#this picture: photographic PROOF of his love (look at the shiny eyes and the way he is caught mid drink) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

magniloquent-raven · 3 years

Note

31 and 42 for any character(s) you want

eyyy ty for the ask 🥰

31. most prized possession

billy has one picture of his mother.

he managed to keep some of her stuff hidden from neil. a few small things. a filigree dolphin ring she’d left by the bathroom sink, a rinsed out jam jar full of her favourite bits of sea glass, and a paperback novel with curling edges and a broken spine. he used to pester her while she was reading, ask her endless questions until she relented and read out loud for him. didn’t matter what she was reading, he barely paid attention to the stories anyways, he just liked to hear her do the voices.

and all of those things are important to him. (he keeps them in separate hiding places, in case neil ever goes looking through his things, he doesn’t want them all thrown out at once, if it comes to that.) he’s read the book dozens of times. he used to wear the ring when he was alone in his room, but he outgrew it years ago. when he has the house to himself he sorts through the sea glass, lays it all out on his bed and tries to remember the stories she told about each piece.

and he treasures all these little keepsakes, but none more than the single, faded photograph he has of the women herself. a polaroid he took when he was too young to hold the camera properly. it’s crooked, and at a weird, unflattering angle, the sun blotting out a whole corner of the photo, but her smile is still clear and visible, and that’s all that matters.

because she left when he was so young. and he worries that one day he’ll forget what she looks like.

so he looks at the picture every day. sometimes just a glance, to remind himself, and sometimes, when he’s snuck in through his window after a party, drunk and woozy and in his feelings, he’ll sit on his floor and look at it til his eyes get tired and he can’t blink away the tears anymore.

and i think that steve would have a weird relationship with possessions. like. as a teenager, stuff feels like a burden sometimes. all the things his parents bought. he isn’t allowed to complain about his parents not spending time with him because they’ve given him things instead. that they’re at least somewhat invested in keeping him alive. his dad would definitely be one of those “you’re so ungrateful, and after we fed and clothed you all these years” kind of parents.

so he has all these things that are supposed to mean something to him, but they just. don’t.

then when him and billy become tentative friends, billy decides he’s deeply and personally offended by steve’s taste in music. and he makes him a mixtape. it’s just. songs billy likes. music that doesn’t suck scribbled on the label, with a dumb little winky face drawn on the corner. it is in no way a romantic gesture, except. excep steve’s already got a massive crush on billy so, really, he couldve handed over a fucking math textbook and steve still would’ve gotten butterflies over the fact that billy thought of him at all.

and then billy listens to it with him. talks to him about it. it’s not just that billy thought of him, made something for him, but it’s an excuse to spend time with him too.

and when they start dating billy starts to give him other stuff. little things. a wonky little stuffed turtle he snagged from a claw machine while steve paid for their pizza. a piece of sea glass he found when they took a trip to the beach (he looked real serious when he handed it over, his eyes a little distant, and steve didn’t quite understand why, but the frown was easily kissed away). and a couple more mixtapes over the years. that steve would keep even when they couldn’t be played anymore.

he keeps these things in a fancy little wooden box on his dresser, all polished and shiny with gold plated hinges. full of all the things billy’s ever given him. and maybe it’s a little fucked up that sometimes he thinks he keeps these things because he needs the tangible proof that he’s loved, and that without all the little tokens of affections he’d just float untethered and unsure, but. they aren’t just things anymore, they’re memories, and love

42. hobbies

i absolutely adore the idea of post s3 billy just. doing a bunch of grandma activities lmao. his lungs and his heart are all busted up and there’s residual chest pain and he just can’t be as active as he used to be. plus he’s not as social anymore. being possessed and traumatized will do that to you. and then people start to notice that he’s stuck at home, bored and depressed. max notices. steve notices. word gets around.

and somehow their campaign to help him leads to him learning how to bake (max starts taking out cookbooks from the library and giving them to him) and taking care of plants (steve buys him cacti and herbs and anything that blooms blue) and eventually mrs henderson teaches him how to knit. (doc owens says it’ll be good for his hands, keep his fine motor skills sharp. and he doesn’t laugh. which helps)

and all of it helps keep him occupied. keep him from wallowing too much. and it’s nice to make things. keep things alive. feels like a step forward

and idk about in canon, but whether it’s an au thing or not, i love steve as an artist. he’s not great with words, and he just feels. dumb a lot of the time. he’s not intellectual. not good at school, things that his dad and his teachers tell him he’s supposed to be good at if he wants to amount to anything. but when he gets bored in class, when he just doesn’t understand the book he’s supposed to be reading, or he can’t follow along with the complicated formulas up on the board, he doodles. his notebooks are full of little drawings. caricatures of his classmates. landscape snapshots of what he can see through the window. he gets restless and his mind wanders but when he’s drawing he focuses.

and he doesn’t really show people. doesn’t tell anyone. he doesn’t think of himself as an artist, he just can’t concentrate in class so he doodles. it’s a shameful thing.

but maybe a teacher notices. takes an interest. encourages him a little. and its not much but it’s a start. lets him think about it a little more positively. he still hides it from his parents, he knows it’d just end with a lecture from his dad, but he feels less shitty about himself when he flips through his notebooks that are full of more pictures than words.

headcanon asks

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #a raven's writing desk #i guess lol #i went on a bit of a ramble #u just know that artist steve would have like #pages and pages of sketches of billy after he moves to hawkins #like he wants to hate this guy but he's just so damn pretty and he can't stop drawing him

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sjw-publishings · 3 years

Text

Retrospective Division

Josh and Henry walked hand in hand down the hallway, directly to the office in which they resided. The young men were in charge of small LGBTQ business in the building...only to be kicked out due to being too ‘liberal’, making room for tenants who were closer to his ‘Retrospective Vision’.

So much so, that the taller one had to voice it out.

“I’m...I’m going to send an email to the higher ups!” Josh spoke.

Josh Ming was the older of the two, only slightly older though at the age of 23. Fresh out of college and directly ready to start business with his newlywed husband.

Dressed in a pair of of white loafers with matching pair of beige khaki shorts, he wore a light blue buttoned polo underneath his pink checkered sweater vest with rainbow flag pin over his right breast...

Was that the final straw for the clearly conservative owner to kick them out after just a few months? If it was...

He scratched the back of his head, left palm messing with his wavy raven locks before briefly adjusting his rectangular half-frame specs. Something was real off...and he really wanted to get to the bottom of it.

This sudden rising passion of energy within him was also different, tightening his grip on his boyfriend, he would usually remain quiet and reserved, ignoring the such attitude towards them...but being kicked out? That really ticked him off.

“Honey, I like that attitude!”

Meanwhile, Henry was quite astonished by drive his husband was showing. Sure they both took turns in the bed and was Jeffery incredible when he was top, but he had never seen this side of him until today...

The 22 year old caucasian smiled, loving every bit of the drive from the other male, considering he was usually the one taking charge vocally.

Placing his right hand on his waist, swishing his hips in those pink bermudas while strutting in his own pair of slip-on, navy blue formal shoes that he recently got.

They had the right to dress liberally and freely, he would never sass directly-he and his boyfriend’s clothing says it all! With a matching light blue buttoned down-minus the sweater and throw in a white cardigan for variety.

Swooshing his blond curly locks, his sky blue eyes narrowed in admiration towards his partner, freckles rising with his cheekbones.

“Heh...must’ve gotten it from you~”

“Awww.”

