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pinkcaddyconfessions · 2 years

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Anything for You, Darlin’

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Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader (can be Austin!Elvis if you prefer)

Word Count: 1,236 words

Warnings: Fluff, Puking, Pregnancy, Language (let me know if I miss anything)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all the love you gave chapter one!! I hope you continue to love this because this is gonna be a long one!

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Chapter 2

March 1967

It was almost a year since you and Elvis became one. You two had become the it couple of Hollywood, Memphis and across the entire country. Everyone loved you two together. Of course, you two were still trying on and off for a baby, but decided that if it was meant it be, it would happen sooner rather than later. Elvis was still filming three movies a year in Hollywood, something he was becoming bored of.

After filming for “Easy Come, Easy Go” ended, it was back to Graceland. For you, Graceland was so much more than a mansion. It was home, your safe place and the turning of a new chapter of your life.

This time when your feet hit the pavement of Graceland, something felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but you had the feeling that big changes were coming your way. Maybe he felt that way too because Elvis looked at you with his blue eyes and said, “Baby doll, I gotta a feeling that we weren’t gonna be alone for much longer.” You look at him and say, “Elvis. Jerry and them won’t be here at least for another day or so since we left early.” But quickly, you knew that wasn’t what he meant.

“(Y/N), I don’t mean them,” Elvis said with a certain tone in his voice, “I’ve noticed you’ve been getting sick here lately and that’s not like you doll.” He was right. You never got sick, you were one of the healthiest people he knew on this earth. At first, you both assumed it was the travels making you sick since you never been more than two hours from home before you met Elvis.

Hours went by after that conversation. You saw Elvis fast asleep in your king sized bed, snoring lightly so you decided to do something you knew needed to be done while he was deep in slumber. You knew you needed to take a pregnancy test to rule that out before he dragged you to the doctor. You found the unopened box in the bathroom and took it. Quietly pacing, you waited for those results to come, which seemed to take an eternity to you, but was actually only minutes. “Come on, (Y/N),” you muttered to yourself, “you can do this.” You finally muster the courage to look at the test. What you saw shocked you.

Two baby pink lines.

It hit you all at once like a ton of bricks. You didn’t know how to feel. You clung to the test with you left hand as you slid down the bathroom wall. You were too focused on your feelings to realized that Elvis had woken up from his slumber to make his way to the bathroom.

“(Y/N), why the hell aren’t you in bed yet?It’s past midnight, doll,” he muttered still half asleep, “you need to get your sleep princess.” When he saw what was in your hand, he woke up and got on the floor next to you. “Is that what I think it is? You.. you’re pregnant?” Elvis said in the most concerned and shocked way possible. You thought for a second he was mad so you began crying.

“Yes, I guess I am. I know it’s not the best timing I’m sorry Elvis,” you said to him with tears in your eyes.

“Baby doll this is nothing to be sorry about,” Elvis said almost shocked, “our dreams are coming true.” He held you there in his arms while you both cried tears of happiness. After a few minutes, he carried you to bed and you both fell asleep in each other’s arms knowing that your gut feelings were right. Life was about to change forever in the best way possible.

June 1967

You and Elvis waited for what seemed like forever to tell your closest friends and family the news: a little Presley was on the way. The Memphis Mafia was happy for you both. Vernon was excited to have his first grandchild. The damn Colonel seemed hesitant at first, but eventually came around. Then, the news got out to the whole world that the king was finally getting a heir. Life was about to get chaotic, but it would be worth it.

September 1967

The nursery was all set up for baby Presley even though you weren’t due for another three months. Elvis was in overprotective mode of you as if he wasn’t already before. He didn’t want you bending over, lifting anything, etc.

Every time you tried to, he would look at you and say, “Now (Y/N), how many have I told you not to do that?! Neither you or little munchkin here need to be getting hurt.” Munchkin was one of the few names he had given to the baby. You would almost death glare him for trying to tame your stubbornness, but at the end of the day, how the fuck could you stay mad at him? “Elvis I know baby, but we don’t get much time left,” you would always say to him. Hell it was already September and it seemed like yesterday you just found out you were pregnant.

Neither one of you wanted to find out what baby Presley was until the time that he or she was born. Of course, it seemed that almost everyone thought it was gonna be a boy. Deep down however, you wanted it to be a little baby girl. You had always wanted to have a girl as your first child since you were thirteen. You told Elvis that you would be happy no matter what, and he believed you. He also heard your reasons why you wanted a baby girl first.

You wanted to prove to your “blood family” and yourself that you could raise a daughter better than they raised you. Treat her with love and respect. Elvis knew your life story and he knew and promised you that there was no way in hell that history would repeat itself with your kids.

October/November 1967

Once again, you found yourself in Hollywood while Elvis was filming another movie. Only this time, you were heavily pregnant. You felt like you had all eyes on you waiting for your next move. Elvis always came and checked on you in between scenes and breaks.

He saw in your eyes that you wanted to go home to Memphis. He knew before long it would be time for baby Presley to arrive. He also knew that the movies were becoming tedious and redundant. He wanted more out of his career and life. He just didn’t know where to start. He wanted his career to be something that his child could look back on with pride and say, “my dad did all of that.”

“(Y/N),” he said while looking at you with his blue eyes, “I gotta do something soon. Munchkin needs to be proud of his or her daddy when they grow up. Right now my career….. it’s a laughing stock.”

“Now Elvis, I am proud of you no matter what you do and I’m sure munchkin here will be too,” you said reassuringly while kissing him on his cheek. After filming of “Clambake” was over, he took you home to Memphis. Little did you two know, it would be the last time you two would travel alone.

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis fluff #austin!elvis x reader #austin elvis x reader #dad!elvis #anything for you darlin

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chelseeebe · 2 years

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angel. | part 2 to two time.

summary: you and steve have been in this situationship for too long now. is it worth ruining what you've got for the sake of an official relationship? read two time (part one). oh my actual fuck, i normally despise reading back anything i've written but i can't stop re-reading this. it's a part two to two time but really could be read on it's own :) i also imagined readers room as my first year uni halls and i know it's different in america but it just would not work lol

fratboy!steve makes me crazy, idk what it is

your head is leaning in your hand, ever so slowly your eyes droop and it becomes too heavy to hold up.

‘hey! don’t you fall asleep on me now,’ steve bangs his palm on the table, jolting you awake.

‘steveee.. it’s..,’ you tap your phone screen, ‘three am! please can we just finish in the morning, i’m so tired,’ you pout, you were helping him finish his project. which, by the way, he had only started at six the night before. it was due at eleven the next morning.

‘do you want me to fail? i’ll have to move back home and then you’ll never ever see me again,’ he crosses his arms and tilts his head, just like a little puppy dog.

‘maybe you should’ve started earlier instead of partying so much, hmm?’ you imitate him, crossing your arms across your chest and tilting your head in the opposite direction.

‘well if someone wasn’t so obsessed with me, always begging me to hang out, then maybe i would’ve started earlier,’ he shrugs. lying through his teeth, he could’ve had a year to get this done and he still would’ve been sat here hours before the deadline.

‘hey, i would never beg you, i’m better than that,’ you wink at him. his golden eyes creasing into a smile, all you had to do was call and he was already halfway to your dorm. hell, he virtually lived there.

‘how much have you got left?’ you lean over and glance at his papers, to be absolutely fair to the boy, he was a pro at cramming.

‘i still need to finish the conclusion and sort out my references, but i need you to help me with that,’ try as he might, he had still never figured out how to academically reference his sources. meaning the task always fell on you.

‘okay.. so if i set an alarm for.. say seven, that gives you enough time to finish your conclusion and me enough time to do all your referencing, sound good?’ you pout again, this time extending your bottom lip out further. you knew that’d convince him.

he sighs but his smile is evident, ‘fine, but i’m setting the alarm, i know what you’re like,’ he stands up gathering the collection of papers spread across the desk and places them inside his bag.

‘yay!’ you stand up, grabbing your bag from the floor.

‘if i fail, you will pay,’ he saunters up behind you.

‘oooh no i’m sooo scared, whatever will i do!’ you sarcastically quip back with a giggle.

‘right, i’ve had enough of your lip,’ and with that he grabs your waist, lifting your body up and over his shoulder, smacking your ass rather hard.

you respond with a shriek, the other students late-night studying roll their eyes. you’d both been distracting them all night, relieved that you were finally leaving.

he carries you in this position all the way back to your room across campus. dropping you onto your bed with a suspicious sounding crack.

‘you fucking idiot, you broke my bed!’ you roll off of said bed and strip down to your underwear, reaching for one of steve’s extra large t-shirts.

‘well, we both knew that was gonna happen one day, honestly surprised it’s not happened sooner,’ he chuckles, peeling off his sweater.

the sight still made you bite your lip, he was seriously sexy and you’d never get over it.

‘and technically, it was your body that broke the bed, i just put you down,’ he holds his hands up in innocence.

‘threw me down, but okay babe,’ you climb into the bed, moving over to leave space for him. he follows you, pulling the duvet over you both.

you roll over onto your front, slinging your leg over his as his arm wraps across your back.

‘yeah, yeah.. goodnight,’ he plants a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you in closer to him.

‘alarm?’

‘shit,’ he groans, reaching for his phone, rushing to set the alarm.

‘and you didn’t trust me to do it,’ you scoff, your hand resting on his chest.

‘fuck off, go to sleep,’ he sets his phone down, finding your waist once again. you can’t help but smile at the boy.

you wake up to the blaring sound of steve’s phone alarm. your groggy groan vibrates on his chest.

‘shit, i’ve still got so much to do,’ his arms holding you tighter. you loved his morning voice, it was so gruff and husky. it honestly just reminded you of when he fucked the shit out of you on those early mornings you both had classes, his voice still deep with sleep.

‘get up now, before i fall back asleep and you won’t be able to move,’ you move your leg off of him, he shudders slightly as your thigh brushes over his semi-erect cock.

you’d give anything to just mount him and ride his cock until you were crying out. but, you knew he genuinely could not fail this class, or he’d lose his scholarship and have to move all the way back across the country.

he kisses your lips as he gets out of the bed, your hands wrap around his neck instinctively, kissing him with pure lust, keeping him bent down over you.

‘don’t do this to me,’ he mumbles, internally deciding if fucking you into the mattress right this moment was worth the fail.

you let go, a smirk plastered across your face, ‘sorry, go and finish and i’ll be here.’

he collapses into your desk chair with a sigh, pulling the papers out of his bag and spreading them across your already messy desk.

not only did he have to finish this project, he now had to do it a raging boner and with you lying there in his shirt, only 2 feet away.

‘you bitch, i thought you were menna help me?’ you were already dropping back off to sleep.

‘oh, i am, just give me five minutes and i’ll be there..’ you mumble, sleep already preoccupying your mind.

he lets you sleep, god knows he'd pay for it later when you were moody and quite frankly mean to him.

he reaches for his phone, opening up snapchat and facing his phone towards your sleeping body. the blanket pulled up to your chin, messy hair framing your face.

it was one of the few times he got to see you so peaceful and quiet.

'sleeping beauty' he captions it, debating whether to post the picture and piss you off or to keep it for his own collection of candid pics of you. he settles for posting it to his private story.

it was now nine, and he was now bored of doing this on his own, watching you sleep peacefully next to him. he leans over and shakes your shoulder lightly, 'wakey wakey, time to get your ass up.'

'no,' you grumble, 'five more minutes mom,' your eyes open to peer over at him, a smile erupting on your face.

'i'm okay with daddy, but mom is just fucking weird,' he's gripping onto your hand, trying to pull you out of your duvet cave. you chuckle at his words, gripping onto the bed as to not slip out.

'i'm bored and i need your help, so get up,' he juts out his bottom lip and softens his eyes, how could you say no?

'you woke me up because you were bored? err you're such a simp,' you stand up, pulling his oversized shirt down over your thighs.

'only for you,' he grabs your waist, pulling you into his chest, 'anyway, can you do my references pleaseee,' you sit down onto his knee and glimpse at the stack of papers on your desk.

'sweet, are you all finished then?' you grab his pen and grab the scribbled list of books he'd used.

'all done, just need you to do this and then i can go and hand it in,' he presses his cheek to your back, arms wrapped around your waist. you'd probably jump off of a cliff if he asked like this.

you sit and copy out his list, just much neater and in the correct format. you'd taught him to always make you a list with the information you needed so you could rearrange it and make it presentable for him.

you finish and tuck the sheets of paper at the bottom of the pile, standing up off of his lap.

'it's half ten, get changed and run,' you walk to your en-suite, wetting your toothbrush, 'oh and sort out that disgusting morning breath.'

he follows you into the bathroom, copying your actions on his own toothbrush, he'd bought it especially for your room.

you spit the minty foam into the sink just as steve gags as he brushes back teeth, 'pussy,' replacing the toothbrush to its rightful place.

he spits, 'just because you don't gag, whore,' putting his toothbrush back right next to yours, smacking your bare ass as you exit the bathroom.

'you're gonna be late, and then you'll fail and then you'll never get to bully me again,' you smirk, holding his sweater out to him.

he takes it from your hand, pulling it over his head, 'i'm going, i'm going!' slipping on his jeans and shoving the papers into his bag.

you pout your lips, making a kissing sound.

he plants a kiss to your lips and practically sprints out of the door.

'steve, you need to hurry the fuck up,' you brush out your curls with your fingers, bouncing them around your shoulders.

you look into his oddly stained mirror, readjusting the white feathery wings on your back.

'i'm ready.. i was just admiring how fucking good you look,' you spin around to face him, a shy smile creeps to your face. he's complimented you countless times but it still made you blush every single time.

'well thank you darling,' you siddle over to his position on the edge of bed, resting your hands on his shoulders, he places his hands on your hips and looks up.

you could hear the party already thumping downstairs, steve had so very kindly offered to host your birthday party at his frat house. you were hesitant and first, knowing exactly how they usually ended up.

you had practically forced him to wear the corresponding devil costume to your angel outfit.

'it'll be so cute, and it's so accurate,' you pleaded, picking up the red horns. you could've convinced him to wear anything in that white mini skirt, soft thighs adorned with white fishnets.

'mmm,' his hands slide down to your half-exposed behind, tongue peaking out the side of his lips.

'they'll be waiting for us,' squeezing his shoulders.

'i know.. before we go, i've been thinking..' his fingers pressing into your rear.

'oh no, that's never a good thing,' your hands run through the back of his hair, not wanting to mess it up too much.

'shut up, no- i was thinking about you actually,' he smiles at the thought.

'right.. go on,' he was either about to ruin the incredible thing you had going on or was about to gain a girlfriend.

'well, you basically are already but.. d'ya wanna be my girlfriend?' his grip tightens, pulling you in closer to his chest.

you beam down at him, 'jeez, i thought you'd never ask,' kissing his smile with such passion it causes his body to rock back.

'well thank fuck for that,' he murmurs into the kiss.

'y'know i'd never say no to you,' you smirk, had he genuinely believed you'd turn him down? not a chance.

'we actually do have to go now, it being my birthday n'all,' you pull away from him, grabbing his hand from your ass cheek and yanking him to the door.

