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riahlynn101 · 4 months

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"Swimming Lessons."

Taking place within the "Of Heartaches and Headaches Universe."

One shot #1

Thank you, as always, to @halogenrobotics for editing this and giving me a plot outline. I couldn't have done it without you :D!!

Vanessa groaned, using her hands to fan herself. It was the middle of summer, and in true Utah fashion, it was absolutely sweltering. And because her luck was nonexistent, her A/C had stopped working. She'd put a work order in for her landlord to fix it, but knowing him, it’d be fixed in time for Christmas.

Gregory was sprawled on the floor. Crayons and coloring book forgotten, because of the heat. “It’s soooo hot!” He whined, and Vanessa felt guilty. She’d heard that little kids were more susceptible to the heat.

“Sorry, kiddo. It’s a heatwave. Hopefully it won’t last forever. I can text Luis and see if he’ll let us crash at his place.” Vanessa stared at her phone. Luis was working a double shift today, and she would really hate to bother him. But staying in this heat was dangerous…

A thought popped into her head. “Hey, Greg?”

“Hm?”

“Do you wanna go to the pool?” She couldn’t remember the last time she went swimming. A year ago? Two?

Gregory didn’t respond, and for a minute Vanessa thought he’d gone to sleep. “Greg?” She nudged him with her foot. “Still awake?”

He sat up. “I can’t go.” Gregory pouted.

“Why not? Is there a height requirement that I’m unaware of?” Vanessa said it jokingly, but she wondered if there was some universal rule about bringing preschoolers to the pool. She was still relatively new to this mom-ing thing. She wished Maria left a book of instructions before she moved on. Maybe she could call-

Gregory burst into tears, startling her back into the present. “I can’t swim!” He wailed.

Vanessa processed his words. “That’s okay,” She murmured.

He sniffled, wiping his eyes. “But I…I can’t go to the pool. And-and it’s sooo hot!”

She slid off the couch, sitting on her knees in front of Gregory. She patted him on the head. “Then, I’ll just have to teach you.”

“Teach me?”

“Yep, being able to swim is an important life skill.”

“So, I can go to the pool?”

Vanessa chuckled, messing up his hair. He made a face at the gesture, reaching up to grab at her hand. “Of course, I wouldn’t be a very good mom if I didn’t. Now, would I?”

Gregory pursed his lips together, eyes getting an oddly serious look in them. He seemed to think it over for a few seconds, shaking his head in agreement.

“Good,” Vanessa said, getting to her feet. She holds a hand out for Gregory. “Now, let’s get changed, and get to the pool before we melt.”

-x-x-x-

The pool was surprisingly empty, but that might have something to do with the fact that a newer pool just opened a block away. The lifeguard waved at them - probably excited to have something to do. Gregory waved excitedly back.

Vanessa put their stuff on one of the many available lawn chairs. She sat down, motioning Gregory over to her. “Sunscreen,” she said. He scrunched his nose, but skipped over nonetheless.

It’s a good thing that she bought Gregory a swimsuit a few weeks back. The Pizzaplex had a sale, and the pair of Freddy swim trunks with a matching swim t-shirt they had was too cute to pass up. The smile the outfit earned from Gregory was well worth the temporary blow to her wallet.

Her own swimsuit was a one piece she’d had for several years. Actually, Vanessa might have “stolen” this swimsuit from her mother’s closet as one final act of revenge. Oh, well.

She guided Gregory to the shallow end of the pool. “Now, it’s going to be a little cold. But it shouldn’t last.” Eager to cool down, Vanessa practically skipped the steps into the pool and hops right in.

Gregory eyed the water with a nervous expression. He stood on the top step, kicking at the water.

“It’s okay,” Vanessa said, wading through the water and reaching her hands out. “You can reach this part. No swimming required yet.”

Gregory seemed to consider her words, taking another step into the pool. And another and another, until he was on the final step. The water reaches his naval, and he muttered something about it being too cold.

“Good job!” Vanessa complimented, taking his hands. “First part done.”

“What’s next?” He asks.

Vanessa moved back a little. “Keep walking forward until you can’t anymore.” She made sure to have her arms outstretched just in case she had to save him from going under.

Gregory looked less than pleased with that answer, staring at the water like it offended him. “Okay,” he whispered. He walked forward, arms reaching towards Vanessa’s.

He stopped suddenly. The water now reached his collarbones. They’d barely moved five inches from the steps. Vanessa smiles encouragingly at him. “Would you like to try floating?”

“Floating?” He asked.

“Mhm, floating is when you lie on your back.”

A crease formed between his eyebrows. “No swimming?”

“No swimming,” Vanessa confirmed.

“O-kay.”

She helped him onto his back. Gregory startled a little, cool water tickling his ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

He calmed down, trusting her to keep him afloat. She placed her hands under his back, supporting him. Slowly (very, very slowly) Vanessa removed them. Gregory remained floating. “You’re floating all by yourself, Greg.”

His eyes shot open. “Huh!? Really!?” He shouted, ears still submerged under water. She nodded.

Gregory smiles widely. “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!

Vanessa allowed him to bask in his newfound ability. Sometimes she wished she could find joy in the mundane. That childish glee that followed a brand new discovery. A few inches away, Gregory giggled, lightly smacking the surface of the water. But this, Vanessa thought to herself, is just as good. Better even.

Eventually, Gregory grew tired of floating. He grabbed at her, trying to reorient himself. Vanessa kept a firm grip on him, as they’d drifted closer to the deep end of the pool. “Ready for step two?” She asks.

He tilted his head. “Step two? That…that wasn’t it?”

“Nope.”

Gregory clung to her like a baby Koala, or perhaps a boa constrictor (no matter how much she tried to distance herself, he just tightened his hold. Tiny limbs squeeze the life out of Vanessa). He shook his head frantically. “Nuh, uh!”

“Come on, please. You’ve already done part one.”

Gregory quirked an eyebrow, pulling away from Vanessa to eye her. “So?” For someone so sweet and innocent, it never ceased to amaze her how sassy he really was. Vanessa supposes she should be grateful that the little boy she found in an alley was finally showcasing his personality (and she is), but sometimes….

“Can you at least try? I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Gregory stared at her with watery eyes. “Mama ‘Nessa. I…I can’t.”

It takes everything in Vanessa not to call it a day, pack up their stuff, and let Gregory off the hook. But doing that means subjecting him to this some other day. “No,” she agreed. “But you will.”

She spent the next two hours teaching Gregory how to swim. It was a slow, agonizing process. One step forward, two steps back. It also didn’t help that he seemed unable to let go of Vanessa, clutching her wrist for support.

Twenty minutes into the second hour, Vanessa’s efforts were finally rewarded. She watched in amazement as Gregory doggy-paddled all the way to the stairs and back. It wasn't perfect, but that was okay. They could work on it another time.

He looked so proud of himself right then, standing on his tiptoes in the shallow end. “Didja see Mama ‘Nessa!? Didja see!?”

Vanessa gave him a thumbs up. “Great job, Greg!” She opened her arms, ready to scoop him into a hug. Only to be met with a faceful of water. She wiped at her eyes.

“Gotcha!” He shouted, giggling like crazy. It would be endearing if her eyes weren’t burning. In response, Vanessa splashed him back.

“Brat,” she teased him, dodging another one of his attacks.

Gregory stuck his tongue out.

They continued to splash each other, laughing and calling each other by endearing (but annoying) names.

Vanessa wished this moment could last forever. The thought that it wouldn’t, made her feel sad, but in a faraway kind of way. Like the hurt was someplace else. Somewhere far enough away that it couldn’t bother her in the present moment.

And that was okay with Vanessa. She was happy enough living for the here and now.

#cross posted on ao3 #gregory and vanessa #fnaf au #implied Vanessa x Luis #fnaf fanfic #queue

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hostilecityshowdown · 2 years

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folds my little hands. Would u pls tell us what u think HBK/Taker’s relationship is like maybe w some hc’s. are they friends? do they hate each other? both? pls I am asking so sweetly

co-written by @sychosid

It had been over an hour since the miserable excuse for a song accosted his hearing.

The vocals, supplied by Sensational Sherri, were enough to make any sane man’s ears bleed alone. Combined with an annoying backtrack and the hysterics of the audience upon laying eyes on the Boy Toy, he was not looking forward to enduring this torture for the unforeseeable future. Slowly flexing his gloved hands, the Undertaker could only hope someone would do something about it soon, because it was stuck in his head. The idiotic piece of anti-music was on loop in the now distant part of his psyche that was susceptible to influence such as this. It was an obvious sign of his host requiring more repression and, shower-soaked hair hanging over his face, the Undertaker could only sit on the locker room bench and wait for his fellow mortician to fetch him for the next taped segment.

His only match was complete, unfortunately. He was already beginning to miss facing Sid Justice each night. A man who’s desire to do the right thing overwhelmed his fear, who had valiantly fought to escape his casket. Tonight… The man he liberated of evil had been a simple man, influenced by the demons that thrived on lowly greed. The Undertaker was not even certain he had done much more than defeat him as a show of force, despite Bearer’s insistence otherwise. The wall mounted clock ticked quietly; when was the Funeral Parlour segment supposed to be recorded…?

“Whuh.” The Sundome was hot, even with the air conditioning on full blast, but beyond the threshold of the locker room door was a surprising reprieve from the Tampa heat. A shiver wracked Shawn’s body, head shaking, hair askew. How soundless the action was reminded him that Sherri still had his earrings, but he didn’t care. They were hers anyway, and she was likely to snag more off Dibiase before they rendezvoused. Starting to unwind the tape from his wrist, he made a beeline for the showers, foregoing a towel or change of clothes. Knowing no one in their right mind could complain about an encore, he treated any stragglers in the rocker room to his own half-mumbled rendition of his new entrance theme. Not a bad performance, if he said so himself.

“I take cash or card!” Shawn shouted when he turned the faucet off, squeezing some water out of his hair. He’d let it air dry until he shimmied into some clothes, blow it out tomorrow. The Boy Toy confidently padded to his locker across the cold tile floor, slamming it open with enough force to make it bounce right back into his arm as he rummaged around for something to wear. Owch. Bulldog better not have left a bruise. Mentally kicking himself for forgetting to order that sweet tiger print shirt out of International Male, he squeezed into the tightest pair of Versace mens’ jeans he could order out of the winter catalogue on Sherri’s credit and realised, frowning, that no one was responding to him. He couldn’t possibly be alone, right? Nah, this was a wrestling company, it was crawling with sweaty guys who needed showers.

When he went quiet enough he swore he could hear someone breathing, slow and deep.

Infuriating.

As if once wasn’t enough, the man was insisting on performing his repulsive, juvenile song in concert. Unfortunately, the showers offered fantastic acoustics, and all the Undertaker could do was exhibit as much self control as possible and remain seated. He ignored the Boy Toy, waiting for him to leave, and was dismayed when he heard his cautious footsteps approaching. Out of the corner of his eye, the Undertaker caught him peeking around the row of lockers, hiding behind his hands like a child. His hair was damp and not drying very quickly in the low temperature, water dripping onto his eyelashes and streaking down his neck lazily. The shift in his body language was almost instantaneous, a smug expression shattering the almost stubborn curiosity he had first worn, hesitant walk transforming into a confident saunter. It was a wonder he even had circulation in those jeans.

Further slowing his breathing in an attempt to quell his rising anger, the deadman watched closely as Shawn walked right up to him and propped an arm across his hunched shoulders, fingers not hesitating before they found their way into the Undertaker’s hair. He had never been so disrespected, his personal space never so violated. A death rattle tried to dig itself out of the grave of his throat. Paul Bearer insisted he could not harm people unless commanded. Shawn was merely mortal, even if he looked down at him as if he was a meal. The Undertaker’s upper lip twitched.

“Heeeey, big guy,” Shawn drawled, voice rasping like sandpaper over the embalmer’s senses. He tried not to uppercut him and found success in envisioning it in great detail, instead. Shawn’s hands kept wandering and he hoped he developed frostbite. “You like my little show? I specialise in intimate performances, you know.”

Uppercutting him. Stomping on his face. Tying his arms up in the ropes and chopping the everloving hell out of him. Rolling him into a bodybag and-

“Say, isn’t Death Valley in California? Never been to a Death Valley, Texas, and, well, you and me, we coulda been Lone-Star-neighbours for all I know. Maybe when we finally get out of the Everglade State I can hitch a ride in that fancy little hearse of yours.”

The Undertaker remained silent. Perhaps, if he ignored him, he’d grow bored and leave. Deciding that refusing to acknowledge his existence may suffice, he fixed his stare on the locker in front of him and steeled himself against flinching away from Shawn's hands exploring his back and shoulders.

“Hell-ohhhh? Earth to planet Undertakerrrr.” The Boy Toy leaned forward to see his face, waving his hand in front of his face.

Enough.

A dark gaze snapped to him, thin pupils visible through the long, curling tendrils of hair. The Undertaker placed his hands on his knees and rose slowly. Shawn took a step back, his neck straining as he watched the deadman's veil of hair rise and rise. He straightened his back to stand at full height, shoulders square. Near-black eyes stared icily through Shawn as he let out a throaty growl, expecting it to get his point across.

Shawn bit his lower lip, tinted red from the frozen atmosphere descending upon him. Clearly some cogs were turning in his brain.

“You got a sexy voice, you know. You should talk more.” Reversing his retreat, Shawn took a step forward and stood chest-to-sternum with him. A manicured fingernail traced a vague outline of the deadman’s pec, the white French tips in stark contrast to his black shirt.

The Undertaker clenched his fists. Slowly, as if straining to do so, he raised his right hand, poised to seize Shawn by the throat. He tried to remind himself that the creature of avarice before him was just a mortal man. A flawed one, an annoying one, but still, nothing more than a human. There was no reason for him to wrap his fingers around Shawn's thick neck, raise him up, choke him, and shake him and lift him and slam him down to the floor with all his might. None at all.

The so-called pretty boy glanced up at the approaching hand without an ounce of fear. Lopsidedly smiling in a way that made his eyes squint subtly, Shawn took the Undertaker’s hand into his own. He squeezed it.

“Pretty cold, even with the gloves! You know I could help you warm up,” he offered, batting his thin lashes at the deadman.

A flicker of a sneer crossed the mortician's face. He squeezed Shawn's hand back, matching him in force. Gradually, he folded his fingers tighter until he held Shawn's hand in an iron grip.

Shawn tried to retract his hand and found he couldn't. The Undertaker wouldn't release him - he didn't want to. He wanted to teach the brat a lesson. Pain. Indescribable pain, which he wished to inflict on The Heartbreak Kid.

“Owowow! Hey, buddy, let go!” Again, Shawn tried to yank his hand back to no avail, throwing his upper body into the motion. His hair flew, the icicles forming on his split ends melting where it touched his bare skin. Taking one, heavy, creeping step, the Undertaker walked him backwards. He only stopped when Shawn's back was pressed against the lockers.

“Shut…up…” He grumbled, getting close to Shawn, his heavy breaths causing some of the drying strands of Shawn’s baby hairs to sway. It was freezing, Shawn's shaky breath visible, his hand starting to burn in the Undertaker's grasp. Panic slowly rising, he started smacking at the other man's wrist. If he wanted to hit the Undertaker, he was wide open, but fear was granting him hesitance… For now.

"L-Look, pal," Shawn started, voice failing. His throat was dry. It was starting to hurt to breathe, the burning in his lungs similar to the burning in his hand. His thumb was starting to turn red. "Let's both pack it up and go home, how's about it?"

For a few moments, the Undertaker considered this. He inhaled deeply, chest pushing into Shawn's and pinning him further - a sure tell he was going to speak.

"Shawnie!" Heels clacked towards them like gunshots, the suffocating aura dissipating as quickly as it came. The Undertaker fixed him with a wide-eyed, rageful stare as he stepped back. "Where'd my sexy boy run off too, huh?"

The Undertaker continued slowly stepping backwards, heavy boots silent as he released Shawn's hand. The light that he'd blocked out began illuminating the space around Shawn again, but the void the Undertaker was fading into only seemed to grow darker and darker. Shawn's voice was a pathetic wheeze when he first tried to call out.

"H-here," he finally croaked out, grabbing his cold, cold hand and trying to rub some warmth back into it. He slumped back against the lockers noisily and slid down. "I'm here, Sherri."

#[ colour commentary ]#[ voyager ]#taker #hbk #[ requests ]#long post #[ mango madness ]

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rxvenclawwriting · 4 years

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just a slip of the tongue

corpse x fem!reader word count: 1.2k warnings:fluff, mentions of anxiety requested: nope a/n: i’m not sure if i like this fic or not

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“baby!” y/n shouted as corpse lifted her off the ground and spun her around. “what was that for?”

“i just love you and felt like hugging you,” corpse shrugged. he pulled y/n closer to his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“i love you too, love,” y/n mumbled against his chest. the soft moment was interrupted by y/n’s phone ringing. “why can’t we just stay like this forever?”

“answer the phone and then we can,” corpse sighed with the same pouty tone y/n had used. he wiggled his hand into hers as she picked up the phone. his head found it’s place on y/n’s shoulder as she leaned against him. corpse squeezed her hand reassuringly when he felt her hand shake. he knew how much she hated random phone calls because they increased her anxiety so he always made sure to stay by her side if he could. there was only two things that caused her anxiety to get super bad and they were phone calls and people finding out about her and corpse’s relationship.

“hello?” y/n asked quietly into the phone.

“hey y/n! it’s rae!” rae said cheerfully on the other end.

“oh hey rae!” y/n said, her nerves slowly relaxing. “what’s up?”

“what’s up? oh nothing…just that youtube video you posted a few minutes ago!” are was squealing now. “you’re blowing up!”

“i-i am?” y/n asked softly. she felt the nerves return and squeezed corpse’s hand tighter. corpse pulled her into a protective hug to help calm her down.

“yeah you are! you posted what? thirty minutes ago? it already has like 25 thousand views!” rae exclaimed. she paused when she realized y/n wasn’t matching her enthusiasm. when she spoke again, her voice was much calmer. “everyone wants to know who kept calling you baby during the game.”

“oh,” y/n whispered. only a handful of people knew about corpse and y/n’s relationship, rae included. corpse rubbed y/n’s back as her shoulders slumped. “no one has said anything right?”

“nope! i can remind everyone if you want,” rae asked. like corpse, she knew that the prospect of their relationship getting out had a negative effect on y/n’s mental health and being her best friend, rae wanted to help eliminate it as much as possible.

“no, uh that’s okay. thank you rae,” y/n whispered.

“of course,” rae said, her soft smile evident through the phone. “talk later?”

“sounds good. love you,” y/n mumbled before she hung up. as soon as she hung up she slumped against corpse’s chest and wrapped her arms around his torso. “‘m so sorry bub.”

“oh baby, don’t apologize. it’s not your fault. everything will be okay,” corpse said quietly. y/n balled up his shirt in her hands and dug her head into the crook of his neck, trying to make herself feel as small as possible.

“what should we do?” y/n whispered. corpse thought for a second before he spoke

“i think there’s only two things we can do,” he spoke softly.”we can either ignore the comments or we can tell everyone. i’m okay with whatever you want to do, my love.”