In a matter of seconds, they reached the entrance to their office. They were told to pack up and go in the middle of the night, and with the full moon shining directly at them from a open window behind.

They immediately released the grip from the other as they walked in without question.

Not even realising that they won’t be holding the other this way when they come out.

————————————————————

As they entered, the room stayed mostly the same for now, with the only major difference, is that their desks are apart, parallel to one another.

Just like their formerly interlocked hands.

“Of course! the owner doesn’t support us working side by side directly!”

Josh noted, rolling his eyes as his tone got snappy. Folding his arms, not realising his lisp fading slightly with the remark.

“No worries hun, that just means I’d get a better look at you~”

He turned to his boyfriend, who looked lovingly at him at the side. At Eye level, re-assuring the other that everything will be alright. He blinked, did Henry just get taller all of a sudden? He definitely did not notice it earlier...must be the new shoes he was wearing.

“Right back at ya love~”

“Ooooh now there’s that attitude I love!”

PINCH!

“Oof!”

With that, Henry gave a tight pinch to his behind, smirking as he walked to his desk. Of course, it was far harder than usual, that tease. His husband liked to do that especially when he was happy, which was great when he was happy despite those remarks from the owner!

But something about the pinch...really set him off.

Playing it off, not noticing his larger steps as he strode to his side of the room. Legs stretching wide apart, feet grounded to the floor as he stood like a 1930s cartoon, except with more realistic proportions.

PLONK!

Landing butt first on his chair, he winced once again, he sat with more force than intended. Probably due to the aggression towards the owner, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion he and his husband brought from home on his-

Sleek Office chair, the modern kind without the comfort. Just pure professionalism like the way the owner demanded. Did that arse remove his-

Meanwhile Henry from across looked comfortable in his...’Chairman’s chair’. Like he was a higher up overseeing him, with a smug grin, but it was just cause he found him cute right?

“Sit up straight hun...wouldn’t want the owner to think otherwise.”

“Got it...! Thanks for reminding me!”

“No problem love...”

He responded quickly...though kind of irritated, he knew it was the owner’s policy too, about a ‘straight back leads a straight life’. He often made visits to everyone of his tenants or so he claims...especially them.

How ridiculous of a ‘motivational message’, though Jeff did like to keep his back straight for proper posture and presentation, not cause he was...

Anyways...what is with the fact that his fiancé is on a grand chair while he was stuck lookin’ like a subordinate. Sure Henry was slightly older...and taller than him, but the difference between them was huge.

He shouldn’t let that get to him...but its kind of pissing him off, specially with that smug grin on the older male’s face.

Mustering up all his professionalism, he spoke to the other male about their situation, holding in as much anger as he could.

“Say...how else do you think the owner expects us to behave?”

“Don’t know, probably...like him...”

Older days...yeah that sounds about right. Blinking, Josh watched as numerous LGBTQ posters and photos he framed up on his side taken down in an instant, replaced with framed photographs, mainly black and white of men and women in retro-esque attire.

But the main thing were the fact was there were only happy heterosexual couples in the wedding pictures that he took...where wuz’ all the gay ones huh?

Meanwhile, Henry’s side had the pictures reshaped into various expensive degrees and award certificates apparently. Josh wasn’t sure when his senior was such a stick in the arse and show off his life, but apparently its the reality they live in now.

Mixed with the wood panelling, their office walls split into two. With his fiancé’s side having a more polished grey shine to it...and his having wallpaper of grey rocks right behind him.

He was pissed, all his hard work gone to waste when the boss removed all his...stuff, doing renovations...Sure he kinda liked the new decor, always felt sturdy where he wuz at. But still it was his stuff!

Though then again, he also did help take some of those conference photos for the boss when he had met with several of his big league associates, a proof of skill he could use when advertising his talent to the boomers...

Whatevah! He was still goin’ to be typin’!

As he had started up his trendy PearPC, he blinked as the load in bar showed up. Tapping his fingers impatiently, not realising the shiny light weight frames becoming heavier and grounded as the quality of the pixels dropped tremendously with every second.

“Something is not right! And I’m gettin’ to the bottom of dis!”

“Whatever you say, hun...”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s statement, the older male was not as passionate as he was when it comes to delivering the truth. Not fighting as hard as he was, whateva’!

He was doin’ it HIMSELF!

Rubbing his palms, as his ‘doorframe’ retro PC lit up, being an older model did not hinder his goal as he opened up the word processor and began typing away!

He was always a fast typer, especially when his grandpapy trained him when he was younger. Though that did not sound right? They didn’t have computers back in the day and age!

As Josh blinked, the digital letters seemed almost printed out the more he starred into them. As he continued typing on his keyboard, he didn’t notice the swiftness of his fingers as he crunched on the keys effortlessly, neither did he mind the metallic clicking sound with every syllable.

Precisely, rubbing his eyes, the glossy flow shifted into simple paper. Grinning to himself, retro it is! Right in front of em’, a policy that the boss really stood firm in his heart.

“Not that I mind, Chief.”

Muttering to himself, Joshon was raised by a highly conservative grandfather who drilled him in the importance of staying true to their values.

Not noticing with that remark, his rainbow flag pin stretched like taffy around his neck, solidifying into a black monotone neck tie as the collar of his Polo tee stiffened.

And folded down.

Sweater vest splitting into two, the sleeves merging with the polo as the vest thinned out. A long row of buttons trailed down the merged too, colour bleaching white into a straight, iron-pressed dress shirt.

Even though he was sorta queer, there was no way he’ll be outrightly pissing his grand-papy off! Folding his arms determinedly, as the pinkness of the remaining vest fabric faded to black, looping into straps with a big criss-cross over on his back.

SNAP! Wearing his suspenders with grey pride.

It didn’t really matter to him in the face of a scoop. Especially when it comes to whatever the owner of the establishment is doing, he was determined to write it like the reporter he was.

You can say, it was going to be the scoop of the century!

“Did you say something?”

Gohen got up from his throne, dressed in a thick black suit, with faint white checkered patterns all over, with the typical office dress shirt and matching tie he always wore.

Sauntering over to the reporter’s side of the room, possessively. The hispanic-caucasian stared at the pan-asian male...though its less so love and more so-

“What are you doing?”

But oh man, does he piss Joshon off.

Yeah they’ve been engaged, but the way he breathes down his neck makes the reporter sick. Arms toughening with strong toned biceps, as a healthy dusting of hair lined his forearms.

The roughness the two exhibited even in bed was less out of love and more so...pent up frustration, especially lately. No matter how the conversation went, its just conflict after conflict.

“I’m just typing away the new article, lovah!”

His lover’s been clinging onto em’ again. Examinin him like a piece of meat, even though they just get engaged recently...though it was more so the lawyer’s idea rather than Joshon’s.

Tied down to another guy like that, even that was too gay for his liking.

“Why don’tcha just-TALK TO ME?”

“I AM TALKIN’ TO YA!”

He was so ANGRY with his lover, getting up, hands pressing against the other...and with a-

PUSH!

The impact left a huge blow to their relationship.

Flinging both men back to their side of the room, onto each of their seats. Rings morphing into simple tie pins as they stuck onto their new ties. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing to personal with the other male.

They just anger each other.

First came the realisation of the older male, who tugged relentlessly below, surging through age and maturity as his weathered face took on a caramel tan.

Hair styling into natural curls, shortening into a dark brown, embracing his new identity of a conservative single man in his fifties. Letting loose any notion of being attracted to anyone but his future-

“Hermosa!”

