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hops-hunny · 3 years

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Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 7

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: mentions of insecurity

A/N: I love and hate this chapter so much

Although this trip wasn’t for leisure, Neville was doing everything to treat it like it was. No matter how busy he was with planning the current mission or even seeing what else Italy had to offer money wise, he made sure to make time for (Y/n). Everyday had been a dream come true, from softer moments down to more...intimate moments.

He hadn’t taken her all the way yet nor had he asked her to return the favor but he didn’t need her to. Spending hours upon hours between her legs was more than enough for him. The small whimpers and whiny moans that would erupt from her plagued his thoughts during all times of the day. Most of the time he’d step away to take care of himself when he did but other times when that option wasn’t available he’d pray to Merlin that his obvious hard on would just disappear. It was 50/50 with whether that’d actually work and when it didn’t? The guys would never let him forget.

Today was different though. Instead of having to split his time between preparing for the big day or spending time with his beloved he got to do both. Today was the day before they’d put their plan in action, making it the safest day to bring her to the museum considering there was no risk. Because the museum received many visitors on the daily, no one ever questioned their consistent visit. Plus, their attire often made them look like the kind of people who admired art, which wasn’t an incorrect assumption. They did appreciate art, just even more so when it was in their home or being sold to some rich idiot.

(Y/n) looked around in awe at everything around her. Everything about the museum screamed class and money. There wasn’t just art on the walls, but the ceilings had been hand painted as well. However, her eyes fixated on the glass display in the center of the room. Inside was an array of jewels of all sorts, in crowns, in rings, in earrings, but also in the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. It had the biggest diamonds she had ever seen, connected by a white gold chain. Reading the sign she saw it belonged to a queen of a country that no longer existed and it had clearly been kept in immaculate condition over the years. A matching set of earrings set on the other side of it.

“See something you like, petal?” she jumped at the sound of the voice, turning her head slightly to smile at the man. Neville smiled back, wrapping his arms around her waist as he came behind her. His eyes lingered on the way her reflection made it seem like she was wearing the necklace. He couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she would look in it.

“No, just looking.” she responded, turning around to wrap her arms around the man’s neck. However, she couldn’t help but feel as though someone was staring at her. Looking out the corner of her eye, she saw a womanly figure facing her direction. She went to look but her attention was turned to the warm cheek on her hand. Neville leaned down, pressing his lips to hers not even trying to fight the smile growing on his lips. She kissed him back, standing on the tip of her shoes before pulling him down to her height as she giggled. He went to say something but muffled voices started to come from his ear piece.

“Sorry, it appears our time has been cut short for now. But don’t worry angel, I’ll be back as soon as I can be.” he said, placing a kiss on her lips before pulling her into a hug. Over his shoulder, (Y/n) watched as the woman from before quickly turned back to the painting in front of her, as if she wasn’t just staring at her. Perhaps it had been her imagination? Giving him one last smile she waved as the tall man began to walk away.

Curiosity began to get the best of her, leading her to walk across the room to the woman. Looking at the painting she saw that it was indeed a beautiful painting! It showcased many people inside some sort of marble lookout point, gazing upon the sea. A gasp left her lips at the attention to detail, the wet appearance of the water, the reflection of the sun. Despite it not moving like the ones she was used to, she found that it didn’t need to be. The woman standing next to her gave her a side glance, a look on her face that she didn’t notice.

“Ti piace il dipinto?(“Do you like the painting?”)” the woman asked her, a mischievous look on her face. Gisele knew that the girl was sheltered just from her appearance. She wasn’t nearly as traveled as herself so there was no way for her to know even an inkling of what she had just asked her.

(Y/n) blinked at her, pondering what the woman had asked her before nodding. “È bellissimo. L'attenzione ai dettagli è incredibile! Non ho mai visto niente del genere.(“It's beautiful. The attention to detail is incredible! I've never seen anything like it!”)” she looked at the woman as she choked slightly, a concerned look on her face.

“You speak italian?” she asked in an offended tone, an unreadable look on her face. (Y/n) shrugged some, continuing to look at the painting.

“Not quite. I’ve only been learning for a few days. My boy- er, friend taught me but he says I’m a quick learner! I’m sorry if my translation was a bit off.” she said, offering the woman a kind smile. The woman’s eye twitched at the information, growling slightly. But, she remembered she had some “information” of her own.

“You mean Neville?” the strange woman asked, causing her to look up. She nodded slowly, offering her another kind smile.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Know him? Ha!” she sighed dramatically, putting a freshly manicured hand over her ample chest. “We were practically married! He and I were seeing each other for such a long time. I’m assuming you’re dating then?” she smirked to herself, watching as the girl shook her head no. “No? Well I guess that isn’t too shocking. I mean, why date a knock off when the real thing is still available. Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Gisele Bardot, Europe’s one and only top model.” (Y/n) felt her throat grow tight as she swallowed harshly. Neville had never once brought up Gisele to her. In fact, he had even gone as far as to say he hadn’t dated anyone, saving his heart for her.

“Knock off? What do you mean?” she asked her innocently, blinking back the tears that were threatening to form. Perhaps it was a simple misunderstanding. However, Gisele’s cackle of a laugh told her otherwise.

“Oh honey, are you really that naive? Look at you, you’re a lesser version of myself. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?” she stated as if it was a face. She took the time to look at Gisele and realized she was right. Gisele had all the same features of her, but better. Higher cheekbones, fuller lips, her hair was healthier. And when it came to her body? (Y/n) could only dream of a chest as nice as hers with a stomach so flat, so toned. Was it a coincidence or was Neville really using her as a replacement for what he couldn’t have. “Poor thing, anyone with eyes could see-”

“Could see what?” Twyla seethed, placing an arm around her shoulder as she walked up to the two. (Y/n) felt relieved from the familiar face, wiping the tears that had fallen from her eyes, much to her efforts of trying to get them to not do so. “What business do you have with my friend?”

“We were just chatting! Right..” her eyes widened at the fact she didn’t know the girl’s name. Twyla smirked, giving her an expectant look.

“Go on, what’s her name?” Twyla asked in a fake concerned tone. As the model stood there gaping, mouth opening and closing like a fish, the blonde scoffed, grabbing (Y/n) as she dragged her off.

“Come on (Y/n), we don’t associate with trash. Especially not trash wearing grandma’s pearls and perfume.” she turned around once more, looking her up and down. “It’s a good thing you’re a model because you sure don’t know how to dress.” and with that they were off, walking out to the garden of the museum. When they got there, the taller girl looked at the (e/c) eyed girl, a concerned look present on her face. “What was that? I don’t like her, she gives me bad vibes. Not like, sinister, just...petty. I’ve seen her in those magazines and stuff. What’s her name? Gizette?”

“Gisele. Apparently she was Neville’s....Neville’s ex girlfriend.” tears began to fall from her eyes as she sobbed softly, falling forward into her friend’s chest. Without hesitation, the blonde wrapped her arms around her, hugging her close. “She essentially said that I’m just a replacement for the real thing which is her and, it must be true! I mean just look at her, she’s gorgeous Twyla! Runway gorgeous. She’s an international model and I’m..I’m just me.”

“Oh honey, I hate to ruin this heart to heart, actually this is an awful heart to heart, but she’s definitely lying! I’ve seen the way Neville looks at you and so has everyone else. I’ve got this feeling that he’s lying and you know me with my feelings, they’re always right.” (Y/n) looked up at her, sniffling some as Twyla wiped at her runny makeup with her tissue. “Plus, that easily could be the other way around. How do you know she wasn’t just a replacement for you?” she froze at her words. She was right, it very well could be the other way around. How would she know unless she asked? As if she read her mind, the next words aligned with her thoughts perfectly. “You know, there’s only one thing to do.”

“Ask him about it?” she gulped at the thought. Neville had been nothing but kind to her since they reconnected. She had nothing to be scared about. Whether it was learning the truth or Neville himself she feared she didn’t know. Or, at least she didn’t wanna admit which one it was.

“Oh..I was gonna say find this bitch and replace her shampoo with nair. You know, maybe even give her some of that tea my aunt gave to her husband.” Twyla shrugged, leaning back some with a sigh. “Buut, that’s good too.”

(Y/n) gave the girl a questionable look. “Twy….didn’t your aunt use that tea to kill her husband?” the girl nodded, sitting up as she dusted herself off.

“Yeah. Your point?” Before she could respond, Neville came running up to the two of them with a smile. As he placed a peck on her lips, she gave him a weak smile.

“Hi, love. I missed you.” he said, a dopey lovesick smile on his face. He cleared his throat, ears tinted cheeks. “I-I was wonderin’ if uh, you’d like to go on a date with me tomorrow. You know, after the mission.” her eyes widened as she felt her face grow fuzzy. A date? She was sure he had something worse to say, especially after the fiasco from earlier. ‘Gisele must’ve not been able to find him.’

“I’d love to! I’ve never been on a date before.” she answered honestly, giving him a smile. “I can’t wait.” he looked surprised as she accepted, picking her up as he spun her around before setting her back down gently. Placing a peck on her lips, he stroked her cheek.

“Fantastic. Oh I can’t wait. I’m going to spoil you on our date tomorrow,” he leaned near her ear, resting his hands on her rear, “And tonight too. How’s bout you sit on my face again, yeah?” she nodded shyly, looking down at their shoes. Neville chuckled some, walking away before another pair of men’s dress shoes stopped in front of her. Looking up she saw Seamus who gave her a small smile.

“Don’t worry mini boss, I kept that stupid woman away from him.” her eyes widened as she went to speak. “How’d I know? I could tell something was up and plus I saw her enter as we were leaving. Thought she’d try something. Whatever she said wasn’t true.” He patted her back (a bit too roughly..) as he offered her a thumbs up. “But, I know you’d still probably rather hear that from him.”

“You know Finnigan, for someone who acts so stupid you’re kinda smart sometimes.” Twyla said, giggling as she intertwined her hands with Draco. Draco offered her a nod to which she returned before beginning to walk off with the rest of them. She smiled when she saw Neville waiting for her by the door, hand outstretched with the same look he’d always give her. As they got in the car, she watched as the beautiful buildings passed them in the distance. It was then she decided.

She’d ask him, no matter how scared she was of the answer. Neville was sure to give her an honest one, but was it the one she wanted to hear?

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#neville x reader #Neville Longbottom #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you #neville x you #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #mafia!neville #mafia!au

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five-rivers · 3 years

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Long Night in the Valley Chaper 3

“A mind affecting quirk?” asked the secretary. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Recovery Girl, grimly. “If I had realized, I would never have left him alone while I reviewed the scans. I thought it was something physical. By the time we locked the campus down, he was already gone.”

The secretary found herself shaking, slightly. Even retired, even barely able to use his quirk, the idea of All Might under mind control, under a villain’s control, was terrifying.

“I’m going to put you through to the chairman,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “I’m sure he’ll mobilize every available resource.” She pressed the button and sagged in her chair glad she didn’t have to make real decisions.

Then the calls from the people in charge of the Musutafu mental-invasion training activity started rolling in. As she answered the phone, she couldn’t help but think that All Might probably would have benefited from the training.

Of all the things Tsuyu had expected to see while waiting to be directed to her room for testing, Midoriya fleeing from a group of heroes was not one of them.

True, Midoriya had yet to come out of a class trip or event without some kind of trauma, but she’d been expecting villains to be the cause. Not… whatever this was.

Kaminari and Aoyama, started forward, only to be held back by Shouji, who just barely managed to catch his phone (he’d been playing a Pokémon game with Kouda).

“Hey!” said Kaminari. “What gives, man? Midoriya is in trouble.”

“Yes,” said Shouji, quietly, the lips on his extra arm barely moving, “and look at who he’s in trouble with.”

“We can’t just go barreling in,” agreed Tsuyu. “We need to find the rest of the class and get out of here.”

After all, if one member of 1-A was in trouble, they all were.

Aoyama placed his pointer finger and his thumb over his chin. “I have a better idea,” he said, “what do you say to a ~*sparkling*~ distraction to help our friend—and us—escape?”

Tsuyu followed his gaze and swallowed a sigh.

People should really stop leaving electrical boxes out in the open like that. It was basically a signed invitation.

(Izuku did not notice the power outage that occurred a mere fraction of a second after he burst out of the center’s doors, but if he did, he would have been grateful for the chaos it caused and the precious time it bought him.)

“That’s the room they were in,” said Fumikage, Dark Shadow screening him and the rest of his group from view. “I believe that Hagakure was—” he hesitated “—there,” he said, finally.

“Are you sure we should go after them?” asked Mineta. “I mean, it’s Aizawa-sensei and the top of the class!”

“Since Midoriya is the only one who came out,” Yaoyorozu, coolly, “it’s probable that they’re either asleep or heavily outnumbered. Especially considering how out of character it is for Midoriya to leave them behind.”

“Unless he was targeted and was trying to draw them away,” said Satou.

They considered that silently for a moment.

“Bakugou’s group was in that room,” said Jirou, pointing with ear jack. “They’ll definitely be asleep by now. Not to back away from a fight, but if we really think our class is in danger, we should get them out first, of only because they’re probably not at the center of this.”

“Hmm,” said Tokoyami. “The fate of Bakugou, much like Midoriya, is often shouded in darkness.”

“I hate that you have a point,” groaned Jirou. “Yaomomo? You’re kind of in charge here. I think it’s your call.”

Yaoyorozu made a rather pained looking face.

“We need to find everyone who hasn’t gone into a room yet, and we need to gather information,” she said. “Maybe this is just a misunderstanding.”

Fumikage, for one, rather doubted it.

This Deku was different again. Older than the ones they had seen so far.

He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on when Shigaraki grabbed him at the mall, including that ridiculous ‘t-shirt’ t-shirt and the bright yellow backpack. Ochako swallowed uneasily and looked back at Suzuki.

Did Deku’s appearance reflect his understanding of the situation? Did he think that what was going on now was like what had happened then?

Was he right?

(A part of her, a part that was very used to Aizawa’s logical ruses, was still hoping this was part of the course.)

“We already have proof you’re the traitor,” wheezed Suzuki. Despite sustaining so many wounds, beyond being out of breath he was currently unharmed. Even his suit only had a few streaks of dirt on them.

“Deku’s not a traitor!” shouted Ochako. “He’s risked his life for so many of us, he’s hurt himself so much-! It’s ridiculous you could even think that.”

Alright. Perhaps the fight and general situation had Ochako more on edge than she’d thought.

Or, perhaps, she was just tired of this jerk badmouthing one of her best friends.

“I think,” said Aizawa, splitting his attention between Suzuki and the new Deku, “that anyone who actually knew Midoriya would tell you the same thing. Assuming you asked.”

“What are you really here for?” asked Deku. “Are you really working for the Commission?”

Suzuki wrinkled his nose momentarily, apparently affronted, but then started to laugh. “You think we didn’t? They came to us. Aldera Middle School ring any bells? Why don’t you tell your new friends you used to be—”

He cut off as Deku moved past them, smoothly dodging Aizawa-sensei, and performing a textbook-perfect takedown of Suzuki, complete with handcuffs and avoidance of Suzuki’s skin.

(What was Suzuki’s quirk, anyway?)

“Wish I could have done this back then,” muttered Deku, hauling Suzuki around. “What is your problem?”

“You can’t hurt me here,” said Suzuki. “Are you scared of the truth?”

Aizawa pulled Deku away from Suzuki.

“Midoriya,” he said. “You are Midoriya, right?”

“I…” Deku’s face scrunched up. “I think so? It—I think it’s more complicated than it should be.”

Ochako saw Suzuki get up before Aizawa did, and leaped forward, aiming for his face. She missed. Suzuki’s fingers brushed against Deku’s cheek and the world shredded around them.

Aizawa had known going into this that a dream world would be, almost by definition, illogical and annoying. He had simply underestimated how illogical and annoying.

Oh, the fight with maybe-Midoriya was straightforward enough, even factoring in his control of the environment. But the aftermath was another story.

Aizawa knew he’d been hit. He’d been hit, solidly, several times. Yet, he didn’t feel so much as bruised. He was also, for some unidentifiable reason, wearing a suit, and his students, except for Midoriya, who had disappeared yet again, had been put in unfamiliar school uniforms.

Speaking of which, they were now standing in front of a middle school, the beach nowhere in sight.

Adding that to the fact that at least some items (e.g., Midoriya’s handcuffs) seemed to disappear when no one was paying attention to them…

Aizawa’s headache was rapidly growing. Not to mention—

“He practically admitted he wasn’t Midoriya! What more do you want?” demanded Suzuki, who seemed to be ignoring the fact that he was being stared down by three hostile, combat-trained teenagers.

“I want,” said Aizawa, “to wait out the clock. Midoriya isn’t attacking us anymore, and I don’t particularly feel the need to snoop around in his head.”

Suzuki’s eye twitched. “Saito isn’t waking us up until the end of the course, a full six hours from now,” he said. “You want to have this stand-off for six hours, or do you want to find something that will help you protect the rest of your little gremlin students?”

“What do you mean, until the end of the course?” demanded Iida, adjusting his glasses. “She’s supposed to let us out in an hour!”

Aizawa sighed, but kept his gaze fixed on Suzuki. Iida could be a little too fixated on rules sometimes.

“So? No one will miss you until the lunch break, and that can be easily covered up!”

“We should call the school, too,” decided Momo. “I think Principal Nezu likes Midoriya.”

“Huh? Really?” asked Satou, surprised.

Momo nodded. “Whenever Midoriya is brought up at student council meetings, he sort of… chuckles. He does that with Aizawa-sensei, too, come to think of it. And All Might.”

“That’s terrifying,” said Mineta.

No one said anything, because they didn’t really want to agree with Mineta, even about something so mundane.

Sirens, from an ambulance called for Saito Yume, were just audible in the distance.

Somewhat farther away, the principal of UA realized that calling the Hero Commission about Yagi’s disappearance might have been a tactical error.

In the Hero Commission headquarters, the chairman determined that, no, this was not going to be covered up easily, and started making alternate plans.

“Then we’ll wait for the whole six hours,” said Aizawa. “Consider it endurance training,” he told his students, “for stakeouts and whatever.”

“And whatever?” asked Todoroki.

“If you have to deal with this nonsense now,” said Aizawa, “as students, it’s only going to get worse when you’re pros.”

“Ah,” said Todoroki, nodding sagely. “I see.”

“Look, if you’re all so sure he has nothing to hide, what’s the harm in looking?”

“Kids,” said Aizawa, cutting off whatever responses the three of them were about to snap out, “don’t engage him.” This was going to be a very long six hours. Or five hours. It had to have been at least one hour since they went under. Right? It had to be, if the universe was fair.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Suzuki sighed, closed his eyes, and straightened his tie. “I apologize,” he said. “The appearance of that… projection unsettled me, and I have not fully explained why the Hero Commission has decided to act as it has in the case of Midoriya Izuku.”

“Who cares?” asked Todoroki. “The commission sucks.”

Undeterred, Suzuki continued. “I’m sure you have all noticed that Midoriya Izuku displays two quirks.”

“So do I and Aizawa-sensei,” said Todoroki.

“I what?” asked Aizawa.

“Your floaty hair thing.”

“That’s just an emitter effect,” said Aizawa.

“But it works on your capture weapon,” said Todoroki. “Midoriya showed me a diagram, once. It was very convincing. He said not to bring it up though, because you were probably hiding it from… villains… oh…” He trailed off as he looked back at Suzuki.

This was not, Aizawa reminded himself sternly, the time to have an existential crisis.

He was having a talk with Midoriya when he got out of this.

“A secondary quirk that he only discovered in high school? You must see how far fetched this is. Not to mention his first quirk only—”

The ground rumbled. Abruptly, they were surrounded by bright, approximately human-shaped blurs of color. Because why not?

Among those blurs of color ran tiny middle school Midoriya, because, again, why not?

Using the distraction, and something that had to be related to either a quirk or Suzuki’s greater experience with Saito’s quirk, Suzuki escaped their little circle and ran after Midoriya. Aizawa’s students and, thus, Aizawa followed.

“Come again?” asked Vlad King, rubbing the inside of his ear. “I think I must have misheard you.”

“Yagi stole your car,” repeated Powerloader, sounding completely done with the world.

Vlad, still uncomprehending, blinked up at his coworker. “Is there, like, a student called Yagi?” he asked, trying to process the diametrically opposed concepts of ‘Yagi’ and ‘stole’ before even getting started on the ‘your car’ part of the sentence.

“No.”

With despair, his mind finally registering that the Symbol of Peace had stolen his car, Vlad said, “But he doesn’t even drive!”

Vlad King’s car was, objectively, rather terrible. It was an antique, almost a hundred and fifty years old, manufactured when regulations were loose in the wake of the dawn of quirks. It was loud. It was ugly. The gas efficiency wasn’t terrible, but it came at the cost of high emissions. The air conditioner was broken. It had no back up camera.

It had three things going for it. One, it had a functional safety system. Two, the ceiling was high enough for Toshinori to fit. Three, it had no GPS or tracking system attached to it.

True, the vehicle’s other features meant that the car would be remembered and tracked sooner or later, but the point of this exercise was to get to Izuku as quickly as possible and then away from his pursuers as quickly as possible. They’d leave the car somewhere after that. Perhaps with the keys still in it. Perhaps somewhere disreputable.

… That would be rather mean to Vlad.

Eh, thought someone who may or may not have been Toshinori. They were doing him a favor, honestly.

(It was a good thing Six knew how to drive. Seven and Five with their fancy mobility-oriented quirks were useless. Don’t even get him started on Mr. ‘I’m going to live in the woods and isolate myself from society’ and Ms. ‘driving laws can’t have changed that much in a hundred and fifty years.’ Unbelievable.)

Toshinori stopped the car. The back door opened and Izuku slid in. He shut the door and Toshinori started driving again.

They didn’t speak to one another because they didn’t have to. Izuku started undressing, pulling on the clothes Toshinori had picked up for him quickly. Hero merchandise, mostly. Bright but anonymous. Few would expect fugitives to wear something like this.

“It’s soft,” said Izuku, quietly, rubbing the edge of the hoody between his fingers.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Toshinori. In the rearview mirror, Toshinori could see Blackwhip twine around his hands and wrists protectively. His headache let up, slightly.

They’d hide until the quirk wore off, and then they could determine their next steps.

The commission president smiled at the heroes he had assembled. It was a nice smile, an expressive smile, one he had worked on for a long time. Right now, it said that he regretted the circumstances that brought them together, but that their presence cheered him, nonetheless. It said that he was putting on a brave front while delivering grim news.

It had the desired effect. The heroes leaned forward, with the exception of Hawks. (Damn that truculent child. Perhaps he was due for some retraining.)

“I regret to inform you all that former number one hero All Might, also known as Yagi Toshinori, has been abducted by the traitor Midoriya Izuku through the use of a mental quirk we believe he obtained from the villain All for One, publicly known as the Scourge of Kamino.”

Toshinori and Izuku had spoken to one another concerning hiding places and rendezvous points on several occasions. It was a necessity when engaged in a shadow war with a two-hundred-year-old monster and continued to be so even after the war had come into the light.