“i just wanted to keep this to ourselves for a while longer. i don’t want every aspect of our relationship to be under a microscope,” she paused before taking a deep breath. "i don’t want people to say i’m not good enough for you.”

“love, you’re more than good enough for me. i don’t care what some strangers on the internet say about our relationship. what matters is that i love you and you love me.”

“i love you,” y/n mumbled into his neck.

“i love you too,” corpse said as he rubbed her back. “why don’t we just leave it for a bit and see if it becomes a big thing?”

“that sounds like a good idea,” y/n sighed. “can we watch a movie right now?”

“of course, my love,” corpse said, a bright smile on his face. a blush settled on y/n’s cheeks at the nickname. corpse lifted y/n’s arms from their spot around his torso and brought them to his shoulders. “hold on, okay?"

y/n nodded and squealed when corpse lifted her off of the ground. out of instinct, she wrapped her legs around his torso. corpse sat down on the couch, leaving his hands wrapped around y/n. “can we watch tangled?”

“again?” corpse laughed. “do you want a blanket?”

y/n nodded and corpse grabbed a blanket from the small basket next to the couch. he leaned back, allowing both of them to stretch out on the couch. y/n snuggled into the blanket and corpse’s chest, her eyes focusing on corpse’s hands instead of the movie. she silently grabbed one of his hands and played with it. she let her thoughts drift. was she overreacting? they only heard someone say ‘baby’, that’s not a big deal. but then again, the person that called her baby has a very recognizable voice. did corpse think she was ashamed of him? she had to fix this.“bub?”

“yes, baby?”

“you know i’m not ashamed of you right?” y/n asked as she looked up at corpse’s face. her hand left his and settled on her boyfriend’s face.

“of course i do,” corpse said, his heartbreaking at the worry in her soft voice. he turned his head to the side and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand. he saw the far off gaze in her eyes and kissed her hand again. “what’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“maybe we should tell everyone,” y/n mumbled. “i don’t want to keep tiptoeing around even though i want this to just be something between the two of us.”

“baby, if you don’t want to tell anyone, we don’t have to,” corpse whispered.

“i want to,” y/n said after a second. “maybe one of us could just post a picture or something. i don’t know what to do.”

“i have an idea,” corpse mumbled. he fished for his phone in his pocket and reached for y/n’s hand. he took a picture of their joint hands before putting his phone in his pocket. “i’ll post it after you go to sleep so you don’t have to stress about it, okay?”

“okay,” she whispered. “i’m sor-“

corpse cut her off with a small kiss on her lips. “stop apologizing, baby. we’re both okay, there’s nothing to apologize for.”

y/n smiled him before snuggling into his chest. “i love you, corpse.”

“i love you too, y/n,” corpse said with a beaming smile.

the two of them focused on the movie until corpse felt y/n drift to sleep on top of him. his heart melted at the sight of her snuggled under the blanket and clutching his shirt. he brushed some of her hair out of her face and traced her cheek lightly with his fingertips. silently, corpse took his phone out of his pocket and look a picture of her sleeping on his chest before he opened up instagram. going to the stories section, he selected the picture of them holding hands and added the caption “my baby” before posting it.

“okay princess, let’s go to bed,” he said to himself as he lifted her off the couch to bring her to their shared room. once they were cuddled up under the comforters on the bed, corpse pressed a bunch of soft kisses on y/n’s face. “goodnight my love.”

y/n squirmed in her sleep and cuddled closer into corpse’s side. “goodnight, bub."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @danny-devitowo @susceptible-but-siriusexual @namjoons-crabssss

taglist is open!

#rxvenclawwriting #corpse x reader #corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x fem!reader

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rose7420 · 3 years

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Close Encounters

Hey!! For a story request, can you do one where Thor corners a tiny teen on the kitchen counter and Loki comes in because he hears Thor talking to someone? Once Loki sees that Thor is scaring a tiny mortal, his soft, protective side comes out and he pushes Thor away from the tiny and scoops them up, saying things to calm her down. Then Thor is kinda like “Well why do you get to hold her?” Thor goes to try and grab the tiny off of Loki, but Loki isn’t having it and starts fighting with Thor, all while the teen is clinging onto Loki’s shirt because she knows that Loki is protecting her. Loki just ends up teleporting to his room and apologizes to the teen for Thor’s actions and Loki can’t even get the teen to let go of her shirt cause she’s that scared😂🥺

This was a request from the talented @laurenandloki ! Hope you like it!

Y/N had super bad anxiety. Being a borrower she never had the proper amount of socialization and she always felt like an outsider when she would quietly observe humans from a distance. They never knew she was there, but it was nice to be in the company of another living creature. One that didn’t view her as food. She had only gotten caught spying once in her life, by none other than the God of Mischief himself. That was about a month ago and he had terrified her out of her wits when they first met, yet, she discovered he was a gentle person who cared immensely for others. However, she was still a borrower and he a human so there could be no sense of a friendship for them. And so she had retreated to live away on her own in the walls of the tower.

In the current moment she stood behind a container that held sugar, she would know since she had “borrowed” from it quite a few times. But today, she came needing other items that were a bit harder to retrieve. Magnets. It sounded bizarre, but they came in handy for scaling tall objects susceptible to the magnetic pull. Magnets were hard to get because they were stuck on the fridge(which was very tall), were half as big as her body, and extremely hard to pull off the fridge. She carried a coil of rope and a harness she had made herself and roped it around her body. Latching the hook attached to the end of the rope to the top of the fridge she, scaled down the side searching for a magnet that wouldn’t be missed. That was the thing about humans. When they lost something they blamed it on their own consciousness, not the doing of a two-inch tall chick who lived in the walls. She found the right one finally and made her way down to it. So focused in fact, that she didn’t even notice the vibrations of the gargantuan god of Thunder making his way to the fridge for his next snack of the day.

“What in the nine-realms are you little one?” A huge voice booms out, ringing Y/N’s ears and stilling her movements. She knows who it belongs to already, Thor. The god has a huge personality that matches his unwavering optimism. He is also very touchy as she has observed, which is why she is not at all prepared for what comes next. She forgets all about the magnet and tries to find a grip to haul herself up the fridge with.

“It’s not safe for you all the way up there, why it must be like a building up there.” Immediately, pressure is at her waist and enormous fingers lift her off the cool surface of the fridge. His powerful movements snap her rope, losing her only way of a safe escape.

His unshaven, but kind face fills her entire line of vision. The fingers still hold her waist and his eyes search her form intently. There are too many sensations around her and her mind is overwhelmed.

Breathing becomes difficult, her sight becomes a dark tunnel and lightheadedness is all she can feel. Thor is too busy filling his curiosity to notice the panic-attack she is currently having.

“Are you ill tiny one?” Thor questions but Y/N has not the mind to answer his question. Also believing that the answer is pretty obvious.

“Brother, what do you have there?” Thor swings around, facing the owner of the voice. The motion makes Y/N even sicker to her stomach. She however does recognize the person’s voice. Loki.

Suddenly she feels even dizzier, looking up she sees she is being passed around like a toy as Loki now has her in his grasp. She lays down on the surface of his palm relishing the feeling of having some sort of control over her body. Breathing becomes easier, not as if she is inhaling through a straw and her vision is no longer blurred as she can see clearly. She glances around at her surroundings and sees she is held up to a black, soft, and cotton wall. Loki’s chest. His breaths shift her up and down, yet, the movement is comforting. She finds herself fisting his shirt with her small hands trying to burrow her body further into his chest. A loud yell causes her to jump out of her skin and cling to Loki even tighter.

“Give her here brother, I am in no mood for your tricks!” Thor exclaims loudly, hurting Y/N’s ears.

“You were frightening her Thor. Just look at her.” The comforting darkness she was kept in for a brief amount of time vanished as Loki removes his other shielding hand to reveal her to Thor. Thor bends to her level looking her directly in the eyes. Anxiety spikes in her veins again sending an uncomfortable jolt of panic in her stomach and a tightness in her chest. She whimpers audibly and turns her face to Loki’s chest once again. Why must everything be so scary? She thinks to herself.

A soothing motion upon her back takes her out of her panicking thoughts. Her face leaves Loki’s shirt and sees that he is rubbing her back with a single finger. And that she had been transported to Loki’s bedroom.

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Loki couldn't stand seeing this small being panicking anymore. He remembered seeing the small one earlier before and letting her be, but today when she had been so vulnerable in front of his oaf for a brother, he couldn’t just stand by and watch. It was obvious that the small one was terror-struck by the presence of larger beings as himself. So he had teleported to his room to calm her down. Her entire body clung to his shirt like a lifeline and he had tried to pry her off his chest but she held strong, not willing to leave him just yet. He stopped trying to force her off him, afraid her tiny arms would break at his immense strength. Instead, he rubbed her back in soothing circles with the tip of his finger. He awed at the size difference. His entire finger dwarfed her body, it took not even a slight bend of his finger to caress her back. He shuddered at the fragility of this tiny being.

Not to mention she had put her trust in him to protect her from Thor. Even though he knew Thor was probably the only person on this earth that you would never need protection from because of his kind, generous heart. Sometimes his brother came off too strong to those he showed an intense interest with. And to this small girl, he would imagine the interaction between Thor and her would be very intense from her perspective.

Once the girl realized she was in no danger she slowly released herself from his person. He slowly raised her to his eye-level taking in the rare sight of an actual borrower. Loki had read about them in informational books on Asgard, there were not many factual books here on Earth, but they had plenty of fictional ones. From what he read, borrowers were on average around the height of three to four inches. But this girl seemed to be barely clearing two and a half. She was exceptionally small and this caused him to be even more cautious as he bore her in a palm.

She perched on her hands and knees, staring at him with big, round (Y/E/C) eyes. He had to practically bring her right on top of his nose to see her properly. He felt her anxiety rising under his close inspection and he lowered her down to his bedside table, kneeling to see her better. Awkwardness lingered at first but Loki broke the silence.

“Your exceptionally small, little one. What shall I call you?”

He watched her face scrunch up in anger, not responding to his question.

“Hmmm, let’s see… I can call you little one, of course, Thumbelina, Bite-Size, or-”

“Okay! Stop, just stop, call me Y/N.”She said with her arms crossed over her chest trying to be intimidating but failing.

“Y/N, what a delightful name. Are you alright now? I apologize for my brother’s actions.” Loki said being serious now.

Y/N nodded her head, “Y-yeah I’m okay now. I have really b-bad anxiety.” She admitted.

Loki smiled reassuringly, “I promise you to have nothing to fear from me or my brother.”

“Would you like me to assist you back to your quarters Y/N?”

“A-actually could I hang out with you for a little bit. I-I don’t really have many friends and I find your company...tolerable.” Y/N said with a bit of hesitation.

Loki laughed at her remark, “Just tolerable huh? Well, I must tell you that I find your company rather tolerable too Thumbelina.” He retorted with a smirk.

Y/N blushed and grinned, he offered a helpful palm to boost her to his shoulder.

“What should we do?” Loki asked.

“I don’t know, what do you have in mind?” Y/N asked, taking a comfortable seat where the dip in his collarbone lay.

Her little body tickled his neck and Loki laughed once again responding with, “I have a perfect idea,” with mischief coating his voice.

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

Y/N watched with fascination as Loki illusioned a snake out of thin air. Snakes did terrify her as a borrower, but way up on Loki’s shoulder she had no fear of the serpent on the ground. Loki’s shoulder was pretty comfortable, she clung to his neck and could feel every movement that he made, and his voice thundered through her when he spoke even in a whisper. They were waiting for someone to walk and spot the snake. Finally, a passerby came, one she recognized to be Peter. As he walked he immediately spotted the snake and screamed loudly running away. Loki almost doubled over in laughter as did Y/N. He cupped her in his hands, holding her safely in his embrace. Y/N couldn't stop smiling for another reason. She had finally found a friend.

#gt loki #Loki #tiny reader #peter x borrower #Loki x borrower #loki x female reader #borrower #giant Loki #shrunk

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 3 years

Text

Getting back at writing, is, well, hard. My grammar and vocabulary and basically everything is messed up so I apologize in advance for that. It's been, almost a year ever since my last written fic. That time I was still crazy with Kimetsu no Yaiba and the KyoTan ship. I'll post it some other time ^^.

Anyways, I present to you my attempt in making a plotted work from a random thought that came over me this morning.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Basically none. Except for some curse words.

UD 01/10/21: Cleaned and revised some parts! Tried my best, hope it was enough.

•

Of Ice and Blood

Part 1

Quick backstory and some details I left out in the main work.

It was in summer, 28th of July, when Pearl Blackbell turned 19. She left her home and moved closer to the university she’ll be going to. She rented an apartment about five blocks from the school. Albeit small, it was cozy and proper, having what she needed: a kitchen, a decent-sized bedroom, a small living area with a worn but comfy couch, and a bathroom.

When she was younger, her parents started training her in martial arts and the use self-defense weapons. They needed to make sure she knew how to protect herself against assaulters and dangerous people, she was after all, their only child and baby girl . They want their daughter to be strong, both inside and outside, by the time she sets out on her own and leaves home.

Her favorite self-defense weapon was brass knuckles, despite her parents’ protests. She enjoys punching nasty people and feel the crunch of their bones beneath her fists, especially racists, sexists, bullies, and the lot. The main reason why she got into detention multiple times.

Painting it with a ruddy color, she keeps it in her person, no matter where she goes. She has two, one is for extreme situations, while the other has only two knuckles. It stills maximizes the damage dealt but it is relatively less dangerous than the full dusters. The second one is usually a spare, though she rarely uses it.

She also occasionally carries a pair of retractable nunchucks, which she designed to be hidden within her regular baggy clothes. Her father had trained her vigorously with them and she even bested him in a match before she left for the city.

Selkoth, the city of marvels.

Distant sounds of buzzing cars reached my ears as I opened my eyes and blinked away the sleepiness, the light shining from the spaces in my curtains rather helping, together with the warmth it brought to my chilled tawny skin.

[Start of the actual work]

I fully woke up as I registered the sound of my phone alarm, shortly getting up to prepare when I realized what day it was.

Monday, the first day of my college life.

I stepped into the bathroom and took a quick shower, knowing I bathed thoroughly last night to save some time today.

Time management is key.

I dried myself down, turned to my closet and started putting on the outfit I picked out the night before.

Prioritizing comfortability over appearance, I wore my favorite orange cotton shirt, my blackish-blue hoodie (that had been stained with blood some time ago, but don’t worry, I know how to clean out blood. Mama raised no fool.) over it, together with a pair of black skinny jeans. And of course, tight black sports bra and boxers, even mentioning my underwear yes?

I looked over to my mirror and it was—

Simple. And I loved it. The more simple it is the better.

'“Keep a low profile over there, sweetie. Don’t get into fights when you can help it okay??? We already taught you and prepared you to the best of our abilities. Promise to us that you’ll stay safe, and healthy. Okay? And don’t forget to call sometime.”' I sighed, remembering my mother’s words.

"Yes mama, I will.”

With a smile, I did my hair and went for a tight Dutch braid, it going down between my shoulder blades and ending a little above my waist. I ran to my kitchen to eat breakfast, satisfied with my look.

I eat fast okay

Backpack, check. White sneakers, check. Phone and keys, check. Airpods on, playlist shuffled, I bolted out of my apartment and jogged all 50 blocks to school.

Exercise is always important, and what other way to utilize time for exercising than to do it while heading to your destination, right?

I snickered.

As I made my way to the university, I saw bizarre creatures and monsters of different sizes, coexisting, and interacting with humans. Even so, I noticed other people’s disdain and bitterness towards them when I passed by. My nose is awfully sensitive to scents that sometimes the ones their body releases tells me what they feel at the moment. It’s all science, I guess. I was made extra susceptible to these, so I wear a mask everywhere and every time I go out just to partly block most of the smells.

My first day at a university open to everyone across the country gets my blood pumping with excitement. To think that I’m going to study at Ernestine State University, the Ernestine State University!

I first heard about the uni back when I was a child. News broke out about Victor Ernestine, committing suicide by driving his car off a cliff because he couldn’t accept that his daughter was one of the major leaders who made the unity of all people, of all races, possible.

Dramatic.

Months after Mr. Ernestine died, all his properties and riches were passed down to her daughter, who took over as the new founder of the university and rebuilt it to accommodate everyone, no matter the size and shape.

The strictly all-human school, renovated, reshaped, and repurposed, was now the first university to open its gates to everyone in the country of Yundomia.

I’ve always yearned to get to know other species in this world. I didn’t get the chance previously because my parents sent me to an all-human, local high school. Which sucks. I hated how everyone had a certain hatred for the other races, especially orcs. They keep talking about how they are wild beasts and savages that aren’t meant to be in society.

They treated them like animals that are void of emotions and intelligence.

Come to think of it, I mostly fought with humans who were either racist, bullies, bastards trying to hit on me, or a mix of all of them together.

I chuckled, remembering how many times I got counseled on not punching people in the face.

High school was pure torture, being a human-exclusive campus making it worse, considering how everybody smells so horrible and the principal was an egoistic dumbass I was a hair away from gutting him. My poor nose.

But now I’m done with that! I’m starting anew in this school, in this city. Perhaps make some friends along the way.

Which is kinda problematic.

I’m not the social type. I tend to keep things to myself and hardly open up to anybody. I wanna make at least one friend that isn’t human! Or just, one good friend. I didn’t have or made any friends in the past since people tend to shun me out just because I can tell how they are feeling and find it creepy.

Or they’re afraid to get punched in the face.

Entering the campus gates was like stepping into another world. I was met with the sight of humans and monsters walking together and conversing! It was nice, and I don’t get to see this much often.

I walked around and took in the landscape of the campus. It was huge! And beautifully designed to have a great number of trees and plants, while also having space more than enough to accommodate every student going to their respective classrooms.

I was minding my own business and it was all serene, until some bastards pushed past through me and knocking me to the side. I stumbled but didn’t fall. I was gonna say something, but I shut my mouth. I didn’t want to cause any trouble on the first day for goodness’ sake. So I brushed it off and went straight to the gym for the orientation.

*************************************

The orientation was, intriguing. The dean seems nice, though I couldn't smell him from where I sat. There's also a student council made up of both humans and monsters which is a good sign. The student council president was a Minotaur with a dark brown coat and horns curving front and pointing up. The vice-president was a male student who looked decent enough. The secretary was an elf. The treasurer, a dwarf. And the rest were humans. I couldn't scent any of them to tell me what they were feeling at the moment, but the Minotaur looked uncomfortable, his hands behind his back, body going stiff when they were introduced to the freshmen. There was a larger numbr of humans than monsters, which was expected. I also noticed how both were grouped, a white line in the middle of the gym separating us from them.

Maybe to avoid any misunderstandings?

We were informed that today will be for introductions to your classmates and subject teachers so there will be no lessons at all. Hooray!

I was walking to my first classroom when a damned familiar smell attacked my nose. I stopped to stand for a moment and adjusted my mask. I looked around to spot the one emitting it and of course, saw a human. He looked, well, the typical playboy cool boy who used too much body spray on himself.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot and prolong my suffering, I speed walk to my classroom and planned to sit at the back hoping no one would notice or ask why I’m wearing a mask.

That's always what they ask first. Not my name or how I was doing.