'sorry, sorry, my boyfriend takes too long to get ready,' your friends squeal as you and steve approach them. the pair of you were basically already married for christ's sake, but they were still just as delighted to hear he'd officially asked you.

the party boomed on, you and steve had lost each other to your respective group of friends. the alcohol beginning to make you slightly, very tipsy.

nelly's 'hot in herre' blared out of the speaker, the music causing your hips to move all on their own, your hands tracing up your body seductively.

steve meets your eye from across the room, adjusting his position on the couch to see you better.

'i wanna take my clothes off,' you mouth over to him, biting on your bottom lip.

'fellas, i'll see you later, yeah?' he slaps his buddy on the back as he walks over to you. their gaze following him, rolling their eyes and laughing when they realised why he ran off.

he's essentially dragging you up the stairs, your feet tripping over each other on the way up.

not wanting to wait any longer to rip those filthy fishnets off of you.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve stranger things #steve harrington #fratboy!steve harrington #modern!au #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington fic

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onstrangerthighs · 1 year

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I'll Find You (Today, Tomorrow, and Yesterday)

For @billyhargrovebingo

TW: suicidal thoughts

--Chapter One: The Funeral--

He stares anywhere but at the framed picture of a clean-cut Billy Hargrove, dressed in a white button-up shirt, something Steve is sure he wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing. In the photo, Billy’s all teeth, his face pulled taut like a rubber band at its limit. A fake smile if Steve ever saw one.

Did he ever see Billy with a real smile?

Yes. Shirts vs. Skins, that day in gym class. He had worn a tired but cheeky grin, cerulean eyes locked on Steve; a famished lion hungry for a challenge, and then some.

He picks at a loose blue thread— the same shade as his eyes.

Steve’s parents had flown in two days earlier when word reached them about Starcourt. Nothing about what really happened, just the official cover story everyone agreed to tell. The last words Steve spoke before going completely mute were “Billy saved us.”

“That color suits you, son,” his mother said as she straightened his collar, something she hadn’t done since he was ten. They’d actually sat together as a family back then.

He’d looked in the mirror on his way out and couldn’t place why, but he’d gotten a little choked up. Yeah, blue looks good on me.

It looked better on Billy.

“Quite the turn out, huh?” Tommy’s voice is the quietest it’s ever been.

Steve scoffs. School had been canceled so everyone would be able to attend the service, so majority of “grievers” were just happy to get a day off.

“He-uh-liked you.”

The program scrunches up in his tightening grip.

“He asked a bunch of questions, wanted to know all about ‘King Steve’,” Tommy laughs hollowly. “He... really came alive around you.”

A lone tear rebels against Steve’s dry eyes and onto the paper.

“If Billy were here right now, ya know what he’d say?”

You only knew him for a few minutes. Then again, Billy did have this strange effect on people, himself included, where he made such an impression that it was like you’d known him forever. He left you breathless, always wanting more of him.

Tommy goes to hug Steve, but instead settles for a shoulder pat, leaving a space that doesn’t stay empty for long.

Was that what happened when people died? Did they just… get replaced?

As Nancy would say, bullshit. Some holes can never be filled by anyone*.* Billy was a tough act to follow. He wasn’t meant to be replaced. He wasn’t meant to die.

It’s far too sunny for a day like this.

“Max is trying to get her mother out of the bathroom,” El - oh, that’s who’s sitting next to him- says. She holds a tissue box close to her chest and squeezes his fist. “Billy was special to me, too. He was a hero, Steve.”

Look what that got him. He died for a town that didn’t give a shit about him when he was alive. He should be here.

“Sometimes I think he should’ve let the Mind Flayer take me. But that wasn’t who Billy was. He was the hero we all needed, and he never got saved. Mike says I’m one a lot… I don’t think any of us are.”

This girl really is much too wise for her age. If anyone knew the real Billy, it’d be El, who had started calling him her big brother.

“You met him. During basketball. You-” El pauses, looking at him sadly before continuing, “you were one of his happy memories. He didn’t have many.”

If he were alive, maybe I’d be brave enough to tell him he made me happy, too. At least I put a smile on his face, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. It was special to him. Was I-

No. No use in going down that road. If only… I’d known sooner how cruel summer could be to stars in Indiana.

“I’ve got you,” Max assures her wobbly mother as she half-drags her dead weight to their seats. When they pass by Steve, they don’t look at him. Susan smells like she drank an entire liquor store in preparation to face her dead stepson one last time, and when Jonathan leaves his own torn family to offer some help, Max hisses at him, “Help? A little late for that, don’t you think?”

Jonathan opens and closes his mouth, because he really can’t argue otherwise. Neither can Steve. Nancy watches the tense exchange from a distance with haunted eyes.

“We… we didn’t kill him, Steve.” She’d whispered over the phone two nights prior, sounding just as guilty as he felt all the same.

“Yeah? Well, we sure as hell didn’t try to help him, either.”

Before Billy’s coffin is lowered into the ground, everyone gets in line with flowers to lay on it… him. Max goes first, barely holding back tears as she sobs her goodbyes. El abandons Steve’s side to hug Joyce, which is understandable. He’s not exactly the warmest person.

“I can’t do this,” Susan cries loudly, dropping her flower.

“Mom! You promised! You said you would do this for him!” Max pleads, hiccupping.

“None of us should be here.”

“Mom, what are you-”

Susan pulls away from her and kneels down beside the coffin, trembling. “I failed him. He was so young! It’s all my fault! All this damned town’s fault! We killed Billy!”

We killed Billy.

As soon as they arrive home, Steve runs to the bathroom and vomits his breakfast. His parents don’t bother checking on him. They’re probably already gone. Now it’s just him and his guilt. He counts sheep until eventually falling asleep. Every few hours he wakes up screaming for Billy to run. To get back in his Camaro and keep driving.

At 12: 00 am, his own screams scare him awake, and his nailed bat isn’t by his bedside like it usually is.

2: 00 am… he pretty much gives up on getting in the mandatory 8 hours. He hasn’t slept since this whole mess with the Upside Down, when he learned that monsters were real. He stares holes through his ceiling. Billy died not even knowing what the fuck was going on. Why didn’t we tell him? So what if it was supposed to be a secret? He deserved to know.

And yet…

You punched him. Your last words to him were “get out.” You could’ve opened the fridge! You could’ve shown him the creepy ass demo-whatever. You never say the right thing, do you? You’ve wasted words and started fights. So many mistakes.

Oh, and you lied to him about his sister. He looked at you like you were a freak. Now you’re feeling sorry for yourself while he’s seven feet under? Typical.

If I could fix it, trust me, I would!

Gifts won’t bring me back, Harrington.

I know.

2: 45 am, and Steve finally dozes off, praying for the first time since his first communion… begging God to kill him.

#tw suicidal thoughts #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #el hopper #max mayfield #my writing #unedited #angst #susan mayfield #yes this is the time travel thing

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demonologue · 2 months

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Two Narcissists Walk into a Bar

More bloodweave fanfiction. Inspired by this screen cap:

Twinned Spell

Summary: Astarion and Gale make their own fun at Sharess' Caress.

Sometimes Astarion liked to watch Gale when no one was looking. It wasn’t because he had any sort of feeling for the famed wizard. Had they enjoyed one another’s company since that astral journey a tenday ago? Yes. But it had been sex, pure and simple, and both of them were just fine leaving it at that. Companionship was not something that Astarion desired. He could quit Gale any time he wanted.

And it wasn’t as though Astarion cared if any of the others saw him watching Gale. The trouble was, Gale didn’t seem to watch him anymore. So Astarion was not about to be caught doing it when Gale wasn’t doing it. Besides, Astarion liked to maintain plausible deniability, always.

The trouble was, for someone who was usually blunt and to the point, Gale had been giving mixed signals of late. Around the others, he showed little more than a polite benevolence where Astarion was concerned. But when they were alone, he was often far more interested in the vampire spawn. Affectionate was a word he might have used to describe their nights reading together in Gale’s tent, but that was not a word Astarion just bandied about. And then there was the fact Gale did things to Astarion. Things no one had ever done to him before. And that was worth noting. Intellectually, of course.

Tonight at Sharess’ Caress, Gale’s usual polite, mild manner indicated he did not mind their surroundings, but his expression showed that he disapproved of Tav’s decision to take one of the drow twins upstairs. Meanwhile, this was the first thing Tav had done in days which Astarion actually approved of. It was high time the holier-than-thou druid got his crank turned by someone. Who knew? Maybe it would loosen him up a bit. But why was Gale’s formidable brow drawn down? In some ways, Astarion had to admit, Gale was terribly old fashioned. He rather liked that, most of the time. It made Astarion feel young.

While he pondered these things, Jaheira had gone to gather what information she could from other patrons at the bar. That left just the two of them. Astarion nodded toward an empty table up the stairs. “No sense standing around waiting for him to finish his ten seconds in heaven. They usually stock a vaguely palatable vintage here.”

Now Gale had that glazed look in his eye that meant he’d overexerted himself again physically but refused to say so in case anyone suspected him of not being able to keep up with the group. They had been walking for most of today without a break. Astarion carefully leaned into Gale’s field of vision and offered a charming smile. “Care to join me? When I drink alone in these sorts of establishments, I’m usually propositioned sooner rather than later, and I’d just as soon not deal with any of that today.”

At that, Gale seemed to come to. “What? Ah. Yes. It would be my pleasure to serve as your…”

No. Was he about to define their relationship? “Drinking companion?” Astarion volunteered, before the silence went on too long.

“Unwanted advance-deterrent?” Gale offered.

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a date.” Pleased, Astarion sauntered over to the table.

“A date.” Gale verbally pondered the word, his tone indicating he was not quite sure what it meant.

“Care to buy a devastatingly handsome elf a drink?”

Gale made a show of looking around the tavern. “I may consider it. Where is he?”

“Oh, har, har. How droll.” But Astarion was vaguely amused in spite of himself. Gale’s old man sense of humor was growing on him.

The wizard sat down with an audible sigh of relief and removed his wide-brimmed hat, placing it on the table. “And what do you suppose said elf would find tolerable to drink?”

Astarion strategically chose the seat next to him and leaned one elbow on the table, getting comfortable. “Well, I’ve heard there’s a lovely aged Waterdhavian vintage here with just a touch of Netherese spice to it.”

“Astarion.” Gale surprised him by boldly placing his hand over the rogue’s off-hand. “I’ve told you, and I’m firm in this: you may not drink my blood.”

Astarion pouted, but he could feel the warmth in his cheeks at such a public display of affection. “Fine. I suppose just wine will do.”

“Very well.” Gale took his hand back to signal the barmaid. “Don’t sulk,” he said, after she’d taken their order. “You’ll get frown lines.”

“But I can’t get frown lines,” Astarion said, immediately concerned. “I don’t age!”

“Ah.” Gale observed him quietly for a few moments. “Then I withdraw my statement.”

“You bastard!” Astarion didn’t like the way that pause had felt. “Do I have frown lines?” He reached up to touch his face, trying to feel for any wrinkles. “If I do, you have to tell me. You know I can’t see my own face!”

“Calm yourself, friend.” Gale began to move his hands in that way that meant he was casting a spell, and suddenly there was an illusion of Astarion’s face looking back at him from across the table. At least, he thought it was his face. It looked quite familiar.

“Is that what I look like?” he asked, leaning forward for a closer look.

“For the most part,” Gale said. “So far as art can imitate life.”

Astarion studied his face carefully. “I don’t have frown lines!”

“I might have taken a few liberties. Notice that I portrayed you smiling.”

“I smile,” Astarion said, offended. “Constantly!”

“Like right now, perhaps?”

Astarion’s pout turned into a scowl. “Well I would be if you hadn’t ruined a perfectly good date by bringing up frown lines.” The barmaid arrived with their wine and Astarion snatched his glass from the tray.

Gale thanked her and gave a large tip to make up for Astarion’s ill-temper. “Shall I dismiss it?” he asked.

“I’m not finished looking at myself yet.” Astarion rested his chin on his fist, examining the illusion.

“Perhaps I should leave the two of you alone,” Gale suggested, making as if to get up from the table.

“No.” Astarion put one leg up across the wizard’s lap, preventing him from leaving. “Gorgeous as this fellow is, I’m not half done with you.”

“Well,” Gale said, raising his glass. “I suppose I have but to wait then.”

“Do you think my nose is too long?” Astarion asked, pinching and fussing over it.

Gale considered this. Perhaps he was just thinking of the right way to answer. “I think it is the exact size it should be in proportion to the rest of your face.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Astarion said. “You can just grow a beard to distract from whatever you might have going on.” And a sexy beard it was, too. Not that Astarion was going to tell him so.

The pause that preceded Gale’s amused smile said everything. “I’ve always found facial hair can cover a world of sins.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Astarion huffed. “Of course you’re quite handsome.”

“Are you sure of that?” Gale asked, teasing. “There might be anything hiding under this beard.”

“Stop.” Astarion leaned forward, stroking his fingers through the sexy beard in question. “Don’t force me to be honest in public.”

“Perish the thought.” But Gale was smiling.

“If you’re going to keep teasing me, I need more wine,” Astarion announced.

“By all means.”

Two bottles later, it wasn’t just Astarion’s leg stretched across Gale’s lap. With both of his arms curled around the wizard’s shoulders, Astarion seemed to have made himself quite comfortable there. “Diverting as this is,” Gale began, when Astarion finally let him up for air, “have a care for my poor knees?”

The vampire was quite put out, but he did carefully extricate himself from Gale’s lap. “Fine. But we will revisit this…later,” he growled. If Gale thought he was going to get away with teasing Astarion’s love for exhibition and then stopping cold, he was sadly mistaken.

The wizard nodded cordially. “Then I shall consider myself invited to your tent this evening.”

Astarion’s only answer was a promising smolder. Time to change the subject. “What’s taking Tav so long?” he complained, taking out his ire on his usual target. “I gave him five minutes at most.”

“In my experience, it’s wise not to underestimate a professional.”

“In your experience?” Why did the thought of Gale with a ‘professional’ make his belly writhe so? “With whom?”

“Any number of professionals,” the wizard replied blandly. “Butchers, bakers, candlestick makers. The employees of Sharess’ Caress are no different in their professionalism.”

Teasing, then. Again. “Gale Dekarios. You really are…something.” It charmed and aggravated Astarion both at once.

“I’ve always thought so,” Gale said modestly. “Would you mind going to the bar and getting me another?” He raised his empty tumbler.

Astarion was annoyed to find the barmaid seemed to have disappeared. “Alright. But don’t tell Tav I’ve been doing any favors. I don’t want him to get the wrong impression of me.”

Gale’s knowing smirk was a perfect compliment to his sexy beard. “You have my word.”

As Astarion turned to walk away, an invisible hand touched him in a way so unexpected, he nearly leapt into the rafters. He whirled around, aroused and furious. “Do that again, Gale, and I don’t give a damn about your poor knees, I will have you on this very table.”

The wizard returned an innocent look. “Is there something wrong, Astarion?”

