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lyon-amore · 1 year

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Mr and Mrs Liars Chapter 17

Chapter 16 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Jake POV*

"Well, well, well... You don't really get tired, do you?" I ask, looking at the bed with a smile. The little cat meows at me, rolling around in my sweatshirt, covering it with fur. I had found him after lunch with Aleena, I refused to let her bring me home, I didn't want her to know where I lived. So, as I was walking back, I came across this little guy jumping out of nowhere scared by the sound of a truck. He had held on tight and I had to bring him. Afterwards, I took him to the vet to check if he had any identification chips. When he said no, he told me that I could leave him with him to take him to a shelter and well... I think his look of pity ended up giving me up completely. So now I have a cat. Though I didn't expect him to be so mischievous. I had left him alone for a moment while I had gone to get food for him. And when I returned, everything was all on the floor. And I had bought a toy for him because I thought he was a good cat. MC had sent me the message that she had the real name of Oskar Neumann, since I had been with the cat, I told her that I was busy along with a photo. I was sure that she would like it when she returned. "Let's see Gizmo, one thing is you can be on top of my sweatshirt, but not that you destroy my house." I cross my arms, frowning. Gizmo meows again, stretching out, Who was a Cat? I hear the front door, along with MC's voice complaining. "What happened here?! Couldn't you be less of a beast?!" I hear her yell, annoyed. "MC, in my room!" I call for her to come, without taking my eyes off the cat. "Are you crazy? I'm not joining!" "Join?" I pick up the cat carefully, the little one snuggles into the crook of my neck, purring, "What are you talking about?" I ask as I leave the room, "why don't you want to join?" "Well-" she remains silent, looking at the cat. She points to it, confused, not understanding what is happening "Why do you have a cat?" "I sent you a photo. Didn't you get it?" "What? No, I thought by busy you meant-" She blushes and looks away, kicking off her heels. "It doesn't matter, maybe WhatsApp fell just at the moment you wanted to send me the message." So she thought I was "busy" with Aleena. I don't know how she came to that conclusion, but I love it. “What's they name?” she asks, reaching out to caress him. "Gizmo," I replied, as I watched her pet him. Her eyes never leave the cat and she says sweet things to him. The scene looks like we're having a baby "how's work?" "It was easy." She finishes stroking Gizmo and walks away. "I'm going to make myself comfortable and we'll talk about what I've discovered." "Okay, I'm going to put the little one's food now." As soon as we finished, we sat on the sofa together with some cups of coffee. Gizmo gets to play with one of the mice I bought, jumping around the house as he throws it. We stared at it for a while, mesmerized. "Well... how was the date?" MC asks me, smiling. “It wasn't a date." "Are you ashamed to admit it?" “I'm not ashamed because it wasn't” I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow “and I haven’t yet to speak to Thomas for giving her my phone number. You are both great, congratulations, you have done it: I have a woman obsessed with me on my cell phone." "You'll get used to it." <<So we have those... Okay.>> "Mmm… Maybe so, at least she was nice enough and she's pretty, I admit it, I've had a good time with her." I watch her expression change from teasing to surprised, but not happy. "I asked about Oskar Neumann at work." She quickly changes the subject, ignoring my words. "Real name: Ansel Laurent. He did dangerous reporting: prostitution, smuggling, street gangs... I wouldn't be surprised if he also got into the middle of some mafia." "Ansel Laurent…" I try to remember if I've ever heard Charlotte talk about him, but nothing. That name was new to me "We'll have to look it up then. Do you know anything else about him?" "He had a wife who, shortly after he disappeared, was found dead in their house, murdered after a robbery." She blew on her coffee and looked at me mysteriously. "Too much of a coincidence, right?" "It would be if it wasn't that they found Ansel unrecognizable." I commented, picking up the computer to start searching. Like last night, MC leans on my shoulder to watch the search for Ansel Laurent. We found his social networks, he had a good life, it seemed that he and his wife traveled a lot. His wife's name was Heidi Plummer. Her social networks were full of the same photos as her husband, except that she was added with some others with the family. "Let's find information about his murder." I commented, typing in the key words. "But if his wife didn't want to know anything about her husband's work out of fear, why go after her?" MC asks, tickling my ear with her breath "No one would have known who she was since Ansel used another name." "And again we return to the theory of the police." "Where Ansel must have cooperated to protect him," she murmurs thoughtfully. "And that you can clearly identify someone if you steal his ID before you kill him and find out about him and his life." I give a hit to the news and we begin to read it. It seemed that her murder was excruciating, with too much blood throughout the house, as if she had been running, fleeing from her attackers. They managed to arrest one and now he was in jail. "Jan Parker." I read the name of our criminal out loud. "Something tells me we have to pay another visit." I look sideways at MC, who reads carefully. I get to read her lips pronounce the name of the prison. "It's the same one where Richy is being held." "Great…" I make a guttural sound, annoyed. I hadn't forgiven him for what he'd done by kidnapping Hannah. If he had also accepted the blame for him having participated in helping them, then none of this would have happened. The only difference is that Hannah was defended by a good lawyer, with the excuse that after running over Jennifer, her state of shock was so great that it affected her, causing mental health problems. Hannah wasn't proud of her defense and pleaded guilty herself, but everyone saw the poor girl carrying a load of guilt for years, adding to her mental state at the time. MC informed me of everything that was happening at that time, she also didn’t like the excuse given by the lawyer, along with the psychologist who took her. Dr. Barrett supported her that her trauma came from the same date that Jennifer's murder occurred. Unfortunately, Richy's lawyer wasn't that good, and the fact that he had kidnapped Hannah to avoid part of her guilt didn't make people look good on him. "Jake..." MC whispers, squeezing my shoulder tightly "I have to tell you something." "What is it?" I ask worried, taking his hand that was now trembling "You know you can tell me everything.” She takes a breath and looks me in the eye. “I've been seeing Richy in jail for several years.” I tense up, unable to think. How several years was she talking about? One year? Two? "MC, if you're going to tell me you saw that guy while we were together-" “I'm so sorry, Jake, really.” I get up from the couch, angry with her. She didn't have to keep it from me, but she had. Little confidence in me. "Jake, wait a minute." MC follows me, but I close my bedroom door in his face. I really feel betrayed. *MC POV* Someday I had to tell him. And that day was today. I already knew how he was going to react, Why am I surprised? I return to the sofa, curling up in a ball. I should have shut up. I feel pressure in my body and look up. Gizmo is lying on top of me. I pet his head and he purrs. "I'm fine, don't worry…" I tell the cat, who curls up to sleep. Now I dare not get up. “MC?” I look up at Jake. I hadn't even heard that he had left the room “I have to ask." I get up grabbing the cat, but he jumps out of my arms when he finds himself awake, lying next to me. "Do you want to know why I was going?" "MC, he wanted to take you to the mine. Who knows what he was going to do to you?" "You talk like Jessy." "Because he also attacked Jessica!" He leans against the sofa, looking into my eyes “And he did it to threaten you that he would continue doing it if you continued investigating, remember? He is not someone you should be sorry for." "I don't pity him." I close my hands until I hurt myself. He has confused everything. "The problem is, I'm terrified of him telling me why he wanted me to go, when was he going to let Hannah go and pretend he was saving her? When I was inside the mine and burning it down or when I was waiting for them outside it?" "Instead, you keep him company every time you go to see him." I can hear in his voice how disappointed he is in me. If each one had known how to take the blame for themself, none of this would have happened. We wouldn't be here arguing about whether what I'm doing with Richy is good, bad, or whether we should forgive him. "If that doubt is torturing you all these years, you should stop asking yourself and ask him." He squats down, taking my hands lovingly. I squeeze his hands tightly, seeking the support that I would have liked years ago if it weren't for the fact that I feared his reaction. I saw it today and I didn't want to disappoint him like that. "What do I do if he tells me that he wanted me to burn in the mine?" I ask terrified "All so that our investigation would be lost and thus no one would know the truth?" "Well, it would be the first time in years that I'd punch someone." He replies with a charming smile. I let out a small laugh, grateful for his support. I caress his cheek affectionately, and then kiss him on it. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. "Better not or they'll arrest you." I teased, trying to get back into a normal frame of mind. "But it will have been worth it." We both get up standing up, with the most relaxed atmosphere. Gizmo's sleeping purr is so loud that we are surprised. We laugh when we see it. "Well, you can always be the old man with the cats if you don't want to have anything to do with Aleena." I say, giving him a quizzical look. Jake sighs, putting a hand to the back of his neck, looking at the cat almost like he's looking at his child. He's adorable. "Well, with how big the apartment is, at least I won't feel alone surrounded by cats," he teases, letting out a small laugh. "Good and now we take care of Jan? We have wasted too much time." "I'm sorry…" "No, don't worry, I'm glad we talked about it." He sits on the sofa and picks up the computer, then looks at me. "I must assume that you must know how to request a meeting with him." "They already know me in prison, I'm not going to deny it." I sit down next to him again, placing my hands in my lap. "But I think with Jan we should call attention so that he agrees to see us." "You're thinking of naming Ansel, right?" He arches an eyebrow and hands me the computer. "It's better to do it, I have a feeling he'll want to see us if it's him." I look for the jail page to print the petition. Jake gets up to plug in the printer and I can see him looking at me. "Have you already talked to Thomas about giving your number to Aleena?" I ask, to keep my mind occupied with something other than just him. "Not yet, I haven't found the time." "Have you two talked about me?" I ask curious. Maybe I should keep quiet, do I really want to hear what they have said about me? "Nothing bad, I promise you." "And the last question" I turn to look at him and take a breath, nervous "Would you go on a second date with her?" He puts a hand to his chin, thinking about the answer. The longer it takes to answer me, the more I worry. He told me that at the moment he didn't want to date anyone. Would he have changed her mind? "No, I don't think I'm going to go out with her again," he finally answers "but what if it were like that?" "So that you tell me in advance to put another plate for the wedding banquet," I answered, shrugging. "I need to know if you will come with a companion." "I won't be able to go, I have work that day." "Okay, but don't forget your promise-" "The gift bed, I know." I know perfectly well that he doesn't know what day it is and that he doesn't know if he'll have a day off that day either, he doesn't want to come and I understand. I get that it's pretty awkward when your ex invites you to her wedding, but I wanted to be polite. Besides, I don't want Lilly or Hannah getting mad at me for not inviting her brother. Which reminds me, then I have to text Phil that I'm okay. Problems accumulate. *Jake POV* While she writes the jail petition, I decide to cook dinner for both of us. Gizmo stands up meowing asking me to eat. I roll my eyes. He is a gluttonous cat. "You have food on your plate and you can't eat this," he meows passing between my legs, trying to convince me, "What do you think Gizmo? Will she be jealous of my “date” with Aleena? Incredible true? She's getting married and she's upset that I been with another woman, when she's the one who's thrown me into her arms." "Meow." "Yes, I don't understand it either." I answer as if I understood him. MC is right: I'm going to become the old man of the cats. "I just think that… I don't need another woman in my life. That’s it. I want to focus on getting my old life back, reconnecting with my old friends... I still haven't told them that I'm back... But I will." I move the spoon while looking at the cat, again, as if I really knew what I was saying "Even if they kill me for not having contacted them as soon as I was free..." "Who's going to kill you?" MC enters the kitchen and leans on my shoulder. "I was telling Gizmo that my friends are going to be mad at me as soon as they find out I didn't contact them first." "If I were them, I'd be angry too," she lets out a laugh that leaves me distracted. I would listen to it on loop. "Jake, dinner.” "Sorry.” She sighs and reaches down to pet Gizmo. I must not be distracted... I like this scene but I must not be distracted. "I thought that as an apology, I let you choose what to watch today.” MC she gets up, placing her hands on her hips, smiling proudly at me. "You're going to fall asleep as soon as I put on the movie," I answered, smiling mischievously "you always do it after a day's work." "I promise not to fall asleep," MC raises her hand as a promise "I'll watch the entire movie and then we'll discuss it." "Words are carried away by the wind, MC and I know you're going to fall asleep as soon as the first words appear, you're predictable." She taps me on the shoulder and I laugh "Do you want to try how dinner is turning out?" "Yes, let's see how you are, Mr. Chef." I pick up a spoon and make her taste it. She closes her eyes savoring, even licking the remains that remain on her lips. I want to be able to make them mine… << No, remember what you promised yourself, you have to forget her. Why does it cost you so much? >> "Well?" “Jake, if you ever get fired, dedicate yourself to cooking." "That's exaggerating." "No, I really mean it." She picks up another spoon and offers the food to me. “Try it." "Don't feed me." "Why? You can do it but I can't?" I sigh and end up accepting. I had tried it before but now, it tasted better. Maybe because she's giving it to me. "Am I right or not?" she asks. "Yes, yes... Go to setting the table, please, don't fool around, I'm making dinner." I teased, continuing with the cooking. "What? I've been working" the joke continues before leaving. I smile and Gizmo meows at me, almost as if he was reproaching me for what was happening in my mind when I saw her leave the kitchen. “Oh come on, I wasn't looking at her.” I reply, rolling my eyes. <<Little by little, I’m transforming into the old man of the cats. >> After dinner, we decided to put on a movie to relax from these crazy days we've had. But just as I guessed, MC fell asleep on my lap, exhausted after a day's work. I stroked her hair gently, observing her peaceful expression. "I wish every day could be like this…" I whispered. Her mobile screen lights up, a couple of messages appear on it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Phil I'm glad to hear that you did well today at work Rest well Princess, you deserve it ;) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That message gives me a blow to reality. Carefully, I took MC in my arms, to take her to her bed. Gizmo follows us and jumps onto her bed as he carefully lays her down. MC smiles hugging the pillow, but it's what she says in her sleep that surprises me the most. "I love you Jake…" she whispers as I tuck her in. Am I crazy or did she really say it? Chapter 18

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood phil #duskwood phil x mc #duskwood richy #duskwood thomas #duskwood dan #duskwood jessy #duskwood cleo #duskwood hannah #duskwood lilly #duskwood fanfic #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #everbyte game #everbyte studios #everbyte

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copias-thrall · 3 years

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Would it be alright to request some Papa IV x f!Reader? Like the reader is a very kind and sweet person and she has always supported Copia kind of thing? Maybe they’re having a whole day to themselves to celebrate?

Yes! Let’s get some more sweet Copia 😊

They made fun of him and called him The Rat.

Terzo made him the butt of all his pranks.

Nihil undermined him at every turn.

Imperator pushed him to the point of breaking.

What you saw a man trying to do his best with his only flaw being an outsider within the Abbey walls, and in a place where actual hellbeasts were basically demon cats, were rats such an odd choice of pet?

You were fairly certain Copia knew the “Squeak if u like cheze” sign was taped to his back, but he just walked down the corridors anyway and let the Siblings and Ghouls chitter at him. You’d seen this man save one of the Abbey mice from a glue trap, and your heart just couldn’t let it continue.

So, you’d approached him and offered to remove the offending paper.

Copia, however, had just smiled at you.

“It is good of you to say, Sister. But let them have their fun, eh?”

He’d given you a slight bow and had gone on his merry way.

After that, however, Copia had warmed to you, often seeking you out so he could sit with you in the mess hall at mealtimes or chat theology with you on lazy Saturday afternoons.

When some of Terzo’s faction had started stuttering to make fun of Copia’s shyness with public speaking, you’d tried to shut them down. Not everyone was good in front of a crowd—especially when that crowd was hostile. All that did, however, was get them to double down and start calling you, "rat lover."

“Doesn’t it bother you, Cardinal?" you'd asked during one of your food dates. "It’s so…petty.”

But he’d just given you a fond look.

“It is of no consequence, dear Sister. Let them be thinking what they will.”

You’d learned all of his rats’ names and started smuggling them contraband from the kitchens.

Copia had you transferred from Imperator’s admin pool to work as his assistant.

“All this new paperwork!” He’s swept his arm across the stacks of his desk. “I thought I could be using a little help from a friend, yes?”

You’d inherently understood you weren’t there to file paperwork—you were there to tell him when to take a break, to replace his cold coffee, and to be a sounding board.

And you didn’t miss the way Copia’s mismatched eyes would look on you with adoration.

Well, you thought he was pretty neat, too.

When he’d been away on his first tour, you’d done your best to keep up with him. You had your other duties and your friends, but you tried to send him a supportive word before, during, and after each performance.

His missives back had grown fewer as the tour had dragged on, but each one had been effusive—if riddled with typos.

After the first tour, things had been different. Copia had come back from the road a glowing success…and in a tight suit that showed off his assets instead of his smothering cassock.

The tide turned, and while there were still his many detractors, gone were the days of “kick me” signs and farces.

You’d noticed a significant pay increase and an extra day off.

“But Cardinal! You need me here!” you’d protested.

He’d simply grabbed your hands and kissed each one.

“I do. And that is why you must be well-rested. Lots to get done. Now, shoo!”

And truth be told, the two of you had worked harder. Copia had spent less and less time in his study and more time attending meetings or at band practice or at weekend symposiums. You’d done your best on keeping his mountain of paperwork down to a molehill, but sometimes the two of you needed to work late into the night to meet seemingly arbitrary deadlines while you put your foot down and told the kitchen Ghoul that making some rigatoni past hours wasn’t going to kill them.

Of course, then you needed to put your foot down about Copia stopping long enough to eat the carbonara. Sometimes he’d growl at you, and you’d have to snap your fingers at him and tell him being hangry wasn’t a good excuse to be snippy with you; he was predictably contrite after he’d consumed a good portion, and you took his apologies as your due.

All of which is to say: you had Copia’s back from the get-go, and he knew you were always in his corner.

When he comes back from Mexico newly ascended, there are dozens of Siblings who want a piece of him. Some—like you—have been in his fan club since day 1; others jumped on the bandwagon during the final tour; while a few just see the razzle dazzle and want to shine too.

You’re in his study because you want to make sure everything is caught up before he comes back to work. You imagine that he’s going to spend a few days reaping the rewards of his promotion, and—while a part of you feels a little let down about not being a part of that particular party—you are genuinely invested in Copia succeeding.

So when the door bangs open, you’re startled to find Copia…er…Papa Emeritus the 4th striding into the room.

“Oh! Your Dark Excellency! I was just making sure—”

“How did I be knowing I would find you here, eh? Today is not a day to be working!”

“But you—”

He makes a shushing noise and reaches his hands out. They linger in the air between the both of you until he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers.

Tentatively, you curl your fingers into his gloved ones.

“We are taking the day off, yes?”

“W-we?”

Copia raises an eyebrow at you. “Sí. With who else should I be celebrating?”

You blush, pleased that he seems genuinely baffled.

The March air is living up to its reputation, so Copia leads you to one of the sunniest rooms in the Abbey. There, you find a picnic blanket set up with a picturesque spread of food, and Rain helping Mountain to position a bevy of potted plants around the area.

Copia clucks at them good-naturedly to leave. Rain gives you the thumbs up and Mountain just pats you on the head as they leave. (As Copia’s Girl Friday, you’ve had to backmanage his ghoulies as much as you’ve had to organize his report piles.)

When he gestures for you to sit, you arrange yourself comfortably in a big square of sun that’s streaming in from the windows. As you take in the meats, cheeses, sandwiches, and fruits that populate the corner of the blanket, Copia putters around with a bottle of Champagne and two glasses.

The whole thing is a little unexpected, but not unwelcome, and you watch him with fondness as he utters a Whoopsie when the cork goes flying at the ceiling and as he obsesses over making each glass level.

You two clink glasses with a Salute, both taking a modest sip.

“This is lovely, Cop—uh, Papa.” He’s all smiles. “But why me?”

His eyebrows draw together, and he tilts his head at you.

“Mia cara…who else would it be?”

You blush and shrug your shoulders, looking down at your platter. When he takes your hand in his warm, leathered one, you look up and get lost in his earnest, mismatched gaze.

“You are the most important person in my life.”

His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You are too sweet, mia cara. Helping an old man—”

“You’re not old—”

He tsks at you.

“Helping a person I am being. At my side even when you are in the knowing.” He taps his nose and winks. “Our little conspiracy of silence, yes?”

That Copia is not quite exactly the bumbling, nutty-professor he leads the rest of the Clergy to believe he is? Yeah, obviously.

He nods.

“And yet, you are by my side. Keeping my head on straight. Because you are wanting to.”

Because you saw the way he treated his rats, his Ghouls, and even Sister Imperator. He may have a dangerous ambition, but he’s not a dangerous man.

“I believe in you Papa.”

He gives you that fond look again.

“Well. I believe in you too, Sister.”

Copia lets your hand go and claps.

“Now! Let us enjoy this feast! Next up is a movie marathon where we enjoy our food comas, yes?”

You pop a grape into your mouth.

“Of course, Papa.” You give him a devilish smile. “How ‘bout you give the schedule so I can make sure we’re on track, hm?”

He blinks at you for a moment before giving you his little rat laugh.

“Ah, eh heh heh! There is my little taskmaster.”

“What would you do without me?”

He tosses a gape and just barely catches it in his mouth.

“I wouldn’t, cara. I wouldn’t.”

#marionette-ghoulette #cardinal copia #papa iv #female reader #fluff

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

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Buon Compleanno (Don Giorno x Fem! Reader)

It's as the name says... This fic is close to my heart and I really enjoyed writing it for our Golden king's birthday. Mostly fluff, it does contain mentions of alcohol consumption though. I hope you all enjoy. ❤️🎊🎉😘🐞💭

P. S. Let the fluff ensue 💐

Word count: 2.5k

“So Mista... Fugo, are things ready on your end? I’ve got confirmation from North Island that everything is ready for us on their end. We have to stagger our arrivals so that Giorno doesn’t actually see you guys there until the party. All our villas are ready for our arrival and his presents are being safe guarded there until we arrive,” you beamed as you secretly went over the final checklist for Giorno’s birthday get away with the team and Trish.

Your friends had ever so thoughtfully come over to see you and Giorno off… well more so to iron out the last details of your master plan, but your boyfriend didn’t need to know that. Attempting to keep your plans for his birthday hidden from him was a near impossible feat. Trying to get him to take some time off and just live for himself was an even bigger task, but being who you are, you managed to plan everything down to the finest detail.

Trying to get the entire island to yourselves and plan the party of a century for your closest allies was a mammoth task, but it was what you felt Giorno deserved. In the years that he’s spent running Passione, he had always placed his own needs secondary to the needs of the organization, which is why you resolved to give him the best experience imaginable for his 21st birthday.

“Hi Giorno! We were just talking about you,” piped up Trish in a voice loud enough to alert everyone to the young don’s looming presence. Eyes widening for a split second, you manage to compose yourself without him catching on and flashed him a pleasant smile. You were taken aback by how handsome he looked dressed down in an azure linen Armani suit, hair braided loosely and cascading down his shoulder. He took his place at your side, casually circling his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Morning everyone, what’s this about me?”

“Oh, we’re just discussing what we’re going to be doing when you’re away… you know, cats and mice and the like,” joked Fugo, earning him a worried look from Giorno.

“Gosh, relax my love… come on, we have to go, it’s a pretty long flight,”

“Alright, alright, let’s go bella. Well, I’ll see you all in a few days’ time,” leaving to the collective goodbye wishes of your friends you set off to catch the private jet which would take you to the little piece of heaven in the Seychelles.

Upon landing at the airport, you were just one short helicopter flight away from your destination. Giorno’s demeanor was akin to that of a child on Christmas eve, taking in his beautiful surroundings on the helicopter. Stepping onto the helipad, you were greeted by the wonderful fresh scents of the salty sea air, clear blue seas and white sandy beaches for as far as the eye could see. After the welcome, you were lead to the main villa, given your golf cart and allowed yourselves to get settled in for the rest of the night, choosing to spend a quiet night lounging on the balcony overlooking the ocean.

Giorno couldn’t help but stare at your beautiful form. The way the moonlight bounced off the ocean behind you and illuminated your skin mesmerized him. He had known you ever since he had taken over Passione. You served as a valuable ally when it came to weeding out the members who were still unwilling to adopt his ideals. As the years marched on, he started seeking out your company more and more, until it became apparent that he was at his happiest when he was around you… and once the realization had dawned on him, he wasted no time in making you his. You fell hard, and fast, and it was so easy fall into step with each other’s lives, as if you had been created just for each other.

“Bella, this is incredible, I know I put up a bit of a fight but I’m so glad you did this…” he uttered with a dreamy look on his face.

“I’m glad you think so my love, you’re going to love the day I have planned for us tomorrow… Ah! Actually, later on today," you say, glancing at your watch, "it’s just past midnight! Happy birthday my love! I hope you know how much I love you, and I’m incredibly proud of you and all you have managed to accomplish at such a young age… you’re… you’re pretty amazing you know,” the emotions swirled around in Giorno’s eyes while listening to your heartfelt speech.

“(y/n) … I… you’re… I just love you so much tesoro, you’re everything I could ever want,”

“I love you too Gio… come on, it’s late, let’s get some rest,” you say while leading him to bed.

You rose early, just as the sun made its glorious appearance over the ocean. As early as you had woken up though, Giorno was already awake, nursing a cup of coffee as he stared pensively at the brilliant blue water.

“Good morning handsome, penny for your thoughts?” you greeted your lover, wrapping your arms lovingly around his shoulders and nuzzling into his soft hair.

“Good morning principessa… I’m just thinking about how much I love you…”

“Oh? Is that so, Mr. Giovanna? Well prepare to love me even more, go get ready, we have lots to do today,” you say, a lovely light, lilt coloring your voice.

“Any hints?”

“Wear something comfortable, something that we can walk around in,”

With that, your day had started with a guided hike through the island. Between Giorno’s life-imbuing ability and your affinity for adventure, you were both mesmerized by the flora and fauna you encountered on the hike. Once that was over you looked forward to coming back to a special couple’s massage which eased your sore muscles and relaxed you both into a dreamlike state. Finally, after your last treatments, you could get ready for your “dinner” at the piazza. Feeling a sense of pride as you put on the last of your accessories, you smiled at your reflection in the mirror while inspecting your stunning outfit, and grew even happier when you saw Giorno walking out in a casual charcoal grey Dior suit which matched your dress, but not his expression unfortunately.

“What’s the matter my love? You look great by the way…”

“Thank you tesoro… you’re quite the vision yourself,” standing behind you, sharing the mirror, he raked his fingers through his uncooperative hair, sighing in annoyance.

“Gio, stop- here, sit down, I’ll help you,” you say as you gently brush out the tangles and scrunch the wave back into his lovely golden hair. You carefully braid the length of his mane but leave his signature triad of ringlets out, admiring how beautifully the shorter sections of his hair framed his face.

“There…” you leaned back to admire your efforts, acknowledging the fact that you had a particularly exquisite model as well.

“Are you sure this is fine my love?” there was a hint of doubt in Giorno’s voice, but you made sure to banish any such thoughts.

“Of course, I love your hair like this,”

“Well, that’s good enough for me. Shall we leave my princess?”

“Yes… but can I drive the golf cart?” you ask, extending your arm to him, gesturing for the keys.

Speeding past the rest of the villas, you just wanted to make sure that everyone was already at the piazza ready to surprise the young don.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place my love? Or should we be at a different entrance, this looks like it’s closed,”

“Yes caro, come on, I’m sure the staff are inside… I’ve picked up on your habit of wanting to dine in solitude,” you explain as you walk towards the entrance hand in hand. Stepping into the restaurant, the lights dipped and instantly got brighter revealing your closest friends jumping out of their hiding spots with a collective, rambunctious yell of “surprise”, startling your unsuspecting boyfriend.

“Happy birthday my love,” you softly say once again, as the lively music started to play in the background.

“You… did all of this? For me?”

“Of course bello mio, well, I did have help though” you gestured behind Giorno, pointing out Mista, Trish and Fugo walking towards you both.

“Oi, happy birthday Giogio, haha, you look like you need a drink, I’ll be right back,” said Fugo as he went to order the first round of drinks for your little group. Between flitting amongst your guests, dancing with your handsome beau, and stealing moments away to be alone him, you almost forgot to give him his gifts, which were safely stored in the wine cellar of the establishment.

“Well, what do you think my love?” Giorno’s eyes widened when he saw the glass-encased, white Fender Stratocaster signed by just about every rock star, most importantly, his favorite guitarist, Jeff Beck.

“I’ve been looking for this for the longest time… how did you find it tesoro?”