The hispanic BOOM-ER’ed his manhood, letting loose all his reservations and kindness as a dark glare rested on the male. Deep eye bags alongside a faint beard.

Dusting himself, the middle aged man made sure he appeared presentable, despite still in a hazy afterglow.

Shaking himself out of his trance, the older man glared at the younger male.

“Get out my office.”

Walls fell down between the two, a complete division of interests as the attorney faded from his sight.

“Well who needs ya?”

Still thirsting for release, his face contorted at any thought of attraction to the older man. What wuz he? Queer? That kind of shit gets ya kicked outta office!

Which was why he liked it ere’!

“PANSY!”

A young handsome guy free to be chasing the ladies! Hair slicked to the side, as his skin embraced that peachy caucasian tan of his new ethnicity.

“QUEER!”

The tense fights he had with his competitor and rival next door. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Grinning arrogantly at the triumphs he had over the man, especially when he told Gomez about the queer vibe he got from those chicks.

And both ladies turned about to be lesbians!

Imagine how much the owner of the establishment would be proud of him, how his grandpapy would be proud of him.

His arrogant sneer framed by his squared jaw, licking his lips as his signature five o clock shadow lined his masculinity. Narrowing his much larger eyes, blowing a large-

“GOT DA SCOOP RIGHT ERE!”

And so the incredibly heterosexual reporter proclaimed, kicking back as his hard member came and came like the single retro business owner he was.

Slumping back in the afterglow, immersing in his heterosexuality like he always did past midnight as he-

Knock!

Jolted up, zipped his trousers, and crossed his arms as his boomer rival barged in.

“Matt! Will ya keep it down?!”

“Shaddup Diego! As if you and your crusty balls didn’t jerk off for the third time this evenin’!”

Of course, they initiated their famous, tense, stare down at the other. The caucasian reporter remaining in his position as the hispanic lawyer made his way to the seat in front of him.

The two of them fought ever since they met. With Gomez being being really disapproving towards Johnson as a result.

The Chief’s colleague vouched for their grandson Johnson to be a part of the many businesses in the building, claiming he will be a value asset to his ‘conservative vision’.

Of course, Reporter Johnson was a prodigy. Being raised in the art of the press by his Grand-pappy, the ins and outs on the ‘black N white days’ without too much influence from the modern world.

It was no surprise that the chief, the owner of dis ere’ place, gave him an office of his own.

Even bypassing Attorney Gomez’s approval, who, besides being the prime defence lawyer against any allegations towards the property owner, was also the one who made the deciding vote on whether someone was able to rent an office in the Chief’s estate.

Of course, the idea of a man, over a decade younger, having this much influence in the building had ticked the hispanic boomer to his very core. And ever since then, it became a non-stop cycle of one upping the other.

“Listen Matty, you know how it goes as much as I do. We’re men and still single, we need women.”

Though despite their numerous arguments, over the years, they may never admit it...but when it comes to getting partners, they were both unfortunate enough to remain single this long.

In their late thirties and fifties respectively, flirting with ladies and getting rejected like some 50s comedy routine.

“Never understood how did some guys get married immediately after college...bunch of queers.”

“Agreed, especially for a hot rich lawyer such as myself, being single is definitely out of the equation.”

“Hey! Hey! You think the ladies care about an old man in a suit when a hot stud like me is around?”

“Not when you are far from tactical with your words! Besides, you should see how the women look at me when I walk down the hallway.”

“Oh yeah? Well Chicks can’t resist spankin’ my arse with every step!”

And so the argument continues, like almost every time they met. Like a married couple, except they were straight and talking about women women women.

And for some odd reason, because of this fact, despite their glaring differences in almost about everything. They knew they had each other’s back when it comes to this.

“Anyways...the owner said he’s found two ladies working in an office below us...and that they are not only interested in us...but-”

Taking out the photographs from the brown folder, in them were two gorgeous women that these straight men could not peel their eyes off. Like an alluring magnet of compatibility, that kind that they were unable to resist.

The left one definitely screamed the ‘mamacita’ that Diego desired. As he placed his matured palm over that photograph, red tints could be seen over his cheeks as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Of course, Matt’s hard on throbbed at the sight of the right chick. Like a lesbian who turned straight in front of his lens, the kind of Gal he would spend his life with, and for some reason he knew she would too.

“You in?”

Lawyer Diego Gomez folded his arms, but barely hid the incredible pheromones of attraction towards his lady. Sandwiching his manhood and rubbing it, desperately needing her immediately, closing his single case once and for all.

Reporter Matt Johnson mirrored the older male, and not wanting to admit it, is thirsting for that retro babe like the scoop of the century. He really desired for her...but he ain’t gonna show weakness in front of his rival! He was taking charge, hungry eyes blending in with a determined expression.

“You be my wingman this time Gomez, and you’ve got a deal.”

#retrospective division #gay to straight #g2s #mental change #personality change #lib to cons #racial change #retro tf

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eleanorbloom · 4 years

Text

All I Ever Wanted (Bryce Lahela x f!MC)

Warnings: Angst, cursing and smut. The second half of the chapter is NSFW and not suited for minors (I left a mark for those who want to read the first part fic but are not comfortable with smut).

A/N: Hello!

I swore to myself that I’d only write my series and a collab I was invited to do, but chapter 12 left me wanting for more, so here we have the love and smut that was missing in that 30💎 scene. I’m a hopless romantic so prepare yourselves for a bit of cheesiness.

I’m using the same tag from my BrycexMCxEthan series, thinking you would be interested in read this, so, if you want to be removed from this post, just let me know!

A/N2: I apologize in advance for any mistakes, English is not my frist language.

That’ll be all.

Enjoy!

Taglist @utterlyinevitable @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations @laiba-the-person @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268 @aylamreads @binny1985 @romewritingshop

_____

All I Ever Wanted

The chatter of people had decreased into an unstable hiss from the few people left in the room.

Bryce had said goodbye to Bobby’s and Danny’s family and was waiting for Eleanor, who was immersed in a joyful but melancholic exchange of memories with Danny’s mother.

When he found a picture of the hospital staff at a picnic a few months ago, he couldn’t help but smile at the happy faces of colleagues and friends having a good time, without the worries of daily routines.

No one could’ve ever imagined at that moment that two of those smiling faces would leave so soon. Nor that it could have been four.

As he sensed his eyes starting to burn again, he blinked swiftly to keep the tears at bay.

“You okay?”—Her voice was soft as a whisper, careful enough to not startle him as she appeared beside him out of the blue.

Bryce turns to his right, where Eleanor was looking at him with a worried expression.

“Yeah, it’s just… I know we deal with life and death every day, but it feels different to lose our people and so unexpectedly.”

Especially when someone you love was so close to death, he says in his head.

“Yeah, I know”

Eleanor looks around the hall as one of the volunteers starts packing up chairs. There were a few groups at the corner, mostly family and relatives of the heroes of Edenbrook. All their friends had gone by now.

“I’m ready if you want to leave”

“Let’s go, then.”—Bryce says as he heads to the door. Eleanor follows suit, instantly.

Outside, the sky is completely closed with thick, black clouds, threatening with rain any minute now.

“Should we take a cab?”—He asks, looking up the sky.

“No, I’d like to walk, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

As they start to walk, they notice how quiet the street was. The only noises accompanying them was the clicking of her shoes, and a few cars passing by a couple of blocks away. Bryce couldn’t help but get lost in the sound of her steps. The confirmation for the umpteenth time that she was alive and walking by his side. As if the last few days, the last few hours hadn’t been proof enough.