I expected to find no one inside since it was still early, but I was startled to see a massive orc sitting at the back looking out at the window. He was wearing a dark gray knitted sweater that was hugging his hulking frame very…well. Along with what looked like thick cargo pants and black boots.

He turned to look at me when I let out a small yelp, greeting me with his piercing, blue eyes.

Beautiful.

The orc had long, braided, jet-black locks. Two of them had distinct beads that trailed down from the side of his face and down to his chest, the rest of his hair behind him braided with intricacy and tied and ended halfway down his back.

I was pushed out of my trance when a person entered and crashed into me, swearing under my breath that it was intentional, nearly making me plant face-first on the trash bins if I hadn’t changed my footing at the last moment.

“Watch it, bitch, you’re gonna ruin my make-up,” she snapped.

Wow. She dared to call me that and not apologize like I’m the one who shoved her. Just wow. Usually at this point, I would have planted her face on the floor, but I stopped myself.

Low profile! Low profile Pearl! You’re in college now! You definitely don’t want to get suspended on the first fucking day of class now do you?? Keep it together.

Straightening up, I walked towards the back and sat beside the orc. Whose gaze fell on me, curious, when I wasn’t looking.

I made myself settled in my seat before the professor came in.

There were other races in my class. A blue tiefling sat three rows in front, wearing a casual outfit. A black-haired elf who looked and dressed clever, a row away. A cute pink pixie on my far right. A satyr wearing glasses, two seats in front of me, and a female lizardfolk a seat from of the pixie.

"Are you...alright?"

I almost jumped from my seat when the orc beside me spoke. I couldn’t help but admire how deep his voice was. I tried not to appear flustered, my mask helped with that.

“Uh…yes?”

The orc regarded me for a second before continuing.

“You were pushed earlier.”

Oh. He saw that?

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” I smiled at him. Then I remembered he can’t see my face. But I hoped the crinkling of my eyes gave it away.

“I’m Pearl, by the way.” I reached out my hand to him, socializing not my best suit but at least I tried.

He paused for a second before taking it into his bigger one, engulfing mine and shook it slowly. I was again, surprised by how gentle he was.

“Tai'chi.”

Interesting.

“Nice to meet you, Tai'chi.”

He lets go of my hand when the professor started talking up front.

“Nice to meet you too, Pearl."

***************************************

Thoughts? I am wide open for constructive criticism :D

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Check pinned post for latest chapter updates💕

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For mermay, #25 siren for Sternclay, rating up to you? Thank you so much, I love your fics!

Here you go! I went with SFW and it's set in the same universe as the other siren prompt I got this year

Joseph has sailed so far over the horizon of regret that he’s landed right back on the shores of resolve.

The highway curves through low mountains, extends in interminable straight lines of super-heated asphalt, and he drives both stretches with purpose, eyes fixed on his goal so as not to see the last forty-eight hours lurking in his rearview mirror.

When the sign reading “Kepler: Population 3,000 on land, 50 in water” reflects the setting sun he slumps back in the driver seat, too tired to be glad, excited, afraid, or anything else at all.

He passes the Cryptonomica, proclaiming itself the premier place to learn about the Roadside Sirens. Rolling his eyes means he nearly misses the drawbridge warning, the barrier dropping and bridge rising to allow a small sailboat to pass. It’s aboard this he sees his first siren; dappled tail hanging in the water as she converses with the other passenger and waves to the siren working the bridge.

The bridge lowers and he continues forward as the early evening overtakes the main road. Neon crackles to life, creosote and rabbitbrush drift through the window when he rolls it down. The sign on Amnesty Lodge declares vacancies, so he pulls into the parking lot. It’s a strange lay-out, little cabins dotting the patches of pools that, once upon a time, must have been enclosed in rooms. Now they glisten under the emerging stars, some surrounded by lawn chairs and set ups to play horseshoes or cornhole. The building housing the lobby is precariously perched on the bank of the slow flowing river, another building whose neon is unlit sitting beside it. He pays the young lady at the counter for a week to week cabin and lugs the remainders of his life inside.

In the bathroom mirror, the wear of this trip is clear in the wrinkles on his suit and the dust on his shoes. He strips down, rinses off, and heads into the night in his shorts and T-shirt from Puget Sound. On a whim he turns right, follows a trail that leads him into the state park. He pays the five dollar fee in a little envelope as he continues on his way. Just as he reaches a scenic viewpoint, the singing starts.

Joseph can’t see any of the singers, can only pick up six or so distinct voices swirling around him.

It’s said the roadside sirens will tell you what you need.

It’s said the roadside sirens are the only way Kepler gets new residents

It’s said the roadside sirens will lead you to your hearts desire.

It’s said the roadside sirens are not always gentle.

All that tugs at Joseph’s heart is exhaustion. When footsteps creak across the boards behind him, he turns to find a man in a ranger uniform. Their eyes meet a moment and the man nods in greeting, “Evenin sir, you got any questions?”

“What do you hear when they sing?”

The ranger shrugs, “I hear them singin’. Never been all that susceptible to ‘em. Well, except for one, but he don’t sing all that often and the last time it was to tell me he missed me while I was out here workin’.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. The man comes close enough for him to see his name tag. All it says is, “Duck.”

Duck chuckles, leans his arms on the railing, “S’okay, most folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em that. See, thing about sirens is, you gotta have unfulfilled desires for the song to take hold. First time I was in Kepler, didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted from life. When I came back, found the two things I wanted right away. Been pretty content since.” He glances at Joseph, “why, you hear somethin that worries you?”

“I don’t hear anything besides-”

A burst of blue and orange light spills across them; the building beside Amnesty Lodge has come to life, and Joseph can see a line out the door from here. More importantly, someone is singing and his body moves towards the source without him noticing.

“I mean, if your main want is you’re hungry, Lodge is a damn good place to start. Put Kepler on the map. Or, uh, guess the sirens put it there and the Lodge kept it there once the novelty wore off.

“Uhumm” Joseph nods, waving an absentminded goodnight as he follows the path back to the Lodge. He’s about to join the others waiting to get through the door when he gets a flash of an image; a draft on a desk, announcing the Lodge needed a cooks assistant.

What the hell, it’s worth a try right?

A knock on the back door summons an older man in a “Joshua Tree” shirt.

“Howdy, if you’re lookin for the line-”

“I’m here about the assistant job.”

“Uhh, o-kay. Not the best time for it, but follow me.”

The man leads him down a set of stairs to a kitchen that is half in and half out of the water in a way that defies logic and physics. Swimming about are several sirens, plus two humans on the shore, cooking and sending food up to the main building in a dance that borders on chaos. In the middle of it all is a siren with a deep copper tail that matches his short beard and long hair tied back in a bun.

“Barclay! You got a minute?”

“Not really!”

“Okay then. I’ll just have this fella wait in your office until dinner rush is over.”

“Sure great yeah Moira wheres the crawfish for table ten?”

Which is how Joseph finds himself sitting in a cabin, twiddling his thumbs. His manners fight his boredom until he pulls a paperback from the nearby shelf and loses himself in the exploits of a someone recreating dishes from ancient civilizations. Doesn’t look up until the door opens and the same man, now with legs instead of that beautiful tail, walks in.

“Phew” he shuts the door with a satisfied smile, rests his head on the wood, then whirls and slams his back against it when Joseph clears his throat.

“GAHWHATTHEFUCK”

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you heard, um, Thacker, tell you he was having me wait here.”

“W-wait here for wh--Oh, oh right, the assistant thing.” The siren scrubs his face, “yeah, uh, guess Mama must've put the ad out. Uh, would you say you’re organized?”

“Extremely. But honestly it doesn’t seem like you need that much help on that front.”

A deep, rich laugh, “I cleaned this morning, last night it looked like an earthquake hit this place. Guessing from the fact you didn’t freak out in the kitchen you’re cool with the supernatural?”

“Yes. It’s an area of interest for me.”

There’s suspicion in Barclay’s voice, hidden but very much present, “why’d you end up in Kepler?”

“I came here on purpose. I wanted to be somewhere where strange things were celebrated and out in the open. Not...not kept from the world.”

Barclay leans back on his desk, arms crossed, “Where’d you work before now?”

“The…” he sighs, resigns himself to finding somewhere else to go, “the FBI. UP branch, I was at Nellis when they, um, relieved me of my duties.”

For a long moment, Barclay studies him. Then he turns to his desk, setting stacks of papers in order as he hums. Joseph closes his eyes, takes calming breaths; all he wants is to be safe, to not have to run. All he wants is for Barclay to hold him, he’s never seen a man so handsome and a useless, primal part of him fixates on that fact. Also he’s starving, god, he hasn’t eaten since his breakfast of black coffee.

Barclay stops humming, “Come with me.”

Joseph follows him back down into the strange kitchen (“couple of friends of mine are pretty powerful magicians. They rigged up the kitchen for me”). All the lights are off, and without them he discovers Barclay’s eyes glow an eerie yellow-green. When he smiles, Joseph sees only the points on his teeth, not the crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Barclay rumbles.

“Starving.”

“You eat fish?”

“...Yes?” Will the wrong answer get him drowned.

The cook leaps towards the water, tail appearing and clothes vanishing at the last moment before he hits the dark surface. Joseph stands, on edge and curious, until the siren emerges, newly-dead trout in his hands.

“Tastes best fresh.” Barclay swims to his grill, turning it on in a click of a knob.

“Why not just stay human when you cook?” Joseph makes his way over to the station as Barclay butchers the fish and sets it into a heavily buttered pan.

“The charm only holds for so long before I need to be back in the water, and I get so busy during meals I don’t want to risk passing out because I went too long on shore. Besides” he spins elegantly to grab two spice jars, “I learned to cook in the water, so this is the most natural way for me.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph sits down, keeping himself out of arms reach of the water. Barclay seems nice, but sirens did not become famous for offering people things and then following through; hundreds of dead travelers prove that much.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago, originally.”

“Ever see the great lake mers?”

“No.” He can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s only learning of their existence now.

“Quite a few out there. Sirens too.”

Well, that introduces some new reasons for all the shipwrecks.

“How do you know? Are you from there?”

“Nah. Been in Kepler my whole life. Even during the bad years, singing people into that godawful, overpriced casino buffet. Convincing them the shitty cold cuts were prime rib.” His hand stills a moment, clenches and then releases, “yeah. Every now and then” he starts chopping shallots, “one of the drunks would get it into their heads to pet the sirens tail or hair and I had to sit there and let them. My tail” he shudders, swipes the shallots into the pan so roughly Joseph starts.

“Sorry.” Barclay mumbles.

“Don’t be. I’m on edge, that’s all. And you have every right to be angry. Being forced to do something you know is wrong is....there’s no winning.”

“That why you just want a place to feel safe?”

It’s so easy to confess in the darkness of the cave.

“I put up too much of a fight about something. Refused to do something that went against my conscience. They let me go, which I feared but expected. Then I found my bank accounts were cut off and someone had manipulated the records to say I’d been fired for criminal activity so it’d be harder to find a job.”

A clink of metal on china, and then Barclay is holding a plate out to him with tenderness in his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Here, at least you won’t be hungry.”

Joseph murmurs out his thanks.

“You a wine drinker?”

“Right now I could certainly go for some.”

A few flicks of that stunning tail and Barclay returns with a glass of white for each of them.

“To getting free of shitty pasts.” The cook raises his glass and Joseph bumps his against it. Barclay brings it to his lips, but smiles rather than sip, “and by the way: you got the job.”

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

Being Barclay’s assistant is fifty percent clerical work and fifty percent following the siren around as he gathers ingredients or tests recipes. On Ned Chicane’s recommendation, Barclay had published a cookbook of both traditional siren foods and his own creations. It became a bestseller which, among other things, means Joseph has a brand new wardrobe, regular deliveries of gourmet food, and his cabin is now full of books. Whenever he points out that Barclay is already paying him and doesn’t need to buy him things, the siren simply rubs their cheeks together (a thing Joseph is only now getting used to) and tells him he likes doing it.

So when he’s not getting his recipes in order or typing up scribbled note cards into something legible, he’s following Barclay on foot or in a boat while he harvests or buys ingredients. Sirens have permission to fish and forage in areas, including the park, that humans don’t, which means he runs into Duck and his siren husband, Indrid, on more than one occasion while hauling lines into the boat.

The one time it gets stuck, Barclay pulls it out all on his own. Almost like he’s showing off the muscles in his back, arms, and tail.

The only thing Joseph won’t do is get in the water with the siren. He can’t get the images of drowned sailors, of fishermen torn to shreds, from his mind. Barclay is powerful, sharp-toothed and slit-pupiled, dangerous yet so gentle he once purred when Joseph complimented his food. And if Joseph never goes in the water with him, he’ll never have to confront the fact he wouldn’t mind if those pointed teeth dug into his skin and that tail trapped his legs while he thrashed in Barclay’s hold.

He assumes Barclay doesn’t notice; after all, swamps and marshes, even the river, are far less suited to a human swimming in them than an ocean or lake. This conclusion is bolstered by Barclay never, ever asking him to join him in the water. The siren is less careful about singing; he usually just hums as he works, but sometimes he sings wordlessly and Joseph nearly dives head first into the water (Barclay’s lap, if they’re on land).

Tonight, he’s cleaning up after Barclay’s test session of new recipes in the kitchen. The cook went out to visit some friends who live further in the state park, so when his voice drifts across the stones Joseph is surprised.

Cool, calloused hands on his cheeks, a tail stroking his thighs, his lips tracing up a sturdy leg. Copper hair twined in his fingertips, a heart beating in time with his own, teeth sinking into his skin, marking him, claiming him.

Water fills his nose and his body jerks back to the present, standing up in the shallow water that he stepped and stumbled face-first into.

“Joseph? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Barclay rounds the corner, swimming over to look up at him with concern.

“Yes. I, um, I think I got caught up in your song.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were already upstairs or I wouldn’t have sung so loud. I know you can’t swim.”

“I can.” Joseph kneels, face down-turned in shame, “I was scared to, um, to be in the water with you. It’s, I was afraid of what might happen.”

Barlay swims back, “you thought I was gonna eat you?”

“No! Or, um, at first I didn’t want to foolishly assume that sirens in Kepler were harmless, since death isn’t high on my to-do list. Then I thought suddenly starting to swim would tip you off to the fact I’d been suspicious and I didn’t want to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “that song, though, Barclay, lord almighty is that what I want?”

“It’s what I want, I never sang it to bring you to me.”

“Oh.”

Barclay swims back to him, rubs their cheeks together, “Can I try something?”

“Anything” is all he gets out before he’s pulled into deeper water. He gasps for air, his own moans ricocheting across the room as Barclay bites his shoulder. On instinct his body tries to tread water, but copper scales trap his legs together, keep him flush against Barclay’s body.

“It’s okay babe, you can relax. I got you, I could keep us both afloat in my sleep.” He hums as he trails his lips across Joseph’s throat, “you’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Don’t make me leave.” The song pulls it out of him, because he wants to say it, wants to admit that losing what he has in Kepler terrifies him, just so he can hear-

“Never. You make me so fucking happy.” Barclay kisses him tenderly, keeps tracking his bite marks with a finger, “please stay. Stay for as long as you want."

"What if I want forever?" He rests his face on Barclay's shoulder as the siren spins them, dance-like, in the water.

"I think we can manage that."

#mermay #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years

Text

Ao3

In My Way

Au: Spy Au

Words: 1931

Rating: Teen

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Sasori

Warnings: murder, Blood, excessive amounts of Sass. Graphic depictions of violence.

Summary: Kakashi has a job to do, but there’s a familiar face in the crowd that tells him it won’t be as easy as he originally thought.

Get into the party, take out the target, get out without being caught.

The mission was simple. Something that he could do with his eyes closed, except for one small detail.

Sasori.

The deadliest Toxicologist known among every intelligence agency around the world. His work with poisons was revered by every toxicologist, including Anko. Even if she refused to admit it.

His presence at the party, while a welcome sight to Kakashi’s eyes thanks to that beautiful black and the red suit he had chosen to wear, was a hindrance to his mission. Not because Sasori was doing anything to stop him from completing the job.

It was quite the opposite judging by the fact that he had just seen Sasori drop something into his target's glass mere seconds ago.

Their goals were the same, and he’d rather die than allow Sasori to get the pleasure of saying he killed the target.

Making his way through the small crowd, he set his eyes on the phone in his hand. A convenient distraction to use, typing away furiously to an imaginary friend as he collided head-on with the target.

Red wine spilled all down his front, staining the white shirt he had chosen to wear to the party and earning him the ire of his target.

“Would you watch where you’re-” Taking one look at Kakashi, the man cut himself off and immediately changed his demeanour. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that you were there.”

If Kakashi was a weak-willed man he would find himself easily fooled by the soft tone of voice and the gentle touch of his arm. Thankfully he was trained for this exact situation.

“Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, wanting his target to lower his guard. “I should have been paying attention. I was just…” His eyes darted down to his phone, a sad look crossing over his face for just a second before he plastered a smile on his face. “Never mind. Are you alright?”

“I’m not the one with red wine spilled down my front,” the target chuckled. “Your shirt is ruined.”

Feeling an arm coming down around his shoulder, Kakashi allowed the other man to turn him around and lead him towards a private table while chatting his ear off about the party and how much effort he had put into making it perfect. Something Kakashi forced himself to smile along with and listen to, even as he kept his eye out for Sasori.

This wasn’t going to be his only attempt, and Kakashi still had information that he needed to get before he could finally take care of the job himself. He just had to keep the man alive long enough to get that information, which meant keeping Sasori from slipping him any poison.

A task that was easier said than done given Sasori’s history.

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

Getting the target to trust him hadn’t taken long at all. For someone good at manipulating others, the man was just as susceptible to his tactics. Or he was just a sucker for a pretty face, and Kakashi didn’t have a pretty face.

Now he just had to get the man to spill the beans about some of the people he worked with.

“It sounds like a lonely job,” toying with the little umbrella in the drink he had been offered, Kakashi kept an eye out for any sign of Sasori. “Do you at least have any friends to keep you company? Or are you one of those people who thinks he doesn’t need friends?”

His target laughed, one arm resting on the seat behind Kakashi. “Friends are a hindrance in my line of work. I prefer to keep people at a length. Emotions are just another factor in the equation of life that I don’t want to have to deal with.”

A line he had heard far too many times over the years, from enemies and allies alike.

“Well, that just sounds like a lonely life to me,” Leaning forward on the table he forced himself not to cringe or lash out when he felt the man’s fingers playing with the edges of his hair. “No one to keep you company.”

“You could keep me company.” The offer is real, though Kakashi knows it would be only for a night if he were to take him up on it. Not that he needs to. He’s so close to getting what he wants.

Which makes it all the more annoying when he sees a familiar head of blazing red hair walking past acting like nothing is going on as he tips something into their target's drink.

Stubborn shit.

Leaning in a little closer to his target, Kakashi notched the charm up by fifty percent and gave him his best smile. “And what would that involve, hmm?” poking the man in the chest playfully, he chuckled when he was rewarded with a soft grunt. “Come on now. I can’t just jump in without knowing what I’m getting myself into.”

With little distance left between them, Kakashi used the distraction to push his target's glass back just a bit. Not knocking it off of the table, but shoving it right to the edge. Hopefully, his target wouldn’t realize and would take care of the rest for him.

