained, “It’s not about getting a new one, Kurt. I need my old one back. It carries lots of memories and...” she trailed off with her head falling down, but after a moment of silence Kurt approached forward until he closed the gap between them and cupped her face in his hands, lifting it to his level. “We will be making new memories here. Beautiful ones.”

“I know, but...there’s just one drawing of you within the sketchbook that I just love so much and I want it back.”

“You have lots of pencils and papers here. You also have me here. I will sit still the whole day so that you can draw me, I really wouldn’t mind, you know me.” He suggested, to which she smiled the way one corner of her mouth tilted up whenever she felt affection for him, then chuckled. “You don’t have to. I can draw you easily without having to look at you.”

He grinned. “Right, because you’re the most talented person I’ve ever met.”

“It’s not wholly because I’m that talented though. I wouldn’t be able to do that with anyone else except for you, because I always have you in my head—this is how and why I drew you in the first place. I know your face very well—even more than my own, I would say—and I know how you would look from every angle.”

He pushed his lower lip out in an impressive pout, feeling awash with affection for her. “You know lots of things about me! Do you also wanna know what I know about you?” He asked, having already slipped both hands from her face down her neck, shoulders, and finally her waist. And before she could say anything in response, he was tickling her there. “I know how to make you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.”

She was laughing then, pleading him to stop it, squirming her body out of his arms, and calling his name aloud and repeatedly, but that was only for him to reward her with more stroking against her waist, the area where he knew was very sensitive for her. She tried to fight his firm grip around her, tried to push him away, tried to run away, but seconds later she was, almost instinctively, clutching into him hard, as if holding for her life, and kept laughing nonstop, like she never had in her whole life, head dropped back exposing her neck for him to bury his face there, mouth open to the fullest, and eyes squeezed. Her laughters rolled about the front room in the early morning, like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart-warming as it moved around them in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts—loud to soft to nothing when she was gasping for breaths in-between, then back to loud again and so on.

Just like this, her previous, sad face was replaced with a happy and laughing one.

He really knew how to butter her up. Always had.

A/N: I don’t really support the idea of Jeller moving out of New York after canon. I love them to be there and I think it suits them perfectly to be New Yorkers. But I had to fake it only for this fic’s plot. So they’re still in New York in my head now, enjoying themselves...

#blindspot #blindspotfic #jeller #holidayblindspot

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anystalker707 · 4 years

Text

the famous living dead

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Genre: Fluff/Angst Word count: +- 4 000 Summary: [Corpse Bride AU] Gerard is suddenly married to a corpse Requested on Wattpad

[3rd person pov]

Gerard sighed in frustration as walking between the trees. If anything, the melancholic vibe of the woods matched his feelings exactly. Apart from needing to deal with the annoying bride, Eliza – who didn't do anything apart from complaining since they met each other earlier that day –, he couldn't memorize the vows, what increased his stress.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried repeating the vows just to mess up with it once more. Another frustrated breath escaped his lips.

The repeated fails left him in the verge of giving up, but Gerard was determined to get it right. A few crows rested on the old oak tree he stopped next to, pausing. Gerard took a deep breath before he started talking.

"With this candle, I will..." He trailed off, suddenly met with a blank in his mind that he wasn't ready for. Shaking his head, he sighed. "I will set your mother on fine," he finished in frustration, facepalming, and sat down on the fallen trunk that laid not too far from him.

Gerard took the wedding ring from the coat's pocket and stared at it for a moment. It didn't bring him any happiness and shared no differences with a chain, in his perspective. Remembering how annoying the bride demonstrated gave him great stress, certain desperation even, since it was clear he was going to be stuck in a predictably deplorable marriage for most likely the rest of his life.

Well, if that was going to happen anyways, he better do it properly.

He took a deep breath as standing up, the ring between his fingers like if he was to slip it in the bride's finger already. "With this hand," the words left his lips with confidence, in a way it even looked like he was in the ceremony already, "I'll lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine."

As Gerard spoke, he gradually gained more security, moving his hands and turning on his place dramatically. Saying it correctly brought him a momentary pleased feeling as he tossed the ring in the air before catching it again with a smile. He raised his eyebrows, nodding at himself with approval, looking around as the imaginary people – who were actually just the trees – praised him.

He leaned down as breaking a stick from a fallen trunk's branch.