Toshinori currently owned most of them, through various serpentine paths, shell corporations, and semi-fictitious holding companies. One could potentially, in theory, with great effort, reach Toshinori if one started with one of the hiding places and follow the horribly convoluted paper trail, but it was infinitely more difficult to start with Toshinori and arrive at one of the safe houses. Mainly because Toshinori had so many completely legitimate holdings.

Some of these places were older than they were, inherited, much like their quirk. And the very oldest of these technically wasn’t ‘owned’ by anyone at all. It didn’t exist on paper. It had been made by an unregistered quirk during the dawn of quirks, when the government was in shambles. Only two living people knew about it now. Even All for One had never found the place.

“We’ll be safe here,” said Toshinori, unnecessarily, as he opened the door. The hinges were silent. Toshinori had oiled them the last time he had restocked the pantry.

Izuku nodded, then yawned. Everything about today had been exhausting, and his brain still wasn’t working right.

But was it really okay for him to sleep, to rest, when he had left his friends behind?

Why had he even done that?

Could he even call himself a friend when-?

Toshinori put his hand on Izuku’s shoulder, and Izuku felt his concern soak into his bones. The others were with him. Uraraka, Todoroki, Iida, and Aizawa were not in danger, they reminded him. Izuku (Nine) was. The others were in good standing with the commission, more or less, and would likely remain so. For all Suzuki’s posturing, it appeared he had no real evidence against Izuku’s friends, otherwise he would have used it for blackmail by now.

Besides, Izuku wasn’t really the one to make the decision to run.

Izuku frowned. Was he? Wasn’t he?

There was a bed in the little hidden house. Toshinori pulled a set of sheets out of a small cabinet and began to make it. Izuku retrieved and fluffed the pillows. It was interesting. He’d never actually been here before. Toshinori had only told him how to get here, and yet…

But the others had been here. One and Two, mostly, but Three had come a few times, and Four had gotten a lot of use out of it before he left the city entirely. Five hadn’t really needed it—he’d been a pro hero, after all—but he’d kept the place up, just in case, and passed it on to Six when it was time. Six had been underground and had kept this place his ace in the hole, his last fallback. Seven had learned of it from his notes since he hadn’t lived long enough to tell her properly. So much had been lost…

Izuku shook his head and focused on the bed. Wordlessly, he was coaxed into it. It would be better to sleep, for now. His attention wouldn’t be divided, and Toshinori would keep him safe.

“Trace,” said the commission president, looking at the second-youngest hero present. The woman was just a little bit older than Hawks. “With your quirk, I think you know why we called you in.”

The woman, who usually worked as a rescue hero, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll need something of either Midoriya’s or All Might’s, and their last known location. We’ll be able to rescue All Might in no time!”

#bnha #fic #my fic #long night in the valley #I keep posting this at midnight #when no one will see it #oh well #it gets done when it gets done #boku no hero academia

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kasterisk-of-the-void · 4 years

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Act 1: Sayu -- Sailor Ningyo

{I finally finished the first part of Sailor Sayu!! I’ll be writing this like how the Sailor Moon Crystal episodes go and how it mirrors the manga! I don’t have AO3 atm but eventually I’ll put it up there too. Anyways~ happy reading~!} --Kasterisk

The sound of an immensely loud phone alarm erupted throughout the house, completely shattering the serenity of the morning. After a few minutes of ringing, a sleepy hand sluggishly dragged its way across to press the "off" option. A voice from the downstairs called out once silence was regained. "Heyyy! You better be getting ready for school up there or else you're going to be late!" Of course this would fall on deaf ears as a sleepy figure slowly rose up from the cutely decorated bed sheets. Upon closer inspection, the drowsy figure was revealed to be a young girl with messy white hair. She blinked her vibrant eyes awake in her sleepy daze. "What time is it...?" She mumbled, glancing over at her phone. Grasping it she opened up the home screen to see...uh-oh. "Oh no! I really am going to be late again!" She exclaimed, throwing the covers off her body in a hurry.

Who exactly was this girl that was warned of being late? Well, the answer is simple. This is Sayu, a sixteen year-old teen who's attending her tenth grade year in high school. Unfortunately, her attendance record never seemed to be pleasant, given that she was throwing on her uniform haphazardly every morning. She thundered down the stairs hurriedly, not even eating breakfast before she was already out the door. "I have to go now bye-byeeeeee!!" The woman that was her caretaker sighed softly while she watched the young girl dash down the street. "I swear with that girl..." She lightly laughed, adjusting her glasses to read the latest news report about the current fixation of a beautiful heroine in Vinyl City.

"I'm going to be in trouble again!" Sayu whined while sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. She couldn't get herself out of trouble knowing that her teachers would scold her for being late more frequently these days. However, due to not paying attention in front of her, she felt her footing slip and immediately hit the concrete. "O-Ow..." She rubbed her head in pain before looking behind her to see what made her trip. Wait, was that a cat?! A wave of guilt immediately washed over her as she leapt upwards, scooping the cat into her arms. "Oh no I'm so sorry little kitty! I didn't see you there!" She apologized to the animal with teary eyes. Yet, the cat didn't seem to be so focused on the injury, instead it was scratching at the objects placed upon its head. 'Huh...that's strange. Why would a cat need band-aids?' She thought with a puzzled expression. The cat seemed to be very bothered by them...maybe she should take them off?

Apprehensively she undid the band-aids by peeling them off the cat's fur. Yet, as soon as she did, the cat quickly leapt away from her and onto a wall. Sayu turned her head to see the cyan-colored creature staring right back at her. When she looked at the cat's forehead she was met with the sight of a golden music note right where the band-aids were. "That's one strange birthmark..." She whispered, mesmerized by the cat's gaze. Suddenly, the sound of the school bell went off around the area, quickly snapping Sayu from her trance. "Wait!! I'm almost there please don't count me as late!!" Sayu shouted, running towards the school gates in a futile attempt to be there on time. She shouldn't have gotten so distracted with that cat and now she was going to be in even more trouble!

And she was exactly right. Upon setting foot into her classroom, she was immediately sent back into the hall by her teacher who was fuming at her. "Oh my...late again...and I promised that I would get better at that!" She lamented as she stood alone. Not too long after, Sayu received her lecture from her teacher as well as her last test grade. Needless to say, her grades were also in need of a desperate spruce up. Even her classmates and friends were having a much better time with their schooling than she was. Though, if you asked her personally, she would tell you that she wasn't exactly so focused on school like how she should. After all, she wanted to make relationships with her peers and have tons and tons of friends! It was a simple wish she had ever since she was little.

Come lunchtime, Sayu sat with her peers as they talked about their various topics and interests. "So have you heard about that music store that got robbed that one time? Well, turns out that Sailor E was the one who saved it. Ironically, that same store is having a sale after all the hoopla." Sayu's classmate, Gigi informed the group. This made the white haired girl perk up in interest. "Really? Sailor E is always doing good things for other people!" She replied, slipping some shellfish into her mouth. Another girl then stood up as she posed dramatically to likely fantasize about the ordeal. "We just have to go down there! Can you imagine all the songs and music styles we could have if we go?" "Of course you'd be the most excited, Celine." Sayu giggled happily while the others joined in laughter. Lunchtime eventually ended and so the students went back to finish the rest of their day.

Later on that afternoon, the group did end up going to the music store that Gigi mentioned. They all stared and fawned over the seemingly endless amounts of records and big brand instruments...and apparently so did all the adults! In fact there were so many people there it became hard to even get in. Sayu sighed, glancing down at her test that she held in her hands. There was zero chance that she would get anything nice with such a bad score like that. Maybe next time she could get a better score in order to get cool music stuff like the others? "I can't show Miss Barbara this...she'll be super duper mad that I flunked!" She said as she folded up the paper and tossed it away from her. Though instead of landing it into a trashcan, she ended up hitting someone behind her with it! "Hey-- my gorgeous face isn't a trashcan!"

"Huh--?" Sayu turned around to see where the voice was coming from and was met with the figure of a guy. He had white hair almost exactly like her own, including a few strands that seemed to stand alone like her cowlick. His eyes were a vivid white with black sclerae, and his body seemed to be...mechanical? Well it wasn't that strange given that there were tons and tons of different people these days. If anything, Sayu found it incredibly neat! Although, the tuxedo he was wearing kind of gave her the thought of a grandiose party to be attended.

A moment of silence passed between the two as they kept staring at each other. About five minutes had passed and the stranger broke eye contact with her to look at the folded up piece of paper. "Wait please don't-!!" But it was too late for Sayu's plea as the other was witness to the dreadful test score. "Wow, a 30 point test grade? You really should study more often, maybe I could tutor you?" He chuckled with a grin on his face. Sayu blinked her eyes at him, stunned. 'How mean!!!' She thought angrily in her head and quickly snagged the test away from him. "You're so mean! You don't need to look at that!!" She retorted, running away from the tuxedo wearing male. He watched her dash away from sight...though it appeared that his attention was drawn towards the bustling music shop. "...Maybe I will find what I'm looking for here." A mutter left his lips for no one else to hear.

However, to both parties, neither would know of the nefarious plot festering inside the store by the salesperson at this very minute. 'I'll collect all the minds of these people to only support the power of rock, and soon our takeover will begin.' It thought quietly while it watched the citizens browse and buy almost every record the store had. Little did it know though, one purple haired girl seemed to be quite nosy about where all these special items were being stored...

Meanwhile with the now downtrodden Sayu, she still dwelled on the horrible test she had. She needed to desperately distract herself from what just happened with that...who even was he anyway? He could surely use some more kindness in his life that's for sure. Walking along she managed to catch sight of the local arcade, one of her favorite places to be in. She always favored the bright colors, the hues the building gave off, and how much fun others were having. In a way it was like her home away from home. As she stepped inside, her face instantly lit up when she saw her favorite worker. "Zam!! Hi hi!" She waved rapidly to greet the bearded man. The said man looked over to see his favorite customer with the same energy she had. "Sayu! Just gotten out of school for the day? Are you here to play your favorite game again?" He asked, rustling the girl's hair. Sayu burst into a fit of giggles as she nodded her head in response. Zam then pointed to the DDR game in the middle of the machines. "Lucky for you, you're the only one really here today so you can go crazy as much as you want!" It didn't take more than a second before Sayu was already turning on the game and stretching her legs. When she had time to play, she liked to dance and even sing some of the songs provided by the arcade game. Zam watched the young girl dance around with enough energy to power up a whole house, still smiling. She was his favorite customer by far, he even cheered for her to get new high scores when she played.

Sayu ended up spending hours upon hours playing the game until her feet nearly gave out. Time really flies when you're having fun, huh? The girl hopped off the dance machine, a yawn leaving her lips. "I should go home, it's been a loooooooong day." She said softly while picking up her stuff. "Alright, be careful on the way back! And don't forget-- hm? Now what do we have here?" A sudden meow sounded through the arcade, gaining the attention of the worker and customer. Once they peered over a counter Sayu gasped with surprise. It was the strange kitty cat again! "It's the cat from this morning! Hello Miss Kitty, I hope you're not mad at me for earlier!"

'Huh…' Zam scratched his head lightly with a puzzled look, gently knocking his headphones. "This cat has been lingering around here for a few days, not sure why though." He explained to Sayu. The cat in question stared deeply at the girl as soon as she laid eyes on her. Sayu in turn really wanted to play with it but she really needed to be heading home. "Sorry kitty but I can't come play with you, I gotta go home! I'll see you tomorrow Zam, bye!!!" She waved farewell to the man and the mysterious cat, quickly exiting the building.

Whilst she made her way home, in another part of town a crime was happening. That very same store that she visited earlier that day was being ransacked by the very salesperson who was running it. "I have enough power to take back to home base, I shall keep looking for the important disc here." The robotic drone spoke as it searched and made a mess of the main sales floor. As it searched, a creaking noise resonated inside the large room, making it obvious that someone else was present. "Woah...what is all...huh?" The robot eerily turned to Celine, who really showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time. The girl didn't have much time to run before she was caught in a scuffle for her life.

Albeit while that was happening, Sayu had finally returned home for the evening. She of course had to tell her caretaker about the test score...in which she did indeed get a big lecture about it. Completely worn from the lecture and all the events from today, Sayu flopped onto her bed from exhaustion. "I'll get my homework done...another time..." Her words slurred as she soon drifted off to sleep. The girl curled up in her bedsheets, completely immersed into her dreamstate. As she sunk deeper into her dreams, she found herself in an odd setting. She was fighting against what appeared to be a monster of sorts, using crazy signal moves as if she was in a video game. To make matters weirder, the same cat with the weird birthmark from before was just up ahead, trapped in a cage! 'Wow, this reminds me of...the game at the arcade! Wait, am I...?' She pieced the dream together as she used powers that activated just like how her favorite game operated. Using her dream powers she ended up defeating the monster and saving the cat. As she moved forward, she soon realized that she couldn't exactly feel her legs move. 'What--?' She glanced down slowly at her lower half, only to discover that she no longer had legs! Before she could get out another question, she was instantly reawakened by the sensation of something scratching her face.

"Owie!! Where did that--" "Ooh, you're finally awake! And by the way, it's not a birthmark." Turning her face to the right side of her bed, Sayu was met with the small figure perched on the window...which was revealed to be a cat. The same exact cat she had seen multiple times, only this time with a large pink hat. She was even wearing a pair of cute pink sunglasses! Wait a second, did that cat just talk?! "I have been looking everywhere for you, Sayu! My name is Daphne, and you have been chosen to become a sailor guardian!" She said happily, all the while Sayu sat astounded. A sailor guardian? What was that?? Was she still dreaming right now??? "Y'know I didn't expect kids from this planet to use their time like that to bully a cat. How rude of them." Daphne continued with a slightly annoyed tone, "Oh but I have to thank you so much for removing those band-aids they put on me. When they were on, I couldn't tell which way I was going nor where to find the chosen one. So once again, thanks a bunch sweetheart."

Sayu couldn't believe what was happening right now. There was a talking cat, in her bedroom, telling her it's her magical destiny to become some kind of guardian. If that wasn't extremely dreamlike that she didn't know what to tell you. "...And I'm not dreaming, right? You really mean it?!" She asked, a look of eagerness in her eyes. Daphne giggled at the girl's question and removed something from her hat. Out of the hat came a sparkling (yet very unusual) golden brooch, decorated in symbols and gemstones. "This is now yours, Sayu. Please take it!" She insisted for the girl to try it on. Sayu gently picked up the item and placed it over her school ribbon."Oh my gosh, Daphne this is so pretty! Thank you so much!" She thanked the cat, almost forgetting about the bizarreness of the situation.

Daphne then cleared her throat as she observed the girl move around. "Now listen to me, Sayu. There have been strange things going on in Vinyl City, stuff that the police can't figure out. Your mission is to find your allies who will aid you on the quest to defeat your enemies! Another task of your mission is to find and protect the princess and--" She wasn't able to continue her explanation before the pendant Sayu put on began to glow brightly. "Daphne, it's glowing!! What should I do?" "Alright, repeat after me!! As loud as you can, say 'Pyun Prism Power!'" Sayu took a minute to remember the words and took a deep breath. Raising her hand high, she put in all the passion that she could. "PYUN PRISM POWER, MAKE UP!!"

In what appeared to be a powerful whirlwind, Sayu felt her body become encased in ribbons and light. She felt a surge of power rushing through her body as she let the magic of the brooch complete the transformation. Her body became weightless like she was turning into a bunch of feathers dancing in the wind. Seconds later, the light dissipated and she was set back down to the floor with a new sensation gripping her mind. "W-What happened? I feel so different!" She stuttered with outright confusion, glancing down at her outfit. Though the shock from the outfit was the least of her problems when she looked past the skirt, a gasp following suit! "I-- I have a-- I have a TAIL! Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!!" She squealed with sheer excitement as she moved her new fins around the room. It was as if she was an actual, real mermaid. She could move through the air so effortlessly like she was directly underwater; this was all too good to be true! Daphne smiled at the new guardian who seemed to be just as eager to take on this new destiny like she was.

Alas, the time for joyous celebration was cut short by the abrupt beeping of Sayu's hair ornaments. "Huh? What's that?" She quizzed as she tried to focus on the origin of the noise. It didn't take her long before she realized that she could hear the familiar voice of her friend Celine, screaming in fear! "That's Celine! She's in trouble, I have to help her Daphne!" She cried as Daphne nodded her head. Surprisingly enough, Sayu was able to move rather well in her new form even if it was her first time transforming. Quickly making way out of the house undetected, the duo rushed to the scene where Celine was currently fighting for her life. The fashionista girl felt the air leaving her lungs as she tried to desperately escape the grasp of the rock-aligned fiend. "L-Let go of m-me!!" This made the mechanical being squeeze her tighter. "You just had to show up at the wrong time, foolish girl. Now just go ahead and--" The robot's threat would go unfinished as the doors to the store flew open! "Let her go, you evil person!!"

The drone slowly turned its attention to the doorway, catching the sight of the young mermaid clad in a stylish sailor fuku. "Who the hell are you?!" It screeched, stopping the strangulation on the other girl. Sayu stopped for a moment, realizing that she didn't even have a name for her superhero self. 'Oh I should've thought of something when I was getting ready! Ummm...' Daphne glanced over at Sayu and then pointed to her shimmering multi-colored tail. This gave the mermaid an eureka moment as she posed dramatically! "For love and for justice, I am the pretty sailor-soldier: Sailor Ningyo! And in the name of Love, I'll punish you!!" She declared, the moonlight behind her illuminating her form. Regardless of her powerful speech, the drone was not impressed with the new super heroine. "Sailor Ningyo? There is no knowledge of you in my systems. No matter, awaken minions, arise for your dark lord and kill this troublemaker!!" It didn't take long until the store was completely surrounded by those who became brainless zombies due to the power of rock hypnotism. Sayu glanced to her left and her right, dodging all the attacks the hypnotized citizens made in order to end her life. "You have to fight back Sailor Ningyo!" Daphne shouted but Sayu was still struggling in dodging all the blows. "I don't know what to do!! Oh-- U-Um-- maybe--" As she became even more surrounded, the girl took in another deep breath while closing her eyes. "LOVE LOVE SAYU PYUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!"

The frequency of Sayu's voice was so ear piercing that she shattered the glass windows around her, deafening her opponent in the process. The brainwashed people collapsed to the ground thanks to the sound waves she produced in the cutesy attack. "Nicely done Sailor Ningyo!!" Sayu heard an unfamiliar voice cheer but she didn't have time to search for the source as Daphne leapt beside her. "Now's your chance, Sayu! Throw your tiara and shout 'Pyun Tiara Boomerang'!!" Tapping the golden tiara on her forehead, Sayu watched it transform into a glowing spinning disc in the palm of hand. Raising her arm backward she aimed it directly at the enemy and let it fly! "Pyun Tiara Boomerang!!" In one swift hit the tiara slashed straight through the robot, rendering it to a pile of nuts and bolts on the floor. "I did it!! Wait, it was a robot??" There were so many questions that bounced around Sayu's mind about this whole scenario entirely. Truly, what was going on? "Well, it appears I won't be finding the disc here, but at least I saw something to stifle my breath for a little while." The same voice from earlier caught Sayu's attention once again as she looked up to the windows.

A masked figure clad in what she would describe as "phantom thief" attire leaped into the air towards the outside. His cape blew into the wind in his grand exit like it represented the night sky. He gazed back at her, a soft smile adorning his features. "I'll give you my name to remember. My name is Tuxedo White, it's been an honor to meet you Sailor Ningyo~!" His tone was ever-so charming and friendly, making her feel comforted somehow. Maybe he was her ally too? She sure hoped so, he looked like he was definitely against the bad guys! ...Though, was he actually here the whole time before she even got here? Instinctively she swam her way out of the store to catch a glimpse of the masked man one last time before he dashed away into the night. Daphne at this moment looked over all the unconscious people that were waking up from their hypnosis. It was a good thing the first battle went well...though, this was only the beginning. "I hope you're ready for more battles in the future, Sayu. This is only the first fight and-- dear are you listening to me?" With a sigh the cat tugged on Sayu's arm, pulling her away from the scene whilst the girl kept daydreaming about what more was to come!

The next day at school, Sayu listened to Celine gossip and retell the events of that night. "And just when I thought I was going to be done for, a mermaid wearing a sailor suit beat up the bad guys! And did I mention she looked so adorable doing it? Cuteness kills! Oh but I didn't get to really see her face…" She shouted, almost exasperated. The others around her gave her a questionable look. "You sure you weren't dreaming it like that time you dreamt about Sailor E?" Kayane asked with a confused look on her face. This in turn made Celine furious as she claimed it to be true. Sayu throughout the story smiled away with a newfound giddiness. She couldn't believe that she did all that! Who knows what adventures lie ahead of her and her new friend Daphne? And would she see that mysterious Tuxedo White again? The possibilities were endless!

...Still, somewhere far away from her school and the planet, a figure was replaying the events from last night. "Sailor Ningyo...she's got some nerve to get in the way of the plan." The figure muttered as a smirk formed on his metallic face. "Whatever, it won't stop me from getting that Legendary Disc. No matter what it takes." He spoke with the air of malice and determination, a pair of red eyes fading away into darkness.

#Sailor Moon au #nsr sayu #nsr #No Straight Roads #fanfiction #nsr au

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bytheangell · 4 years

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A Heavy Leaf to Turn

(Read on AO3) (tw: self confidence issues, weight gain, canon-compliant self destructive behaviors)

It starts with a comment meant in good fun, just a passing quip during a sparring session about Alec’s new lifestyle making him soft with a tap to his stomach with the staff for emphasis, but it’s enough. Alec isn’t one to fixate on his appearance, barely sparing it a passing thought on a day to day basis. But now that he sees it when he looks in the mirror after training - not just in his stomach but in his face, and a few other places, too - there’s no denying that between his home life and shift to more desk work at the Institute he’s definitely started to put on weight.

Is that what everyone thinks about him? That the desk job is making him weak? That he’s not up to par the way he was just a few months ago?

He shakes it off and tells himself he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter - he’s still in great shape, can still hold his own in the field, he still got where he is because he’s one of the best. Everything’s fine.

...until he starts subconsciously slipping back into his old habits.

---

Jace can practically feel the weight start to lift off of his parabatai’s soul more and more every day. Alec was never meant to be a warrior. Sure, he’s good at it. Hell, he’s one of the best, especially when you put that bow in his hands. But Alec never took any real joy out of the hunt, out of a violent life full of chaos and bloodshed. He did it because it was expected of him - and now that something entirely different is expected of him, something he’s far more suited to, he’s happier than Jace has ever seen him.

This is Alec’s strength: being a leader, making changes in a broken system, paving the way for others like him, he’s not only still playing a huge role as a Shadowhunter but he’s making even more of an impact now than he ever would have in the field. This isn’t just what’s best for Alec, it’s what’s best for the Shadow World as a whole, of that Jace has no doubt.