“There’s a lot of things that it involves,” the target's smile sent shivers down Kakashi’s spine, though he kept a neutral expression on his face. “It could involve getting to know each other a bit better, some fun activities in private...” he brought a hand up to cup Kakashi’s cheek, cursing when his elbow collided with the glass of whiskey and sent it toppling over onto the ground.

“Oh,” tilting his head, he smiled when the target looked back at him. “I guess I’m not the only clumsy one tonight.”

Somewhere far away he could just imagine Sasori screaming into a napkin and cursing his name, and just that image gave him the strength he needed to keep flirting with the man in front of him.

He was going to get what he wanted no matter how damn hard Sasori tried to stop him.

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

Once he had finally gotten the target to start talking it was smooth sailing ahead. It had only taken a couple of drinks until he was just drunk enough to start talking. Three of which had been poisoned at some point by a very determined Sasori, but Kakashi had found a way to get rid of those ones without being too obvious about what he was trying to do,

It was honestly a little tiring. Trying to save his target’s life when he knew that at the end of the night the man would be dead anyway, regardless of if it was Kakashi or Sasori who killed him.

Just a bit more and he’d have everything that he needed.

“It sounds to me like you don’t get along with this guy too much. Why do you keep working with him if he’s causing you so many problems?” he asked innocently as he stirred his drink with the little umbrella.

“Best dealer in the business,” his target laughed bitterly. “Couldn’t find someone better no matter how hard I tried. And trust me, I’ve tried.”

So close. He could almost taste the successful mission.

Which of course was exactly when an interruption arrived in the form of a hand being slammed down on the table between them and furious brown eyes burrowing holes into his very soul.

“Can I help you?” tilting his head he met Sasori’s gaze head-on. This was not a mission he was willing to fail just because the redhead couldn’t take a hint and leave his target alive for five more minutes.

“You have been hogging the cutest guy in this whole party for the past two hours,’ that was not a response he had been expecting. “I get it, you’re adorable. You have a great smile, but you could at least share his attention.”

A great smile?

Folding his hands together Kakashi rested his chin on top of them and gave Sasori that ‘great smile’ that he had mentioned. “Isn’t there someone else you could bother for the attention your daddy never gave you?”

If looks were as deadly as Sasori’s poisons, he would certainly be dead right now. A well-deserved death of course, since the jab was a lot more personal coming from the son of Konoha Intelligence Division’s White fang. After all, anyone who knew Sasori was more than aware of his father’s death.

A death he had met during a mission gone wrong against the White fang.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you?” Sasori looked like he was ready to pounce, and Kakashi didn’t doubt that if he did there would be a poisoned Kunai in his hand. “You’re not even that good looking. I think he could do better.”

Lies.

He was drop-dead gorgeous.

“It sounds to me like someone’s just jealous he couldn’t catch the cute Guy’s attention. You really should lower your standards a little to match up with what’s achievable for you.”

He’s certain Sasori’s actually about to jump over the table and attack him after that one, but their target places a hand on each of their chests to hold them back. A precautionary measure that wouldn’t stop them if they decided to fight.

“Come on you two, there’s no reason to get nasty,” His words are slurred a little from all of the alcohol he has consumed, and the smile on his face is creepy and almost predatory. Just looking at it makes Kakashi shiver. “You don’t have to fight over me. We could always just share. You’re both very…”

No amount of information was worth hearing that sentence finished. Not that he would get the last bit of information that he wanted thanks to Sasori’s little interruption.

And since there was nothing else to be gained, Kakashi didn’t feel bad about unsheathing his hidden knife and plunging it into the man’s neck at the same time as Sasori.

It was messy, disgusting, definitely drew more attention than he would have liked, and yet oh so satisfying to finally put an end to that aggravating nails on a chalkboard voice.

“You ruined my mission,” He narrowed his eyes towards Sasori, sour that he hadn’t gotten all of the information that he had wanted. “You couldn’t have just waited another five minutes, could you?”

“And let you get a perfect mission while I've been cursing your name for the past two hours every time you managed to dump his drink or get rid of the poisoned donut even though I know you didn’t see me put it there? Not a chance.”

Donut? He hadn’t realized that the donut he had handed off to one of the man’s bodyguards to distract them was poisoned. It was a good thing the man had wrapped it up in a napkin and tucked it away in his pocket for later.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” scanning the area, he growled when he saw that everyone in the room had turned to look at them. “Anyways, congratulations on the kill. Hope your bosses are happy, don’t call me and I won’t call you.”

Planting his hands on the table, Kakashi heaved himself over it and made a run for the nearest window, praying that Rin had been paying attention the whole time and was on her way in to pick him up.

The quicker he got out of here, the less likely he was to have to deal with Sasori’s bruised ego.

#Hatake Kakashi #sasori #Spy Au #Naruto #Taryn's Birthday Celebration 2021 #Taryn's Birthday Fics #Excessive Sass #Kakashi is a sassy boy and he's not holding back #poor Sasori #he did not sign up for this shit XD

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shih-coulda-had-it · 4 years

Note

Nanahiko growing old together gives me life

Oh god anon, me too. Passionate movie romances are all well and good, but I’m such a SUCKER for relationships that stand the test of time. Which I guess is why I like starting Nanahiko off as childhood friends. /taps head/ It’s the projecting.

Below: idle Nanahiko fluff that leans into the NanaLives!AU. Featuring Toshinori’s POV as he finally brings his son successor to Yamanashi Prefecture...

The intention behind the way she and Sorahiko have set up their desks: to hold each other accountable for their respective paperwork load. This has backfired several times, but considering the last configuration (separate personal offices, divided by doors and walls) resulted in Nana climbing out the window and Sorahiko sleeping under his desk, this truly is the lesser of two evils.

Except sometimes Nana gets distracted.

“What are you looking at me for?” Sorahiko grouches. He shuffles the permits into a neat stack, and continues to avoid Nana’s eyes. He is unmasked, ungloved, and it is a rare enough sight that Nana thinks she must drink it in before Sorahiko recoils into his turtle-shell.

“I’m picturing you as an old man,” she says, lightly.

“I’m already old.”

“You’re thirty, same as me.” Nana props her chin on one hand, and decides she might as well stare at him openly. He’s flushing pink under the attention, and—aha! There is a second of eye contact, because Sorahiko glances at her after the prolonged silence. His eyes widen, and then wrench their gaze towards the top sheet of paperwork. It makes Nana feel fuzzy, a little like blushing herself.

“I'll probably shrink,” he says. “Lose the bulk. It’ll make flying easier.”

“You’ll still fly?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” And Sorahiko swallows, hard. “I can’t imagine you giving up flying.”

“Mm,” Nana responds, picking her answer carefully. Because how sweet is that? In Nana’s experience, friendships come and go like the seasons; most of her primary school friends hadn’t been with her for junior high, and the same pattern had persisted through high school and her career. Sorahiko sticks to her like a burr, though, stubborn and steady in spite of all the bullshit Nana has tugged him into.

“You’ll be shorter,” he adds, before she can say anything else.

“What? Shorter?”

“Mm-hm. You’ll be the tiny granny who’ll forget how to turn off your Quirk, and you’ll manage to hit the stratosphere before a pro-hero can get you down.”

“I’m not going to turn senile!” she protests.

“It’s alright,” Sorahiko says, his voice turning mild. “I’ll probably think you’ve got the right idea, and I’ll Jet us into space. You’re welcome. I’ve made your childhood dream come true.”

She grabs one of their stress-balls from the center of their workspaces and tosses it at his face, a flick of her wrist sending it sailing straight to his nose. Unimpressed, Sorahiko lets it bounce off onto the desk; he rolls his eyes as he picks it up and pointedly returns it to the clear plastic box.

“What, you don’t want to find the moon bunny anymore?”

“I don’t know, Sorahiko,” she teases, ignoring the jab at her most cherished childhood wish. “I heard that old people are susceptible to the cold. You already wear a full jumpsuit and still complain about the chill. We wouldn’t even make it to our rooftop before turning back.”

“Should I grow a beard?”

Nana splutters. She’s never seen Sorahiko with stubble longer than a five o’clock shadow. Being clean-shaven is just his thing. She tries to picture him with a beard and her imagination falls short. Still, she tries to respond. “We could paste a fake one on you to try it out.”

“Gross,” says Sorahiko.

Nana warms to the idea. “Should we start with a dark color? Or would it grow out silver?”

“Silver, obviously.” He studies her right back and says, decisively, “You’ll finally get glasses.”

“Ah, like yours?”

He laughs. The force of it crinkles his eyes, and Nana is struck by the very thought that Sorahiko’s toothy smile is reminiscent of her own. She leans her chin on the heel of her palm, fingers curling at her cheek, and smiles helplessly back.

ii.

It used to be rare for Sorahiko to wake up before Nana. He guesses he can see the appeal of it, though, surfacing slowly and realizing, in the quiet still of the bedroom, that he’s the only one awake. Nana has plastered herself to him, an octopus in the making, and their cocoon of warmth is toasty.

He stares down at the crown of her head and idly counts the graying hairs. Nana likens them to spiderwebs whenever she catches sight of them; the grays never gather together to form a definite streak, instead scattering, like--

Sorahiko grimaces at the sappy turn of his thoughts.

Instead, he traces the skin of her hand, the thickened ridges of scars and the calluses that never left, even as Nana exited the field and found volunteer work. He’s followed her in this way too, except he’s opted to be re-employed as a teacher of U.A. The administration hadn’t welcomed him back with open arms, but they had begrudgingly agreed that his year off the grid had been good for him.

Eleven months of healing, of learning how to slow down again while figuring out how to live in America, after that frantic, terrifying month of trying to settle his and Nana’s affairs once he’d packed her and Toshinori off across the Pacific. Impulsively placing Kotarou under his custody might have been the only satisfying thing he’d done in those weeks.

He tilts his head, and finds Nana’s left hand. He brushes his thumb over the pale band of skin where Nana’s ring usually sits; Sorahiko would have a matching mark, if he wasn’t wearing gloves all the time.

“Mm,” Nana hums into his chest. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” he quietly says.

She rubs her cheek into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Sorahiko stifles a sneeze as her hair tickles his nose, and places a hand over her back, steadying. Nana makes a sleepy happy noise and practically undulates directly over Sorahiko, pressing him against the mattress.

“Ah, geez, watch the knees--”

“Why are you up so early,” Nana whines. “You’re supposed to be the sleepyhead of this relationship.”

“Someone climbed on top of me,” Sorahiko points out. “I’m growing old, my bones are getting frail, what did you expect to happen?” She grumbles, incoherent. “What’s that? You plan on breaking my heart by squishing me flat?”

Nana turns her head and enunciates, “Your old man humor isn’t funny.”

“But are you smiling?” He feels the curve of her grin against his chest, the twitch of muscle pulling upward, then Sorahiko drags his fingers through the sweep of her hair. Combing out the loose strands and shaking them off to the side of the bed. They’re due for a vacuuming. “Anyways, isn’t this uncomfortable for you?”

“I could be more comfortable,” she concedes. Nana, with a distinct lack of self-consciousness, wiggles her arm under her breasts and readjusts the… weight distribution. Sorahiko turns his eyes to the ceiling and does his best to ignore the sudden interest rearing its unwelcome head.

“So how do you manage to roll on top of me?”

“Hm,” she stalls. She is obviously coming up with a bullshit answer, and Sorahiko will humor it.

“I’m listening.”

“Well,” Nana starts expansively, “maybe I was dreaming about my historically fantastic rack--stop, stop laughing--and how sad I’ll be when I’m seventy and these girls will be sagging and not sexually appealing--Sorahiko, stop laughing!”

Hypocrite. Her words are sly and full of giggles, and Sorahiko loves her so much. Age hasn’t done anything but sand down the edges of an already smooth partnership; they move in almost silent synchronicity nowadays, since All Might is in the streets and Kotarou is sleeping over at his beloved older brother’s apartment. With this in mind, he props himself up on his elbows, and pushes up further, until Nana is obliged to rear back and sit on his lap instead.

“It was a total nightmare,” she persists, and her restless hands smooth his rumpled t-shirt, his ruffled hair.

“And your solution was to, what?”

She scoffs at his doubtful tone. “Obviously, my body knows you make everything better. Therefore, it knew to hug you until you solved the problem.” Nana bats her eyelashes at him, then wrinkles her nose and scrubs at the sleepsand. He politely turns his eyes to the historically fantastic rack and Nana’s gimmicky tank-top.

“You’re welcome.”.

“I didn’t say you solved it,” she responds loftily. “I need more cuddles than that--hey!”

iii.

Toshinori escorts his successor to oshishou and Torino’s apartment complex in Yamanashi Prefecture, because he accidentally forgot to introduce them to Midoriya before the school year started. Toshinori had only just informed them about choosing Midoriya after they called about the USJ incident, and then they had watched the televised Sports Festival.

The call had been three parts chiding, two parts teasing.

(“What the hell did I make you get a teaching credential for?!” Torino had barked, and in the background was oshishou’s voice complaining about missing their long-lost third grandchild.)

On the train there, Midoriya asks him question after question, almost dazzled at the prospect that he’ll be interning with All Might’s old teachers. Midoriya hasn’t even learned that they’re technically Toshinori’s parents by adoption (it doesn’t help that Toshinori still refers to them as oshishou and Torino).

“They live together?”

“They’re married,” Toshinori is compelled to clarify.

“Married,” Midoriya echoes, eyes shining. On his lap is an open Campos notebook. His hand is scrawling notes almost mechanically, and conjectures too. The boy might have missed out on a calling as a live analyst for cable networks. “And hero partners! Like Water Hose! What are their Quirks, can you tell me?”

“You’ll find out when they train you, I’d rather not give you any false impressions…”

Undeterred, Midoriya pivots his line of questioning. “What are they like? Why does Gran Torino still have his license? Is your oshishou still working with him?”

Toshinori suspects Gran Torino renews his pro-hero license purely to stress-test Japan’s Quirk laws. There is no age-limit on these licenses. No one actually investigates these matters out of concern for personal privacy, and also because elderly heroes are one-in-a-million.

“Gran Torino is a super-efficient pro-hero,” Toshinori says, striving for diplomacy. The old man’s mellowed out over the years; he’s no longer the scary boogeyman hovering behind his oshishou’s shoulder. Toshinori can be gracious. “And oshishou hasn’t stepped into the field for several decades.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He wonders if he can cram in all the family history before they reach Yamanashi Prefecture. Toshinori casts a cursory look around the train; the other few passengers on-board appear distracted. In any case, he lowers his voice. “Long before my own fight with All for One, the three of us were lured into a trap. My oshishou hadn’t expected to escape with her life. When she did, she decided to withdraw from pro-hero work and raise her son.”

Sons, technically. Regardless of how Toshinori was already grown and ready to step into the spotlight, oshishou had been insistent about Toshinori coming home and being Kotarou’s big brother.

“Not their son?” Midoriya probes.

For the keen insight, Toshinori ruffles Midoriya’s curly green hair. He would have to be blind to not see how Midoriya preens at the attention; it reminds him of himself when oshishou first allowed him into the Sky High agency. “Well, Torino-sensei didn’t marry oshishou for… a long time.”

“How long is long?”

Toshinori involuntarily grimaces. This is crossing into the complicated family history, and he’d rather have oshishou explain the details. How best to describe this… “Torino-sensei is oshishou’s first friend, and her second husband.”

“So… so her son is from the previous marriage,” Midoriya says. Toshinori nods. “Wow… did he love her all that time?” The awe, almost envy, in his successor’s voice is also familiar to Toshinori. Of course, Toshinori has also witnessed oshishou and Torino be stupid in love, to the point where he had the undesirable role of being confidant to both.

“Still is,” he confirms and then changes the subject. “Would you like to hear of my own internship with them? It shouldn’t spoil anything. There were extenuating circumstances with me, after all.”

Midoriya brightens. “Yes, please!”

#bnha #nanahiko #gran torino #torino sorahiko #shimura nana #all might #yagi toshinori #deku #midoriya izuku #anon #asks #shih.txt #ugh this is super late i'm sorry #nana lives!au

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

Text

Land Mammal | Feeding Habits Update #7

Hello! We are back for another Feeding Habits update, but this time we’re chatting chapter 8, aka Land Mammal.

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline & excerpts under the cut because this one is a long one! If you missed previous updates or are new to the project, check out the novel intro page (which links all the updates) HERE!

Taglist (please ask to be added or removed): @if-one-of-us-falls @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @ev--writes , @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories , @august-iswriting, @berinswriting

Scene A:

After Harrison enters his apartment to find his ex Lonan hanging out in his kitchen in chapter six, he nopes to his room and tends to his German Shepherd puppy, June.

His mother, Suzanna interrupts him and attempts to explain that he can’t run away from his problems, and after the two argue, Harrison exits his room to find Lonan mopping up Harrison’s tracks of seawater from chapter six.

Scene B:

Harrison brings Lonan to a kiosk for canoe rentals and rents a canoe. Harrison sets up their journey whereas Lonan refuses to enter the water after subtly announcing a new fear of it. Instead, he collects beach stones from the sand. They have their first conversation in months where Harrison eggs Lonan on until he finally gets in the canoe. They set out on the water where Harrison questions Lonan regarding his relationship with Eliza (who he presumes he’s still in a relationship with) who is not there with him. Harrison accuses Lonan of murder and subsequently capsizes the canoe so they reunite underwater.

Scene C:

Harrison wakes up alone the next day on a hay bale, having stolen Lonan’s money (and shirt tea tea tea). We can assume he’s abandoned him and has travelled to the barn mentioned in chapter six. Here, he decides he needs an excuse for why he’s there early to the homeowners. He decides, since they hired him to fix up their barn, he’ll just say he was trying to be a good worker and get a head start.

However, as he approaches the farmhouse, the door is opened for him by Sharleen Harvey, his boss’ wife. He bullshits his excuse for being there so early just as Sharleen leads him to the breakfast table where Lonan sits (lol). Everyone there knows Harrison is clearly lying.

Scene D:

Harrison eats pancakes on the porch with the Harveys’ dog when Lonan joins him.

Scene Ea:

We dive into what happened after Harrison capsized their canoe. Harrison gets a lil unhinged and things get a lil murdery oops. This leads to shenanigans!! That is all I will say!!!

Scene Eb:

A very short, poetic paragraph that collects details from sentences in scene Ea that follow a Blue [NOUN] structure.

Scene Ec:

A two-sentence nudge at the ~the shenanigans

Scene F:

Harrison notices Lonan wears the ring he and Harrison tracked Eliza down to retrieve, and questions him as to why he didn’t propose to her with it. He goes on a desperate rant on why they should’ve gotten married before Lonan insists it’s now time for him to bring him home. The end of this scene signals a very slight glimpse of Harrison finally humanizing Lonan after a chapter of demonizing him (and also Harrison’s failing mental state).

Scene Ga:

Harrison falls asleep on the car ride back to his apartment in the city and doesn’t wake up until a day later. In this time, Lonan has stayed with him. He eventually wakes up and immediately notices Lonan fiddling with the guardian angel pendant he gifted him. Harrison seems to finally realize the weight of Lonan’s humanity in this scene and allows himself to trust him once again to some extent.