"With this candle," Gerard said, pretending the stick was a candle and 'lighting it', throwing it aside right next. "I will light your way in the darkness. With this ring," he held up the wedding band, kneeling down in front of what seemed to be more dry branches, though in the shape of a hand. "I ask you to be mine." He slipped the ring on the dry wood, smiling with another wave of pride hitting him.

Reality suddenly hit Gerard again and he was slightly startled by the wind suddenly howling and the crows growing agitated. Worry started filling his chest with the birds weirdly observing him. Birds didn't act like that... did they?

His attention was held enough for him to not notice the 'dry branch' moving, but also enough to almost give him a heart attack when it wrapped itself around his wrist and started pulling him down.

Gerard gasped as trying to pull away from the grasp, not knowing if he should be more worried about it or the birds starting to fly around. In panic, he started trying pulling his arm out of the hole it had been stuck in and, when he finally did so, a terrified scream escaped his lips seeing how the hand gripped around his wrist, noticing it wasn't wood at all.

He shook his arm until the hand let go and Gerard's attention was suddenly snatched by the place where the hand had originally been in. The dirt moved like if there was something under it, making him freeze, terrified in anticipation.

[Your pov]

I struggle a bit to bring myself out of the hole, even more without half an arm, but the excitement motivates me into doing it. My eyes land on the guy who said the vows with certain anxiety and I contain a smile as looking down at his scared form.

"I do," I say, making him gasp and start backing away as I reach down a hand to help him up. Unfortunately, he continues too scared; he quickly stands up and starts running away. Well, it's not like he'll get out of here easily, so I follow him calmly, grabbing my hand back in the way.

The guy ends up tripping when going down a rock, his head hitting against the gravestone, but he doesn't seem to mind the pain, sitting up with his back against it. His wide eyes observe me walking after him with fear. He continues with the scared gasps as clumsily backing away until he's up to his feet again.

He runs. And hits a tree.

Seeing me approaching, he tries to run just to hit it again. Great job.

Our chase continues until he reaches the bridge, probably thinking I ended up losing him. The crows continue cawing behind him, more of showing me where he went before returning to the woods. His terrified face gains relief as he leans back against the wall of the bridge, looking around frantically.

A last sigh comes from him, calming down with thinking I really stopped chasing him. The look on his face, however, when he notices me right behind him is hilarious, but I say nothing, setting my hands on his shoulders and leaning in for a kiss.

"A new arrival," Frank says in amusement as Gerard's eyes open; a drink in hand as Frank stands beside me, observing the other intently just like me, Ray and Bert. Or maybe everyone else in the bar.

"He must've fainted," I add, like if Gerard was still out. Carefully, I reach a hand under his neck – his eyes go wide at my exposed bones. "Are you all right?" I question, worried.

"What-? What happened?" He asks, still looking around in panic.

"Oh, looks like we've got ourselves a breather." Frank comments in amusement. "He's still soft," he said. The poking on Gerard's chest scares him, sending the living man backing away once again, struggling up to his feet.

"A toast, then," Ray says with a lazy grin, raising his glass lightly in the air. A clinking sound comes from it as it touches Bert's, both grinning. "To the newlyweds."

"Newlyweds...?" Gerard asks in confusion.

"In the woods," I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "you said your vows so perfectly." A smile curls my lips up as I show him the wedding band around my boney finger.

"I did?" He asks hesitantly before a wave of realization – or is it defeat? – hits him. "I did!" With a sudden motion, his hands hold onto the counter. "Wake up!" He tells himself repeatedly, slamming his head against the wooden surface.

From this, things just turn into a momentary chaos; Gerard starts walking around, bumping into the others, more gasps coming from him as he jumps like a scared cat. It earns him a few concerned glares.

"K-Keep away!" He stutters and, in certain desperation, tries to get the sword lodged across Frank's torso. Not being able to remove it makes him a bit nervous, but it holds it towards everyone the same way. "I've got a- I've got a... dwarf. And I'm not afraid to use him." He tries to point the sword to towards the people next to him, sending Frank stumbling. "I want some questions. Now!"

Frank's face goes from confused to annoyed with Gerard's words. "I'm not that short, y'know? And you actually want answers, you dumb fuck, not questions." He rolled his eyes, playing lightly with the stitches starting in the corner of his mouth and following up his cheek. He's got a weird habit of playing with the stitches.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Where am I? Who are you?" The last question is directed to me.