“Just wait until we’re back at camp,” Astarion said. “You have no idea what–” His threat was cut off by the crash of a glass bottle hitting the ground.

Gale looked at the bottle he’d just dropped like a cat who has knocked a glass from a table. “Rough tempest." He shrugged. "Would you mind fetching a broom from that cupboard over there?”

“Do I look like the help?” Astarion snapped.

“Hardly,” Gale replied. “Now please do as I’ve asked.”

It took Astarion several deep breaths and a silent death wish to realize Gale must be up to something. That piqued his curiosity, so he did go over to the broom cupboard, but with no intentions of helping clean. He’d no sooner set foot inside than the door snapped shut behind him.

“Wot in the hells–?” But any expletive he may have been about to utter quickly disappeared from Astarion’s lips as the mage hand that had assaulted him earlier made a reappearance. And it was not alone.

Gale listened stoically as Astarion’s exclamation of surprise from inside the cupboard turned to moans of pleasure and gradually evolved into shouts of ecstasy. His melodious voice grew louder and louder until it began to draw attention, even in the crowded brothel. Gale sipped his Chultan Fireswill slowly, savoring both Astarion and his drink while making certain the arcane lock on the door to the cupboard remained untouched.

Few wizards had the brilliance, talent or mastery to cast mage hand as a twinned spell. But then, Gale of Waterdeep was not just any wizard.

#bg3 #bloodweave #fanfiction #creative sex #sex ambush #bratty astarion #fanboy astarion #gale is up to something

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lynzishell · 2 months

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List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10 simblrs whose sims you adore ♥♥♥

TYSM for this ask!!! 💖

Okay! Up next from last week’s poll is my MC: ✨Phoenix Realta✨

❄️He loves to cook… as you may have guessed considering he’s always the one cooking every meal. But… a little background (and I’ll split this into two)… He grew up poor and his mom wasn’t big on cooking, so the times when his kitchen was stocked, it consisted of a lot of frozen and canned/boxed meals like soup, tuna, mac and cheese, and frozen pizza. His favorite thing growing up was peanut butter and banana on toast. He’d toast the bread so that the peanut butter would be all melty and gooey.

❄️He learned how to cook properly from Julian during the year he lived with him in Copperdale. It was the only real quality time they spent together, but they both really enjoyed it. When Phoenix moved to the city, he fell in love with the variety of food and restaurants available. He started collecting cookbooks and watching cooking shows to learn more and more complicated recipes. It can be difficult to cook for only 1-2 people, so it’s nice that Atlas and Asher come over for dinner every Sunday. (fun fact: all of these things are very important to the future of Aspen’s story btw)

❄️The man cannot sit still. He’s even worse than Dawn in that regard. He always needs to be doing something. He actually misses the days when he was training and climbing to prepare for the Mt. Komorebi excursion. It kept him busy and active all the time. After that was over, it was kind of a bittersweet moment, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. So, he got into running. Luckily, Aspen keeps him quite busy now, but he still runs every day, rain or shine.

❄️He is very much addicted to coffee and has been for years. He likes it strong and black. He can’t start his day without it, and he drinks multiple cups throughout the day, especially at work. At this point, he can barely function without it and gets really bad headaches if he goes a day without a cup.

❄️And, of course, he’s a new father! And he is soooo happy! Aspen is a lot of work, but like I said, Phoenix always needs to be up doing something, so he’s happy to be taking care of her. He’s just so grateful she’s finally here. 🥹 And honestly, he’s pretty bummed about having to go back to work sooner than expected. I think there’s a part of him that would’ve loved to be the one staying home with Aspen. Once Dawn mentioned wanting to stay home, I think a part of him wanted to say that he does too and maybe she should be the one to go back since she makes more money. Instead, he signed himself up for a more demanding, higher paying, career path, and cut his own time at home short, so that he could support Dawn in staying home with their daughter. It’s in his nature to put her first, and he genuinely wants to do whatever he can to make her happy, that’s his priority, but I don’t think we should ignore the immense sacrifice he's making. He doesn’t want to be away from Aspen or miss out on any big moments in her development any more than Dawn does, but he also doesn’t feel right about taking that away from her. My heart kinda aches for him a little, y’know.

I love him so much! And it’s been too long since I’ve gotten in his head and done a proper character development exercise for him, so I really enjoyed this! TYSM for sending me this ask!! 🫶🏻

#i'm so obsessed with this photo of him and aspen #you don't even know #slowly but surely making my way through these asks #if you've sent me one recently i promise i'll get to it #i really do love them sm!#ask game #oc ask game #aries outtakes #phoenix extras

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theveryworstthing · 2 years

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I Live.

Gonna give y’all a little life update copy-pasted from patreon since I’ve been gone for a thousand years. I don't really want to get deep into everything because sharing too many private details about my life/family on the internet feels a little icky even when people are nice but a quick rundown is:

1. My mom was helping my aunt through the legal proceedings of a messy divorce from her abusive ex husband and had to fly to her place like every 2 weeks. During her stays there she sensed something was wrong and after a few doctor's visits we found out that my aunt has early onset dementia. She's being taken care of by family and her shitty ex will never see her again if we have any say so but it's been Rough. She doesn't deserve this shit.

2. Surgery Bonanza! Mom has to get a giant mysterious fatty mass schlorped out of her back and my Grandma Lou' s thyroid gland went insaneo style and blew up into two huge masses that had to be cut out of her throat before they completely cut off her breathing. Then she had a bonus surgery to help with her failing eyesight. On the bright side, there was no cancer found in the weird lumps harvested from my kin.

3. My cat developed a weird lump full of cancer. I spotted a small lump on his right back leg over a month ago and after begging his former vet for an appointment sooner than 2 weeks away we finally got him in. Within seconds she said that it was probably cancer and that if it is he probably won't survive the treatment for it because he's 15 so do I really want to know? Because if I know then maybe I'll want to treat this expensive thing but if I wanted to let it ride it might be easier I guess? Because letting my weird little son die without trying to save him or give him proper end of life care is cool as long as it's cheaper and I don't have to think about it as much???? This was before any sort of intensive check on him or the tumor was done btw. The little dude was pretty much either a dead man walking or he had some mysterious swelling that time would take care of as far as she was concerned. Either way there was the vibe that she kind of wrote him off.

I ordered tests for him anyway, waited 2 weeks to get inconclusive answers, ordered an x-ray (which should have been done with the other test but whatever), waited a week and a half to learn that yeah, he probably does have cancer maybe and thank god it's not spreading too fast because uh oh! It's been almost a month and that bad boy has been growing this whole time!!!! Also it took weeks for them to bother scheduling any kind of re-check. At this point they say that there's nothing they can do and offer to get me in contact with what seems to be the only animal cancer specialist around. Who's like 2 and a half hours away. And has a crazy wait list. Did I mention that Coup hates being stuck in his carrier and will stress out and cry constantly every time he's forced to travel anywhere? So after reaching out to friends and family I found another much closer vet who could give me a second opinion first and thank god I found that place because not only did they actually judge him by his actual level of health instead of just his age when it comes to treatment (besides the cancer Coup is healthy as an ox, stellar scores in bloodwork and overall cat-ness, vet said that judging from his behavior/usage of the leg that we're probably more concerned about the situation than he is) but they also had a treatment plan rolled out and ready by the end of the visit. The boy is almost done with his chemo injections now and even though the shrinking is slow he's still in great health so we're daring to dream.

Fuck The Haters.

Other things happened but I don't want to talk about those things. The bottom line is that I'm not juggling a hell schedule or crying every day now so I want to get back in the drawing saddle. Thanks again to everyone on patreon who stuck around and basically threw their money in this mysterious pit, Y'all helped pay my bills when I was literally too mentally wrecked to work. And thanks to everyone else who sent me random good vibes, hoped I was okay, said nice things about my art, and were generally pretty cool even though I fled social media. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

#talkin #medical #cancer #just chock full of downers

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yourqueenb · 5 months

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Thank you for your answer, and thank you for putting so much thought into that 💞💞💞 mal and nia are my main LIs and at first I was really glad that at least two members of the party stayed with each other and mb even got closer but I can see how it would be annoying and/or sad for people who romance one of them exclusively. I think that I mostly just want to see eeal bonds between our party bc idk it just feels a bit hollow? In the first book they were just thrown together by chance but a whole year has passed and without MC there to hold them together it just shows how much less there is with exception of some banter and general sympathy towards one another. I also think that excluding Threep and other non-romancable characters from the main friend group makes most of the dynamic in choices hollow bc lmao all these people are here to try and fuck us and no one cares about each other beyond that. I don't really like TRR or TF but I feel like friendship was so much richer in previous books, like those two series, OH and TE - and in PM they managed to create a poly route where I could feel solid platonic bonds between people other than MC and LIs (Sloane and Hayden, Steve and Hayden or Damien and Nadia). Or mb I'm just a bit underwhelmed with the current plot course in blades lmao (sorry for rambling around the same three thoughts I just can't seem to gather my thoughts on this whole thing together 🫡)

I’m so sorry, I meant to respond to this sooner. But no, I completely get what you’re saying! You made some good points.

Even though all of these characters were kind of thrown together in book 1, personally I did feel like they were more like a family by the end of it. And I think that’s one of the reasons why everyone loved Blades so much. However, I do understand why the bonds aren’t as tight in this book. It makes sense for there to be some distance between everyone after what happened to MC and the apparent strife it caused. But I feel like they haven’t done enough to fully bring the group back together again and reform those poignant emotional bonds.

As you basically said with the exception of some banter and general sympathy towards one another, pretty much all of the focus is on each member’s relationship with MC alone. And even those relationships are very one sided with each person relying on MC for support, but not giving much in return. When the main cast is tied together by genuine relationships with each other rather than simply all waiting for their turns in MC’s bed, it’s really great to see and makes for a better book overall. That’s why the Pend Pals are still my personal favorite friend group to this day.

I will say that I actually don’t feel like the relationship dynamics in Blades specifically are hollow because everyone’s trying to sleep with MC though. And maybe that’s because I’m only romancing Mal (and flirting with Aerin on the side). But yeah, I think it’s because the writers have really been ignoring the opportunities to capitalize off of emotional beats (which I’ve said a few times before) rather than the characters just not having more to their relationships at all

#choices bolas #choices blades #blades of light and shadow #choices stories you play #playchoices #like basically all of the ingredients and the recipe are there #but the writers are skipping over important steps to finish faster #and we all know that makes for a disappointing meal #also I wouldn’t be hurt if our friends had gotten closer while MC was gone and leaned on each other for support #regardless of who it was and who I’m romancing #it’s more so that I’m hurt because Mal’s been so distant already #and then on top of that he’s running this orphanage with Nia #which is a huge thing considering his background #and idk I guess I just thought that that was something he’d want to include MC in if you’re romancing him #and that it would be a little harder for him to move forward with it without her #yet he up and does this within a year of MC being gone after mere weeks of searching #but I guess the thought process was just life is short so you shouldn’t wait #since he thought she was dead and all #but it still hurts #so that’s why I think it would be even more hurtful for me personally if Mal was the one who knew Nia’s secret and kept it from everyone #especially after the ‘you slept through it’ comment #but yeah anyway I started typing up my response to this shortly after responding to your first ask #and then never got back to it 🤦🏽‍♀️#mostly because I didn’t know if I was gonna type a novel again and I haven’t had a lot of time to sit down and do that lol #so it’s been sitting partially finished in my drafts for a minute 😭#but I’m glad it didn’t get crazy long again #choices #choices app #choices ask

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attackradish · 18 days

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Hello my mental health is the worst it’s been all year. If not longer

I could verify this by going through my vent tag but I am not going to because that takes time. This trait of mine is part of the problem but I’m not in a place to fix that right now.

ANYWAYS why am I like this. I have some inklings as to why.

Work is now opening an hour sooner. Meaning I have to wake up earlier and I have been losing sleep as a result. This is not good for the Mental Health

Current drama with a coworker that I am not going to go into that because it’s complicated and rather stupid.

Today was supposed to be my Tax Day where I did my Taxes but I was hit by dread this morning so I didn’t get around to it until like 5PM and then realized I don’t have one of my W2 forms and I can’t go looking around for that because my dad will tell me how stupid I am and how I never care about anything and am doing this on purpose. And I actually can’t care about anything I feel, but it’s not like I’m not trying it’s just that I have no soul.

I cannot give my friends the attention they deserve. I am burnt out I have no energy left for being a friend and yet there are people who miss me. And I can’t be there often enough for them not to miss me. I am neglecting them and I am a terrible person but I need to be alone.

I really do feel that I have reached my full potential. There is simply not enough caring or gumption or whatever it is I’m missing in this body of mine to achieve anything further. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move out or date or even get a job I like better than DQ. I’m done being closeted in my parents house and I’m ready to quit early.

I can’t quit early. Firstoff I have friends who care about me, and I can’t imagine what it’d do to them. I’ve got a baby niece in the house too who smiles when she sees me so I gotta live for her too. And that’s not mentioning how difficult and impractical non-painful methods of dying are. Seriously. Best option I have is locking myself in the walk in freezer with a CO2 canister, but I learned from a cool book I read that high concentrations of CO2 will make you feel like you’re suffocating, and the best gas for that purpose is Nitrogen. Which costs money and is very conspicuous.

I also don’t want to die. I just want the suffering to be over, and death really seems to be the only way out aside from Miracles like universal housing passing within the next year or two, or I attain Godhood and can just do as I please. I think about dying and it makes me want to cry. Being on the verge of tears for long periods of time really does something for my perception of my mental health, being that I haven’t been like this since the family dog died. Maybe crying would do me good.

I should probably get a therapist but I don’t have time or energy for my friends, scheduling these things takes time and effort and I don’t want to have to talk to my parents about it. I should probably get antidepressants. Also my laundry basket from yesterday isn’t even all the way filled up and it’s 9:58. And I have work tomorrow but no uniforms. God I just need to rest.

BUT HERE’S THE THING ABOUT REST. I’VE ALREADY HAD A WEEK OFF OF WORK BECAUSE OF THE FEVER. MY JOB IS UNDERSTAFFED AND I CANT MAKE THEM SUFFER THROUGH THAT AGAIN AT SUCH SHORT NOTICE.

Anyways I have been putting no effort into finding a place since like last year, or finding a therapist. Or really anything. I’m not sure if I can even do that. I have reached my limit. I’m simply not much substance. I’m nice to have around and talk to but quite frankly I don’t have it in me to actually survive on my own. I don’t have it in me to die either. So who knows what is going to happen. I’m going to rot forever. Dying a slow death with nothing but fantasy to dull the edges.

I have a friend who’s offered to let me crash at their place, but I can’t take them up on that offer because I’ll just be the same lifeless rock that I am. Forever. And I can’t do that to them. If I can’t break free on my own then I’m afraid I never will. My chrysalis will just stay gathering dust. Sapping resources. I need to grow wings but I don’t know if I can.

So here I remain. Closeted at my parent’s house. Probably forever. The brain does not engage. I’ve been dead for years but the body still breathes. This is all I am and it is not enough. I’m gonna pretend I live in Star Wars now until I forget the useless thing that I am. I have work tomorrow.