Scene Gb:

A second poem paragraph that references the water shenanigans that occur in scene Ea

Can you tell I’ve been really into poetry lately the poet in me said hello!

Excerpts:

This is a ~tender excerpt that explains Harrison’s mindset!

Suzanna is prettier in bad light. The tungsten of his bedroom’s cheap lightbulb cratering her waterline so the smudge of kohl shifts, the zip of her crow’s feet, the shimmer on her cheeks, all the soft things about her. She holds a beach towel, cactus print. This new life a second try neither asked for but committed to, this move back to the east their thing. Window-shopping for kitchenware on Sundays, snatching samples of bratwurst and sauerkraut for each other at the market, sharing each other’s toothpicks, burning caramel popcorn and renting the wrong DVDs, inventing new takes on boeuf bourguinon, sending postcards to each other even though they share an address. Undeniably theirs. A life unappreciated, and yet what he says next is “Where’s Eliza?” instead of I don’t want this life to end. Harrison pets the dog.

The following is the entire scene of the boys’ first interaction in months. TW: homicide, religious content, suicide, nods to self-harm

A canoe-rental kiosk ruching the Hudson River. Harrison pays for a two-hour timeslot with the last of his savings and lugs it to the shoreline by himself. It is nearly midnight, the sky clogged with fog and moonlight.

Lonan will not enter the water. Back near the kiosk, he fiddles with a beachstone, bathing in tungsten from the streetlamp above him. He gave no reason for his rejection, just picked stones as they walked along the boardwalk, through the parking lot, to the kiosk. As if he’d polish them, feed them through a rock tumbler as if he has the patience for that, tend to them like infants, shape, polish, burnish, sell them for thirty dollars a piece and donate the money to an animal sanctuary, as if has the mind to.

Harrison shifts the canoe perpendicular to the water and steps in. The boat cranks under his weight, its coldness seeping through his jeans.

Lonan stoops for more stones. His knees luminescing in white sand. His hair oilslick, cropped to his scalp like blunt grass. His fingers arrowing through sand, a raven filching seed. He unearths the stones with urgency, a paleontologist, a gravedigger.

“You’ll never make a sale on those,” Harrison shouts from the canoe. His voice splinters the night and puffs with the sand.

Lonan nearly drops his handful of stones. It takes him a moment to look up, and when he does, he searches the treeline first, the windows of a parked SUV, the gaps between a thicket of lifejackets before reaching Harrison, and he’s so deerlike, Harrison thinks, he’s so limp, so feeble, so susceptible. His hair jutting briefly from his scalp like an accordion, badly cut probably because Eliza likes it that way. His skin nearly lilac in places, a gauntness in his face, a hunger.

“My mother tells me you like her cooking,” he continues. “That you’re here for your sister. That you’re here alone.”

Lonan reaches for another stone.

“Eliza wants you to look like a deacon.” Harrison frills a hand toward his hair, snaps his fingers like scissors. “So holy. I could ordain you right now. Make you born-again. There’s so much water.”

“I don’t swim,” Lonan says. He reaches for another stone, then another so his palms turn into one.

“You don’t? You’re a land mammal. Rhinoceros. Hippopotamus. Is it the stones? You’re afraid they’ll sink you?”

“I’m not keeping the stones.”

“Then why search for them?”

Lonan sets the pile down. They clatter into the sand and toil into new holes, a sand cloud disguising them in the minute he rises, dusts himself off, limb by limb, and walks toward the canoe.

“Is it supposed to be avant garde?” Harrison asks as he gets closer. “The hair. So avant garde. So high fashion. Everyone wants you.” And then, “You’re scared of water now. The last time I knew you that’s where you wanted to be buried. It’s a good opportunity. Take the stones with you. Company that serves a purpose.”

Lonan hikes into the canoe. He takes a seat opposite Harrison and grips the paddle as if it’s a murder weapon ready to save him.

“She might be dead,” Lonan says. They push from the shore, and Lonan scores the water with the paddle until the kiosk shrinks. His hands jitter, unsteady, but takes them through the water. “She’s not with me.”

“Are those things related?” Harrison shifts closer to him, that haunted, lilac, hungry face, the edges of him he knows, he’s touched, the nose he’s nudged, the eyelids he’s dabbed, the ears he’s breathed into and out of, the mouth he’s spoken into and spoken out of. That hunted lilac hungry face, searching for a place where he can be sustenance, a place he knows, a place of comfort. The holes all closed. Those pores no longer constellations he’s memorized. That haunted lilac hungry face no longer his. “How did you do it?” Harrison asks. He stares at Lonan’s hands, the hands he should know, nailbeds he’s scored with his own, fingers he’s matched with his own, palms he’s stamped with his own. “Asphyxiation? Death by drowning. Death by land mammal.” He tries his wrist next, tendons flexing with the paddle, that expanse of skin a flute of ivory, those veins he should know, where they conjoin, where they branch like an oakwood. Those scars he knows the stories of—accidents, non-accidents, safety pins, lighters, cigarettes, ballpoint pens. Harrison could recite those stories a year ago and now they’ve dissolved, unmemories.

“It was an accident.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“I’m sorry.”

They’ve paddled so far from the kiosk, it’s like they’re on their own planet. A planet of only water. A planet uninhabitable, where land mammals sink and never come back up. Lonan’s eyes glisten with moonlight, and his waterline should be recognizable, dampening now, cattled with wet eyelashes, should be memorable, what it felt like to touch their ledge. All foreign. He’s foreign. So foreign. His anti-hair, anti-face, anti-hands, anti-wrists. He’s crying and immemorable. He’s crying and sorry.

Harrison shuffles forward until their knees touch. He reaches. He makes contact. He touches his skin. He touches his ear. He touches cheek. He touches eyes, fingerprints his irises, wrings the tears from his waterline, pulls his face by the jaw, cradling his land mammal. He is crying. They should both cry. They are both crying. Their own lake puddling in Harrison’s palm. Theirs as Harrison dips his free hand into the water. Theirs as he hushes Lonan’s writhing. Theirs as he christens him, the water gorging his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Theirs as he promises it will be okay. Theirs as he says he will get to know this stranger. Theirs as they promise to both regrow. Theirs as Harrison jerks the canoe. Theirs as they capsize. Theirs as they reunite in fizzing tide, caught in the river, both animals trapped in amber.

Tea:

The next time he is dry, he is lying on a bale of hay, wearing the wrong shirt, a hundred dollars richer. All of these things are related. The hay only because he paid for a cab with money he only has because of the shirt, five twenties easily slipped into the breast pocket when Lonan wasn’t looking. Twenty on the cab ride to Brooklyn, and now he’s face-first in a spool of hay that is better than sleeping in his own bed.

Harrison being chaotic and embarrassing lol:

A seagull on a ceiling beam gorges on a French fry. It eats with conviction, the fry lost in its throat before he even blinks. It flies through the hole in the roof as Harrison rises off the hay bale.

He did not announce his arrival to Theodore Harvey. In fact, he entered the property like it was his own, picked the barn’s lock with the edge of one of Lonan’s beachstones—he did keep one, in the pocket with his shirt, right behind the money—and slept without worrying what his mother would think. His third life is no longer necessary—it has already been disturbed. It is more efficient to deescalate than renew.

He decides he will not tell Harvey of his stay but lie and say he arrived at the farm early, 6AM, a good man trying to start his work early. Trying to impress. He’ll lie, say he tried picking up a tray of raspberry danishes from the bakery but it was too early for anyone to have opened. He’ll lie, apologize to Harvey’s wife Sharleen for showing up empty-handed. It’s rude to bring no offering.

Harrison fixes himself in the reflection of an overturned wheelbarrow, its silver belly clouded with rust. He exits the barn dry, well-rested, a richer, more fashionable man.

Before he even finishes ascending the veranda of the Harvey house, Sharleen opens the door. Her white hair is pearled into a bun. She wears a paisley patterned apron, chartreuse.

“Raspberry Danishes,” Harrison says. “All I wanted was to bring you some fresh raspberry Danishes, but all the bakeries were closed.”

Sharleen rolls up her sleeves. Her hands are caked with flour and fat.

“I considered tulips, but realized I’ve never asked for your favourite flower. Is it tulips? Hydrangeas? Chrysanthemums?”

Sharleen juts open the screen door and holds it open for him. He enters the foyer, and it smells like cinnamon, like sugar.

“I’ve heard marigolds are helpful for warding off squirrels,” he says, taking the hand she offers for his jacket. Sharleen doesn’t jump when he runs his finger across her wedding band and pecks her knuckles with his mouth. She doesn’t even speak. “Is that true?” as they usher toward the kitchen. “Pretty and purposeful. Sounds fake.”

Sharleen dusts her hands on her apron and jars open the kitchen door.

“Could be a double whammy. Or a scam. Or an old wife’s tale,” Harrison is saying as they walk into the kitchen, so occupied with the marigolds he does not notice when Sharleen returns to the stove to flip a pancake, so occupied, when he turns to the kitchen table, expecting only Harvey but seeing Lonan, all he says is, “Sounds too good to be true.”

Lonan joining Harrison on the porch after the above:

Harrison eats his pancakes on the porch. The Harveys’ dog joins him, a golden retriever named Leila. He cuts her a rift of cake and slots it into her mouth when she whines. One bite for him, another for Leila. Him, Leila, him, Leila. The good news is since he fixed their coffee machine, he now drinks drip.

It does not take long for Lonan to follow him outside. Harrison’s known this was inevitable and has dreaded the last five minutes because of it. He slits another triangle of pancake and feeds it to the dog.

It’s too cold to be out without a jacket. Wind nips Harrison’s ears and icicles his fingertips. Lonan’s shirt, the pale blue button-up he nabbed knowing he’d have cash, brays under the breeze, barely denser than a tissue.

TW: This gets a bit murder-y!

Suspended in water, Lonan was aquatic. Blue eyes turning into blue skin into blue lips into blue throat, chest, wrist. Shards of his sheared hair slung in sheathes of bubbles, his face blissfully marred by their movement. Blue collarbones, blue earlobe, blue shoulder blade, blue pinkie finger.

Harrison pulled him by the shirtsleeve before he could swim back to the surface, contorting them under the hex of the overturned boat. Him and the water a double team as they took Lonan by the shoulders and held him underwater, an insect stilled and ready to be inspected. Saltwater burned Harrison’s eyes as he stared, but that wasn’t a deterrent. If he only had a moment to look, he wanted it to be in stillness, in a place time unravels. Blue knuckles, blue abdomen, blue forearm, blue tibia.

When Harrison dragged them toward the six-inch gap between the water’s surface and the canoe’s dome, he held them both there, sheep and shepherd, slain and slaughterer. His hands cupped around his throat like butterfly wings, holding him there for safekeeping. Blue nose-bridge, blue sclera, blue cheekbone, blue teeth. He coughed water.

Iconic dialogue (TW: this is also a bit murder-y!):

“Pull me under,” Lonan said, spitting water, his voice grating under pressure. He trembled, his limbs his betrayal, tremoloing in the waves.

And Harrison did. Dousing him by the shoulders and holding him under so only he floated in the miniscule gap of air, Lonan a sunken, thrashing speck. It was thrilling, holding a body in his hands, determining its fate. And equally as thrilling to hold it as he lulled Lonan back up and over his shoulder where he deflated, gasping. At first Lonan coughed, once twice, heaving saltwater and saliva. But then a birdlike sound, compact but jittering, the wisp of a laugh, and Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if he was thrilled, too

“Do you feel accomplished, Harrison?” Lonan asked, his teeth prattling like an accordion. His hand trailed up the tail of his jacket, scrawling along the soaked leather. Lonan shifted, his body dead weight nearly drowned. And there was the sound again, chirping, “You’re not the first person who’s tried to kill me this year. Congratulations.”

Harrison angst in its prime:

Harrison adjusted his grip around Lonan so one arm supported his torso and the other scored his jaw. His fingers pressed against the skin there so it paled, exploring along that blue skin, blue mouth. The facts were: Lonan was not there for him, or so he told Suzanna, and so he was a changed man, uncoupled, unromanced, a clean restart. They would get out of the water. Harrison would climb into the backseat of the car Lonan drove instead of the passenger’s side because he wouldn’t want to look at him, and they would return to the apartment and not speak again. Suzanna would intervene in the next morning, maybe get up early to make breakfast, French toast, or crepes, or single-serve omelettes, and they would look at each other and it would be easier to forgive Lonan for a decision Harrison made. Suzanna would say he shouldn’t feel rejected when he was the one doing the rejecting and apologize a few hours later, blame it on the side effects of her cough drops. So it would be fine. They would be friends, or whatever they were before Eliza, and Harrison would live his cyclical life with a new-old person who didn’t come searching for him. Glamorous.

This is scene Ec if you were wondering what that looked like:

After, in a wash of cattails, saltwater in their mouths. Their bodies keeling over the other’s like the matrix of a ribcage. Snowmelt turning them both blue.

I find this description v cute ok I need a Harrison flannel:

Lonan is on his fifth button. His skin crests from underneath the squares of orange and red. The fabric smelling dangerously of Harrison: cigarette smoke, cinnamon.

Harrison badgers Lonan about not marrying Eliza and then it gets PURE:

“Why won’t you marry her?” Harrison asks. “You could have children. A honeymoon.”

Lonan stuffs his free hand into his pocket. His breath fogs with every exhale, his nose pinkish with cold. Harrison doesn’t feel any of it, the breath, the cold, his hands. He doesn’t move to button up his flannel. He doesn’t want to move.

“You’re going back to her. You’re here to check on Reeve, and then you’re going back. To get married. To have children. To honeymoon forever.”

Lonan’s hair is awful. Spoking from his scalp like a raven’s wings, some sections ragged, uneven. Not a haircut, but punishment.

“You’re perfect,” Harrison says. He should being shivering, be freezing, but he feels nothing. “Why can’t you say you’re perfect?”

Lonan moves first. They could reabsorb. Go back to blue. But Lonan only reaches for the flannel with his free hand and drapes it around Harrison’s shoulders. Arm by arm, slotting them through the sleeves. Button by button, securing it up his abdomen, his chest, right up to his throat. If Harrison looks closely, one of his eyes is rimmed with scarlet, like a vessel there popped, and a pool of lilac simmers, almost undetectable, across his temple.

“You could’ve married her,” Harrison says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. Lonan swings his jacket around his shoulders, securing his arms through each loop of leather, one, two. Zipping so his exposed skin may rewarm.

“I need to take you home,” Lonan says. Lonan with the broken eye. Lonan with the blackberry skin. Lonan with the teeth-shorn shirt. Lonan with the mowed hair. Lonan with the burned palms. Lonan with the wedding ring that was never really a wedding ring. Lonan who looks as if he’s always prepared to blink, just in case something comes out to get him.

The following is from scene Ga:

Harrison sleeps in the car on his way back and doesn’t wake until the next day. In that time, Suzanna slots takeout boxes through the unrolled window, three full meals: sweet corn and tomato fusilli, beef stifado, meatless cassoulet. What she doesn’t know is they sit, untouched, under the passenger’s seat, not because Lonan is averted by her cooking, but because he’s saving them to share, just in case. She brings a vacuum sealed bag of extra comforters the first evening when flurries dot the windshield, Harrison is swathed in them all by the time the snow reaches half an inch. One lined with Sherpa closest to his skin when he stirs, the bulbs of fabric like cottage cheese. In the time he’s in the car he dreams. Of driving into the ocean. Of haircuts. Marriage.

When he opens his eyes, Lonan is nuzzled against the windowpane, his arms folded over his chest. He wears only the corduroy jacket, the layers of blankets piled over Harrison’s arms in dense tufts, like the Pasteis de Nata he and Suzanna watch the bakers laminate at the local bakery.

The only valid thing about snow is that I can get these descriptions out of it:

The snow has levelled to a healthy four inches. In sunbeams, it griddles with light, fractals picking the windshield, Lonan’s eyes. And for a few minutes, this is it: the blanket life-ring, the sun coiled in the space between them. Suzanna makes apple cider in weather like this. Cinnamon to pair with the subtle remnants of winter, cloves to warm, turmeric and ginger to surprise. Inside the apartment, Harrison imagines her stirring a saucepot bobbing with fruit and rind, skinning oranges, lemons, turning the kitchen lights on, off, on, off, until her son comes home.

And to end this update, here is the final “poem-y” paragraph:

Land mammals in the water. Spitting bubbles and rims of wave. Their mouths caverns, limbs rattlesnaking, lungs inflating. Land mammals in the water. Coasts apart now re-seamed, kicking up sand, knocking teeth, touching spines. Land mammals in the water. Eyelashes drowning, mouth to mouth. Land mammals in the water, gaping at each other’s throats.

Thank you for reading! Hope y’all enjoyed this very chaotic chapter!

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #feedinghabits #mothwork

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

temptations

request from nonnie!! “Hi! I loveeee your writing, you’re absolutely amazing! I had a dream recently that i was hoping I could request?? A Georgexreader where they’re dating and the readers love language is touch & affection. Then one day she overhears George saying how irresistible she must find him or something obnoxious like that? So for revenge she completely stops touching him and showing any affection. Maybe a frustrated George in result??? Or something similar? :) Thank you!!”

pairing: george x gryffindor!reader

word count: 3.4k

A/N: this was such an adorable request and one i very much enjoyed writing; i don’t believe i've ever had a request like this one so i was very excited to write it! i didn’t mean for it to be so ~thirsty~ but shoutout to my discord babes -- the thirstiest chat of all has resulted in this story, so thank you! hope you guys enjoy, please leave feedback and reblog if you so please x

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @parker-potters | message me to be added, loves

Being George Weasley’s girlfriend came with loads of things you couldn’t seem to get enough of -- endless laughter, playful teasing, witty banter, consistent hugging. Snogging. Cuddling. Mostly in private, of course, so as not to annoy those around you with your PDA. But there were always small, shared kisses in the corridors, tight embraces after Quidditch matches. Your fingers would interlock with his during feasts, or you’d place your head on his shoulder in the common room. But you tried to save most of this for just the two of you. So the second you were alone, it was pretty difficult to keep your hands off of one another.

Fred was always calling you an “old, married couple”.

But you wondered now, as George slipped his hands under your shirt, spread his hands out against your ribcage, and moaned against your mouth, if old married couples acted like this.

“Love?”

“Mhmm?” you mumbled, barely breaking from him, not even giving him a chance to speak. You locked your arms around his neck and tightened your embrace. He just laughed against you and ran his hands delicately against your skin. It was almost immediate that goosebumps had appeared.

It wasn’t always like this, though. Not in the beginning, at least. You hardly let yourself even hold his hand, worried that you wouldn’t be able to control yourself. You were embarrassed by just how much you craved his touch -- whether it was just his fingers intertwined with yours, or something a little more -- the intensity of your feelings terrified you. You found yourself jolting awake in the middle of the night and swinging your arms to the other side of your bed, only to be disappointed when you realized, in your groggy state, that he was across the common room and not in the bed next to you, with his limbs entangled with yours.

You restricted yourself from feeling too much. What would he say? You didn’t want to scare him. You didn’t want to come off as one of those people, give yourself a bad rep before even really having been able to create one. You also, if you were being honest, found yourself to be a bit worried that if you immediately handed yourself over to him, George would take it, and leave.