Since the moment he knew Eleanor could die, every moment with her feels like a treasure to him. A challenge to not take anything for granted, especially her existence, and to make the most of his time with her. They couldn’t waste any more time.

With that in mind, Bryce looks down at her, searching for her hand. She had both hands pocketed and as she saw he was offering his hand, she tangled her fingers into his.

Although her face was pale and gloomy, Bryce noticed how her eyes softened at the touch of his skin. He felt tickles at the sensation of her soft touch in him.

They walked in comfortable silence the few streets that separated the reception center from Eleanor’s apartment. Every few feet, they would stare at each other and smile imperceptibly, Bryce just for having her by his side, Eleanor for having him when she needed the most.

Once they reach her apartment street, a thunder roared loudly above them, waking them from their deep thoughts.

“I guess the sky is angry too.”—She says looking up as she stops in her tracks, waiting for the bolt.

“Yeah.”

And all Bryce can think of, is if Eleanor wouldn’t have made it that night, the sky would have broken the earth in two. His earth, his world, his heart. Everything would have fallen apart if she’d gone.

Then, the sky turns white and shiny for an instant. The stroke of lightning like an enormous photograph flash illuminates their faces and makes them realize how wonderful life can be with just so little.

After a moment she turns to him, looking for his beautiful brown eyes. But she can’t get enough as Bryce just take her by the nape of her neck and kisses her like he was gasping for air. His lips were cold, but in a matter of seconds, they were melting every inch of her skin he touched, his tongue roaming her lips, then her lips sucking his lower lip impatiently in an almost-too-fair exchange of kisses.

As Eleanor lets out a moan, a shower of rain comes down, soaking them in an instant. Neither of them seems to mind. Somehow the rain was all that they needed at that moment: something that washed them for all their fears, the loss, the pain. The uncertainty.

Eleanor rests her forehead in his, panting.

“Would you stay with me tonight?”—She pleads.

“I’d love to, Elle”—He replies before taking her by the hips and kissing her again, this time softly.

After a long moment, he embraces her, burying his face in her wavy, damp hair.

He breathes the sweet scent of her shampoo, bringing memories of the first time he discovered it.

Donahue’s was packed. Everyone was there celebrating the first day of residency. Eleanor had agreed to play darts with him. The bet was a kiss. The moment she turned to him, all victoriously, a trail of pomegranate scent reached his nostrils. And that night, even if she won, Bryce felt like a winner too, as they’d share the second kiss of that day.

“Should we go inside?”—Bryce doesn’t respond, still lost in memories.—“Bryce?”

He pulls away reluctantly. There’s a mix of longing and vulnerability in his eyes she had never seen before. As if he was opening the doors of all the mysteries he had kept sealed since... Always.

“Yeah, it’s just… I’m so glad you’re still here. I can’t help but feel thankful every moment I’m with you.”

“Me too. I feel thankful for being alive and to have you by my side.”

She gives him a quick peck in her wet lips and then she takes him by the hand, pulling him to the building. The rain still pouring.

“Do you think Keiki will be okay if you stay?”

“Yeah. I’ll text her to let her know I’m not coming home, anyway.”

By the time Bryce and Eleanor enter her room, Bryce was pocketing his cellphone back into his jacket.

“All settled. She kinda assumed I would spend the night with you”—Bryce replies, sheepishly.

“Your sister is always two steps ahead of you, it doesn’t surprise me at all.”—She retorts as she balances herself in one foot, taking off her Mary Jane stilettos. Then she continues with her coat.

Bryce stands there, at the door, watching her silently, studiously.

“Are you okay, Bryce? You seem… really pensive.”—She asks, walking towards him.

He can’t help but feel a wave of tenderness as she is now at her natural height. About 3 inches shorter.

She cups his cheeks both hands and caresses him with the tip of her thumbs.

“Mmh?”

“Honestly, I-”—He clears his throat, feeling it tight.—I feel a little out of control. One minute I’m laughing and telling a story about some prank Danny and I pulled on the OR staff… the next I want to bawl… the next I feel terrified. Of what could’ve happened to you, of what could happen tomorrow…”

“I feel the same.”—She admits—"Every little thing knocks me off balance. Somehow today made everything that happened seem more… real than it did before."

“That’s it exactly. Before, I was somehow still able to keep it all in the ‘work’ portion of my brain, but now…”

“Now it’s taken over.”

Now Bryce was realizing how things would have been if she hadn’t made it. If the team wouldn’t have gotten the antidote. Or if Rafael wouldn’t have been there to protect her. She would have left this planet just as soon as Bobby Gunderson did. Without a chance to say goodbye, without a chance to tell her how much she meant to him.

A sob escapes in his breath, and suddenly he wraps her tightly, this time like he is clinging onto life. As if he frees her from his arms, she'll become thin air and will be gone completely oblivious of what he feels.

Tears were streaming down all over his face, a grimace of terror and hollowness that shattered her heart the moment she saw it.

“Bryce…”—She whispers, her eyes shimmering with tears, containing her own sob at the sight of him so vulnerable.

“The… the night I stayed with you I… I couldn’t even close my eyes, afraid that you could be gone any second. And… I couldn't stop thinking about how much I wanted to tell you what you mean to me, but I felt like if I did it at that moment, would be like a farewell, like a confession in deathbed, and I couldn’t think that way.”

His lips were quivering while trying to find the exact words to continue.

"Since the moment I knew you would be okay, I realized that I wasted so much time all these months, Elle. Trying to play it cool, hiding my feelings, my worries. Trying to keep my walls up, just to be strong and be the support you need. As if I didn’t need anything. And I realized that somehow, I was unknowingly pushing you away when you have been the person I’ve open up the most. About my family, about what I lived in college because of my parents. And at the thought of you leaving… without knowing how much you mean to me, it felt selfish… unfair.

“Bryce, it’s okay. We all have our times...”

“This is not about time, Eleanor, it’s about fear, about pride. But after what you have been through, I felt stupid for fear something as absurd as my own pride. My charade of having all under control.”

Eleanor wiped the tears in his cheeks.

“I love you, Eleanor.”—He said in the most steady voice he could—You’re the only person that from the moment I met, knew you wouldn't let me down as so many others did, even my own family. But somehow, it took me this long and all this tragedy to finally tell you how I feel about you. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry."

Large tears run down her face. But her eyes were shining with a warmth he hasn’t seen in weeks.

“Bryce…”—Eleanor saw the raw vulnerability of Bryce Lahela. The person she had grown to love even if she knew half of the depths and torments of his mind and heart. But now that she was knowing him at his lowest, it only increased the affection and care for him.

She observed the features of the man who was taking the biggest leap of faith and, becoming the bravest man she knew by showing all his vulnerability, even if it was his biggest fear. Then she kissed all the spots she had look: His forehead, his temples, cheeks, nose, jawline, chin, eyes, to finally his lips. Each peck filled with adoration.

"Bryce, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I've been afraid too, because since the moment I met you you’ve been the one in my heart, but I was afraid of scaring you away, or lose you because you might not feel the same. But the truth is... I love you. I love you since, I don’t know. It feels like forever.”

On a normal day, Bryce would've retorted something flirty or cocky like "Of course you would, I'm too irresistible", but that day wasn't a normal day.