#vent.tw #Suicide mention #Literally I cannot kill myself. I lack the executive function and the conviction #If I had enough motivation to get sleeping pills or nitrogen or whatever I’d have enough to get an apartment and be free from this mess #God. I’m going to die of old age #Anyways I was considering going to a friend over this but I have not invested enough in those friendships to just dump this on one of them #Out of the blue

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officialchristiancagebbgirlblog · 1 month

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hi friend! i am feeling so angsty rn so could you maybe write something for adam copeland/edge with prompts 14, 18, and 20? maybe something like the reader gets upset with him because he cheated? i greatly appreciate it! ♡

14: please, please don’t leave me. I need you.

18: no, you lost me when you decided to kiss him/her.

20: I wish I’d never met you.

Word count: 886

Themes: angst

Warnings: swearing, mention of cheating

Hi lovely, so I have already written something similar the other day using prompt 14 (and a different using prompt 20). So what I’ve done for you, is take the fic for prompt 14 and changed the final few paragraphs with your requested prompts! Happy reading 🖤

Link to masterlist

“Adam, baby? I’m home, are you upstairs?” You called out, removing your coat and shoes by the door. No response.

‘That’s so weird’ you thought. Normally he’d, at the least, call out to you in acknowledgment that he heard you. But absolutely nothing! From upstairs floated a suspicious sound down to your ears. A sound that you heard in your nightmares. It was a faint noise but it was just loud enough for you to understand what it was; you could hear him crying hysterically. Rushing up the stairs and half falling over yourself, you got to your bedroom as quick as you possibly could, swinging open the door to see him sat on the edge of the bed.

His eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears, body shaking. When you walked closer to him, he didn’t even look up. He knew you were there but it looked like he was afraid of letting you see him in this state.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” You tried to encourage him to look at you by gently lifting his chin with your cupped hand. But as soon as his eyes met yours he let out a strangled sob before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and pressing his face into your tummy to avoid looking up again. Just hearing him cry was enough to shatter your heart, let alone hearing him sob. You rubbed your hands on his back in an effort to console him, whispering gentle words of comfort. It took a good five minutes before he had calmed down enough to explain why he was in such a state. And as he explained, the mood began to turn sour.

“I’m so so sorry, I should have told you sooner. It’s just…I thought it would be a one…one time thing but I just. I couldn’t help myself. I’ve slept with another woman…and we’d been talking for the last few weeks. I’m…I’m so sor-“

“Hold on, let me get this straight,” you interrupted, stepping away from his desperate arms, “you’ve been talking to some woman for weeks and you slept with her?!”

“Y-yes but-“

“And on top of that, you weren’t going to tell me that you’d been talking with this bitch until you realised ‘oh shit, I might actually lose my girlfriend of three. Fucking. Years.’ Did it ever occur to you at any point that I might find out? Whether it was in two weeks or two years, the truth was going to come out?”

“I mean…please, I can explain-“

“Nah, nah you don’t get to explain shit to me,” you spat out, “I think you’ve said enough today.”

You stormed out of the room, disbelief and heartbreak settling in with each step back down the stairs. The sobbing started back up, and the pleas began spilling out his lips: “Please! Please don’t leave me! I need you…”

Reaching the ground floor, you could hear him following you. He was becoming more incoherent by the second trying desperately to explain his side. You found yourself paving around the living room trying to rationalise your thoughts, come up with a solution to this situation. It didn’t feel right to walk out. Why should you? After all, you weren’t the one who cheated.

“I can’t lose you, please I’m sorry. Don’t go…”

Hearing the wails and the whimpers was overwhelming. It sent you into a state of mind that you couldn’t control and without really realising it, your emotions and feelings in that moment took hold.

“Really? You can’t lose me? You do realise that you lost me when you decided to kiss her. The second your lips hit hers, you lost my trust. My love. Everything I gave you, gone because you just couldn’t control your lust, could you?!”

Adam opened and closed his mouth, trying his hardest to find the right words. Unfortunately he couldn’t find them, hanging his head in shame and despair, tears dripping down to the floor along with the runnings of his nose. He was a mess.

You scoffed at his silence. Of course he wouldn’t say anything. He could apologise all he wanted but truly he couldn’t nor wouldn’t take accountability for what he had done. Not truly.

“Adam…” you sighed, squeezing the top of your nose, “I’m sorry but…I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never gotten with you. Please, leave my house.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The tension was like a thick cloud of smoke, stopping you from being able to breathe properly. Neither of you spoke and you stood there, eyes squeezed shut. There was a faint shuffling noise for a short while before the door opened and closed with a click. When you allowed your eyes to open, you stood in an empty room. An empty house. Alone. Part of you regretted what you said, not really ready to let him go. But the sensible part of you thought better, refusing to let you mourn over the loss of your relationship.

#aew #Adam Copeland #adam copeland x reader #adam copeland imagine #adam copeland fanfic

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eddysocs · 1 year

Text

Before Her Eyes - Chapter Two (Moira, Vivien and Nora)

Summary: On her first full day in The Murder House, Cassandra gets acquainted with some of its ghostly residents.

Word Count: 1,283

Warnings: None

It was around ten the next morning when Cassandra woke. She sat up and yawned, stretching her arms in the air before swinging her feet around to the side of the bed. She rubbed her eyes as she padded across the bedroom floor. "I bet Simon's already downstairs for breakfast," she joked to herself as she reached the staircase. Taking her time, Cassandra descended the stairs until she heard something going on in the kitchen. Taking the last few stairs at a quicker pace, she made her way to the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw a red haired woman in a maid's uniform standing at the counter. How do these people keep getting into my house, she thought.

"Um, hello," Cassandra said, wishing she sounded more authoritative.

"Why hello, dear," the woman responded, turning around to face Cassandra. Cassandra just stood there, staring at her for a moment, not sure what she should do next. "I’m Moira. I’m the maid. I come with the house," she explained. Cassandra gave a nod, still quite confused.

"I just, uh, I don’t have any extra money to pay you," Cassandra explained.

"That’s quite alright. You see, I perused your books last night, and don’t worry, I only read the titles. I didn’t even pick one up, but I think you’ll be able to understand me when I say that I haven’t needed anyone's money for many years."

Cassandra furrowed her dark brows until the realization dawned on her. "So you’re...a ghost?" The statement should have felt more odd to her, but for some reason, she wasn’t exactly surprised. Had Constance been a ghost as well? No, she couldn’t have been. Simon had touched her.

Moira smiled warmly, and spoke again, drawing Cassandra's attention back to her. "Very good, dear. Yes. For many years now I’ve been bound to this house."

"And are there," Cassandra paused, searching for the right words, "more of you? More ghosts in the house, I mean?"

"Yes, but most tend to keep to themselves since the Harmons."

"The last owners?"

"Right. And you'll only see as much of me as you want to," Moira informed. Cassandra leaned back against a section of countertop and tried to take this all in. It wasn’t so bad. Sure, her realtor hadn’t informed her that there were actual ghosts in her house, but by the sound of it, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a problem. If Moira was right, they’d mostly keep to themselves. She’d adapted to worse. She’d had a nightmare of a roommate in college. So, how bad could a few ghosts be? Now at least, when she talked to herself, maybe someone would actually listen.

"Okay," Cassandra said, as if Moira had been waiting for her permission to stay. "I think I can live with a few ghosts." With that, Moira wandered off to a different part of the house and Cassandra went ahead and poured a bowl of food for Simon. The cat seemed to pop out of nowhere at the promising sound of breakfast and Cassandra reached down to pet him before beginning the rest of her unpacking.

Half a day went by before Cassandra was done. She’d only grabbed a banana for a midday snack and once she’d sat down after everything was taken care of, she realized how hungry she was. She got back up with a huff and headed for the kitchen. She was instantly deflated at the chore of cooking something for herself, so she picked up a phone and ordered a pizza. No sooner did she hang up the phone that she began to hear music. She was sure she hadn’t turned anything on, even by accident. She wandered the house and followed the music toward the living room. There, by the windows, was a woman playing the cello. Another ghost then, Cassandra thought. Odd how calm she was about the whole thing. You’d think it was normal for her to be living with ghosts. In a way, she supposed she was. Metaphorical ones, perhaps, but that didn’t make them feel any less real to her.

Cassandra listened as the woman finished her tune and put down the bow of the instrument. "That was beautiful," Cassandra commented, and even though she wasn’t always a classical music fan, she truly meant the compliment.

Not startled in the slightest, the woman got up and faced Cassandra. "Thank you," she said. "I’ve always loved to play. I hoped you wouldn’t mind."

"I don’t," she replied. "I’m Cassandra, by the way."

"So Moira said. I’m Vivien Harmon."

"Oh," Cassandra said, the word slipping out, though she hadn’t meant it to. She put her hand to her mouth, but it was too late to take back the utterance. "You’re the house’s last owner."

"I was. Please, don’t be scared. Ours were special circumstances. It’s all in the past now."

"I know," Cassandra said, casting her eyes away from Vivien's gaze. "You're welcome to play anytime, Vivien. I really don’t mind." That was the last thing Cassandra said before the doorbell rang, signaling that her pizza had arrived. She left Vivien and the woman began to play another song. She paid for her pizza and a modest tip to the delivery boy who scampered away in a hurry. She guessed this house really did have a reputation. She shrugged and took her pizza into the library with her. She wasn’t going to work, especially not with pizza grease on her hands, but the books were a comfort and after meeting Vivien, someone who had only recently died here, she was a bit unnerved.

Cassandra ate more pizza than she had since college and put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow. Vivien was no longer playing, nor anywhere to be seen. Same went for Moira, and Simon for that matter. Perhaps the lazy cat had already gone to bed. Cassandra climbed up the stairs and found Simon in the hallway just outside her bedroom door. The hair on his back stood up and he hissed quietly. "What is it," Cassandra asked, passing the cat and peeking into her room.

A blonde woman stood at the end of her bed, looking towards the headboard. Maybe she ought to have asked Moira just how many ghosts roamed this house. "Excuse me," Cassandra said, unsure why she was concerned about scaring a ghost. The woman jumped and turned around at the sound of her voice, though she had kept her tone soft. "I’m Cassandra, the new owner. And who are you?"

"Nora. My husband built this house for me," she said, tearing up at the memory. Cassandra had done her research. This woman was Nora Montgomery. One of the first to die in this house in a murder suicide. She seemed different than the others, more forlorn, melancholy, but Cassandra couldn’t help but be somehow drawn to her, perhaps out of sympathy for her story.

"If you’d like to talk about him, you could stay," Cassandra offered, though perhaps that was the wrong move to make. Nora looked at her in such a way that she seemed even more frightened than before.

"No, I really should be going," Nora said. "I have my baby." And before Cassandra could say anything else, she’d gone. Cassandra shook her head, in attempt to shake off the whole living with ghosts thing and picked up Simon, carrying him to bed. With Nora gone, he seemed to calm down and promptly curled up at Cassandra's feet. It had been a wild day, no doubt, but tomorrow it would be back to work as usual, and Cassandra would need to rest up for it.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Chapter One <- 💜 -> Chapter Three

#oc: cassandra reagan #fc: zooey deschanel #fd: american horror story #fic: before her eyes #constance langdon #constance langdon x oc #american horror story #ahs

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veritas-dolos · 1 year

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How to Cope by Leo and Mikey Ch. 3

Leo had been self harming for a while. Two years. He’d started a little before being appointed leader of their little group, and once he was, it just made it worse. He thought it was the pressure he was under that made him start, but if he was being honest, he couldn’t really remember. All he knew was that he was addicted.

It was hard to deal with self harm. No one really understood, unless it was someone else who also self harmed. He hated dealing with all the bloody paper towels and running out of supplies. Running out of room was one of his worst nightmares, so he just went over and over the places he had already self harmed, just to be sure.

But when he found out Mikey self harmed too? It kinda ruined him. Self harm was a big deal. And to have his baby brother wrapped into that? The world of slice after slice, the panic of going too deep, the fear of being found out? He was so, so upset that Mikey had to deal with it now too.

Because, no matter how much better their immune systems were than humans, the cuts they’ve both made were gonna scar, and they’d be there for the rest of their lives.

(Leo didn’t know how long that was going to be. He’s shocked he’s made it this far.)

When Mikey proposed they get clean, he was… Surprised, to say the least. He didn’t know how long Mikey had been self harming, but it couldn’t have been more than a few months, because he didn’t have as many as Leo. Which was a good sign. The sooner you quit, the better. He wished he’d tried earlier.

If Leo was being honest, he didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t really want to. And if you’re gonna get clean, you have to actually want that. Which he didn’t. But he promised Mikey. And if it was going to ensure Mikey would get clean, he’d do it.

Him and Mikey talked for a long time. He didn’t share much, but Mikey needed someone to talk to. They’d made some sort of plan, a rough draft, he guessed.

“What’s our plan?” Mikey said, staring down at the makeshift bandages on his arms.

“You mean our blood pact? We don’t have one yet, baby brother.” Leo said, spinning his phone between two fingers.

Mikey groaned. “Seriously, we should have some sort of plan,” Mikey scrunched his eyebrows, deep in thought. “Maybe something like… If I wanted to… y’know, do it, I could come to you? And if you needed to, you could come to me? Something like that?” Mikey looked hopefully up at his brother, puppy dog eyes at full strength.

And wasn’t that something. Leo didn’t want to burden Mikey with his thoughts if that– when it happened, though. (Because it was gonna happen. How could it not?) He didn’t want to trigger him, or relapse and show him and he relapses too, and he just didn’t want to be the reason Mikey couldn’t heal.

After all, he had to be the strong one. The leader. The older brother.

It’s not about me.

He couldn’t do that, not to Mikey, who actually wanted to get better.

“Yeah, sure, Angelo. We can do that.” He lied, a smile on his face. He hated that he was such a good liar. He wanted someone to see through it, just once, and help him so he didn’t have to help himself. This was his opportunity, and he knew that, but Mikey had to come first.

Mikey beamed, and Leo’s heart broke.

Leo’s smile fell into a sad grimace as Mikey looked down and unlocked his phone. “I’m gonna reset. You should too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Leo said, unable to mask his sadness. Mikey thankfully didn’t notice. Leo unlocked his phone and searched his app library for the app, too afraid to keep it on his homescreen if someone got his phone and snooped around. He opened it and got the celebratory ‘one day clean’ notification, pressed cancel, scrolled to the bottom and pressed reset. He then went to settings and changed the time to about when he finished, so it could be more accurate. He hated how much work it was to change the time. Ah, the real troubles of a self harmer, he thought.

“Done!” Mikey said, showing him his screen, the little bar reading, ‘I’ve been self-harm free for 48 seconds’. Leo’s heart broke a little more.

Instead of dealing with his feelings, he opted for, “Eww, you have it on light mode? Mikey, that’s gross.”

Apparently, Mikey didn’t know you could change the theme. “You can change it? How do you do it? Are there cool ones?” He begged, wanting to take a look at Leo’s screen, which he showed.