But even all this time later, George had proven himself to be a gentleman, and you scolded yourself for ever thinking he could’ve been anything different than exactly that.

He pulled away from you now, squeezing your hips and checking his watch. “We’re going to be late,” he said flatly.

You frowned. “You’re absolutely sure we’ve got to meet Lee in Hogsmeade? Now?”

He laughed at you and began to button the top of his shirt. “Unfortunately, and I mean that truly, darling -- yes, I’m sure we’ve got to meet Lee in Hogsmeade, considering I’ve canceled on him the last three times.”

You groaned. You and George hadn’t really had a ton of alone time the last few weeks, as your studying had increased and your homework piles began to resemble that of mountains -- plus, with excitement of their shop soon opening up, George was busy with Fred, putting the final touches on every single one of their products. It was sheer luck when you both were able to find even five minutes to spend together.

George noticed the change in your expression as you thought on this; he pressed another gentle kiss to your lips and then one to your temple. “Promise to make it up to you later tonight,”

“I’m holding you to that, you know.”

“And if I disobey?”

The words alone set you aflame, but you resisted the very strong urge to pull him back into you. A comment like that would normally send you into a complete and dizzying overdrive. He knew it, too -- the sensual smirk that appeared ever so slightly on his lips told you exactly what he was thinking.

You swatted him playfully with your hand. “Oh shut up, Weasley.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh,” you groaned again while he fell into a bit of laughter. He was always acting like a git. You supposed it was a good thing that he was so cute. You pushed him away from you and jumped off of your bed in the desolate girls’ dormitory. The tension was still hanging in the air; next to you, fixing his tie as if he were off to a business meeting, George just shrugged gently, playing off the entire exchange. You rolled your eyes, “If you’re going to be a prat, then you at least owe me a drink.”

-- -

“Mate, I’m telling you, I must be irresistible to her or something.”

His voice was relaxed, smooth. You stopped dead in your tracks right outside the empty Transfiguration classroom, where Fred and George were both fiddling with their inventions. You wanted to surprise George right after you finished your lesson -- you were dying to get some alone time with him, especially after having spent your disaster of an afternoon in those dreary dungeons with Professor Snape, who’d scolded you due to your potion, which he’d deemed ‘mediocre at best’. But instead, you stopped where you were, leaned closer to the door, and listened.

“Oh yeah?” You could practically hear the smirk that was, no doubt, growing on Fred’s face. He continued with a laugh, “How so? Y/N yanking you into broom cupboards more often than not?”

By the tone of George’s voice, you could imagine exactly how this exchange must have looked: Fred, eyebrows raised and lips formed in a thin smirk as he waited for more information; George, chest puffed and arms folded across it, his air of confidence engulfing the room entirely. “I’m not that much of a prat. Some things I’ve got to keep to myself, haven’t I?” At least he’s being smart, you thought. You appreciated that he at least wasn’t divulging the very intimate details of your relationship to his brother. “All I’ll say is that she can’t keep her hands off of me.”

Both boys ended up snickering like two young kids. You knew it was harmless; they were two of the most genuine blokes you knew -- they meant nothing of it. It was all innocent. But still, you found yourself feeling a bit embarrassed. Your entire body suddenly felt very hot, and not in the way it felt when you were alone with your boyfriend. Was George really going to be that self-righteous? Well, you’d show him, wouldn’t you?

Instead of turning inside the classroom to greet your best mates like you’d planned, you turned on your heel and headed quickly in the direction of your common room, hellbent on making the next few days of George’s life ones he’d certainly never forget.

-- -

You felt different. Strange. Exposed, even. But you reckoned it was worth it if it taught your silly boyfriend a lesson he desperately needed to learn.

You slid yourself next to him on the bench in the Great Hall, but he didn’t look up from his parchment right away, and you didn’t prompt him too. Instead, he finished scribbling something on a bit of parchment, smirked and said, “There’s my favorite girl. How’s your morning?”

You began to pour yourself a bit of tea and mumbled, “Just fine.”

When he looked up, his eyes immediately widened at the sight of you. It was rude of you to do what you were doing, you knew that, but he deserved it after what he said. He deserved it after acting like a git.

You didn’t meet his gaze, but you were quite certain he was eyeing you up and down, something you were used to since you began dating him. But this, you dressing this way -- this was blatant. This was done purposefully. So to feel his eyes wash over you in this moment felt sort of fraudulent. He immediately began to snake his fingers around your waist. “Well good morning to you, too.”

You shrugged him off and giggled slightly. You knew it would work. You knew it as soon as you’d looked at yourself in the mirror this morning -- the exposed strap of your bright red, lace bralette, the tight knot you’d tied at the bottom of your shirt to expose a bit of your skin at your hipline, just above the top of your skirt -- it was just enough to keep you from going too over-the-top and getting into any type of trouble, but enough to get his attention. Enough to make him sweat.

“George, we’re in public!”

“You’re the one who dressed like you want me to rip it all off of you right now.”

“Our professors are literally sat at the other end of the hall. You do know this, yes?”

After you’d wriggled free of his grasp, he figured he’d try something different -- he leant in, pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, and tried to press his lips to your neck, but stopped just before he did so.

“Bloody hell, woman, are you joking? What are you wearing?”

You shrugged casually, as if it didn’t really matter. “Angelina and Katie bought me this perfume for my birthday. Haven’t ever really worn it before. You like it?”

He scoffed a bit, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. It was clearly evident in the way he breathed so heavily into your ear. “Like it? Yeah, darling, you could say that,”

Of course he did. He was mad for it. You had worn it once before, actually, on your fourth date. Things had seemed to escalate a bit quickly that evening. You’d then pocketed this perfume for moments when you’d really need it. Today seemed as good a day as any.

“Anyway,” you breathed, grabbing a piece of toast to-go, “have got to run. Want to get there early for my Dark Arts lesson. Meet up with you later?”

You stood up from your spot and swung your bag across your shoulder; George grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you closer to him. “Mmm, think we can sneak away for a bit?”

“You’re sweet,” you replied, bringing a hand to his cheek and stroking his jawline swiftly with your thumb, “but I don’t think so. Have got loads of assignments I’ve to finish tonight -- plus, you and Freddie have to continue working on your products, yeah?”

You turned on your heel and marched out of the hall -- and just as you expected, he was right on your tail. Once you were out in the corridor, George grabbed your hand and twirled you around, a pained expression on his face. Bingo. “What d’you mean ‘I don’t think so’?” He brought his hands to your cheeks and gently caressed your jawline. He teased, “Aren’t getting sick of me, are you?”

Ugh. You were using every ounce of your willpower not to pull him into you; once again, the craving that overtook you felt incredibly intense. You forced yourself to slowly guide yourself away from him. “Sick of you? Of course not, love. I’ve just been thinking -- I’ve been so busy being all over you lately --” you smirked at how rigid his body went at these words, and you continued on sweetly, “--I’ve realized that I really do need to get a handle on some of my assignments, you know? Have got to get my hands off of you at some point, or another.”

You noticed his jaw clench. “Ah -- I see what this is. Heard me and Freddie chatting the other day, did you?” He threw his hands up in surrender, “Alright, I’m a right git, shouldn’t have said it -- I’m sorry, and I love you. Now can I please kiss my girlfriend?”

Just as he leant in, the bell rang out, signaling five minutes until the start of the first lesson. George groaned very audibly, earning himself looks from passersby. He threw his hands into his pockets and leant against the wall, looking grouchy. You giggled to yourself and pulled your cardigan tighter around your shoulders. “You don’t need to apologize.” You inched closer toward him, ran a hand through his bright red hair, and whispered, just barely grazing his lips, “I love you, too.”

And you swept yourself down the corridor and into your Dark Arts classroom without an embrace, without a snog, without anything, and you were most certain (and proud) that you’d left the most cheeky boy in the entire school completely and utterly breathless.

-- -

It had only been six hours since George was knocked off balance at the sight of you -- but without the hand holding, the embraces, the kisses against your skin -- to him, it felt like bloody weeks.

He supposed, as he watched you practice non-verbal spells and earn yourself tons of praise from Professor Flitwick, that he probably shouldn’t have said what he’d said to his brother. He was just teasing, anyway. He knew he didn’t hurt your feelings -- you had thick skin, thicker than him, even. But apparently he’d poked you enough that you now wanted to poke back, and he was paying the price for it.

When he tried on his own to work on some non-verbal spells and failed miserably, Fred began to laugh quite haughtily. “Not feeling frustrated, are we, George?”

George knew what he meant -- not frustrated about spells, of course. But about other things. He hadn’t realized how much he craved your touch, too, until he couldn’t have it. Until you began withholding it just this morning. He wondered how long he could really last. He found himself getting lost in his thoughts, and his mind almost always wandered to his dormitory, you pinned beneath him giggling like mad, him pressing kisses to your neck. The temptation circulating through his veins was strong. He really needed to snap the hell out of it.

Fred, still laughing, groaned in pain after earning himself a nice elbow jab to the ribs from George.

But it wasn’t just the snogging, or being alone with you with his hands wound tightly around your waist. He missed the small things, like being able to hold your hand in the corridors, gently placing his fingers on the small of your back to guide and steady you through the portrait hole, being able to run his hands through your hair when he was sat next to you during lessons. He missed all of that, and it hadn’t even been one bloody day!

You’d said something to him when you’d first started dating, something about love languages. He didn’t really know much about it, but he found himself becoming incredibly intrigued when you’d begun explaining it. You’d been perched against a tree near the Black Lake, practicing simple Charms as you’d studied for your upcoming exams.

“Sorry -- a what?”

“Your love language,” you’d said casually, adjusting yourself in his arms. You’d explained to him that each person’s love language was what they craved most in a relationship. George didn’t really know his, but he’d been excited to find out. You told him yours was touch and affirmation.

“Oh,” he’d laughed, beginning to tickle you near your stomach, “you mean like this?”

You’d both spent the rest of the afternoon on the grounds, discussing things and snuggling closer together. That was the very first time Fred had referred to you both as an old, married couple. George never let on to how very much he enjoyed that. It was then decided, after much conversation, that George’s top love language seemed to be words of affirmation. Or, so he thought.

But now, leaving Charms, as you wiggled your fingers at him and fled down the opposite end of the corridor to your next lesson, he reckoned he was probably wrong.

Maybe his love language was physical touch, too.

-- -

You were struggling to make it through the week, to say the least. Dramatic, yes, but true. You couldn’t believe this bloody plan of yours -- you should’ve just ignored the comment and carried on as usual, because you today’s lessons felt like an entire month’s worth.

Hopefully George would learn his lesson soon, so you could tug him away and snog him for hours again without him making some silly, childish comment.

Apparently, he was feeling the same way, because at the end of the day, you found him poring over a bit of parchment in the common room, looking positively woebegone.

You two hadn’t embraced, kissed, held hands or anything of the like in nearly seven days. To say you were both going mad was a severe understatement.

He pulled at his hair, looking incredibly frustrated. But his facial expression softened when he looked up and saw you -- his eyes lightened and his face flushed pink, and his smile was relatively bright for someone who looked absolutely exhausted.

“Hi,” he said, not getting up from the armchair.

“Hi,” you echoed him, taking a place on the couch across from him.

The whole layout of the scene was rather dramatic.

“How were the rest of your lessons?”

“Just fine. And yours?”

You were both making silly, stupid small talk, but it was obvious to you both (and the world) that all you wanted to do was kiss one another. Which was normal, wasn’t it? And what was more worth it, you thought -- that, or your bloody pride?

“This is killing me, you know.”

You crossed your arms and smirked at him. He flung his parchment onto the table and made his way toward you. He placed himself down next to you -- not close enough to touch, but closer than you’d both been all day. He let his head fall back dramatically onto the couch and grinned at you. “Glad you’re learning your lesson.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

“Dunno,” you said sarcastically, fiddling with the edge of your skirt, “maybe you’re not as irresistible as you think.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. He inched closer to you, though. “That’s mean.”

“Maybe it’s what you deserve.”

An evil sort of smirk tugged at the edges of your lips, and he playfully went to poke you in your ribcage, but stopped himself. You both laughed a bit, and he took a deep breath, and started. “I was a git.”

“Yeah,” you replied flatly, “but, to make it up to me, you’ve now got to endure massive amounts of teasing in the foreseeable future.”

Slowly, trying to read your expression, he reached out and began running his pointer finger along the arm of your cardigan -- the most touch you two had seen in days. It sent a spark through your entire body. Again, dramatic, but truthful. He let his hand fall next to yours, both of your pinky fingers touching ever so slightly. “You know,” he began, tracing light circles on your hand, “you’re pretty irresistible, too. Even without all of this going on.” You knew what he meant. The bralette strap, the exposed skin, the lipstick you’d been putting on, the perfume you’d been wearing. The withholding of everything he so desired. “I love you just the way you are.”

His voice had never sounded genuine, and you allowed yourself to gently jab him in the stomach, earning yourself laughs from him. “Wow, Georgie, going soft on me? That was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He frowned at you dramatically.

“Told you -- teasing in the foreseeable future. ‘m going to take what I can get, love.”

You guessed that he took your sweet smile as an opening, because he reached out and ran a hand through your hair. “Can I bloody kiss you now?”

A sigh of relief escaped the both of you. “Yes,” you said, leaning in. But before his lips touched yours, you pulled away, bit your bottom lip, and wiggled your eyebrows at him. “Irresistible, huh?”

“Never going to hear the end of that one, am I?”

“Nope.”

You felt revitalized when he pressed his lips to yours; sure, it had only been a week or so, but a week too bloody long. You loved the feeling of his hands wound around the back of your neck, the way your fingers danced delicately on his chest or in his hair. How you two had managed this long was beyond you, but you were glad this was over.

Just then, Fred and a few others hopped through the portrait hole and waved to the two of you. Fred noticed how close together you were, rolled his eyes teasingly, and called, “There’s the old, married couple. Things back to normal now, I reckon?”

George swiped his thumb across your cheek and pulled you into him. But you had other ideas. Cheekily, you winked at your boyfriend and called to your best mate, “Oi, Freddie! You’ll never guess what George just said about me.”

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins fanfic #weasley twins fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp imagines

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bold-writing · 3 years

Text

The One With Silver Scars || 4 || The Moments Between

Summary: Adelais Benoit knew that she wasn't normal. Her upbringing, her sanity, her reaction be being abducted by the monochrome man; it set her apart from what the world would consider normal. However, her abnormalities may finally play in her favour for once in her life. Blackmailed into her cousin's birthday party, she will soon realize her differences.

Words: 3000

Warnings: Swearing, violence, descriptions of abuse.

Previous || Next

~4~

Adelais stood in front of the mirror of the small bathroom they had been provided. A tiny shower sat off to the left, a sink and mirror in the center, and a toilet to the right. It was a tiny bathroom, and there was no lock on the door to provide any kind of haven. However, Adelais needed to get away from Claire and Marcia for a few minutes before she lost the last of her patience and sanity.

Taking a calming breathe, the blonde leaned her hands on the edge of the sink as she looked down into the pristine, shining porcelain. Everything was so meticulously cleaned and tended to, decorated with a single flower to match the one on the pillows of each cot. Tracing her thumb along the surface of the sink, a faint squeezing sound was created. The bathtub had been messed by Marcia when she cleaned her tights in the tub, but everything else was still mostly untouched.

Raising her attention back to her reflection, Adelais almost flinched at her unkempt appearance. Her mother would be livid when she saw her; hair messed up, makeup either gone or smudged, and her shoulders hunching forward in emotional exhaustion. A disgusting disappointment to look at.

An embarrassment.

Pulling her hair away from her face and holding it with one hand, she used the other to turn on the cold water and leant low over the sink. The first handful of water against her eyes was frighteningly cold, but refreshing all the same. Wiping at the remaining makeup around her eyes, she continued splashing water against her skin to remove anything that had survived until that point.

It almost felt liberating, like shedding armor after a war.

The makeup her mother forced her to wear had served its purpose around the teenagers of Claire’s party, but it was useless here. This was not the place that appearances would save you.

Releasing her hair, Adelais gave no care as it fell into the stream of water and soaked the tips. She continued splashing her face with cupped hands, rubbing at her skin to make sure none of the irritating cover-up remained. Only when her cheeks began to prickle uncomfortably from the chill did she finally turn off the tap and straighten up.

Water dripped from her chin and nose, landing on her shirt and leaving dark spots across the fabric, but she ignored the sight in favour of meeting her eyes in the mirror. Skin slightly reddened from the cold and scrubbing, areas of her hair wet and stringy around her face, Adelais felt clean. The cold had helped to wake her slightly, as well as bring down the hot anger that had been settling under her skin from sitting and listening to Claire.

Wiping her hands back over her hair, she slicked it back with the water that remained on her palms.

The shadows beneath her eyes from lack of sleep were now visible, as well as the few little freckles she had inherited from her mother. The rest of her skin was as pale as ivory, having been cast out of the sun for so many years. Tracing a cold fingertip beneath her eye, the skin frail and thin, Adelais wondered if her sleep would be better or worse while in the clutches of this strange man.

The man who sought contact. Affection.

The soft knock on the bathroom door caused her shoulders to tense abruptly before she forced them to lower and turned toward the door. Claire was standing on the other side, looking frazzled and high-strung. “What?” Adelais asked tiredly, ignoring the cold water that remained clinging to her skin and dripping from the tips of her hair.

“We’re trying to come up with a plan,” Claire explained, motioning for the older woman to come forward. Adelais heaved another sigh before shaking her head.

“You’re idiots,” she muttered, turning away a second time and closing the door. “Leave me alone,” she added on, knowing that if they wanted to come in they could. She wished there was something she could push against the door to keep it shut.

“Adelais!” Claire whisper-yelled through the door, turning the handle to open it.

“Let me go pee,” she hissed back, knowing that Claire would be too embarrassed and shy to burst in when someone might be on the toilet. Thankfully, she was right and the door handle turned back into place as it was released from her cousin’s grasp.

Deciding to use the brief time she had to herself to actually tend to her needs, Adelais went to the washroom and took her time washing her hands afterword. She refused to look up into the mirror again, knowing that her present state would just bring back the haunting shriek of her mother, scolding her and belittling her.

When she emerged from the bathroom a second time, Claire gave her a heated look similar to a glare. It was easy to ignore her. Moving to the cot that Casey was sitting on, Adelais took up the free space behind the brunette—closer to the pillow and back corner—before she looked to Claire. “You could help us, you know,” Claire snapped, finally, as she marched slightly toward the oldest of the group.

“With what?”

“You’re the oldest one here! Take some responsibility!”

Adelais nearly scoffed. “Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I will take credit for whatever stupid decisions you make. I’m not an expert in abductions, I don’t have some secret knowledge to offer that will save any of us. Aside from…don’t piss of the guy that can kill you. I thought we’d already established this?”

Claire bared her teeth, fighting the urge to yell, and made a motion with her hands like she wanted to wrap them around Adelais’s neck. Casey watched the exchange from the corner of her eye, wondering how Adelais seemed so calm over the entire thing. Had this happened to her before? Was that the secret that Casey could see hidden in her actions?

No, that was something different.