“I also know some people… that’s not all, look next to it…” you motioned towards 5 Morocco solander boxes that housed a rare first edition of the complete 10 volumes of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.

“I thought that might look quite beautiful in your study… adding something especially meaningful to your collection,”

“I’m speechless (y/n) … you’ve gone to such great lengths…” you hush him with a passionate kiss preventing him from gushing about your efforts as you were determined to make this night about him.

“I’m sure we’ve been gone for too long, lets rejoin our guests my love,” you started to walk towards the staircase exiting the wine cellar, but you were pulled back against Giorno’s broad chest, grasping your face in his hand, he kissed you with so much fervor this time, leaving you flustered and battling to calm your racing heart. Noticing the effect, he managed to have on you, he gently coaxed you back upstairs with a wicked smirk.

“Hey, you’re back, we’ve been looking all over for you two. We have one more person who wants to say hello,” with a soft smile, Trish reaches behind her to pull out coco jumbo, which meant only one thing…

“Signore Polnareff! Even you…”

“You know I’ve always had a soft spot for pretty girls Giorno… Joyeux anniversaire! You’re a brave young man with a good head on your shoulders and integrity in your heart, always hold on to that,”

“Thank you signore Polnareff, it means a lot coming from you, considering…” cutting him off before Giorno could complete his sentence, Polnareff attempted to lighten the mood.

“Non non non, no sad thoughts tonight, get this man a drink someone, you’re all slacking here,” he said looking at you as you mouthed a small thank you in his direction.

“(y/n), you’ve really outdone yourself. Giogio, you’re a lucky man,” said Mista as he brought a special bottle of champagne for you all to raise a toast with. “Alright, while we’re all here in the same place, I just want to say that you’re all important to me…”

“Mista’s drunk guys, prepare yourselves,” Trish says with an eye roll resulting in hushed giggles as the gunslinger tried to (unsuccessfully) arrange his sentimental thoughts.

Unable to stand it any longer, Trish takes over and pays homage to Giorno, as well as the special people who had given everything in order for them to live, enabling them to carry on their will.

As the party raged on, you took a small break in a dim corner of the piazza, and took a moment to marvel at the fruits of your labor. Everybody was having the best time, including Giorno. After being called away by one of his associates, it filled your heart with fluttery sensations watching the man you loved finally able to act his age for once.

“May I sit with you, carina?” startled out of your musings, you find an old friend standing over you.

“Lorenzo, of course, please, have a seat,” you offer emphatically.

“So, how is one half of Passione’s power couple doing?” his question earning a loud giggle from you. You continued to make conversation with Lorenzo, until Trish came to inform you that one of the service providers needed to confirm a few details with you, so you politely excused yourself and followed Trish. You were confused as she lead you to a secluded part of the beach, where you find Giorno standing alone, staring broodingly at the ocean for the second time that day. You realized that she just made an excuse draw you away to check on Giorno, being slightly concerned yourself after seeing the expression on his face.

“Gio? My love, what’s the matter? Did you just need some fresh air?” he turned to faced you with the softest smile.

“You know bella, I’ve loved you so deeply for years now… you always know what I need… even before I do. I never really feel complete anymore unless you’re with me… which is strange because I’ve always been content on my own. And then it hit me, you will always hold a part of me, and I’ll always seek you out because of it… You’ve given me probably the best experience of my life tonight, but, there’s just one more thing I would like from you to make the day perfect…” you felt light-headed when you saw Giorno moving to kneel down on one knee, pulling out a little trinket box, opening it to reveal the most beautiful ring.

“(y/n), would you give me the greatest gift and agree to spend the rest of your life with me as my wife?”

Emotions tugged at your pretty features, as you whispered a breathy affirmation, while nodding excitedly. Exhaling sharply with a stunning smile, Giorno got back to his feet and placed the elegant ring on your finger, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss thereafter. You threw your arms around his neck, and held him tightly, before the realization dawned on you.

“Wait! How long have you been planning this, Gio? Your question was met with his soft, exasperated laugh.

“Oh! For the longest time amore, I’ll admit though, your plans had forced me to adapt my own, but I had some help in achieving all of this… Trish is a lifesaver,” explained your new fiancé with a hint of pride in his voice.

“I love you Gio, but you managed to hijack your own celebration… I don’t know what to do with you!” the mock exasperation dripping from your voice drew a small laugh from Giorno.

“That’s your problem now tesoro, you already agreed to marry me, no take backs,” with that, you both decide to return to the festivities. Intertwining your fingers with his as you slowly walked back, you both stole loving glances at each other, communicating your intense affections for each other through your eyes alone… perhaps it was as he said, you mused… that a part of your soul resided with him also, and so you always sought him out to feel complete too, just as he did with you.

#giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno x y/n #jojo x reader #jjba x reader #giorno #giorno giovanna #don giorno #don giovanna #vento aureo #jjba #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #giogio #jojo no kimyou na bouken #Happy birthday Giorno #jjba fanfic #jjba fluff #my writing

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crystaljins · 3 years

Text

River lead me home | 09 FINAL

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Ahhh. We’re finally here. At the ending.

I feel like so much happened since I started writing this fic. I’ve been through so many ups and downs, and so have my characters. And you guys are probably the same; I wonder what adventures you guys went on as I posted this? I hope they were fun ones.

Anyway, thank you for sticking around for this long journey home. I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and I hope you enjoyed following these guys on their adventure.

Till next time, my loves.

Tags: @blue1928 @veeparkersstuff

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s a long journey home. The three of you stay with the mice long enough to see the first of the recovered victims poke their little noses out of their burrows. The mayor, a harried, round little mouse with hay coloured fur and absurdly long whiskers, cannot express his gratitude deeply enough, other than to procure the three of you a comfortable stay in a nearby inn.

The journey back is only slightly less fraught with danger. The Saishtas think the two of you are dead, and not long after you part ways with the mice, new begins to circulate in the local areas that the might, evil Saishta queen has died and that her kingdom has fallen into disarray. You come across one or two of the insidious lizardpeoples after that but none of them approach or acknowledge you. Why bother, when they failed to save their queen?

After hearing that news, it’s more of a relaxed journey. You all head on from town to town, purchasing supplies and another bed roll for Jungkook. Jin is strangely eager to spend what little currency you have on the most comfortable bedroll he can find, and when Jungkook suggests he just continues to share in the interest of saving funds, Jin nearly has an aneurysm.

Jin’s behaviour is probably the strangest part of the journey. He’s not cold or standoffish like he normally is when having a crisis, but he’s definitely gentler. More reserved but also warmer. It’s not unwelcome. In fact, you can’t help but wonder. If the war had never come, would this be the life you had with Jin? Endless adventures amongst the thrilling dangers of your home realm?

You bring the thought up to Jin and Jungkook one night, while the three of you huddle together over a fire, snacking on some of the dried meats you’d purchased from the last town.

Jin looks surprised at the thought.

“I’ve always thought it would be you and Taehyung going on the big adventures.” He points out. “The two of you were never able to hold still, even for a moment.” His smile is warm and fond as he recalls your childhood.

“You’d have been dragged along.” Jungkook counters through a particularly chewy mouthful. “You’d probably be married to (Y/N) and forced to follow her around keep her out of trouble.”

Oddly, you expect Jin to flush, or protest, or attempt to strangle Jungkook. You certainly feel a bit flushed at the thought. But Jin is unfazed- he merely offers a secretive smile and tilts his head curiously at you. You couldn’t decipher the look if you tried, but it has your throat feeling tight.

You change the conversation topic after that, but it’s not the only way that Jin has changed. A few days later, the three of you are attempting to cross a little slippery creek when you lose your footing.

You stumble over a few rocks and land on your hands and knees. Even in the deepest part of the creek it only comes up to your mid-thighs when you are on all fours.

Jin skids to a stop beside you, crouching before you in the water. He doesn’t seem to care about the way his clothes become soaked.

“Are you hurt?” He demands. You take stock of your injuries- a scraped knee, a bruised shin, the palms of your hands rubbed raw. Nothing that won’t be gone in an hour or two.

“I’m fine.” You reassure him.

He nods awkwardly for a moment and then offers “I could kiss it better?”

It takes you a few blinks to comprehend his words, and even then, it makes you re-evaluate the severity of your injuries.

“What?” You demand, shocked. He shrugs and looks away.

“Like when we were kids. I could kiss it better. You used to always refuse to stop crying until I kissed you. We could try that again.” He offers nonchalantly. You must have hit your head. It’s the only explanation. You can only stare, your mouth dropped into an “o”.

“I guess that’s a no.” Jin finally says, oddly sulky in the way he says it. “Just thought I’d offer.”

You wish you could say that it’s the strangest of his behaviour, but it’s not. The rest of the journey goes like that- if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jin was flirting. Albeit, in a weirdly awkward, tentative way. Even Jungkook notices it.

“Do you think he’s finally gone mad? Maybe the extreme social media detox has made all his brain cells shrivel up and die.” Jungkook whispers conspiratorially one night while the two of you wonder a small village that is throwing a little festival. Colourful lanterns line the streets and the various creatures that inhabit the village are dressed in bright colours. Jin had decided to stay back at the inn but the two of you had wanted to explore.

“It’s the only logical explanation.” You concede, as much as it physically pains you to agree with Jungkook in anything.

“All I have to say is, if this is how he flirts I have no idea how he gets so many dates.” Jungkook laments, and your eyes widen.

“Stop.” You laugh. “He’s not flirting. It’s Jin. He thinks of me like an unwanted houseplant.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” Jungkook asks suddenly. His gaze is probing, and the mood is oddly serious for what you thought was a joking conversation.

“What?” You ask, caught off-guard.

“What if he’s actually flirting? Hypothetically. What would you do?” He questions.

You go silent, as you contemplate your answer. Honestly, you’re not stupid enough to entertain the thought of Jin liking you back. But something about Jungkook’s earnestness has you genuinely considering it.

“I don’t know.” You finally admit. You sigh, suddenly feeling tired.

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks, tentative and almost gentle. He tilts his head curiously. “Do you like him?”

The question startles you. It feels like it’s been so long since you came to term with your feelings that you forgot not everyone else was aware of your revelation. Honestly, even to yourself it had filtered to the back of your mind. An unchanging fact, rarely acknowledged. The sky is blue. Jungkook is annoying. You are in love with Kim Seokjin.

“I do.” You finally admit. You’re reaching the end of the street where most of the festivities are taking place- the crowd is thinning and more distance separates each lantern.

“Then, if he were flirting... wouldn’t the answer be that you’d date him?” Jungkook asks. He’s pulling a face like he’s working out a rather complex maths problem. “Why don’t you know what you’d do?”

The two of you settle at the end of the street. Roughly hewn chairs are scattered randomly across the little square. In the corner, a large, greyish being snoozes, and a small group of little humanoid trees laugh over something and chatter in a foreign language.

“I feel like there’s too much to sort out first. Like... to date him I’d have to be better. I’d have to have a job. And I’d have to have apologised to my mother. I’d need to stop spongeing off the people around me. And maybe live out of home. Be a proper, human adult.” You list. “The me that I am now... I couldn’t date Jin. I’m not... I’m not...”

“Good enough?” Jungkook finishes the words gently. There’s a sad look in his eyes, and it surprises you.

You nod.

“Yeah.” You admit, and your voice is oddly choked. It’s weird- you had thought you were at peace with your feelings. You were meant to be happy with whatever scraps of affection Jin threw your way. But you’re not- there’s a deep, miserable ache in your chest that won’t go away.

Jungkook uses his sleeves to dab at the tears you didn’t even know were slipping down your cheeks.

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook offers. “Jin doesn’t actually care about that stuff. The only reason he makes a big deal out of it is because he thinks you’ll be happy if all that stuff works out.” He tells you. “And hey. Someone once told me that the best things are the scariest to start- maybe this is one of those times?”

After that, you call it a night, and Jungkook doesn’t bring the topic up again. But you can’t forget his words. The closer to the portal the three of you draw, the more the ache in your chest grows; the closer you get to going back to normal life. What happens to you and Jin when you step back into the human realm?

What if Jungkook’s words are true? Would you... would you have to return to normal? Could you have more? Is it stupid that a part of your stupid, traitorous heart longed for it to be true with each new step towards home?

There’s a surefire way to find out; if you ask him. But you can’t. The words die in your throat every time you even consider it. You remember how he freaked out when Jungkook suggested it earlier on the trip. He likely already knows your feelings despite your denial, and it is only your constant denial otherwise that allows the two of you to exist in this strange limbo. If you stopped denying them, he’d have to address those feelings and then what? It would be back to square one- the avoidance and awkwardness as you cling to the shambles of your friendship.

You can’t go back to that- you’ve fought so hard to fix what is between you, to salvage things. Would it be worth risking it, just in the hopes that you and Jin could be more?

The night before you reach the portal, all the nerves and worries you have build up to the point that you find yourself gazing up listlessly at the canopy overhead. The branches interlace and you can perk glimpses of the stars beyond. This is the last glimpse you will get of these stars. You have already decided you won’t come back here. It’s time to stop looking back and only look forward.

Yet, despite your resolve, despite everything, sleep evades you. Tomorrow, real life awaits. An existential sort of dread has gripped you.

With a sigh, you sit up. To your right, Jungkook has curled into a tight ball as he peacefully rests. But to your surprise, Jin’s bedroll is empty. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him move.

It doesn’t take long to locate him. Only a short distance away, where the vegetation is a bit lighter and a clear patch of sky shimmers overhead, Jin lounges peacefully. He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky overhead as the starlight gilds his face in breathtaking silver.

Wordlessly, you step towards him. A twig snaps beneath your feet and Jin whirls around in surprise. When he spots you, he smiles and gentle pats the open space beside him.

Awkwardly, you settle beside him, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He questions, his eyes closed serenely. The soft sound of wind and distant sounds of wildlife filters through the night air.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice heavy with a sigh. He blinks open one eye to peer curiously at you. It’s the most relaxed and open you’ve seen him in a long time. “What about you? You couldn’t sleep either?”

Jin shrugs.

“I could have.” He informs you. “But I thought I’d enjoy my last night in this realm instead.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Jin has made it clear throughout the trip that this journey has been anything but enjoyable.

“Enjoy?” You say, only slightly incredulous. He nods and opens both eyes to stare up the sky.

“I’m as shocked as you.” He concedes. “This place has only ever meant bad things to me. It’s why I could never understand your fixation with it.”

You grimace.

“I kind of get it now, though.” He admits, before you can complain to him. “It’s a pretty beautiful place.”

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Jin shrugs.

“You did.” He answers simply.

“M-me?” You’re not sure why you stutter; perhaps it is the strange look to his eyes as he turns fully to face you. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek against them, watching you lazily.

“Yup.” He says, as if it’s the easiest confession in the world. “When I used to think about this place, all I could think about was the night we fled. My dad didn’t even time to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed me by the wrist and held on so tight I had bruises. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember the place that had caused us so much pain. And you... you were such a shell. I felt like one of my best friends had died in this realm and I was so angry at what it had taken from me.” His gaze is distant with recollection. “And then I was mad at you, because you couldn’t forget no matter what I did.” He gazes at you. “But now it’s finally given me something.”

You’re startled, by his heartfelt words. You’ve always known Jin hated this realm, hated the way the beings of this realm had driven you all out. But you didn’t know you had such a huge role in his opinion of it. “You.” He finishes. “So I guess I can’t really hate this place after all.”

You’re struck speechless in that moment, and your heart swells with an overwhelming feeling. You already know you love the man before you, but in that moment, you’re shocked at just how much. A feeling bubbles up at the base of your chest- your heart feels fit to burst.

“What do you mean?” You ask- is this feeling hope? What does Jin mean, when he says the realm gave him you?

Jin merely shrugs.

“I’ll let you speculate.” He tells you, shooting you a coy smile, an oddly cheeky look that he’s given to his friends before but never to you. But then his expression shifts into something more serious. “I think there are more pressing things to discuss first, though. Like why you’re sitting here with me instead of sleeping?”

The warm feeling from earlier instantly evaporates as you recall the reason for your melancholy.

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You confess. “About going home. I’ve... I’ve really enjoyed this trip. And I’m excited to go home. But I’m just so...” you struggle to find the word. “So...”

“Nervous?” Jin suggests. He shuffles so he’s just a bit closer. His shoulder brushes yours- if you extended your neck, you could rest your head against his broad shoulders. A strange electricity buzzes through your body at the thought- it reminds you of your fight over the fungus a few days ago. The air had felt strangely charged then as well.

“Yeah.” You admit, swallowing past a dry throat. “There’s a lot to do, back home.”

“Back home?” Jin echoes, and then his smile turns warm. His mouth carefully forms the word “home” and his eyes wrinkle into two joyous crescent moon shapes. “I guess there is.” He acknowledges. “But you’ve already made the first step. You’re calling the human realm home.”

That startles you. Obviously, it is your home. But you hadn’t realised how instinctive that had become until this moment; at some point the human realm had stopped being that uncomfortable alien place, and had become the place you’re meant to go back to. Home. Jin watches you process the words carefully before he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He tells you softly. The tone to his voice is oddly vulnerable and delicate. Something delicate hovers between you like the flutter of a pixie’s wing. “You said you wanted to work things out together, right? So, you don’t have to be nervous because I’ll be there with you.”

He looks away and his expression is surprisingly shy. “I know you said I don’t have to be the guy with it all worked out, but I still want to try. It makes me happy. Being there for you. So even if you’re nervous... we’ll work it out together, right?”

It is that exact moment that you figure it out. Earlier, you had been uneasy at Jungkook’s line of questioning. You didn’t feel worthy of Jin’s love and affection, and that made you afraid. Because you couldn’t bear to lose him. You still can’t bear to lose him. But gazing into the warm eyes before you, you know you won’t ever lose him. The two of you have braved death together- you’ll make it through anything.

You feel lighter then, and you offer Jin a smile.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Jin smiles back.

“Any time.” He whispers back to you in answer.

Sleep comes easily after that, and so too does the end of your journey. All too soon you stand before the portal back home.

The trip feels like it’s taken a thousand years and no time at all at the same time. By your calculation, the entire journey has taken almost a month, with all the detours and misadventures. That means almost six hours have passed in the human realm. Jin has almost definitely missed his dinner plans, and your mother is probably starting to wonder why you aren’t home yet.

“What will you do, when you go back?” Jin asks. Jungkook has already stepped through and you’re surprised that Jin is making conversation now, of all times.

“Apologise to my mother.” You say easily. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save my snapchat streaks and apologise to Joon.” Jin shares. He’s nervously twisting his fingers together. The energy he gives off is like an uneasy teenager about to do a huge public speech. It’s a big contrast from the person her was last night. Like he’s bracing himself for something.

You thought you’d be bracing yourself too. On the other side is hard work and futile dreams and a bleary, dull city.

But on the other side is your mother, your friends, your family. Your evil cat waits for you on the other side; the life your father dreamed of for you is on the other side. You had thought that so much in your life is wrong, and now that the portal is here, you realise that it’s not. It’s just life. Things go wrong and things go right. Like the path of a river, cutting through the vast, unknown wilderness. You had been thinking of it this whole time like you’d flip a switch and things would be easy. But that’s not what it’s going to be like on the other side of this portal, and it’s not really what you want things to be like. It’s an adventure of a different kind.

And it’s an adventure that you want to share... with Jin.

You remember what Jungkook had said- the best things in life are the scariest to start. And you’re scared now. No, you’re terrified. But if you’re this scared, then you know that this moment is going to be huge. Life-changing. You can’t keep the words in a moment longer. You don’t want to. You’ve spent too long running and fearing and hesitating and overthinking. But you’re confident, that the two of you will survive this even if he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’re ready to take that risk.

The river loves those who take the plunge.

“Jin,” you call, and you thought that if you ever did this that you’d be lost for words. But you’re not. Because you’re finally ready. Last night had solidified that for you. The words come easily. “You remember how you said that I look at you a certain way?”

You turn and face him, and he looks bewildered.

“Like you’re my hero.” You recall. And then you steel yourself and meet his gaze. It’s the same eyes you’ve known all your life. The same eyes you want to look into for the remainder of your life. “It’s because you are my hero. No, actually, it’s more than that.” You assert, and he just stares, completely dumbstruck. “I look at you like that because I love you. Because I admire you and think you’re strong and brave and kind, and even if you’re not the guy who has it all together, I still feel the same way. And I lied when I said I just wanted you to be my friend. I thought it was enough, but it’s not- I want to be your partner. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your girlfriend.” You say. And then you summon all the exciting fluttering feels in your chest and let it pour into your smile. “I love you, Kim Seokjin.”

Before you stands something you never thought you’d see. Kim Seokjin, the mastermind behind the Jant, is completely speechless. And then slowly, very slowly, he opens his mouth to give a response.

“Are you dead?” Jungkook demands as the upper half of his body appears once more through the portal. “It’s been like 30 seconds in that realm which is approximately ten years in this realm if my maths is correct!”

You spring back from Jin. You’re startled at how far you have to step back- had you really been standing that close?

“R-right.” You stutter. You feel like you’ve been caught cheating on a diet or something equally scandalous. “We’re coming.”

Jin just looks annoyed.

“No we’re not. Give us a minute.” He snaps at Jungkook, placing a palm against Jungkook’s head and shoving him back through the portal none-too-gently. He then turns urgently back to you. “What did you just say?” He demands. His intensity has you cowering slightly- your bravado from earlier leaves you.

“I said “we’re coming”?” You recall, attempting to divert the topic, but Jin steps closer.

“No you didn’t. You said you love me. And that you want to be my girlfriend.” He accuses.

“If you knew, why did you ask me?” You grumble. And then your expression softens. “But yes. I did say that. And it’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I know you could have any girl you want and I won’t be mad if you want someone else.” You reassure him quickly. He just stares, offering you no indication of whether he’d processed your words. It’s uncomfortable, but you suppose your words were going to be uncomfortable. You’re changing the very nature of your relationship by voicing them aloud. “But if you were willing... maybe you could give me a chance?” You trail away.

Still, Jin just continues to look at you blankly. He looks like he’s a robot that just encountered a programming error. Hesitantly, you reach out to tap his shoulder, just to make sure he hasn’t died or suddenly been transformed into stone.

A hand shoots up. It grabs your wrist, halting its movements. Jin’s eyes bug out of his head.

“YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?” He all but screeches. You flinch- you hadn’t anticipated a jant in response to your confession. “YOU HAD THE WHOLE TRIP TO SAY YOUR FEELINGS AND YOU SAY IT NOW? YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED ONE DAY?”

His nostrils flare as he releases your wrist so that he can point accusingly at you.

“You had all your chances! You could have said it on the way to the forest spirit! Or when the Saishtas were chasing us! Or when we landed in the ravine! You’ve had literally the whole trip and you wait until right before I’m going to confess?” He spits out in that rapid-fire way that you’ve never seen another person be able to replicate.

And then you process his words.

“Wait-“ you say, hoping to abort the jant so that you have enough time to comprehend what he’s saying.

It’s no use.

“Seriously! I had a whole plan, (Y/N)! We were going to go to dinner and I was going to buy you flowers and I was going to ease you into it! But no! You just had to beat me to it, and for what? For what? So that you can make a half-assed confession right before we step into an alley next to a brothel?” He laments.

“It’s not half-assed-“ you protest, because you’d poured your heart out to Jin.

He steps in menacingly.

“Take it back.” He demands. Your eyes widen.

“What?” You cry, defensively. To your credit, you only cower a little which is an impressive feat for someone on the receiving end of a jant.

“Your confession! Take it back!” He orders.

“No!” You argue back. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You are!” Jin counters. “You’re going to take it back and we’re going to do it properly, over dinner, and you’re going to have washed hair and I’m going to-“

You don’t let him finish whatever stupid thoughts were filtering through his brain. If he wants a proper, romantic confession, then he’s going to get one! You hear a sharp intake of breath from him as your lips press to his. They’re slightly chapped after such a long period of rough travel, but the sensation is still pleasant. Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel like you’re about to burst.

It takes Jin a moment to respond. But when he does, it’s with an intensity that is almost frightening. You’re startled by the way he pulls you close. It’s like the electricity from last night, but multiplied a hundred-fold. If you thought your heart was ready to burst before, it is nothing compared to the way molten lava fills your chest when his hands come up to gently cradle your face and deepen the kiss.

When you finally recall that oxygen is something you need, Jin pulls away and searches your gaze. His hands slide down to your waist, resting delicately along the flare of your hips. His face is bright red but his eyes are determined.

Something about the way he is looking at you has you feeling shy.

“That was weird, huh?” You stammer, trying to cover the way you feel so completely overwhelmed. “Sorry.” Your heart is dancing in your chest. It’s all too much for one person to feel and you’re just not really sure what to do with the sensation. Did he feel it too? This weird tension, like you’re a balloon about to pop?

Jin doesn’t break eye contact and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

“Hard to say.” He finally says, breaking his long spell of silence. He then grabs at either side of your face, puckering his lips obnoxiously. “I think we need to try again to be sure.”

You barely have time to protest before he’s attempting to pull you in for a second kiss, although you slap a hand over his mouth to halt his advance.

“Wait!” You accuse. “You can’t just kiss me and not respond to what I said!”

“I already told you.” He snaps. “Your confession doesn’t count until we do it properly. Now if you excuse me-“ He grabs you by the elbows and tugs you back towards him, attempting to kiss you once more, but you stop him with a hand pressed to his chest. His expression turns pleading. “Just one more time.” He requests.

You swallow, and gaze into his eyes. It’s not an unfamiliar look, you realise. He’s looked at you like this before, but you now realise what the emotion was behind that look.

“I love you.” You tell him. “I told you like this because yes. I couldn’t wait one more day. I don’t want to wait another day without you knowing. I love you.” You say one more time, just for good measure.

His expression crumbles and he sighs in resignation, before pulling you tightly against him. His embrace is warm, and secure. It’s no different from all the other times he’s hugged you in your life, and yet nothing is the same.

“Fine.” He says, into the crook of your neck. “But I’m not saying it back until we have a proper date.”

He pulls out of the hug and the love in his gaze is overwhelming. It’s not a confession, per se, but his intent is as clear as day.

He loves you. You know he does.

“Deal.” You say back, and his response is his eyes crinkling up as he offers you that special smile, the one that he only shows when he’s really, truly happy. “But you’re paying.”

“How about we save any important conversations for the side of the portal where we’re not in constant mortal danger?” Jungkook demands, his head once more poking through the portal. There’s an awkward silence as he glances between the two of you, and then he groans. “Seriously? You had the entire journey to sort this out and you waited until now? You couldn’t even just leave it until after dinner?”

“Sorry!” You apologise quickly, going to follow Jungkook’s lead through the portal. But a hand wrapped around your wrist stops you- you hadn’t even noticed Jin had grabbed you.

You turn to gaze questioningly at him, and he shrugs, shifting his hands until he can interlace his fingers with yours.

“Wait. Let’s go together.” He requests, then pauses. “Can we?”

Something about this moment feels monumental. Huge. You’ve braved enemy encampments, crossed mountains. You’ve gone free-falling into giant ravines and overcome furious forest spirits.

And yet this moment feels like the start to your biggest adventure yet. From this point on, real life starts. You smile at Jin and he returns it.

“Yeah.” You say. “Let’s go together.”

Jin’s reply is covered by Jungkook’s annoyed call through the portal:

“What did I just say? Hurry up!”

~Fin~

#castlebangtan #thebtswritersclub #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #writing

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themurphyzone · 3 years

Text

This post is a combination of the 90s PatB alongside the reboot’s Ep 13. Spoilers below.

So...I was certainly not expecting a flashback in this ep. Great usage of the ‘everyone asks how, but no one ever asks why’ question by Pinky.

No matter the adaptation, Brain is always presented as a mouse with a pathological need for control because he sorely lacked it as a young mouse. When he loses that control, whether in this episode with being locked in a car and taken on a road trip against his will, or in other episodes with different situations, he’ll lose control of himself, the very thing he’s trying to avoid.

Anyways, the flashback presented in this episode can reasonably fit with the origin episodes in the 90s PatB, so I’m gonna try and present these in an order that can fit together, so let’s start off with Leggo My Ego, shall we?

Anyway, Brain starts life as an innocent field mouse. Ain’t he the cutest little thing you’d ever see?