Even without their bond it’s easy enough to see that Alec feels truly happy, safe, and loved. It’s all of these things that allow him to grow more comfortable in his own skin. Quite literally: Alec goes from concerningly lean, a clear sign of the overexercising Alec used to resort to daily, to a much healthier weight in the months following his wedding. Jace never makes a joke about the weight Alec starts to put on because he sees it for what it is: recovery. This is Alec getting better, and he’ll be damned if one of his usual smart-ass remarks is what sets him off again.

Instead Jace makes sure Alec still trains with him when he can, makes sure he goes on a patrol or two to stay involved even if he’s spending most of his time behind a desk now, just so he doesn't feel too cooped up or start to go a little stir crazy. He provides the balance Alec needs between his old habits and the new ones he probably doesn’t even realize he’s forming. And Jace doesn’t even have to let Alec win - Alec can still kick his ass half the time without even trying.

Jace is also in the training room the day one of the other Shadowhunters jokes about Alec’s weight, and it takes all of his self control not to toss the seraph blade in his hands straight at the guy’s mouth to shut him up. It’s difficult not to react when he looks at Alec and immediately sees the way Alec looks down with that flash of awareness, the way Jace can see him pull his stomach muscles tighter in response, the glance towards his discarded shirt as Alec debates putting it back on.

Yeah, Jace is pretty sure he deserves a freaking medal for not murdering the guy on the spot, but instead he goes up to the two of them with a casual smile.

“Hey, mind if I tap in? It’s been awhile since I got to kick my parabatai’s ass,” Jace jokes, and the other guy leaves without question.

Alec gives Jace a look like he knows exactly what he’s doing but says nothing, and instead wastes no time lunging forward on the attack. He’s glad to see Alec relax a little more around him, but not completely, which is never a good sign.

“You alright? You seem a little off today,” Jace asks, not wanting to bring up the comment but hoping Alec will.

“I’m good,” is all Alec says before leaving.

Jace hopes he’s telling the truth.

---

Magnus starts to notice immediately. Of course he’s aware of his husband’s weight gain given just how often his hands (among other parts of him) come into contact with Alec’s body on a daily basis, but given the life Alec previously lead it’s certainly a good change to see. Alec is a far cry from the person he was when they first met - a person who punished himself physically to distract from a number of other problems in his life - and Magnus likes to think he had a pretty large role to play in the transition.

It’s no secret that Magnus disapproves of many aspects of Shadowhunter culture - their desire to sacrifice oneself for the perceived ‘greater good’ is one among many of those. Magnus watched Alec hide a number of self-destructive habits under the cover of those twisted values, and then watched Alec slowly, almost painstakingly, break away from that mindset. The fact that Alec hasn’t resorted to any of his old coping mechanisms lately is something that Magnus is grateful for, especially since he knows the sort of uphill battle overcoming self-destructive habits can be.

So what if Alec puts on a few extra pounds in the process? It’s the healthiest he’s seen Alec since they met, and honestly, Magnus finds him more attractive now than ever before. Though it never comes up Magnus is convinced that Alec has to have noticed by now as well and simply recognizes it as the nonissue it is.

Which obviously isn’t the case, he now realizes. Magnus can tell the exact day Alec becomes aware of it without any knowledge of what happened at the Institute. That night Alec is self-conscious the moment their clothes are off, something he hasn’t been in quite some time, and Magnus can feel the muscles tense and Alec’s entire body shift away at the trail of lingering kisses Magnus leaves down his stomach. However vocally willing and agreeable Alec is, there’s some lingering reservation he isn’t admitting, Magnus can tell, and isn’t surprised at how eagerly Alec agrees to his suggestion they call it a night instead of going any further.

When Alec leaves early the next morning, skipping the breakfast they had planned to go on a run instead, Magnus wonders if he should be worried; when Alec starts coming home from the Institute later and leaving early every morning, Magnus knows the answer is yes.

---

Isabelle catches onto the shift as well. Ever since the wedding Alec’s been happier, like, all of the time. It’s a good look for him - he’s spending a little more time behind the desk, sure but that’s where he needs to be right now. With rumors of him being up for Inquisitor there’s no need to be putting his life needlessly in danger on routine missions that any of them can handle, not while he’s Head of the Institute. Isabelle and Jace both agree to take on a few more roles around the Institute to make sure Alec isn’t the one pulling all nighters covering new trainees or short-staffed patrols.

The bags around her brother’s eyes start to fade, replaced by a light and a sparkle that she can’t remember ever seeing so consistently. She doesn’t mind the extra work if it means giving her big brother a bit of a break - he certainly deserves one after everything he’s been through lately, and she’s just so thrilled to see him so relaxed that she’d give up anything if it meant he’d get to be this content forever. It’s all she’s ever wanted for him - it’s all she’s ever wanted for anyone she cares about - and after all the time she spent worried he’d never find this sort of peace she’s determined to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets to keep it.

And then, practically overnight, something changes. Alec starts putting himself on extra assignments, unnecessary ones, and staying out later each night. There are plenty of other people to go instead but he volunteers anyway and by the time his paperwork is done at the end of the night he’s half asleep on his desk.

She can read the signs - he starts wearing baggier clothing, training in the stifling heat with a hoodie on, and even starts to shy away from some of her hugs depending on his mood. She understands - going from a constantly active life to one that’s more paper work than field work has to be rough, especially for someone who was literally conditioned for it from birth - but she also refuses to stand for it. She hugs harder, compliments him constantly, and even tries to convince him to go shopping with her so she can pick out some new outfits that will suit his current physique better. Anything to keep him from going back to the way things used to be. And after a while he seems to accept that this can work, too, he just has to get used to it.

After a few days of this Isabelle stops him in the middle of gearing up for yet another patrol. “I’m on this one. You go home and get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Alec insists, not even pausing.

“Alec, please-”

“I said I’m fine, Iz. Really. You can wrap up that autopsy report from earlier and head out, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Isabelle watches him leave with a frown, not sure what she can do to make this better and certain Alec wouldn’t let her intervene even if she did.

---

Maryse doesn’t see Alec as often as she’d like to, but the pair of them have been keeping up a once-a-week dinner so long as no emergencies pop up. This week is no different, except she can tell the entire way through that something is on his mind - he looks exhausted, like he’s been losing sleep, and it’s a look she knows well on him even if she hasn’t seen it in a while. Almost immediately about a dozen red flags go up.

The last time she saw him this bothered by something was the day he gave the Lightwood family ring back to her after his plan to propose to Magnus didn’t work out. Maryse can’t honestly say that she’s always held the most traditional of motherly values for her children - raising trained warriors puts a different spin on things than a mundane upbringing - but recent developments in all of their lives has shifted the way she looks at things now.

Things like the prioritizing of her children’s happiness over normal Shadowhunter measurements of success. And right now she can see that Alec isn’t happy, not the way he has been lately.

She doesn’t pry it out of him, and instead waits patiently, making small talk about their weeks until Alec finally puts his fork down over his barely touched meal and asks:

“Do you think I’m getting lazy?”

Maryse could laugh at how absurd the question is, but knows he means it. The gaze he locks on her is serious and troubled.

“Absolutely not. Why on earth would you think that?” She says instead.

“You haven’t heard anyone saying anything about… I dunno. How much time I spend in the office? I barely go on missions, my patrols have cut in half... and it’s great to have more time to spend with Magnus, don’t get me wrong, but even that… I’ve become so stagnant I’m actually gaining weight. I haven’t gained weight since I stopped getting taller!” He shakes his head in clear exasperation. “I just feel like I’m slipping up, like I should be doing more.”

“Is that why you spent all week pulling extra shifts?” She asks, remembering earlier when his recount of the week seemed much more intense than it had the past few months.

“Maybe,” Alec admits reluctantly. “I thought I could try to go back to full active duty, and just keep up with the paperwork at night. If I could pick up patrols and training the way I used to then maybe I could-”

“Go back to being as miserable as you used to be, too?” Maryse cuts him off, and Alec’s words fall short as his eyes widen in surprise.

“What?” She continues in that ‘I’m your mother and I know’ voice she knows all of her children dislike. “Before you met Magnus and decided to fight for him, before you were appointed Head of the Institute, you weren’t happy. You did all of those things out of obligation, because you felt like you had to in order to prove yourself. You weren’t doing them for you or because you wanted to. You hated that life. And I bet you’ve been miserable all week trying to go back to it.”

She watches the expression on Alec’s face shift through a series of emotions the longer he thinks over her words. “So you don’t think I’m slacking off?”

“I think you have to realize there’s a difference between being complacent and being comfortable, Alec. You’re finally comfortable, with a man you love, doing a job you love. I’ve never been more proud of you. You don’t have to push yourself to exhaustion 24/7 to be successful - the past few months are testament enough to that. And I’m sorry if I was ever a part of making you think that had to be the case.”

She stops there, watching his expression and waiting for him to really hear what she’s saying to him because this is important. She doesn’t want him to ever feel like he has to go back to the way things were before, not after all the progress he’s made in spite of everything stacked against him. She didn’t know it then but she realizes now how unhappy he was, and she never wants to play a role in that ever again now that she does.

“Thanks, Mom,” Alec says before going back to his dinner, and she can already see some of that burden lift off of him, some of the spark return to his eyes, and knows he’s going to be okay.

---

It’s 2 am when Alec gets back to the loft. Magnus knows because despite Alec’s attempt to sneak in Magnus is waiting up for him, awake and sitting on the sofa in the living room.

“I told you not to wait up for me,” Alec says, but even as the words leave his lips he makes his way straight to Magnus, sitting down next to him and settling in against the soft silk of the robe Magnus has on. It’s almost enough for Magnus to decide to push off the conversation he planned on having in favor of snuggling with Alec on the sofa, but he can’t. It’s too important.

“I was worried. This past week-” Magnus starts, but doesn’t get much further before Alec cuts him off.

“I know,” Alec admits, surprising him. There’s no stalling, no deflecting, no making excuses and saying he’s fine… nothing Magnus mentally prepared to hear. “I’m sorry. Someone at the Institute made a comment the other day and I guess I psyched myself out a little over it.”

Magnus nods. “And how are you feeling about it now?”

It’s a specially crafted patience Magnus tries to show Alec whenever possible, no matter the situation. Even now Magnus doesn’t ask what the comment was, or demand to know why Alec didn’t bring it up sooner - he just wants to know how Alec’s doing here and now, to make sure he’s alright.

“Better,” Alec admits, shifting to face Magnus as he answers. “It just hit me all at once how much I changed these past few months and I was afraid - I don’t know what I was afraid of, really. That people thought I wasn’t as good of a Shadowhunter any more? That I wasn’t trying hard enough now that I’m the Institute Head?”

“Your life has changed a great deal lately, and that sort of shift takes time to adjust to. But I remember when I first met you at the Institute; it wasn’t healthy, mentally or physically, the way you were living. Any changes you’ve made lately have been for the better,” Magnus insists.

“I can see that now,” Alec says. “I had a little chat with my mother earlier and she put a few things into perspective for me.”

“Good,” Magnus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then I suppose I can spare you the lecture, so long as you’re sure you’re alright.”

“I think I am,” Alec agrees. “At least about all of the job-related things. But…” Alec starts, then trails off again. Magnus can tell he’s feeling self-conscious about whatever it is he wants to say.

“But…?” Magnus encourages.

“Nothing. Never mind, it’s stupid,” Alec immediately attempts to take back.

“Nothing that bothers you, especially this much, is stupid. Talk to me, dear,” Magnus insists, reaching out to take Alec’s hands in his own, the warmth of them an immediate comfort.

“It’s just… You don’t mind... I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed-” Alec gestures vaguely, stalling.

“That you gained a little weight?” Magnus finishes for him, not in an ‘obviously’ sort of way, but more of a ‘mercy-fill-in-the-blank’ that Alec was probably never going to manage to say himself.

“Yeah,” Alec confirms, frowning again.

Magnus laughs. “Alexander, while your abs are, I’ll admit, a very pleasing aspect of your physique - they’re hardly the reason I’m with you. You could gain a hundred pounds and I’d still love you just the same. Though for the record you are still objectively and entirely unbiasedly the most attractive person in my world. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to show you just how much I appreciate your body when we’ve finished this conversation.”

“Yeah?” Alec practically sighs in relief.

“Of course. Your worth isn’t tied to how many hours you spend on patrol, or a number on a scale. You’re working harder than ever to make a difference in this world and that is what I love you for - more than I could possibly put into words. And if you ever doubt that again I’ll be right here to remind you, each and every time.” Magnus makes sure to look Alec in the eyes as he speaks, not allowing any room for doubt that every word is sincere. He needs to know that Alec doesn’t just hear the words, but believes them, too.

Alec holds his gaze and nods. A moment later he’s leaning back against Magnus’ shoulder again, the world settling back into place around them. They take a few minutes to simply exist, comfortable in the silence between them. Magnus lifts a hand to idly play with a few strands of Alec’s hair, pressing a soft kiss onto the crown of Alec’s head, until Alec finally breaks the silence.

“I know what you said about… appreciation earlier,” Alec starts slowly. “But could we take a rain-check until tomorrow? It’s been a long week, and honestly, I’m exhausted. All I want right now is a shower and about a week’s worth of sleep.”

“I can’t help with the missed sleep,” Magnus admits. “But the shower and bedtime cuddles I can do.”

With a wave of his hand the previously quiet apartment is filled with the distant noise of the shower turning on, water beginning to run so it’ll be warm by the time Alec gets there. It’s a small, simple gesture, but one that Magnus knows doesn’t go unappreciated, especially during moments like these.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Alec sighs happily. “But I’m glad I don’t have to find out.”

“Me too, darling,” Magnus agrees softly. “Me too.”

#malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #jace herondale #isabelle lightwood #maryse lightwood #long post #an idea i had for a while that didn't turn out quite the way i planned #but i hope you like the end result!#it wasn't meant to have angst but this is who i am as a person #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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treasureoftheseas · 4 years

Text

The Queen and The Pirate (Their First Year)

Sol watched on from behind a tree as Malleus practiced his magic, his chiseled features tensed up in concentration. In the few months since she had arrived at Night Raven the young lady had quickly noticed the stoic and powerful fae, and how even though they were both only in their first year, he was able to best many upperclassmen in training. Watching him entranced her, his beautiful raven colored hair, his pride in his abilities, his serious nature...

“Oh my, is the pirate potato ogling at Malleus again? How crude...”

Hearing the voice Sol quickly turned, unsheathing her sword and pointing it at the source of the voice. Vil Schönheit, a fellow first year, a Pomefiore dorm member, and an all around annoying guy. Pressing the tip of the sword close to his neck, Sol glared at him, “Mind your own business Vil, or do you want me to make your face even more unattractive.”

Vil only smirked, “Oh come now,” he pushed the tip of the sword down, “that kind of attitude will only drive Malleus away, after all he’s the type that would be into cute girls!”

A thorn-like feeling pricked her heart. It’s not as though Sol thought that she was cute; on the contrary, she knew that she wasn’t. But she learned at a young age that being “cute” was far less important than being alive. Hearing Vil say that the object of her affections would not like her for this sole reason made Sol feel something... strange.

Looking him in the eye, she sheathed her sword and frowned, “Shut it princess, at least I don’t need to wear a boatload of makeup.”

At this, Vil’s face became crimson red. A scowl covering his features, he angrily replied, “I am NOT a princess, I am a QUEEN,” he scoffed, “and for your information, I look stunning whether or not I wear makeup.”

Feeling her eye twitch, Sol decided to end the unpleasant conversation as soon as possible, “What are you even doing here Vil? Don’t you have anything better to do than speak to a “pirate potato” like me?”

Vil visibly calmed down, though his face was still scowling. Pulling out a piece of paper, he began to speak in an annoyed tone, “Unfortunately, I have been having some difficulties in fencing,” he sighed dramatically, “and Crowley said that I should give you... this.”

Careful not to touch her hand, Vil passed the paper over to her. Sol only rolled her eye at this, and turned her focus to what was written on the paper:

Miss Bucanero,

It has come to my attention that your classmate, Vil Schönheit, has had some trouble in regards to his fencing abilities. As such, I feel that it is necessary for him to be tutored by someone who is skilled in this field. Currently, you have the best scores in the entire school for this subject. Due to your prowess in this field, I have decided that you will begin tutoring Mr. Schönheit immediately, with you be awarded extra credit in return. Please take note that this task is non-negotiable, and failure to comply will result in you receiving a failing grade in fencing.

Sincerely,

Headmaster D. Crowley

Sol felt anger bubble up within her, but this only lasted for a moment. An idea had formed within her mind, and it was the kind of idea that she knew would get under Vil’s skin. Shifting her attention back to the prim Pomefiore student, she smirked, “Well I guess this means that you’re my pupil now,” she raised her right index finger, “on one condition.”

Looking exasperated, Vil looked down at her, “A condition? I believe the letter mentioned that if you refused to assist me, you would be given a failing grade. You are in no position to ask for something of me you little pirate potato.”

Eye filled with mischief, Sol gave her opinion on the matter, “It is true that the failing grade concerns me but... extra credit isn’t really enough of a reward in my opinion. So, I will tutor you, but in return,” she poked Vil in the chest, “you need to help me look ‘cuter.’”

Vil’s face contorted with disgust, “You CANNOT actually mean that... I mean if you were a Pomefiore member then maybe you would have the proper mindset for my beauty regime but,” he looked her up and down, “you only seem to care about two things: your sword, and Malleus.”

She couldn’t help but feel upset over the fact that Vil thought she only cared about her sword and Malleus, but his opinion of her gave her a way in, “If Malleus is one of the only things I care about, wouldn’t it make sense for me to try to become the kind of girl he would like?”

She didn’t actually mean this of course, the idea of changing herself so someone else would like her seemed ridiculous. But she had to say something to lure Vil in. And it worked.

Vil sighed, “Well I suppose I could do something about this,” he gestured towards her outfit, “mess, but we will have to make many adjustments to your current skincare routine. It’s all about the basics you know!”

Smiling, Sol watched as Vil turned to retrieve some of his beauty products from his dorm. If she had to babysit him, she was going to get back at him for all the times he called her a “pirate potato.” And what better way to obtain her vengeance than to make his “beautification” of her a living nightmare.

An evil glint in her eye, she walked back to the Hooksclave dorms. After all, she needed to prepare some equipment to teach Vil the art of the sword.

Two months passed, and during this time Vil greatly improved his sword wielding capabilities. Though at the beginning, he often gave himself minor injuries...

“HOW IN THE WORLD AM I SUPPOSED TO BALANCE THIS THING?!”

“Just stay calm and shift your weight a bit.”

“WAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

“Vil!”

And although she had vowed vengeance against the self-proclaimed “Queen,” overtime Sol began to enjoy their banter, not to mention some of Vil’s homemade beauty products...

“So all I have to do is leave this mask on for ten minutes and my skin will feel moisturized and healthy?”

“Why of course! But be aware that the mask could never help you attain my level of beauty.”

“Oh really? Then maybe if I were to use all of your products, I could become even more beautiful than you.”

“Wh-what? Sol, stop that... No, no, no, no, SOL, DON’T TAKE AWAY ALL OF MY PRECIOUS BABIES! IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO MAKE THEM!!!”

However, all things must come to an end. Their first year at Night Raven, and their excuse for spending time with each other, were no exceptions to this rule.

The soon-to-be second years walked into Vil’s dorm, with the scent of flowery, yet not overwhelming, perfume greeting them.

Vil strutted towards his massive walk-in closet, his proper voice ringing out, “As a thank you for helping me obtain an A in fencing, I have one final surprise for your ‘cute’ lessons. Just wait here while I get it from the closet!”

Sol could hear silent cursing and the rustling of fabric. Finally, she heard his voice say “aha” and Vil stepped out of the closet with the gift.

Standing in the center of the ornate room, Sol couldn’t believe what Vil had brought out. It was a beautiful indigo dress that had a single layer of lilac ruffle running diagonally at the bottom. Golden embroidery was stitched close to the ruffle in sweet, small patterns. Her eye widened, “Don’t tell me that this is my gift...”

The corners of his mouth lifting into a proud smile, Vil nodded, “That’s right! This is an original, one-of-a-kind piece that I made myself, and it was made solely for you!”

She gaped at the dress, “Vil... I don’t know what to say...”

He laughed and placed the dress in her hands, this time he didn’t bother to avoid making contact and their hands brushed against each other. “Oh, I almost forgot,” picking up what seemed to be a solid black piece of clothing from his golden vanity, Vil returned to her side, “This is an eyepatch that matches better with the dress than your current one! Now go change so I can see how you look!”

Shoving the eyepatch into her hands, he quickly guided her into his dressing room and shut the door before she could say a word. After being left alone in the spacious room, Sol began to dress herself. However, as soon as she finished, she couldn’t help but stare at herself in the full-length mirror next to her, “I look... good,” she smiled at her reflection, “But I still can’t believe that I became so focused on this dress, it was almost as if I had become...”

Entranced

Then it hit her, when was the last time she had thought about Malleus? The one she had been fixated on for so long. The one that had both power and pride. Had it been a few weeks?

But even so, thinking about him now did nothing to her heart.

“Why did that feeling stop?”

Two minutes later...

Sol stepped out of the dressing room, a light blush dusting her cheeks, she asked in a brusque tone, “So? How do I look?”

But Vil only stood there in awe, his eyes wide at the sight before him. Eventually, he gained enough composure to respond, “You look exquisite!” he paused, “Though I’m afraid I’ll have to apologize.”

A puzzled look on her face, Sol questioned him, “What for?”

He glanced to the floor, “Well you see, I promised to make you ‘cute,’ but instead I made you look beautiful. But I just could not let you settle for ‘cute’ when you had already become beautiful. So instead of a cute little dress, I made a long and beautiful one.”

Sol could feel her face warm up a bit, and with a small chuckle she responded, “You don’t need to apologize. If I’m being completely honest, I never meant to become cute anyways. Although,” she smiled brightly, “I did enjoy doing the whole beauty thing with you.”

Hearing this, Vil looked back at her, only to realize that he had forgotten about a vital piece of the outfit. Once again, he went up to his vanity, but this time he grabbed a small, royal purple box from one of its drawers. Standing in front of Sol, he smirked, “Alright, I want you to turn around and close your eyes! No peeking!”

“Okay, okay, I’m turning,” she said as she complied with his demands.

Opening the box, Vil pulled out a small golden choker that had a ruby attached to it. Placing it gently around her neck, he then hooked the clasp in the back. Guiding her to a mirror, he told her to open her eyes.

“A choker? Vil, it looks amazing.”

He smiled happily, “It does, but in the end it only enhances the beauty of its wearer.”

BA-DUMP

And at that sentence, the feeling that once belonged to Malleus returned to Sol’s heart.

Only this time, it belonged to a queen.

Okay, so this was VERY long, but it sums up their romance during their first year. I plan on doing two more (for their second and third years) sometime in the future. If you guys want a little fight scene or beauty scene that was touched on in this let me know in the comments or by reblogging.

Also here is something I made about a month and a half ago:

This is what the outfit is supposed to look like, Idk what the thing in her left hand is. Okay I’m tired now. Sleep here I come!

#Sol x Vil #oc x canon #twisted wonderland

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shineonyoucrazyyandere · 5 years

Note

How about a fic on a Yandere Anasui and Weather Report fighting over a female guard?