Leo’s screen read, ‘I’ve been self-harm free for 4 hours, 57 minutes, 49 seconds’. He had the calm theme. He thought the blue waves were relaxing, and made him feel a little less bad about relapsing. He shifted to be side by side with Mikey so he could show him. “Here, I’ll show you how. Go to the little person icon on the top right. Then manage skin. Then you can choose one. There’s a bunch of free ones, but some you have to pay for.” Leo said, passing his knowledge onto the younger generation.

“Cool,” Mikey said. It was decidedly not cool, according to Leo. They were gossiping over a relapse tracker. Something told him that this was not a normal brotherly bonding activity.

“I like this one. What d’ya think? It’s got orange. I like orange.” Mikey showed him the citrus theme, and he thought it suited Mikey pretty well. It did have orange, and Mikey liked orange.

“I like it. Mine’s better though.” Leo said with a smirk.

“NOT true, mine’s better.” Mikey said, crossing his bandaged arms.

Leo rolled his eyes at his little brother’s antics. “Whatever, little dude.”

Mikey’s jaw dropped. “I’m not little!” He turned his head to the side, and looked at the clock. “Hey, it’s like, 7:30, wanna get up for the day? I can make pancakes.”

Leo grinned. “If you make chocolate chip, I’ll love you forever,”

“You’re gonna love me forever either way,” Mikey said, sticking out his tongue.

And he would. Leo jumped off Mikey’s bed, followed by the turtle in question. He opened Mikey’s closet and grabbed his sweatshirt, now a faded orange. He threw it at his younger brother, who caught it swiftly. “Put this on. It’ll hide your bandages.” Leo opened Mikey’s door and made his way toward the kitchen.

Mikey looked down at his arms, suddenly processing everything that had happened in the last few hours. Something deep inside him hurt, but he put on his sweatshirt and walked out the door.

Leo sat at the counter and whipped out his phone just to make it look like he was doing something. The last few hours had been the craziest of his life, and he had seen some crazy stuff. Family trauma for the win, he guessed.

Mikey got to the kitchen sporting his worn orange sweatshirt. “The king of the kitchen has arrived,” He said, taking a bow. Leo rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, ok mister. Get cooking before the other two bozos get out here and start eating all of my pancakes.” Leo said from behind his phone, still not doing anything on it, just staring at the black screen.

“Pssh. They’re not just for you, Leon. I’m making enough for everyone.” Mikey said, digging around the kitchen for ingredients. Once he got everything out, he began mixing.

Leo shoved his phone in his pocket, and suddenly felt the pressing need to take his bandages off. He felt the edges of the tape stuck to his inner sleeves, pulling at his skin. He pressed down to stop it from moving. “Mikey, I’m gonna go take care of this,” he said, motioning to his arm.

Mikey dropped the spoon into the bowl. “Wait, no, Leo, we can talk about this! You don’t have to–”

And then Leo understood. Mikey thought he was going to go relapse.

“No, I just meant I’m gonna go take off my, y’know.” Bandages, Leo wanted to say, but didn’t in case someone else heard him.

Mikey visibly relaxed. “Oh, okay. Well, remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” He walked around the counter and gave his older brother a hug. He looked like he needed it.

And Leo did. He didn’t know how badly he needed a hug until then. He stood up and pressed his face into Mikey’s shoulder, hands wrapped around his shell and pulling him in close. Mikey only hugged back harder.

“Leo, I’m here for you, no matter what. We’re in this together.” Mikey mumbled into Leo’s plastron.

And Pizza Supreme in the sky, he knew. They were in this together. He didn’t want to hurt his little brother, and he didn’t want him to hurt himself. Leo hated how badly he wanted to tell Mikey all of his fears about this whole situation, but he knew it would only discourage Mikey from getting clean. He needed to be a good role model. He needed to do better.

It’s not about me.

Why couldn’t he get that through his head? Why couldn’t he be the brother Mikey deserved? Why wasn’t he good enough?

Leo let go, holding back tears. “I’ll be right back. Keep cooking, I won’t be long,” Leo said with a mock salute. Mikey gave him a sad look, like he could see right through him, but let him go nonetheless. Leo turned on his heel and made the walk back to his room.

Keep it in. You’re almost there. He thought, walking as quickly as he could back to his room. Just a little further.

Once he got to his door, he didn’t even care about the creakiness of it, he just walked in, shut the door, and collapsed on his bed. The first few tears squeezed out of his eyes. Leo slid under the covers and curled into a ball, unable to face the world.

It was just so hard. Life was so hard after the Krang, and he didn’t think he would ever recover. Physically, he was okay, but mentally? Even his short time in the prison dimension traumatized him. He hated that word, but the shoe fit.

He was nearly beaten to death. He wanted to die. He still does. He thinks about it every day. He was beaten so badly in that place that he wished his body had given out and died. A part of him did die there that day, he thought. He wasn’t the same. He wasn’t happy. He didn’t feel alive like he used to.

And all it took was a hug from the brother who knew his biggest secret to tear him apart.

Leo rolled over onto his other side. He had to make this mental breakdown quick, he couldn’t let anyone find him like this. He couldn’t let anyone know he was this broken. But it was true, wasn’t it? He was broken.

Mikey absolutely couldn’t find him here, not now, lying in bed, falling apart. He had to show his brother he was okay. That he was strong enough to carry his burdens. He had to at least try to be good enough, even though he knew at the very depth of his soul that he never would be, not for anyone.

And it hurt.

Leo sat up and took a deep breath. He wiped the tears off his face with his blanket, and pulled up his sweatshirt sleeve, and ripped off his bandage as hard as he could, hoping to feel something other than the pain in his heart. He looked at the ugly raised lines and sneered. He hated himself. His scars would define him for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to live that long.

Oh, there’s a thought he’d be saving for later. Something to think about late at night.

Leo pulled his sleeve down. He slowly got out of bed and walked over to the mirror. He looked at the tear tracks that marked his face. Licking his finger, he wiped them off. He looked at his reflection and smiled, trying to get it to look right.

He gave a frustrated sigh. No, that wasn’t right.

Leo tried again, showing more teeth this time, but that wasn’t right either.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he get something that usually comes so naturally right? Why couldn’t he do anything right?

Unable to deal with the immense emotional pain, he made a fist with his right hand and slammed it onto the back of his left forearm. Again, and again, and again. After a minute or two, he pulled back his sleeve with a wince to reveal huge dark green splotches where his fist made contact with his arm.

He hated it, but he felt a little better. Leo knew it was self harm, but he didn’t reset unless there was blood, so it didn’t count. Mikey couldn’t see though. He’d be crushed.

Leo looked back in the mirror and tried to smile again.

This time, he got it right.

So he walked back out to the kitchen, and pretended like nothing happened.

Naturally, when he got there, Raph and Donnie were eating his pancakes. Lovely.

Mikey, still at the stove making more, made eye contact with him. He discreetly gave Leo a thumbs up with a raised brow, the universal sign for, you good?

Leo just nodded, sitting next to Donnie at the counter. Mikey served him the freshest pancakes, hot off the stove. He looked at him with a grateful smile. He slathered them with butter, before pouring a copious amount of syrup on them, just the way he liked it.

Donnie eyed Leo’s plate suspiciously. “That’s an awful lot of syrup, Nardo. What, trying to OD on sugar or something?”

Internally, Leo burst out laughing, because that was the funniest damn thing he’d ever heard. Honestly, if he were to commit… That, that’s how he’d choose to go. So yes, the proposition of overdosing on something as ordinary as syrup was hilarious.

On the outside, Leo only huffed. “You know it,” Leo said, taking a bite.

Leo didn’t notice, but Mikey gave him a weird look.

Mikey put the last pancake on the central plate and turned off the stove. He jumped on the counter and grabbed one off the top, sitting with his legs crossed next to Leo. “You guys like the pancakes?” he said, taking a big bite.

His three brothers all affirmed this, each with their own compliment. Mikey was happy they liked them, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they didn’t. After a few moments of them all silently eating, Raph spoke up.

“So boys, what’s the plan for today? I don’t really have any ideas,” Raph said, reaching for another pancake.

The group all looked at Leo, their leader, and his heart sank. How could he be their leader? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t want it. But he had it, and it wasn’t going away.

Leo gulped. “Uh, we could maybe just sit around and watch some Jupiter Jim movies for a while. If you guys want to. I don’t really have a plan,” He said, not looking up. He just wanted to eat his pancakes, could they not do this right now?

“Sounds good to me,” Mikey said, and the others agreed.

If Leo was being honest, all he wanted to do was lay in bed and be depressed. He just wanted to lay and stare at the ceiling and think about how much of a disappointment he was to his family. Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently so, when Donnie and Raph got up to go choose a movie. Leo sat at the counter, slowly chewing, while Mikey stood at the sink, handwashing the dirty dishes his brothers left behind. Leo could see how Mikey looked around before hesitantly pulling up his sleeves and dipping them in the sudsy water.

“Leo, are you okay?” Mikey said, grabbing a plate and scrubbing it with a sponge. He was facing away, a small mercy so Leo wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.

Leo processed this. No, he wasn’t okay. He was very, very far from okay. How could he be? He was cutting himself, depressed, and suicidal. I’m a triple threat, he said to himself, which humored him.

Apparently, too much time had passed for Mikey, who spoke up. “Y’know, it’s okay to not be okay. I’m the last person who would judge you,” Mikey said, rinsing off the plate and grabbing the next. “I care about you, Leo. And no matter what, you can tell me anything.”

Leo was quiet with his answer. “Yeah, I know.”

Mikey grabbed some silverware, and dunked them in, water splashing back at him. “No, Leo, I don’t think you do,” Mikey said, whipping around and pointing a shaky finger at him. “I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t need to protect me. I can handle anything you have to say.”

Leo couldn’t take it. “Mikey–”

“Leo, would you just stop treating me like a child and trust me?” Mikey said, tears forming in his eyes. He quickly turned back around to his dishes. “I just want you to trust me.” He whispered, tears mixing with the soapy water below.

Leo’s eyes widened in shock. He didn’t want his little brother to think he didn’t trust him. “I–”

“Are you guys coming to watch the movie or not?” Donnie said from the entrance to the kitchen. Mikey dipped his forearms until they were completely submerged.

“We’ll be there in a sec,” Leo said, and Donnie rolled his eyes and went back the way he came. Leo walked over to the sink and set his plate down. He put a hand on Mikey’s shell and pulled him into a side hug. “I do trust you. It’s just that–”

“Forget it. We can talk later.” Mikey said, scrubbing hard.

“But–”

“I said later, Leo.” Mikey said sharply, angrily finishing the dishes and pulling the plug.

Leo didn’t know what to say. So he let go of his brother, and walked to the living room, leaving Mikey to dry his sliced arms.

Leo walked into the room and found Raph and Donnie on their respective bean bags, the title screen visible and on pause. They were waiting for them, and in the meantime they sat on their phones.

He sat on his blue bean bag and brought his legs to his chest. He cradled his left arm in his hand, the back throbbing from where he hit it earlier. In hindsight, it wasn’t his smartest move, but it hurt. That was the point, so it was successful, he guessed.

They’d chosen Jupiter Jim and the Galactic Wars, one of his favorites. He reached to the side and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. The soft fabric felt nice against his neck, making him relaxed. He adjusted, sinking deeper into the bean bag.

Mikey entered the room then, and looked over at Leo. He had an annoyed yet sad look on his face, making Leo feel things he didn’t want to. Unfortunately for Mikey, his bean bag was next to Leo’s. He grumbled, but made his way over. Once he sat down, Leo threw him a blanket, a small peace offering. Mikey accepted, but didn’t make eye contact.

“You guys ready?” Raph said. They said yes, so he pressed play.

Somehow they had watched three Jupiter Jim movies back-to-back. Leo was surprised his attention span lasted that long. He was surprised any of his brothers lasted that long. The only interruption was when Raph got up to go to the bathroom, and they hadn’t stopped the movie.

Donnie stretched and stood up. “I don’t know about you, but I need a break. I have some designs I should work on.” He left, not waiting for a response.

“Yeah, I’m with Donnie. I gotta get out of here before I go crazy. Maybe we can watch another one later,” Raph said, getting up. “Let me know if you guys wanna do something. I don’t really have anything going on.” He said, walking out.

Leo and Mikey sat on their bean bags in silence, both not knowing what to do or say. Mikey suddenly got up without a word, and left the room, leaving Leo to run after him. “Mikey, wait,” Leo said, trailing him. Mikey walked back to his room, and once they were both inside, he turned to face him.

“Close the door.” Mikey said.

Leo did as he was instructed, closing the door with a click. Leo watched as Mikey gathered his thoughts, and he knew just how much he messed up. Mikey went and sat at the head of his bed, his shell to the wall and knees to his chest. Leo sat at the end, back to Mikey. “I wish you would trust me like I trust you.” Mikey whispered, hands gripping his upper arms.

“I do trust you, Mikey! I really do,” Leo said, twisting so he could see his brother.

“No Leo, you don’t. You’re keeping secrets from me. I thought we were in this together. You said we were,” Mikey said, voice trembling. “I feel so stupid when I tell you how I feel and you don’t give anything back. I thought this would go both ways, but it– but it doesn’t.” Mikey ended. He put his head on his knees, and was quiet.

Leo panicked. He had to do damage control, because he was hurting his brother. He guessed it was a lose-lose situation. He’d hurt Mikey by telling the truth, and he’d already hurt him by lying about it. He hated every second of this conversation. He never wanted to hurt him, but here he was, being a bad brother and a bad leader. He said he wouldn’t be that. But here he was.

It’s not about me.

But he made the situation about him, didn’t he? That’s all he does. He’s selfish, inconsiderate, and can’t stop hurting the people he cares about. He’d be better off dead.

Focus.

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” He said, scooting closer to his younger brother. He had to tell the truth. Or at least enough so he wouldn’t ask questions. “It’s just… Hard, for me to talk about this. I’ve never had anyone to talk to about it.”

Mikey was quiet, waiting for more.

Leo gulped. “We are in this together. I’m sorry I made you feel like we aren’t,” He said, picking at his fingernails. “And I never meant to make you feel stupid. Honest.” Leo said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Mikey was quiet for a long time.

“Thanks, Leo. And it’s okay. Just, y’know, talk to me about what you’re going through, even if it’s only a little.”

“I will,” Leo said, unable to tell if he was lying or telling the truth.

Mikey scooted to the right closer to the wall and laid down. He motioned for Leo to lay by him, which he gladly did. They laid shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling.

Leo felt his eyes slip shut, and slept for the first time in what felt like forever.

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4

#How to Cope by Leo and Mikey #HCLM #rottmnt #tw self harm #tw self harm mention #fanfiction

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causticcauses · 2 years

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What the Waves Wash Away

Part One -> Cross-posted on Ao3

Pairing: Druig x Makkari

Summary: Druig doesn't believe there are Deviants that they missed somewhere off the coast of South Africa. But still, getting away from Tenochtitlan and the ugly thoughts he has there is a relief, and travelling with Makkari even more so. It's not until a storm washes over them that Druig realizes what he might have to pay for the escape.

Fic Tags: Angst, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, tags may change in future chapters!