Um...hey guys, maybe we could let the cute mouse baby blow a feather around and be happy?

Nope...oof. Time to begin a life of trauma.

He’s a babey.... He needs hugs! How do you people not have sympathy for him??????

So basically, the 90s cartoon presents several origins and some of them are more contradictory than others. I believe Leggo My Ego and The Visit are the only episodes that mention Brain was originally a wild mouse captured by humans, but it’s generally the most widely accepted origin for him.

In Leggo My Ego, Freud notes that Brain’s desire for world domination appears to be a subconscious desire to return to the simple life he once led.

So..let’s bring in Snowball now.

In this post, I’m trying to be chronological here. In this flashback, Brain describes how he and Snowball were once very close and how he could always make Snowball laugh.

Brain and Snowball grew up together, and Brain genuinely cared about Snowball, even into adulthood when the two became enemies.

They went through the gene splicer together after an experiment gone wrong. The gene splicer exploded and supposedly messed with Snowball’s mind.

Snowball did something that caused him to get kicked out of ACME Lab. The rift became permanent, though what was the exact cause or if clashing ambitions fueled it is unknown.

This event left a permanent mark on Brain, and Pinky himself had never heard about Snowball until he tried to steal one of Brain’s schemes.

But anyway, the exact timeline of the splicing and the break in friendship is unknown. So...I think this flashback in the reboot’s Ep 13: Roadent Trip might fill one of the blanks in on an event that might’ve occurred during Brain’s time with Snowball, before he met Pinky.

Alright, so for this post’s sake, I’m going to present the new flashback as if it took place shortly after Brain’s splicing with Snowball. I’m also going to disregard the 90s PatB episode Project BRAIN, because there’s stronger canon evidence that Brain was born in the wild and that he grew up with Snowball. However, I do enjoy keeping that Brain named Pinky.

Anyways, that’s enough for the introduction. Grab your tissues if you haven’t already.

Pinky: “You’re always trying to work out how to take over the world, but you’ve never told me why you want to take over the world, Brain.”

*moment of silence*

Pinky: “Brain?”

Brain: “If I answer this, you’ll let me expire in peace?”

Honestly, a GIF would do Brain’s reaction justice, because he doesn’t outright dismiss Pinky’s question. He’s more hesitant because he realizes this moment is going to lead to a heart to heart talk, something he’d rather not engage in. And you know what? I can’t recall any instance of Brain admitting to Pinky about why he wanted to take over the world, just how or that he was going to do it with this particular plan.

I think this correlates well with Leggo My Ego above; that Brain doesn’t reflect on the ultimate driving force behind his actions, just that he wants it and he’s going to somehow get it. If he does have a moment of clarity, he always dismisses it and goes right back to the drawing board.

And most importantly, that he just wants love and respect. Does he create his own misery? Yes. But at the same time, he’s sadly a product of the combination of human curiosity and ignorance.

So...I deeply apologize for this tangent real quick before I move onto the rest of this post.

*takes deep breath*

LOOK AT THIS BABY HE’S SUCH A CUTIE I WANNA HUG HIM SO BAD HE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS CRAP YOU WILL LOOK AT HIM AND YOU WILL LOVE HIM

Okay, so like I said before, due to his head shape and how he seems to display early cognitive abilities here, I honestly think the best timeframe for this would be sometime in the 90s, just after his and Snowball’s splicing. Again, Brain was ultimately a child in Snowball, but since he’s the one narrating, we’re led to assume he set his sights on the world right away.

Actually, it seems more likely that while Brain’s capacity for knowledge was enhanced, he still had to make the effort to learn. What he knows as an adult didn’t come all at once. So here, he has cognition, but he’s still fairly optimistic because the weight of the world truly hasn’t set in yet.

Alright, so my explanation is that Snowball was elsewhere in the lab, and that they’re simply separated for the day. Brain was lifted out of an experiment with other mice, and placed directly into a solo study.

The scientists place a huge slice of cheese on a stun plate, with the intention that Brain will be shocked if he tries to go for the cheese. Of course, who would be able to resist having this much food placed in front of them? I certainly wouldn’t.

But the moment he tries to go for the cheese, he gets shocked. But since he’s very much learning, he doesn’t understand why he gets shocked if he steps on the plate.

It’s this pose that makes me believe he’s spliced at this point. Brain adopts that thinking pose well into adulthood. However, he doesn’t really have a plan. He just thinks he’ll succeed if he goes for it enough times, much like the world.

Also, compare his tail shape between this photo and the one above it. Rather fitting for it to be a lightning bolt, is it not? Mice tails do get kinked in real life if handled improperly, which is very much the case here too.

Scientist 1: “The idea is that once we remove the electronic stimulus, he still won’t go for the cheese.”

Scientist 2: “Learned helplessness.”

And sadly...their hypothesis is proven correct.

And the thing is, Brain does recognize that the shock is turned off. He does learn that he shouldn’t touch the plate. So he tries once more...

And stops.

Even with the cheese’s proximity, it’s still unattainable. The only thing that holds Brain back is himself. He wants the cheese, but he’ll get hurt if he tries to go for it. So...despite there being no obvious danger, Brain doesn’t go for it again.

Learned Helplessness Wikipedia Page Link

This could potentially be the moment where Brain finally loses his innocence. He has to control everything because the moment he doesn’t...he’ll get shocked.

Notice how everything Brain’s ever wanted at any stage is always in close proximity to himself? In Leggo My Ego, he was extremely close to his parents and the tin can upon capture. In Snowball, he clearly desired companionship, but he and Snowball were never in the same cage. In this flashback, the cheese is ripe for the taking with the shock turned off, and he doesn’t try again.

Brain is able to learn. And he learns that the world is cruel, that he’s only an interesting specimen for science with no autonomy of his own. He learns that he has to be in control to stop hurting so much.

“From that day hence, I vowed I would be the one in control. Of myself, of my surroundings, of the world. Yet again, here I am, totally helpless.”

Okay, I swear this wasn’t intentional and I didn’t notice this until I made this post, but look at how similar the final pose in the flashback and Brain’s pose in this shot are.

That in some ways, Brain is still that child with simple desires. Maybe he phrases them differently, but that’s what it ultimately boils down to.

And from Brain’s emotionally charged delivery of the above line, this experience was so traumatic that he kept it hidden for two decades.

And while the cheese is supposed to represent how he can’t obtain the world despite living in it, I think there’s another thing that went unstated. It also happens to represent:

Pinky is the cheese. Brain won’t step on a stun plate if he tries to touch Pinky. Rather, Pinky will welcome any affectionate gesture with open arms.

But Brain believes he’ll be hurt if he tries. The humans set the precedent. Desire affection, desire love, you’ll get hurt, they taught him.

The only thing holding Brain back is himself.

And it’s absolutely tragic.

Be like Pinky. Give Brain a hug.

If you’ll excuse me, Imma go cry.

#pinky and the brain #animaniacs spoilers #patb spoilers #long post #animaniacs reboot #also i'm sorry i fooled you into believing this post would actually have good analysis #that's how all these start out and it quickly devolves me into crying over cute mouse babies

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miracle-sham · 3 years

Text

Long for Who You Could Have Been.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 4, Day 19: Mistakes} |

———

| They might be monster hunters and that might mean their lives are fraught with chaos and danger. But there were moments in between the contracts and courts, fragile and wavering like the dying embers of a flame; where pasts, and hopes, and dreams were shared in the refuge of the campfire. |

| Word Count: 1,764. |

———

| A/N: So this is my second to last Jasonette July fic but the last to actually be posted in July since the other fic (Prompt: Loss) is taking longer than expected to write, whoops! Anyway here's a shorter Witcher au that's mostly fluff with a tinge of sadness here and there. Definitely feels weird to be using/needing so few tags for the first time in a long while! Lastly, thanks to my friend Saf whose reactions to the snippets I send her, absolutely fuel my will to write! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

The fire crackled gently, flames flickering in soft almost hypnotising patterns. The light and warmth were all that was keeping the chilling coastal mist at bay, from reaching their little makeshift camp.

Crescent moon and stars twinkled above, shining their silvery light down to mix with the ghostly mist below.

It was almost haunting, in the precious silence, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of waves against the cliff rocks not too far away. And the low hum of the local nocturnal bugs and other such creatures; the flap of bat wings, the cry of an owl, the flutter of moths and beetles, the scuttling of hedgehogs, mice, and foxes. The air was still, not even the faintest sea breeze and yet the fret rolled and crept and seeped into every nook and cranny outside of the protective glow of the campfire.

Jason sat on one side of the fire, on his bedroll and worked on cleaning his silver and steel swords with a rag, not quite humming as he quietly mouthed the words to a jaunty little tavern song, the Fishmonger's Daughter.

On the opposite side of the campfire, on her own bedroll, Marinette had a cloak splayed out across her knee with a needle and thread in hand. Tongue sticking out slightly, in concentration, carefully she darned away at the numerous little holes that had formed from walking through the thorny bush filled forest that their current contract had led them into entering.

With a huff, Jason threw the cleaning rag at the saddlebag on the ground beside him. He sheathed his swords and pulled out his favoured weapon, the crossbow with steel and silver-tipped bolts. Immediately he began checking the bolts for any potential damage and ensuring the shooting mechanism on the crossbow hadn't jammed.

“Something on your mind, Blue Jay?” Marinette asked, glancing up from her needlework for a moment.

He tipped his head back and sighed. “I've been thinking…”

“That's new.” She responded, mirth glinting obviously in her eyes and the bubble of laughter in her tone.

Jason gasped in faux offence, mindfully dropping his crossbow and scrambling for the cleaning rag just to throw it at her face.

Before it could hit her, Marinette plucked it out of the air with two fingers. She hummed mock-thoughtfully. “Your aim's off.”

“You take that back! My aim is impeccable. Alfred said so!” He argued back.

She snorted. “Alfred is biased because he's your grandfather figure. And I'll take it back next time we get through an entire contract without you missing a single shot.” To punctuate her point, she tossed the rag back at him.

He half-dived for it, grabbing it with both hands and with it safely in his grasp, placed the rag inside the saddlebag beside him. Throwing his arms up in mock-exasperation, Jason scowled playfully at her. “C'mon! That's not fair, you've never gone an entire contract without messing up or missing with your magic either!”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed with a nod of her head and a smirk on her lips, “but I've never claimed to be perfect at magic!”

Her words caused him to falter slightly. “Right,” he swallowed a breath of air thickly, “That reminds me of what I was going to say before we got distracted.”

She frowned, furrowing her eyebrows and putting on a softer tone. “What is it? As much as we joke, I'd never actually judge you for missing shots or anything else, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know… I just.” He huffed in frustration. Hesitantly, he held her gaze with his own but not a second later, winced and shifted his to stare down at the flickering embers of the campfire pit. Avoiding eye contact with her. He clenched his fists. “D'you ever, I don't know, feel like this was all… a mistake?”

Scrunching up her face in confusion, she squinted at Jason. “What do you mean? As-as in taking the contract?”

“No! Well, yes but no. I mean…” He waved an arm, gesturing vaguely around them, “just everything. Becoming a Witcher. Or I guess in your case, a Sorceress. Do you regret it?”

When she didn't immediately respond, Jason huffed again, hunching his shoulders up and practically bristling like a particularly grumpy and grizzling moggy. “Look, never mind. Stupid question.”

“It's not stupid!” Marinette retorted, “I just… wasn't expecting a question like that at this moment.”

He stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Tipping her head back slightly, she fiddled with the needle still in one hand and sighed. “I suppose I do, I know I shouldn't… but I miss the easy days. Like before I knew what I was capable of. Before I knew what horrors the world could bring. Back when my only worries were getting stitches right and not messing up when dealing with expensive materials. Or maybe having to worry if the Alderman's daughter was going to harass me at some point during the day.”

Marinette tilted her head forwards again, a frown gracing her lips, and shrugged. “What brings this up?”

There's not an immediate response, as Jason casts his gaze away from the fire—towards where the sea could be heard but not seen. His fingers twitched midair, almost as though plucking the strings of an instrument. “I never wanted to be a Witcher. I was a Child Surprise, dunno who was the one that offered the Law of Surprise though.”

“Ah, I sorta get that. I'm also a Child Surprise, didn't get to choose to be a Sorcerer either.” As she spoke, she nodded in solidarity.

Jason jolted, gaze immediately snapping up to stare at her, completely taken aback. “Wait seriously? You're a Child Surprise too? How'd that happen?”

“Well, my parents' bakery was attacked and Félix, y'know my mentor, saved them. He invoked the Law of Surprise, expecting to get bread or some other baked goods.” She snorted, “he was awfully surprised to end up getting me instead. And when I accidentally cast my first ever spell trying to escape the Alderman's daughter, I ended up teleporting to Félix.”

“So, wait Félix fucking invoked the Law of Surprise to get food? And got you instead. Holy fucking shit that's hilarious!” He wheezed, doubling over in raucous laughter.

Huffing, she cast a spell, causing a vine to sprout up out of the ground beside him and slap him on the knee. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!”

“Ouch! Hey, no fair!” Jason mock scowled, choking back any further laughter. Quickly, in retaliation, he cast a weak Aard.

The telekinetic wave knocked into Marinette, pushing her onto her back from the weakened force.

“Wha—! Oh, so the vine isn't fair but throwing me to the ground is!” She griped, crossing her arms (carefully as to not prick herself on the needle) but made no attempt to get up.

Half-shrugging and grinning smugly, he replied, “you started it!”

She made an exaggerated groaning noise in response before slowly shifting her position to push herself back up into sitting cross-legged. “Well, now you know how I became a Sorcerer. How'd being a Child Surprise tie into you ending up a Witcher, if you don't me asking?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged with both shoulders this time, “I tried to steal the infamous Bat of Gotham's horse, he asked me my name. Reluctantly and after some bribery of hot food, I told him. Didn't think to give a fake one, at the time. He made a face, invoked the Law of Surprise owed to him and dragged me back to the Bat Witcher school.”

“Huh,” Marinette responded, “so if you hadn't… what would you have done with your life?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously? This is me we're talking about. I'd have gone to Bard College, obviously. I'd have written poems and shit. And books, I'd have written books.”

Scrunching up her face once more, Marinette glanced down at the needle in her hand. “We're by the coast.”

“What?” He asked incredulously, giving her a bemused and questioning look. “What does that have to do with poetry and books?”

In a rush of words, she rambled, “we could take a holiday. I could find out about the spell to disguise your eyes… and uh hair too. That way no one will know you're a Witcher. And we can go to the bard college-town that's down the coast from where we are. We can scavenge together enough gold for you to attend, and you can write your poetry and books.”

Jason stared at her in shock, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Softly, as though anything louder than a whisper would cause the offer to shatter like his childhood dreams once had. “Oh, oh, could you really?”

As warmly as the fire between them, Marinette smiled, “of course! I'd have to ask Félix first of course. But he fell in love with Bridgette and she was a Witcher and he came up with a spell to disguise her whenever they weren't doing contracts or courtly politics. So I don't see why he wouldn't show me how to do it!”

Shakily, he wiped his eyes and smiled back. “Fuck, I'd love that!”

“Okay then! I'll contact Félix on the xenovox tomorrow.” As she spoke, a yawn slipped past her lips. “I think I'm gonna head to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning!”

“Good night, Marinette. I'm gonna stretch my legs real quick first.” He answered, hefting himself up and stretching his arms. “Sleep well, though.”

“Be careful!” Marinette yawned again and packed away her needlework for the night. She then wriggled into her bedroll. “And I'll try, g'night!”

“Night,” he whispered once more.

Quietly, so as to not disturb her, Jason slipped away from camp. Following the direction of the fret, he made his way down the safest cliff path he could find in the dark until his boots hit the sand. Step by step, he walked across the beach until the sea spray spattered against his clothes. He's close enough that the waves gently lapped at the toes of his boots.

Clutching one hand to his chest, just over where his heart was, Jason sighed and gazed longingly at the mist-shrouded sea.

“I never thought I'd get to continue my dreams after becoming a Witcher.” He whispered to the wind. “And now I can, thanks to her.”

He sighs again, heart warmed. And silently in the quietude of the beach at night, he cries alone. For his heart is too full with the kindness of another to contain the feelings any longer.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC xMLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 4 #Jasonette July Day 19 #Jasonette July Mistakes #Long for Who You Could Have Been #LfWYCHB #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

please give me Anything himbo roger i need this like perhaps... him being obsessed with eating pussy? pls? - cloud anon

I’m so so so glad you requested more himbo rog because i love any excuse to write him lmao. This is a bit of a long one, certainly well over blurb length but what are you gonna do. I just have a lot of thots where himbo rog is concerned and then there was that convo a little while ago about dressing him in a maid uniform and I had to use it in here.

warnings: smut, hypnosis & bimbofication, dom!reader, fingering, pegging, oral sex (f receiving), hand job, a little bit of spanking, a little choking, a very brief mention of public sex, free use (perhaps leaning ever so slightly into consensual non consent), humiliation and degradation

Blurb Advent: Day 15

Future Management Series (all my bimbo/himbo writing)

Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

The costume shop was quiet when you entered it, one of the fluorescent lights at the far end flickering. The lady at the counter looked up from her magazine, her gaze lingering on Roger for a moment before she looked back down.

“What was the theme again?” you asked Roger as you flicked through a rack of women’s costumes.

“The letter M,” he replied from one of the other racks.

“How did Freddie pick that?”

“Dunno, you’d have to ask him. Bigger question is what are we going to wear.”

“What about Mickey and Minnie Mouse?” you shrugged.

“That sounds easy. And we’d look cute as fuck.”

“Sorry, hun,” the woman at the counter piped up, “Sold out of them two days ago.”

“Rats.”

“Mice, love,” Roger teased poking his tongue out as he went to check out another row of costumes, “We could make them from scratch I suppose.”

“Left it a bit late though. We’re meant to have them by Saturday.” You headed to the counter in the hopes that the woman there would be able to speed things up, “Do you have any other costumes starting with M then?”

She sighed as she were being interrupted in a very important task before putting down her magazine and pulling out a binder full of lists of stock. Flicking through it she located the section with M. An awful lot of it had been crossed out.

“How many people are invited to this thing? And do they all shop here?”

He shrugged as he joined you at the counter, “Roughly half of London if his last party was anything to go by. What are our options?”

The women smiled at Roger, her attitude becoming much friendlier now that he was involved, “Not a lot I’m afraid. We’ve still got a Mummy, as in Ancient Egypt, ummm, a Maid, as in French, Marilyn Monroe, Mary Poppins, a Monk, Mrs Clause, Medieval Princess…”

“Looks like you’ll be easy to sort out,” Roger said to you, “not much in the way of mens costumes though. I’d be an alright Mummy I guess,”

“Sorry, should have specified. It’s a women’s costume that one. Very sexy,”

“How do you make a Mummy sexy?”

“Strategically removed bandages. I can show you if you like,” she said this last part to Roger, suggestion dripping from every word.

“What about the Monk?” you suggested.

“Ehhhh,”

“Beggars can’t be choosers Rog.”

“Alright, it’s the backup idea. Would I be able to fit in any of those other costumes though?”

The woman thought about it, giving Roger a once over as if measuring him with just her eyeballs, “The Maid maybe. Think we should have one large enough.”

“Alright I’ll try that.”

“And I’ll go Marilyn Monroe?”

“You as Marilyn? Oh there’s a joke in there somewhere…something about How To Mary A Millionaire?”

You shook your head at him, “Just go and try on your dress,”

It was a good thing Roger had no qualms about cross dressing because the maid outfit fit perfectly. One look at Roger’s legs in the short, ruffled skirt had your mind whirring with ideas. He bought both your costumes, adding in a maid’s headband and fishnet stockings for himself and a blond Marilyn wig for you. And on Saturday night you watched him don the outfit once more, struggling to keep your hands off him. Without you knowing, he’d gone and bought himself a pair of simple black heels, explaining that if he was going to do it he might as well do it properly. Unfortunately for you they just emphasised the shape of his legs in the fishnets and made his hips sway as he walked.

The party itself was fun but you constantly found yourself zoning out, thinking about what you’d like to do to Roger before he got out of the dress.

“Love?” he asked, making you blink yourself back to the thumping music and loud voices, “You alright?’

“Fine,” you nodded.

Roger frowned and grabbed your hand, leading you away from the main throng of people, “You’ve been zoning out all night, are you sure you’re okay? Haven’t had too much to drink or anything?”

“No, it’s fine. Someone lit up a joint before and I must have breathed in some of it without meaning to.”

He gave you a look like he knew there was more to it.

“Also, maybe I can’t stop thinking about trancing you in that dress.”

“Oh,” his eyes widened and if it hadn’t been as dark as it was you would have seen a light pink stain creeping up his neck. He glanced around and then pulled you off down the hall and towards an even quieter spot, “and um, what might that look like?”

“I don’t know, got a few ideas,” your breath hitched as Roger pushed you into a dark corner of whichever room you’d ended up in, “like the idea of you on your knees. Bet I could see your arse if you leaned forward enough.”

Roger attached his lips to your throat, oblivious of if anyone else was around.

“Maybe spanking you or edg – ” you were cut off as Roger kissed you full on the mouth, his hands already working at getting his underwear and stockings down far enough to get his dick out.

“We’ll continue this conversation at home,” he said as he lifted you up, pushing your back against the wall as he moved your underwear aside.

It took a couple of days for the topic to come up again but Roger was still just as into it as he had been at the party. He’d clearly been thinking about it too because he had almost as many ideas as you did and for a week or so you discussed it on and off. It came up intermittently, sometimes a single idea out of nowhere.

“What if you tranced me and made me think I was your maid or uhhh servant? Maybe like acted really strict? Or mean even?”

“What about I get a bell to ring to get your attention but use the hypnosis to condition you to get hornier when you hear it?”

Or sometimes it was more of a conversation with each of you building on what the other said.

“What do you think about exploring that free use thing we talked about a few months ago? Like me just having you how I want and when I want.”

“Would that require a more extended hypnosis? A whole day maybe? More?”

“No I don’t think so. I mean, maybe longer than the usual couple of hours. An afternoon? Not longer than a day though, I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that to you.”

“Then yeah okay, we did agree it sounded hot in a non-hypno way so mixing them together should work. Um, what about that pegging thing we tried?”

“You wanna do it again?”

“Yeah I think so. Again, it was pretty hot last time so doing it while I’m hypnotised can only be better, right?”

“Are you sure? We’re both pretty new to it.”

“Yeah I’m sure. I really enjoyed it,” he laughed nervously, “and I would have suggested doing it again anyway, this just seems like a good excuse.”

By the end of the week you had a pretty solid idea about what you were both looking for from the scene and what you’d both feel comfortable doing. And you arranged it so you were both at home on Friday, free to spend the morning relaxing and the afternoon playing.

After an early lunch in which you made sure to mess up the kitchen, Roger went and changed, once again putting on the dress, fishnets, hair piece and shoes. Only this time he wore one of your thongs, sheer black, underneath and a butt plug you’d picked up for him, complete with a pink jewel on the end. For your part, you dressed in one of your work outfits with a grey pencil skirt and white blouse, hopeful that it would make you seem more authoritative. Roger did a little spin for you when he was dressed and then sat in one of the kitchen chairs so you could talk him down into his trance. The scenario you’d agreed upon had him believing he was your silly brainless maid, hired to do whatever you asked. The sound of your bell meant you had another task for him, but it also made him extra horny. So horny in fact that he’d have trouble remembering what he was meant to be doing. As you dropped him deeper and he relaxed more, you noticed his legs spreading further open, making you laugh to yourself. Finally you rang the bell to wake him.

Roger grinned at you from the chair, “What can I do for you Ma’am?”

“Your first job of the day, Dummy,” you said, putting on a stern voice that left no room for argument, “is to dust off the bookshelf in the living room. It’s filthy up there.”

“Where?”

“Through this doorway,” you pointed and he dutifully stood up and began to walk toward it.

“You’ll need a duster,” you reminded him.

“Oh! Of course, Ma’am. Umm….”

“In that cupboard,”

Roger nodded, cheeks pink with embarrassment and retrieved the feather duster.

You followed him out to the living room, watching his skirt bounce with each step. He started off with the shelves at eye level, humming to himself as he brushed the duster over them, but soon had to move on to the shelves higher up. You perched yourself on the couch, acting as if you were reading though your eyes were on Roger, watching as he wobbled on his tip toes, his skirt riding up. You rang the bell and Roger jolted, looking around for you as he bit his lip.

“Yes Ma’am?”

“I think you might need to stand on a chair, Dummy. It doesn’t seem like you can reach the top shelves.”

He nodded and hurried to retrieve one, nearly running in his haste to please you.

The chair was a stroke of genius on your part. It gave you a good view up his skirt as he happily continued his dusting, especially when he leant over to get the far end of each shelf without moving his chair. You could clearly see the pink jewel every time and it made you eager to get him onto the next task. With another ring of the bell Roger jumped down to the ground and hurried to ask what he could do now.

“My shoes,” you said, pointing at the heels on your feet, “they need polishing. I want you to spit shine them for me.”

Roger blinked at you.

You clicked and pointed at your shoes again, “On your knees. C’mon, I’m not paying you to stand around and look pretty. Lick my shoes clean.”

“Yes Ma’am, sorry Ma’am,” he bowed his head and dropped to his knees where he stood, crawling over to you.

“Good Dummy,” you said as he trailed his tongue over the toe of your shoe. You’d wiped down the shoes earlier just to make sure Roger wouldn’t pick up any germs from them, but he was too brainless to notice they were already clean, enthusiastically licking at them. You made it clear you were watching him closely though. Midway through the second shoe you saw him brush his hand over the front of the skirt and stopped his shoe shining.

“I’m sorry, Dummy, is this making you horny?”

“Yes, Ma’am, it is,”

“Show me how much,” you wiggled your shoe under the hem of the skirt and pressed it lightly up, rubbing the toe against his crotch, “Hump my shoe, Maid.”

Without any more encouragement he began doing exactly as you’d asked, dragging his clothed cock along the top of your shoe, letting his eyes shut as he bit his lip.

“Alright, enough.” You pulled your food free and held it out in front of you, “Is it my imagination or did you make a mess on my shoe?”

He tilted his head to the side.

“I think you’re so fucking horny you’ve got precum all over my shoe. Is that right?”

“I don’t know,”

“Well,” you grabbed him by the hair and pushed him over the streak, “clean it up and tell me.”

Roger whimpered as you pulled his hair to move him where you wanted but thanked you for helping him and confirmed you were right. After that you felt he deserved a reward so you readjusted yourself, pulling your pencil skirt a little higher up your legs before you rang the bell again.

Roger groaned quietly at the sound, his breathing a little harder than before and then sat back. His eyes fell to where your skirt was gathered against your thigh as you crossed your legs.

“What now Ma’am?” he watched closely as you recrossed your legs, “Is there something else you’d like me to lick?”

“I don’t know. Is there something else you’d like to lick?”

He nodded, eyes still firmly on your thighs.

“Aren’t you just a pathetic little slut.”

“Am I?”

“I’m afraid so. Do you understand why?”

Roger nodded, still staring at your crotch, and then shook his head.

“Oh Dummy. It’s one thing to be my good little maid and eat me out when I tell you to, it’s entirely different for you to ask to do it. Do you see how slutty that makes you?”

Roger tilted his head and then shook it.

You tutted at him and knocked the bell as if on accident.

He whined at the sound.

“Crawl to the dining room. I want you to wash the floor in there.”

“But…please? I want to lick you soooooo bad and I’d be so good at it.”

“Careful, Maid. Now crawl.

“Yes Ma’am.” Roger dipped his head in apology and began crawling to the next room.

You stepped around him to retrieve a bucket of water and a cloth, placing both on the floor of the dining room where he stopped, “You know what to do.”

He looked at the bucket and back to you, confusion written all over his face.

With an exaggerated and exasperated sigh you handed him the cloth and, taking hold of his wrist, plunged his hand into the warm water. He gasped as you then wrenched it free and dropped it to the floorboards.

“Scrub.”

He nodded, looking mildly upset and dragged the cloth slowly over the floor.

You watched for a little while before coming up behind him, “Put your back into it, stop being lazy.” you pressed his upper back with your foot to make him bend forward.