This is like prime indulgence writing material for me right here. Anon you made me weak in the knees.

Yandere! Narciso Anasui x Fem! Guard! Reader x Yandere! Weather Report

Shuffling around to answer your radio, you heard the crackling static as your co-worker informed you about you being transferred over to the male ward of Green Dolphin St. Apparently the male side was short staffed and most of the others preferred it if you went. Since you could handle just about anything anyone threw at you.

“Don’t think your usual job will be any different here, aside from the more intense prisoners” They nonchalantly told you

“I kind of figured that honestly” You shrugged with a small smile

“Anyway we’ve been having a hell of a problem with people making makeshift weapons”“ They continued explaining “We just need your help confiscating every once in a while, otherwise you’ll be near the doors for the most part”. It seemed to be a reasonable request.

Walking down the hall you could already hear the muffled voices of a few men talking back and forth with each other. Their eyes temporarily shifting in your direction before carrying on with their conversation. You didn’t think of too much by their staring though. It wasn’t your job to worry about that.

By the time you made it to the main area where most of the cells were at, there was more chatting. Not even a couple of minutes into looking around you saw someone holding something close to their pocket. The way their hand seemed to stick out, told you immediately they had a weapon in their possession.

You burst running warning both your fellow officers and the inmates around the area. While dashing off you had accidentally bumped shoulders with someone that happened to be in the way. Sure enough when you caught the perpetrator there was a sharpened makeshift knife.

“Nice job” Your fellow cohort told you “We’ve got him from here”

You took a couple steps back as the prisoner was restrained with his arms behind his back.

Sighing you turned to walk towards the entrance to keep out of the way.

A pair of eyes in the meantime had fixated themselves on you. It was unusual to see a female officer in the male ward of the prison. With the few exceptions of other female personnel coming through but that didn’t count much. They were the one you had bumped into by accident.

He swept his long pink locks aside just thinking how you stood out with a strong commanding tone. Ah, but what was your name? His heart beat went out of control. Suddenly there was a want to know, no there was a need to know.

The infamous Narciso Anasui who chopped up his cheating beloved with their backdoor squeeze, had fallen into another obsession. He couldn’t keep the previous person who he gave a ring away to either, but maybe there was a hope he found the one he could be with forever.

He blinked looking in the direction you were once in but you had disappeared to his dismay.

Weather Report on the other hand was visited by you rather casually. You asked him to exit his cell. He stared at you with some confusion since as far as he knew female guards were usually either on the outer perimeters of the male ward for security or in the female ward.

Though you were merely doing what the other male guards did often. But he still had to ask as a couple of men went into his cell.

He ended up closer to you than you expected making you tense up.

“Is there a reason they have you, a female guard here?” He asked you

His head was just a couple inches away from your face. But you answered that the jail was short staffed for the male ward.

That was something he found interesting.

“Would you mind stepping back a little?, you’re a bit too close” You asked kindly, and he ended up doing so. He decided to stay quiet and observe you in silence.

Other than that little incident with that unhinged inmate it seemed your first day working in the male ward went well.

Getting accustomed to the differences between the male and female wards wasn’t that hard. You slowly made conversations with the inmates that were willing to talk. Some of them were in for battery, gang banging, or drugs, others were in for more extensive charges.

That afternoon you were talking to a couple of men about their lives. Hearing all about where they came from until they suddenly stopped.

“It’s…him” one of them mumbled

The other looked at you as he gave you a fair warning “Hey, just a heads up if a guy with pink hair comes up to you be wary that’s Narciso Anasui he’s…he’s deranged man…a total freak”

““Where the hell is that weather report guy, he’s usually around to keep things straight right?” You heard one say before they were across the room.

You needed to return to your duties anyway, but you couldn’t help but immediately finding yourself staring at said pink haired male. He wasn’t wearing much, as it consisted of a wide fish net like wear on his chest, a small hat, a back of a shirt with what seemed to be a skirt and thigh high boots.

If you remember correctly he was convicted of murder of two people. Their bodies were found disturbingly disassembled at the crime scene.

You could feel him staring at you right now, he looked as if he was rather eager to meet you apparently.

Though he was shortly blocked by a taller male you recognized that was probably the one known as ‘Weather Report’ and your focus shifted to heading back to the small office that controlled the locked doors.

A scowl formed on the pink haired male’s face as he stared up at Weather Report.

“You’re tense what’s going on?” Were the first words out of the Buffalo hat bearing man.

“You just got in the way that’s what” he replied aggressively

He stayed silent for a moment trying to rationalize this.

“Calm down” were the words that shortly came out of Weather’s mouth. “There’s no reason to get mad at me, I was just checking on you”

Anasui clicked his tongue in irritation but temporarily backed down. He shortly stormed off after that.

Just by his eyes Weather could tell what was going on, and it was going to be hell. The man had fallen for someone again and it didn’t bode very well.

Weather began walking around the whole area in turn of the events with Anasui. He didn’t end up seeing him but he saw you in an office working diligently. The male couldn’t help but get closer to the open door and watch you filling out paperwork quietly.

“Is someone there?” You asked just some short seconds later

He walked out in front of the door, surprisingly not scared at the fact you noticed something so quickly.

“Oh you’re weather report right?”

He nodded.

You invited him in the room just to chat for a little bit. Since it seemed almost everyone around could be convinced by money (within the rules of the prison). No one would’ve been really alarmed by his presence in your room.

You got him to speak about things he enjoyed, like Van Gogh. Some reason it was just very soothing to tell it to you. By the time he left there was this weird fuzziness in his chest. For a while he didn’t experience much, but this was something he really enjoyed. A small conversation.

On another day you were heading down to discuss something with another officer. A sudden misstep of your feet on the steps almost led you falling down them. Yet you didn’t…you ended up being supported by that magenta haired inmate.

““.Thank you for helping me” You say

Anasui’s free hand ends up softly brushing aside your hair.

“I hope you’re alright…I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you”

You laugh with an odd boost of nervous confidence ““Thanks for the concern but I really got to get something downstairs- Anasui”

He felt his chest churn with passion, that wasn’t enough. He desired to caress you longer but you had cut it short. But he could do it again, that wasn’t a problem.

Relations between Narciso and Weather eventually fray by the ends. After constant days of Weather visiting and Anasui meeting you just about everywhere else.

“I notice you’ve been talking to y/n a lot” Anasui mentioned

“I like talking to her…it gives me some sort of purpose” he responded

“You should find another purpose that isn’t her…I need her”

Weather blew it off “I’m not going to listen to your suggestion, Preferably I’d rather you not do anything around them”

He then added on ““I need her more than you do”

That was almost a certain death sentence when referred towards Anasui.

Wait. He could prove you could be his…he had bought another ring after all. It was a physical way to show you were committed to someone. He practically bolted off, Weather was left behind confused but eventually came after realizing that magenta haired male was going to you.

He should’ve used weather report at the start but with Anasui’s Diver Down it wasn’t feasible to use it currently, he had let that bastard get too far.

You felt him grab you by the waist making you unexpectedly gasp. Anasui was looking at you with a look of desperation and utter infatuation.

“I need you y/n…to be with me” he said in a mere whisper

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked sternly

“I want to marry you” He surrounded you in a tight embrace “I love you that much”

Struggling you weren’t sure what pills this guy was on but the other inmates weren’t wrong that he was deranged. He was delusional.

““Don’t bother with any weapon you had, I already disarmed you when I grabbed you a moment ago” was the pink haired male’s next words

He then dug through a pocket on the front of his fish net “shirt” and slipped out a ring from it. ““Just say yes…”

“You don’t just get married from giving me a ring! Not that I want it” You snapped

The moment was intermittently interrupted by the appearance of Weather Report. You weren’t sure what the hell was going on but you needed back up. So you pushed away from Anasui and attempted to reach for your radio

“Let’s not do that” Weather said squatting down beside you and gently taking the said radio and shorting it out somehow.

Suddenly bulbs burst as they were overloaded by a strange surge of electricity, As if lightning had struck nearby.

Were the two of them trying to fight each other?

You attempted to run, only to feel yourself quickly overpowered by Weather Report’s arms. “Stay with me…” he murmured

“”One of us will end up dying here…”

#jojo anasui #narciso anisui #part 6 jojo #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #stone ocean #yandere #weather report #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jjba

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pickalilywrites · 5 years

Text

thank you for being patient ^^ please enjoy!

The Perfect Girl

EreHisu. Monogatari Series AU.

Part i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi

710 words.

Buy me a ko-fi!

Eren is riding his bike towards Historia’s house when his phone rings. He brakes, stepping off his bike and leaning it against the wooden fence that closes the beach off from the sidewalk. When he pulls his phone from his back pocket, he glances at the screen and sees Historia’s name blinking back at him. It isn’t yet time for him to arrive – he told her he’d be there after he ran a few errands after school – so he’s curious as to why she’s calling him now. He stands up, leaning against the fence with his bike beside him, and answers.

“Hey, Historia. Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other line before Historia speaks. “I’m fine. I’m just waiting for you.” Another pause. “Remember when you told me it was strange that someone like me could have a problem like this?”

He remembers. He’s wondering if it had bothered her to hear him say that. It must have if she brings it up now. “I wasn’t really thinking when I said that. After all, it’s not as if I know you that well.”

“It’s fine.” He wonders what expression she’s wearing right now. He thinks he can imagine her expression – detached, almost expressionless, with her brow knitted just the slightest bit. She’s probably curled up on her bed, sitting on top of the pink blanket which, now that Eren thinks about it, doesn’t suit her at all. He wonders if she had bought it herself, or if it’s something someone else had bought for her. “We only just met each other, so I’m not surprised you’d have that kind of assumption about me.”

“That doesn’t seem right though.” Eren looks out to the beach and wonders if Historia can hear the ocean pulling in and out of the shore. “But from what I know of you now…you seem really cool.”

Eren hears only the sound of waves crashing against the shore until a large, unexpected laugh interrupts them. He doesn’t even have to be in the same room to know that Historia’s head is now thrown back, and she’s currently clutching her stomach as she bursts into raucous laughter. He’s not used to the sound of it, but he finds that it suits her so much better than the silent tittering that she does when one of her peers says something amusing at school.

“Eren. You shouldn’t say things like that so casually. People might misunderstand you.” Even as she speaks now, she’s still trying to hold back giggles.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Along the shore, there is a woman walking barefoot. Although she wears a sunhat, its brim so wide that it covers her face, and her back is turned to him, Eren knows exactly who it is.

“Hey, can I talk to you when I get to your house?” He’s already jumping over the fence, walking towards the lonely woman on the beach. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll see you then.”

He tucks his phone into his back pocket as soon as Historia hangs up. His eyes are fixated on the woman on the beach, how she stands ankle-deep in water even though it’s far too cold for anyone to be here. Ah, but he realizes that she would hardly notice the cold anyway, considering her condition. Even he has a jacket on, but the woman wears a sleeveless sundress patterned with bright yellow sunflowers. It would be strange if anyone else were wearing the dress, but Eren can’t imagine her in anything else.

As he approaches her, the sound of the waves seems to subside, and he wonders if he should call her name. It’s how he usually greets her, but she seems to be enjoying the view, and he’d hate to interrupt her. He stops just a few feet behind her, not wanting to venture into the cold water. He says her name, letting his voice fade with the sound of the ocean. “Petra.”

The woman turns around, holding onto her sunhat so that the wind doesn’t blow it away. She doesn’t look surprised to see him. In fact, she smiles at him as if she was expecting him all along. “Hi, Eren.”

#erehisu #eren jaeger #historia reiss #snk #monogatari series au #the perfect girl

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shotsbyshae · 5 years

Text

The Green-Eyed Monster

A Lexi Wilson story. The Winchesters are game for an impromptu birthday party invite to share war stories with the Avengers, but what happens when Dean's favorite superhero from his childhood finally meets Tony's elusive recruit. Plus, Loki and Lexi have been practicing things other than magic.

Lexi

She watches as Sam empties the contents of the chip bag into a large red bowl and she grabs one of the tortilla chips quickly. The younger brother laughs at her as she swipes the chip through the bowl of salsa and shoves it in her mouth, but not without some of the salsa dripping onto her chin before she can execute the move completely. Lexi wipes it away with the side of her hand as Sam tosses her a towel.

"It's been too long," Sam begins, almost reminiscent, "since we were just able to hang out, all together."

"We have been busy," she replies, "but, for the next few days at least…we chill."

He smiles, until her cell phone begins to ring from the metal countertop beside her and she glances down at it. She cocks an eyebrow at Sam as she picks it up, sliding the green bar on the screen and holding her arm out so her face will be visible in the screen.

"Hang on Sam," Lexi looks from her friend to the black-haired man in her phone, "Daddy's calling."

The look of confusion on Sam's face is comical as the man groans loudly though the speaker.

"Please don't call me that," Stark says in annoyance.

"Sam," Lexi glances to him, involving him in the conversation, "What do you call an older man, especially a billionaire, who buys and/or gives a younger, dare I say attractive, female expensive things?"

The younger brother hesitates for a moment before slowly saying, "A sugar daddy."

"No one asked him," Stark retorts, "I'm telling Pepper you're giving me a hard time."

"Pepper is the one who told me to give you a hard time," Lexi smirks at the man in the phone.

Tony rolls his eyes at the girl, "Of course…well, now I'm reconsidering this phone call."

"What's up?"

"I was calling to invite you to a party this weekend. It's Cap's birthday and I thought it'd be nice for you to come and mingle, since you never do," Tony states with a curious glance.

"I mingle," she defends herself.

"Illusions don't count," Stark retorts, which causes the youngest Winchester to raise an eyebrow in curiosity at his friend.

"I already have plans with some friends," Lexi replies looking over to Sam.

Tony sighs audibly drawing Lexi's attention back to him as he offers, "Bring the Rescue Rangers with you, the more the merrier, isn't that the saying?"

The dark-haired girl flicks her eyes back to her friend as he shoves a chip covered in salsa into his mouth, successfully not making a mess with it as she had earlier.

"I'm down," he answers her questioning gaze around the mouthful of food as his brother enters the kitchen.

"Down for what?" Dean asks as he approaches the counter to grab a tortilla chip.

Sam swallows the food in his mouth before answering his brother with a boyish grin, "Iron Man just invited us to Captain America's birthday party."

Dean glances from Sam to Lexi, who turns her phone slightly so the green-eyed hunter can see Tony in the screen and the dark-haired man waves at him from the small screen.

The older brother's face breaks into a wide grin, "Hell yeah."

Lexi shakes her head a little in defeat as she turns the phone back to see Tony's smirking face, "Looks like they're in."

"Are you sending someone to pick us up?" She questions him.

"Romanoff's already on her way to grab Barton, I'll have her swing by to grab you guys," he smiles.

Lexi

She can feel the unease in the man sitting beside her in the small interior of the quinjet. Sam sits across from them, but he seems completely fine with their current flying situation. Lexi feels Dean tense up as the jet's engines power up and she reaches over quietly to place her hand on top of his hand which is resting on top of his thigh, a small reassuring gesture. He rolls his hand over in order to clutch her hand in his and he squeezes it tightly.

"She's the new recruit huh?" Clint asks Natasha from the pilot's seat.

The red head looks over her shoulder to the girl who sits behind her for a moment before she turns back to her friend, "Kind of, Tony says she's difficult."

"In other words," Barton begins, "he asked, and she said no."

"Basically," the woman replies with a grin.

"How are you feeling?" Lexi glances up to the green-eyed hunter sitting beside her, he's not as nervous looking as he was when they first took off.

"Getting there," Dean replies flicking his eyes to her, before fixating them back to the floor at his feet.

Lexi looks across to the younger brother who doesn't contain his excitement, the smile on his face giving it away.

"Having fun?" she questions him.

Sam nods enthusiastically, "It is pretty cool."

Dean

He's feeling much calmer now after they've been in the air for a little while. Part of him knows he should let Lexi's hand go, but he can't bring himself to do it. It feels as if she's slipping away lately, after all, that was the purpose behind them hanging out this weekend, to catch up and spend time together. They'd all been so caught up in the fallout, they hadn't had time to slow down.

Within the last several months their entire world had been turned upside down, Lexi had died and come back, but she was different. He didn't understand her new powers like Rowena or her new/old friend Evan; which bothers him the most. It's not as if he feels threatened by Evan; he genuinely hasn't tried to step on Dean's toes when it comes to her. However, the green-eyed hunter was the only one who had heard Laura that day explaining the curse of obedience which Lexi was burdened with. Once cursed, you obey every order given to you by the one who cursed you, or the one who's love is pure and true. Laura had silenced him and his brother that day for good reason, but she hadn't anticipated Evan. He had noticed the changed in Lexi's demeanor immediately when the other man appeared and had yelled for her to stop. She had obeyed, which could only mean one thing, Evan has feelings for her too.

Whether those feelings stem purely from friendship or from somewhere deeper, Dean's not sure, although he's caught the other man glancing at her a few times and he recognizes the way Evan keeps her a metaphorical arm's length away, after all, he's the master of that move.

Regardless, Lexi is his person, has been for a long time and the fact that her life has opened up to this whole new world of magic and superheroes has made him take a step back and analyze their situation. He doesn't want to lose her, and he doesn't want to push her away either, but maybe he's done holding her at arm's length.

Lexi

The Winchesters are speechless as they make their way through the compound, following behind Lexi and Natasha. The sheer enormity of it all is beyond anything they could have imagined. They knew it had looked large from the outside the last time they were here, but this surpasses their imagination.

"Here's your room," Natasha says to Lexi, pointing at a door, "and you two boys will be in that one over there."

"Thanks Nat," Lexi replies as she adjusts her backpack on her shoulder.

"There's also some different outfits in the closets," the red head continues, "Tony likes his events to be semi-formal, so he took the curtesy of providing you with some choices for tonight."

"Of course he did," the dark-haired girl states.

"I'll let you get settled in," Romanoff smiles, "Party starts in an hour."

The red head gives the two men a wink before she turns to walk away. Sam steps over to open the door to their room and glances back at Lexi.

"Have you told Charlie yet?" He questions, "About all this?"

"No," she replies quickly, "you two are the only ones that know. I want to keep it that way."

"Not even Clarke?" Dean asks.

Lexi looks at him in surprise, "Of course not, why would I tell Evan?"

"I thought you two were close is all," the green-eyed man remarks as Sam decides to exit this conversation and ducks into the room.

"We're friends," she replies, unsure what he's insinuating, "I don't plan on getting close like that with a friend again after what happened with the last one. Trust is a fragile thing."

They both know she's referring to Greyson, there was no love lost there, but there was trust lost, and in their line of work sometimes that means more.

She reaches to open the door to her room as he questions her, "What kind of friend does that make me?"

"You're not my friend," she states, stepping in her room as she glances back at him with a smile, "you've always been my person, there's a big difference."

He smiles back at her before she closes the door to her room.

Dean

An hour later he's dressed in a black button up shirt, tucked neatly into khaki slacks as he knocks persistently on the door he stood outside of earlier.

"Come on princess," he says jokingly, "you'll be late for the party."

Sam's wearing a navy-blue button up which he's paired with khaki pants as well and he rolls his eyes as his bother wiggles the doorknob, trying to rush the girl along.

Lexi jerks the door open, then finishes pulling a black stiletto heel onto her right foot, "Geez, I'm ready."

Her hair is parted down the middle and falls in soft beachy waves around her face. The smoky eyeshadow matches the black dress she's wearing, the top half of which is a lacy pattern which comes up high around her neck and the bottom half is a softer, more silky fabric that stops a couple inches above her knee. She's gorgeous, but he knew that before this moment. She's been the most beautiful person he's ever known, both inside and out.

She smirks at him indicating his shirt, "Aw, we match."

Without hesitation she loops her right arm around his left one, the door to her room closing behind her as she continues, "Let's go, shall we?"

He swallows the lump in his throat and nods, unable to speak for the moment. They take a step toward the younger Winchester and she loops her other arm through Sam's right one and the three of them make their way down the hall.

Lexi

They make their way inside the main room where several guests mingle, none of whom Lexi recognizes. After all, she has only ever met Stark, Romanoff, the two Asgardians, Barton, and Wilson.

"Well," a voice from behind them interrupts, "if it isn't Kim Possible herself."

Lexi rolls her eyes at the nickname, but the grin on her face indicates to both brothers that deep down she doesn't hate it. She turns on her heels and faces the man who slips the sunglasses from his face smoothly as he smirks at the girl.

"I wasn't given much of a choice," she replies.

"Regardless, you look very nice," the black-haired man states as he looks at the men with her, "I see you brought Chip and Dale."

"Dean and Sam," she begins introductions, "this is Tony Stark."

"You two are supposed to be dead," Tony acknowledges instead of shaking either of their hands, "I assume there's an interesting story behind that."

"There is," Sam answers him as Dean gives a nod of agreement.

"Good," Tony motions for them to follow him, "Come on, I want to hear all about it."

The two of them glance at Lexi in surprise at his invitation and she shrugs her shoulders as she ushers them along with her hands and comments, "Have fun."

Lexi watches them leave and she scans the room, seeing several unfamiliar faces, before she finally sees two people, who she's at least met, enter the room; one of which she's surprised to see here. The dark-haired girl makes her way over to the two, who look as surprised as her by the crowd of people.

"Look who it is Brother," the taller of the two's voice booms loudly over the crowd as Lexi approaches, and he slaps the man beside him on the back, "your only friend."

"No handcuffs?" Lexi questions them.

"He's on probation," Thor grins, "for good behavior, maybe the student has become the teacher?"

The girl scrunches her face up, "Unlikely."

"She's a terrible student," Loki states to his brother in mock disgust.

"So, you're really here?" She questions him, "No illusions?"

The black-haired man reaches over with one finger, pushes her slowly, and she laughs as he says, "No tricks, so please, try to refrain from throwing things at me."

Thor laughs heartily, "You do that too?"

Dean

He listens as Sam recounts the story behind their fictional deaths, but his eyes are across the room. He recognizes the two men Lexi is standing with, he remembers her standing with them the day they broke her out of this place. She's smiling, laughing, and she looks downright amazing in that dress. She literally lights up the room and her joy, it is infectious, it's apparent because the two men with her haven't stopped smiling since she walked up.

Is this jealousy? He questions himself.

She's had relationships before, and sure he didn't like it, but it hadn't felt like this. He watches as she makes her way back to the bar and he can't help but think, at least she's away from those other two guys.

After a few moments, a man whose dark navy dress pants are almost too tight, as is his grey button up shirt, approaches the bar next to Lexi and begins to make small talk.

"Who's that?" Dean questions, interrupting Sam.

Stark looks back to the bar where the green-eyed man's gaze is fixated and he turns back to the men in front of him, "Oh, that's Cap."

Sam glances from Dean to Tony, "As in Captain America?"

"Yea, that one," Stark replies.

"Isn't he like your favorite?" Sam questions jokingly to his brother.

Dean narrows his eyes, not looking away from the bar, "Sure."

Lexi

She waits patiently on the Hurricane she ordered when someone moves to stand next to her at the bar.