The rain had washed all his charades, all veils of confidence, carelessness, self-assurance, and all his flirty retorts. All that was left, was his deepest fears and hollows of his heart: to grew up in a family that never really cared for him; to lose his parents at the age of seventeen: to have to endure the consequences of his parents' actions, and always end up alone, without real friends, without anyone who would love him unconditionally.

Since the age of seventeen, he had always been on his own. His own emotional support. There never was a single person who would be there for him to vent up, to process feelings, emotions, stress. And since the moment he met Eleanor, he knew it would be different. But he had been carrying the fear for ten years. It wouldn't be easy to let all those walls go. But when it happened, when Eleanor found out about his sister, it was so easy to let the walls crumble. And even if he was used to seeing the judgment in everyone's eyes after finding his truth out, the only thing Eleanor gave him was understanding, support, empathy, generosity. Love. Unconditionally love.

“Let me take care of you”—She whispers, caressing his cheeks in the most tender way. As if he were about to break. —“You don’t need to carry all by yourself. You’re not alone anymore.”

He nods imperceptibly, as Eleanor kisses his forehead and he rests his head on her chest. She strokes his head as he hears Bryce sobbing, letting all out.

“I’m with you, love.”

How many nights she had dreamed of calling him that way. More than she could remember. And it felt so right.

How many nights he had dreamed of being called that way by her. More than he could remember. And it felt so right.

It enlightened his heart that had been buried deep inside all his fears and traumas. He felt alive like never before.

After a while, his breath steadies and he pulls himself out of her grip, looking at her in the eyes.

“Thank you.”

Bryce leans, kissing her chastely in the lips. They stare at each other, smiling.

**NSFW**

After a few seconds, they kiss again, but the connection lingers, an innocent and sweet peck that soon turns into something more. Feeling the softness of his lips on her unleashes a desire that starts to flow quickly through her veins.

She opens her mouth in response to the desire, capturing his lips between her teeth, their breaths becoming one.

“Bryce, I want you…”—She parts from him a single moment, just to let him know her mind.

“And I need you, Eleanor”—Bryce gasp loudly before kissing her again, this time drawing a trail of kisses down her neck.

After feeling dead all those days, immersed in confusion, pain, and fear, she had made him feel alive. And he wanted to spend the first moment of his awakening by adoring her in the sweetest and exquisite way.

Soon, Eleanor unbuttons his tux and shirt, leaving kisses in every inch exposed, discarding it on the floor.

Then Bryce turns her to unfasten her black dress in the back, facing the same fate as his shirt. He embraces her for the back, roaming his hands all over her curves, pinching her hips, her waist, and then cupping her breast with both hands while leaving sloppy kisses in the crook of her neck. A wave of popcorn and vanilla intoxicates him with more desire. He pulls her tight against him, groaning as her lower back presses his crotch. He grips her throat with one hand, arching her head back, kissing her fiercely, while Eleanor roams one hand between his tights, making him release a moan in her mouth.

Eleanor frees herself from his arms, and bringing her hands to his belt, working on his pants until she sends it to the floor like the rest of their clothes. Then she takes off her pantyhose, and when she ups her head to look at Bryce, she finds him looking at her silently, contemplating every inch of her body.

“What?”

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Maybe a million times.”

“Make that one million and one, then. You’re absolutely gorgeous”.—He whispers, starting to suck kisses down her jawline, and staying at her chest for a few more moments, while he unclasps her bra and tosses it to the floor. After that, he buries her face in her breasts, cupping them with his hands and feeling the exquisite aroma of her skin concentrating in the apex of her breasts.

He slides his lips softly to her nipples, sucking it delicately at first, but then he nibbles them hard, making a moan escape from her throat.

His touch is like never before. Is gentle but confident. He knows exactly what he's doing, but somehow he touches her with new delicacy, with adoration. Thanking for being alive with every inch of skin he kisses.

As he goes down, Bryce takes her by the hips and pushes her to the bed, pulling her panties out. His kisses along her stomach and belly feel like fire, as he is getting closer to her sweet spot. Eleanor gasps with anticipation.

Bryce grips her tights and opens them while leaving kisses and licks in her mound and just around her folds. Eleanor breaths heavily, her hips moving involuntarily as his soft kisses tickle in her core.

She thought he would tease her for a minute or two. But that night wasn't about teasing. Was about need and adoration. And he didn't want to waste another second without adoring her most sweet and satisfactory way.

Eleanor tugs the quilt as she felt his tongue sliding slowly through her folds and towards her clit.

“God”—She whispers.

After a few moments working on her core, Bryce places one finger inside her, then two. Then he curls them gently while looking for the right spot until she indicates he has reached it.

“Yes, yes, there, there!”

Without leaving her nub, Bryce goes up, leaning to Eleanor, kissing her breasts to then brush his lips into hers. The moment they meet, Eleanor takes his head desperately, moaning in her mouth while his fingers keep moving in circles and entering in her.

"Yes"—She breathes desperately, Bryce observing every feature of her face. The way her mouth was making a perfect O, the crease in her forehead when she frowns as the pleasure overtakes her.

Bryce picks up more speeds, and her hips began to shake uncontrollably. Bryce looks at her as a deity professing all her powers.

And her power works like a painkiller to him. Seeing her like that, reaching the peak of satisfaction the human nature can have, is the best proof he can get of how alive she is.

Her whole body shudders and then her voice is off, unable to articulate another sound. She can only return the kiss he gives her before tumbling beside her.

As Eleanor catches her breath a few moments later, she steals him a kiss, gripping his arousal. Then she mumbles in a sultry voice:

“How you want me?”

He wasn’t expecting that question, but after a few moments of deliberation, he answers:

“On all fours”

As if her patience was extinguishing, Eleanor stands up immediately, takes his underwear off, and then she crawls onto the bed as Bryce asked.

Bryce places himself behind her and grabbed her by the hips and enters her. Slowly at first, sensing every inch of her as he pushes and pushes until all his length was inside her. Eleanor leaned on her elbows, stroking her hair as Bryce began to thrust her. The feeling of him inside her sends shivers down her spine, waking every fiber of her again. She feels alive, desired, loved.

“Bryce”—She groans.

Suddenly, Bryce takes her by the wrists, pulling her body to his chest, without stop pounding her. With one hand he cups her breast, with the other, he slides his finger to her clit. Eleanor arches her back, leaning the nape of her neck on his shoulder while tugging his hair in the back of his head.

“You feel incredible, babe”

"Don’t stop, please"—She cries in a tiny voice, as Bryce began to thrust her harder.—”Yes…”

“You like that?”

“Yes, y... you?”

“I love it”—Now his finger picks up speed.

“Fuck, yes, Bryce.”

Bryce kisses her jawline before pushing her back to the mattress, now taking both wrists and crossing them on her low back, holding them there.

As he pounds her faster, the noise of their bodies colliding fills the room, a maddening melody that brings them higher and higher.

“Fuck, yes… I wanted you exactly like this, Bryce”

“Like what?”

“Fucking me hard”

Bryce groans as her words invade his mind.

Their bodies connected was another proof of how alive she was, and how alive he was.

But something was missing.

He pulled away, got on his feet, and turned her in one swift motion, her body, shimmering in sweat, now facing him. Eleanor looks at him, expectantly.

“At least this time, I don’t wanna miss your pretty face while you cum.”

She grins naughtily, biting her lower lip.

Placing himself over her, he grazes her nipples, to then go up to kiss her.