His neck and face were bright pink, though it was hard to say whether it was arousal or embarrassment that was making him flush more. He did as you asked though, scrubbing the floor harder. You stepped behind him again, admiring the view and occasionally reminding him what you expected. After you felt you’d watched him struggle enough you stepped up behind him again. He pushed the cloth harder, expecting another reprimand. Instead you trailed you hand over the curve of his arse, pushing his skirt up higher.

Roger stilled, though you heard him whine softly into the floor.

“You’re doing a very good job, Dummy.”

He gasped when you suddenly spanked him but he pushed his arse back against your hand.

“You want another?”

He shook his head but kept pressing back against you.

“But I think you do,” You gave him another spank, “Now keep being good and see if you can earn some more.”

He nodded and smiled, though there were tears in his eyes, and then returned to scrubbing the floor.

You let him go for a while, stepping out into the other room to calm down and get ready for the next part of the plan. You could feel your wetness pooling in your underwear with how turned on you were at ordering Roger around and how much he was enjoying it. Originally you were going to make him wait to get you off until after you’d fucked him but perhaps you could have your cake and eat it too. All the same you headed to the bedroom to gather the strap and dildo you’d bought when the topic of pegging had first arisen between you. You grabbed them and the lube and then put them down again as you considered your next move. The conclusion you came to was that there wasn’t much point having a desperate bimbo toy if you were only going to deny yourself. Roger came as much as he wanted when you were the one under his influence, so why shouldn’t you do the same. You quickly shimmied out of your underwear, and then picked everything up again, dropping it on the couch in the living room on your way back to see how Roger was getting along. He was still scrubbing though he’d spilt some of the water as he’d moved the bucket, the top of his dress wet in patches. You pulled out one of the chairs, standing in front of it as you rang the bell, and watched as Roger squirmed at the sound.

“What can I do for you Ma’am?”

“Come here.”

He immediately dropped the cloth and crawled towards you.

“Good Dummy. Need your fingers to make me feel good.” You rucked your skirt up and dropped onto the seat, placing one leg up on the table.

Rogers eyes lit up and he leaned forward as if to lick hungrily along your slit.

You grabbed his hair and held him back.

“Ma’am?” Roger whined, struggling against your grip with his tongue hanging out, desperate to reach your cunt.

“I said fingers, slut.”

Roger whimpered again but brought his hand up, trailing his fingers along your slit.

“That’s right Dummy. You’re gonna finger me and make me cum and you’re going to keep your eyes up here so I know you’ll behave yourself.”

He nodded rapidly, his eyes on yours, “You’re wet,”

“You know how much I like watching your cute little arse work. C’mon, finger me,” you instructed, waiting until he’d sunk one digit into you before continuing, “Love seeing you with that pretty plug. Makes me want to use you.”

“Ma’am can I…?”

“I didn’t say you could talk. Focus.”

Roger’s eyebrows furrowed as he pulled his finger out and pressed it back in.

“You look confused Slut. What’s the matter?”

“Is this good?”

You smiled indulgently at that, half convinced he’d been about to ask to eat you out again, “So good Dummy. Add a second finger.”

He did as you asked, automatically curling them against you as he pulled them out.

“You’re such a good, obedient servant.” You relaxed back into the chair, letting Roger find a good rhythm.

He was quiet for a bit, concentrating, and then “Can I lick you now?”

You made a tutting noise, “I thought you understood your position.”

“Pos-tition?”

“I guess I have to explain it again then. I don’t care if you like licking cunt, this isn’t about you. You’re my maid. Your job is to serve me however I want, remember? I don’t care if you want something different. You’re mine to use how and when I want. Those were the conditions I hired you under, do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am,”

“Are you sure? Then why haven’t I cum yet?”

Roger kept his eyes locked on yours as he sunk a third finger into you, pumping them faster and bringing his other hand up to rub your clit.

“Better,” you managed to get out, though it was much breathier than you’d intended.

Roger poked his tongue out between his teeth as he put all his energy into pleasuring you. You let your head drop back, rocking your hips in time with his thrusts as he sank his fingers deep into you, his other hand firmly occupied too. He slid his thumb between your lips and up to circle your clit, spreading your arousal over your cunt. The mixture of sensations sent you over the edge without too much delay, your legs clamping shut to keep his hand where you wanted it until you’d come down. Afterwards you made Roger hold his fingers up, cleaning them off with your own tongue. He whined and pouted as he watched you lick up your juices, so desperate to taste you for himself. You gave him a small concession though, grabbing his cheeks when you were done to force his mouth open. He looked confused as you brought your face close and spat onto his tongue, your saliva tinged with what you’d just licked from his fingers. But he thanked you with a big smile and a small hum of satisfaction as he swallowed it.

“What now Ma’am?” he asked softly, sitting up straighter and glancing at the bell.

You bumped the bell against your palm as if in thought, watching Roger wince with each ring, “The kitchen needs a tidy up. Go in there and wipe down all the benches for me, okay? I’ll be back soon to check on you.”

Roger nodded and walked on unsteady legs back through the house. You followed him, needing to point him in the right direction a couple of times, and then continued on to the living room to collect your supplies and remove your skirt. It took you a little while to figure out the harness. Last time Roger had helped you get set up so doing it on your own was a little confusing. You took a breath and reminded yourself you were a smart and capable woman and that you could figure out a simple sex toy on your own, and eventually got it on right. When you were comfortable you popped open the lube and spread more than you thought you’d need along the shaft of the toy. It still felt a little bizarre to look down and see a penis, even if it was obviously fake. The first time you’d tried it on you’d wondered aloud if the work you did for those living rough would have been easier to achieve if you had a real one and Roger had suggested you wear it to work one day and find out. You’d laughed at how ridiculous that was and the memory made you chuckle again as you double checked everything was in the right place.

Roger was in the kitchen when you arrived, standing at the bench with a cloth in his hand, humming to himself, though he seemed to have forgotten what he was meant to be doing. You stepped behind him and ran your hand up the inside of his thigh, over the stockings.

The humming stopped and he stilled, “Ma’am?”

“Bend over.”

He did as you asked, his chest and arms leaning on the bench.

You felt him up, letting your hands roam under his skirt, brushing over his cock and along his thigh and over his arse, making his shiver and whine. “Good thing this dress is so short, Dummy. Makes it so much easier for me. And it makes you look like a slut. You’re very hard by the way, does that mean you like it when I tell you what to do?”

His voice was soft when he spoke to the bench top, “Yes, Ma’am,”

“That’s good because I like telling you what to do. And you should be happy to know that I’m wet from watching my brainless maid working all day.”

“I am happy!”

“You are?”

“Mmhmm. Maybe I could help you Ma’am, I love cunt so much.”

“Aww Dummy,” you cooed, stroking your fingers through his hair, “That’s sweet of you to offer but it’s not what I want right now,” you took the fishnets in both hands and tugged until a rip formed right along the back, “For now I want you to stay bent over for me so I can use you. Just like I talked about before, remember?”

“When you said I’m yours to use how you want?”

“You do remember! Good boy!”

“And you said, ummmm,” he gasped as you moved his underwear aside and began slowly working the plug out of him, adding lube to make it easier

“Go one, what else did I say?” you asked as you pushed the plug back in, fucking him with it, adding more lube as necessary.

“Umm, you said they were the,” he stretched out the word as he thought hard, “oh! The co-com-bit-ons and that its, umm, my job to serve you?”

“Very good! That was so much to remember, I’m very impressed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Dummy. I think I’ll have to give you a reward for remembering it all so well.”

Roger looked over his shoulder at you, grinning, “Thank you Ma’am,”

“Alright, turn back around, I’m still going to use you. Because….?”

“Because I’m yours?”

“Good boy,” you pulled the plug free and placed it on the bench beside you. Squeezing some more lube onto your fingers you began spreading it over his arsehole.

“‘s cold,” he said softly to the bench.

“I know baby, but it won’t be for long. And I gotta make sure there’s enough so that I don’t hurt you. And then you’ll be all ready for my cock.”

Roger nodded, flattening himself on the bench as you lined up the tip of the dildo and slowly sank into him.

Roger made a high pitched keening noise and you reached out to stroke his hair again as he adjusted.

“You okay, baby?” you asked letting the stern act drop for a moment.

Roger nodded, “yeah, ‘m okay. Just feels funny.”

“But good though?”

“Mmhmm. Good.”

“Good. I want you to like it. It’s more fun when you do.”

“I do!” as if to prove it he pushed his hips back, making you sink a little deeper.

“I can see that,” you laughed, “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay Dummy, and you’re going to enjoy it, right?”

He nodded, whining as you pulled your hips back slowly and then thrust forward again, figuring out your rhythm and adjusting to the sort of muscle movement it required. As you got more comfortable with it you let yourself be a little firmer, grasping Roger’s waist and fucking him harder, drawing more gasps and whines and moans from him. You varied your speed, sometimes faster and sometimes slower, keeping Roger from knowing exactly what you would do next (and giving yourself a break every so often). He’d taken your instruction to enjoy it to heart though. His fingernails scraped along the top of the bench as he tried to ground himself, rocking his hips back against you whenever you slowed.

“I want you to cum, Dummy. Rub your cock through your pretty sheer panties.”

“Th-through?”

“Over your panties.”

“Um,”

You stilled your hips and pulled out of him so you could grab his hand and lift his skirt, placing his palm over his cock, “now rub.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he began to stroke himself. His hand stilled as you plunged into him again but a warning word made him remember what you wanted and he shakily followed your orders as you fucked him hard.

“How does it feel, Maid, being used for my entertainment?”

Roger babbled something incomprehensible in response. You couldn’t tell if it was just noise or if he’d been trying to form words but it was hot either way.

“C’mon, show me how much you like being my pretty little fuck doll. Be the pathetic little slut I know you are, and cum.” You panted between the words but Roger didn’t seem to notice or if he did he didn’t care. It must have sounded authoritative enough because a few seconds later he was moaning, his fingers twitching and legs shaking as he came. You slowed to a stop and replaced the dildo with his plug again before fixing his underwear and smoothing down his skirt.

“There, all pretty again,”

“Thank you Ma’am,” he sighed.

You patted his head, “Finish up cleaning off the benches in here and I’ll have another job for you.” You walked off, releasing a long breath once you were out of his hearing.

In the time it took you to get out of the harness, put your skirt back on, throw the dildo into a sink of hot water and relocate the bell, Roger achieved very little. He hadn’t moved from where you’d bent him over though he had stood up and grabbed his cloth again, drawing circles with it over the benchtop. When you came back to get him for his next job he was shifting from foot to foot.

“What’s the matter, Dummy?”

“Nothing,”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded though he didn’t meet your eye.

“Tell me.”

“My panties…”

“Aww, is it a bit uncomfortable?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Well maybe I can distract you.” You rang the bell and watched as his eyes glazed over and his hips jolted. “The bed needs to be made Dummy. Go on, off you go.”

He nodded and hurried off, his heels clicking against the wooden floorboards, his step awkward as he squirmed in discomfort. You followed him and showed him where to get a clean sheet from, watching as he pottered around the bed pulling off all the bedding, throwing them into a pile on the floor. Putting a new fitted sheet on the mattress seemed to be too hard a task though. It was almost cartoonish how much he struggled, placing the wrong corner of the sheet on the wrong corner of the bed and then somehow repeating the same mistake when he tried to turn the sheet around. He wouldn’t stand still, uncomfortably dancing around in his cum soaked underwear, getting more and more frustrated as the corner he thought he’d got on flew up when he tried to fit the next one. Every so often you jangled the bell under the guise of getting his attention to give him a helpful tip or reprimand him for taking so long, but it had the added effect of turning him on more than he already was, his face flushed and his eyes begging. You let him continue for a few minutes and then, when he next turned in response to your bell, you surprised him by pushing him onto the mattress.

“Ma’am?” he asked, voice trembling as you positioned yourself on his thigh and pushed his dress up.

“You made such a mess before, didn’t you? Ruined your panties and I’m afraid it’s spread to your pretty dress,” you showed him the patches on the inside of the skirt from where it had rubbed against the sheer fabric of his knickers and been stained. “Lucky for you I like messy little sluts. And” you palmed him roughly, “I think you like it too. Already hard again?”

Roger shook his head but tilted his head back and whined.

You placed your hand over his throat, “Don’t lie to me, Maid. I can see it; I can feel it. You’re a dirty little slut who gets off on being my property. My dumb little fuck doll.” You punctuated the last sentence by grinding against his thigh with each word, squeezing his length through his stained underwear. “I’m going to make you cum again now and if you’re good I might see about letting you eat me out. I did promise you a reward earlier,”

“Please,” Roger whimpered, “I’ll make you feel so, so good.”

“I know, Dummy. But not yet.” You squeezed his throat at the same time you rubbed your hand over his cock, choking off the moan that had begun to build. Roger squirmed under you as you wanked him off, cooing at him about how pretty he looked and how wet it was making you. Each stroke along his shaft was accompanied by a breathy whine or moan, his head tilted back and his eyes fluttering shut. It was always fun to watch Roger be pushed towards release when he was tranced. It was fun when he wasn’t hypnotised either but there was something about taking his brain away that made him more animated and vocal. He babbled at you again, his hand grabbing your wrist as he got closer, his back arching as he tried to buck his hips up into you.

“Good boy, good Dummy,” you praised him as he finished, able to feel the warmth of his release fill the material again as you kept stroking him, milking every drop you could. He whined loudly as he became more sensitive, but you kept toying with him until tears began leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“Alright, Dummy, stay there while I take my skirt off.”

Roger remained lying where you left him, so you gave him a soft kiss and wiped away his tears, praising him a little more, before you swung your leg over his face and finally let him have what he wanted.

It was as if you’d told him he’d won the lottery. He just about cheered as he thanked you repeatedly and then wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull you down onto his tongue. You had to stick out an arm to try and steady yourself as he devoured you, excitedly tracing your lips with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth. He hummed and whimpered against you and used his hands to encourage you to rock yourself against his mouth, spreading your wetness across his face. At one point, so giddy with joy, he giggled, and you jolted at the bizarre tickling sensation of his breath. But that just seemed to spur him on as he licked and sucked every inch of your cunt he could reach. You weren’t sure if his end goal was to make you cum or if he just got very excited and enthusiastic about pussy but, either way, the result was the same. It was impossible to hold back your release as his tongue slid along your folds and his lips latched onto you. He hummed as you gasped and tensed above him, refusing to stop until you pried his hands from your thighs and let yourself fall back to the bed. He pouted as if he wanted to throw a tantrum at having his favourite food taken away, but you managed to make him smile by telling him how incredible you felt and how good he was.

He let you lie down next to him and listened quietly as you talked him out of the trance, reminding him who he was and the reality of your situation. You waited as Roger opened his eyes, stroking his hair back from his face softly as everything returned to him.

“Wow,” was the first thing he said, “That was,” he cleared his throat and pushed himself to sit up, “that was something.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, a very fun something,” he hurried to clarify so you wouldn’t worry, “I take it you enjoyed yourself too?”

You laughed and nodded, “Definitely. This is going to sound bad but I like being mean to you.”

“I get it,” he leaned over to kiss you softly, “I like being mean to you too.”

“And the pegging and free use stuff? All of that was okay? How do you feel now?”

“Oh, better than okay. That was brilliant. We’re definitely playing with them more in the future. Bit sore now and I really, really want to get out of this thong. Also take the plug out.”

“I can arrange that. D’you want some help with the plug?”

“Yes please.” Roger shifted onto his stomach, trying to relax so you could peel off the underwear and slowly wiggle the plug out of his arse, “Add these knickers to the list of ones I’ve ruined though.”

“That’s only cause I get such a kick out of making you cum in your pants.”

He hummed, wincing a little as the plug slipped all the way out, “y’know one of these days I’m going to wake up from a trance and decide to gag you with whatever underwear you made me destroy while I keep eating you out. I still have a bit of a lingering need to have my head between your legs and I do so enjoy overstimulating you.”

“Save that for a special occasion,” you laughed, giving his bum a tap to let him know he could roll over, “C’mon, shall I run us a bath?”

Roger nodded and let you pull him up, kissing you softly before he stood on slightly wobbly legs followed you out of the bedroom.

#my writing #my blurbs #or rather #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #lord have mercy #i need to lie down for 12 years after this #Anonymous #blurb advent 2020

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lu-undy · 3 years

Note

Cats sometimes bring rats or bugs for "gift" to their hoomans.. So Pearl brings Lu a rat proudly and he terrifies. Is it okay for a request?

Here it is!

"Lu'? I'm home!"

"Finally!" A voice answered from the kitchen. "I was starting to worry…!"

Mundy removed his shoes and his coat before going to his lover in the kitchen.

"What's cookin'?" He asked, and a smile appeared on his lips, only because the sight of his lover brought peace to him. Lucien was wearing a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a dark blue pair of trousers. He had an apron laced around his thin waist.

"Not even a hello or a 'how are you' ? I am starting to think that you prefer the food over me." Lucien joked as he was busy stirring something in a saucepan. Mundy came behind him and gently kissed his cheek from behind as he hugged him. “Here, taste this for me please.” Lucien raised the wooden spoon to his own lips first to gently blow on it before moving it to Mundy’s pouting lips.

"Well, what can I say? Not only it tastes amazin’, but it also smells bloody good." Mundy rested his chin on Lucien's shoulder as he watched him cook, his arms still laced around the thin waist he loved.

"The food or me?"

"Stop actin' jealous… I'm talkin' about both." Mundy added a few more kisses down Lucien's neck and the Frenchman started laughing. "You ticklish, jealous, gorgeous doll of a man…"

Lucien put the wooden spoon he was holding aside and turned to Mundy, splaying his hands on his chest. He was smiling wide, looking up to the reason his heart was beating so fast.

"How was work today?"

"Not too bad…" The tall Aussie bent down to kiss his lover's lips. "But I'm happy to be back home. Been missin' you."

"So have I. Do you mind laying the table, please? The soup will be ready any minute now."

"Sure." They exchanged a smile and Mundy got to work, coming and going from the kitchen to the living-room and vice versa. "Oh, let me put more water for Pearl."

Mundy noticed that the cat's water bowl was empty. He took it off of the floor and filled it again.

"Meow!"

The fluffy white feline entered the kitchen and trotted to Mundy. When she reached him, she stood on her back legs, meowing and asking for attention.

"Hey, baby… Here, more water for you."

"Meow!"

"Yeah, I know, c'mere…" Mundy crouched down to carry her in his arms. "Been missin' Dad, eh?" He scratched her and kissed her, standing back up.

"Meow…!" Perle leaned on his shoulder and purred, half-closing her deep blue eyes.

"Yeah, I know, baby, I know. Did she have dinner already?" He asked Lucien.

"Oui, she did." Lucien answered as he served the soup in two bowls.

"Alright, want a treat then?" Mundy went to a cupboard and opened it before his hand dived in a jar.

"Meow…" Perle raised her head as she recognised the melody that usually preceded a treat.

"Here, baby cat." He put it in front of her mouth and she gladly ate it. "Yeah, good girl, good baby." Mundy kissed her.

"Dinner is ready, mon amour."

[My love]

"Oh, Dad's dinner's ready. You go and be a good girl, yeah?" Mundy crouched down and released her. Perle trotted straight to the French window and politely sat down. That was her way of asking to open it. "Wanna go in the garden? Sure, here…" Mundy slid the French window open and the white cloud slithered out.

“You may leave the window open, a bit of fresh air will not hurt.” Lucien said.

“Sure, luv’. Let me take the bowls…” Mundy took them and moved to the living room where he found his lover serving water and wine before sitting down.

“Here, some bread, mon amour.”

[my love]

“Thanks, Lu’. So, what’ve you been up to while I was away?”

The discussion went on as the soup slowly evaporated from their bowls. It wasn’t very cold anymore, winter was gone and spring was well established. Mundy wished it could come faster. He preferred the hot and scorching sun rather than the blue, ice cold weather of winter. Now that he thought about it, he liked ice blue only in one thing, namely, the colour of his lover’s eyes.

“I went to shop for some groceries at the market.” Lucien went on.

“Did you take Pearl with you?”

“Oui, this time she wanted to come along. She behaved very well and managed to resist the urge to jump on the sardines when she saw them.”

“That’s progress I guess.” Mundy chuckled.

“Indeed. So as a reward, I bought her some and fried them for her with a bit of cumin and paprika. She loved it.”

“You don’t need to cook for the kitty, we’re giving her food, and the expensive stuff at that.”

“But wouldn’t you be bored of canned food? It is nice to bring a bit of diversity to her. Besides, she absolutely loved it. I might do it more often.”

“Hold on, you said you bought some fish at the market, right?”

“Oui.”

“Did that fisherman sheila say anythin’ to you again?”

“She might have.” Lucien cocked a smug eyebrow.

“I knew it… Next time, I’ll go with you and if I have to kiss you then and there for her to stop flirtin’ with you, I bloody will!”

“Ooh, how the tables have turned. Back in the kitchen I was the jealous one, but listen to you now, hm?”

“I’m not jealous, she just needs to get it in that thick skull of hers that you’re taken, and that’s that.”

Lucien chuckled and slid his foot under the table closer to Mundy’s, gently brushing his leg against his.

“I love seeing you jealous like this…” The Frenchman admitted with a lovestruck, lazy grin.

“Yeah, well. I get people, they see you and you’re gorgeous. Nice suit, handsome face and beautiful body too. But they gotta understand that you’re not for takin’. I got my hands on you and I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Neither am I.” Lucien answered. “Go and get a change to be more comfy if you want. I will deal with the dishes.”

“You sure?”

“Oui, go ahead.”

“Might as well take a shower too if that’s ok?”

“Take your time, mon chéri.”

[my darling]

Lucien stood up and started collecting the empty dishes on the table when Mundy pulled him away from his waist to hold him close and kiss him.

“I’ll be quick, you behave for me, yeah?” Mundy held his chin between his fingers.

“Anything for you, Mundy.” Lucien’s eyes crossed on the Aussie’s lips. They stretched in a smile. The tall man added a quick peck to his lover’s brow and left him.

Lucien exhaled in a long and longing sigh when his lover disappeared up the stairs before turning to the table and resuming what he was doing.

Upstairs, Mundy went to the bathroom and started stripping naked as he started the shower. He was standing in nothing but his boxer shorts when he heard a loud and high pitched scream coming from downstairs. Without a second thought and leaving the shower still flowing, Mundy spun on his heels and darted back downstairs.

“What’s wrong? Lu’?!”

When Mundy made it in the living-room again, he found Lucien standing up on a chair and leaping to get higher up on the table.

“What is it?!” The Aussie exclaimed, seeing his lover hunched and scared.

“It’s Perle!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Mundy got closer to the lady cat who was standing at the chair’s foot.

“She has a mouse in her mouth!” Lucien yelled, terrified.

“Oh…” Mundy started chuckling. “C’mere, show Dad what you got, yeah?”

Perle turned to Mundy and trotted to him before releasing the dead rodent on the floor. Mundy crouched down and petted her head, scratching her repeatedly.

“Are you not scared?”

“Nah, it’s dead, it’s not gonna run to you, come down, Lu’.”

“Why did she go and get a mouse?!”

“It’s a gift.” Mundy answered.

“A gift?!” Lucien exclaimed.

“Yeah, c’mere, pretty girl, yeah, you did great… Look at Papa…” Mundy chuckled more. “You got him scared, eh?”

“Meow…” Perle’s answer was rolled on her purr.

“Yeah, he doesn’t really like mice. Next time bring him some flowers, yeah?”

“Meow.”

“A gift...?” Lucien repeated as he landed from the table to the chair and finally the ground.

“Yeah, I guess she was happy ‘cause you cooked her the sardines. She just wanted to say thanks.” Mundy stood back up.

“Mon Dieu…” He put a hand on his mouth.

“C’mere…” Lucien approached and took a comically long detour around the dead mouse on the floor. Mundy laced an arm around his lover when he finally arrived against him. “I didn’t know you were scared of mice.”

“They are dirty and carry diseases.” Lucien buried his head deeper in Mundy’s bare, hairy chest.

“You shouldn’t have reacted like that to Pearl. Poor baby didn’t understand why you were scared shitless when she brought you a gift.”

“Well, it is a mouse, Mundy, not a bouquet of roses…”

Mundy chuckled.

“Oh c’mon. You gotta say thanks.”

“Do I? Won’t that encourage her to bring me more dead rodents?”

“It might, but a gift’s a gift. And she went out of her way to hunt down something especially for you. You have to thank her, darl’.”

“Fine…” Lucien crouched down and Perle naturally came to him. He scratched her and heard her purr. “Merci, mon bébé. I am sorry I reacted this way. Now I know that you meant to offer something.”

[Thank you, my baby]

“Meow…”

"Oui, mon bébé. Papa is sorry…” Perle stood on her back paws and Lucien carried her in his arms as he stood back up. “Is there any way I can make it up to her?”

“What about some fish?” Mundy asked and Perle’s head swooshed to him.

“Meow?”

“Yeah, what if Dad cooked some more fish for you, yeah?”

“Non.” Lucien answered.

“What?”

“I cook the fish, you get rid of the dead mouse... Non, Mundy! What are you doing?! Don’t touch it with your hands! What if it bears the plague?!”

“Oh you sissy, it’s just a mouse…” Mundy picked it up from its tail and went to the French window before throwing it far in the garden. He came back and washed his hands thoroughly. “There, Princess Lu’ can breathe normally now, the mouse is out.”

“Are you sure it will not come back?” Lucien skittishly peeked his head in the kitchen where Mundy was wiping his hands. He held Perle in his arms dearly, like a child does a Teddy bear to bring some comfort.

“Meow!” Perle’s pupils blew wide when she saw Dad open the big white box of cold food and take the fish out of it. “Meow…!”

“Lu’, it was dead. Now unless Medic’s out there experimentin’ on it behind our backs, I don’t think it will come back, nah.”

“You are sure it was dead and not pretending?” Lucien insisted.

“Oh, Lu’!” Mundy stopped what he was doing dead and Lucien hunched his back.

“What?” He whispered, looking everywhere around him.

“Listen! I think I heard the mouse’s Dead Ringer…” Mundy said before bursting into laughter.

“Mundy…!”

Lucien crouched to free Perle and-

“Oh, what was that for?” Mundy put a hand on his shoulder where Lucien had gently punched him.

“Mocking my Dead Ringer. It was a very precious tool!”

“Oh, come on… Oh-ho, are you that scared?” Lucien had slid to Mundy’s arms and was clinging to his naked skin, sandwiched between the kitchen top and his lover.

“Do not mock me, not only does it carry diseases but it was dead and disgustingly decomposing, ew!” Lucien pulled his nose and winced.

Mundy chuckled and laced an arm around him.

“Right, stay here stuck to me like a snail while I make the kitty her fish.”

“Meow…” Perle had jumped on the counter and raised her paw to the plate of fresh sardines.

“Perle, non, don’t touch it.” Lucien said.

She brought her paw closer to the fish.

“Pearl…” Mundy added, and the lady cat removed her paw. She sat down and licked her chops repeatedly.

“She listens to you better than she does me.”

“Well, like her Papa…” Mundy started. “She likes authority sometimes.” He put a pan on the stove and started the fire before adding a drizzle of olive oil in it.

Lucien blushed when he raised his eyes and saw Mundy winking at him.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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whumphoarder · 4 years

Text

Death by Waffles

Summary: When Tony decides to adopt a cat for Morgan, Peter is almost more excited about it than the six-year-old. He just failed to mention one minor issue before coming to visit at the lake house for the weekend.

Or, in which Peter is horrifically allergic to cats but JUST LOVES THEM SO MUCH.

Word count: 1,638

Genre: Fluff, slight whump, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading and giving me ideas!

Link to read on Ao3

“I still think we should have called him Winston Furrchill,” Tony says with a shrug, watching Peter, who’s sitting cross legged on the living room floor, grinning ear-to-ear, stroking the long-haired cat’s fur.

“That’s so boorrring, Daddy,” Morgan complains. She grabs the little feather teaser and dangles it in front of the cat’s face. He lifts a paw lazily to bat at it. “All your ideas were so boring.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony balks at her, eliciting giggles from Peter and a dramatic groan from the six-year-old. “My ideas were gold. Mr. Meowgi. Bill Clawsby. Genghis Khat.”

Peter snaps once and shoots a finger gun Tony’s direction. “Luke Skywhisker!” he throws in, causing Morgan to groan. “Ooh! Call him Nick Furr-y!”