The way Adelais acted didn’t match up to a controlling male figure.

So, a controlling female figure.

A mother.

It made sense when one thought on it—Adelais was entirely uncomfortable in the heels she was wearing, and her meticulously put-together appearance was the kind that would please a woman, someone who held appearances in high-regard. She’d washed off the makeup, revealing a natural beauty that Casey fully believed deserved to be seen on its own, rather than hindered with eye-makeup or cover-up.

“We can’t just sit in here and wait for him to come back—which could be at any second. The only chance all four of us stand a chance against him is if we work together. Okay, I took six months of kempo karate class and you distract the assailant with pain-”

This time, Adelais did scoff. It cut off Claire, who looked both started and enraged. “That man is pure muscle, and I’m going to guess he knows how to use it. Hitting him, even in a soft spot, would be like punching that wall,” Adelais explained, jerked her head toward the back wall composed entirely of stones. “He’d put you down in a heartbeat and you wouldn’t even see it coming.”

“She’s right,” Casey agreed calmly. “You guys keep thinking that everything is so easy. You do one thing and can predict the next thing,” she elaborated. “That’s not how it’s going to be in this situation.”

Marcia stood up this time, rushing over to the cot that Casey and Adelais sat on, crouching between the two. “Please, we need you two to work with us. Claire is smart, let’s listen to her-”

“Claire was just trying to push responsibility onto me because I’m a few years older. Her idea of a plan is to blindly rush at a man who successfully took down your father and us. All in broad daylight. All by himself. Does this room, this set up, look like he’s someone who’s new to this?” The other three turned to look at her with a sudden realization. “You really think this is a first? That we’re something new and unique that he had to have? This was planned. Very carefully. But there’re only two beds—he wanted only you two, Casey and I weren’t a part of that plan. But here we are; because he knows how to adapt when things go wrong.”

Marcia finally shook her head. “What other option do we have? To wait to die? Or be raped?”

Adelais shook her head tiredly. “If he wanted to rape one of you, he’d have done it while you were unconscious on the bed.”

Marcia grabbed at her hair in frustration. “We could win, Adelais, if we just tried! We could get out of here!” Realizing that the older blonde wasn’t going to help, Marcia turned to look at Casey. “Please, Casey, we could win-”

“He’ll hurt us,” Casey countered, stopping Marcia from continuing. Her tone had taken on a sharp edge. “No.” Shaking her head, she turned to look between Claire and Marcia. “Shut up. Both of you.”

Adelais glanced at the back of Casey’s head, sitting behind her as she was, and relaxed slightly knowing that she wasn’t going to agree to help the other two with some foolish plan. She’d been concerned that Casey was susceptible to manipulation from others, but she appeared to have a bit more backbone than that.

“You’re going to pick your miserable-self up, and help us get out of here,” Claire ordered in a low, calm voice. She was trying so desperately to take control of the entire situation, she was becoming increasingly agitated with Casey and Adelais refusing her at every turn. In her mind, she was on the right track—the two silent survivors in her midst knew otherwise.

Casey just shook her head again. “Blow me.” Adelais raised an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, calmly stated but just as powerful. “And your six months of karate at the King of Prussia Mall can blow me, too.” She had wanted to say something similar to her mother many times, she wished she had worked up the nerve. However, it was still entertaining to hear Casey say it to her spoiled cousin.

“No, no, no, you-you can’t do this today,” Claire snapped. “You can’t do this right now. Why do you do this? Why do you act like this? Why do you act like you’re not one of us?”

“One of you?” Adelais repeated in a slow drawn, sounding agitated but bored. “The stuck-up princess, who considers someone like Casey to be a mercy-invite? One of those?” Claire’s face reddened in embarrassment at her cousin’s words, forgetting that she had been there for that conversation with her father. “People like you, Claire; the ones who step into the real world and realize it’s not all makeup and selfies. What, all the friends or popularity in high school will elevate your social standing in the real world? Is that what you think?”

Casey glanced at the enraged blonde over her shoulder, registering the slight raise in Adelais’s voice the more she spoke.

“You’re a pathetic little girl who’s never had to work for anything in her life. This is the real world, Claire, where the actions you take can and will get you killed. Now, would you kindly climb down from your imaginary pedestal and shut the fuck up?”

Claire and Marcia could do no more than stare in horrified shock as the reserved, quiet cousin they had been exposed to all through the party completely crumbled away. They couldn’t look or listen past the words being said, disregarding all else as they were distracted by the insults being thrown at them by the older woman.

Casey, on the other hand, was focused on the sudden change in tone. Adelais’s voice had dropped, deepening slightly, and taken on a slower and more controlled gate. Blinking in shock as she concentrated on the different nuances of the blonde’s tone, Casey began focusing on Adelais for a new reason.

Her posture had changed, less reserved and drawn in as she had been up until that point. It was more…defiant, like she had gone on the offensive. The look in her eyes were a challenge, sharp green glaring at the teens across from them like she was daring them to speak; daring them to accept the masked challenge in her words and actions.

Knowing Claire, she would be stupid enough to accept without knowing the challenge had even been issued.

“I’ll let you know when I hear something that makes sense,” Casey spoke up, drawing Claire’s attention back to her. She did not like Claire, but something about Adelais—the abrupt shift in behaviour—suddenly made her feel like a wild card. “We don’t even know what this is yet.”

Claire’s attention shifted between Casey and Adelais, the older blonde appearing to calm as she leaned back into the corner with her eyes directed to the stone wall. It was similar to how she had stared at it before the man had come back in and snatched her up. Focus solely on the wall, as though it held secrets that she was able to decipher from between the brick and mortar.

Gradually, Adelais’s posture reverted back to how it had been—she wrapped her arms around her torso and lifted one shoulder as though to defend her neck from exposure to the rest of the room, her hair was pulled over the other shoulder as a sort of cover to replace her missing scarf, and her legs tucked in close to her body. Silence fell over the room as the other three wisely remained quiet about what had taken place.

As the other two turned in toward one another and started whispering in low levels, Casey situated her back against the wall to watch Adelais a bit more discretely while resting her cheek on one of her bent knees. Soft and quiet—easily blending into the background, submissive—turned to low and strong—wrought with challenge and domination.

It was like she had become a completely different person.

She didn’t remember saying it. It was the one word she had never said to her mother or father before, not since she was too young to know the consequences or it.

No.

When the word had slipped passed her lips, she wasn’t sure. But she knew that her mother had been ordering her to start on dinner—a dinner she would not be allowed to eat—and then she was suddenly on the floor with the agony of her mother’s slap burning the tender skin of her cheek. Thin as she was, the strike had caused her mother’s ring to split the skin over her cheekbone when there was nothing to cushion the blow.

“Don’t you ever say no to me again, you useless brat. When I tell you to do something, you will do it without question and without comment. Am I understood?”

Unsure of what had just transpired, since Adelais knew better than to ever tell either of her parents no, the young adolescent could do no more than nod dumbly as she placed a hand over her bleeding cheek. The only thing she could do to make the situation worse would be to bleed on the floors, or the clothing her mother had provided her with.

Trying so desperately to remember when the word could have slipped out, Adelais could come up with nothing as she scrambled into the kitchen to begin on her parents’ dinner.

Unfortunately, it was not the only or last time she lost control of herself and was left with no memory of the event. When being around her mother—and it usually was her mother, though sometimes her father as well—became too much and she could feel the cold, silent rage beginning to boil over, everything just disappeared. It was similar to a blink, one that seemed to carry her from one moment to the next with no recollection of the in-between.

Then, after she had woken to enough bloody wounds or bruised limbs, the opposite occurred. When she felt on the cusp of losing control of her anger, or was witness to her mother’s mood spiralling downward to end in a devastating climax for Adelais, she was suddenly waking in her bed. Not a single mark or bruise marring her body as she stared up at her ceiling in confused awe.

Sometimes, it wasn’t enough. Sometimes, nothing could save her from the wrath that festered within her mother. However, the bruises and scars had lessened over the years thanks to the odd moments of waking-sleep. That is how she began to think of it—her body was awake and some part of her consciousness remained alongside it, but she—Adelais—slept.

“We’re here! We’re in here!”

Adelais jolted awake at the sudden shouting, her eyes snapping open dazedly as she was left to stare across at the wall with the other cot in front of it. After falling asleep in the corner, she had eventually laid down in her sleep and curled tightly in on herself near the pillow. It left room for Casey, but not much.

Lifting her head to look toward the door, craning her neck uncomfortably in the process, Adelais watched as the three teenagers rapidly stepped away from where the door was being unlocked.

Propping her body up on one arm, Adelais didn’t even have time to swing her legs off the cot before the door opened with a quiet shriek of old hinges.

Previous || Next

#Split #Split 2016 #Split Movie #Dennis #Dennis Split #Kevin Wendell Crumb #James McAvoy Split #James McAvoy #Dennis X OC #Dennis Imagine #Original Female Character #The One With Silver Scars

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strvngemagics · 3 years

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❝ What, like it’s hard? ❞ huh, who’s REBECCA RITTENHOUSE? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SELENE BLISHWICK NEÉ ROWLE. she is a THIRTY-THREE year old PUREBLOOD witch who is VP OF TALENT AND PARTNERSHIPS AT A WIXEN TECH & MEDIA COMPANY. she is known for being SELF-ABSORBED, VAIN, APATHETIC, DECEITFUL, and CONTROLLING but also SAVVY, RESILIENT, CREATIVE, ENERGETIC, and ENTHUSIASTIC, so that must be why she always reminds me of the song OH NO! by MARINA and FRESHLY LIT SOY CANDLES, CRYSTAL PAPERWEIGHTS, THE PERFECT SELFIE LIGHTING, WHITE LINEN SHIRTS, AND BROKEN WINE GLASSES. i hear she is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on her.

character parallels: diana, princess of wales, gwenyth paltrow, goop (as in the brand), deelia deetz (beetlejuice), alexis rose (schitt’s creek), fiona goode (ahs coven), emily nelson (a simple favor)

A Q&A WITH SELENE BLISHWICK, MODERN WITCH AND BOSS B*TCH

Witch Weekly caught up with the Vice President of Talent and Partnerships at Blishwix (and new mom!) for some insight into her favourite things and tips on how to be your best #girlboss.

What’s your uniform?

Jumpsuits, flowy blouses and wide-legged pants, sunglasses that cover most of my face, and a sensible heel. A red lippie is also a must.

What was your first job?

Being Gryffindor Prefect feels like it should have qualified as a job, considering all the time I spent on patrol!

Your morning routine?

Well, my son is three months old and has just started to fall into a sleep routine (thank Merlin!) so he will gently rouse (read: scream) me awake around 5:30. I’ll usually breastfeed while checking my emails, texts, and DMs, because it’s all about multitasking! One perk of traveling as much as I have is that I have friends in almost every timezone — the notifs are constant. After Zephyr is fed, I’ll pass him off to my husband to play peek-a-boo while I shower, foam roll, and make a green juice or tea.

I’m working from home until we transition Zep to having a nanny, so I generally won’t get dressed unless I have lunch or a meeting to attend.

First celebrity crush?

Oh, this is so embarrassing — the drummer from Nine Inch Wands? I had a severe goth phase. It happens to the best of us.

Wouldn’t leave home without?

Moonflower moisturizer from UNICRN, a (fully-charged) laptop, a fresh orange.

Proudest moment?

When Wick changed a nappy for the first time — I knew then and there our marriage was sturdier than a mountain made of trolls.

Your bucket-list wellness experience?

I have seen so many kitschy Korean spa trips on WixPix. I want one of those treatments where they scrub you within an inch of your life. Then a nice soak in a seaweed bath and just like, a bucket of bibimbap.

Mentors?

Every woman who has ever worked at Blishwix. Getting to know so many interesting and inspiring witches at every age — it’s so wonderful. Witnessing their lives, their wins, and their woes has lead me to believe more in myself and trust that I am headed into the direction I am meant to go.

Perfect Sunday afternoon?

Shopping in Diagon or Sloane Street with my sister Vesta, then home to snuggle with my baby and enjoy something pasta-y and delicious with my husband that evening.

The things you buy in bulk?

Pepperup — I’m so susceptible to colds — cashmere-wool mid calf socks, and freeze-dried strawberries.

Drink of choice?

I’m obsessed with juices — anything that’s very kale-forward. If I’m being naughty, a dry martini or gillywater and gin.

Favourite movie?

The Woodstock documentary! It's so beautiful and inspiring that thousands of people came together for three wonderful days of peace and music.

How often do you recharge your crystals?

Every full moon!

_______________________________

asndksjdfsd ANYWAY. some shit abt selene’s personality:

like her husband, selene blishwick is full of shit. if wick is the engineer and tech brain behind blishwix’s products, selene is the ‘natural’-product peddling, #influencerstatus, charming (read: bitchy White Feminist) face of the brand and responsible for seeking the up-and-coming entertainers and corporations who will take their company from impressive start-up to cultural mainstay. like wick, selene’s primary objective is to get blishwix products and apps into every wix’s hand to track and monitor their behavior — and her immediate second objective is to make a fuckton of money doing so.

don’t let her foolish, goop-esque ways fool you — selene is constantly scheming about how to utilize the latest trends to squeeze an unsuspecting public dry of both their money and their private info.

she and her husband do love each other and are clearly a work team/match made in hell, but there’s def some mutual cheating going on that they should probably address (but will they?!?! who knows)

selene’s relationship with her younger sister vesta is complicated. vesta knows how to push her buttons and strike at her insecurities, many of which stem from the fact that selene fears her sister can and will usurp her in terms of glamor, style, talent, etc. she loves ves but it’s hidden under a thick layer of backhanded compliments and petty betrayals.

selene is terrified of aging. catch her slathering on skin products every second of every day

[POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION TW] she loves her son zephyr (even more than she loves the number of likes he’ll get on her wixpix), but selene is suffering from postpartum depression hard and is yet to realize that she can’t reiki meditate her way out of it [end tw]

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

STATS

name. selene blishwick (neé rowle)

nickname. none

birthdate. 7th june 1998

place of birth. st. mungo’s

family. vesta rowle (sister), extended rowle cousins, zephyr blishwick (son)

relationship status. married to jimbo blishwick vi.

occupation. vp of talent and partnerships at blishwix media; influencer

gender identity. cis-woman

romantic orientation. biromantic

sexuality. bisexual

blood status. pureblood

pets. tbd

HOGWARTS / MAGIC

house. formergryffindor

allegiance. the death eaters

n.e.w.t. grades. defense (a), charms (a), herbology (e), potions (e), history of magic (a), ancient runes (e), care of magical creatures (a)

wand. tbd

boggart. tbd

amortentia. tbd

magical strengths. tbd

magical weaknesses. tbd

PERSONALITY

zodiac.

sun - gemini

moon - scorpio

rising - leo

#potterintro #this is baaaaad #but r's beautiful intro inspired me to finish #* ' selene.#depression tw #food mentions throughout tw

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grapenamjams · 4 years

Text

Tavern Nights

Genre: Fluff, slight NSFW

Characters: Julian from the arcana and my apprentice Eliza

A/N: i really wanted to write about my favorite dumb doctor but I am not super proud of this one but I still figured I post it because maybe someone will enjoy it?

a little bit about my MC

Her name is Eliza (she/her. Female.) She is 5′2 has brown wavy hair, brown eyes (with specks of green) she also has adorable freckles across her nose. she just wants her red haired doctor to be able to get some rest lol

Tonight was a rare night indeed. After weeks of telling Julian that he needed a vacation Eliza was finally able to negotiate with the doctor to take the weekend off, although she had hoped to get more days off, at this point she would take any number to see him not worry about work, and one of the ways that makes Julian forget and not worry is by looking at the bottom of a couple of tankards.

The Scarlett haired doctor slams the wooden cup down onto the table breathing out a loud Satisfied sigh. “Ah! DRINKS ON ME!” He yells, a eruption of ‘cheers’ and Hollers sound out inside the the rowdy raven. The sound dies down transforming into the usual chatter that bounces off the walls of the small warmly lit tavern. Eliza looks to Julian who has a huge smile, warming her heart to see the happiness on his handsome face. “Julian, honey you already said that... after every drink in fact” she giggles, the alcohol going through her body making her Susceptible to laughing more than usual. ”It has to be said after every drink dear! it makes The experience more authentic!” He grins at her before accepting another pint from the server. Good thing that the tavern owner knows Julian and does not put those words on their tab.

Eliza sipped on her glass, letting the bitter liquid make its way down her throat, she wasn’t much of a drinker like Julian was a soft buzz through her veins was enough for her. She heard a few distinct shuffling in the corner and then a upbeat tune starts to play. “Oh ho the band is finally here!” Julian brightens up. Eliza sees people start pushing tables aside creating their own dance space in the middle of the tavern. Before she knows it a crowd already formed, stomps and cheers ringing out through the small space into the night outside. Neighbors already turning over in their beds hugging their pillows to their face to block out the lively music.

Julian slides out of their booth and stretches a bare hand towards her, his gloves and coat discarded the moment they walked in. “May I take this stunning women out to dance?” He grins. without missing a heart beat Eliza laughs “you certainly may!” she takes his hand and Julian pulls her out of the booth and into his arms. “Wonderful, lets dance!” He laughs and takes her to the crowd of people.

The music that was playing had a group dance to it, Julian leaves Eliza on one side of the line as he goes to the other one in front of her. Both lines skip side to side in the beginning and Then her line starts forward having a little skip to the step until they are face to face with the other line, Julian smiles at her and then she skips back. Julian’s line repeats the step, when Julian is close to her he leans down and gives a quick peck to her lips before he’s pulled away, Eliza’s heart skips a beat. her line then goes Forwards again but this time they duck under the other lines raised arms trading place, a ‘woooo’ is let out when they do this, Then another as Eliza raises her arms for Julian to duck through going on her tippy toes for his large frame.

Both lines face towards the band and start clapping on beat as people from the two lines meet each other at the start and dance their way down the open middle, then the next pair went and another until she was met with Julian. He grabs her left hand and spins her around showing her off to the crowd a cheer is heard for them and Eliza blushes. He then puts his left arm around her waist and begins to lead her down the clapping line. When they reach the end he still holds her close, moving side to side with her. Then as the last people paired up the music changed, this one faster with the violin going full out. An even wider smile breaks across Julian’s face he looks at her and raises his eyebrows “ready?” but before she could say anything, Julian leads her forwards his feet skipping at a faster past almost hopping at times, Eliza had no choice but to try to keep up with his pace at first making her stumble on her feet at the fast movements, hearing Julian's laugh above her gave her brain a different type of buzz as they danced around the tavern.

Forwards, backwards, to the sides Julian moved Eliza all through out the space. Spinning her and him around to the sway of the music. He loved seeing her tilt her head back and laugh still holding on to him letting him lead her. She brought her head back up keeping the smile on her face all the way through the song. Once it ended, the crowed clapped and cheered for the band. In a matter of seconds a new song ringed out over them. It was a much calmer pace but still upbeat tempo it was a chance for the participants to catch their breath.

Julian spines Eliza out in front of him taking a good look at her figure, feeling something hot come over him. He pulls her back to his chest and very much like her own is moving up and down trying to catch their breaths. Julian's hands travel down her body and land on her hips, making a shiver pass through Eliza’s spine. she wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her towards him making their hips move together.