After a few moments lost in her mouth, he stands and takes her hips, raising her a bit, reaching her sweet spot, and making her squeeze on the inside

“Bryce, yes”

Every thrust harder, nosier. Every thrust breaking the chains of the fear, of the loss, of what wasn't said. Of what he could've done. Every thrust getting them near to the edge, to the end of that once endless road of loneliness, of charades, of pretend.

There was no return now.

“Elle"—He breathes, sensing his body was losing control, her body tightened around him, making him explode any second now.

“Come here, please”—She sighed.

Bryce lowers to her. Eleanor captures his lips instantly, as she was about to choke out of air.

“Bryce, you’re incredible"—She says, dizzy—“I’m… I’m… Ahhh!"—She buries her mouth on his shoulder, as she reaches her long-awaited orgasm.

The raw moan is enough to make him cum against her, growling while he motions erratically over her, as the sensations overwhelm him. Then he collapses by her side, both trying to catch their breaths.

They stay in silence for a couple of minutes, the big smiles never leave their faces.

“Is your need satisfied?”—She asks, turning to him.

“Honestly?”—He replies, placing a hand in her waist—“No, I’m not done, yet.”

“Good, me neither.”

Bryce wraps her in a warm embrace and Eleanor nuzzles in his chest, drunk of tenderness and love.

The rain had stopped falling. The room was quiet. They could only hear their breaths. The basic and simple proof that they were alive at that moment. Alive and absolutely aware of what they felt about each other.

“I love you”—She says softly.

“I love you too, baby.”

There was nothing left to say, but words of reaffirmation for a lifetime.

______

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #bryce x casey #open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #fanfic #Oh fanfic #choices #oh choices #playchoices #choices stories you play

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boogiewrites · 3 years

Text

Never Break the Chain Pt. 2

Part 2 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary: Javier and Esme's first time seeing each other in almost twenty years. A photograph leads to an obsessive hunt for the woman he thought was dead. They both find they got where they wanted. But is it what they want now?

Warnings/Tags: Tension. Big reunited kiss.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Time passes, as it always has and always will. It stopped for no man, not even Javier. Seeing his first love fade into nothing had left him a different man. Walls came up, barriers were built that his enemies would even be impressed by. She’d done him a favor, snapping him out of the young man’s dream, but he felt he had nothing left but trying to help once she was gone. So he threw himself into his work.

Sure there were other women. He thought he loved some, but would always leave them. He always hurt them and that wasn’t his intention precisely but they would thank him years later. He was what they would refer to in close company as “a dodged bullet”. He’d been called far worse.

He despised his cliche reactions to his trauma sometimes. Drinking, smoking, being a general pain in the ass, renowned and proud asshole was easier. Burying yourself in prostitutes and let them take away the thoughts for a little while was the easiest. He would fantasize he could help them, even save some of them. He surely wasn’t getting his hero complex stroked when it came to his work. He had a soft spot for women, he had learned the hard way the shit deal they’d landed when they were born. He couldn’t do much...but he could try to help. So he did. Loss after loss he kept trying. This was that bit of good Esme had always believed in. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would have it so he made the best of it while he could.

The night before was nothing knew, an old habit at this point for him. He went out and got a woman, he’d pour every bit of good in him into her, convincing himself he still had it. He’d make them feel good, listen to them, things that were in short supply in their lives from men. He could be that good guy exception, if only for a short while. It felt nice to not be looked at with disgust or fear. The slivers of affection kept him going after dark. He’d leave them breathless, moans turning to laughs as they dressed, joking they might not make him pay. But they always took the money. And he offered it with no judgment, pulling his jeans on and halfway through a highball glass as his lean outstretched arm offer up their compensation for making him feel something good and push out the bad thoughts for a short while. He could be making worse decisions.

He rubs his temple, suppressing a groan as he slid his way into the uncomfortable chair at the beaten-up metal table. The chatter of his coworkers all making their way into the room was grating but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Morning debriefing, something he gave a shit about. Well, work was the one thing he gave a shit about right now, hyper-focused on the clock and trying to drown out the obsession off the clock. It was a dynamic that he was still trying to perfect. He downs the hot black coffee in his hand and nods at the secretary just outside the doorway, “Get me another, sugar. No sugar.” he winks and sends her off. She side-eyed him and went on her way, that was just Pena to her, horny but harmless. He cracks his back, a grunt before landing his elbows on the table to focus, the overblown commander coming in with a handful of photos, spreading them on the table as they talked about what they always did, the cartel.

Pena tries to approach everything individually, but there was only so much range these guys had, and not seeing them all as one giant collection of piss ants with assault rifles was something getting harder and harder to do. So as new and old names were said, he watched the board fill out, the line attaching known connections and new ones. There had been a new wave of intel, something Pena and his partner Murphy were used to being the ones doing, but he wouldn’t complain if someone else finally wanted to sack up and their fucking job like they were supposed to.

“So we have our old friends,” a slap of photos to the board. “Then there’s a new round of boys coming in.” he taps the newest addition to the board. “Seems we’re getting inbred with the other families, the jewel smugglers, the miners...seems we’re trying to venture out and expand our already impressive portfolio.” he snorts.

“They can never just be fucking satisfied with their millions.” someone groans and complains.

“It’s a good chance try to take them down too.” Murphy shrugs.

“Eyes on the prize, kiss ass,” Pena says quietly, accepting his coffee without a second glance. “Do we know these women?” he asks with a nod in the direction.

“Typical.” Murphy rolls his eyes.

“No. Our assumption is prostitutes. Nothing new there.” the commander goes on, but he quickly becomes background noise as Pena stands and moves toward the board. He stood, hips jutted forward, eyes scanning, hand over his mouth in thought. Once he saw the new pictures he hadn’t heard another word the men had said. “PENA!” barked his way grabs his attention as he casually shifts his attention.

“Mmmph. Yeah.” he mutters, eyes moving back to the board.

“I was informing you, you’d be doing street intel on these newcomers.”

“Yeah,” he says disinterested, thumbing his lip before placing his hands on his hips. “Do we have these photos in color?”

The question catches the room off guard. “Why?” he’s met with annoyed opposition.

“This woman…” he taps the photo of a woman with a sly smile on the arm of a very powerful man. Dark waves teased and a heart-shaped face buried in a fur coat collar worth more than he made in a year. He clears his throat. “I’ve seen her before…”

“They’re whores Javi, of course, you have.” Murphy leads the room in a wave of amused hums and chuckles.

“No I’m serious,” he says with no inflection, catching his partner’s attention. “Do we have a location on them if there’s no color?”

“Why’s color important?”

He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense and eyes blinking, baffled at what he was allowing himself to think. “Her eyes… were green.” MUrphy readjusts himself in his seat, watching Pena’s eyes carefully. He could swear they looked sad.

“What information we’ve got is here.” the commander points at the table with its thick manilla envelopes.

Javier nods with no spoken response, staying in place until the room is empty except for a hesitant Murphy who approaches him. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.

He shakes his head in response. “It can’t be her,” there’s a heavy pause, “But it...fuck it looks like her…” his voice trails off and Murphy is left with more questions.

“Well, are you gonna answer me or just write poetry about her Javi?”

“She’s…” he sighs and sucks his teeth. “She’s supposed to be dead.”

“Did you-?”

“No… no… nothing like that.” his voice still quiet. “I knew her… fuck...over a decade ago now.”

“So we can add hunting ghosts to our agenda now too. Great.” Murphy takes it lightly and presses his lips together. He stares at Javi, his eyes dark and focused. He was left with more questions than answers. His money was still on it being a hooker. It’s not as if Pena had even talked about Esme since the investigation when he was young. His partner may have his back in life or death situations, and they may have been close, but no one knew about her. Pena had hoped to keep it that way. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t her. Because if it was… well he didn’t know what he’d do.