“No! His name is Waffles!” Morgan exclaims, throwing up her hands in exasperation and causing the kitty in question to dart across the room and dive into his favorite hiding place—the cardboard box that his brand new, untouched, three-hundred-dollar cat tree came in. Tony just rolls his eyes; it’s behavior like this that makes him almost regret spending the last four days in the workshop designing that damn feline an elaborate catwalk and perch system spanning every room of the lake house.

(Almost.)

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout.

“Aw, Mo, we were just teasing,” Peter says, patting her arm with a kind smile. “Waffles is a great name—I love it.”

That seems to console her. She grins back at him. “It’s ‘cus when we brought him home, he was really scared the first day and he just wanted to hide under my bed. So Daddy said I could eat breakfast in my room with him so he’d feel safer, but then I had to go to the bathroom and when I was gone he stole my waffle,” she rambles.

Peter quirks an eyebrow. “Your cat ate a waffle?”

Morgan nods. “Uh-huh, and then he puked it up again on the carpet!” she explains cheerfully.

“Ah yes, fond memories…” Tony mutters.

“So I named him Waffles,” Morgan concludes. “But I almost called him Syrup, ‘cus he got that on his paws when he walked on the plate, and then he ran around everywhere and it was all sticky. Mommy says that’s why we got ants after.”

While Peter snorts out a laugh, Tony just runs a hand over his face and sighs. “It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Peter laughs, rubbing a hand at his eyes. He uncrosses his legs and gets to his feet to walk over to the box where Morgan is trying to lure Waffles out again. “I always wanted a cat, but May never let me get one—said they were too much hassle.”

“They are,” Tony says emphatically.

“Are not,” Morgan disagrees. As Peter sits down by the box, she picks up the bag of kitty treats and starts shaking it, causing Waffles to poke his head out. She pours out three little treats onto her open palm. He sniffs them suspiciously, then turns his nose up and buries himself back in the box.

Morgan turns to Tony and shrugs. “I don’t think he likes chicken flavor anymore. You gotta get him the salmon ones, Daddy.”

“But you told me this morning that he doesn’t like salmon,” Tony argues. “He only eats the premium chicken with gravy.”

Morgan shakes her head. “No, no that’s his wet food. He only eats dry salmon, and wet chicken. And sometimes tuna, but only that one in the blue bag.”

“And waffles,” Peter throws in with a wry smile, sitting down to start stroking the cat inside the box. “Don’t forget the waffles, Mr. Stark.”

“At this rate, I’m thinking it’d be better to just install a cat flap and let him find his own mice for dinner,” Tony grumbles.

As if on cue, Waffles meows irritably and leaps out of the cardboard box, straight onto Peter’s lap. However in doing so, the cat’s fluffy tail tickles the kid’s nose. Peter sneezes twice—rather violently—startling the cat to the point that it shoots across the room and climbs halfway up the drapes.

“Waffles!” Morgan cries and races after him.

Sniffling a bit, Peter gives a sheepish smile. “Whoops.”

Tony rolls his eyes and extends a hand to help lever the kid up again. Peter rubs at his eyes again—which Tony notices are redder than usual. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are you sure ‘too much hassle’ was the only reason May was against you having cats?”

Something flashes across Peter’s face, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears. “Yeah, yeah of course. Well, that and she’s more of a dog person, really, but they’re not allowed in the apartment.”

“Hm.” Tony glances at his watch. “Alright, well it’s almost His Royal Highness’ dinner time.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Let’s go see if we can get him to choke down some caviar and truffles or something…”

Three hours later, Tony can’t ignore the signs any longer. After witnessing Peter’s third sneezing fit since dinner, he privately pulls the kid out into the kitchen. “Pete, c’mon,” he sighs. “Just admit it already.”

Taking a tissue from the box Tony holds out to him, Peter shrugs innocently. “Alright, you got me. Guess I’m coming down with a cold.” He wipes his nose.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “A cold that began ten minutes after entering our home and has only gotten progressively worse since?”

Peter chuckles a bit. “Yeah, go figure, right? Perfect timing for my weekend off. What does Doctor Banner call that again?” He tilts his head to the side in thought. “Starts with an L…”

“Pete…”

“Leisure sickness!” he recalls, his face lighting up. “That’s the word. Think I’ve got that.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony starts ticking each symptom off on his fingers. “Your nose is running, your eyes are watery, you’re sneezing—”

“Which is all from the cold,” Peter cuts him off. He coughs twice into his elbow. “See? Sick.”

Tony scoffs. “In all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never once admitted to being sick unprompted.” He pauses a beat. “Including that time you were actively vomiting.”

Peter rubs a hand at the back of his neck and gives a sheepish grin. “So I'm really demonstrating growth, then, huh?”

Tony ignores him and soldiers on. “You’re itching,” he says, gesturing to the red welts emerging on Peter’s forearms and neck. “You’re getting a rash—”

Peter tugs his hoodie sleeves down to cover them. “I think that’s the new laundry soap I’ve been using...”

Tony blinks at him. “Your eyes are bright red, kid.”

Peter opens his mouth to retort something, but then closes it again. He drops his gaze to the floor and lets out a hard sigh. “Okay… okay you’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t wanna say it around Morgan.” He looks up and, with a totally straight expression, whispers, “I’ve been smoking weed, Mr. Stark. I’m actually tripping balls right now.”

“Peter, just admit that you’re allergic to cats!”

“Huh?” Morgan cries from the living room where she has her kitty on her lap while she watches Curious George. “Peter’s allergic to Waffles?!” The cat dives off her lap and out into the kitchen, hiding behind Peter’s leg.

Peter winces. Then his nose wrinkles up and he sneezes four times into his wad of tissues. When he draws in his next breath, it’s more of a wheeze.

Tony heaves out a sigh. “Alright, we’re done here.” He bends down and scoops the cat up. “Waffles is staying in Pep’s office for the remainder of this weekend.”

“What?” Morgan blurts.

“Yeah, what?” Peter echos, snatching the cat back from Tony’s arms. “You can’t do that!”

“Pete, he’s making you sick,” Tony points out as Peter sneezes yet again. “If you’re already this bad in three hours, how do you expect to breathe in a couple more days?”

Peter looks stricken. “But… But you don’t understand.” He hugs the cat a little tighter and Tony swears he can see fresh hives emerging on Peter’s neck. “I just love him so much, Mr. Stark,” he says earnestly. “I would honestly die for this cat.”

Tony sighs and pats his shoulder consolingly. “Yeah, and that’s looking more and more like it might become reality, kiddo...”

It takes some convincing—and a bit of bribery—but eventually he gets the kids to agree to his plan. In the end, Morgan and Peter settle for a six-foot-tall ‘Royal Castle Kitty Condo’ (complete with a litter moat) in exchange for Waffles’ temporary banishment. He then sends Peter to the guest room while he and Morgan transfer the cat’s most essential supplies into the office, grateful for once that Pepper’s staying downtown this weekend.

Waffles promptly makes himself at home on the very top of her bookshelf—after first knocking over two glass figurines and a meticulously ordered stack of papers, sending legal documents flying around the room.

(Tony wonders just what kind of royal castle equivalent he’s going to have to bribe Pepper with when she gets back.)

It’s 12:16 a.m. when Tony remembers that they forgot to give Waffles his anti-hairball paste that evening and comes grumbling out of bed to do so.

It’s 12:19 a.m. when Tony opens the office door to see Peter, sitting on the floor with that damn cat curled up in his lap, wheezing out a high-pitched chant of, “Who’s a good kitty? Who’s a good boy?” between puffs of his inhaler as he strokes Waffles’ fur.

It’s 12:21 a.m. when Tony just gives up trying to reason with the kid and goes raiding the bathroom cabinets for Benadryl.

Link to all my fics

If you liked this story, you might also like:

Beanimia

Morgan Stark, M.D.

Fevers, Bananas, & Math Lessons

#fluff #domestic fluff #irondad #irondad fic #morgan stark #Peter Parker & tony stark #cats #allergies #sick peter parker #peter parker whump #my fic #tony stark has a heart #peter parker is a little shit

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weasleydream · 4 years

Text

A thousand time stronger

Here is the famous Narnia imagine! I had this idea when I watched The Prince Caspian and, as some of you asked me to post it... It’s finally there!

If you have some Narnia requests, don’t hesitate to send them (and if it’s angsty then thank you so much because who doesn’t like some angst?)

Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

Our story takes place in a world none of us know. It was a fantastical world, a world most of children would want to visit, or would have wanted to visit during its brightest period. Now, Narnia was nothing more than the shadow of what it used to be, an apparently lifeless world invaded by heartless people. Its Golden Age had ended so many years before, its happy days disappeared in a blow of wind in the same time as the most loved Kings and Queens Narnia ever knew.

Still unaware of what their beloved Narnia had become, in fact, still unaware they even were in Narnia, five kids were playing in the clear water of the sea after a unique experience with Magic. The oldest was Peter, it was a kind boy who wanted nothing more than to protect his siblings, even though he could be a bit strict with them, or some of them to be more precise. The oldest girl was Susan, she was soft and had the irritating habit to talk like their mother. Then came Edmund and Y/N, the twins of the family. During their childhood, they couldn’t have been more different - Edmund was as mocking and vicious as Y/N was introvert and unsure of herself. However, they were now like the two sides of a coin, they knew each other perfectly and were inseparable. The youngest was Lucy, a little girl with a big heart and a contagious smile. Together, they had reigned on Narnia during fifteen years, known as Peter the Magnificent, Susan the Gentle, Edmund the Just, Y/N the Brave and Lucy the Valiant, before being thrown again in the house of Professor Kirke.

After a year of dreaming of it, and even if our heroes didn’t know it yet, they were back at Narnia. But if they hadn’t changed a lot - they were only a bit taller and the girls’ hair were longer - their beloved land wasn’t the same. In fact, it was so different that they didn’t recognized the beach they had contemplated during fifteen years.

“Where do you think we are?” finally asked Edmund with his hand above his eyes to protect himself from the burning sun.

“I thought you were more intelligent than that, Ed.” laughed Y/N. “Where do you think we can possibly be?”

“It’s Narnia, you silly.” replied Peter.

“I didn’t remember these ruins…” muttered Edmund.

And indeed, when they looked up, his siblings saw ruins at the top of the cliff in front of them. It was the first witness of the past splendor of the place, only a few stones carrying the wealth of their history. All intrigued by this mystery, they ventured in the woods that led to the old castle and, enjoying the shadow provided by the trees that were definitely calm, they began to explore. Suddenly, and as usual in these situations in which her elders lacked of imagination, Lucy understood where they were. She placed her siblings in front of the little piles of rocks that had once been thrones.

“Imagine columns, and a roof made of glass.” she said. “This is Cair Paravel!”

The joy had been quite short, because this realization was accompanied by another one, much more worrying and even sad.

“It can’t have been that long.” murmured Y/N.

“It can, remember the time isn’t the same in here.” replied Susan.

“You know what it means?” If her smile was contagious, Lucy’s tears were too. “All our friends… Mr Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver… They are gone.”

After a few minutes of silence, the time for the Pevensies to process these news, these decided to continue their exploration. Now that they knew where they were, it was much easier to get their bearings.

“Oh, I didn’t remember this corridor!” said Lucy as she walked between two stone lines.

��Look, this is the orchard!” exclaimed Edmund.

“Come here!” shouted Peter. “Remember this door?”

“The Treasure Room?” asked Susan. “I hope it’s intact!”

And intact it was, with all the treasures they remembered and the ones they had forgotten. At the end of the room aligned five massive trunks. Lucy precipitately opened hers to find her dagger and her Cordial. She also showed Susan a dress she had worn when she was an adult. She was amazed at the size. After the most adult answer Susan could have given her (“That’s because you were taller!”), Edmund and Y/N exchanged an amused look and opened theirs in the same movement. The first thing Y/N saw in her trunk was her sword. She grabbed it, not fearing a second the rust, and drew it. The blade was still as perfect as the last time she had seen it, with all the engravings retracing all the battles she had won alongside Edmund, Peter and sometimes Lucy. A nostalgic sigh escaped her lips when she gently passed her thumb on the oldest engraving. Battle of Beruna. She could remember it as perfectly as if it had happened the day before, the blood rushing in her head, the adrenaline when the two sides had met, the sickening fear when Edmund had been injured, the anger and desire of revenge she had felt just after. It had marked the beginning of the happiest era of her life, for sure.

During the following hours, all the Pevensie siblings began to feel more like the Kings and Queens they had been, and less like the children that had just left England. And with that, the tensions between Y/N and Peter became more and more present. For a long time, Peter had been really hard with the twins, always reprimanding them as soon as he had the occasion. Susan was also like this. Things had changed with Edmund after the Battle of Beruna, when he had been hurt and Peter had thought he would lose him. Since this day, he had been less on his nerves with him, and slightly less with Y/N too, but it was nothing comparable. When they had come back in England and left for school, they hadn’t seen each other a lot and it hadn’t been a problem. But as they were walking in the woods to find Prince Caspian, Y/N was feeling like she would scream just to get this out of her. The way Peter was giving orders around, the way he was holding his head a bit higher than needed, it was really irritating and not really respectful for Trumpkin the dwarf.

The little group finally reached the camp where Caspian was with the Old Narnians. After the presentations, Y/N decided to explore the surroundings and left Edmund and Peter to their council to follow Lucy and Susan. Together, they wandered between fauns, dwarfs and all types of animals. They were sharpening blades or chatting, but it gave the girls all sort of memories.

“What three girls like you are doing here?”

It was a little faun, apparently really young.

“We’re just walking around.” said Lucy.

“Oh, Lucy, look!” exclaimed Y/N, who hadn’t really paid attention to the faun. “Are they mice?”

Indeed, twelve mice were proudly walking toward the mound.

“Lucy?” repeated the faun. “Are you… Are you the Queens? Queen Lucy, Queen Susan and Queen Y/N?”

“Absolutely.” approved Y/N.

The little faun’s eyes became round, and he didn’t lose a second before rushing to the first friend of his he saw, exclaiming with big moves the Old Kings and Queens were here. Soon, a crowd formed around the girls and Y/N, who hated all this royal attention, managed to escape and joined Edmund, Peter and Caspian in the mound.

The ambience was way more tensed in there, and soon, Y/N learned that the actual king, Miraz, was Caspian’s uncle and an usurpator. His army was here, ready to defeat Caspian’s and kill his nephew. They knew Aslan was the only one that could offer them a victory, but they needed time.

“A duel.” finally proposed Peter. “A duel that will end with the death of one of us. Either Miraz or me.”

No one found a better idea and an order was immediately written. Peter handed it to Edmund, and Y/N followed him outside. The twins joined the camp of the enemy and the crowd of Telmarine soldiers opened in front of them. They glared at the two Narnians and whispered on their passage.

“Are they the famous twins? The ones deemed to be invincible if they fight together?”

“I had never seen a girl with a sword…”

“They don’t seem that dangerous.”

“You kidding?”

To be fair, seeing them walking that calmly in the middle of the enemies, shining in their armours perfectly polished, was simply impressive. Edmund was slightly in front of Y/N, one of his hands holding the parchment and the other firmly gripping his belt. Y/N had grabbed casually the guard of her sword. Their faces matched with a determined look visible only in times of war, and the only thing that disturbed the calmness they had imposed themselves was the nervous habit Y/N had always had: her jaw clenched compulsively.

Edmund and Y/N didn’t answer the whispers around them, they only straightened a bit their back and kept walking at a steady pace toward the tent in the middle of the camp. The fabric was richly embroidered with gold thread, which didn’t leave a doubt about the comfort Miraz used to live in. The twins eventually reached the entrance of the tent and the two guards in front of them stepped aside after an order coming from Miraz himself.

After all she had heard about him, Y/N had imagined a terrible man, intimidating with a royal stature which would have helped him keeping the throne of Narnia despite him not being legitime. But in fact, he looked like an usurpator in her opinion. Each of his features showed how perfidious and contemptuous he was. Even Peter didn’t lift his head that high - Miraz seemed to be an arrogant man.

After the usual presentations, which caused the nobles around Miraz to look at Edmund and Y/N both in amusement and disbelief, the discussion eventually came to the duel. Miraz listened to Edmund as he read the order while Y/N watched carefully at each person present in the tent. None of them inspired her trust and she had the unpleasant impression that no matter which arrangement was adopted, it wouldn’t be respected by the Telmarines.

After a sign of the usurpator, Edmund and Y/N left the tent to let him the time to think about his decision.

“Tell me again, why do we think they’ll respect our engagement?” asked Y/N.

“I know.” replied Edmund. “I don’t trust them either. But we need time, we need to keep them busy until-”

“Until Aslan is ready to help us, I know.”

A silence followed, during which both imagined how bad things could go if they were betrayed. Of course, none of them would have said it out loud, and that for two reasons. The first was that they didn’t need words to communicate. One look, one gesture was enough for them to understand the other. The second reason was that they were too worried and didn’t want to worry more the other. It had always been kinda like this, but this overprotectiveness had reached its peaks during their first time in Narnia, when Edmund had left alone to find the White Witch. Y/N knew something was wrong, and she knew her twin wouldn’t have let her alone like this without a good reason. She had defended him in front of Peter and Susan, Lucy being too kind and too young to blame him, and it was from this moment that her relation with Peter had become worse. When Edmund had finally been rescued, when he had seen by himself how worried Y/N had been, he had sworn he would do anything for her not to be worried anymore. When she had seen how distraught her dear Ed was, Y/N had sworn the same thing. Of course, they had forgotten they could read each other like an open book, and they just lost the habit to formulate their fears with words.

Maybe seeing the twins silent had given the Telmarines the courage to approach, fact is that they began to laugh just under their nose.

“I’ve always said that a lady with something cutting in the hands is the most stupid thing that can happen.”

The soldier who had said that was a tall man with a mocking grin. Apparently proud of his intervention, he elbowed the man next to him who laughed. The Pevensies couldn’t know that, but the second man had a painful memory of his wife threatening him with a knife while she was slicing the meat for the diner and tripping at his feet, cutting his arm in passage.

“Or the most dangerous.” replicated Edmund, who was particularly proud of his sister.

“Is it true that you’re two of the best swordsmen of your time?” asked a young soldier. He seemed more impressed than the others.

“Maybe you can show us!” It was the first soldier. Y/N rolled her eyes and Edmund shook his head.

“No offense boy, but I really would like to see your sister in action.”

Maybe he had heard enough stories to know Y/N was easy to provoke, fact is that the solder touched the reckless part of her and despite Edmund muttering it wasn’t a good idea, Y/N got up and drew her sword.

“You want to see me fight?” she asked. “Fine. Attack me.”

The three men were less proud now that a crowd was forming around them.

“Come on Y/N, don’t play with them and do it quick, we don’t have all day!” shouted Edmund.

No sooner said than done, in only a few movements no one saw precisely, except Edmund who had seen her fight a thousand times, Y/N had won the fight. The three soldiers were on the ground with their mouths wide open. Edmund snickered and shook his head when his twin complained about how easy it had been. However, his attitude changed immediately when one of the soldiers, the one who had provoked Y/N, got up silently and readied to attack her by behind. One look at his brother warned her and she turned around at the speed of light to grab the collar of his chainmail and position his own sword under his chin.

“Don’t ever do that again.” she hissed.

The soldier was simply terrified, and that was understandable: he had in front of him Y/N Pevensie, a dangerous girl whose reputation had traveled the ages, who was known by every Narnian like the most skilled swordswoman of history, and who formed with Edmund (who was now standing behind her) an invincible duo. Y/N eventually let go of him and tiptoed to watch him in the eyes.

“If I were you, I would pray to not cross me during a battle, or else you’re dead.”

And she gave him her back to sit back on the tree stump she was initially on. The crowd quickly dispersed, and no one noticed the humiliated soldier rushing in the tent. Roughly five minutes later, Miraz got out and walked directly toward Edmund and Y/N who stood up even though they didn’t respect this man at all.

“Does it amuse you to play with my soldiers?”

This question full of contempt was for Y/N, and the girl felt her blood boiling. She could practically feel Edmund’s warning radiating behind her and, at the cost of a great effort, she relaxed.

“Your soldiers wanted to see me fight.” she replied. “I couldn’t deny them this honour.”

This was maybe her biggest flaw. Y/N, in the very same way as Edmund, was someone very sarcastic and was simply unable to measure when sarcasm was allowed and when it wasn’t. Useless to precise right now, it absolutely wasn’t.

“I don’t think they’ve all had the opportunity to see you,” began Miraz, “and I didn’t have either. I accept the duel against your brother with the condition that you fight against twenty of my best soldiers. If you win, the duel will take place. If you lose, your brothers, sisters and Caspian will die. If you don’t accept, my army will attack yours when the Sun will be at its zenith. Now, if you need me, I’ll be in my tent.”

And Miraz left, persuaded he had found the way to get rid of all of his enemies. A long silence took place between Edmund and Y/N, the first one fearing his sister’s decision and the latter regretting bitterly her behavior. Unconsciously, they had both glanced at the Sun, but they knew it was still early in the morning. Now, all that they had to do was take a decision, and Y/N was on the verge of accepting, after all she was the responsible of this situation, but Edmund took the lead.

“We go back to our camp. Peter will decide what to do.”

“The decision is already taken.” groaned Y/N.

She wasn’t angry at Edmund, of course. She was mentally scolding herself for having been so pretentious and, even though she would never admit it, she was pretty afraid too.

“There’s no way you’ll fight them, Y/N.” said Edmund. “I won’t let you.”

And he left at a quick pace, obliging Y/N to follow him. They gained back their camp in a total silence, where they found Peter and Caspian discussing strategies with Trumpkin and Cornelius. When he saw his siblings’ expressions, both matching in a mix of fear and anger, Peter immediately understood something had gone wrong.

“Where are Susan and Lucy?” asked Y/N.

“Gone.” replied Peter. “What happened? He didn’t accept?”

Edmund glared at Y/N, and even though Peter knew it wasn’t actual anger, it still was so unusual that he began to imagine the worst things that could happen. Above all, Edmund seemed decided to let his twin talk on her own.

“No! He accepted… Well, kinda.” muttered Y/N.

“Kinda? Tell me what happened.” Now, Peter was beginning to worry too.

“He’ll fight with you if I beat his twenty best soldiers in a round.”

She had talked so low that Peter wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. Y/N explained how it had happened, how the three soldiers had provoked her and how she had effortlessly beaten them. Then she added in a small voice that all of their lives were on her. At this point, Peter was pacing and, if Y/N had had the same connexion with him that she had with Edmund, she would have seen he wasn’t angry either but worried sick. But she didn’t know, and the shame made her keep her head down.

“You won’t let her fight, right?” asked Edmund.

Peter stayed silent, trying his best to imagine how things could go if they were attacked a few hours later. Of course he didn’t want to let his little sister fight, but he had a big responsibility on him and feelings couldn’t be good.

“You can’t forbid me.”

Y/N had gained her courage back and was decided to assume her mistake. There was no way everyone would be thrown in a battle lost in advance if she could prevent it. And at this moment, she was sure she could beat these soldiers and she wasn’t worried for her siblings’ life, along with Caspian’s one.

“Everyone, out.” said Peter with his autoritary voice.

Everyone left, the last being Edmund who refused to let this decision be taken without him and had to be dragged by Caspian.

“Peter I swear you better take the good decision!” he screamed just before disappearing after a particularly violent push from Caspian.

A long silence took place in the mound. Peter was still pacing and Y/N, waiting not so patiently for his decision. After a few minutes, Peter felt observed and he glanced at his sister.

“Don’t look at me like this Y/N. You won’t fight.”

“You can’t-”

“Yes I can!” shouted Peter. “And if I really need to use this argument; then I’ll do it: I am the High King and you have to obey me.”

It was all he shouldn’t have said, because it put Y/N in such an anger that she rushed toward him and stopped a few centimeters only from him.

“You may have been the High King,” she hissed, “but I have been a Queen. I have never let anyone give me orders and I won’t start today. Whether Ed likes it or not, whether you like it or not, I will fight. I made a mistake and I have to make up for it, that’s all.”

“And if you’re killed?” Peter was getting crazy. How could he make her understand how much he wanted her to be safe?

“Then I hope you’ll be smart enough to not be killed on the spot.” For a split second, her voice shook and Y/N prayed for Peter not to have heard it. But he had, and it had made his heart sting. “But it doesn’t matter. I won’t lose.”

“You can’t know that!” he exclaimed. “You see, you’re not mature enough to be involved in all of this! You never think, you-”

“It’s not a question of maturity Peter! I do not have the choice, it’s different. Don’t think one second I’ll let you die…” she added with a lowest voice.

“And you don’t have to die either. If we let him attack-”

“That’s exactly what we wanted to avoid! If we let Miraz attack, then we’re dead. All of us. You said it yourself. We can’t count on Aslan, that’s why we need to gain time. And this time, I’ll gain it for you.”

With that, Y/N left without waiting for his answer. The fact is that Peter knew she was right, but he wasn’t ready to let her risk her life. He had always been especially hard on her, but he loved her with every fiber of his heart. If only he could have taken her place, he would have done it without any hesitation, but Miraz had been clear. If Y/N didn’t fight, they were attacked. However, he gained back his senses soon enough to yell “You stay on the camp!” just before murmuring “That’s an order you better follow.”

Of course, Y/N didn’t have any intention to follow this order, not this one after all the ones she had ignored and especially coming from Peter. She was looking for a horse when Edmund grabbed her arm.

“Can I know where you think you’re going?”

“Looking for you.” she lied. “Peter wants to talk to you.”

She had always been unable to lie to Edmund, and the latter saw perfectly through it. He narrowed his eyes, probably ready to tie her in order to keep her safe when, by an exceptional coincidence, Peter’s voice echoed. He was calling for Edmund. The boy reluctantly let go of Y/N’s arm and gave her his back. She knew he would take apart the first faun or minotaur he would see to tell him to watch her, which was why she didn’t have a lot of time. She innocently walked toward the nearest horse and, when she was just next to the animal, she jumped on its back. Unfortunately, Edmund had seen her and immediately shouted her name.

That didn’t stop Y/N and she exhorted her horse to go faster. If all her blood hadn’t rushed in her head blocking every sound around her, she would have heard him screaming her name with a desperation he had never shown or even felt. All she could think was that she had to fight, even if she had to lose her life. It was for her siblings, who she loved more than anything. It was for Caspian, who had proven to be an excellent prince and friend. It was for Narnia, which was her second home.

Y/N reached the enemies’ camp way faster than the first time. She rushed in Miraz’ tent, pushing aside the two guards at its entrance in passing, and only stopped when she was in front of the wooden table. She extended an arm, her eyes fixing the usurpator.

“My brother agreed.”

And they shook hands at the very moment Edmund entered the tent, hit by a wave of pure terror when he couldn’t help but think it could be one of the last times he saw her alive.

The grass under her body was soft, as it had always been in Narnia. It was way more comfortable than the grass of our world, and it gave Y/N the feeling she was lying on a cloud. She was far enough from the camp to only hear the lapping of water that flowed lazily somewhere on her right. She was used of the woods, used of listening carefully each noise, and she immediately heard the steps that came closer and closer to her. She didn’t try to hide, though, because she knew it was Edmund and she wanted nothing more than to see him.

“You should eat something.”

She didn’t answer, not because she wasn’t hungry but because the restraint in his voice was something she had never heard, and for the very first time, she couldn’t understand if Edmund was angry or not.

“Y/N, the meat is cooling down.”

“I’m not hungry.” she said with the most calm voice she could.

“You should-”

“I told you no, Ed!”

Y/N had shouted and immediately regretted it. Edmund sighed and stepped closer. Until then, he had waited standing a few meters away. He let himself fall on the ground and laid just next to Y/N.

“Are you afraid?” he finally asked. Y/N could feel his eyes on her.

“No…” she lied. “Not for me, anyway.” It was a bit more true.

“I am.” Saying Y/N was surprised would be an understatement, and she looked at her twin in disbelief to meet his teary eyes. “I’m afraid to lose you and... and so is Peter.”

“It won’t be the first time I risk my life.”

“It’s different, Y/N.”

She didn’t find anything to reply, and Edmund stayed silent. He had closed his eyes too, and his thought were monopolized by only one thought, or more precisely, one memory: the day, so many years before, when he had been rescued from the Witch’s camp.