A/N: Quick note, in this fic Phastos’ magical map of Find Deviants doesn’t exist. It never made sense to me that they could have had a map that pinpointed Deviant locations – even if only by country/general area – and it still took them 6500 years or so to get rid of them all. So I’ve nixed that and they find Deviants the good old fashion way: by listening to rumours and finding them true about 4% of the time.

Under his hands, the grainy wood of the railing offers a firm support, and Druig automatically tightens his grip, adjusting his stance as the ship rolls over the next small swell. It’s all the help he needs to keep his balance, and his mind isn’t on the stabilizing act; it’s on the early morning horizon, a swath of dark ocean and orange-red streaked skies. His eyes probe the distance, looking to catch sight of what he’s been waiting to see since the sun began rising.

Kinda idiotic, really. Standing here, waiting. She’ll get here when she gets here.

But nonetheless, Druig keeps up his vigil, if only to see her that much sooner.

Around him, the crew are bustling, and their chatter sweeps over him. None talk to him directly – actually, they avoid the area he’s claimed like it’s got the Black Death – but he doesn’t blame them. Usually, it takes at least a couple of years for the humans to develop any level of comfort with Druig in their midst, and these people have known him all of two weeks. The whole thing with the pirates who’d tried to attack the vessel several days ago probably hadn’t done much for their relaxation levels, either.

Don’t interfere, that’s the rule, but Druig needs this ship, and the men to crew it. He couldn’t have it sunk or captured. Besides, he thinks having the pirates cut down their stupid flag and then throw all their weapons overboard made enough of a point. It was kinder than his first thought, which had been to make them jump overboard and then leave them there.

Maybe they’d realized that was a possibility. Either way, when he released them from his power, they’d limped away quick enough.

He and Makkari aren’t hugely concerned about the Portuguese sailors knowing they’re... well, what they are. But they hadn’t told them when they took passage, because if they had, one of two things would have happened. They would have been denied passage and had to seek another ship, or Druig would have had to take control of them and force them onto the open seas. And what a nasty voyage that would have been, driving home the very reason he hates himself.

Thus, a little lie. Interest in researching the flora and fauna of a remote chain of islands off the coast of South Africa. An impulsive noble fancying himself a scholar, recently made rich by the passing of his not dearly departed da. Makkari, his trustworthy and competent assistant. Druig had ignored the thoughts that floated in the sailors’ minds when they looked at her, like scum at the top of a pond. If he judged humans for every reprehensible thought they had, his life would be a helluva lot less complicated. He woulda been able to drop the question of what they deserve the first day he set foot on the planet.

Besides, it was strange, a woman of her stature – not to mention her obvious confidence – travelling so freely with a noble. Even when she isn’t moving at her natural speed, Makkari shines, and they aren’t used to seeing it. So Druig forgives them the thoughts... and tries not to glare too much. He’s failed at several points, but he tries. That’s the best anyone can do. The sailors chalked the scowling to him being a stuck up eccentric, probably from one of those “damn universities.”

After the little spat with the pirates, that story is out the window. If he could have hidden his part in it, Druig might have, but the glowing eyes gave the game away. Too late to take back now.

The crew hadn’t asked him about it. Several had crossed themselves when it happened, going cross-eyed trying to watch the pirates and Druig at the same time, and the captain had spat and then loudly harangued everyone back to work. Funny thing about sailors. They were some of the most superstitious lot he’d ever met, but they were also stolidly practical. Don’t look a gift Eternal in the mouth and all that.

It probably helped that he and Makkari had paid a king’s ransom for this particular voyage. Literally. He’s pretty sure one of the gold statues they’d traded had been involved in the ransom of a king, somewhere down the line.

At least it meant Makkari could move without reservations. Next to mind control, what’s super speed? After that encounter, she’d started zipping around when the mood took her, and if the watchman in the crow’s nest nearly had a heart attack the first time he found her suddenly beside him, eagerly scanning the horizon, well, no real harm done.

He liked watching her interact with them after that first reveal. Makkari has a marvelous ability to engage with people just as they are, and her earnest curiosity about the working of the ship won them over. Before long, the more friendly of the crew were picking up simple signs, greeting her each morning and jabbering away about the topsail or whatever. The fact that they thought she was a benign spirit of some sort – or at the very least, lucky – was undoubtedly responsible for the thawing.

It entertained him, how quickly they warmed to her. Started thinking of her as – not quite human, but no devil, neither. They haven’t made that decision about him, but Druig’s felt them when Makkari shoves him to get his attention, or flicks him in the forehead for a particularly asinine comment, or encourages him to put on a juggling display for the sailors’ distraction during one of the frequent lulls in activity. They wanna believe if the nymph in their midst can treat him so casually, he can’t be that bad. Funniest thing is, he’s got no clue if Makkari realizes what she’s doing.

‘Course... It’s what she’s always done. Made him be. He drowns in what he isn’t, and she goes ahead and pulls him out of that. Hell, that’s probably what this whole trip is about. Deviants they missed last they were in Africa? Nah. If Druig were a betting man – and he isn’t, except the days he is – he’d say this was all about pulling him out of his slump. Reminding him of the good. The speed show Makkari puts on for the sailors is just part of that. Making the humans participate in his rehabilitation.

He snorts at the thought. It’s probably not a real generous idea.

Besides, showing her power was good preparation for when Makkari stepped onto the rail two days ago, her red tunic vibrant in the sun. She’d signed goodbye to Druig, waved cheerfully at the startled crew... and then jumped.

The ripple of panic and genuine fear for her safety that swept across many of the men and had them crowding to the railing endeared them to Druig. That, and amused him. After all, Makkari was already gone, a barely discernable plume in the distance.

Yeah, most likely this is an excuse. After all, Makkari could scout for the Deviants herself. Hell, she's doing that now. She'd talked about communicating with the natives for information, making sure they didn't attack, but that’s a weak excuse. The islands aren't large; in this case, she probably doesn't need help from the humans to find the Deviants, so why even bother with them? Or him? What was the point of bringing him along when it made the trip so much longer?

His family think they're subtle. It amuses Druig, in a way. Touches him, when it isn't annoying him. Makkari, Ajak, Sersi. He's pretty sure they're the ringleaders. He can't read his fellow Eternals in the same way as he can read humans, not without them willingly and deliberately opening up, but there are still things to pick up. And besides, the evaluating glances, the huddled conversations that broke up when he was near, the carefully optimistic and uplifting words... He didn't need to be psychic to know they were worried about him.

It’s been... bad, these last few decades. Sometimes Druig finds himself submerged in the humans. Drifting. Drifting and sinking. Some of his fellows think he’s worse this time because the Aztec practice human sacrifice, but that’s not it. Not really. What’s the difference between tearing out someone’s heart or leaving their stomach empty until they die? Or hanging them, stabbing them, letting pestilence gurgle their last breaths into oblivion? It’s just a sliding scale of time, in the big picture.

The fear of the victims, the needless cruelty of the deaths, that doesn’t change. The things that Druig can’t reconcile – his purpose, his power – it’s all there, parading outside his head and demanding access.

The only difference is that Druig is getting tired of it. Tired and – something worse. Angry. Bitter. He feels it as a coiled, seething tension, a call to an action that he can’t commit. It makes him irritable. More likely to snap at the other Eternals. They see it, and it worries them.

It hadn't come as much of a surprise when Makkari approached him with tales of monsters off the coast of South Africa. They could have packed up the Domo and flown over to investigate, but Makkari had argued the Mexica needed protection from the rather alarming amount of Deviants that had gathered in the area. He’d pointed out only some of them needed to go, and she’d dismissed it with a casual airiness that assured him there was a reason it was just the two of them going.

So. A vacation of sorts. Just him and Makkari, for the last four or so months. They’d caught a ride with a Spanish galleon that he’d... coaxed... to actually find the right path to the continent of the Mexica. That path had been assiduously scrubbed from their minds once they were on board, superimposed by a story that he and Makkari had been there all along. It’d actually been quite difficult, and certainly toed the edge of Ajak’s rule of no interference, but technically nothing had changed for the Spanish sailors except a couple weeks of lost rations, and they’d left some coins in the hold that would pay for it.

Honest only to himself, he’d enjoyed it. Not manipulating the humans, exactly, but the challenge of it. So often all he’s called to do is take over them directly, make them drop spears or swords, guns or slings. That’s easy. Pathetically easy. It’d been a good reminder that humans aren’t just clay, soft and yielding into any shape. That it takes effort to bend their minds and wills if he wants something more subtle or complex.

And, honest only to himself (but Makkari knows anyways), he’s enjoyed this whole trip. Landing in Cádiz, they’d done... regular things. No training. No fighting. No agonizing about grand morals. Makkari wouldn’t let him. She dragged him to a couple of landmarks in Spain: a cathedral, a mosque, some fancy gardens. He didn’t enjoy them as much as he enjoyed watching her look them over. The way her face lit up, the wonder and joy, even after all these years, it made something stir in his chest. A flicker of fire that’s been dwindling to ashes.

Druig can’t look at the humans’ accomplishments without thinking of their atrocities, but Makkari is different. She’s more – generous. Accepting. She can take the good with the bad and not balance the two on a scale to find out which is heavier. Makkari looks at their beautiful architecture and heartrending literature and fascinating creations, and she sees their potential. It’s a wonderful kind of vision.

Of course, she’s never been in a human’s head; she hasn’t felt the sweat and blood and pain that’s gone into most everything the humans have ever built.

There’s no point in wondering what she would be if she had his power. Druig is an idiot at times, but not that big of one. It only took him around two millennium to stop asking that particular question.

So he accepts her wonder like the antidote it is, and he drinks it in eagerly, greedily, and when she turns the smile on him it doesn’t heal the guilt, or the pain, or the anger, but it soothes it. Makes it somewhere close to bearable.

That brings his mind back to the task at hand, and he resumes looking out. Two days, she’d said, and here they are. Two days, and no Makkari.

It isn’t that she has a particularly good grasp of time. Actually, next to Sersi, she’s probably the worst when it comes to keeping strict appointments. Who can blame her? Time is difficult enough for the rest of them, with months running through their fingers and years passing in flashes that blur together. He imagines that for Makkari, grappling with time as it tries to insist she match its slower pace makes it that much harder.

But still, her mission shouldn’t take long – he’d actually half expected her last night. Besides, what mission? A mission of keeping up pretenses, probably kicking around the island – or hell, in India – just to make him think she actually looked for the Deviants.

The hours pass with no sign of her, and Druig is... uneasy. It doesn’t help that the sailors themselves are restless, casting dark looks at the skies and muttering amongst themselves. Their unease laps at him, a different kind of tide, and he has to steady himself against the swells of emotion. No point in letting them influence how he’s feeling, but it’s hard. It’s always been hard. The sentiments spill into him like drops of blood billowing through water. Thinning, certainly, but impossible to keep from spreading, and before too long Druig is red with their anxiety. He keeps up his watch, fingers increasingly tight on the rails.

At a little after noon the captain approaches, wringing his black hat in his hand. He’s a big man, all weathered hide and thick, salt-speckled beard, but it feels like he’s trying to squash himself into something smaller. Not possible, but he’s having a good go at it.

“Uh, sir? Druig? Sir Druig?” The man strings the titles together tentatively, nervous as a cat on water, and Druig plays with the idea of letting him sweat more. But that would be taking out his own disquiet on the faultless human. Not fair. Even if it would be funny.

“Druig is fine, captain Martym.” His Portuguese sounds rough, stilted, but it gets the job done, and that at least hasn’t been an issue.

A bobbed head, the cap still being strangled between fingers. “Alright. Druig. Master Druig, I–”

“Just Druig, captain.” Necessary? No, but Makkari will literally kill herself laughing if she hears anyone refer to him as master, and she might just tell everyone else, too. He doesn’t need that particular title hanging around for some five or six obnoxious centuries. Knowing Sprite – or maybe Kingo – it could even hit a millennium.

“Uh, right. Druig.” If he’d looked nervous before, it’s a wonder the poor man isn’t tearing his hat to pieces now. “I’m not wanting to be interrupting your, uh, research,” and Druig is faintly impressed the captain is still clinging to that particular lie, “but I’ve a question.”

At first Druig doesn’t reply, eyes still on the sea, except then it becomes obvious Martym is definitely not going to continue without some sort of benediction. Biting back a sigh, he turns to face his companion. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, captain, so y’might as well ask.”

"Well, Druig, sir, you'n be having an idea of when the lass– err, lady might be returning? If she, uh, plans to return?"

He very deliberately does not correct that title. Both because as far as Druig's concerned it's accurate, and also the look on Makkari's face the first time she sees the captain call her lady will be priceless.

With a slight shrug and a glance over his shoulder – more ocean, and not much else – Druig replies, "She was 'sposed to be here a couple hours ago. If you wanted to place bets, I say she gets here today." Though his voice is light, Druig can feel the tension in his tightly crossed arms, and he quells an urge to look over his shoulder again.

There are surely a hundred reasons Makkari could have been delayed this long. It's just that Druig can't think of any that sound particularly convincing right now.

He shakes his head, a small rebuff of the worry. Makkari is strong. She can handle... whatever is keeping her.

Admittedly more to keep himself distracted than because he cares, Druig asks the captain, "Why? The crew pinin' away for my assistant?"

Martym winces, twisting his cap harder. If that's possible. Is it because his crew loves what could be an angel or a devil, by his religion? Druig rarely delves into individual minds in regular conversation; the toll he has to pay isn't worth travelling that road. And so, he tends to let impressions just come to him. What he's getting from the captain now doesn't answer nothing.

Anxiety, a slip of awe and a lot of fear. Nothing unexpected when facing an Eternal.

"Well, y'see, you've actually hit the nail on the head. Sir. Druig. The crew was hoping – actually, mayhap it's true to say expecting – that the lady would be back afore the storm."

"Storm?" he asks as he turns his eyes to the overcast sky. Druig doesn't know why he bothers. Meteorology has never been a strong suit with him, and one cloud looks much the same as another. No doubt Gilgamesh or Thena would be nodding along wisely at this point, but Druig is damned if he can spot any signal in the dark, patchy blue above.

The captain shifts, can't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. "Ye can't feel it?"

"Feelin’ the weather s’not really my talent," Druig replies dryly, and Martym flushes.

"Right. Course. Well – we' uns don't rightly call the weather, neither, but there's a storm coming. Most like later today."

"Hmm. And what’s it got to do with my assistant?"

Scratching at his beard as if he'd like to tear it off, Martym replies, "Meaning no offense if she ain't, none at all, but the lads... Well, they've gone and taken it in their heads she's lucky. They're saying the ship'll sail smooth through the storm if she were back."

"It probably would," Druig mutters, and means it. She’s already grasped how the ship works, and could probably sail it herself through just about anything, push came to shove. (This confident opinion coming from a man who could name three types of knots and tie two of them on a good day. He doesn’t share Makkari’s nautical fascination, but he sure does trust she’s as good a sailor as anything else.)

The temptation to check again looms, he fights it... and once again looks over his shoulder. You'd think six thousand years would give a person self-control, but...

Empty ocean. Where was she?