"So," the man begins to speak, "you're Tony's new recruit, I see he finally called you in"

Lexi glances over at the man beside her, slightly taken back by his incredibly good looks, "No, I'm more like third string defense, end of the world, desperate measure situation, then Tony can call me in."

He's holding her gaze and there's something about his eyes that seems vaguely familiar, but she knows she's never met this man before, she would remember him.

"Okay," he says, giving her a boyish grin, "so when can I call you?"

Lexi opens her mouth to respond, only to slowly close it again after realizing a snappy comeback evades her and she shakes her head slightly as she glances down to the glass the bartender places in front of her. She quickly grabs her glass and begins to sip from the straw as someone moves to stand on the opposite side as the blue-eyed man beside her laughs.

"I thought you were tougher than that Wilson," Natasha says from beside her.

Lexi looks at the red head, realizing this was obviously a set-up, "Sorry, I wasn't prepared for that."

"You failed that test," Romanoff smirks.

"I did not study for that test," Lexi continues, "I mean, look at him."

"I know," the red head agrees, "it's almost ridiculous."

"Hey now," the man replies in his own defense.

Lexi turns to him, casually running her hand from the top of his shoulder to his elbow, "Honestly, your clothes look like they're in physical pain. I'm not complaining, it's just a lot to take in."

"Are you blushing?" Nat questions him, tilting her head to get a better look at her friend, "You are. That's adorable, congratulations, you've embarrassed Captain America."

Lexi wants to bury herself under a rock at Natasha's revelation of who's she's talking to, but she holds her composure, "So, you're the birthday boy. I'm Lexi Wilson by the way."

She offers her hand and the man slowly accepts her handshake as he replies with a smile, "Steve Rogers, are you sure you're not a Stark?"

"I've not done an Ancestry DNA, but I don't think so," she smirks before she takes another sip from her glass as another man with long black hair pulled into a messy bun approaches them.

He's wearing a deep burgundy button up with grey pants and by the scruff on his face it appears he's not shaved in a few weeks. The man smiles warmly at the blue-eyed man beside her as he gets closer.

"Hey punk," he greets the man with a hug.

"Jerk," Steve responds with a grin, "when did you get in?"

Lexi laughs to herself at the exchange, as it instantly reminds her of the familiar 'bitch, jerk' comments she often hears out of her own guys.

"Couple of hours ago," the man replies, Lexi's laugh gaining his attention, "Who's this?"

"This is Lexi Wilson," Steve introduces his friend, "Bucky Barnes."

"Civilian?" Bucky questions as he shakes the hand the girl offers him.

"Not exactly," Steve replies with a grin to her.

"Ask Sam," Natasha says to Barnes, "she's already kicked his ass once."

Barnes laughs, "Oh, that was you? I thought you'd be taller."

"Sorry to disappoint," Lexi replies.

"Oh no," the smile on his face is priceless, "you're great…this is great."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Bucky, and happy birthday Captain Rogers," she uneasily.

"Thank you," he replies, "and you can call me Steve."

"Okay," Lexi says, grabbing her drink from the bar, then she smirks at the blue-eyed man as she leans a little closer to him, "and you're welcome to call me anytime."

She gives Steve a wink as Bucky raises his eyebrows in curiosity at the comment and watches her as she turns and walks away from them.

"Did I miss something?" Barnes questions.

"That one is trouble," Steve remarks after she's out of earshot.

"I like her," Natasha flashes him a wide smile.

Dean

He stands at the bar watching as Lexi talks with another woman he was introduced to earlier as Wanda and a man they call Vision. He takes a sip of the beer in his hand as Stark approaches him.

"Tell me what I need to do," Tony says as he leans back against the bar.

"About what?" Dean questions.

"I've done everything but offer to make her team captain," the man replies, "and she won't budge."

"I can't help you there," the green-eyed man smirks as he watches her cross the room to speak to the Asgardian God of Mischief.

"She's very difficult," Tony says.

"No shit Sherlock," Dean responds.

Stark furrows his brows at him, "What if I trade you Point Break for her?"

"She's not mine to trade," the hunter replies.

"You broke into my compound to get her," the black-haired man states, "that's pretty excessive for someone not on your team."

"Oh," Dean glances at him and grins, "she's on our team, she's one of our captains. I can't trade a captain."

"I see what you did there," Stark replies as Dean gives him a smug look.

Lexi

"Isn't this supposed to be a party?" she states as she sits down on the arm of the chair beside Loki.

There's about thirty people scattered about, and everyone is quietly talking. She sees Sam speaking with Nat and Clint, while Bucky and Steve are being chatted with by a small group of people she doesn't recognize, possibly civilians as Barnes would say. Tony and Dean are at the bar, while Thor is across the room with Wanda and Vision. The rest of the people she doesn't know are scattered amongst them.

"Let's dance," she suggests with a child-like grin.

"No," Loki responds, "there's barely music playing."

"I can fix that," Lexi states, then pleads with him, "come on, we've done it before. In my kitchen, I bet I can get Friday to play the song. It'll be nice to try it in person."

"I'd rather not," the man states cutting his eyes up to her.

"Are you embarrassed?" She questions.

"No."

"Then why not?" Lexi tilts her head, "I think it might do everyone some good to see a lighter side of you."

"You're not going to give this up, are you?" Loki questions in annoyance.

She smiles as she shakes her head and he lets out heavy sigh as he says defeatedly, "Fine."

After a few moments the music playing in the background cuts out leaving the room in silence.

"Friday," Tony says loudly, "What happened to the sound system?"

"Sorry sir," the AI speaks, "Kim Possible has requested a new playlist."

Tony glances to Dean, who shrugs his shoulders as the beginning words begin to flow loudly out of the sound system:

Do you ever feel like a misfit?

Everything inside you is dark and twisted

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, so am I-I-I-I….

Everyone slowly turns their attention to the middle of the room where the crowd is backing away from two people who are dancing, and no one is surprised more than the God of Thunder himself to see his brother and Possible in the center of the crowd, dancing side by side with very choreographed footwork.

Can you hear the whispers all across the room?

You feel her eyes all over you like cheap perfume.

Loki spins the dark-haired girl into him expertly for a beat before twirling her back out away from him. Lexi spins twice once he releases her before she sets her sights on her first victim and she smirks at the man with the slicked back black hair.

You're beautiful, but misunderstood

So why you tryna to be just like the neighborhood?

She grabs Barnes' hand and dances him back to the center of the room as Loki does the same with another female guest.

I can see it, I know what you're feelin'

So let me tell you 'bout my little secret

I'm a little crazy underneath this

Underneath this

"Did she just start a dance party?" Tony questions the green-eyed hunter beside him.

"Yea," Dean replies with a sigh, "she does that sometimes, never to this scale before though."

Lexi grabs Wanda and Vision to dance them out to join the others as several of the people she doesn't know have joined the crowd in the middle of the floor to dance to the song.

Do you ever feel like a misfit?

Everything inside you is dark and twisted

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, so am I

Do you ever feel like an outcast?

You don't have to fit into the format

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, am I-I-I-I….

She and Loki make their way back to each other to do their little dance number again as Wanda and Vision watch and imitate the steps with them. Lexi looks up and sees the genuine smile on Dean's face at her antics and she grins back before Loki twirls her into his arms then back out.

Oh so, dressed so fancy like Sid and Nancy,

Walkin' Killer Queen, gotta keep 'em guessin'

She crooks her finger at the guest of honor, who shakes his head and begins to laugh, but she dances her way over to grab his hand regardless and pulls him back with her. Making sure to spend a little extra time dancing with him just because he seems easily embarrassed.

So baby pass me a lighter

We're gonna leave 'em on fire

We're the sinners and the blessings

Lexi sees Sam has joined the crowd, he knows better than to try and resist a dance party she initiates, and he's managed to get Clint and Natasha to join as well. She makes her way up to the bar and smiles breathlessly at the two men standing there.

"I didn't know I had been arranging dancing lessons," Tony states, pointing between her and Loki.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lexi smirks.

Tony shakes his head with a smile as she grabs his arm, starting to sway to the music as she pulls him with her.

I can see it, I know what you're feelin'

So let me tell you 'bout my little secret

I'm a little crazy underneath this

Underneath this

Lexi joins back up with Loki while more people begin to imitate their steps, Thor and Barnes amongst them behind Loki, while Stark, Rogers, and Barton laugh at one another as they attempt to keep up with Natasha, Wanda, and Vision who are doing very well with the steps. Sam has moved beside Lexi and he is picking up on the steps quickly too.

Do you ever feel like a misfit?

Everything inside you is dark and twisted

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, so am I

Do you ever feel like an outcast?

You don't have to fit into the format

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, am I-I-I-I….

This time when Loki releases her, Lexi makes a beeline back to the bar. She takes the beer from Dean's hand and turns it up quickly before placing it on the bar.

"You're not sitting this out," she states.

"Just waiting my turn," he says holding his hand out and she grabs it with a smile.

You're king and you're queen

You're strong and you're weak

You're bound but so free

Ah-ah-ah

So come and join me

And call me Harley

And we'll make a scene

They join the dancing crowd and Dean picks up on the steps as moves beside Lexi. She glances up to her left at the God of Mischief who can't hide the joy on his face as he goes through the movements. They share a genuine smile of understanding because this song wasn't just about dance moves, the lyrics had resonated with both of them when Lexi first heard it.

Do you ever feel like a misfit?

Everything inside you is dark and twisted

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, so am I

She looks up to her right and smiles at Dean, who she knows hates this type of music, but she also knows the lyrics haven't escaped him and the words really do describe all of them.

Do you ever feel like an outcast?

You don't have to fit into the format

Oh, but it's okay to be different

'Cause baby, so am I, so am I, am I-I-I-I….

Dean twirls her into him this time instead of Loki as the entire crowd begins to clap and cheer with excitement over their little, almost flash mob moment.

"Walk with me," Dean says quietly to her as he ushers her toward a door leading to an outside balcony.

"Okay," she replies with a smile.

Once outside, Lexi leans back against the railing to look back through the glass windows at the party inside, while her friend watches her.

"That was insane," Lexi says, still grasping the idea of what had just happened.

"It was," he comments, "and you look great by the way."

"Thanks," she smiles up at him, "you clean up nice too."

Lexi glances away after a moment and the two of them stand there in silence for a couple minutes before Dean speaks again, "We're good right? You and me?"

She turns to him, concern on her face, "Of course. What makes you ask that?"

Dean turns to rest his elbows on the railing, facing away from the building, "I don't know…all this maybe. Your…magic side, I just don't feel like we talk about it much, because I'm not a part of that."

"I'm…sorry," she says soothingly, placing her hand on his shoulder, "you've just had so much going on, I didn't want to bother you with it."

He glances over to her for a moment, holding her gaze, "I just don't want to lose you...I can't."

"Hey," she smirks, "you're stuck with me, regardless of what I am."

He grins at her comment and she shoves his shoulder as she says, "Now come on, we're missing the party."

Lexi turns to head back inside, but Dean grabs her wrist to stop her, his voice low, "Wait."

His hand slips down, interlocking his fingers with hers and her heart skips a beat as suddenly she feels like she's back in Joe's bar, over two years ago in this same moment. The only night he'd cracked the door and she had pulled it back shut when she pulled away from him to go home to Oliver.

"Lex," Dean's voice is barely above a whisper.

He pulls her back to him with the hand he's holding, unlocking their fingers as she turns and steps back into him. He grabs her hip with that hand, pulling her closer to him as his other hand cups the side of her face. She stares into those familiar green eyes and she's never seen him look at her like this, not even demon Dean. Lexi melts into him like ice cream in the summer sun, and she's not sure if it's from the look in his eyes, or the heat emanating from their bodies. All the built-up anticipation, the countless stolen glances, the small lingering touches filled with electricity, all of it led here. Lexi drops her eyes for a moment as she moves her hands up his chest, before glancing back up at him through dark eyelashes. Dean ducks his head, pressing his lips to hers as years of feelings finally fall down around them like embers from a fire. He kisses her softly, like she's made of porcelain, as if she might break, and although it's sweet, soft isn't what she needs. Every nerve in her body is burning like never before and she knots her fists into the black fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to her as she tugs on his bottom lip with her teeth. She can feel him smile as his arms flex around her, pulling her tighter against him and he kisses her harder and deeper, the two of them consuming each other.

When Dean finally pulls away, he looks down at her his lips curling slightly in a smile as she says breathlessly, "Where'd that come from?"

He shrugs his shoulders as he says quietly, "Just thought it was time, I guess."

She takes a small step back with a grin, leaving her hands on his chest, "As much as I want to stay out here…"

"I know," he replies, turning her hips with his hands and draping his left arm across his shoulder, "you have an appearance to keep up tonight, don't need people wondering where we slipped off to."

She smiles as they start to walk back toward the glass door, and she sees Sam making small talk at the bar with Steve and Bucky and suddenly it clicks in her mind. Stopping dead in her tracks she turns placing her left hand firmly against his chest to stop him.

"Wait a minute," Lexi says, "you saw me flirting with him, didn't you?"

"What?" Dean tries to look confused.

"I've seen the comics stashed in your room," she accuses him with her finger, but smirking as she does, "Is that what finally brought that on, you're jealous of Captain America?"

He grabs her hand, eyeing her firmly, "And if it was?"

"I must say," she begins, stepping slightly closer to him as he releases her wrist, "Jealousy is a good look on you."

The smile she gives him makes her eyes light up and he starts to shake his head, "That's not a challenge."

Lexi takes a step back from him grabbing the handle of the door, and using the most innocent voice she can muster, "But, it is Cap's birthday."

She bites her bottom lip as she opens the door and gives Dean a quick wink, before stepping back inside.

The green-eyed man runs his hands over his face in exasperation as he mutters to himself, "It's going to be a long night."

Sam

The next morning, Sam makes his way down the hall back to his room and ends up running into his brother who's also trying to sneak back into their room.

"Whatcha doin'?" Sam questions him in a child-like tone.

"Nothin'," Dean responds, opening the door to their room.

Both men stare inside at the two beds, still freshly made from the day before, indicating neither brother had slept in this room.

"Where'd you sleep?" Sam questions his brother.

"You first," his older brother says walking over to sit on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

"Nope," he replies, "I asked you first."

Dean looks at him and narrows his eyes, "Romanoff."

The younger brother can't help but look at him in surprise, "Really?"

The green-eyed man nods his head in satisfaction as Sam picks his duffel bag up out of the floor, "What about you?"

"Some blonde," Sam replies, "Natalie, I think."

"Proud of you," Dean gives him a smirk.

Sam knows Dean's lying, but he will give his brother some credit though, under normal circumstances he would have fully believed that Dean and Natasha had spent the night together. However, he knew for a fact that his brother was not with Natasha last night, because he had just left Romanoff's room and she was still in her bed, where the two of them had been all night.

Sam isn't sure why his brother would keep his little rendezvous a secret, especially from him, but he would give it to him this time, after all, he did put up a good front and Sam was almost certain he knew who's room Dean had stayed in last night.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #avengers #avenger fanfiction #supernatural/avenger fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #tony stark #loki #thor #captain america #steve rogers #iron man #oc

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spooky-ghostwriter · 5 years

Text

Dressed to Kill - Chapter Twenty-Three

<– Previous Chapter

Galen hesitated.

“The... Death Robe?” He confirmed.

“That's right,” said Tsukiko. “I'm positive – that's the only weapon that we have that will be able to destroy this thing.”

“But we don't know how it works!” Galen protested. “All we know is that it doesn't activate when you die.”

“Look,” said Tsukiko. “I've been trapped in this facility for god knows how long. I've had a lot of time to think this over.”

“Two days. You've been here for two days.”

“It felt longer. Look. You and I both know we can't fight this thing with a tank, sword, bow, fists or pretty red shoes, so come on.” Tsukiko extended her hand and made a grabbing gesture.

“All right. Fine.” Galen dug his hand into the Cargo Pants' pocket. He felt the flowing fabric of the robe and withdrew the black, ghost-like figure.

“Just promise me,” said Galen. “Promise me that however you're planning on activating the Robe doesn't involve dying.”

“It doesn't.”

Galen sighed and passed Tsukiko the robe. He watched hesitantly as she threw the robe over her head.

“Cold blood, cold steel,” Tsukiko recited. She held the sheathed Shiba Kariki in both hands. “Cold steel is half of the equation – something that's pretty easy to find. But cold blood is a little harder.

“It's been easy to justify killing dryads. They're not intelligent. They're just bundles of instinct. But Garrick – he's a human. This isn't going to be like smashing a pumpkin or swatting a fly. This is something I need to be cold-blooded for.”

Tsukiko drew her sword, then she felt the wires slither around beneath the fabric of the Death Robe.

“It's not that I need to die to wear the Death Robe,” She said.

“I need to kill.”

Tsukiko waited. The slithering across the fabric of her arm had stopped briefly, but it began to pick up once more. Something about this felt different than other Religalia. Whereas the others had been hundreds of tiny, thin wires, this felt like one large mass slithering together. In fact, it felt just like –

“Gary,” Tsukiko said dully.

The ball python finished its travel down her arm and poked his head out of her sleeve. Gary flicked his tongue up at Tsukiko.

“What?” Galen asked. “I thought I – ”

“Were you keeping Gary in your pocket dimension?!” Tsukiko asked Galen.

“No! I put him back in his terrarium, I swear,” Galen said. “I'd never put Gary in the Cargo Pants on purpose. I wasn't sure there was air in there.”

Gary continued slithering down Tsukiko's arm. Galen moved closer to pick him up, but the snake seemed fixated on its path. He reached Tsukiko's wrist and the handle of Shiba Kariki. Then, the snake opened its mouth wide and bit down on the handle.

“What is he doing?” Galen asked.

Tsukiko didn't answer. She picked up Shiba Kariki's sheath and held it behind Gary and the handle. Gary's tail wrapped around the sheath as well and the snake constricted into a tight ball, connecting the sword and sheath at a ninety degree angle.

Finally, the transformation began.

Tsukiko felt the movement of countless thin wires within the robe, the more normal sensation of a Religalia activating. They did not go outwards as she was used to from the Tank Top, but instead spiraled around her body within the robe. Metal wove around her, invisibly to Galen until it reached her arms.

Thousands of wire rings clamped down on each arm. In seconds, it looked as though she was wearing skin-tight gauntlets.

Tsukiko's face was the last part of her that Galen could see, but that changed too in an instant. The wires covered her face like a mask. They traced a skull, one that covered every inch of her face but the eyes. Tsukiko felt the wires pull her blonde streak back up onto her head, and the mask constricted to keep her hair stationary.

Finally, the wires among Tsukiko's sword-wielding arm moved again, and they crept along the odd formation Gary had made with Shiba Kariki. The metal covered both the snake and sword just as completely as it covered Tsukiko, forming an eerie scythe out of her weapon and pet. The scythe had retained a few of the flowery engravings on Shiba Kariki's sheath, but with a new ornament – a coiled serpent where the blade met the handle.

Where Tsukiko and Gary had stood, there was now a reaper – the truest embodiment of death Galen could imagine.

“Cold blood and cold steel,” Tsukiko repeated, but she said it with a voice that was unlike any she'd ever spoken with before. It sounded as chilling as ice. “This is Niddhoggr – the serpent that gnaws the roots of Yggdrasil.”

Were this friendly banter in one of their magic shows, Galen might have asked when Tsukiko learned that much about Norse mythology. Instead, Galen remained speechless.

Tsukiko swung the scythe over her shoulder.

“I'll be back soon,” she said.

Tsukiko began walking. It was neither towards the left wall of thorny roots nor the safe path to the city. Instead, she walked straight up, stepping through the air with no more difficulty than one would walk up a ramp.

“Our second-to-top story continues now,” said Liz Ardtail. “The girl we have just identified as Tsukiko Tanner is now walking on air. She mentioned something about a magic show, and I think you viewers can agree that this is some magic show!”

The camera zoomed in. Though the picture wasn't perfectly in focus, viewers caught a glimpse of Tsukiko's face underneath the hood.

Elizabeth Tanner looked away from the screen. The cold skull-like mask hiding her daughter's face was too much to bear.

Takehiko still looked at the screen. All the excitement that he'd had just moments ago was gone, and now he had a look of determination on his face, as if he himself were fighting.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Elizabeth forced herself to look back at Tsukiko, but at her current angle, she was blocked from view by a hundred-meter-thick branch.

None of it felt real.

It was as if Tsukiko was somewhere between awake and asleep. She couldn't even describe the sensation as a dream, for she felt less in control of her actions than any dream she'd ever had before. It was more like she watched herself from afar.

Thinking of how she was watching herself from what felt like a new perspective made her realize just how strange her vision had become in this form. The ground, the buildings and cars that Yggdrasil had crushed and all the tools being used by the news crew and circus – anything inanimate felt distant in some way, as if they were completely meaningless to her now.

The things around her that were alive, however, felt much more vibrant. The circusfolk looked almost like the ghost lions; ethereal wisps of some sort of brightly lit plasma. Though their forms were much less defined, Tsukiko found she could recognize them effortlessly. She picked out Galen from the crowd below. She saw the spirit-equivalents of Ravindra, Stiletto and Pierre redistribute themselves among the remaining dryads.

The closest one to her, or at least the one closest to the reaper body she had no control over, was in her metallic skeletal hand.

It's Gary, Tsukiko realized.

With each step up through the air, Tsukiko felt more and more distant from her own body and the wisps around her became more faded. Yggdrasil was a monstrous climb, but the spirit she recognized as Garrick was within sight. Tsukiko wasn't sure she'd be able to stop her body even if she'd wanted to, but reaffirmed her decision to keep climbing higher.

By the time she reached the top, she could only barely see two of the things she believed to be souls – Garrick's and Gary's.

Garrick stood on a leaf. It was a leaf hundreds of feet above the city below; a leaf dozens of meters wide, one thicker and sturdier than most buildings' floors, yet still only one of thousands upon Yggdrasil. The view was extraordinary; the tree's plumage extended as far as the eye could see in any given direction. A sea of pure green leaves flowed around him.

It was not the leaves at which his attention was directed, however. Not ten feet away from Garrick's leaf platform stood the heart of Yggdrasil. Not unlike the hearts in the apple tree beasts, it was an organ shaped just like a human's heart, but over three times Garrick's height.

The heart pulsed, sending a low resonating sound through the leaves. Garrick watched in awe as nutrients absorbed themselves into the heart and it forced them back into the tree.

“It's beautiful,” He said to himself.

Garrick waited a moment for the heart to pulse again. The feeling of the heartbeat pulsing through the the leaf below him made it all feel worth it.

Then he turned around. A rustling in the leaves had continued long after the heartbeat's pulse had ended.

A black shadow emerged from a small gap in the leaf platforms. That was all it looked like to Garrick – a human-shaped shadow. Garrick backed against the heart as the shadow moved closer, walking across the leaves with more ease than even Garrick himself.

“What... what are you?!” Garrick demanded of the reaper.

The ghastly figure said nothing as it approached. It raised its scythe, the silvery edge glimmering in the light of the sunset.