Edmund was walking next to Aslan. He had been afraid of the big Lion, afraid that he would think he was the worst traitor he had ever met, and the worst was that Edmund thought he would have been right. The sun was getting down, and illuminated all the camp in a delicate golden colour. Aslan was silent, and all of sudden, a kind of purr could be heard; it was like if it came right from his heart.

“Tell me what you are fearing, Son of Adam.”

Edmund didn’t know what to answer and stayed silent. He feared so much things that he didn’t know which one the Lion wanted to hear, plus, he didn’t want to be seen as a coward.

“Your brother and your sisters won’t blame you forever, don’t worry.” At this moment, Edmund knew Aslan had guessed his worst fear. “You should go and see them.”

Indeed, Y/N, Peter, Susan and Lucy were waiting for him in front of a big tent. Edmund slowly approached them, not completely reassured by the Lion’s words, but Y/N didn’t wait and ran toward him. She threw her arms around him and tightened him almost painfully. She was muttering something under her breath, something only Edmund could have heard if only he wasn’t murmuring himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

When, after what felt like hours, the twins eventually pulled apart, their eyes met and Edmund’s heart broke a bit when he saw the tears in Y/N’s eyes. At this instant, he swore to himself he would always protect her, whatever the cost.

And protect her he had always tried his best to do. Y/N had become his absolute priority, he wanted to make up for all the tears she had shed because of him. That’s why he had always stayed by her side, in parties and during battles, he had always been there for her and had never really shared his own worries, wanting to take care of Y/N’s first.

The problem was that Y/N had done the exact same thing. From this day when he had finally come back, when she had seen the desperation and infinite shame in his eyes, she had understood Edmund wouldn’t be truly happy until he would finally be able to understand it wasn’t completely his fault, and that no one would hate him for that. She had made a point to always show him she was here no matter what. She had done everything to hide her own problems, considering Edmund’s ones were way more important.

That’s why, without even knowing it, they had developed a silent language between them, one that would reveal each of their fears, each of their wounds, a language that reversed all the efforts they had made to erase themselves.

They stayed silent like this during a quite long time, maybe an hour, and only moved when the sound of a horn echoed. Two short sounds followed by a longer one. It was time.

Y/N found herself like paralyzed, unable to make any move, not even when Edmund got up. He gently grabbed her hand and that helped her getting out of her trance. She got up.

“You still have time to refuse.” he murmured.

“You know I won’t.”

Edmund wanted to roll his eyes but he decided against it, not wanting to do anything that could possibly upset Y/N.

“Yeah, I know. Foolish hope, when you hold us… Come on,” he said while passing an arm around her shoulders, “I will help you to get ready. You will let me help you right?”

“Of course.”

Since the moment she had hurriedly left the camp to go to Miraz’s, Y/N hadn’t seen Peter once. Edmund led her in her tent and helped her putting on her armor, which she had taken off before hiding in the woods. Then he grabbed her sword and give it to her.

“Don’t wanna force you to be violent,” he said with his famous smirk, “but I hope you’ll slice them all.”

He was only pretending to not be terrified, of course.

Outside, both camps were reunited around a square delimited by ropes. To get there, Edmund and Y/N crossed the crowd of old Narnians who solemnly stepped aside on their passage. By now, they all knew what kind of agreement had been done, and they all thought Y/N couldn’t possibly win this.

Peter was waiting for them next to the improvised arena. His jaw was clenched and his arms crossed, but his nervous steps as he paced along the rope showed how worried he was. The twins finally joined him, and Y/N found herself regretting bitterly Lucy and Susan’s absence. She didn’t feel that confident anymore, and she would have wanted to tell them goodbye. On the other hand, if she lost, her sisters would be far enough to hide.

“Ed,” she murmured. Edmund immediately turned his head to look at her. “Can you send someone warn Lucy and Susan?”

Edmund’s jaw clenched and he looked away. After a second, Y/N understood it was because asking him that was like admitting she would lose.

“Please Ed, I just want to be sure they are safe.”

He finally nodded weakly, and both his and Y/N’s gazes followed Peter’s one. Their elder was looking at the twenty men aligned in front of them, most of them tall and broad. Miraz was slowly walking in front of them, giving his back to the Narnians and probably giving his soldiers advices or orders. The usurpator had put on his shiniest armor for the occasion. Suddenly, Peter placed himself in front of Y/N and grabbed her shoulders.

“Listen to me.” He was whispering so that Y/N and Edmund, who had moved closer, were the only one that heard what he was saying. “Miraz thinks brutal strength will be enough to beat you, but you have the advantage of the speed. The best you can do is tiring them until they get slow enough for you to attack without being touched. Okay?”

Y/N nodded and put all her bravery in this small movement. However, all her courage was certainly not a lot as she began to slightly shake. She had a bad feeling about this, something she felt on her blood and her bones. Peter, when he saw how distraught his little sister was, did something he had never done before: he engulfed her in a strong embrace, a bone-crushing hug quite uncomfortable with the armors but oh so warming in their hearts. Y/N wrapped her arms around her brother and tightened him as firmly as she could and, even though none of them said anything, they knew something was definitely different between them. If Susan had been here, she would have smiled tenderly, savouring the first demonstration of love Peter and Y/N had shown to each other in years.

Peter eventually let go of her and softly ruffled her hair.

“You can do that Y/N. I believe in you.”

Then Peter took a few steps backwards and Edmund practically jumped at her neck. He almost choked her to death, but she didn’t say anything because these signs of affection were rare with Edmund and she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could. She expected to see the same look as in the forest, but the determination burning in his eyes almost burnt her too and she felt as ready as she could ever be.

“You can win Y/N.” said Edmund. “You’re the best, you can beat them all without any difficulty.”

Y/N nodded, more firmly this time, and entered the arena. The encouragements of her brothers echoed in her ears, and she felt like she could move mountains.

The first man took a step forward. The fight began.

Y/N was whirling like a dancer, her gestures full of grace as she stroke powerful blows. Her sword shone under the sun, along with her polished armor, her black hair flying around her and forming an aura. Everyone, Narnian or Telmarine, understood Y/N’s reputation in the stories: it seemed like it wasn’t a girl in front of them, but a demon.

The first five guys were beaten rather quickly. Y/N hadn’t been seriously injured, except after the third soldier had hit her head violently; she had staggered a bit but had gained back her senses soon enough to send his head flying. She did as Peter had said: her strategy was to provoke them, forcing them to attack while she just jumped out of their league. However, this strategy had two flaws: first, it was hard for her too, and the fifth soldier had understood. From this point, she didn’t have any other choice than to always take the first attack, and the fights became more fierce and violent than before. The seventh soldier brought her her first serious injury, a long cut at the base of the neck.

When his sword had cut her flesh, Edmund’s heart had almost stopped. YN had taken a few steps back, just the time to evaluate the damages, before jumping on him with a renewed vigour. He had sighed, thanking Aslan she was still alive, and glanced at Peter’s pale face. A scream in the crowd had made him focus again on the fight to see his twin killing the seventh soldier.

Y/N had thought maybe she had a chance. The first soldiers hadn’t been too hard to beat, and she had truly hoped she could get through this. But this hope had vanished a long time ago: the more injuries she got, the closer she saw her death. Her body was aching, every fiber was protesting against her movements. Her muscles were burning, her head was painful both because of the blows and the sun. She was sweating so much that she had to grip her sword harder to not let it fall. Her lungs seemed to be unable to continue bringing air in her body, and after a desperate assault during which she pierced her enemy’s stomach, she fell on her knees and noticed absentmindedly a dagger hidden in his belt.

The fourteenth soldier had already taken a step forward, but in spite of killing her on the spot, he offered her a helpful hand.

“You need some time?”

“Five minutes.” she whispered.

The soldier nodded and helped her getting up. Immediately, she felt two pairs of arms behind her, and when she turned around she met Edmund and Peter’s worried faces. Without losing a second, they half dragged her to their side of the arena and sat her on bench that had been brought here for her. Peter examined her head, constantly rambling about how great she had been and how she could win, while Edmund cleaned the cut of her neck without a word. She noticed his hands were slightly shaking and for a second she felt bad.

“Let me alone, please.” she murmured.

Peter stopped, glanced worriedly at her and left. Edmund hadn’t made a move, yet Y/N had grabbed his wrist to make sure he would stay.

“I wasn’t going to let you.” he said.

“I know.”

They stayed silent a few seconds during which both of them tried to find something to say.

“Ed, I wanted to tell you in case I��” Finishing this sentence was too hard.

“In case you nothing Y/N. You can do it, I know you can.” Edmund looked like he was trying to convince himself. “You won’t die, you hear me? I told you Y/N, I can’t lose you.”

And he hugged her tighter than before, and she hugged him weaker than before because her strength was missing.

“I’m sorry…”

It came in a broken breath, a weak and pathetic sound that yet broke Edmund’s heart. All of sudden, and for the very first time, he was crying, bitter tears rolling on his cheeks as his twin, his second half, gave up on her shell and showed how terrified she was.

“Don’t do that… Don’t do that Y/N, I don’t want…”

“Ed, I need to tell you-”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell Peter? Why don’t you want to see him? Why do I have to be the only one to hear your apologies? Why do I have to be the only one you say farewell to?”

Y/N wiped a tear from her face. Now, it was clear: the both of them knew she would lose and die.

“Because it will be easier for him that way.” she replied in a whisper.

“And me? Did you- did you think about me? Why don’t you make it easier for me too?”

“I don’t know how to do that, Ed!” cried out Y/N. “But I can’t… Without you, I just- I can’t do that, Ed! If you don’t help me, I won’t be able to go back there and to fight; if you-”

She had stopped so brutally because Edmund had hugged her once more, one last desperate embrace to show her how much he loved her and why she couldn’t possibly lose.

“I love you Y/N.” He murmured in her hair. “You have to come victorious, you don’t have the choice, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

And she got up, a new strength in her, something that felt like desperation but that gave her the impression she could swim beyond the biggest ocean and climb the highest mountain. She walked toward the last seven soldiers but after only a few steps, she vivaciously turned around and ran directly toward Peter. She jumped on him, making him stumble a bit before gaining back his balance and holding tightly his little sister.

“I’m sorry Peter,” she murmured, “so sorry… Please, if I lose, please, don’t let yourself get killed. Protect Ed, Lucy and Susan, and Caspian, and Narnia, Peter, please…”

“Of course Y/N, of course.” he replied. “But you have to promise me you’ll do your best to win, promise you’ll fight like the lioness you are.”

Y/N smiled and nodded.

“Peter, I…” She had never said it to him, but she needed him to know. If she couldn’t keep her promise, Peter had to hear it at least once. “I love you, big brother.”

And Peter, with the heart heavier than it had ever been, kissed lightly her hair.

“I love you too, little sister.”

Y/N eventually let go of Peter, exchanged a last glance with Edmund, and gained back her place in the middle of the arena. The last seven soldiers were in front of her, all of them looking more impressive than the others. The girl had the terrible impression to be in one of these apocalyptic scenes you can see in the movies. She was facing her enemy, all alone and looking so insignifiant, surrounded by thirteen lifeless bodies, her steps in blood rivers printed on the ground.

She was ready to attack as soon as the signal would be given, but she certainly didn’t expect Miraz to slowly walk toward her. He lifted an hand, probably to say that Peter and Edmund had to stay where they were, and murmured something in Y/N’s ear.

“Each of these soldiers are stronger than the first thirteen reunited. Good luck,dear Queen.”

He left with a little smile, placed himself between his big chair and the wooden table he had put his helmet, sword and shield on, and gave the signal.

Y/N had hoped Miraz had just tried to discourage her, but it was clear that he was right. The soldiers were way stronger, each of their blows hitting like a rock with the speed of light. Y/N was running on empty, her breathing became more and more rapid and her moves slower and slower. The weight on her heart, knowing that Peter and Edmund hoped she would get out of this alive, was almost too much for her to bear.

However, against all odds for Miraz and the Telmarines, like they had expected for Edmund, Peter and the Narnians, Y/N fought incredibly well. She had turned her desperation into a force and, like each person that doesn’t have anything to lose, she had become simply dangerous. She took risks, she got hurt, but she killed several soldiers. One, two, three, four. Only three left. The victory had never been closer and, for the first time since the beginning, she seriously considered the thought that she could win.

She should have known. The last three soldiers walked simultaneously toward her, drawing their sword in the same movement, two of them stepping aside to surround her. Of course, it was Miraz’s order. If by miracle, she beats seventeen of you, you three, you fight together against her. She can’t win, understood?

The true fight began. From the corner of the eye, she saw the first man attempting to hit her. She dodged and attacked another. A sword touched her leg, another her arm. She dived to the ground. Rolled, jumped. She fell, bled, screamed, attacked. One hit her straight in the jaw, and she fell backward. She rolled and striked a body. Two swords threatened to finish her. Her eyes fell on the hidden dagger. No time to think. She grabbed the dagger, threw it on a man’s face, pierced the other’s body, rolled to dodge the last.

It took all her strength to get up and look at the man in front of her. Her knees were shaking, threatening to give up on her at every moment. She was giving her back to her family, and she couldn’t see their broken expression.

Because Edmund knew when she was exhausted. He knew when Y/N couldn’t move anymore, and he knew she felt like that at this very moment. Peter still hoped she would find the energy to kill the last one, he hoped she could get him by surprise if she attacked quickly enough. Both screamed when she fell back on her knees while letting go of her sword, and when she looked down, as if she was accepting her fate. As if she was ready to die.

“Y/N!” screamed Peter.

“No! Y/N, NO!”

Edmund tried to join his twin to protect her, but Peter had grabbed him, himself being held by Caspian. They didn’t notice Y/N slightly jumping when she heard them. The sword of the Telmarine seemed to fell on her in slow motion, and Peter and Edmund saw it hit her back. At the same moment, the soldier fell backward, Y/N on the top of him.

The following seconds seemed to last hours, everyone looking in disbelief at the two immobile bodies. Then, slowly, very slowly, her groans covered by the cheers of the Narnians, Y/N got up. Her chainmail had protected her, and in a desperate attempt, she had jumped on the solder to tackle him on the ground, her arm extended and her sword ready to kill.

Peter and Edmund rushed toward her. Y/N turned around and fell in Edmund’s arms.

“You did it! Y/N you did it!” Edmund had never felt so relieved in his life. “You scared me, don’t ever do anything like this anymore!”

“I can’t promise…” she smiled weakly. “Wait, I’ve got something to do.”

Y/N dragged her exhausted body toward a soldier. She ripped the dagger from his bloodied face and walked slowly and solemnly to Miraz. With a thud, she planted the dagger in the wooden table, and the weapon shook a bit. A puddle of blood was forming around it, soaking Miraz’s weapons. He seemed infuriated and looked up to Y/N as if he could kill her on the spot.

“Peter is a thousand time stronger than me.” She said with the most royal voice she had ever used. “If you want to stand a chance against my brother, I hope for you you’re a thousand time stronger than all these soldiers.”

And she left without adding anything, stumbling toward her brothers. Edmund wrapped an arm around her waist, Peter around her shoulders, and they slowly joined the mound under the Narnians’ cheerings.

#this is what happens when i binge watch Narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia imagine #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #edmund x twin reader #edmund x twin #sister reader #peter x sister reader

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treechangeseachange · 3 years

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The return

It’s coming up to 3 months since we returned to our block and it took us 8 weeks to slow down. On the weekend we slowed down we enjoyed the first official Friday night catch up with our neighbours as the full moon rose. On Saturday we went out for brunch. No sport on Sunday morning meant a sleep in. I played handball with my boys for the first time ever in my life. Lamb shanks slow cooked on the wood heater. We squeezed in a late Sunday afternoon fishing trip. It took us 8 weeks to find some calm. We had forgotten how to do normal. I haven’t written for this blog since um wow December?! My leisure time since then has been extremely limited and when it occurred I prioritised my mental wellbeing and sleep.

This journey has brought me to the edge of my psychological and physical limitations. I watched my husband do a terminator style non stop renovation while trying also to commence a rebuild. His promises to take time off over Christmas dwindled to 2 days. There was so much to do. I helped with whatever jobs I was able to and then focussed on the household and occasionally, our boys. Midway through January this year we realised trying to work on both the renovation and the rebuild was insanity. The local real-estate market was booming. Post COVID, Sydney city dwellers realised they could put in a few days in the city then work from their coastal holiday pad the rest of the week. We decided to get our investment property, come bushfire haven, onto the market before the summer ended. We mapped out each remaining job and the days required to accomplish them. We calculated selling time, settlement time and remaining bank balance. What were need to do’s and what were optional extras. If everything went to plan, we could pay to get some work done at the block and make it habitable enough to move into. It was an extreme test of time, energy and resources.

It worked. We listed by the end of February, sold in three weeks and settled five weeks after settlement. I write that all in one glib sentence. Of course all of that only happened with considerable focus and effort. Life for the boys was hectic. 99% of their toys were packed and moved into storage weeks before the house went on the market. As the house neared completion we stressed about them damaging something. When the house was on the market we stressed about them getting things dirty - the walls, the windows or the cupboards. I banished them from the bathroom, they had to brush teeth in the laundry and shower outside. Luckily it was warm and didn’t rain much in those few weeks! Anyone who has sold a house while living in it knows how painful open homes are. The logistics and effort of cleaning and styling, while working full time from home, scheduling everything between work appointments, getting the dog out of the way and the boys to school, nearly broke me. Thankfully the selling process was short, but we packed a lot of opens into that time and by the end of it all, I had become a shouty, grouchy mum and wife. It was also a real highlight to hit menopause and bring some phenomenal hormonal energy into the mix. Phew.

Before we packed up and left I was lucky enough to have a week away with the boys. My fully wired self hit Melbs and my family gave me refuge and forgave my intensity. We managed some fun and the change of scenery was a big relief. Husband, however, stayed behind to work on the temporary shed home. Holiday behind me, I returned to packup and clean and polish the house for the financial return of our lives. Literally.

Can you then imagine our triumphant and spectacular return to our block bathed in happiness and light? Um well perhaps instead picture this - we arrived exhausted to an unpowered, work in progress temporary residence in the middle of a mice plague and endured 200ml of heavy rain in four days leaving us surrounded by mud. Happy to catch the rain in our tank? I wish! The new tank leaked 8000L the week before we moved, and only our neighbour’s spare tank loan meant we had any water at all. But being so small, it overflowed and made even more mud. The heavy rain was so loud on the tin roof it frequently woke the kids in the night (who then woke us), mice ran across the floor, huntsmen spiders dropped from the ceiling. With nowhere really to unpack things, cooking became like the biggest ever memory game, which box were the bowls in? Where did I pack the cutlery? The rain delayed our solar power install so for 10 days we lived out of an esky and by torchlight. We both kept working full time, getting the boys to school, after school sport commitments and then husband kept building after he got home and into the night. After a week of stress and chaos we knew something had to give, fortunately husband could take time off work to focus on our build and family life.

Fast forward to now. The financial pressure of the summer has eased. The temporary living quarters are functional and steadily improving. We have a beautiful wood heater. Our off grid solar system is powering us even during these short winter days. I have more kitchen cupboards than ever before, plus a dishwasher! I have hung up my clothes in a full wardrobe for the first time in nearly four years. The boys each have clean new wardrobes. Their separate rooms are still being built so they are in what will be our room which is insulated and wall paneled. We can cope with an outside shower and toilet. My husband is a legend.

What’s it like actually being back? I confess I was nervous about my own and the boys emotions. Eldest son is extremely happy to be back. Youngest son has taken time to adjust but that has more been due to his fear of the dark. The noises of the bush are unfamiliar and there are no streetlights out here! There has only been one time where a prebushfire memory overwhelmed me. Every person’s bushfire experience and recovery is unique. Unlike many others we are fortunate have the opportunity to not have to build on the exact footprint of the old place and I think this is psychologically helpful. It’s not the same space, and with some trees dead and gone the landscape is altered, its a slightly different perspective. The boys are older now, so our lifestyle is different too. Slowly we are finding a new rhythm on our land. The boys are absolutely loving being back on their bikes on bush tracks.

I was excited to resume my morning walks, although maybe not as excited the dog! He’s happy to have his off-lead roam again. But the first week of walking I found tough, the burnt and recovering state forest I traverse didn’t bring me the joy it used to. In the heavily logged areas where only isolated saplings were left unlogged, they couldn’t survive the heat of the fire or they didn’t have community trees to share nutrients through their roots to support recovery. The undergrowth is now the canopy and is booming with all the extra sunlight but when I look at it, all I see is fire hazard. Then as the weeks went by, my view softened, I recognise the bush is healing like me. I am appreciating small wonders of nature. A spider’s web highlighted with morning dew or the fascination of new plants thriving. There are trees that have fully recovered, others seem to be doing well, and there is much green in the landscape to enjoy.

On my morning walk I also see which animals are about in the night from what they leave behind. There is at least one very busy wombat! We see wallabies reasonably often and last week one morning I found big roo prints in the clay right near our place. We hear a boobook owl calling most nights and more frogs chirping croaking from the gully than I ever remember. Which now makes sense, we definitely were in drought for some years prior to the fires and the creek has this year been running for months. Less exciting is hearing foxes at night, my son especially dislikes their eerie calls. In daytime the bird life is altered. We are down to one lyrebird, there used to be two with adjacent territories battling loudly with their extraordinary mimicry. But at least there is one, how a ground bird survived I can’t imagine. The yellow robins aren’t around us now, we have wrens in the cleared spaces and in the lush shrubs busy brown gerygones dart and chirp. A shrike thrush has made a nest in our bushfire remains pile, her song is piercing and wonderful. Rarely are the yellow crested black cockatoos here now. This past weekend we did see two circling wedge tailed eagles the silent assassins of the sky wheeling high over the gully with that phenomenal wingspan.

Surprisingly my greatest source of happiness in these first few months being back has come from the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, the sky feels bigger in the bush. I’m loving the late winter sunrises. My very favourite time is just after the sun has risen when the horizontal sun rays set tops of the trees bright orange. Those are magical minutes of golden tinged trees. The sunsets. The stars. The moon. the sky has been a revelation and a source of happiness. Maybe because I’m spending more time outside I notice it more. Seeing glittering stars through the steam of a hot outdoor shower makes the cold walk inside completely worth it!

Slowly I am regaining my sense of gratitude for this place. The quiet. The privilege of not seeing another house. Having no curtains and that not mattering. Not worrying about noise and neighbours. Lack of street lights at night.

All of a sudden things aren’t hectic and we are settling in. It still amazes me after 6 moves in 5 years how intense moving is and then how imperceptibly things transition to not being new anymore. Normalcy sneaks up on me every time. Clearly this isn’t really normal but we’re enjoying this new start in our old place.

#treechange #seachange #nswbushfires #recovery #offgrid

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connorswhisk · 3 years

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my love is like to ice

short little ficlet on nora and victor fries

can also be found on my ao3

They told him that his wife would never recover. They told him that her body would weaken, her blood cells would deplete, her strength would go, and eventually, she’d pass. They told him he’d have to pay thousands in medical bills for treatment, treatment that would merely slow the process instead of stop it, and keep her in great pain until she died.

They told him that there was nothing he could do to help her.

They didn’t know who they were dealing with.

He doesn’t have enough - although he’s a doctor, and he’s got a steady career, it just isn’t enough - and even with the added money from her job, it’s hardly close. It’s absurd, he thinks, absurd that the doctors in Gotham would turn away a dying woman simply because she cannot pay.

Not for the first time, he wishes he were back in Denmark - the hospitals there wouldn’t ask for nearly enough. They could help her. They could make her better.

But she was born here, and she wanted to stay here, and he could never deny her anything in the world, not even if he wished for nothing other than to do so.

We’re very sorry, Mr. Fries, they tell him. But you simply do not have enough for treatment. We can issue some prescriptions for medication, referrals to other specialists, and, if you’d like, recommendations for books on the subject -

He takes them up on the pills and nothing else, knowing that fruitless research and even more doctors will grant them with nought but a greater debt. He delivers the bad news to her in the car, and she sobs silently all throughout the night, while he holds her close and smooths down her hair and promises her he’ll find a way.

But he hasn’t been able to find a way for so long, and an entire month of his wife’s precious little time passes before he happens upon an article at work, an article written on yet another Neanderthal found encased in ice, and he kicks himself furiously because the answer had been right in front of his face the whole long while, and he’d been too blind to see it.

I can do it, he tells her, barely able to contain his ardor. I think I know how to save you.

She smiles at him, but the smile becomes a long and hacking cough, and the cough becomes blood spatters stained across the starch white surface of a tissue.

He sets to work straight away.

— — —

One moment, she’s breathing heavily into her oxygen mask, staring at her husband across the room and pleading with him - not necessarily pleading no, but not pleading yes, either.

The next, there’s a low whining sound as the gun powers up - she throws up her hands, shields her face, squeezes her eyes shut - and then she is still, so very, very still.

She can’t move, and she can’t see, and she can barely think, but she is alive.

She is still alive.

And the pain is gone. She doesn’t ache everywhere, bone-deep and resonating and all-encompassing. Her feeling of weakness is no longer there, replaced by ones of sleep, and lethargy, and cold. There is no ever-present tickle in her throat, no sudden urge to cough up blood; though she couldn’t cough if she tried.

She’s in limbo. Stasis. Almost like a coma.

She can’t see or hear her husband, but she knows, because she is still alive and because no one has woken her from her slumber yet, that he is still working. Throwing away everything, his entire career and reputation and life and sanity for - for her.

A very selfish part of her urges him to keep going.

She’d found him one day, in his workshop, testing out his plan - but not on mice, like he’d told her. Mice don’t have names and jobs and Social Security cards, they don’t have husbands and wives and children and friends - they aren’t humans, and humans aren’t mice.

She’d made herself believe that it came as a shock to her, but she thinks, horrifically, that she might have known all along. That she’d deduced what her husband was doing, knew what kind of subjects he was using for his tests, and done nothing, done nothing to dissuade him or to change his mind.

These people deserved to live. They deserved to live, but - but -

…But, damn it, so does she. She never had a say in what happened to her, what it did to her body and her soul and her life. She could never even afford to fix herself, and no one had seemed to care that that’s the way things had to be.

He’d cared, though, and he does care, and - and he’s not a bad man for doing it, and she loves him, she loves him, and he’s doing this because he loves her, and the people he was using weren’t big or important upstanding citizens or anything, they were dealers, and thieves, and swindlers, and maybe, maybe because of all of that they deserve -

No, she can’t think like that. Oh God, she can’t think like that.

Nora -

Victor -

She silently waits inside her frozen cocoon, and prays to someone, anyone, that they might be able to save her husband before he saves her.

#my writing #fandom: dc #character: victor fries #character: nora fries #victor fries #nora fries #mr. freeze #gotham rogues #nora x victor

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ronninoir · 4 years

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Can I Steal You for a Second CH28

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Chapter 28

The van ride back to the mansion was blissful. Marinette was giddy about how well her conversation went with Adrien. The whole night was wonderful, and the icing on the cake was that she didn’t even have to pretend to like Lila since the two never spent any alone time together.

As she walked in the front doors, Marinette heard a scream and was tackled with a hug. “Thank God you came back! I don’t know if I could have handled it if you went home and left me with Lila alone!” the voice of Juliette moaned as she squeezed the life out of Marinette. When Juliette finally let her go, she was greeted by Lucie as well, who hugged her enthusiastically.

The two girls dragged Marinette to the couch and asked her for every detail about the three-on-one date. She told them all of the awkward details, all except her declaration of love for the cameras. That she wanted to keep to herself a little longer. Right as she finished explaining that she didn’t know who had gone home because she left before she could find out, the door opened. All three girls held their breath, only to let out a small sigh as Lila entered the room.

Lila paused on her way towards the stairs and gave a curt, “What are you three staring at?” before disappearing out of sight.

Juliette just rolled her eyes and carried on like there had been no interruption. “Oh well, we can’t have everything in life.” Marinette and Lucie both began laughing as Lila huffily reentered the room.

She sat down on the couch and crossed her arms, quickly followed by Victoria, who was armed with her signature clipboard.