The captain is staring at him expectantly and Druig doesn't really know what to tell him. "I'm assumin' she got caught up in what she was doing," he finally says.

"Research?" the captain asks, tentatively, and Druig laughs.

"Something like that."

Even more hesitantly, his companion asks, "And this research is... good?"

Druig assumes tracking down a nightmare creature or two that's rumored to be plaguing a group of islanders would be considered a good deed, but he also assumes the captain would turn the ship around right away if he learned they were sailing straight towards it. Actually, not assumes. He's felt the man's love for this vessel. Martym would sacrifice his own newborn before he sacrificed the ship, probably.

"Good enough," is what he eventually says. "Me and Makkari, we're lookin’ for interesting creatures." To eradicate them. If they actually exist. He has his suspicions about that. "We heard there might be a few on the islands we're sailing to."

"And if yer right?"

If Makkari's insistence on scouting these islands pays off and there are actually Deviants lurking about, he’ll first be real surprised. Then she’ll make him apologize for not believing her – though really, Makkari isn’t giving him much reason to believe. After that’s all made up, she'll go off and grab at least some of the other Eternals from where they're setting up in the south lands, so far from here. They’ll come back on the Domo, leaving the rest to hold down the fort in Tenochtitlan.

The Mexica people who welcomed them there a few years back seemed... Well, friendly isn't the right word. Not with the sacrifices and the war games they played. But receptive to messengers they took to be from their gods. It was an easy enough narrative to let play out, if it meant the humans agreed to build bigger walls.

Druig is reasonably certain he won't come back to find his fellows driven out by angry and disillusioned humans. Sersi is good at building relations with their hosts. Sprite, too, and Kingo and Gilgamesh. They aren’t all shut-ins.

The captain is still waiting, so Druig says, “Just like we said when we took on. We’ll be on the islands for a while, maybe long as a couple weeks. You’ll just be anchored offshore. We’ll let you know if you’re needed, sooner or later.”

“And if’n we’re not needed, we’ll just be... leaving you.”

A sharp nod. “We’ll have our own way off the islands.”

There’s a flurry of questions sitting behind that sun-browned face, but Martym seems to have swallowed as much of the impossible as he can stomach in one session. “Right,” he says, and then repeats, “Right,” like it hadn’t quite caught reality the first time. “Well, you and the lady be speaking or whatnot, we’d, uh... She’s welcome back aboard, is all I’m wanting to say.”

Druig could have laughed at that, except what’s so ridiculous about expecting the supernatural to be able to speak with each other across long distances? “She’ll be here quick as she can. I can promise you that.”

The captain nods gratefully and retreats. It’s not until he’s several steps away that he sweeps his hat back on his head, more than a little worse for wear. The crew’s been doing their best to listen in while pretending they aren’t, and Martym bellows at them to get back to it. Maybe out of respect for the risk he took in approaching the myth in their midst, the men jump and get to pretending to work with alacrity. At least for a bit.

Druig tunes it out, as best as he can. The sea’s getting choppier, darker, and as above, so below, ‘cause the clouds are starting a dark little number, too. Could that be keeping Makkari? Some storm she’s having to travel through? It doesn’t make sense. Sure, it might add seconds to her trek, minutes at most as she detours around large waves and the like, but it shouldn’t be an actual delay. Hell, she loves running through storms, least on land. She’s told him that herself. He’s pretty sure that can’t be it.

It begins to rain a short while after. And a shorter while after that it begins to pour. Sort of a sudden dump from the heavens. Druig listens to the cursing of the sailors as they batten down the foodstuffs in the hold, the sound far away and scattered by the growing wind. It's driving the rain and it hits the ship in gusts. Not yet a howl, but getting there.

A good thing Phastos isn't here. The way the ship is tilting, he'd probably be spewing his guts right now. Druig suffers no such issues, but he can see a time, somewhere ahead of now, where keeping his balance on the heaving deck will become a challenge.

And still Druig waits, and watches, keeping only absentmindedly out of the way of the sailors. By now, he can't pretend to himself that this is normal.

Could Makkari... Could there actually be Deviants on the islands? Could the rumours Makkari had picked up be true? She hadn't really thought so, for all that she refused to drop the sham as they travelled. The very fact that they took the slow, circuitous route proved that she didn’t believe it. If she'd actually thought humans were being killed by Deviants, she would have done something about it at her speed, not his. So would the rest of the Eternals, if they’d believed it when they sent him and Makkari off.

But rumours have their sources. He'd assumed that source was some squealing boar or maybe... he didn't know. A lion? Something big that somehow got from the mainland of South Africa to the chain of islands?

And if there were Deviants, what would Makkari have done? Not fought them. Right?

"Christ and damnation," he curses, the words drowned by the rain. His stomach is doing something uncomfortable – trying to kill itself, apparently – and he'll be lucky if he doesn't have a bunch of splinters through his fingers, the way he's been clutching at the railing.

Makkari is strong. So strong. But there's a reason so many of them were sent to Earth, and the reason ain’t for the delightful company. It's ‘cause one on one, Deviants are hard to kill. In packs, they're a nightmare waiting to rip an Eternal to shreds.

Makkari knows that. Of course she does. She's just as smart as she is strong.

...So where is she? Where the hell–

The ship heaves itself over a swell, and a crack of lightning rips across the sky. The momentary glow illuminates something far away that only his enhanced eyesight could catch. A glimpse of red, there and then sucked back into black. Red where no red should be.

His stomach stops trying to squeeze itself into nothing and instead leaps up his throat. Without really thinking about it, Druig know it’s Makkari. You just can’t live with someone thousands of years and not know who they are. Besides, as automatic as breathing, seconds after, he’s reaching out with his power.

It’s not the same as feeling the humans, not nearly. The humans are as obvious as sunshine on a sunny day, easy to see as grains of sand on a beach, if just about as hard to keep individual track of. Hell, keeping them and their bloody blatant emotions away is the trick, not searching them out. His companions aren’t like that. It’s not easy to sense them. But all the same, they’ve all got a feel, unique as a fingerprint.

Makkari is like wind rippling through sun-dappled grass. Can’t see it, but you can feel its passing. Catch it as a fresh sound just at the edge of hearing. Pleasant, lively, distant–

And currently drenched.

Druig jumps onto the rail, keeps his balance as he cups his hands around his mouth. “Makkari!” he bellows, loud as he can. At the same time, he stamps his foot into the wood of the rail, a heavy crack sounding as he partially breaks the thick bar. If she can catch the vibrations, it might help her zero in on the ship. His eyes strain for a sight, but without the lightning, there’s no–

Like his thought called it from the sky, a jagged flash, and he sees her again. A little closer. But not nearly as close as she should be. Why in the hell is she moving so slow?

He waits for another clash of light and sound, another moment of clarity. It comes, too slow, and yes, she's definitely moving closer, but there's something so wrong here. Makkari doesn't move like that. It's an awkward, stilted gait, and in the brief second he has before the lightning snaps away, Druig realizes she's actually falling into the water. Floundering in it, almost, like she can't get enough speed to actually stay on top of the surface. Or at least not for long enough to keep herself up.

Another flash of light, another grotesque mockery of how gracefully Makkari moves. There’s something wrong. There is something so fucking wrong.

There’s a sharp keening, either in his head or his ears or his imagination, and it takes Druig several more heartbeats to realize it’s actually Makkari. Not a sound, a thought. No, not a thought. A feeling, found by his reaching mind. Fear, pain, panic, desperation. Strong enough to press through the usual wall that’s between him and the rest of the Eternals. Something he’s never heard from Makkari in six thousand years.

Before any idea actually comes to his mind, Druig is jumping. It’s automatic, a reflex. Makkari, afraid. Druig, jumping.

He falls.

#druig x makkari #drukkari #drukkari fic #druig #makkari #mine

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shadowsong26fic · 2 years

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Coming Attractions!

Short one again, and technically a day late, ah well.

As always, feel free to check out my writing discord; and I’ll hang out for an Open Question Night if y’all are interested!

I also have a couple of meme/question lists open (one; two; three; four; five); feel free to send me some of those (please specify which list)!

Star Wars Projects:

Precipice!verse: Still not officially on hiatus because I am Determined not to let that happen, lol. I am...admittedly not sure when the next chapter/next Preludes story will come out, but.

SWBB: I am starting to toy with stuff for next year, but I don’t have a concrete idea yet...still leaning towards a BSG crossover because there’s a lot of Interesting Stuff I could do there (especially in PT/TCW era, which has always been my SW home, so to speak).

AtLA Projects:

On hold for the moment...I couldn’t sustain the momentum, alas. But I’m sure sooner or later (probably sooner) something will pop up that will get me to start Actively Working on at least the Avatar Zuko story, and maybe one of the others.

Castlevania Projects:

I swear I really am working on Incinctus XD It’s just this next chapter is being a pain in the ass; I’ve got the like...two or three after it essentially ready but This One.

BSG Projects:

The Other Battlestar is actually coming along! I’m probably just going to go in chronological order, which does mean spending a solid chunk at the beginning introducing four (or possibly five) OCs who are central to the plot (Pegasus SMO Daphne [Last Name Still Needed]; the marine officer formerly known as Rex who needs renamed [as I complained about the other day lol]; Replacement VP [who...also needs a name, lol...]; and then Atia [who does all the Science Stuff]; I am also putting a Four in play because I can, but he might not get introduced until Pegasus happens to that civilian fleet.)

...yeah, there are still some missing names here XD I’m also still not super happy with the title, but I have yet to come up with a better one...and toying with the idea of doing one POV per chapter and having the POV character as the chapter title (like I did with Take a Bond of Fate; or some other internal structure, but that can be settled once I have more text.

But I did have fun earlier today poking at Fleet!Cavil and how some of his gambits are altered. Little taste (rough/unedited/draft-y; not sure I like some of the wording I’m using here, but still):

He could, technically, refer to them as Shelly and Vera, but it felt so...undignified, to think of them as anything other than what they were. They were Cylons, not humans. The names were a convenient fiction while they were completing the genocide.

And now, he supposed, the mop-up after.

Still, a way to distinguish them would be useful, especially since they had gone to such lengths to distinguish themselves. Fine. Six-A would be the buttoned-up librarian, and Six-B would be the clever prostitute.

Anyway, I’m going to keep pushing at this; goal is to work on it a little bit each day and hopefully these holes will fill in as I go. I’m also thinking ahead to NaNo, and how I want to split my time there...but hopefully I’ll have started posting this before we get there, lol.

(As for other BSG projects--various random prompts that have flitted around my brain; Serenissima; pondering a For Sorrow Sung rewrite--those are not a Focus at the moment but are definitely hanging around and might see some movement as well. I also need to get back to my rewatch...)

Other Fanfic Projects:

My PodTogether project went live! It is a Leverage/Nikita crossover, and I had a great time putting it together and working with farkenshnoffingottom (who was my podficcer).

Original Fic:

I do love the summer challenges on Rainbowfic because I always get stuff done there, lol. I think I did some really nice things this time around.

I am vaguely poking at some of the other/more long-term projects (Lady Mordred; one or two alternate history things; that first contact novel I was working on for NaNo one year...) but no actual text has made it down lately. I should get back into those...

...I think that pretty much sums it up!

#coming attractions #miscellania #shadowsong writes star wars #shadowsong writes atla #shadowsong writes castlevania #shadowsong writes bsg #shadowsong writes crossovers #shadowsong cowrites stuff

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skvaderarts · 2 years

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Petrichor Chapter 22: Pleasantries

Chapter 22: Pleasantries

Note: Hi everyone! Hey look, a chapter that’s on time for once! Miracles! Anyway, I’m glad you all seem to like this arc so far! I’ve been responding to your comments (slowly) and they have been so fun! Thanks! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, too! I’ve got another longer chapter for you today. Yay!

(-~-)

The library had been a bust, but not for the reasons that one would have expected.

It had taken a little while for him to locate it in the first place, unwilling to ask around to find out if the town even had one and initially unable to find any indication that there might be one at all. There were no signposts or other forms of advertising around the neighborhood, which wouldn’t have been that surprising if not for how utterly grand and historic the building turned out to be once he finally managed to locate it.

Old, surprisingly comfortable and well lit, and older than anyone probably would have expected for a town of this size, the library was a treasure trove of old books and even older stories. And at two stories tall with a surprisingly open balcony that looked down over the foyer and straight at the front door, it was a defensible location in the event that something went awry. Pair that with the fact that most of the towns folk didn't seem to come here and, as a result, it never got particularly busy and you had the perfect place to get some deep reading done.

So why was it then that the eldest of the Dark knight Sparda's twin sons couldn't manage to get anything done?

Vergil had spent the better part of three days there reading through the pages of mythology and history texts, retreading information that he already knew for the most part and making very little meaningful progress. But the collection that was kept at this particular location seemed to be better than most places, so he had made the decision to stay a little while longer and delve a bit deeper.

The staff seemed knowledgeable and eager to help, but he didn't need people knowing what he was digging through. And after he had brushed them off for the second day in a row, he could only guess that they had taken the hint and realized that he preferred to be left alone to do his research on his own terms. They greeted him politely when he entered the building and left him to his own devices. It was ideal, to say the least.

But after nearly four days of reading, he came to the same conclusion that he often did but ignored equally often: He needed to take a break. It felt counterproductive, but one could only absorb so much information over a set period of time before their brain simply shut down, and he had reached that point. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed some fresh air. Maybe a short walk would do him some good.

… He’d never gone back to the shop.

The realization hit him like a freight train as he looked over at the calendar that hung on the wall next to a bulletin board and a clock. He hadn’t realized that he’d been doing this for as long as he had. Time was rarely a factor for him in situations like this since he left at the whims of whatever transport he could sneak his way onto at any given time. But on this one occasion, he had actually established a commitment to do something other than bury himself in books, and he was internally shocked that he’d completely disregarded something that he’d made a commitment to do, especially something that would only take a short while to accomplish.

In truth, he did plan to return to the shop to speak with her sooner, but he had been so consumed in his work that he hadn’t paid attention to what day it was. He chastised himself harshly as he stood up and took a moment to return the books that he’d taken off of the shelves to their rightful resting places. This was partially out of habit since he’d been raised to do exactly that lest his father die inside a little as he had to clean up his beautiful library and they lose their privileges to access that part of the house for a period of time, and because he didn’t need the staff having explicit access to the sort of material he was reading. Call it paranoia (and it most certainly was) but he didn’t want to make things easy for them should they have a reason to go digging.

He made his way down the stairs and headed out the front door, in more of a hurry than he liked to be in. It was mid-day now and if he was not mistaken, the shop closed sometime soon. He had no idea as to whether or not she even worked today, but perhaps he could convince someone to pass a message along to her informing the young woman that he’d attempted to stop by should she be elsewhere. Considering the fact that she was probably working off of the assumption at this point that he had lied to her about returning, he imagined that she would appreciate that. Well, if she was willing to speak to him at all, that was.