"Eh," I twist my mouth lightly, shrugging a shoulder. "It's kind of a long story."

"Yeah, a good story, tho," Frank nods, looking back at Gerard, showing him thumbs up. With a yelp, he immediately lets go of the sword.

"Gerard? Where are you?" I ask as walking around the city, looking for him among the dead walking around. "Gerard?" I ask again, sighing, but a smile makes its way to my lips when I notice him in the corner.

Gerard runs around frantically and, though he can hide, there's the advantage that I obviously know the city better than him. It's also easy following his scared gasps and cries. I chuckle and, noticing him climbing to the cliff, I already wait for him there. He gasps when noticing he grabbed my ankle.

"You could've used the stairs," I tell him with a chuckle, reaching down to help Gerard up. "It's beautiful up here," I say, extending a hand towards the city below us. "It always takes my breath away. Or would, if I had one." A laugh escapes my lips. "Come on," I take his hand in mine, pulling him along with me to sit down on a bench.

"Look," Gerard says hesitantly once we sit down on the wooden bench, still seeming disturbed. "I'm terribly sorry about what's happened to you and I'd like to help, but I really need to get home."

"This is your home now!" I tell him, stating the obvious.

"But I don't even know your name," he throws his hands in the air lightly, furrowing his eyebrows. The scared air continues over Gerard's features and in the way he jumps lightly whenever I do something.

"It's (y/n)." I say with a smile; he repeats it slowly, almost absentmindedly, while looking at me, like if finally taking in all the details of my face. It does make me a bit flustered. We're stuck there for a long moment with our gazes locked, until reality hits me again.

"Oh, I've got something for you!" I say with a smile, grabbing a box I've brought and handing it to him. "Consider it a wedding gift," I wink, not minding how tense he still seems to be.

Gerard hesitantly takes the box in hand and undoes the ribbon before opening the box. He grabs the pen, that's shaped like a bone, but probably doesn't understand what's it. "Erm," an awkward glance is thrown my way, "thank you...?"

I roll my eyes, "I found out you liked drawing and I got you this." Opening the box properly, I show him the sketchbook and the ink he ignored. "It's some sort of special ink and paper. You'll find out later when you use it." I smile, scanning Gerard's face to see if he liked it. There's a hint of happiness under all the confusion.

He took the ink flask in hand, removing the cork to take a look at it and smell the liquid briefly before returning it to the box. Then, Gerard grabs the sketchbook, rubbing one of the pages between two fingers as analyzing the texture – he lets out an interested hum. The items are certainly nothing like whatever he's ever seen. Well, in that state, actually.

"Mother never approved me drawing..." Gerard trails off, sadly. "But then again, she never approved of anything." His lips press together in a sad smile.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, unconsciously mirroring his smile. "Do you think she would've approved me?"

"Heh," he shoots me a side grin as closing the box again. "You're lucky you'll never have to meet her." There's a pause and he hums thoughtfully, setting the box aside. "Well, actually..."

"Okay, so," Ray raises a hand to scratch his head, consequently getting a few of his curls messy – he looks at the strands with a frustrated frown, trying to fix them, but gives up and looks at the book in his hand again. "Are you sure you want to get up there? I mean-" He pauses hearing the sound of a pile of books falling, "Frank, I already told you to stop!" A grumbling comes in response from the same direction, but all Ray does is to roll his eyes.

"Ah, yeah, it's important for me," Gerard says with certain anxiety. "Us." He adds after seeing me looking at him, pressing his lips together in a smile.

Ray slowly nodded, shrugging a bit though he clearly seems to not understand the purpose of this yet. "Well, I've got something here. You just need to say hopscotch if you want to return."

"I spent so long in the darkness," I say with a smile as looking up with a smile, "I'd almost forgot how beautiful the moonlight is." A relieved sigh escapes my lips as I look around the place; well, it's not exactly that I missed the land of the living, but it's a nice place. Grinning, I take Gerard's hand in mine and start walking, but I'm forced to stop noticing he hadn't moved.

"Erm, hold on," he placed a hand on my shoulder, pushing me gently to sit down on the trunk of a fallen tree. His hand goes from my shoulder to my face, cupping it lightly, making me a bit flustered and kinda happy with it. "I guess I should prepare mother and father for the news. I'm going ahead and you wait here, okay?"