Julian bends down to whisper in her ear. “You look absolutely ravishing tonight my dear” his voice husky and low, breath fanning over her heated neck. Eliza hums “hm you think so?” Julian lifts his head a bit his lips ghosting over her jaw “absolutely, the thoughts that I’m having right now would get any man in trouble” Eliza smirks up at him “well lets see how much trouble those thoughts will get you in” Julian's eyes flicker to hers, darkening with desire before he crashes his lips to hers. He kisses her softly at first but then he feels her hands go through his hair , pushing him against her deepening the kiss. he has to suppress a groan that comes from his throat by tightening his hold on her hips. Julian then parts from her lips to kiss her neck. He kisses her twice before both of them hear a mans voice come up next to them

“Julian you lovesick man treat your women to a room!” The pair snap their heads towards a man dancing with his partner. Julian and Eliza turn bright red at being caught. Eliza hides her face in Julian's chest smiling and shaking her head from embarrassment. Julian recovers and laughs at the man with confidence although in the inside he’s a flustered mess. “will do! thank you for the suggestion my good man” the man laughs and takes his partner away. Julian looks down at Eliza who still has her faces hidden in his chest holding the lapels of his Semi open shirt to cover her face.

“That was embarrassing” she says against his skin, Julian chuckles and puts a finger to her chin making her look up at him. “It shouldn’t, what’s wrong with two people that love each other show a little bit of affection, huh?” Eliza bites her lip trying to Suppress a smile. Julian sees and tugs her bottom lip away from her teeth. “I want the whole world to know your mine and I am yours” he gives her a kiss and pulls back again. “If anyone has a problem with that then...send them my way I’ll give them something to talk about.” he smiles making Eliza shake her head at him, the embarrassment leaving her. “You’re so dramatic” she wraps her arms around his neck again as the next song picks up. “Darling, aren't I always?” He grins and begins to lead her through the next dance.

* * *

After a few more dances and after a few more Emptied tankards Eliza thought it was time to start heading home. She finished her last drink, the lightness she felt throughout her body still let her be aware of what was around her so she could get herself and Julian safely home.

“Another round, please!” Julian says to the server who is picking up their plates and many cups. “A-actually I think we’re done, can you round our tab please?” The server smiles and nodes before walking away. “Awww why so soon?” Julian pouts at her. Eliza lets out a giggle “because if I don’t get you out of here, you’re gonna start dancing on the tables and once that happens there’s no getting you out of bed the next morning” she pushes his chest lightly, Julian laughs at that

“aaand I want to do things tomorrow with you, so I can’t have you laying in bed all day” Julian smirks and grabs her wrist that stayed on his chest, pulling her towards him looking her up and down “but my dear we can also do ‘things’ while laying in bed all day, right?” he leans closer and Eliza matches his smirk but leans away from him raising An eyebrow “with a pounding headache? I don’t think so” Julian smiles and lets out a breath “you’re right” he wraps his arms around her in a tight hug and mumbles “I want to spend the whole day with you with a clear mind, yeah?.... ‘cuz I love youuu” he says squeezing her tight against him squishing her. “Ilya....can’t...breath” she says laughter bubbling inside her. he slackens his hold on her and she looks up at him to see a worried expression on his face “I’m sorry Eliza, are you alright?? Can you breath now?” His hands are on her face checking her like as if she in fact was having trouble breathing from his hug. She places her hands on his “Im fine Julian” his face shows that he is relived “oh good” but a smirk comes just as quick “but are you sure? If you need mouth to mouth, I’ll gladly provide” she pulls his hands away from her face, knowing that this walk home was gonna be a interesting one. “I know you would” smiling, she leans in and kisses him, Julian lets out a satisfied sigh but pouts when she pulls away. “Now come on let’s go home”

When they stepped out of the tavern Eliza didn’t realize how hot it was inside of it. The night air hit her like a wave of cold water, she shivered a bit and fixed her coat around her. The position of the moon overhead as they walked home told her it was well past midnight. Julian was staggering next to her half humming and singing a song from the band that played, he was hunched down with an arm over her shoulder, she insisted on him putting some of his Weight on her so he wouldn't fall on the uneven cobblestones that the lanterns barley helped light.

Julian lays his head on top of hers and breaths in “You always smell like a field of flowers my dear.” He slurs, Eliza lets out a amused laugh “really? I just danced and was inside a smelly tavern for the last few hours, I Smell far from a field of flowers” she feels Julian shake his head into her hair “not trueeee, you smell of roses and your hair is so soft like..like soft angel wings!” His voice coming out slow and deep. He pokes her cheek “Your skin is also so soft like...” he pauses trying to find something to compare it too. “Ah! Like a baby’s-“ “don’t you dare finish that sentence” Eliza cuts him off. Julian barks out a laugh rocking both of them, Eliza tries to quickly steady them both.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that your beautiful, my love” his arms go around hugging her “I love you, you know that? I’ll never know how I got so lucky” He nuzzles his head on top of hers. Then sucks in a breath “I-I truly do love you Eliza! Its the truth! It’s not just the alcohol ‘talkin, I mean it! I really do. With all my heart” he sounds desperate for her to understand his feelings, his pout being heard in his voice. Eliza’s heart warms at his words and actions. she can’t help but to smile and puff out a laugh. She places her hands on top of his around her making him stop his rambling and she squeezes them reassuring him. “I know Ilya, I love you too” she tilts her head up to him and he gives her a kiss.

* * *

Once they entered through the door Eliza let out a relived sigh to be finally back home. The shops incense filling her head. Something wooden landed on the floor with a thud, quickly followed by a sluggish voice “s-sorry my bad” doing a spell to turn on the lights Eliza sees Julian trying to pick up the table he had crashed into but he was swaying forward in the processes missing it, clearly dizzy from drinking. She chuckled, going over and steading the table. She grabbed Julian again “Let’s get you upstairs and into the shower, hm?” Julian nodes but the movement makes his head swell. with a bit of a struggle trying not to fall back down the pair make it upstairs. Eliza helps shed Julian's coat, gloves and boots while he tries to do the same to her but Eliza laughed as she moved away from his grasps making Julian whine in protest.

“Alright, go take a shower” she tugs him towards the bathroom but Julian doesn't go inside, instead He looks at the bathroom and then her with a smug look “you know. I’ve heard that Vesuvias water source is getting low...” he leans in closer “shouldn’t we do our part in saving it?”

‘Gosh why is he an adorable idiot?’ Eliza thinks as she rolls her eyes amused. but As much as she loves the idea she wants him to relax so he could rest thoroughly tonight and be fresh for tomorrow and also.... she liked teasing him “we can save vesuiva’s water problem” she smirks and leans up to kiss him but pauses “later, for now go get in the shower you smell” she goes back down to her feet and pushes him gently towards the bathroom.

the doctor frowns but then his eyebrows shoot up “is that a promise?”

“It’s a maybe” she replies

“I’ll take it!” And without saying anything else he goes into the bathroom.

* * *

Julian comes out of the shower looking refreshed. his wet hair still dripping on to the towel around his neck. After telling him to drink some water Eliza goes inside the bathroom to take a quick shower as well. It felt good standing under the warm water, letting her body Wind down from today’s activities. She steps out of the shower and changes into her night clothes. When she enters the bedroom again Julian is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her, the glass of water she put for him empty. his hair still wet and dripping into the towel. She places her used one on a chair, “why is your hair still wet?” She asks

“I was waiting for you.” She turns to him an eyebrow raised in question “for me?” Julian's cheeks get a tint of pink on them “I...wanted you to dry my hair...” he averts his eyes. A smile makes its way across Eliza’s face “so you waited this whole time for me, so I could dry your hair?” Julian nodes his head looking up at her walk over to him trying not to laugh.

“Julian you could get a cold” she says, sitting on his lap her legs on either side of him, his hands instinctively going to her hips. He looks up at her and gives her one of his grins “good thing I’m a doctor that has a lovely nurse to take care of him” Eliza laughs ‘what an adorable idiot’ she cant help but think again. she takes the towel around his neck and puts it over his head. “Mmhmm sure, a nurse that will spend the entire day hearing the complains of a doctor that got a cold more like” she says and shakes the towel against his hair. Julian chuckles at her response, closing his eyes.

Once his hair was deemed dry by Eliza she starts to run her fingers through his scarlet hair making Julian lean into her touch, resting his head on her shoulder. With the feeling of her surrounding him and with the calming silence of the shop, even maybe due to the salty bitters in his system. Julian’s tired mind couldn’t help but to wander, thinking of all the moments that he had missed with her because of his work.

How many breakfasts ,lunches, dinners had he missed with her? How many of her smiles and laughs had he not seen or heard? How many nights like the one they had tonight could have happened? A guilt came over him as he heard Eliza’s voice. “all done” he lifted his head to look at her, even though she had said she was finished her fingers still ran through his hair slowly, making curls with her finger.

“Thank you”

Eliza hummed “No need, I don’t mind”

He moved her closer “I mean, thank you for everything. thank you for putting up with me, for being by my side for being here.” He pauses and sighs, he starts to rub her sides “I know.... I haven't been with you as of late. I’ve been so busy with work that I haven't been giving you the attention that you deserve... a-and for that I’m truly sorry, I certainly don’t deserve-“ Julian gets caught off by Eliza kissing him, when she pulls back he stares at her wide eyed. She places a finger to his lips and shakes her head “none of that kind of talk anymore, understand?”

Knowing if she didn’t stop him he would go on a talk that would only lead to a dark place. Julian goes red “but its true I-“ she kisses him again and he smiles against her “understood” he says and kisses her again. Eliza pulls back, she puts one hand on his shoulder while the other one swipes away a already formed curl from his face. “Ilya. I love you and with that I understand that you love the work that you do which in turn makes me proud and happy. You don’t have to be sorry, we get moments like these don’t we? And I appreciate them even more when we do.” she kisses him again and he sighs happily “Thank you” . Eliza traces a finger down his cheek and following his sharp jaw “besides, I have you all to myself for three days and I plan to use that time wisely” Eliza insides do a somersault at what she just said, this confidence definitely coming from the alcohol in her system. She tries to not blush but fails as she sees Julian also redden but gives her a smirk.

“My love, you can’t say those types of things to me right now, I will not be able to sleep” he shifts under her, making her cheeks warm up, he captures her lips in his kissing her softly she kisses him back just the same. after a moment Eliza reluctantly pulls away looking at his hooded eyes. “But sleep we must. If we want energy for tomorrow’s activities” she says rubbing his shoulders. the doctors eyes flicker with interest before falling back onto the bed bringing Eliza down with him. She lets out a startled laugh on top of him and fixes herself on the bed. “Then sleep we shall, so tomorrow’s festivities come faster” Julian says letting out a soft chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist putting his head close to her chest wanting to be held by her, she complies his silent request. “Someone’s eager” she teases him stroking his head again, “can’t blame me” he mumbles heavy eyes starting to close “goodnight my love” he gives her a small squeeze Eliza smiles into his hair giving him a kiss “goodnight Ilya”

#julian devorak #julian the arcana #doctor julian #thearcanamc #the arcana julian #thearcanaoneshot #thearcanastory #julian x apprentice #julian x oc #fluff #juliannsfw #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #portia #thearcanamuriel

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

Text

A SOLDIER’s Memories - Cloud Strife x Fem!Reader Pt 7

Not gonna lie, I struggled a lot around this section of the story, but I think I finally got everything lined out.

Part 7: Dispelling Suspicions

The Gold Saucer. Fuck.

I barely want to be around Cloud. I really don’t want to be at the Gold Saucer. And I sure as hell don’t want to be at the Gold Saucer with Cloud. This is bad. Not that I’ve been doing myself any favors.

Honestly, my brain is kind of giving me whiplash. Up until the event that flipped my world, I was a bit of a joker who could take her job serious when she needed. But then shit happened. I became unapproachable. Only the Shinra executives and the Turks seemed alright interacting with me while everyone else seemed on edge, which was fine by me; I was an empty husk taking orders. Now, I’m kind of in an unknown state of who I am. I’ve already displayed that I still have access to that wrath that keeps people at bay, but I’m slipping back into that joker I used to be. I’d only meant it to aggravate my captors, but it came much more naturally than I expected.

That’s no excuse to let my guard down though.

This is our second pass through the Gold Saucer. The first was so chaotic that I couldn’t dwell on the past. Plus, we picked up a suspicious cat. We’ve been going on as if we’ve never met before, but I’m sure he’s up to something. It becomes far more obvious when we start running into Shinra grunts everywhere we go and whispers spread that there’s a spy among us. Since I’ve healed from my injury, courtesy of Saint Aerith, they decided that I needed constant babysitting and now it’s doubled since Cait Sith came along. I know it’s him, but I haven’t figured out what exactly he’s after yet. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for proof because I’m the obvious suspect.

I lounge across the bed of the Ghost Square inn, trying to block out the memories attempting to bubble to the surface. Not wanting to be here any longer and needing a distraction, I start for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cloud says sternly.

I give him a toothy grin. “We’re at an amusement park. I’d like to be amused.”

He scowls. “I don’t think so.”

“C’mon. I’ll be back before midnight.”

“No.”

“If you’re that worried, come with me.”

That wipes the strictness from his face. “What?”

“Well you can’t keep me here. So you can either waste your energy trying to keep me in this room or you can keep an eye on me and come with me.” I slip my hand from the glove he’s had a hold of and wave my fingers at him. “So what’ll it be?”

The blonde heaves a sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

We let the others know we’re heading out and go, to the objection of some. And out we go into the amusement park where I try to lose my tail; sucks for me that he’s got a good eye. Since I can’t lose him, I steer far away from Chocobo, Wonder, and Round Squares; who knows what’ll happen if I go there with him.

“Oh! Wonder Square!” and I jump into the entrance of Battle Square. Once I make it out, I look back and see that he’s still following me. Dammit. “Oops. Wrong entrance.”

“Stop that,” he huffs. “I know what you’re doing.”

I shrug and wander further up the stairs of the square. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously. I know you’re trying to shake me which convinces me even more that you’re the spy.”

“Pfft. I’m not the spy.”

“Then why are you being so suspicious?”

I turn to him, still climbing. “Let me start following you around and see if you don’t try to escape. You’re killin’ my fun. Remember that things I said about morale?”

“That doesn’t apply to hostages.”

I actually pause to laugh, purposely annoying him. “I am not a hostage, despite what you and your random gang of miscreants might think.”

“Pretty big words for someone reluctant to fight unless she can get in a cheap shot.”

Oh, he’s pushing it. “Fine.” I wave to the help desk. “Let’s play.”

A glint of true interest flashes in his eyes. I know he’s been dying to take me on since I did get in that cheap shot at Shinra HQ. “You’re on.”

So Cloud and I register for the upcoming tournament, but drawing odds place us at opposite ends of the battle tree, meaning we’ll have to win every round to make it to the finals to take each other on. I have my fun with the warm up rounds, but Cloud’s attempting to make it obvious these rounds are worthless to him—he wants that final match.

“I hope you’re more fun than the gigas,” I call out over the roaring of the crowd. Cloud simply readies his sword. “Then again, you’re never any fun,” I sigh.

The round starts and Cloud is after me in a heartbeat. He’s definitely gotten better, become a challenge to actually take on compared to being susceptible to black-out sucker punches. I’m actually very impressed with the progress he’s made in such a short time. He’ll quickly overtake me at this rate. But not today.

I swing a khopesh at the man which he swats away and he barely has time to recover and stop the one in my hand from striking him. I take a few swipes to push him around before lunging. He steps back and I slam my sword into the ground where he’d just been standing. As I stand back up, I’ve got both blades in my hands and give him a smile. Cloud’s eyes widen and I very quickly jerk back, successfully pulling his legs from under him. I prevent him standing with a blade pointed at his chest.

“Face it, if I wanted you dead, I would’ve killed you myself. Shinra grunts just aren’t that reliable as you’ve noticed,” I say gloatingly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be and there’s nothing you and your misfit band of hooligans could’ve done to stop me.” Cloud’s glare fades somewhat. “I’m not your enemy.” I don’t know why the next words come from my mouth, but they’re true. “I never was.”

Suddenly, Cloud’s sword comes up between us, knocking my blade from my hand. The man recovers his feet and, just before I can separate from him, he swings. The sword slams into my stomach, sending me flying back, crashing heavily into wall of the arena. I’ve lost.

I lie in the crevasse created for me, listening to the audience cheer on the chocobo. A crooked grin pulls at my lips even though I’m still struggling to regain my breath. I’d be dead had he chosen to use the sharp edge to do me in. His boots stop in front of me.

“A smart enemy wouldn’t let their guard down until they’ve won.” I let my gaze trail upwards, finding the victor offering his hand to me. “Guess that makes you ally.”

My smile widens and I take his hand. “’Bout time you figured it out, you cheater.”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Liar.” I spot a bouncing crown making its way through the crowd and point it out. “And you guys thought I was the spy.”

He huffs and we chase down Cait Sith. Long story short, he gives away the Keystone to the Turks and I dangle him over a ledge until he spits out he’s got Marlene held prisoner. Annoyed, we follow him back to the inn where he explains to everyone that he was the spy and that it’s best to keep him around. Meanwhile, I curse myself for letting him get this far, though I suppose there was nothing I could’ve done with Barret’s little girl in his grasp.

I head for the stairs up to the rooms when the feline calls out to me. Pausing, I look back at him.

“What do you want?”

The moogle hops closer and Cait Sith plays in his cape. “I managed to sneak in before they cleared out your room at the military complex.” My brows pull together and he holds his hand out. “I know you don’t trust me, but this seemed important to you, so I brought it.”

Unsure of what he’s going on about, I open my hand to receive his gift. He drops in my hand a pendent strung on a silver chain. My heart implodes. Before I can even think about it, my other fist snaps forward, sending Cait Sith nearly halfway across the room. Immediately, Cloud and Tifa are on me to prevent me further mauling that feline. I shake the two off and climb the stairs without a single word, fist tightly clenched around the jewelry. The cool metal burns against my skin, dredging up memories of past visits to this place.

In the room I shared with the other girls, I rip the window open and wind my arm back to hurl the locket out of my life. That innocent face flashes behind my eyes. I clamp them shut and will myself to throw the necklace. But I don’t; I can’t. I’m still far too infatuated with the dead. Gnashing teeth and cursing myself, I look down at the simple, round trinket. Of course I had to be reminded of the things I’ve lost, of the life I’ll never have.

I give into my lapse of judgment and loop the chain around my neck, stuffing it down my shirt and out of sight. It feels like it weighs a ton but that’s just emotional baggage. Tifa, Aerith, and Yuffie all return to the room.

“Heeey,” Tifa says awkwardly.

Hands behind her back in an attempt to be non-threatening, Aerith steps closer. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” I say innocently.

“Talk about what?!” Yuffie exclaims. “You nearly busted in Cait Sith’s face!”

A giggle escapes me. “Oh that. That was for accusing me of spying on everyone.”

The girls all stare with blank, maybe-mildly-concerned expressions while I just smile at them.

#cloud strife #cloud x reader #cloud strife x reader #ffvii cloud #ff7 cloud #fem!reader

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