As the light shone across the silver skull-like mask, Garrick caught a glimpse at the eyes underneath. There was something unearthly about the eyes behind the mask, something that chilled even Garrick to the bone, but he still recognized the minute features he could make out.

“You... I knew it...” He said. He backed up further against the heart. He couldn't move any further, but couldn't bring himself to leave the heart of Yggdrasil. “There is something special about you. What is it?!”

She said nothing, merely gliding closer towards Garrick and the heart.

“You and I – we have both ascended beyond mundane humanity!” Garrick cried. “Why be enemies after all? We're the only two people who understand what it means to transcend the mundane and live in a world of fantasy!”

The reaper raised her scythe.

“What do you want?!” Garrick demanded. “Whatever it is, you and I can surely find out how to obtain it – or create it! You and I can have anything we desire!”

Still, the reaper did not answer.

Garrick grimaced. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to waste your abilities protecting these… these humans… then you can die alongside them.”

Several branches of Yggdrasil began to move. They extended, more like tentacles than wood, and lurched forwards towards the reaper. They surrounded her; hands ready to grasp their prey.

The scythe swung twice, tearing away the branches. The reaper continued to advance.

“Fine. Yggdrasil, it is time!” Garrick cried. “All of your children - as many as are ready - release them now!”

Waves rippled along the sea of leaves. A single leaf lifted upwards, curling around air. Then, like a magician’s cloak, it flapped back down, revealing a pumpkin dryad. Unlike the ones Tsukiko had fought previously, this dryad was made out of ten pumpkins, each one larger and more vicious-looking than ever before.

More leaves lifted up and fluttered away.

Garrick’s eyes grew wild with excitement as he watched the dryads appear. A snapdragon with three heads spat a breath of seed bullets to the sky. A woman made of ivy extended angelic wings from her shoulders. A hot pepper dryad three times larger than a normal ape lumbered across the leaves. Several leaves came together to reveal a six-legged apple tree creature.

“I can hardly believe it...” Garrick awed. “I knew that Yggdrasil’s presence would bolster our forces, but to be able to spawn so many dryads so quickly… this is exactly what we needed.”

He extended his arms and raised his voice, commands echoing to his new army.

“Dryads! Kill this reaper - this magician. Then, the circus below. They are no longer a threat to us, but make them pay for what they’ve done to the dryads who came before you. This world shall become a paradise of fantasy.”

Garrick gave a glance towards the dark shadow of a girl, now surrounded by a continuously-increasing swarm of dryads.

“I regret that I’ll have to dispose of something as fantastical as you, Specimen Delta.”

Another slash of the scythe.

The pumpkin dryad fell, splattering guts across the otherwise untainted leaves.

The snapdragon fired seeds, but they were deflected by its target’s metallic palm. A single slash tore all three heads from their necks.

Garrick stared in horror as the reaper’s scythe shone again and again. She moved through the horde undeterred, leaving a path of plant destruction behind her.

Finally, Garrick found himself staring death in the eyes.

“You - “

She swung the scythe, striking Garrick in the abdomen. It provided no resistance; the scythe sliced through both Garrick and the heart in a single, effortless slash.

The last things Garrick saw were the countless leaves of Yggdrasil; their green fading away to a dull brown, then a ghastly grey.

It had only taken a moment. Only a few minutes had passed since Tsukiko began walking her way to the top of the tree. And now, it was over – Garrick and Yggdrasil were dead.

Galen and Vercingetorix watched as the trunk and roots of Yggdrasil lost their colour. The vivid green around them turned to a dull grey; the tree withering and dying before them.

“She did it,” Vercingetorix said, his voice transcending awe to pure disbelief.

“I... I guess she did,” Galen agreed. He looked up to the sky, finally seeing Tsukiko. She stepped down through the air, still as easily as the ghost lions had.

Finally, Tsukiko reached the ground once again. She dropped her silver scythe Niddhoggr on the pavement. The tip of the blade bounced off the ground, loosening the wires on the sword. They began to recede, revealing the original sword underneath. As they passed through over the scabbard, Gary became visible too. He finally relinquished his bite on the katana's hilt. The wires arced back up into the bottom of Tsukiko's robe. The scythe was gone; Gary slithered away from Shiba Kariki and its scabbard as if nothing had happened.

Before the snake could get too far, Galen scooped him up and held him to his shoulder. Vercingetorix stepped closer to Galen; he held out his finger to the snake and smiled as Gary gave him an affectionate lick. Galen barely noticed; he was focused intently on Tsukiko. She stood away from them, facing the last vestiges of the sun. She was but a vaguely Tsukiko-shaped shadow, no different than what stretched across the ground in front of Galen's feet.

“You did it, Tsukiko,” Galen said, trying to sound cheerful. “Now you can deactivate that robe. Let's all go back to the circus.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Galen saw Vercingetorix shake his head.

“Death is eternal, Galen. I'm not sure she can deactivate that robe,” Vercingetorix said.

“What are you talking about?” Galen demanded.

“Think back to the other Religalia,” said Vercingetorix. “All of them enshroud the wearer with utter fantasy, like an actor being immersed in their character. They become something impossible. But the other Religalia still allow their wearers to be visible; even the Tank Top keeps Tsukiko's head uncovered.”

Vercingetorix gave a solemn look to Tsukiko and the Death Robe.

“That robe has removed Tsukiko entirely from the world. None of her former self shines through.”

Galen realized in horror that Vercingetorix might be right. Tsukiko made no effort to come back to them; she still stared intently at the sunset behind them.

“I'm sorry, Galen,” said Vercingetorix. “But I believe that, if Tsukiko was able to activate the Robe, she must have known the cost. I believe she willingly sacrificed her future to destroy Yggdrasil, and save humanity forever.”

Finally, the sun disappeared completely. Galen wasn't sure if he had accepted the gravity of what Vercingetorix was explaining to him. He was distracted – Tsukiko began to move again.

She grabbed the outer edges of the robe's hood and pulled. She flapped the robe up over her head, then flung the garment onto the ground.

“Ah,” said Vercingetorix, scratching his chin. “I didn't think she'd just be able to take off the robe like that. Interesting.”

“Interesting?!” Galen demanded.

It was clear that Tsukiko's body was no longer covered by the Death Robe's metal armour. As she turned back to Vercingetorix and Galen, a wave of relief washed over Galen; her mask was also gone.

Tsukiko took a moment to mess with her hair; her blonde streak fell out of the constricted knot the Death Robe's mask had put it in, back over her right eye where it belonged. Then she gathered up the robe and Shiba Kariki.

“I know we were keeping track of the number of dryads we killed,” Tsukiko said, jerking her thumb at the tree. “But personally, I think the goddamn tree of life counts for more than one. What do you think?”

Galen could hardly believe it; Tsukiko's voice was perfectly normal. There was none of the chill that the skeletal mask had forced upon her.

“Galen?” Tsukiko asked. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello?” She paused. “Oh hey, Gary!” She picked the snake up off Galen's shoulder. “Never eat my sword again, okay? That was scary.”

Galen didn't know what to say, so he simply grabbed Tsukiko in a tight hug. Tsukiko was caught off-guard at first, but remembered the terrifying feeling of wearing the Robe. What felt like a dream was beginning to fade from her memory, as most dreams did when she woke up. She could imagine Garrick and Yggdrasil's heart, but the words he spoke were almost completely forgotten.

None of that mattered to Tsukiko now. She hugged Galen back, just happy to know that this moment was real – and so too were the moments from here on.

Of course, knowing what was real and what was fantasy did not mean that Tsukiko had to choose reality for the rest of her life.

It had taken a while, much longer than Tsukiko had wanted. Knowledge of the dryads and Alesia's involvement in their battle went public, and so Vercingetorix's time as of late had been spent more in interviews and questioning than managing the circus. Finally, however, he'd found the time to get the show back on the road, and now Tsukiko stood backstage once again.

There wasn't a single empty seat, even in Alesia's largest stage. Being known as the stage magician who saved the world had given Tsukiko, and the circus itself, quite the boost in popularity. Tsukiko vowed to give them a show amazing enough to repay that.

She checked her watch. It was 8:59. A proper show began with proper tantalization, so if Galen were to be trusted, she had another two minutes to examine her props.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Galen's deep announcer voice bellowed, no more than a second later. “I don't know about anyone else, but my watch says it's 9:00 on the nose. And so, without even an instant of ado, let's get this show on the road.”

Tsukiko shook her head, but couldn't hold back a smile as Galen introduced her. This was where she belonged, after all; a fantasy that she owned, one she understood, and one through which she could lead her treasured audience.

She gave a glance towards the Tank Top and its hat, sitting neatly on a recreation of Freya's inescapable box. This was her intended finale for the night.

All right, Tsukiko admitted. I don't own or understand the entire fantasy. That's fine by me.

Galen's introduction had ended. Tsukiko stepped out from the curtain, into the blinding spotlights of center stage. The last whispers of the audience stopped, eagerly allowing Tsukiko to lead them from the mundane into the impossible.

#dressed to kill #original fiction #tsukiko #thanks for joining me on this wild ride #I had a lot of fun writing DtK #I hope you had fun reading it!

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dancingwithdylan21 · 6 years

Text

No Longer You

Summary: Now a shell of her former self, the reader runs into an old flame.

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Word Count: 1,781

Warning: implying an abusive relationship

Green cancels out red.

Yellow cancels out purple and brown…no purple and blue.

And lavender cancels out…yellow?

Jesus Christ. This shouldn’t be that difficult, hiding the evidence of your home life is now a normal occurrence. The three concussions you’ve acquired over the years must be catching up to you.

You’re squinting harshly at the Revlon concealers on the top shelf before you at the supermarket. Trying and failing to remember which ones work the best, basically whatever hides the fucking truth.

Your exhausted brain is practically mush at this point in time, you used to know this shit. You used to know a lot of shit. You used to be a strong, independent take no bullshit kind of a woman that took care of herself. But things clearly change. People fucking change.

You’re feeling a bit woozy at the moment, either from the lack of food or from the lack of focus, you’re not sure which. Moving backwards you try to control your balance, causing you to stumble into an older woman passing by.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” You spin around to apologize, immediately regretting the fast movement.

“You ok, honey?” The woman asks eyeing you too closely for your liking.

The automatic judgement is something you’ve become accustomed to over the years. You’re convinced it chips off a piece of your pathetic heart each time.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” You barely mumble turning away from her in the makeup aisle. You can still feel unwelcomed eyes on you, aggravated you silently command yourself to just breathe.

“Y/N?”

You freeze from the sound of your name although you’re more concerned with the deep voice saying it. It can’t be him…can it? For the love of all things holy, please let it not be him.

“Y/N?” Stiles slightly hesitates, awkwardly staring as if you’ll run away any second.

You turn around painfully slow, stalling what’s about to take place. Your eyes lock, immediately waking something in you that you’ve been suppressing for years. Hope.

“Stiles.” You let out a heavy sigh as your chest tightens, you struggle wanting the pressure to dissipate as quickly as it came. Your body’s way of warning you, an asthma attack is on the horizon.

Out of habit, your eyes dart around the aisle, clearly paranoid about your surroundings. You quickly scan the area, assessing what you can. Where you are, who’s around, what’s being said and who’s listening.

“Wow. It’s been awhile.” He half heartedly chuckles, trying to keep his shocked reaction at bay. If it wasn’t for your sweet voice catching his attention, Stiles would have kept strolling right by you. Completely and totally oblivious that the love of his life is near.

“Yeah…six years.” You offer him your best fake smile, praying that time has ruined Stiles’ memory of you.

He doesn’t react, at least not in a negative way. Did he become an amazing actor? Or did he forget the look of your real smile? Either way, it makes you both relieved and disappointed. Stop it, Y/N. The last thing you want or need is to trap Stiles fucking Stilinski into this shitshow you call a life.

“What are you doing here? Last I heard you moved to...I think New York...for an architect job?” Ugh. You can barely remember shit anymore. It doesn’t help that you moved a few towns over, cutting off all ties with everyone that you cared about.

Stiles’ stomach drops, his mouth turns dry and he’s debating if he should tell you the truth. Worried what your reaction will be, he nervously decides against it. At least for now. You’ll find out soon enough what he’s been doing with his life. He silently makes that promise to you.

“Yeah. Scott and Alison still live close by with their daughter Kelly. She just turned two years old and they’re having a big party for her. So I’m just visiting everyone.”

“Huh. I bet they make great parents.” You mutter glaring down at your gorgeous, princess cut diamond ring that’s fucking mocking you. It’s become the only bright, attractive thing left in your god damn world.

“Yup they do.” Stiles nods following your gaze down to the giant rock on your bony finger.

“You’ve obviously settled down yourself. Any rugrats?”

“Nah…no kids. Its not something I want.” You shrug nonchalantly, eyes fixating on anything but your ex boyfriend.

“Really? You always wanted kids. Or at least one.” Stiles frowns eyeing you suspiciously. Shit.

“You couldn’t wait to have a little boy so you could dress him up in baseball caps and skull t-shirts.” Stiles snickers at the memory, your face would light up when you used to talk about it.

“Things change.” You add softly, realizing he will never know the actual truth.

Stiles barely nods in response, the restraint it’s taking to keep his mouth shut is nearly killing him. He doesn’t know specifics but he knows for sure that something isn’t fucking right.

Stiles has missed you terribly since the breakup, the amount of regret he deals with on a daily basis is sometimes overwhelming. It doesn’t matter how much whiskey he knocks back or how many girls he takes to bed, you’re always hiding in the corner of his mind.

And now here you are in the flesh, standing before him and you’re not her. It’s a total mindfuck, to be honest Stiles misses you even more now. Or at least the version of you that was his. The current version of you is breaking his fucking heart.

Glancing at your cuticles, he sees how marked and cut up they are from where you’ve repeatedly torn off the skin. You always pick at them when you’re anxious or upset. It’s an automatic tell of yours.

Your nails - usually perfectly trimmed and painted, are now ragged and thin. The texture of your hair looks dry and fried, the color and cut something you’d never choose six years ago.

Your wardrobe, once playful and always stylish is now drabby and depressing. You wouldn’t be caught dead in the oversized clothing you’re wearing right now. Even with the baggy clothes, Stiles can see how thin and fragile you’ve become. Which confuses him slightly based on the shopping cart in front of you.

It’s filled to the brim, the amount of junk food alone would make anyone gain weight. Weirdly enough, he doesn’t see one thing of yours that’s a favorite. Being a creature of habit, he would’ve bet money you still liked the same guilty pleasures.

You strangely keep favoring your right leg. It wouldn’t be obvious to many people but Stiles knows you’re usually full of energy, moving around even when standing still. So the fact that you’re not annoyingly restless is a huge red flag.

One of many at this point.

You know Stiles is dissecting your appearance in his mind right now but you refuse to acknowledge it. This surprise encounter is hard enough, seeing the best part of your past standing in front of you is torture.

Thinking back you realize the breakup was a stupid solution, the fights you two had seem so lame and unimportant now but you were young. Young and stupid. Still being with Stiles was the greatest time of your inevitably short life.

It’s not like you haven’t tried to create distance between you and your personal hell. There were other factors in play that wouldn’t let it happen. Your husband being a police officer has stalled every getaway plan you’ve tried.

You left in the middle of the night once, an APB was sent out so fast you barely made it two towns over. And reporting to the police was a joke, your husband made up mental problems for your “erratic behavior”. They knew the truth but it didn’t change a fucking thing.

Growing up in a family of cops, you know how they take care of their own. How easily they sweep shit under the rug if needed, unfortunately you were one of those things swept away. So he’s still “serving and protecting” the city while you suffer in silence.

“Are you…are you okay, Y/N?” Stiles asks concern overtaking his handsome features.

“Of course.”

“You don’t seem ok to me. You don’t even seem like the same girl.” He adds hesitantly.

“You’ve always been one for the dramatics, Stiles. I’m doing great.”

“You’re lying.” Stiles quietly growls, trying to control his anger.

“You haven’t seen me in a long time, Stilinski. Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you used to.” You glare now getting angry yourself.

“Right. You’re right.” Stiles snaps aggravated. “I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know your life or your husband. Or the reason why you no longer want children. Shit changes I guess, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well I’ve had fun strolling down memory lane but I have to go. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“You too, Stiles.” You respond softly, doing everything in your power not to break down.

“I hope you find the happiness you’ve been pretending to have, Y/N.” Stiles adds bitterly, barely making eye contact as he leaves you behind.

The pure sadness in your eyes hits Stiles hard as he stalks away from you. He hates causing you any kind of pain but unfortunately it’s necessary for his plan to work. It’s blatantly obvious your home life is keeping you prisoner and there’s no way in hell that’s going to continue.

Stiles chose to hold back an important piece of information during your awkward conversation. He’s been working for the FBI for years now, using the architect job as a cover. Stiles always refrained from looking you up in the FBI database. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been tempted, he could just never bring himself to do it.

It’s not like he expected to find anything negative - just the opposite. He assumed you were married with kids by now and living a full happy life. The kind you’ve always wanted and deserved. The kind he always thought he could never give you. Stiles is now kicking himself for being so fucking selfish. Maybe he could have saved you sooner if he put his god damn feelings aside.

The choice to keep you in the dark wasn’t an easy one but it’s for the best. You’re barely holding it together as it is, he doesn’t need any outside factors affecting his plan. He can’t risk your demeanor changing and it tipping off your douchebag husband.

Stiles has never been more determined in his entire life than he is right now. He’s going to save you, love you and do whatever it takes to see your beautiful, genuine smile again.

Masterlist

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thestrifeuniverse · 7 years

Text

GORETOBER DAY 3 || THE SEAMSTRESS

Today’s theme: Skinning/Filleted Alive Word Count: 6010 words/11 pages Characters: High Officer Rex, The Seamstress, various other mentions of canon charas Pings: @xenoevil, @tepidoil, @snakesnbites

Trigger warning: skinning, heavy gore, vomit mention, body horror, unreality, self harm, intrusive thoughts, needles, graphic eye trauma, tooth trauma mention, general trauma/PTSD themes, drug mention

~*~Let the games begin~*~

They called her The Seamstress.

This is not a mission I need, but I’m here anyways. Doctor’s orders - you have to leave the nest of comfort sometime, right? It’ll be good for you. Some fresh air, especially after all the hardships you and your brother went through - something like that, coupled with a direct order from the Top Gun themselves. There’s more people than I thought would be here, surrounding, crushing me against the shoulders of my fellow soldiers while we’re all huddled together in what could only be described as one of those tents you’d see in the Entertainment squad. It’s tinier than usual though, and the ring of seats that hosts thousands to watch whatever cooky plan our Captain came up with are missing. Usually it’s a kind invite for a distraction, something that’d keep us all calm and stress-free.

In this reality, however, we’ve been herded here along with some nearby civilians by the Seamstress on “friendly” and “inviting” terms. My fellow soldiers and I are supposed to be undercover, but it’s hard not to fear there’s someone nearby listening in for the mechanical hum within our veins, or that any one of those civilian eyes staring at us would see right through the thin rags I bought from a merchant just yesterday. Try focusing elsewhere, Rex. Friendly. Inviting. The Seamstress sounded nice enough, if you’re a fool and an idiot. Friendly. She’s about as real as the faux flesh filling in the two long claw marks across my belly. Inviting: this felt too easy. Too kind. The Seamstress is supposed to be a high level monster, not a kindness. Friendly. Inviting. I can’t be too careful, not like last time. Inviting. Friendly.

Fingertips tap along my thumb as I count the ways I can say friendly and inviting in all the languages and cultures I know. It’s all I can do to keep a level head when I’m stuck listening to my fellow soldiers chatter amongst themselves while we wait.

“Welcome, friends, to my humble abode!” her voice booms over our heads like one of Devoltn’er’s loud speakers.

My head jerks upwards, then left, right. I don’t mean to look so paranoid, but I can’t really help it either. My therapist says it’s just a thing that happens when you witness atrocities like I have, like soldiers do. The trembling out of nowhere. My heart racing faster than Lieutenant Lark does down the race track. The jumpiness, the unexplained tears. Things that you can’t scrub from the remnants of your mind after watching razor-sharp wire peel flesh from bone and hear your twin brother screaming for help. I was lucky, my therapist said. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to still breathe while the corpse of my only living family had to be purged of all its blood by the PROGRAM because of the nanites in his system. Precious, filthy nanites. The tiny robots currently flooding my blood stream, making my veins itch, making my fingers twitch with the urge to gore my inner elbow in hopes of taking them out.

“Don’t be so spooked,” a voice in my ear caused me to jump. It’s my high officer, the one who oversees my familial platoon. He’s here with all the rest of us just to make sure we do our jobs. That’s what he said, anyways.

I can remember the sadness in his tone when he said it, like he knew what I knew. That he knew what it meant when Devoltn’er gave orders for a “full-purge excursion.” I saw the orders, actually. I knew immediately the second I saw her face where we were going. The orders were clear, and my therapist, that damn asshole, had the audacity to tell me I was going to be okay. That this would be a good thing for me, that we were safe, of all things.

Safe! This is the fucking soldier PROGRAM! No one is ever fucking okay or safe around here.

I count how many times I can say safe in all the foreign languages I know. Twenty-eight. Thirty, if I count the ones I made up in class with my brother all those years back.

“Please, please,” the Seamstress’ voice cuts in again and I shudder, “come on in! I know it’s a bit crowded here but I promise you, I will get to each and every one of you as quickly and conveniently as possible.”

Get to us.

My eyes roam, trying to make sense of the place. The tent overhead can’t seem to fixate on whether it wants to be that flimsy easy-to-pack cloth we give our travelling entertainment troupes or if it wants to be a fully-fledged, weirdly convex house. There’s places where wood and plaster exist, aged and brown due to- what, I don’t know (and don’t want to know). Then, there’s gaps; cracked and ripped open like someone was desperately banging and punching through the walls, attempting to hide behind large crates and furniture that just can’t quite get the job done right. The ceiling looks like a tent the most though, what with the fact it’s pointed upwards smack dab in the center and has a row of tassel-like hangings coming off the support beams. I can hear breathing in the walls, I swear it, if everyone around me would just shut up with their quiet chatting.

Can’t say, though, that it’s too unusual to see shifting and struggling architecture anymore, let alone ones run down like this. Would’ve been unusual had this happened a few years ago, but currently? There’s so much shit you see with Monsters that anything’s possible. I’ve seen living trees skin the fur right off the animals they lured in. Watched as that oasis in the far desert became their tomb, the bark of the tree becoming even furrier than before. I’ve seen a bird bigger than our Captain efficiently push the whole skeleton - as if a child’s pop-out toy - right out of a soldier so it could decorate it’s lair with them. I’ve seen my own brother filleted alive and used as a puppet to speak sweet nothings to me.

Shit just doesn’t fucking have the same impact when you’ve been through hell like I fucking have.

The decorations are solid even if the walls are not, that I can confirm. There’s those tall furniture - scaffoldings, bookshelves, screens, an incredibly long couch with a painting behind it. Then the boxes and crates, wood, with trinkets and knick-knacks on display. Delicates such as faberge eggs and music boxes are probably the most innocent things I can see. Stained glass lamps, custom made from a local glass blower, tall vases and badly made cubic sculptures. Looks like an old grandma with an art hoarding problem, mixed with a touch of the nostalgic “antique” theme.