As he made his way over a few blocks to her last known location it occurred to him that he didn’t have the slightest idea why he was so befuddled by this situation. He rarely cared about upsetting people that he didn’t know, not that he made an effort to go out of his way to do it. But in truth, he would be nothing more than a momentary irritation for most of them and he suspected that they would not remember him if asked to given a little time. Or at the very least, they would struggle to remember the particulars. But there was just something about her that made him want to do as he’d said and return to her shop. He wanted to claim that it was the result of the fact that he’d essentially promised to return to her, but he couldn’t under good faith be sure that that was actually his reason. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt strangely compelled to see her again. Was this some kind of strange witchcraft? Had she hexed him in some way? He hadn’t sensed any sort of supernatural presence to her when they’d first met, but she had joked about not poisoning him. Perhaps…

What a ridiculous thought. She was simply… pleasant. She put him at ease, if only a little, even if he didn’t understand why. That was all there was to it.

After several minutes of walking down side streets and cutting through alleyways to shave minutes off of his commute, he exited the mouth of a back alley and made eye contact with the building he’d been looking for. The light was still on inside so there was a good chance that there was still someone there. Good. Then perhaps he wasn’t too late. He crossed the barely busy street and walked down the sidewalk until he passed by the front window of the stop, taking notice of the fact that the glass had been repaired. He wondered how much something like that had cost the small business in passing.

Reaching up to grasp the handle, the Darkslayer caught sight of the clasps on the end of his coat, noting internally for the first time that he could see his entire sleeve. And then something occurred to him for the first time that he had somehow managed to dismiss until now, his focus elsewhere.

He hadn’t bothered to wear his hood this time.

He hadn’t worn it fully the last time that he’d been there, but this time he didn’t have it on at all, more than likely left behind at the library. After all, Vergil had left in such a hurry that it was entirely understandable that he might forget to grab one of his personal belongings before he departed the building. He should probably go back and get it, but then he’d have to return tomorrow, and he’d come too far to do that. There was nothing of note or value within it, anyway. The garment didn’t have pockets. He was going to have to just accept that it might be a lost cause and move on, something that he was honestly barely bothered by. It wouldn’t be the first or last time that something like this happened. He couldn’t say he was attached to it or that it possessed sentimental value, unlike his signature blue coat. He quite liked this coat.

Pushing the door open, a small bell rang overhead as he stepped inside, barely registering to anyone else inside. There were a few people scattered about the small establishment, several indulging in coffee or tea, others having an early dessert or treat. The vintage style digital clock above the artfully drawn chalkboards that served as menu boards with little vintage photographs attached to them informed him of the time. 3:25 pm. A glance back at the sign on the door behind him informed the devil slayer that the bakery didn’t close until 4 pm except on weekends and that it apparently open at 8 am each morning save for the weekend where everything was shifted back by one hour. He had arrived just in time.

Vergil hadn’t noticed any of the little details around the shop the last time he’d been here, his single minded focus on procuring food and leaving keeping him from taking note of the fact that there was a bookcase with a small sitting area on the far left side of the room and that there appeared to be stairs that went up to a second story of some sort directly ahead down a small hallway that led to a bathroom. He imagined that it was probably a storage area of some sort. He’d seen the catwalk outside in the alleyway the night he’d battled against that demon, but he couldn’t recall what building it had been attached to. Perhaps they led to the same location?

But all of these thoughts instantly melted away and retreated to meer murmurs in his subconscious as his eyes scanned the front counter and he caught sight of the very person he’d come here to see. She was leaning over what appeared to be some sort of ledger, using what looked like a fountain pen to denote something in what was probably the store’s record book. Even without seeing her face he knew that it was her. There was something about her that was simply unmistakable. And as he quietly approached, she didn’t move, probably not sensing the presence of anyone else around her because she was so absorbed in her own work. It seemed that they had that in common.

“I see the window has been repaired.” He said in a clearly somewhat amused tone. Her hand instantly stopped moving as she seemed to pause for a second, her face unreadable from this angel. He only hoped that her reaction wouldn’t be anger or disappointment in him, but he couldn’t deny that that was probably what he deserved for leaving her high and dry for nearly four days.

After a short moment that felt like a lifetime to him, she looked up. And the hint of confusion in her forest green eyes immediately transferred to surprise as her eyes widened and she sat up straighter, a tiny, sly smile spreading across her face. And with it, all traces of concern that he would hold a grudge against him faded away in an instant. For the first time in a very long time, someone actually seemed happy to see him. It was a feeling that he would like to get used to, but he wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Still, so long as he remained in town, perhaps he could humor himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be as detrimental to him as he assumed? Or perhaps that was the poison of a solitary life seeping into him. He was becoming soft. He didn’t like that.

"I wasn't sure when you would next be back at work." Vergil said, unsure as to what to say next, her brilliant smile causing his brain to atrophy. She looked at him as though he were an old friend returning from a long absence who she had fond memories of and longed to see again. He was admittedly unsure as to how to process her spectacularly welcoming demeanor. Was she simply extraordinary kind or was this how most people acted and he just didn’t know because he never spoke to them? No, he knew for a fact that people were cruel. The world took every chance that it could to remind him of that. She was simply an exception. And a strangely welcome one, at that.

"Oh. Silly me, I should have told you that I owned the place. I run this location, for the most part. I actually live above the shop." Her voice was just as silky and sensual as he recalled, but not in a way that felt as though she were putting on airs. No, this was simply the way that she spoke in general, something that he’d learned during their last conversation. She pointed back over her shoulder as she chuckled to herself, brushing her loose bangs out of her face with her left hand. Her hair was still pulled back in much the same way as it had been before, but she seemed to have pulled part of the front out today. And in addition to this, she wore a pair of reading glasses, the large, round frames somehow making her large eyes appear even larger. She pulled them off and hung them on the front of her apron, her black turtle neck not allowing for the same to be done without digging into her neck and the underside of her chin.

"Do you now?" Vergil retorted, genuinely surprised to learn either of those facts. But in retrospect, he supposed that made sense. She was the only person he ever saw here, and they were closing soon. She had probably come to take inventory or some such. Or perhaps she’d been down here since the wee hours of the morning, setting up shop for the day. That somehow seemed more likely to him. He was of the understanding that running a small business was quite labor intensive, and a bakery was a stand out example of this.

"Well, at least for the time being. Business has been very steady for some time now so I'm considering relocating. Opening a second branch and allowing my very capable staff to see to things here locally.” She scribbled something into her ledger and slid it aside, probably to allow the ink to dry in an effort to minimize transference and make things harder to read. She then leaned her elbows on the counter, a sort of strange tiredness becoming apparent as she sighed and allowed her back to slump slightly. He wondered for a brief moment if she might be stretching herself too thin, but he wasn’t going to say as much. What she did with her life had no bearing on his. “I have a place in mind for the new shop and I’ve been trying to talk myself into apartment shopping, but I have to actually take the time to go there and finalize things. Moving is… a big step."

Vergil concurred with that line of thinking internally, a strange sensation in his chest making itself known as he realized that they would apparently both be leaving before long. He rarely held down residence anywhere for more than a few weeks, and as such, had little in the way of personal belongings. That being said, he could only imagine how much of a hassle it must be to relocate your entire life to another place and start over, or try to manage things from afar. He had nothing to leave behind and nothing to lose. He didn’t think he could say the same for her.

"I suppose that it would be, yes." Vergil said as he watched her walk to the counter attached to the wall that the menus hung from and grab a metal teapot off of some sort of coffee machine looking device, pushing open the counter height swinging doors that separated the area behind the counter from the main lobby. She gestured for him to follow her as she headed over to the free booth in the far corner of the room next to the reading area, clearly intending for him to sit with her.

Once they arrived at their destination, she sat down the tea pot on a large cork coaster and hurried back behind the counter, Vergil noticing for the first time that she wasn’t actually wearing a turtleneck shirt but an ribbed dress that flared slightly at the bottom and stopped about half way down her legs, her black leather boots coming to just below her knee. The rest of her legs were covered in what seemed to me long winter socks, the fuzzy kind with a geometric pattern on them that made wearing a dress in late fall a possibility in this kind of climate. She came back moments later with two cups and sat them down on the table, gesturing with both hands for him to sit with her since he was simply standing next to the booth. He elected to humor her. It was better than standing there and looking like a fool. And besides, she’d accidentally picked a spot in the room where he didn’t have to turn his back to the door.

As the Darkslayer sat down across from her and she slid a cup over to him, taking a few packets of sugar out of the carousel in the middle of the table, she sat a matching miniature metal picture down next to the teapot, one that Vergil correctly guessed was filled with either milk or cream. It seemed that she was giving him options.

"I’m certain that it will be. I will reclaim so much of my day. I’ll be able to sleep in again. And I can pursue my other interests. I'll finally have time to indulge in my hobbies again." She said with a layer of eager excitement in her voice that Vergil was certain he’d never felt once in his entire life. He seemed to be very passionate about what she was talking about; driven to take the plunge and accomplish these goals even if the initial setup was probably going to be quite taxing. He got the impression that she didn’t enjoy stagnation. She was not content to simply languish in her current level of success. She wanted to expand. Her ambition was fascinating to him, even if he didn’t understand the appeal of what she was doing. "Oh dear, I'm rambling on again, aren't I? You must be so terribly bored listening to me prattle on and on about my personal life. How have you been?"

"You may be surprised to find that I was not, actually." Vergil said as he stirred his cup of tea with the provided plastic stir before taking a sip. The tea was quite good. Probably some sort of Earl Gray, but not the cheap kind that you could buy at a convenience store in a pack of a hundred for two dollars. No, this was the real thing. And it was probably exactly what he needed right now even if he hadn't realized it initially. “And I’ve been… Fine. Preoccupied. Hince my late return. I lost track of a considerable amount of time.”

"Oh… Well, I’m glad to hear that you’ve been well? And don’t worry about the wait. I tend to lose track of time myself, especially I’m I’m reading or working in the shop." She said as she took a sip of her own drink. They were both content to enjoy one another’s company for the time being. Vergil didn’t mind the small talk today. “I actually hadn't realized how late in the week it was until just now. Where does the time go… ”

"Then it seems that we share this trait. Books can be all consuming. Vergil said as he continued to sip his tea. Oh, if she only knew just how much of his time on an almost daily basis that he spent combing over the pages of a book, absorbing the knowledge therein. He rarely indulged in literature out of leisure anymore. No, this was all personal business. He’d become a scholar of sorts, collecting and cataloging any pertinent information in his mind and hoarding it for the day when it would become useful to him. His relationship to the written word was something like it had once been during his youth…

“Yes, they certainly can. We have to recommend one another some of our favorite reading material sometime, then. If you're still in town, that is. I know you probably won’t be sticking around much longer… “ There was a note of something that he couldn’t quite positively identify in her voice as her eyes drifted down to the cup of tea that she was drinking. If he was not mistaken she almost seemed to be… sad? Did the prospect of their companionship ending abruptly sting that deeply? They barely knew one another but…

“... And pray tell, what were these pastimes of yours, exactly?" He asked suddenly, out of a desire to change the subject or cheer her up he couldn’t be sure. But either way, he actually was somewhat curious. He didn’t have the slightest idea what her hobbies could consist of outside of reading, and he only registered that as a possibility due to the fact that she’d just brought it up.

"Well I… " She didn't seem to know where to begin, genuinely surprised as to how interested he seemed to be in her life today. Perhaps he had simply been in a foul mood The last time that she had encountered him? After all, everyone had off days, and neither of them were excluded from that. Her perplexed facial expression was almost enough to elicit a chuckle from Vergil, something he rarely felt the urge or inclination to do.

"I'm prying, aren't I." He asked, finishing the cup of tea before reaching for the teapot again. He paused when his hand reached the halfway mark, realizing that he might be overstepping. After all, he hadn't asked. He allowed his hand to linger there as he gestured towards the pot with a tilt of his head, earning him a nod from the young woman who seemed to be nearly finished herself, taking another small sip from the cup. Was the drink too hot, perhaps?

"No, no! It's just that… Truth be told, I wasn't expecting you to be interested." She said with a small, almost uncomfortable laugh. She truly didn’t seem to know how to process his shift in attitude and his willingness to accommodate her smalltalk today. “I’m not accustomed to other people showing an interest in my work. But to be fair, I also don’t have many people I would consider friends to share it with. But still, after last time I’m surprised that you're interested.”

"If I am to be completely truthful, I can't say that I normally would be. But on this occasion I feel… strangely compelled to know." Vergil said as he fixed a second cup and tasted it, adding a bit more sugar when he found that he'd been a little too light. He didn’t like overly sweet tea, but he didn’t like it black, either. He didn’t see the appeal and had no desire to. “Perhaps you would humor me?”

She seemed to consider his words for a moment as she stood up, glancing over at the front counter. There was no one there, but she probably had a bit of a sixth sense for when she’d been away for her station for too long. It was probably best that she headed over and made sure that everything was running smoothly. Even a slow day had its busywork.

"We close in about twenty minutes… do… Do you want to see what I've been working on then?” She said somewhat sheepishly, a slight blush warming her cheeks. She looked nervous to ask that, and he wasn’t sure why, but he was willing to chalk it up to a fear that he wouldn’t enjoy what she’d been working on. And in a strange way that he couldn’t identify, that look on her face… it made something deep within him flutter. He couldn’t find the words to express how it made him feel. He… she had the strangest hold on him. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Things he started to care about had a tendency to be destroyed. He needed to remain cautious. He couldn’t allow himself to fully drop his guard.

"... I think I can spare the time. Yes.” The Darkslayer said as he took another sip of his drink, willing at least for the time being to do that much. For the moment he would take things one day at a time, unsure as to what he should or shouldn’t do in the long term for now. If he had his way there wouldn’t be a long term. He would leave and she would become a pleasant memory amidst a sea of painful memories. And something about that prospect caused a small amount of pain to well up in his chest. He… he didn’t like that idea? Why.

“Then enjoy the rest of the pot and let me know if you’d like anything else. I’ll clean up and be with you as soon as I can.” She said as she picked up her empty cup, clasping it between both of her small hands. He hadn't noticed until now that her long, manicured nails were painted. Green. The same green as her eyes. He imagined that it was probably a lovely color on her, and then he instantly wondered why he’d considered that. That had been… arguably inappropriate of him. His senses had clearly left him when he’d come through the door and crossed the threshold into her shop.

He nodded as she waived, a small smile on her face. She headed back to the counter with her empty cup, just in time for another customer to head over to the counter to purchase something. And although he couldn’t care less as to what they were talking about, he couldn't help but notice her cheerful demeanor as she assisted them. There truly was something about her, wasn’t there. She was like a ray of sunshine, parting the clouds everywhere she went. Her bright nature could melt stone. Yes, she did have a way of bringing light to the sky and making the clouds dissipate, even when they were storm clouds like his.

(-~-)

Hi, everyone! I hope you liked this chapter! It was really fun to write hehe. I kept giggling the whole time I was writing it. IDK, I guess anything even fluff adjacent tickles me. Also, if any of you are thrown off by my description of how she talks… Okay, so you know how Ada speaks in RE4? Yea, literally just that. That’s basically how she talks, just with a tad bit less obvious flirting hahaha! See you in the comment section and next week! I hope you have a great weekend!

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