"Well, okay." I smile again, raising my eyebrows lightly. I've gotta admit it does make me a bit anxious.

"I won't be long," Gerard reassures me, observing me for a few seconds and starting to run off after I nod in comprehension.

And I wait. Wait. Wait.

Maybe... something happened? – The though crosses my mind as I look around, seeking for a sign that he's coming back, but I'm met with nothing. I guess I should check on him and it won't be that difficult with all the footprints.

Eventually, I find Gerard. He stands outside the door of a house, seeming to listen to what's going on in there before he goes to climb up the balcony. It takes me a bit of struggling, but I eventually do the same, a bit confused and kind of angry for being left there for so long.

Well, maybe I shouldn't be so angry. Gerard talks with two other people – his parents? – and doesn't seem to notice me just yet. However, my feelings return when I hear his faint voice coming from the inside.

"I- I don't really know what the fuck happened. It was unexpected, accidental, I swear," Gerard said in obvious desperation, tugging lightly on his own hair then throwing his hands in the air. "Suddenly, I'm married to a corpse." The tone he says it in isn't very... pleased; it makes my heart sink. "I- Damn, I don't know how the fuck I get rid of-" He freezes his eyes widening once landing on me.

Gerard obviously notices my angry gaze, what brings a worried air to his features. A few terrified cries echo in the room once I suddenly walk in, marching towards Gerard. He tries to stutter a few excuses, but hopscotch leaves my lips before he's actually able to do anything.

Suddenly, we're back to Ray's place, with the usual bickering in the background, of Ray telling Frank and Bert to not touch his things and more books falling to the floor.

"You lied to me!" I tell Gerard, throwing him away from me; he loses his balance, taking a few steps back. "You were trying to get away from me!" I say indignantly, sighing sharply as turning my back to him. Trying to not let my tears escape my eyes, I wipe them away before they can even fall, but it sends one of my eyes to the floor. Damn, I waited for so long and when I finally find someone, they try to get away from me.

A sigh comes from Gerard, followed by a few footsteps before he's right behind me. "You don't understand," he says softly, touching my shoulder, "this just can't work. The circumstances we're under..." He trails off, gazing at me expectantly, but I do nothing asides from taking my eye back. "We're different!"

"And?" I raise an eyebrow at him, "you should've fucking thought about that before you asked me!" I shoot him a glare, raising my left hand momentarily.

"Can't you fucking understand?" He snaps in disbelief, eyeing me amused. "It was an accident! I wouldn't ever marry you!"

His words are like a bucket of ice throw on me. I freeze, not knowing what to say nor wanting to say anything. Sighing, I just turn around to walk out of there, with my heart heavy in my chest.

"Look, I'm sorry for earlier." Gerard says regretfully, sitting down beside me. His voice is quiet under the piano notes as I continue to play the instrument, not wanting to hear whatever he's got to say, not even looking up from the black and white keys. A sigh comes from Gerard.

"I'm really sorry, I said that without thinking, I don't mean it," he insists. "I don't even know you properly and, by what I've seen, you're an amazing person." By the corner of my eyes, I'm able to see him smiling at me, his eyes flickering over my face, searching for a response to his words, as minimum as it may be. There's none.

Apparently, Gerard gives up on trying to apologize, his attention averting to the piano. He takes in a deep breath before starting to play with me. The new notes are like a perfect complement to the ones I play. I even let myself appreciate the combination of both for a moment before starting to play faster, trying to cut him off.

Gerard is surprisingly able to keep up with me, looking at me with a smile that I have to hold myself back to not mirror. At some point, my forearm ends up detaching from me, it goes down the piano, playing the notes I'm not able to reach from my place and crawls up Gerard's arm. He doesn't seem bothered by it, smiling as seeing my arm go the way up to his shoulder.

"Sorry," I say, kinda embarrassed, "I got a little bit too excited."

"It's fine," he chuckles, taking the part of my arm and putting it back on place. His hand goes down my forearm until meeting mine and holding it. "I like your excitement."

Again, Gerard's eyes lock mine in a strong gaze, though now he tries more of transmitting comfort than analyzing me this time. His gaze is kind of shy, like if finally allowing himself to act normally around me and know me; what I highly appreciate. It seems like he's about to say something, but someone shouting by the other side of the bar startles us, breaking the mood we're set in. Both of us chuckle lightly as moving away, our eyes lingering over each other before we look away.