The most disconcerting things, however, are the mannequins.

I’m caught staring at one, unfortunately. It’s had its eyes on me since we got here - eyes I originally thought were civilian eyes, but are instead glass bead ones so hyper realistic I swear to god they might blink at any second. These eyes are green, like mine. Perfectly dark green sclera with a lighter yellow-green iris, a touch of orange for the veins in the corners. Eyelashes are almost nonexistent. There’s no other facial features except for very vague shapes that outline the bridge of a nose and perhaps a little cheekbone (again, like mine - highly raised and cupping the eyes like the prominent ridge of a woven basket). The rest of the mannequin is lifeless, formless. It’s dark grey and made of a hard plaster instead of the cloth ones I’ve seen in the fashion squad. Mitten hands dangle beside missing hips and legs, missing pieces that are instead replaced by a thick iron rod and a broad wooden stand. It stands a little lower than me, making me realize I’m hunching over to keep eye contact even when my fellow soldiers blip in and out of my vision from walking past and shuffling around by me.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

The Seamstress breathes right in my ear, once more causing me to jolt and pull back. It’s hard to relax when I hear her laugh at my reaction, “just simply eye-catching. That one’s going to be my favorite, I can tell.”

She glances round, gathering my curiosity. There’s a few others like me who’d been caught staring at mannequins as well.

They’re still staring.

“Come on, a little closer now, friends!” She calls, waving us to huddle in even closer after she walks through the crowd to the far back of the tent-house, “I’m going to start now, so let’s get ready!”

She’s the definition of long: taller than I imagined, maybe seven foot. Her body is just about a perfect cylinder, no form to it beneath the heavy, hand-made, silk robes she wears. Her needle-like arms stretch nearly to the ground, an unfortunate side effect of her Strife. Something about fearing being stretched too thin by her passion at work, or something like that.

I read the files on her before we left. The Seamstress is a dangerous high-class Monster that disguises herself as a friendly seamstress that offers civilians free clothing in their most desperate time of need. She can appeal to all classes, whether it’s the luxurious lifestyles of the upper class, the modest ones of the middle, or the more destitute and dire situations of the poor. She gathers in a vast array of civilians she feels need her “help” then dresses them to their deaths. There were parts that were missing from them, namely her background, previous life information, how she dresses her prey. The most important information was there, though: a speculation on how to escape her traps alive and possibly defeat her-

Being pushed forward by my friends now felt just about as abrasive as her earlier interruption. The feel of being pushed drives me nuts nowadays; I can’t stop my thoughts from imagining what it must’ve felt like for my brother when those teeth ripped through his flesh. Painful, sure, but was it like running a brush through tangled hair? A piece of floss too hard against the gum? Would it have been similar to the blades I ran through the back of my arm at night just to feel alive again? I haven’t brushed my hair or flossed my teeth in weeks because of thoughts like these.

My high officer has a hold on my right arm, the scarred one (or the one that would be scarred, had I not known how to use those dirty, disgusting nanites inside me to seal up the wound. A fucking curse upon me, they are, I tell you). I can’t yank away even if everything inside me screams too, there’s no room to jerk my arm back. I can’t tell him to fuck off; he’s my commanding officer and my closest friend here. I can’t be mean to him like that. My skin itches and god, it is so hard not to want to scrape myself clean of my own blood. Teeth grit. I can’t feel anything in the dead nerve where I lost one of my teeth. Since my fingers are suffocating in human bodies and the threadbare clothing of my peers, I focus on that instead. Try to “feel the void” within my teeth, try to become that void.

I can’t count how many times I could say void. I can’t breathe.

“Yes, yes, that’s it, dears. Now, stand as straight as you can,” god, she’s herding us into place like cattle, pushing some with her long thin hands and pulling others. “I need to take measurements. Don’t panic, beauties, but you’re about to see something somewhat unsightly. Take note it is perfectly natural, however! I will not be hurt!”

Wish I could’ve closed my eyes just to defy her, but I couldn’t. They’re wide fucking open when she lifts the sides of her robe - a robe I thought had been one piece, but was now revealed to be several pieces sewn together to accommodate something - and begins to rock back and forth. There’s a crack in her spine, a pop, snap, crunch - god, that’s bone - and soon enough her own ribs (or so I can assume) become limbs. Skin-covered grey limbs, lighter than the mannequins behind her but made of that same unsettling plastic-like material. Her hands, all twelve of them, original limbs included, are tiny, elongated. Like a child’s hand, yet as elegant and fully developed as my own. She’s no longer a cylinder in shape, but more like an open ribcage of arms. Her head remains the same size, but her neck is longer, like there’s nothing but spine and rib-arms. I used to think she had legs, but it’s actually just her spine supporting her. God, I knew she was a fucking snake from the moment I set eyes on her in the crowd. Why didn’t I trust that and read into the way her long robes dragged several feet behind her? Fuck.

The Seamstress began grabbing tools from all around the room, tools hidden from the untrained eye, ones like my own who hadn’t bothered taking note that everything’s so thinly spread across the room. Tape measures. Needles without thread. Thick string that doesn’t really move like string. It’s stretchy, pale, almost like elastic but far more organic. I’m thinking some kind of animal fur, but there’s no fur or hair I’ve ever seen that stretches like that.

My fingers are freed when she rips the fabric off my neighbor’s body like it’s nothing. Looking down revealed that there were hands all around us now, clammy, greedy. It took me a moment of glancing down and up so fast my eyes strained to realize she’s buzzing and vibrating, her hands and arms moving so fast they’re practically a blur. The hair on my neck rises a little, then there’s a sharp prick when some of them are accidentally ripped from me when one of her hands cleanly yanks my clothing off. The same hand ruffles my hair and rubs my sore neck, soothing it. It gives me a good pat on the cheek before moving on. When I make eye contact with her, she mouths an apology I can’t hear due to her buzzing being too loud.

She’s sized us all up, literally, and stripped us all down - also literally. Despite being nude among my peers, I fear nothing. Not even the concave scarring in my stomach from my brother’s murderer. The only thing I really wish I had was my binder, the expensive one she ripped right off me. There’s no point in it here of course,considering we’re all hanging out, but the light press of the binder kept me grounded whenever I breathed. Without it, my mind already begun slipping into that dark place again. I can’t count how many ways I can say binder in all my languages because I don’t know the equivalent words. It’s a new term to me, unfortunately.

“There we are! All ready,” the Seamstress clasped her hands together and smiled at each and every one of us, locking her eyes on us. There’s rows of three dots beneath her eyes that trail down to her jawline, “are you all excited for your new clothes? I know I am! I’m going to ask that the few of you I talked to earlier step forward. Yes, all you naughty little ones who I caught eyeing my beautiful mannequins! Please, please, come before your Seamstress so I can address you?”

My high officer is staring at me. He saw me staring at the mannequin to, didn’t he? Now that I’m thinking about it, I can recall seeing a hand waving in front of me in a way that didn’t match the natural way people walked. Was that him?

I’m reluctant to step forward. There’s only a couple that do; they’re the loyal ones, the ones best at following orders. I have no way out. There’s nothing behind us, even when I look. No door where there should have been (how did no one else notice this? Most importantly, how did I not notice this?), where there was. Skin’s itching again. Crawling. I can’t scream like I want to, can’t cry. It’s been a year since my brother died, but I still can’t talk. Can’t utter a single word. It’s like my tongue is sewn to the roof of my mouth every time I try, and there’s really nothing interesting I have to say, anyways.

My therapist is in the process of teaching me sign language, but mostly I just write or text her my responses. I want to finish learning sign language. I finally began to feel like I could actually get my points across this year thanks to it, began trying to talking to people again. Lieutenant Lark really helped me out with that, too, and our Captain - deaf as cee was - knew how it comforted me. My eyes are glued to the wall where the door should be. My overseeing officer is staring at me like he knows and understands why I can’t stop crying in silence.

I really, really want to keep learning sign language.

I really, really can’t fight the hands now dragging me by my arms and legs forward.

“There, there, don’t be upset. I know I pinched you earlier, but I promise it won’t happen again! Even the experts make mistakes, my grandmother used to say, though I’m hardly an expert. More like the all-time supreme, you know?” She chortles. It rings like false guffaw my father used to give me whenever I told him a dumb joke.

Naked and afraid. Isn’t that one of the jokes I’ve seen among my peers’ social networks? Naked and afraid. A real fear of some people. Standing in front of their closest friends, exposed, taking in the judgment. There’s no judgment here, though- we’re all pretty tight-knit in this troop. We’ve seen things in each other no one else would ever see. Many know my ticks so well they help teach me new words or hold my hand when I’m starting to count. Grounding. I’ve seen them at their worst, too. I know Rosie over there, with xir big eyes, cries in the evenings of each 24th day due to her son. I know Evamund loses his sight when he writes due to his stress. I know my commanding officer, RunDun, smokes too much of the medicinal stuff we’re all given after traumatic events to cope. I’ve given him my ration cards for the stuff before. I don’t need it. It just causes my shivers to worsen and my thoughts to darken.

Right now, though, I wish I had it. Wish I could be higher than the ribbed ceiling above us to think. The same ceiling that now seemed to spin as slow as the carousels at our amusement parks. Tassels chiming, wood creaking.

The cathedral ceiling to our eventual tomb.

There was info missing from the Seamstress’ file. Mostly details, things like her background. I’ve said that already. Background, past, history. All missing from her files. There was one detail I noticed, however, that sealed the final tasseled nail in this tomb of ours. The details on how to fight her, namely speculation on how to escape, mentioned a cue, a certain codeword she’d say that would signal us to the exact moment we should fight or flee.

There was no codeword in the file.

I looked, and looked, and looked, scraped through that damn thing for hours. Nothing, not even an inkling. Just the sentence, “at the codeword given, bring up your arms and send your Kallias in to fight.”

We did not have our Kallias. They were taken from us and penned up somewhere. I can feel mine now, even at the long distance, like a waning voice beneath my skin. I can feel it in my arms, in my throat, in the back or my body. It’s crying.

We were never given a codeword either, not even an inkling that there would be anything to look for to save ourselves. I’ve been stripped and now stand shaking in front of countless eyes who now realized what the real ultimatum of this mission was.

This is a full-purge excursion.

We were sent to die here.

Fingers comb through my hair, only worsening the shivering in my body, the prickling in my skin. Tears are so damn painful when they fill your eyes, like glass stabbing into the sensitive innards of your socket. My arms hang beside me like string while I look over the faces of the only family I have left to my name. The only people who, should I die, would miss me. The ones who’ve been there for me more than anyone else when my brother passed, who sung at his wakana alongside me. If only the Captain knew. If only Lark knew.

Maybe they’ll miss us, but I doubt it. We are foot soldiers. No one misses foot soldiers.

The hands in my hair run down to my shoulders and hold me in place, pushing me down like the weight that’s been on my mind since we got here. I can hear her hissing, whining. Sent here to die. Her head looms above those of us in the front - I can tell because, although my back is now facing her massive body, I can feel the stream of her breath falls over me like the mist of a waterfall. My head tries to move, to glance at my family around me one last time, but I can’t stop staring at the spot in the wall where the door should have been. Where I should have been able to get out, to leave.

“It’s time, my dears, for your new outfits.” The Seamstress is whispering so only those of us she’s summoned can hear her. My tears increase.

There’s no warning besides that. No time for screams even. It takes me a literal second or two to realize what I had just witnessed and why there’s no longer people standing in front of me, but masses of red with the occasional blue, green, and silver. The thing started with their feet and took literally nanoseconds to transpire- but I can figure how it might’ve happened now. Their feet, held by those thousands of hands I hadn’t realized existed, were pierced. I don’t know how or why, and I don’t quite know why it was so clean, but I can see the hands that were once on the floor are now on the ceiling holding thin strings where my family’s flesh hung like hide. Skinned completely without a single trace of error. The Seamstress is ancient. She’s been doing this since before I was born.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!” My nearest neighbor is building herself up, body shaking despite being forced to stare at the bleeding muscle-like bodies still standing before us. “FUCK! SHIT! FU-”

My entire gut wrenches and I can’t fight a lurch. There’s nothing in there to purge, but the soldier to my right has the same idea and spews a rancid mess across the body feet from him. We can’t bend over; the hands are holding us by the hair and shoulders making us watch.

There’s a second flash, an angry RIP that’s combined with snapping and the rare crack. The muscle and tendons are stripped from bone in waves, sending organs splashing across the ground in a bloody mess that mixes and splashes all across the bones now falling to the ground. It’s only now that I realize we’re standing on a small stage lifted less than a foot higher than the rest of the floor. My feet are splattered with blood, but not coated. My body, too, has been painted. There’s flecks of green on my shoulder from what I can see when I look down. My neighbor to my right is covered in blue.

“FUCK! FUAAAAAAAAAAA!”

She’s just screaming now, struggling hard but unable to escape. I can’t stop shaking. Flesh peels and my focus is drawn to my front just in time to see the tendons being pried from the muscles in mid air. They’re stretchy, elastic, kind of like thick string but all bloody and hard to pick out. After the Seamstress puts them away, opening the crates nearby to reveal some kind of mildly glowing fluid, I watch the hands attached to her rib-arms lower and stretch the string I saw before, threading needles with it. Not string. Tendons, stripped until they were just thick enough to be string-like.

By now I have to watch out of obligation to my family. Their blood glitters and hums, buzzing with life just like my own are. I can hear something in my head, frantic, screaming faintly like it’s at a far off distance. My heart’s racing. The nanites in my skin itch so horribly I can’t help scratching my own fingers together while counting the ways I can say blood and skin in the languages I know. There’s a splash of blood across my face, an accidental flick of a needle missing its mark while multiple hands begin stripping flesh and sewing it together. I lose count.

Screaming never helps, I find. Monsters are only drawn out by it, egged on by the loud noises. Even when I do manage to squeeze my eyes shut and sob, I can’t scream like I want to. It’s pointless to try, so why bother. The sobs of my last surviving family act as backup singers to the frantic and anguished yelping of the woman on my right.

Escape is futile. In reality, in my own mind. My brother’s screaming had been close to her pitch, which makes it even harder to breathe. I can feel the pain I think they all went through after her hands stripped them. Could they even feel it? Was it so fast they couldn’t process it? They stood there after dying, staring. I think I could see my high officer crying just before, or after. Did that mean he felt it? Was he envious I was here? Did he wish it was me instead of him?

There’s more noises, but focusing on them won’t help. Even when I hear gurgling and ripping next to me, I can’t stop counting. Blood. Skin. There’s three. Four. Five. The voice on my left yells in anguish before going silent. I can feel hands smooth over my shoulders and neck, causing my muscles to tense and brace for some sort of impact. Pain, suffering, the feel of my own skin peeling open and off my flesh. It’s here I realize I can’t hear the backup singers anymore, right before the streaming turns to gurgling and a struggle, then a thump.

This is it. It’s finally my turn to die, just like it was all those years ago. Except unlike those years ago there won’t be a savior. No one’s alive here but the Seamstress and me. I’m going to lose my skin and she’s going to dress up herself in it. My hands lift and grip tightly to their opposing arm across my chest, nails digging into flesh so hard it hurts. It’ll hurt worse when she skins me, I know I will. All the cuts and bruises I’ve given myself won’t even compare! I’ll be here all alone, crying, shaking while my back is ripped off my carcass and I’m forced to come face to face with the fact I was the one who shoved my brother into harm’s way to save my own damn self!

The pressure of her hands leave my shoulders. I’m left alone. Sobbing, shaking, waiting for something. She’s still above me, her breaths heavy with the stench of something rotten and I feel something wet and warm hit my head. Is she chewing on the pieces of my family? The family who knew I had done that to my own brother but still continued to comfort me anyways? Who kept it a secret, mourned with me? Who were as guilty as I was for enabling me to save my own skin?

Stitching.

Chewing.

Mumbling, humming, flinging and sloshing.

Silence.

Something drags nearby. Slides across the floor, wood on wood. A thunk of something being placed down. Hands straighten my body so I’m my full height instead of the cowering mess I was. Arms are pried to my sides and my head’s tilted up. There’s a wet slap of what I assume to be skin slapping around and being toyed with.

Hands hold me still while things are placed on me. There’s a clasp sealed, my body covered by a warm blanket and my head adorned with something heavy and glassy. My shoulders slouch when she places a heavy robe or something on them. Jewelry is fastened. I’m pushed forward just a tad until my toes can feel the edge of the stage. Something soft tickles my chin.

“There, you’re perfect. Go on! Open those pretty green eyes, look at what I’ve made for you!”

The mannequin I saw before stood before me, dressed head-to-toe in the Seamstress’ handiwork. Skin draped down its chest, covering all the way past its hips, keeping it modest yet powerful. Its hips, which looked a lot like mine, jutted out at the sides of the draping mess over its front and back, but all the important areas were covered in a crudely sewn together mess of skin. Fur and hair lined the neck area, down over the collar bones and the hide the heavy brass shoulder clasps almost perfectly. Behind it, much like the Seamstress’ own robes, rested a long and heavy cape made of the leftover skin, fur, and muscle.

Jewelry made of teeth and bone accented the mannequin's arms and neck, and there was something resting on its forehead I failed to notice before. A string of eyes - the eyes from the mannequins, all but the green ones - rested like a crown over a messy head of tangled messy hair. Hair I’d seen my family brush before, let them brush when I couldn’t.

Then I realized that it wasn’t the mannequin before me, but a mirror. The same dark grey of the mannequin’s skin had spread from my fingertips and toes sometime during this whole process. Maybe it’s why I felt so bold, so unashamed to be naked. I don’t know how it happened, but it did, and now I’m a pretty and dressed-up monster just like she is. The bodies of my fellow “chosen” soldiers lay dead but intact next to me save a strip or two here and there and the wounds used to silence them forever. Their eyes were missing. When I glanced around again, I noticed all the other mannequins had new eyes. All but the one with green eyes. The one I was chosen by.

Fingers rested on my shoulders, weighing me down, further spreading the grey upon my skin. My lungs filled with air, no longer picking up the putrid smell of vomit and blood, but something else. Something akin to dust. The Seamstress’ head lowered until she was right next to me, staring into the mirror right into my vibrant green eyes. Those dots I’d seen on her face before glistened. They, too, were eyes.

“I told you you’d be my favorite,” she breathed.

I can’t feel my lungs anymore. I can’t seem to count, either. All I can see is the thing in the mirror wearing the skin of his own family. My hand lifts, a movement I can’t feel very well, and runs under the skin that covers my torso. There’s two grooves in what feels like plastic where my skin should be; the marks from where I had stripped pieces of my own skin off to attone for my sins.

Scars from my brother’s murderer.

The Seamstress asks how I feel. I don’t know how long I’m standing there staring and feeling myself before I lift my hands to reply. Tears still fall, but I can’t feel them. She asks me why can’t I speak, but I don’t reply. My hands are talking just fine for me. I can’t count, but I can speak. Words I couldn’t count flow through my fingers. My brother is gone. I can’t speak. The Seamstress grows impatient with me. Can’t speak. I can’t talk. But she can’t read sign language, so she pushes me around, trying to get me to talk.

In this moment I remember that I want to keep learning sign language.

It’s also in this moment I realize that I’m yet again the only one not dead, which meant I had nothing to lose. The boiling in my blood at being tossed and turned, treated like a rag doll intensifies. Her hand nearest me lowers, needle still in her grasp. It’s bigger than a knife.

It makes a great tool to stab her right through the eye.

-----

My therapist doesn’t talk to me anymore.

No one really does, not even after my promotion. High officer Rex, a real fucking joke there. My fellow officers don’t look me in the eye anymore, they can’t. I’m missing one of them and the other is somewhat glassy, unblinking. It pierces through anyone who tries to meet it just like that needle pierced through the Seamstress. She’s still alive, you know, walking around in soldier skin and muscle and fur that she hand crafted so lovingly into a robe. She even has the crown of eyes that I wore once. I’ve seen her. I visit her area on occasion. I’m trying to learn what she did to me so I can either reverse it or just embrace it.

So far, I can’t do much of either, so I’m stuck here in unfeeling, unemoting limbo until she teaches me. I’m the only one to have ever survived her attacks. Had she cut my hips off, I would’ve become a new mannequin! Isn’t that funny? But we made a deal. An eye for an eye, they say. Everything comes with a price.

It’s lonelier than ever, but I can’t really feel it as much anymore. Maybe I should thank her. Being a living mannequin with one eye has its perks. For instance, even though I can, I don’t count anymore. I can’t remember some of the languages I used to speak anyways, so it’d only drive me madder than I already am. Instead, I carve patterns into my plastic mannequin body to remind me of the people I’ve killed with my selfish acts of self-preservation and unkindness. My therapist told me it wasn’t my fault, that really it’s a miracle I’m alive. It’s a real miracle alright. I was the only soldier in a troop of twenty to come back different yet alive. Everyone celebrated and mourned. After she told me it was a miracle I was alive and that I should be grateful to still be here, I asked her if she knew what it felt like to feel a needle pierce her eyeball. If she knew how it felt to watch the program you work for carve into the corpse of your own brother just to retrieve the tiny robots living in his skin.

I asked if she knew I was on a suicide mission meant to kill me and all my family, knowing full well that no one would miss me, because we had all seen a Monster hand-crafted by the Leader themselves to kill civilians. The very one that she had told me wasn’t real before my brother and I went out to find. The one that only she knew we were hunting on that exact day at that exact time.

Then, I asked if she’d like to know what it felt like to be skinned alive.

---

My therapist doesn’t talk to me anymore.

#file: writing;#file: my writing;#my writing;#file: soldiers;#file: monsters;

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

The Dark Side of Beauty {Witney} Fic Challenge -C*NT

A/N: Hi! i’m trying to show more versatility so I decided to write something for the fic challenge! The words I chose were: Tragic, Glass, Silver and I quadruple checked to make sure I used each and every one of them! This is an angsty Witney one shot, I’m really sorry about it but this goes over some pretty heavy topics. I wanted to show that what you see isn’t always the truth when it comes to Courtney Act. Also thank you so much for all of the feedback on AHAHAM and The Lost Princess, hopefully I will be updating those soon ♥️

Huge TW: Mentions and graphic descriptions of self harm, eating disorders, depression, and obbsessive behavior. Please read at your own risk, it can be very very triggering if you are suffering from an eating disorder or are currently self harming.

Courtney had always been a fairly confident person all throughout her life. Growing up in Oz had given her an overly positive attitude, where the people said what they meant and meant what they say. They didn’t lay sugar coated back handed compliments on you one by one until you shattered. Even if they did, they would never direct any hate or criticism towards Courtney. The thin blonde had always been placed on an untouchable pretty pedestal. In Oz she felt invincible, yes she had made mistakes many times over throughout her Australian Idol experience and in the drag community down under, but her mistakes had never been looked at with a magnifying glass.

So you can only imagine how much of a culture shock it was when she came to America, where her fame really took off.