“Great, now that we’re all here, we can discuss what next week is going to look like.” She conferred with her clipboard for a moment before continuing. “As you know, the next stop on your journey is Hometowns, where Adrien gets to meet your parents. The dates have already been planned for you as well as the locations, which will be in your town but not your house, for safety reasons, except for Miss Dupain-Cheng.” The other three girls turned and looked at Marinette, but she just shrugged, not understanding what made her different from the rest.

Victoria moved on as if nothing had happened. “That means you will get to see your family for the first time as well. You are not permitted to stay the night with them. You will wake up the morning of your Hometown in your assigned hotel room in your hometown, and you will come back the night of to that same room, are we clear?”

Every girl gave a mumbled, “Yes ma’am,” before Lila spoke up, “What about my parents? Are we going to Italy and for how long?” Her voice was strained and she didn’t seem very excited about seeing her parents again.

“They are already notified of what is to come and they will be arriving in France a day prior to your Hometown and the leaving the day after shooting.” Victoria said, matter-of-factly. Victoria finally looked up from her clipboard and made eye contact with all of the girls, “Any other questions?” Marinette had a couple of questions, but she didn’t want to ask in front of the other girls and embarrass herself. Victoria gave a satisfied smile and seemed to relax a little. “Anyway, I wanted to congratulate you four for making it this far. We appreciate your dedication to Adrien and to the journey and I hope you’ll be patient with us, as these next few weeks are very critical to the success of the show and everything that happens from here on out will be closely monitored.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the room.

The girls sat quietly for a moment, allowing what was just said to soak in. Lila was the first one out of the room, and the other girls soon followed, wishing the others goodnight.

Marinette laid in her bed, with Tikki on the pillow next to her, thinking about Victoria’s final words. “Do you think they’ll notice when you disappear as Ladybug?” Tikki asked, voicing the question Marinette was pondering.

“Honest, Tik, I don’t know. I’m just going to have to be more careful, I guess, and hope that no one finds out.”

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

The next three days felt longer than normal. Without the cocktail party to stress about Friday and Saturday, the days stretched on and on. By Sunday afternoon Marinette was itching to transform. Right before she could escape, she was cornered by a random producer who wanted to officially inform her that her Hometown date would occur Monday, since she was the only local girl and Lila’s parents couldn’t fly in until Thursday.

Realizing that she only had mere hours before truly seeing her parents again made her want to jump and scream with excitement. She had miss them so much, even though they were minutes away from where she was now, it was still exciting to think that soon she would see them with Adrien in tow.

The thought of Adrien meeting her parents gave her butterflies. She knew that she was in it for the long haul, but it was still weird to think that she’d been in a relationship with Adrien long enough for parents to be involved.

As she rounded the corner to her room and walked inside, a horrible thought struck. “What if they don’t like him?” Marinette asked the room at large.

Thankfully, only Tikki answered, “What if who doesn’t like whom?”

Marinette met Tikki’s eyes, and she must have looked truly worried, because Tikki immediately flew next to Marinette, offering up one of her precious cookies. “What if my parents don’t like Adrien? Like how are they to know that he’s my soulmate who I’ve been in love with for seven years? What do I do if they decide he’s not good enough for me or if there’s something completely wrong with him?” Marinette gasped as an even worse thought came, “What if they decide that I’m not good enough for him and they adopt Adrien and disown me and then I’ll be homeless and living on the street and I’ll have to beg for money and sleep in a cardboard box and my only friends will be the mice that live in my alley and the toothless hobo they call Smelly Todd.”

Tikki grabbed Marinette’s cheek and forced her to make eye contact with the god. Her blue eyes bore into Marinette’s and she felt her breathing relax and her heart rate go down. “Be sensible, Marinette. None of that is going to happen. Your parents are going to love Adrien because they will see how much of a gentleman he is and how much he loves you. Once they see how much you two care for each other, there won’t be any objections.”

Marinette felt herself nodding, Tikki’s words flowing over her and calming her down significantly. “You’re right Tikki,” she sighed, slumping down onto her bed. “Thank you for not letting me become a hobo and being friends with Smelly Todd.”

Tikki gently patted her cheek, “I’ll always be here for you, Marinette.”

Almost an hour later, Marinette was still thinking about all of the possible ways this meeting tomorrow could go, just without the hyperventilating, when she transformed and disappeared out of her window.

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

Chat had actually beat Ladybug to their meeting spot, and, as if it was some unspoken agreement, as soon as Ladybug’s feet hit the roof, both of them dropped their transformations.

Plagg just glanced between the two of them as Tikki flew to join him. “Why does this feel like an ambush?”

Marinette gave a nervous giggle and moved to sit next to Adrien, who suddenly looked very stressed and worried. She gently grabbed his hand and he quickly entwined their fingers together as he took a deep breath and addressed the kwamis. “We need to talk about our new powers.”

Tikki let out a small sigh, “We figured you would eventually.”

“We just need a better understanding of how they work, so we know how to better control them.” Marinette said calmly, giving Adrien’s hand a small squeeze.

Plagg let out an exasperated sigh that caused Adrien to roll his eyes. “What do you want to know? They’re new and better and that’s about it.”

Adrien opened his mouth to say something, but Marinette beat him to it. “Please, Plagg, we need more information. We’re trying to figure out what happened during the last akuma attack, and how we can try not to destroy all of Paris while we’re saving it.”

“The thing is, Marinette, we can’t give out too much information. You have to figure out the new powers for yourself.” Tikki floated over and gently put her hands on Adrien’s other hand. She was looking at him so sadly that it made Marinette’s heart hurt.

Adrien stared down at his lap and whispered, “I just need to understand how I cataclysmed Montparnasse Tower.” Tikki and Plagg shared a look, and Marinette had a feeling that a mini argument was going on between them. After a few beats, Tikki huffed a “Fine!” and Plagg sped over towards Adrien, forcing him to met his eyes.

“Hey, kid, I know how much this has bothered you this week. But you need to know it wasn’t fully your fault. These enhanced powers allow for your cataclysm to last longer than it did before, which you couldn’t have known.”

“You mean like more than five minutes?” Marinette asked, genuinely curious.

“Kind of. It’s hard to explain without demonstrating it, but you can use your power more than one time. You have more control over it.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped, and he stuttered, “M-more than one time?”

“Yeah, aren’t you listening?” Plagg asked, giving Adrien a teasing look before continuing. “Let’s look at what happened with Revengapop.” Adrien physically flinched at the name, but didn’t stop Plagg. “You summoned the cataclysm to destroy his popcorn-making machine. But, as you landed from your jump, you touched the roof with your right hand to balance yourself. Your cataclysm was still active when you touched the roof, therefore it cataclysmed the building. You could have done more damage, except once you realized what you had done, you willed the cataclysm away.”

As he was talking, Marinette replayed the event in her mind. She could see Chat jumping towards the machine, and then landing in a lunge with his right hand on the roof. That was when the building started to collapse, and she went into overdrive and grabbed the akuma while using her Miraculous fix.

“So, you’re saying that he can cataclysm more than one thing with a charge? Like it’ll just keep going until he’s done using it, and then he can just turn it off?”

“You got it, LB.”

“But wait, how does the countdown work, if he can cataclysm a number of things?”

“The timer is the tricky part,” Tikki cut in. “Your timers last longer than 5 minutes now, but it will only gradually increase over time. So now you may have 5 and a half minutes before you detransform, but it’ll eventually become longer and more permanent as you continue to get older.”

“But when do the timers start counting down?” Adrien asked, his gaze dancing between the two kwamis.

“Yours, kid, starts once you turn the cataclysm off.”

“And yours, starts once you are done using your Lucky Charm, usually by throwing it for the Miraculous cure.”

“So, you’re saying I can fight an entire fight with a cataclysm charge on my right hand and my ‘kind of, sort of’ five-minute timer won’t start until I turn off the power?” Marinette noticed that the light was slowly coming back in Adrien’s eyes, and he actually seemed to be getting excited about all of this rather than worried like he was before.

“Yes, but that’s honestly all we can tell you. The rest of it you have to discover for yourself.” Tikki was calm, but it was clear that she was done talking about this topic with the Miraculous holders. Adrien, however, was not.

“So, the bigger jumps and connected thoughts and being able to walk around quieter are all part of the enhanced powers package too?”

Plagg nodded excitedly. “My favorite is the enhanced strength. With it, you can lift the largest piece of camembert ever made!” Marinette laughed at the thought of Chat just casually holding a piece of camembert the size of a car.

As Adrien and Plagg continued to get excited about all of the new powers he has, Marinette’s mind went into overdrive. There was something that Tikki had said after the Task when they learned about all of this that she needed to ask about.

“I have a question.” She announced, which shut the boys up pretty quickly. “Tikki, when you told us about our new powers, you said more danger could come with it, and that we needed to be more careful. What exactly did you mean by that.”

Tikki paused, as if contemplating the best way to phrase her next statement. Do you remember the akuma Timebreaker?” Marinette nodded, thinking of that akuma from long ago. That was an akuma she would never forget, as she ended up working with another Ladybug as well as a Chat Noir, one Ladybug from the present and one from the past (of like 5 minutes, but still). “Do you remember how Chat got hit by Timebreaker and he dissolved?” Both Marinette and Adrien nodded grimly. They didn’t like to talk about all of the times something horrible had happened to Chat during a battle, but that particular instance was one of the worst. “If that were to happen now, your enhanced powers as Ladybug would go away until you saved Chat.”

Marinette tried to comprehend what that would look like. Her timer would go back to 5 minutes exactly, her lucky charm wouldn’t be as strong, and she would be without her partner, which is always her greatest weakness. The idea upset her more than she thought it would.

Tikki let her words hang there before speaking again. “That’s why I warned you to be careful. If something happens to either of you, even if it’s something that the Miraculous cure can fix, the other will suffer greatly.”

Marinette and Adrien exchanged a look. She could tell that he still thought she was the reckless one out of the two of them, but arguing about it won’t fix the problem. “I promise to be more aware of my actions, if you are.”

Adrien smiled that beautiful smile of his and answered, “We both know I’m not the reckless one, but I promise the same. I’ll be safer if you’ll be safer.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I meant what I said at the date last week. I only want you to be safe.”

Adrien turned his head and kissed her forehead, “I just want us to be safe together.”

Marinette closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying this moment with Adrien. Of course, that’s when Plagg decided to clear his throat causing Marinette to open her eyes.

“I hate to break up this moment, but I want cheese before we go patrol.” Adrien rolled his eyes and pulled away from Marinette gently, digging in his pocket for some cheese. He tossed it to his kwami as Marinette stood up, looking for cookies for Tikki.

“Don’t worry, Marinette, I don’t need cookies to transform.” Tikki said with a laugh as Adrien whipped towards her appalled. “Plagg’s just needy.” Marinette laughed as Adrien murmured, “I knew that,” before calling his transformation. Marinette watched as he was bathed in green light and then suddenly, Chat stood before her. She let out a small sigh, which caught Chat’s attention.

“What was that, princess?” He asked with a smirk.

“Oh nothing. I just don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching you do that.” Chat let out a small growl-like sound before stepping forward and kissing Marinette aggressively. She got lost in the kiss as his claws ran through her hair and she was finally able to appreciate how skin tight his leather suit really was. Before either of them took it too far though, they broke apart and Chat rested his forehead on Marinette’s.

“We have a city to patrol,” he said rather breathlessly, the sound of which sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re right,” she sighed, wishing for once that she didn’t have to be responsible for the entire city of Paris. “Plus, we’ll have plenty of time for that kind of stuff in the fantasy suite.” She watched Chat gulp and grow slightly pale under the mask, which caused her to laugh. It was nice to know she could still get to him.