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

Esme didn’t know it but with every minute that passed, she was being proven right about her belief in her first love, that if he knew she was alive, that he would find her.

Esme had ran, a bug out bag down the river and no trace left behind. She made her way south over the years, learning her craft and making friends in the right places. She’d started with rich men, especially rich white men trying to make a living off exploiting her fellow man in Mexico. It had been almost too easy. They thought nothing of her and wore her as if she were a watch; on their arm and shiny and proof of their wealth. She would gain access, gather intel and then sweep in and take the goods and ghost out.

Esme had been legally declared dead and was now living as Estelle. She had so many names over the years but her current incarnation was Estelle. And she was a star. She’d become what she wanted, she was rich and self-reliant. She needed no one and had her fun as she craved it. There were men and women and drugs and jewels and for so long it had been a pleasant hazy dream. But the novelty of it wore off, she grew bored, a witness to her hypocrisy, growing soft and lazy with her indulgence. When she emerged from her haze and saw the state of the world around her she knew things had changed. Narcos now ruled the world. The government bowed to them, the poor worshipped them. She saw they were the future, the new leaders. And for her, that meant that’s where she had to be.

She found herself once again sharp and full of adrenaline. Her new role took real savvy and cunning. Otherwise, she’d end up dead for real. She cozied up, working for Narcos to steal for them. It wasn’t hard in skill, but it was in the amount of sexist shit she had to deal with. She’d killed men for laying hands on her, and worse. She’d pulled knives and guns and made frown men piss themselves as she threatened them with words they’d never heard women utter up to that point. Most of the leaders would laugh until they cried after the fact, seeing a woman act in such away. She entertained them. They underestimated her, saw her as some novelty pet that fetched things and entertained them. She could handle that. As long as she got paid.

Following the groups, making her way around it made sense she found herself in Columbia. She knew it was dangerous, but she was addicted to it. It filled the void of sex and drugs for her for the most part, although she did partake among her peers from time to time. She thought it made her admirable, independent, and a shining example of what a woman could be if she had the nerve to do it. She was, to a degree, but she was also wrong. She lacked the softness in her life anyone, not just a woman needed. A void where no love or trust or intimacy was in her life she filled with material things and lists of her accomplishments. if she kept busy and looking ahead she wouldn’t be still king enough to face her demons.

Except she was about to come face to face with her biggest one.

—

As was his way, Javier had become a bit obsessed. He had to know if this woman was Esme. He’d been tracking her and was able to have DEA level observation to do it. It was a personal mission he’d been able to spin to look like a cartel one. There was a connection, she was seen with them, but little was known outside of that. After he’d put the word out for the beautiful woman with green eyes it hadn't taken long before someone scorned by her leaked information on her next job. The informant knew what his boss wanted to be stolen and when she’d be there. Normally no agent or cop would care to pay attention to her, or some jewels being stolen, she was just some woman to them. But serendipitous timing made sure she became THE woman for one of them.

She practically waltzed into the store. She scaled a fence, a wall and came through a window but for her, that was practically begging her to steal from them. The rooms were dark, silent except for the sounds of her feet as she made her way into the back, unseen and unbothered. It wasn’t until she’d stopped to admire her score before snatching it they the clicking of a gun behind her caught her attention.

He’d waited in the shadows, and none too patiently. With the aim set to intimidate, not kill, he Easter no more time. “Who are you?” It came out as an order.

Her head snapped up, back still to the faceless voice she felt was all too familiar. She blinks, the former goal now removed and replaced with a flood of emotion. She remains silent, her turn to be shocked like he was when he saw her face in the photos.

“Turn around.” Another order. The voice was deeper, darker now but still made her feel the same way.

She turns, and painfully slow. She doesn’t meet his intense gaze immediately, reading his body language first and calming her racing mind. There’s no way it was him.

There’s no way it’s her, his mind reassures him. But as soon as her eyes raise to meet his his stomach drops. He was right.

“Javi?” It was almost a whisper, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when she didn’t hide her emotions in her face.

The gun falls first, his sense falling to the wayside as it slipped into its place in the back waist of his jeans. His frame was broader, still lean moves towards her with an earned confidence now. He doesn’t speak, staring at her as if she might not be real. She gives him his time. He’d earned it. “It really is you.” It was his turn to let the veil fall, dark eyes shining in the low, cool light.

She nods. “Javi I can explain.” She begins, prepared to apologize and ask forgiveness before asking him why the hell he was there at all. They were a long way from home.

“You’re alive.” A rather obvious statement that made her smile. It was all he could handle.

“I can explai-“ a quick burst of words before they’re cut off by his mouth landing against hers. She hadn’t expected this. She was prepared for many things last but not this, at least not for him to be kissing her. “Javi my-“ she tries to get out but his hands are already on her cheeks, hot and damp and certain. She lets her concern fade for a moment, it would all be fine. She gives in to it, lets him take the lead, and pull her against him roughly. The anger and hurt coming through in his grip on her back and face as they kissed breathlessly. He stole her focus without trying, there was the signature huff from his nose, the nuzzle into her between separating to catch his breath but he felt different. But so did she.

Where they once held differences in certainty they now held the opposite. He kissed her like he just found out his first love was alive after decades of vices to cover the loss. Because he had. Every woman and experience he’d had between her and now, every skill and thus gained confidence was clear and apparent. This was not a boy handling a girl. He was a man handling his woman.

And there she was, blindsided and touch starved, passion and intimacy starved being devoured by the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever let in and see her for what she was. The only man that knew Esmeralda. It was a raw and painful ache that emanated from her chest as she clutched her hand around his wrist and the other gripped his shirt in her hand. She gave in because she knew it wouldn’t last long, and after it was over she’d miss it.

With eyes squeezed shut, his forehead pressed to hers, his statuesque nose gently rubbing against hers he exhales hot against her face. “Esme…” he pulls back and holds her face, demanding her focus.

“It’s been so very long since someone’s called me that.” she sighs and puts her hands on his forearms.

“Since I called you that?”

She nods and smiles, face pressed into his hand.

“Maybe it’s about time people called you that again.” he pauses and looks her over with a hard brow, he couldn't hide his simmering anger underneath the confusion, relief, and affection. “Where the fuck have you been?” She sighs in response. “Why the hell are you HERE?”

“Same as you. Work.”

“Why are you with those men? Don’t you know who they are? What they do?”

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“Why Esme?” his eyes water and his hands squeeze her face a bit too tightly before a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Same reason now as then,” she whispers, his grip loosening and not hearing her response, she slicks his dark hair back as his eyes start to roll around in their sockets. “You're fine, Javi. Seems you fell for my defense mechanism.” she smiles and he looks at her, starting to slump. “To be fair I didn’t know to expect you. You’ll wake up soon enough. It’s only temporary.” she wipes the culprit of the sudden wave of forced unconsciousness he was going through, her lipstick off his mouth. He was out quickly, and she spent some long moments exploring the now aged face of her once wide-eyed companion. “You are even more handsome than I thought you’d be.” she coos and kisses him after dragging him into a chair and pushing it into a corner so he wouldn’t fall. “It now inevitable we’ll meet again. My old hound dog.” She chuckles, a kiss to take in the scent of his hair before she parted ways. “See you later, mi amor.”