"So..." Gerard starts, looking at me again with a smile. "Tell me about yourself..."

"And then he asked me to tell him about myself, we spent a long time talking and... Now here I am." I flash a small smile to the three, glancing at them before my eyes fall back to watching my hands on my lap.

We're sitting on the ground in the kind of alley behind the bar, talking with each other while having a few drinks. It's quite pleasing and calming, after all the stress.

"Things seem to be going on very well, that's amazing!" Ray smiles at me, looking up from his book for a second. "And to think he was throwing all that tantrum some hours ago..." He raises his eyebrows lightly.

"Damn, true, what the fuck." Frank says in an indignant tone, furrowing his eyebrows at the nothing as he thinks. "Though he was mostly scared and surprised earlier. It's a good thing he stopped to think and all, tho. He'll see you're an amazing person," he grins and I smile shyly as thanking him.

"Whatever goes through the living's heads, huh," Bert says, his voice distant as most of his attention seems to be focused on balancing a glass over his knee.

"Not like you weren't alive at some point," I reply, rolling my eyes with a chuckle.

"Eh, it's been so long," he furrows his eyebrows in frustration, turning to me. His intention of continuing to speak is ruined when the neglected glass falls from his knee, cracking as hitting the ground – all of us laugh at his pout.

"Happy ever after," Frank tells me after a few silent seconds. "Until death do you apart... Or something like this." His words make both of us laugh and, as the laughter dies, reality hits me.

"Well, until death do us apart..." I say thoughtfully and it takes a moment, but he understands it too.

"Ah, yeah, exactly this point that I wanted to discuss with you," Ray speaks up, adjusting his position as looking at me. "Well, you know the vows and since you're already dead, so... it kind of doesn't count, y'know...?" He says carefully, a bit awkwardly, like if afraid of my reaction.

A gasp escapes me after I reason it. "Oh, fuck, true." I curse, suddenly growing a bit desperate. "And how-"

"But," Ray cuts me off, "there's a way to fix it. To repeat the vows. The only problem is that... he would need to be dead." He raises his eyebrows with certain worry, though I think most of it is about my response.

"Eh, but- No, hell." I stutter, stumbling over my own words while trying to process it all.

"Oh, murder? Sign me in!" Bert says, not even paying proper attention to the conversation again. The comment earns him a slap on the back of his head coming from Frank – I would've laughed at them if my worry wasn't so overwhelming.

"That's too much, I wouldn't ask him to do it to himself..." I sigh, holding my head in my hands as looking down, my fingers tangling with my hair in stress. "He wasn't even happy with marrying me, I don't think he'd take it to this level..."

"Then I guess I'd like to surprise you." An awkward, new voice reaches my ears, making me tense up a bit. "I'm up to doing it. I'm up to marrying you, whatever it takes."

In the brief moment of silence, Ray, Frank and I look between each other – both of them shoot me rather happy, encouraging looks. Still a bit insecure, I look back to Gerard. He's about to continue, but pauses seeing Frank and Ray standing up to leave, dragging Bert along with them.

Gerard sighs before he carefully sitting down beside me. He takes my hand in his, playing with my fingers, until he starts talking again.

"I believe I should give you a chance because you're a wonderful person," he says, his eyes still not meeting mine. "Not to mention, I believe it's much better to stay here with you than anything else. My bride... Eh, not anymore. Eliza seems to be batshit crazy and no one I know understands me as well as you do, even if we haven't known each other for long." He smiles genuinely.

"You make me feel well, to a point I didn't even know to be possible, so..." Gerard trails off, finally looking up at me, though there's clear insecurity behind his eyes. "I'm staying. With you."

Knowing this makes me extremely happy, though I'm still a bit afraid it might not be the right choice. Before I'm able to question anything, I'm surprised – once more – by Gerard's lips being pressed to mine in a loving kiss that reassures me he's certain about his choice. I try to kiss back with the same feeling. I'm usually not able to feel cold and heat, but I'm able to feel how warm his lips are against mine.

"Thank you," I mutter as pulling away, grinning stupidly.

"You don't need to thank me," Gerard furrows his eyebrows lightly at me. He smiles before pulling me to another kiss.

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