It had all begun with Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

In one way or another, she was always slept on throughout the competition despite winning two challenges.

Courtney had come up with a variety of expensive and unique looks for each of her runway outfits, but was famously accused of ‘resting on pretty’ While her sisters got away with infamously not cinching their waists and wearing the same silhouette 15 times, she was ridiculed and told by bitter drag race fans that she had skated through to the top 3 in a bra and underwear.

She remembered one moment on the show in particular where she had been excited to wear her runway outfit with the large purple blanket. It was almost like a two in one look. She had blindfolded herself with a sleeping mask as she walked slowly down the catwalk. A pillow was placed behind her head, and her body was surrounded by the royal purple comforter. When she hit the center of the runway, she ripped off the blanket to reveal a matching purple bra and underwear set. She had spent the majority of her time in the work room styling her wig so that it reached to the high heavens.

Her look was a concept, showing her ability to the judges that she could think outside of the box.

Alas, that’s when the infamous “resting on pretty” comment came out of Ru’s lips, and instead of taking it to heart she incorporated it into her merch.

Of course she hated the saying with every fiber of her being - what was so wrong with being pretty? But she decided she’d rather make money off of it then freak out about it. She had decided she would just work twice as hard as most Ru girls to prove to people she was more than a pretty face, or a gender bent drag queen from Oz.

She focused her attention back on the video of Bianca that a fan had sent her. They had captioned it “BDR jokes about Diet’s.”

There was a point in time when a few months after drag race had ended, Bianca had put on around 10 pounds of weight. Courtney, trying to be a supportive friend, had suggested she try out the vegan diet. She had been vegan for a long time now, and had successful results ever since. She hardly ever gained weight, and always kept a lean figure which was perfect for being a female impersonator.

“That girl is a vegan! Did you know that? I don’t know about you, but I don’t hate myself that much, I’ll just stick to being a vegetarian!” Bianca roared to the crowd.

There was scattered laughter in the video before it died down. She frowned, unsure of her emotions about the subject.

She listened to Bianca go on and on about how Courtney’s version of dessert was a square of dark chocolate after a show, how she’d rarely have mixed drinks, and how everything she ate just had to be vegan, gluten free and organic.

Courtney had no idea that she seened so intense with her diet, so to show versatility she decided she would eat more carbs. She would continue to watch her weight carefully of course, but made a mental note to be sure to eat more sweets in front of people

Courtney clicked away from the video and sighed. She knew Bianca was just trying to poke a little fun, but she really didn’t even know the reality of what she was saying.

Her downward spiral and obsession with food started with that video. Of course, Bianca wouldn’t think twice about her jokes because Courtney was supposed to take it lightly and roll her eyes like she always did. She was an insult comic, Bianca would say, and that it really didn’t mean anything. Courtney would nod and reassure that she understood because that’s how she was raised. She was always a good sport.

It was all great, until one day when it wasn’t.

——–

4 months later

Courtney was pulling her long sheer purple dress over head before one of her shows, when she noticed that there was a clean tear in it, right under her breast plate.

“Gained some weight huh?” Willam eyed the tanned blonde as she tugged at the unforgiving fabric. “You’re still not fat at least.”

But she was. Courtney had never stretched, ripped, or tore a garment before in her life. The fact that one of her very favorite expensive dresses was now ripped was devastating to her.

She didn’t think she had gained too much weight. She had allowed herself 10 pounds, which was what she had put on after lightening up on her diet. But now she was seeing things she couldn’t unsee.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, she noticed her thighs touched now. Before she had a flawless thigh gap, the envy of many other queens and women all around the world. Her stomach was slightly sticking out, likely bloated from the sugary cocktail she had consumed at the bar with Willam.

Lastly, her arms had more meat on them slightly wider than they used to be. The sleeves of her dress fit snugly. She probably couldn’t even move the microphone in front of her chest without destroying the garment further.

“Willam, I can’t get this to look good - what am I going to do?” Courtney panicked, shuffling through her suitcase.

Willam shrugged, noting how frantic Courtney had become but taking it with a grain of salt. Court was the kind of person to cry over her favorite chips being discontinued, it really wasn’t anything new.

“I don’t know, pull an Adore and wear a tank top and shorts?” Willam suggested.

“Please, at least TRY to be helpful.” Courtney groaned exasperated. She eventually found her long geometric cut out dress that hugged her snugly, but still fit despite the weight gain. She said a silent prayer in her head and thanked the universe for stretchy fabric.

“I guess this will just have to do.” Courtney sighed, taking the purple dress off delicately, trying not to rip it further. Maybe Bianca could fix it for her.

“You look hot no matter what, big or small.” Willam sighed, eyeing his girlfriend jealously. Courtney looked seriously sexy with curves, almost like a real woman when she was dressed in drag. Willam was fixated on her ass as Courtney smoothed the fabric over her stomach self consciously.

You look hot no matter what, big or small.

The words kept ringing in her head. All night, throughout her performance that’s all her mind could fixate on.

She had grown large.

She had gained weight.

She had done the unthinkable.

No, gaining 10 pounds wasn’t a big deal for a lot of people, especially someone who had started out at a healthy weight. But Courtney was obsessed with control, what had she allowed herself to do? Her body had transformed into something she wasn’t used to, and now she had to get it back to what it was before.

She decided she wouldn’t eat or drink for the rest of the night.

————

After she left the club that night, she ran into Bob in the streets of New York. Smiling, she ran up and embraced him in a large hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” Courtney gushed, feeling relieved to be out of the limelight and away from fans. Willam had gone home early to rest up for a show, which was why she had left the venue rather quickly instead of getting drunk with fans like they usually did together.

“You too, gorgeous-”

“Hey, I know you!” A heavy set man ran up to them, huffing and puffing as if he had been chasing after them for blocks.

“You do?” Courtney asked bewildered, smiling politely but not sure where the man was going with this.

“Yeah, you’re that impersonator-from Las Vegas!” The fan slurred

“I am?” Courtney grinned, eyeing Bob holding his iphone out in front of them. “Who do I impersonate?”

Humor me, she thought.

“You-uh, oh god I can’t put my finger on it right now, uh. Oh! Britney Spears!”

Bob was cackling, much like Bianca at the remark. Courtney wasn’t laughing though.

Not even a random fan knew who she was anymore.

“Yes!” Courtney chimed, not missing a beat. Not letting her true emotions of not being recognized show.

“You’re beautiful!” A random woman called as she walked by.

Was she really though?

She nodded to the woman smiling, muttering thank you as she looked back at the drunk fan. She crossed her arms in front of her stomach, trying to hide her bloated belly and disguise her expanded waist line.

“And I don’t care about you because you stay here in New York City, and I can see you for free!” The fan exclaimed to Bob, continuing to stumble over his words.

“Yep. Who cares about me right?” Bob deadpanned, shrugging.

“I should get going Bob.” Courtney muttered. “It was good to see you.”

Bob smiled and embraced her in a side hug before she walked away.

“Good to see ya, Derrick.” Bob called playfully.

After tonight, Courtney vowed to go back to her vigorous strict vegan diet. She would not be mistaken for Derrick, or anyone other then herself ever again.

——————

It wasn’t just one comment that got Courtney to lose 30 pounds after that night, and continue to engage in obsessive behavior. It had been multiple. Over time, everything had piled up inside and the only way Courtney had known how to handle it was to control her eating habits.

So she stopped eating. She would allow herself one meal a day, a handful of almonds and a couple of glasses of water. The weight practically shredded off of her, her collar bones prominent and her jawline sharper than ever before.

To make sure no one got suspicious, she would wear pads almost 24/7. This was her way of controlling her environment. No one had read her in months, and some of her sisters had even said she looked different, glowing even.

“Court, are you okay? You seem so distant.” Willam asked concerned, showing some emotion other than arrogance for once.

“I’m fine.” Courtney nodded, not meeting Willam’s eyes. She was dressed in her long australian flag gown, paired with cherry red lips and sleek blonde curls.

Willam didn’t know that Courtney had restricted herself to only eating once a day. When someone was considered beautiful like Courtney, they didn’t pay attention to what she ate all day. They either accepted that she starved herself to get her body the way that it was, or didn’t care enough to be concerned.

They hadn’t had sex since the weight loss. Courtney knew that if Willam saw her body underneath all of her clothes that he would be mortified. Her ribs were prominent, hip bones jutted out significantly. She had even lost her six pack, due to the lack of muscle that she had left from her not eating.

“Okay. So I’ll see you after your show right?” Willam asked hopefully.

“Yeah, definitley.” Courtney answered unenthusiastically as she sprayed her blonde wig one last time with a layer of hairspray.

Willam was exhausting, always asking questions and had become incredibly needy lately. Courtney had learned to shut him out and just give him blow jobs to keep him satisfied. She knew it wouldn’t stay like this forever. He was beginning to get more and more suspicious of her behavior.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Willam said defeated, leaving the room swiftly.

God, she didn’t deserve him she thought as she watched him leave the room.

She wanted to have sex with him so badly. She wanted to tell him so badly how much she had been struggling lately. She just wanted him to ask.

If anyone could just ask how she was doing, she would tell them. She would burst at the seams and tell them everything.

But no one ever asked a pretty girl questions like that.

She sighed as she fluffed her hair one last time, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She moved closely to it to double check for any imperfections.

Something felt different about tonight, and Courtney didn’t know what.

———–

Courtney appeared on the stage, smiling as the bright lights fixated on her in front of her microphone. She felt nervous, anxious even, which was unusual for a seasoned performer like herself.

“Hey guys!” Courtney exclaimed. The crowd roared, clapping enthusiastically for her as she curtseyed in front of them.

Play up the positivity.

Force the smile.

She smiled cheekily and looked down towards the crowd, spotting a couple near the front whispering. She felt her heart stop as she wondered if her outfit had ripped or something. She smoothed down her dress self consciously and pushed a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear hoping that she had fixed whatever she had messed up this time.

She decided to take a sip of her white wine before she began her first song. Tonight, she was going to start with her cover of Stayin’ Alive, as a mantra to herself. She had needed to hear that song more and more lately. Maybe the more she sang it, the more she’d actually want to stay alive.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk I’m a woman’s man: no time to talk Music loud and women warm, I’ve been kicked around Since I was born And now it’s all right, it’s okay And you may look the other way We can try to understand The New York Times’ effect on man

The song blasted through her vocal chords and out of the speakers, tears streaming down her face as she let the reality of the lyrics sink in.

Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive

She breathed deeply, partially letting herself rest and partially trying to pull herself together.

She had to finish the song. She had to show that she wasn’t just pretty. She had raw talent too.

Well now, I get low and I get high And if I can’t get either, I really try Got the wings of heaven on my shoes I’m a dancin’ man and I just can’t lose You know it’s all right, it’s okay I’ll live to see another day We can try to understand The New York Times’ effect on man

She was feeling herself getting more choked up. This was her song, even if it was written and performed many years ago, she was relating to this song so much.

She tries so hard, harder than anyone else in the business to stay relevant.

No one understood the pressure she put on herself to be more then what people said about her.

Shakily, she finished the song; proud that she was able to still do it justice even in the middle of an epiphany. The crowd applauded and cheered, but then she started listening to what the crowd had thought were sweet comments.

“You’re so beautiful!”

“I wanna rest on pretty!”

Courtney’s head was spinning, the smoke from the machines fogging up her vision and giving her a headache.

Why didn’t her fans understand her? Why didn’t they see how hard she worked every single day to become more than just a beautiful drag queen?

Courtney had worked so hard over the last couple of years, from involving herself in an American Apparel Ad campaign, to being in a music video with Little Mix and in countless performances in between. She had shared the stage with big names and not so big names, and had been courteous and professional at all of her shows.

Her head was throbbing, a scream wanting to come out of her as she began to breathe heavily in a panic.

She was too strict on her diet, so she eased up. Then she was too fat, so she became strict again.

Now her she was, back at square one: she was just pretty. Or beautiful. It didn’t matter to anyone if she ate 1 potato chip or 2 bags worth. It didn’t matter to anyone if she wore an expensive gown or a potato sack. It didn’t matter if she performed with Miley Cyrus or her boyfriend Willam.

It didn’t matter.

Her talent didn’t matter.

She didn’t matter.

All that mattered to her fans was her vanity, her image.

She didn’t want to be known for her image anymore. She wanted to be known for her talent and hard work, just like her season 6 sisters were.

Just like Willam.

And Alaska.

Even Miss Fame.

“Damnit, I am more than just a pretty face! I have talent! I have charisma. Why don’t you all see it?” Courtney shrieked, throwing her glass towards the crowd. After an audible gasp, she turned her back away from them and fled the stage.

Courtney ran down the steps backstage and to her dressing room, locking herself in it. She heard a heavy knock on the door shortly after but ignored it. Whoever it was knocked a few more times before they gave up, leaving her to her own devices.

No one cares, everyone just gives up.

It was just her and her dressing room mirror now.

“What is wrong with you Courtney?” Court asked herself, staring into the mirror. Her blue green eyes looked manic, bloodshot even. Her mascara was smeared in neat black lines down her cheeks, she even cried neatly. She licked her palm and flattened it across her face, dragging it down her neck, removing her foundation and contour in one smooth motion.

“I’m not pretty anymore!” Courtney exclaimed, proceeding to do the same on the other side of her face. Her lipstick had been smeared down her chin to her sharp jaw line.

“What will people think? What will people say to this?” Courtney laughed maniacally, snapping a photo and immediately uploading it to instagram.

courtneyact: not pretty!

The notifications began almost instantly but she didn’t care. She stared at herself in the mirror, the edges of Shane’s face and Courtney’s blurred by the ruined makeup.

She kept her wig on and decided to look down at her phone.

adoredelano: you’re right, you’re beautiful courm! no matter what!

“No!” Courtney yelled, slamming her fist into the silver mirror. A loud shatter broke the otherwise silent room, and shortly after Courtney felt her right hand stinging.

You’re nothing more than a pretty face.

“Lies!” Courtney sobbed, grabbing a piece of broken mirror off of the floor. “I am more then my beauty.”

She stared down at the sharp edge of the piece of broken mirror in her hand, placing it against her chest.

“This isn’t beauty.” Courtney murmured, watching herself drag the sharp edge across her pectoral muscle. A ribbon of blood followed the blade and gushed quickly out of her. She repeated it again and again, in different spots. Some on her leg, others on her arm, some even on her stomach.

She felt dizzy, and finally succumbed to her hand injury and cuts collapsing onto the floor of her dressing room.

————–

After Willam had called Courtney 5 times, she rushed over to the club where she had performed at. Running inside, she sprinted towards the backstage to the last door on the right. A large gold star hung on the door with Courtney’s name on it.

Willam knocked on the door loudly.

No response.

“We’ve been trying to get her to come out for 30 minutes now. Here’s a key. She’d probably want to see you more than us anyway.” A backstage attendant said, handing her the small gold key.

That was odd, Willam thought. Usually Courtney was out in 15 minutes tops. Even then, she usually left the dressing room door open for anyone who had any questions.

Willam sighed, pushing the key into the hole and twisting it.

When she opened it, she was not expecting what she saw.

“Courtney? Courtney!” Willam exclaimed, rushing to the broken girls side. She shook her wildly, not even caring that she was getting blood all over her brand new Versace dress.

No response. Courtney looked pale and unlike herself, her makeup was all but a couple of messy streaks all over her face. A single piece of broken mirror was stuck in her right hand, that had smaller shards stuck inside of it.

“Courtney please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything, please I can’t lose you!” Willam sobbed, holding her close to her.

One of the managers of the club came rushing in, distraught written all over her face as she observed the sad scene before her.

“U-um, would you like me to call an ambulance?” She stuttered.

“I needed you to call one 10 minutes ago! Call now!” Willam barked, still watching Courtney. concerned. He checked her pulse and realized she was still breathing, even if it was faintly.

“Thank god she’s still breathing. I would’ve sued you motherfuckers. I’ll pay for all of the damage so don’t worry about that. Just get the fuck out of here and get her some fucking medical attention!” Willam exclaimed frantically. She felt like she was going to be sick. She couldn’t lose her Courtney, not right now. Not so soon after Warner.

The manager rushed out and Willam hummed to herself as she rocked Courtney in her arms.

Being pretty wasn’t always pretty. Sometimes, being pretty was an awful, tragic mess.

#witney #willam belli #courtney act #angst #tw self harm #tw eating disorder #c*nt #fic challenge #rpdr fanfiction #submission

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dancingalone21 · 7 years

Text

No Longer You

Summary: Now a shell of her former self, the reader runs into an old flame.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,761

Warning: implying an abusive relationship

Nichelle’s 4K Angst Challenge - “I hope you find the happiness you’ve been pretending to have.” @nichelle-my-belle

Green cancels out red.

Yellow cancels out purple and brown…no purple and blue.

And lavender cancels out…yellow?

Jesus Christ. This shouldn’t be that difficult, hiding the evidence of your home life is a normal occurrence. The three concussions you’ve acquired over the years must be catching up to you.

You’re squinting harshly at the Revlon concealers on the top shelf before you. Trying and failing to remember which ones work the best, basically whatever hides the fucking truth.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” You spin around to apologize, immediately regretting the fast movement.

“You ok, honey?” The woman asks eyeing you too closely for your liking.

The automatic judgement is something you’ve become accustomed to over the years. You’re convinced it chips off a piece of your pathetic heart each time.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” You barely mumble turning away from her. You can still feel unwelcomed eyes on you, aggravated you silently command yourself to just breathe.

“Y/N?”

You freeze from the sound of your name although you’re more concerned with the deep voice saying it. It can’t be him…can it? For the love of all things holy, please let it not be him.

“Y/N?” Dean slightly hesitates, awkwardly staring as if you’ll run away any second.

You turn around painfully slow, stalling what’s about to take place. Your eyes lock, immediately waking something in you that you’ve been suppressing for years. Hope.

“Dean.” You let out a heavy sigh as your chest tightens, you struggle wanting the pressure to dissipate as quickly as it came. Your body’s way of warning you, an asthma attack is on the horizon.

“Wow. It’s been awhile.” He half heartedly chuckles, trying to keep his shocked reaction at bay. If it wasn’t for your sweet voice catching his attention, Dean would have kept strolling right by you. Completely and totally oblivious that the love of his life is near.

“Yeah…six years.” You offer him your best fake smile, praying that time has ruined Dean’s memory of you.

He doesn’t react, at least not in a negative way. Did he become an amazing actor? Or did he forget the look of your real smile? Either way, it makes you both relieved and disappointed. Stop it, Y/N. The last thing you want or need is to trap Dean fucking Winchester into this shitshow you call a life.

“What are you doing in Kansas? Last I heard you were working at Benny’s auto shop in New York.”

Dean’s stomach drops, his mouth turns dry and he’s debating if he should tell you the truth. Worried what your reaction will be, he nervously decides against it. At least for now. You’ll find out soon enough what he’s been doing with his life. He silently makes that promise to you.

“Sammy and Jess moved back here about a year ago. They have a daughter now, Kelly, they want her to grow up around her grandparents. Mom and dad are thrilled of course. So I’m just visiting everyone.”

“Yup they do.” Dean nods following your gaze down to the giant rock on your bony finger.

“You’ve obviously settled down yourself. Any rugrats?”

“Nah…no kids. Its not something I want.” You shrug nonchalantly, eyes fixating on anything but your ex boyfriend.

“Really? You always wanted kids. Or at least one.” Dean frowns eyeing you suspiciously. Shit.

“You couldn’t wait to have a little boy so you could dress him up in baseball caps and skull t-shirts.” Dean snickers at the memory, your face lit up when you used to talk about it.

“Things change.” You add softly, realizing he will never know the actual truth.

Dean barely nods in response, the restraint it’s taking to keep his mouth shut is nearly killing him. He doesn’t know specifics but he knows for sure that something isn’t fucking right.

Dean has missed you terribly since the breakup, the amount of regret he deals with on a daily basis is sometimes overwhelming. It doesn’t matter how much whiskey he knocks back or how many girls he takes to bed, you’re always hiding in the corner of his mind.

And now here you are in the flesh, standing before him and you’re not her. It’s a total mindfuck, to be honest Dean misses you even more now. Or at least the version of you that was his. The current version of you is breaking his fucking heart.

Your nails - usually perfectly trimmed and painted, are now ragged and thin. The texture of your hair looks dry and fried, the color and cut something you’d never choose six years ago.

Your wardrobe, once playful and always stylish is now drabby and depressing. You wouldn’t be caught dead in the oversized clothing you’re wearing right now. Even with the baggy clothes, Dean can see how thin and fragile you’ve become. Which confuses him slightly based on the shopping cart in front of you.

You strangely keep favoring your right leg. It wouldn’t be obvious to many people but Dean knows you’re usually full of energy, moving around even when standing still. So the fact that you’re not annoyingly restless is a huge red flag.

One of many at this point.

You know Dean is dissecting your appearance in his mind right now but you refuse to acknowledge it. This surprise encounter is hard enough, seeing the best part of your past standing in front of you is torture.

Thinking back you realize the breakup was a stupid solution, the fights you two had seem so lame and unimportant now but you were young. Young and stupid. Still being with Dean was the greatest time of your inevitably short life.

“Are you…are you okay, Y/N?” Dean asks concern overtaking his handsome features.

“Of course.”

“You don’t seem ok to me. You don’t even seem like the same girl.” He adds hesitantly.

“You’ve always been one for the dramatics, Dean. I’m doing great.”

“You’re lying.” Dean quietly growls, trying to control his anger.

“You haven’t seen me in a long time, Winchester. Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you used to.” You glare now getting angry yourself.

“Right. You’re right.” Dean snaps aggravated. “I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know your life or your husband. Or the reason why you no longer want children. Shit changes I guess, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“Well I’ve had fun strolling down memory lane but I have to go. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“You too, Dean.” You respond softly, doing everything in your power not to break down.

“I hope you find the happiness you’ve been pretending to have, Y/N.” Dean adds bitterly, barely making eye contact as he leaves you behind.

The pure sadness in your eyes hits Dean hard as he stalks away from you. He hates causing you any kind of pain but unfortunately it’s necessary for his plan to work. It’s blatantly obvious your home life is keeping you prisoner and there’s no way in hell that’s going to continue.

Dean chose to hold back an important piece of information during your conversation. He’s been working for the FBI for years now, using the mechanic job as a cover. Dean always refrained from looking you up in the FBI database. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been tempted, he could just never bring himself to do it.

It’s not like he expected to find anything negative - just the opposite. He assumed you were married with kids by now, living a full happy life. The kind you’ve always wanted and deserved. The kind he always thought he could never give you. Dean’s now kicking himself for being so fucking selfish. Maybe he could have saved you sooner if he put his god damn feelings aside.

Dean’s never been more determined in his entire life than he is right now. He’s going to save you, love you and do whatever it takes to see your beautiful, genuine smile again.

#Nichelle’s 4K Angst Challenge #superaturalfic #sam winchester #sam winchester au #jared padalecki #no longer you #dean winchester #dean winchester au #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural au #spn reader insert #SPN #Jensen Ackles #supernatural fanfic

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