She quickly called her transformation, and the two of them flew off into the night.

~~~

Soooooo sorry friends for the long wait! My sister was having trouble finding the inspiration to write, BUT she FINALLY got her act together AND mapped out the rest of the story, so we have almost reached the end of this journey together! Thank you all so much for the support and the constant notes and shares. You guys are the best and this story wouldn't continue to exist without you!

Aaaanyway, we hope you all enjoy the new chapter!

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

@momor3202

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

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ships-n-giggles · 4 years

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Futile Souls: Good Omens Platonic Crowley/Reader

Summary: He saves you. And you chase him through several lifetimes trying to thank him. Platonic, no romance, written because Crowley loves kids

____

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing (and publishing!) reader-insert fanfiction, and I got inspiration from a chapter of Little Pet Shop of Horrors, a Good Omen’s AU regarding Crowley sneaking kids onto the Ark (if the author would message me so I can credit, I would appreciate it!) and other reincarnation stories. These are all based on meetings he has with Aziraphale throughout history, and taking into context the problems that went on during this. This is not a condemnation of certain cultures, religions or peoples, but rather an observation of how it could have affected kids.

If anyone thinks the level of effort Crowley goes to in protecting kids is not accurate with the book or show, that that’s up to you. This is a personal view of what I think Crowley would do in situations where innocent kids will get hurt or killed. I also used the closest thing I could think of to the original names of Jesus and others, though I’m certain I may have inaccuracies. If there are any experts who can point them out for me, I’d appreciate knowing my mixups, though I don’t think I’ll be editing. (ie, no beta read, we die like men)

Also please note that I’m not doing romantic shipping because I personally view Crowley and Aziraphale as agender, asexual beings in reference to what Neil Gaiman has come out to say about them, being a demon and an angel and all. If you like romantic shipping, please write your own or support other readers!

I don’t own Good Omens, because if I did there would be real dinosaurs and I would be living in a castle by the sea, so don’t sue please.

The first time, it was raining very hard.

Your father remarked that such a mighty rain in the desert was surely a promise from above that there would be more fertile lands. More water for barely, wheat, to bake bread and brew beer. You wish you knew what your mother would have thought of it all. But she had been dead seven years, and your father had already married a third time. And your stepmother did not bother to tell you anything. More often than not, she pretended you were not there.

“It’s raining too much.” Your friends remarked, the third day in. “We should ask if we can get on that big boat out beyond the village.”

The local madman, your father called him.

A ship of great proportions, but with no sail or rudder. It seemed less a boat and more of a glorified tub to float in the ocean….except the sea was miles and miles away and would not hasten to him, surely. But there had been remarkable things. A week ago, he let out a great shout for all of the beasts and creatures of the world to come unto him. And they had. Two by two, pair by pair. You saw animals you had no name for. Great big cats with stripes that barely licked their chops in your direction, even as you ducked behind your father, but rather padded along patiently towards the ship. Animals bigger than a house, with a tail at both ends! Even mice were scampering to join the ferry.

The rain drowns the crops, and starts billowing over into your house. Your stepmother, irritated, pregnant, and tired of the soggy state of things, chases you out while your father snores in their bed.

“Hurry! Look!” The children shout at you to join them on top of a big rock. The water is flowing more heavily now, and covers your feet and make your sandals heavy. “It’s the ocean!”

Sure enough, it is the ocean. The adults scoff that it was just the nearby river, but strange fish splash out from it. It looks too big to be a river. And too muddy.

The stranger comes.

“Come.” He hushes you all, a group of twelve children, who are curious at his red hair and yellow eyes. You give a last glance at your house. Your stepmother will not mind if you are gone long. And father will not notice. And this stranger is not like the other adults who are impatient and sometimes lash out when a child is too noisy. He hangs back from view, and watches things as they happen. “Hurry up. There’s not much time left.”

The water around the ark is up to your waist, though it only comes to the stranger’s knees as you wade to the base of the boat. Shem has pulled up the gangplank. He shouts angrily at the people of the village, for shunning their God. For sin. For the corruption of their existence.

The stranger casts one frustrated look of desperation to the skies, grabs a plank and pops it open. You’re all in awe and surprise. The planks are made of tough oak, and the stranger didn’t even use a hammer.

“Get in, you lot. Quick, quick, before we’re noticed.”

But you are all very afraid now. The rain comes down harder, the wind whipping it as you all hold your clothes together tightly, cowering in the coming storm. You jump at the sound of crackling thunder, and look up as lightning bursts in the sky.

You know that much more than the ocean has come to greet you.

So you lead the way, and climb aboard.

The other children, hesitantly at first, follow. And finally the stranger climbs in, putting the plank back where it was and banging the nails back in the other way with his own fist.

All thirteen of you huddle together in the dark hull, and begin to hear things. First it was just heavy rushes of water, splashing the ship. Then it gives a great lurch, and you can feel it floating. There is noise and commotion outside, hearing men slosh around and yelling instructions to slow the flow. Then you hear them urging the others to climb the rooftops of their homes. Then the screaming.

The stranger lets the children cling to him as the storm rages outside. You are right under his arm, hugging his waist and trembling. You all were the children who were awake. But there were many other children in the village. And some had not even been born.

You think you hear your father crying out to the heavens before it is swallowed up by a wave of water and let out a gasp. Without hesitation, the stranger moves one of his hands to your head, soothing you. Your father rarely touched you save to express his frustration or to move you aside.

You wonder if this was a man sent by God.

Peeking up, the stranger’s gaze is intently on a shadow in the hull of the ship, what would lead to the animal pens above. It is tense, fearful, waiting. Hoping. Wishing that you all are not caught.

A long time ago, a black snake slipped into your house and scared your first stepmother to bits, and was chased out by your father. It occurs to you that his eyes are precisely that same kind.

The storm rages, and you are all lulled to sleep.

“Here. Look outside.”

All of you have been wafting in and out of sleep, anxious waiting in the dark, and eating whatever the stranger procures when he briefly departs into the darkness to find some food. It is very little, a couple of raw vegetables or a loaf of bread to share, washed down with fresh water. And you have no idea how long you all have been afloat. Sometimes the rocking of the ship makes you sick. Sometimes it just makes you tired.

When the stranger beckons you all to the plank you had crawled in from, you realize the ship is very, very still.

He pops it open, and there is an amazing sight outside.

A bridge in the sky, with every beautiful color you have ever known and some you have only heard about. A bright white bird with a laurel in its toes soars across the sky, and the sun is shining. There is a lot of water still. And a lot of mud. But it is receding.

“That’s a promise.” The stranger says. “That this won’t happen again.”

But clearly he does not trust this sign from God.

The stranger is careful. He waits until the animals disperse and waits even longer for Shem and his family to set forth with their wives, children and livestock, to claim what is left. When there is nothing but fresh new silence, he leads you all along. “The sun won’t set on you here.” He says as he takes you to the edge of a new sea. His long arm points to a mountain far, far away. “Keep walking. When you reach that mountain, you’ll find a new home. Don’t tell them where you came from. Don’t let them know how you got here.” He looks down and you gaze up at him. “And for hell’s sake don’t let this be the end of you.”

You want to ask him to come along, but the other children have begun to walk, and….after a long wait, you hurry to catch up.

The twelve of you never forget his face. But you had no name to recall him by. So the others begin to forget him for real.

Canaan is fertile, fine land. Shem and his family must have roamed elsewhere. But there are good people here, surprised to find so many lost children wandering around. The high priest of Canaan divines that this was the work of God that you came here, and one by one, you are interred into new homes. You do not form real familial relations with your foster family at first. But a shy cousin is taken with you, and in time, you make your own.

You used to remember the stranger with the other lost children. But soon they stop talking about it. And when you ask, they frown, and tell you they were born here.

Your last breath is drawn upon the birth of your second child. When you see the black cloak your heart leaps with joy…the stranger has come back.

But you feel very cold to realize this is another stranger.

“Yes.” He agrees. “Very much a stranger.”

Your mother in law is wailing alongside the baby, but your body is cold and lifeless. There is grief in the air, but the question has been hanging on for some time now. “Who is he?” You ask. “What is his name?”

“You are dead. You will never see him again.”

“I could.” You said in a small voice. “I might. The sun is reborn every day. The moon waxes and wanes. I could come back too.”

“Would you? Would you relive this life? To know his name?”

“…I didn’t even say thank you. I wouldn’t have lived this long if he hadn’t.”

There is a long silence, and you see the world shrouded in darkness…pinpricked with dying lights that flash brightly before fading away. “Exactly this way. Every time.” Death agrees. “You will be born in time to see him. You will marry and have two children. And you will live only thirty two years before you start all over again.” The promise sounds like a dark omen, as if you should be afraid of such an arrangement. “Until you can express your gratitude, that will be your cycle.”

“That is enough for me.” You whisper, and feel your face and name become less familiar. “Until I can say thank you.”

You do not close your eyes. You don’t have the form to do so anymore.

_______

The next time, it is in Palestine. Galilee.

Your father and stepmother are worrying again, over the state of Roman affairs. It should have mattered less to them, being Jews, but their king in Rome had a lot to say about Jews being Jewish. Even as she soothes your future sibling, resting in her tummy, your stepmother says a lot of prayers, urging God to avert the Roman gaze away from you when you go out to play.

Most Roman legionaries don’t care about the multitude of children that run amok in the streets, and you and your friends play with hoops, ball games, and sometimes draw in the dirt or with charcoal on the walls. Sometimes they chuckle and remark on their own children in Rome, being minded by their mothers, sisters, and wives. You wonder why they don’t stay in Rome with their families like they should, but when you think on it, staring at them, they bark in Latin and make you run.

Your friend is a neighbor, who sings brightly. She is singing a hymn about Abraham in the yard, weaving alone, when you hear her stop and her mother screams. Your father tries to keep you from looking, but you climb to your bed in the loft and peer out.

A legionnaire is wiping the blood off his gladius, and your friend is dead, stabbed in the throat and bleeding heavily into the street. Her mother is wailing and screaming in horror, bent over her body and her tears flowing into the street. The legionnaire scolds her for letting her daughter be so crass in public and gives her a hard kick.

Your father grabs a cudgel from the wall. Your stepmother sees and grows pale, shutting the door behind him and fastening it shut.

Many other fathers do the same, and the riot that breaks out is so loud that you have to cover your ears and hide in the pantry with the door locked. You scream when the walls crumble in the kitchen, and your stepmother praying for mercy when a someone cuts her off. The door is forced open and you’re dragged out.

You choke at the sight of a street, wrecked from the fighting, with more Jews lying in pieces and Romans gathering up the inhabitants and shoving them along. They’re taking you to the coliseum.

Some Jews who worship openly, or even privately, get dragged in there and never come out. Your father used to say it was because the Romans wanted to look strong, and thus they put charges on people who had no power and punished them for their innocence. It occurs to you that among the beat up rioters, weeping mothers, and confused elderly, you are the only child in the group. You’re all forced into a dark, dry holding cell, packed together like jars of dried fish. An old woman sees you and hurries to sit you on her lap to prevent you from being crushed by the crowd.

And you’re all forced to wait.

You’re asleep when you’re forced awake by the sound of snarling. Something big. Something hungry.

The cell is half empty when you awaken. The old woman is shivering with fright. You are too. Then, a whisper passes through, and the woman urges you to move to a shadowed corner of the cell. “Come, come quickly.” The urge you, and as you are pushed forth, you see a small opening where a few bricks are removed. It’s too big for the rest, but you squeeze through with a few helpful pushes from the others, and land in the hot sand outside.

A man shaded under black linen with vibrant red hair and yellow eyes is waiting on the other side.

“Go. Run.” He urges, grabbing you by the wrist. Pulled along, the two of you race out of sight, even as cheers erupt from the coliseum. He pushes you up a ladder and over rooftops, and finally through a small door in the walls of the city. He squints into the distance, and sees a group moving forward. “C’mon, it’s not too late.” He points. “That there is a group following a man named Yeshua. That man will keep you safe from harm.” He squares you by the shoulders, bending over to look at you deep in the eye. “Do not let this place be your end. Now run.”

Something inside you tells you that you ought to wait, to say something else. But he gives you a good shove and you start running. By the time you catch up enough to look back, there is no more sight of your rescuer. He has vanished into a dot on the horizon, with the walls of Galilee behind him.

You push forward to find this man the others reverently call the son of God.

At first you hide behind the crowds when he stops by an oasis to drink. He speaks very gently to everyone, yet loud enough for the others in the back to hear as he speaks. You find yourself listening very intently, until he sees you hiding in the crowd and smiles softly.

He looks after you until a husband and wife come forward, admitting they had lost their baby and wished to take you in as their own. They have heard Yeshua’s message. They live by it. You cannot remember a family that loved you more, except perhaps the parents you have lost. You are married in another city to a friend of theirs. He is solemn and quiet, but he has soft hands and a sweet smile he keeps just for you.

After you are married, you grieve to find Yeshua has been murdered.

But when you and your husband make the pilgrimage to his tomb to pay your respects, your eyes are awash in tears to see him standing before you at the inn, smiling softly, with puncture wounds on his wrists. “My child.” He says gently, and you embrace. He has not forgotten you after all this time.

When you return home to give birth to your firstborn, they tell you he has returned to Heaven. He was here long enough to at least say goodbye. When you become pregnant a second time, you feel as though you are watching your life trickle away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

Yellow eyes. Red hair.

You don’t know his name but you want to find him.

You ask all over the town, hobbling even as the weight of your child bears down on you. But the last that was ever seen, even in Galilee, was of that man watching when they put Yeshua to the cross. Still you search, until your husband bodily carries you to an inn in the next town over. You heave and choke on your breath in a spare room at the hostel.

Regret tinges your last moments.

_____

Again you are born. This time as a slave in Rome.

Your mother cooks for Domitus Britannicus Hesperodus. A wealthy Senator with the ear of the Emperor, married twice. Your mother could not say no to him when he forced her to lay with him, and in time you were born. He didn’t seem to care that you were his flesh and blood, and neither did his children who ordered you around, mimicking their patriarch.

You think it extraordinary how slaves can get in trouble so often. As a child you often hung close to your mother, helping her bake bread and grill fish by the hot stove. But you hear stories of slaves who break furniture and pottery, dawdle on their errands, or speak impertinently to the master. You hear this from the children, who warn you that if you act out of line they will run right to your master and tell him to whip you soundly. Maybe you would even lose a hand. There is already one servant missing a hand when he deigned to steal your master’s bread, who clumsily hauls wood for the fireplaces and stokes the hearth.

When you are asked to serve the table, you realize it is the masters who decide if a slave is impertinent, clumsy, spiteful or lazy.

You don’t remember doing anything wrong. You serve the dishes, pour the wine, and remember what your mother says about keeping your eyes to the ground and staying quiet. The master has several friends over, senators dining lazily and debating philosophy. When your gaze is drawn up to a dove cooing in the window, you miss the first call for wine. The second call is a shattering cup that nearly hits you.

“Lazy!” Your master rears up like a lion about to pounce. You’re terrified as he grabs you by the arm. “Are you deaf? Now the cup is broken!” He piles on the blame and pulls back his hand. And in your panic you bite down on his arm.

You hear him yowl as you run away, dropping the wine jar and spilling it all over the floor as you make haste for the garden. You near trample his youngest son, who bawls when he drops his toy into the pond. You squash the flowers in the yard before leaping up to grab the edge of the wall, scrambling to get over and feeling the breeze of a whip at your heel as you climb up and over…making a run into the night. Late night revelers whoop as you run, and a few prostitutes cheer and make inappropriate gestures as you dart through them, running as your pursuers pour from the house and start to make chase.

Domitus has gotten astride his chariot, yelling at the street-goers to get out of his way as he rumbles down the street, catching up.

“Oi! You!”

You scream as you are grabbed and pulled into a narrow alley, vanishing from sight. A hand claps over your mouth and shushes you. “Hush, shshshsh,” The stranger quiets you like a hissing snake, putting a finger to his mouth. “Keep your mouth shut and you might get away.”

His hair is short, curled, and as bright red as burnished copper. You cannot see his eyes for the dark spectacles on his face, but he has dark, dyed toga, and a golden laurel around his head. He looks around and gestures you to follow. “This way, be quick about it.” The idea of your master in his chariot with a cracking whip demolishes any idea of mistrust and you cling to his toga as you follow him along.

You hasten to a different district, where there are more Germans, Greeks, and Britons mulling about than Romans. He speaks in an unfamiliar language to a group of men in wool cloaks, who eye you very curiously. You hide behind the stranger, but he eventually pulls you aside.

“Right. Stay calm now.” He says quietly. “My friends over here are going to a different place called Gaul. You ever been there?” You shake your head. “Speak any Gaulish at all?” Again, you shake your head, and he tuts. “Pity. But you’ll get the hang of it. Ol’ Tiberius here speaks Latin, he’ll teach you.” He jerks his head at a very big fellow with a strange pewter knot that looks like a snake on his cloak. “Now, I want you to go with them and get as far away from here as you can. Your old master’s gotten himself all worked up, and it’s not worth your life if he catches you, believe me.”

You must have looked afraid because he strokes your head and pulls something from his pocket. A gold coin so old it has since lost all of its features. “Here. If you’re worried about them, you can hop off anytime you like and buy yourself a trade. Keep that close and don’t lose it.” He drops it in your hand and closes it shut.

“But you’ve got a lot more life to live than anyone else here, so keep going.”

It’s enough encouragement to nod your head and to climb into a wagon with the Gauls. But as it begins to rattle off, you realize something and stand up, shouting over the edge.

“Wait!” You yell. “What’s your name?!”

But the stranger only waves and turns back into the crowd, swallowed up by a sea of strangers.

You find your new husband in Gaul by the time you arrive. He’s big and burly and laughs out loud, but cradles you like a little bird and awes over your smaller feet and hands. You learn Gaulish, and learn to enjoy the quiet of the moors and the flowers of the new land. You like the village you come to make your home, and cry when your firstborn child enters this world.

Your second child dies, and you sob to see its corpse exit you as you leave this world.

_______

You had an idyllic childhood the next time. Right until you turned thirteen.

With every pound on the door, you wince, unable to eat the meal your nurse has put before you. The household knights look impressive with their armor, tunics and swords, but they shiver as the Red Knight demands your submission outside the castle.

The Red Knight had learned of you after the death of his fifth bride…another fine young lady of another castle. He rode up to your home, demanded your father show himself, and when he did he challenged him to a duel for your hand and killed him before he could accept or object. With his many squires, fellow renegades and cutthroats making camp around the castle, bullying the locals, you had sensibly shut the gates and barred all entry. There was enough food to last a short siege, what you hoped would be a short one anyway as you wrote a letter to the Kingdom of Essex and the Knights of the Table Round. The letter was put on a hawk to be delivered, and shot down before it could reach the castle.

With no more hawks, and food growing short, the Red Knight laughed that he would starve you out sooner or later.

You pick at your pottage and fish and feel very cold at the idea of marrying him. He had eyes for every young maiden in the area, and no sooner did he wed them did he condemn them to sad, lonely deaths in their bedrooms….chained to the wall some said.

“No one can stand against the Red Knight and live.” One of your knights shuddered at the thought. “He will have us, one way or another.” And with no way of requesting a champion it seemed that would be the end of you.

The Black Knight strolled into the village by surprise, and outdid several of the Red Knight’s squires when they tried to beat him out of his armor. You feared he was just another thug until he made a request at the gate, the Red Knight begrudgingly with him.

“Hello!” He shouts, until you appear at the parapet. “Are you the lady of Willshire Castle?”

“I am.” You call back.

“Right.” He gives a short bow. “I am the Black Knight of Wessex, come to represent you in a duel of arms against the Red Knight of Barborough.”

“This time my lady-“ The Red Knight interrupts. “-you will give your solemn vow. To whomever achieves victory over the other, you will dedicate your hand in marriage. Do you swear before God to do this?”

The Black Knight’s expression is impossible to see, but he looks at the Red Knight with what you can guess is a look of exasperation as he throws up his hands in annoyance at the suggestion. “Er. Yeah. Marriage.” He agrees half-heartedly.

You have nothing to lose. Your household knights and servants will be slaughtered wholesale if you do not accept. And no one else has stood up the Red Knight before. “I vow before God and this community.” You swear. “That to the victor of this duel I will dedicate my hand in holy matrimony.”

The Black Knight wriggles in place uncomfortably. And you’re confused. Wasn’t that what he was here for?

The Red Knight draws his sword and bows dramatically. “I shall dedicate his death to you my love!” He swears viciously, making your blood run cold. “And when I win we will be wed at once! You! Squire!” He barks at one of his cronies. “Go and fetch a priest if we’ve still got one, this won’t take long!”

And to the shock and awe of all…it really doesn’t.

The mystery knight struggles to remove his sword from the Red Knight’s back, his opponent’s face still frozen in shock at the rapid end to the duel. By some form of magic, or curse, it was as if the Red Knight’s sword had turned to butter, slipping from his hands, and leaving the Black Knight free to give him a quick thrust to the chest. Finally the Black Knight wrenches the sword from the armor, groaning at the mess. “Urgh.” He fishes out a black handkerchief and wipes it off, sheathing it.

You suppose a promise is a promise, and order the gates to be opened.

Escorted by the household knights, who eye him with suspicion, you are suddenly very self conscious. Your father had plans for you to marry at a better age. Thirteen he said, was far too young to wed. You were still too delicate for marriage, to immature. Was this knight no better than the last?

The squire rushes back with a priest, who yells in shock at the sight of the infamous knight now dead, the prize delivering itself to his enemy. “Y-you! You’re some kind of demon!”

“You’ve got that right.” The Black Knight declared, hopping astride his horse and bringing it around. “I am the Black Knight of Wessex. Lord of the Darklands that will never be claimed!” His horse swung its mane, and he moved to dodge it. “And to meet with me is to meet…your Death!”

You’re scared as he offers you his hand. A promise is a promise. Your word before God and all others.

But you feel safe as you are pulled onto the horse, the knight nearly missing the priest as he speeds away from the castle, racing down the road. You hold on as the horse jounces the both of you until it slows, and you stop for the night.

“Here.” He helps you down, and starts a fire, sitting on a log to take a drink from a wineskin. “Take a rest, we’ll camp for the night before we ride to Wessex.” He passes you the wine, and moreover, shares a hunk of ham, cheese and bread from his saddlebag. You expect him to take what he has won as the Red Knight would, but instead he grumbles over the tent and the fire and struggles out of his armor to rest.

His hair is the devil’s own red, and his eyes are like a viper, yellow and serpentine. But he does not do anything to you without asking, and even then it is only to offer you something to eat, something to drink, and a warm blanket to rest in.

“Don’t you want to marry me?” You asked on the ride to Wessex. It’s very foggy, and the sun is barely making headway through the clouds.

“What am I going to do married?” He asks, a little irritable. He does not seem to like riding by horse, especially in plate armor. “Besides, you’re just a little girl. Don’t have time to babysit little girls, I’ve got fear to ferment and trouble to start elsewhere.”

When you ask why he bothered to help, he claimed there was a fly buzzing in his armor and he couldn’t hear you. He gives you no reason as to why he would bother until a castle comes into view farther away and he helps you off. “See that castle?” He points. “That’s the eastern hold of King Arthur. Rules these parts.” He lifts up his visor to squint. “There’s a knight of the Table Round that lives there, friend of mine. Ask for Sir Aziraphale and he’ll give you a hand.”

“Why?”

“He’s a knight of King Arthur, that’s what he does.” He says, as if it were obvious.

“Who should I say sent me?” You ask.

It looks like he doesn’t want to answer. “You already know. The Black Knight.”

“But what is your name?”

He turns his horse around, and you think you are going to be parting with an answer.

“Crowley.”

And that is how you learn his name, muttered under his breath and with a visor muffling his words before he takes off into the fog, disappearing quickly.

You end up having to wait for Sir Aziraphale, and accept the hospitality of another knight. That knight watches over you from the time you are thirteen to the time you are thirty two….only later he does so as your husband. He leaves to fight the war against King Arthur’s bastard son and never returns.

Your firstborn sobs at your bedside as your second child, both now fatherless, is brought into this world. You want to comfort him but can’t find the strength or the words. And when your breath fails you, you grieve to have left your children orphans in this world.

___

Time marches on. When the plague claims your home, you are forced to leave it after the doctors set it ablaze to prevent the spread of disease. You were supposed to be a part of the conflagration, but you are slippery and snuck out the back window when they thought they had locked you in.

London is an enormous cesspool of rich and poor, with more rats than citizens, and enough hidey-holes and spaces to make do in if you were crafty enough. You’re one of an army of pickpockets, and often you flatter passersby asking for directions sweetly while your hands craftily nick them of their belongings. You privately dream of an apprenticeship somewhere, with a sound roof and a master who was even tempered and would overlook an urchin such as yourself. But you don’t have that kind of wealth. None of the working class really do.

So you fill your pockets with coppers and stolen bread and the occasional raisin pie if you employ the aid of a few friends to badger the baker.

You attempted to pick the wrong pocket one afternoon and got caught.

“Let go!” You cried, wrist snatched by a tall gentlemen with dark hose, a velvet doublet and long red curls. He gives a frown down his long nose and dark spectacles and pulls you along. “Well don’t go pretending you didn’t earn it. You’re a pickpocket, own up to it.” He chides, leading you along. You protest noisily, but his grip does not threaten to snap your arm, but is rather firm and insistent, like when your father caught you sneaking apples from the orchard and urged you to come with him to apologize to the neighbor.

He takes you to a huge theater which stops your shouting if only to look up in amazement. It’s the Globe Theater, of all places. A place you would never be allowed and which you only dreamed of entering to see the plays and maybe even catch the good Queen Bess when she came to pay respects to the great playwright-

“Oi William!”

The gentlemen looses his grip and moves it quickly to your shoulder. The theater is empty, but there is a clear rehearsal on stage, people in flowy robes bickering over the lines while a painted backdrop of a misty forest is being lowered into place. “Sir Crowley-“ He looks a bit harried, and shockingly normal for a man people claimed had God’s inspiration for his great work. “-come to see the rehearsal? We’re still not near ready yet-“

“Oh I understand that.” Sir Crowley responds. “But I just remembered you were looking for a proper person to play the role of Pan, and I think I found them.”

Your jaw drops.

Shakespeare looks you over with insightful gaze and checks your look. “Hmm…whimsically impish even. Do you speak very well?”

“That’s just practice is all.” Sir Crowley insists. “Besides you really don’t have much time before the play is due do you?”

“No I suppose not. Giles!” He shouts, summoning a tired looking assistant. “Get this child washed up and into costume. We’ll go over the lines at once!”

“B-b-but I’ve never b-been on stage before!” You stammer, and Sir Crowley laughs. “Don’t fret. Just say the lines and play your bit. The more you act the more the audience likes it. This is one of the funny ones.”

It occurs to you that you should say thank you. But instead you are whisked off, and Sir Crowley is only ever mentioned in conversation thereafter.

You love the stage. When you dance on as the goat footed Pan and gleefully cause mischief, the audience laughs out loud and cheers when you give your final bow. You love the stage later when you’re old enough to play the dramas. And you love the actor you shared the stage with many, many times, before he carries you off to his family home to make you his wife.

The two of you still watch the plays that come, even after William’s star fades. Your child enjoys it. But when you find out you’re pregnant again, you have a terrible dream.

“I didn’t say thank you.” You sob into your beloved’s arms, feeling full of regret and sorrows. “I should have thanked him.”

In nine months, it will be his turn to cry into your arms. But you will not be alive to hold him.

_________

You were engaged for four months before your betrothed met the guillotine.

You were young, but you were an aristocrat. Engagements at eleven were very normal, and it had been the case for your mother. They assumed that a choice marriage to a duke would fix the issue of safety as their lives were threatened, angry letters from the townsfolk threatening their lives if they did not surrender their wealth and grain to the Republic of France.

Your husband-to-be was thirty and swaggered out to fight them. He instead was betrayed by his men, arrested and executed.

Your parents avoided the spectacle of the guillotine. The duke had been an embodiment of the hated aristocracy and was a symbol to be crushed, over and over with many other dukes and even the king.

But sitting in the Bastille, dressed in white and trying to pray in silence, your prayers were constantly interrupted by the swing of the blade. You would not die today, nor tomorrow. But soon. Your guard promised you that whenever he brought food and water.

In the fortress you heard the sobs and cries of others, older, and younger than you. They said the Dauphin of France was caged here with his siblings, his own mother separated from him. Perhaps a baby boy was too little to execute via guillotine, but you were tall enough and had a pretty, snowy neck, as the executioner told you.

A new guard arrived without food. And strange glasses.

“Put this on. Quick.” He tossed you a parcel. Pulling it apart, it was a peasant dress and bonnet, and he turned from you to permit you some privacy and to peer out through the bars of the door. From under his hat, you see a flash of red hair. “Hurry it up, we haven’t got long.”

You’re nervous, but you change clothes, and fumble with the bonnet. When he notices, he fixes it, tying it securely under your chin and tucking the sparse hairs in. “Alright. This way.”

He slinks through the halls of the fortress like a snake, holding you back when the soldiers march past. Finally, he arrives at a dead end. You fear this is all a trap when he pulls a lever hidden in the candelabra on the wall and reveals a secret door. The passage is full of children in peasant clothes, but with soft hands that suggest they were just like you.

“Hurry. In you go.”

There are thirteen of you when he closes the wall. A small boy whimpers and you pull him to you to comfort him, removing his hat to pet his golden curls. His blue eyes remind you of a portrait in Versailles….the Dauphin?

You all gasp when the guard arrives with another, but the voice that comes from his companion is as British as his own. Unlike the first, this one is decidedly more nervous and softer, adjusting his hat constantly to cover his silvery hair. “The dummies will fool them I’m sure of it.” The second one says quickly, shushing and ushering you all down the dark stairs. “As realistic as I could make them.”

“Sure you won’t get in trouble?” Your hero replies wryly, and there must be a private joke.

“Shush. Not in front of the children.”

The secret stairway exits to the canal, and you wobble as you exit onto a boat. The foppish guard smiles at his charges and sails off in one. But your guard is very solemn as he instructs you all to sit down and be quiet. The sound of the execution above is distant, but you can tell when it happens because a roar erupts every time the blade falls down.

“Don’t listen to it.” He tells you, catching your gaze. “Understand? Don’t try to remember it.” He paddles the oars, keeping an eye out for guards. “You will be shocked how easy it is not to remember.”

You know his name. But it escapes you nonetheless, as if it were someone else’s memory. It occurs to you that you should say something when a loud shout comes from above and the sound of gunfire rains down.

It either a miracle that none of you are shot, or the fact that the boat was forcefully overturned to catch the bullets and dump you all into the Seine. By the time you flop to shore with the others, shivering and wet, the guards are befuddled and without weapons, and your two rescuers are gone.

You have to lie to the husband you meet when you flee to the Pyrenees, even though he begs to know your heritage…and you teach him how to bake cake and watch as he grows more jolly and plump every year. But you have bad dreams more often than not. The joyous welcome of your first child and your own bakery does not stop them. Your husband wakes you with a gentle hand and cradles you to calm you down.

But when you die on the birthing bed, you know deep inside you have failed again.

______

When your life starts again, you are sure you are going to die at only seven years old.

Influenza was hell for the poor. Your father worked for fourteen hours a day at the linen factory, and your mother washed laundry and kept mind of you and the skinny apartment you all shared in the smoggy district of London. Most times you ate sausages that never really tasted like pork or beef, and the sooty boys that sweep chimneys say that sometimes they have to mix in rats or cats when there isn’t enough to fill a sausage. You aren’t sure if that’s what makes you sick.

But you cough weakly as your mother carries you on her back, going from doctor to doctor, asking for help. With not enough to even cover the medicine, all of them close the door in her face. She is brought to tears as she hurries, carrying you along. You wish your father was here. But he was chained to that factory, stuck doing terrible labors all day and likely did not know you were sick yet.

It is very dark when your mother gives up at last, sobbing and holding onto you as she sits on a stoop in front of an empty house. The three of you barely had enough pence to pay rent and buy food. The paltry few coins your mother had for a doctor would not cover the costs. It wouldn’t even cover a funeral.

“Up. Come on.”

You think the person in front of you is death itself, all dark, mysterious and impatiently beckoning you. When you realize he is talking to your mother, and that she is answering, you have a hazy wondering if it wasn’t your time yet. She’s speaking too fast for you to understand, with your head all awhirl with the fever, and he answer simply enough and opens a door to a carriage.

Its very dark inside and you fall asleep.

You feel better by the time you wake up, in a softer bed, with a warm stove lit and the smell of brewed tea leaves. A gentle looking nurse is reading at the foot of your bed and brightens to see you wake up. “There you are dearie. Come now, let’s take your medicine and have a bite to eat, there’s a pet.”

You go through the motions, swallowing down the bitter syrup, but eating a soup far better than your mother can afford, with fresh, soft bread and washing it down with warm milk. Your memory catches up and your hurry to ask what happened.

“Master Crowley instructed us to keep an eye on you.” The nurse simpers. “He’s been talking with some friends and fixed up a nice living arrangement for you, isn’t that lovely?”

When you feel better, you are allowed to ask for him. But when they ask for Crowley to come, he delivers some excuse and apologizes through a letter instead.

“But…” You whimper to the nurse who delivers the message. “I have to. I have to say thank you.”

“Oh there, there-“ She hushes, gathering you in her arms. She is so soft and pillowy, you sink right into the embrace. “-don’t fret. You’ll see him again one day, you just wait and see.”

You do just that. You wait. You ask as often as you can. You study at the hospital and become a nurse and you wait. When the nurse tries for the last time to find him, she learns he has disappeared quite entirely, and you break down into tears.

The years are softened with a change in the environment. You fall in love. And better yet, your husband can love you back. You save him when he is stricken with a putrefied leg wound, and he saves you when your regrets haunt you in your sleep. There is a full bottle of valerian in your dresser to smother your dreams, but they are so intense that it only muffles them like a pillow trying to drown them out.

This was the briefest yet. Your dreams cry out, and your little boy toddles from his room to comfort you when you cry. Why? Why can’t you just tell him?

The depression hits later in life, though your husband bravely tries to keep your spirits up. “I hope you live happy.” You tell him on the birthing bed for your second son. “No regrets.”

“No regrets.” He promises. Of course he doesn’t know.

You do.

_______

When your turn comes again, you think yourself as far less child and more of an adult. At fifteen you were a lot more educated than your younger siblings, though your stepmother protested that you were too young to get involved in the war effort. But you are determinedly single-minded, and in time you are recruited as a spy for the British Government. You supposed that with the state of the war, they were willing to take all sorts of risks.

You looked innocent enough. A young lady, going to classes and attending school was a pretense to go to libraries and smuggle out valuable books. You worked in tandem with the fellow spies, decoding what you can of German wanted lists. Many of them were listed to be destroyed, per the Fuhrer’s intent to eradicate all literature that spat in the face of his dictatorship, but many more were to be stolen for their value. Your proudest moment was when you swapped the Book of Saint Columba from the British Archive…switching it for a well-made fake.

That moment nearly killed you.

The bible was mingled in your book bag, and you made a beeline for your designated safehouse. A group of spies pretending to be your family were waiting, and the book would be hidden until the war ended for its own safety.

When you saw a pair of men stalking you from a corner, you sought to lose then in the broken rubble of the streets. You did not see the second pair, who cornered you with a gun. “Hands up.” One said sharply, his German accent thick and cold. You swallow hard and obey. “Walk.”

You are marched through dark streets, sometimes encouraged along when you realize you are returning to the safehouse. You try to disguise your terror as everyone there is lined up against the wall of the backyard, hands on their heads. “These people, they are familiar to you?”

You shake your head a little too quickly, and a bullet is put through your fake brother. He crumples to the ground, and the gun is moved onto the next. “No? Are you sure?” They shoot your fake mother, and she gasps, clinging to life and bleeding against the wall. But another round of shots and she too falls dead. “Come, come my dear, all you have to do is tell us where the books are.”

One by one you shake your head. Soon there are no more spies against the wall and the gun is up against your chin. You can feel it’s still hot, burning a mark right above your throat. “Last chance kilenes madchen-“ The gunman asks patiently. “-I don’t have to shoot you. I can do far worse things.”

Close your eyes and think of England. It was a joke that had been passed along by your friends when you were little and had to do things you didn’t want to. Taking cod liver oil to prevent the measles, eating your carrots even though you hated carrots, or enduring the dull lectures of history from your dreary teacher. Your mother used to say it when you complained of some unappealing task.

Close your eyes and think of England.

You do just that, and await a gunshot to the brain or being dragged off and defiled as all the nightmare stories from Germany say they do. You close your eyes and think of your real family, your real home.

You are very patient until you realize nothing has happened.

When you open your eyes, a dapper man in black sunglasses is standing around a bunch of unconscious Nazis, wiping off his hands. “You really, really, really ought to be less conspicuous next time.” He scolded. “If word got out that silly bible got into Nazi hands, I can think of someone who might smite you for losing it.”

You panic briefly, scrambling for your bag. But you sigh in relief. The Book of Columba is still there.

“Alright. Bomb’s gonna drop in about five minutes, it’ll take care of this mess.” He gestures you to follow. “Come along, I’ve got another place you can drop that off.”

The shelter he takes her to is full of English children, much younger than you. You’re a little offended when he calls you “little girl” and laughs when you defend you were fifteen, as if that changed anything. But when the bombs started falling, making the ground shake, he gives a reassuring half-hug to a few of the kids before leading you all outside after it subsides.

The safehouse is a bookstore. Hide a tree in a forest indeed.

“Oh! Oh you’ve saved it!” The book clerk is clearly thrilled when you uncover the sacred bible, running his hands over the protective cover. “Bless you dear, you’ve done a real miracle tonight.”

“She’s done? I suppose taking out half a dozen Nazi spies is just a doddle!” The dapper stranger snaps.

“Crowley I didn’t mean that kind of miracle-“ The bookkeeper hushes him. “-come inside quick. I’ll alert the authorities.”

You all sit inside the shop while he accesses a machine hidden behind a shelf, tapping out a message in Morse code. Crowley sits in a chair, lounging and drinking heavily from a bottle of wine and scowls when you look at him too long. It’s time to say it.

But when you try to, he stands up and hushes you. “None of that. It’s been a long night.” He polishes off the bottle and saunters out. “Take care of this one for me, will you angel?”

The door closes and you start crying. There is no time for the clerk to ask what’s wrong before you run out to try and catch him. Circling the block, shouting his name. Knowing you still might have a chance.

There is no answer.

The war eventually ends, and your service to British Intelligence turns into a simple desk job. Sometimes you pass by that old bookshop, remembering that night, remembering how close you were to saying thank you. You have a medal of commendation, congratulating you, and they even let you keep the identical copy of Columba’s book. You meet a man much like you, except his regrets were made on the battlefield, with friends he’d failed to bring back home with him, and people he thought hadn’t needed to die at all. And in a grief that can be explained, it helps you along with the grief that has no name, buried deep within you.

When you are pregnant a second time, you take the copy of the bible to the bookshop. You scribble a note on the cover, but leave no name. The person it is left for after all, may have another name the next time. But urgency tells you that next time might be the last. You’re seven months pregnant, and the clock is ticking down.

You don’t let the bookkeeper see you as you leave it in the mailbox, wrapped in brown paper. Tell him to wait next time. You leave within the book. Tell him I haven’t said thank you yet.

When you feel your water break, you say goodbye to your confused husband and son. You don’t fight it as your second child forces his way into this world. You accept the void and close your eyes…impatient for what you already know is to come.

One more time.

____

At the eve of New Years for 1970, you try to get in trouble.

You’re only thirteen. Your mother dismisses it as rebelliousness and grounds you to your room. But when you find yourself wandering around town after dark, she gets concerned when you can’t give a reason why you’re looking for trouble. You describe it as a deep urge, a built in response. You know something will happen if you’re in danger. You just don’t know what it is.

She puts you through therapy, and the psychiatrist is very understanding.

“More supernatural than cognitive.” She says, writing it down after you’ve talked of your recent lapse. You had run away from home and were doing runs around Soho, scarcely avoiding traffic. “Something that can’t be explained.” She puts her hand on yours and smiles. “But we need to try and slow it down. Make it safe. Your mother loves you and doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

She doesn’t mention your father since you’re not sure he has an opinion about you at all. He’s been gone since before you were born, but you can’t help but view him as a mere facilitation of your existence. He has no real importance. He’s only there to make sure you go through the motions by existing.

Your psychiatrist offers some sleep aids to try and urge an early bedtime rather than running off into the night. Most times it works. But when you turn sixteen, you spit it into the toilet instead and sneak out.

And you can feel something different in the air. It’s almost electric. The lights in Soho are somehow brighter, the cars are faster, and the streets are more empty than usual. Something is trying to happen.

So you encourage it, and try stepping out into the busy street.

Every part of you sings with relief when someone pulls you back.

“Idiot.”

The arm is secure on your shoulders, making sure you’re secure as the car that almost hit you honks angrily and speeds off. But the rest of the world seems to be waiting on its heels for what is to happen next. You have to make sure it’s still what you’re waiting for.

Red hair. Dark glasses.

“Thank you.”

___________

Crowley didn’t freeze time. But it stopped anyway.

At his feet, the girl. She wasn’t run over, but as soon as she said those two words, it was as if she had her strings cut from an invisible puppeteer, and now laid as cold and dead as she would have been if he had not reached out.

“Our arrangement has been concluded.”

It is far more frightening than the Archangels or Satan. It is Death, in his black, withered cloak, a wizened skull staring back at the demon while the world ceased to move.

“What arrangement?” Crowley is barely able to say through a dry mouth. This is worse than the worse omen, and moreover it was completely unexpected. Aziraphale had shown him that peculiar book today…he had seen the message. He didn’t understand.

“Not you. The child.” Death’s back shudders and eight shadows stand behind them. Crowley has to squint to see them, but they all look very familiar. A teen spy. A pickpocket from London, a Jew from Galilee. All of them.

Leading up to the scared, wide eyed child from the Flood.

“They said they would return to this life until they could express their gratitude. Their cycle would not end until they had done so.” Death’s voice sounds very pleased, as if having seen a good crop come to fruition. “They would have thirty-two years to live, and a chance to say it when you inevitably stepped in to aid them. If they failed, they would die upon the birth of their second child and start over.”

“Why? Why would you agree to this?” Crowley sweats heavily. For over 5000 years, a single soul was put through the wringer of existence, forced to relive the same dangers. “Since when do you play games with little girl’s souls like this?”

“I am patient.” Death replies. “I come for all souls eventually. And she knew she would see you again. Deep down.”

One of the shadows looks up and seems to recognize him. A tiny wave from a small hand, before Death stretches his wings and the shades evaporate.

“This is wrong.” Crowley states. “She’s a child. She shouldn’t die this way.”

“This is her choice. And now it is over.”

Your shade stands before Death and whispers something.

“Make it quick.” Death replies. “I am patient. But not for long.”

You are little more than vapor, with no real form. Sometimes it shifts into what you once were, but it’s hazy and only retains the shapes most familiar to you. Crowley before you looks grief-stricken. You can sympathize why. He has just met Death, but found himself beset with regret that it was not himself that was being taken away.

“No tears.” You whisper. “I knew I would meet you again someday.”

“Not like this.” Crowley croaks back. “Not when you’re just a girl.”

“I’m old too you know.” You remind him. “I lived a lot.”

“Those don’t count. You don’t even remember.”

“I remember you helped me.” You tell him. “And if I only got to thank you once for all the times you helped me, then I can let go of this world for the next one.”

“Where will you go?”

There’s a pause, and Death’s wings shift with impatience.

“Where we can meet again.”

______

The accident almost gets Crowley in trouble, time restarting with a dead girl at his feet. He escapes, barely, and Aziraphale holds a private memorial in his bookshop with the fake bible and candles. Crowley doesn’t want to drink or do much of anything. So he relies on the angel for the silent assurance. This was the last time.

Her mother would mourn and grieve terribly. But she would not have to put another mother through that kind of grief again.

“It does say something about humanity.” Aziraphale notes, rereading the passage you had written in another life. “They have longer memories than we give them credit for. Even Death can’t stop that.”

It’s not much of a comfort.

Crowley takes the Bentley and drives. And drives. He stops when the road does, at the end of the country where it meets the sea. “It could’ve ended right then and there.” He remembers when the sea came for the children, when Noah closed the Ark. Tearing open the hull just to save a handful of innocent kids. “But I got involved.”

Tiny hands holding onto him like a lifeline, and nothing he could do but pat their head.

He looks up at the stars he has made. Some had passed on, faded away. Their light would shine on Earth for thousands of years, but they had long since gone.

A different light glimmered, a bright yellow. Still so small, but defiantly glimmering in the sky.

Crowley holds his hand up.

“Alpha Centauri.” He removes his glasses. His eyes peer beyond the ozone, beyond the vacuum of space where a star has forgone Heaven and Hell and begun turning serenely. Unbelievable. She even got the color of his eyes right. “Fine.” He smiles, a half chuckle. “One of these days. See you there.”

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