-----------

Peña awoke to a boot knocking against his knee and an odd headache. It was pitch black outside by now, people on the streets outside none the wiser to the life-altering experience he’d just had.

“Are we blacking out in stores now?” Murphy snarks and shakes his head, leaning against a door frame.

“That’s not...I’m not…” Javier shakes his head, rubbing and tapping at the pulse in his skull.

“Then what the hell is it?” He can hear the judgment in his partner's voice.

“If I told you you would think I was crazy.” he groans and sits up with his back straight in the chair, one cocked brow looking over to the man staring him down.

“And I don’t now?”

Peña huffs out a laugh. That was a fair assessment. He’d think the same thing. He looked across the room, the glass case he’d found her standing in front of now empty. “She took the jewels.” he switches the subject, an arm raised lazily and collapsing against his lap after.

“Were they made of cocaine? Why do we give a shit?”

“It’s not the jewels that are important. It’s the woman that did it.”

“A woman? Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. That is… a little bit crazy I guess.”

“That’s not what’s crazy.”

“Am I gonna have to fuckin’ waterboard you man, just tell me.” he groans.

“That woman I told you about... that stole those... she's been declared legally dead for almost twenty years.” he finally says with a defensive tone and a face that said don’t fucking try me to the man still assessing his sanity with no attempt at hiding his negative prognosis.

“Oh.” Murphy contemplates looking away to the empty case. “That... yeah okay that is crazy.”

@jaegeeeeer @likedovesinthewnd @inkededucatednnerdy @biharryjames @ladamari68 @past-romantic @weliketomoveit

#javier pena #Javier Pena Fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena fan fic #javier pena x reader

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butwhyduh · 5 years

Note

If you are still doing the Friday smut requests can you do something like a pre-bitten peter sub?

I’m gonna assume you mean a universe where peter is an adult when he gets bit by the spider because I don’t write teenagers like that.

Peter Parker was nothing special. He took photos for a small local newspaper. Okay, calling it a newspaper was a bit much. It was a rag print that ran conspiracy theories for most of it. Last week the cover was “Queen of England: Lizard Lady.” But that (along with delivering pizzas on the weekend) paid his bills as he went to college.

The current photos he was sent to get was Captain America and Iron Man on a date. He didn’t think they were dating much less hitting fancy restaurants together. So a challenge. But if someone could find a photo of the Queen of England looking a little green he could find something romantic about the two superheroes.

Your desk was right across from his, much to your dismay. He constantly had paper and old coffee cups everywhere. Sometimes a pile of papers would slid on your desk. He’d show up late and you’d have to watch the drama as the editor would yell at him. Again.

But all in all he was a really nice guy. He would walk with you to your car when it got late despite the fact that he probably couldn’t win a fight if you paid him. It was the thought that count. It also helped that he had adorable brown eyes and curly brown hair with a sweet smile that would make anyone want treat him well.

Today he sat with his head in his arms on the desk. A literal red string covered bulletin board sat mocking him in the corner. He was nowhere near finding the proof of their love. He hasn’t even gotten a single snapshot of the two in the same area. He smelled like coffee and dispair.

“Hey,” you said softly. He quickly looked up and you jumped. “Sorry. I was just- Uh you- don’t take this the wrong way but... you look like you need a break.”

“Oh... uh maybe? I don’t know. I have to find this today or else I won’t get a check this week and then I’m homeless. You didn’t need to know that. Sorry,” he said turning red.

“Do you want help?” You offered.

“Aren’t you busy?” He asked. You looked at your finished article. Not exactly the height of journalism you had aspired to as a kid.

“No. I think I’ve got my article down. Not much research involved in “Installing Shower Grates Protect Woman From Sewer Gators.” It kinda wrote itself,” you said with a smile. “I also want to get out of here before they give me another assignment.”

“Yeah that makes sense,” he said with a laugh. You grabbed your bag and stood up. “Wait, where are you going?”

“To get your scoop. Come on,” you said. Peter quickly grabbed his backpack and followed. You hurried out the door and down the stairs before anyone could call you to do more work.

Ten minutes later you stood in front of the fire escape of a small 3 story building. Peter stood panting. His thin shoulders moving with effort of trying to keep up with you. He smiled embarrassed. You went to climb the ladder hanging from the fire escape.

“Wait. What are you doing?” He asked.

“Climbing up. There’s a Stark Benefit coming up and that’s your chance to get the shot if there is one. It starts in an hour. So we better hurry if we want you up on the roof before they get here,” you said pulling your self up a rung. “You coming?”

“Yeah, okay,” he said dancing around a little like he was psyching himself up. You rolled your eyes and climbed up to the roof. Peter struggled up the ladder before climbing as far from the roof as he could. He heaved out of breath.

“Come on if you want your shot,” you said laying on the ground near the edge. Across the street a fancy art building was decked out for an event. It looked like the event was to raise money for prosthetic limb research for children. Peter slowly crawled to edge. His face strained nervously.

“Not a fan of heights,” he admitted.

“I thought you got a picture of the Vulture downtown,” you said frowning. “That was quite a ways up.”

“Don’t tell anybody but I paid this punk in a red hoodie carrying a can of spray paint to do it. Bought him some street tacos for it,” Peter admitted. You laughed.

“I guess that works too. Well now you’ve got to get your shots up high today. Limos are arriving,” you said. Your attention was back on the building in front of you. Peter pulled out his camera to look. “Even if you don’t get your shot some other paper might buy the pics from this event.”

“Why can’t we be down there with those photographers?” He asked.

“You need an event badge and they won’t give one to a paper that called the Queen a lizard,” you reminded him.

Thirty minutes later and no Tony Stark or Steve Rogers, your energy was starting to deflate. And Peter shifted. A lot. He couldn’t seem to sit still. You ignored it hoping that the next car would hold them both. An hour later Peter was literally pacing.

A shiny new red sports car rumbled around the corner before stopping in front of the building. “Hey, I think it’s them. Or at least Stark.”

Peter quickly clambered beside you, almost dropping his camera in the process. You gave him a look before he fixed it. He took a few shots of the car before Tony Stark climbed out. He fixed his suit before opening the passenger door. The lovely Pepper Pots climbed out. Peter took a few shots. Rumors were common that the two were dating.

Out of the backseat popped a head before long limbs followed. Peter took photos as Captain America, Steve Rogers almost fell out of the backseat. You weren’t even sure how he fit back there. Peter quickly snapped shots of him glaring at Tony Stark before smiling at cameras. A driver got in the car and drove it off.

You gasped as Tony Stark pat Steve Rogers on the bottom before smiling for the cameras. “Did you get that?” You asked. Peter was grinning.

“Definitely. I can’t believe that’s real. I didn’t think- are they dating?” He asked surprised.

“Maybe? I mean, they’re really close,” you said. You suddenly realized how close Peter’s face was to yours. His freckles on his nose and cheek visibly beautiful in the early evening light.

“Thanks. I really need this,” he said.

“Yeah for rent, right?” You said with a smile.

Sigh. “Yeah, just don’t mention that to anyone please,” he said turning red.

“It’s cool. I work at the same paper as you. I’m not exactly rich,” you said pushing your hair behind your ear. Why did you do that? Are you flirting with him? He’s probably just being professional. No, he’s looking at your lips.

“I don’t wanna be weird but you’re really pretty,” he said before turning red again. You flushed and smiled.

“It’s the sunset really. Anyone looks good in-“

“No. I mean, you look pretty at work too,” he said. You looked at him for a beat before leaning in to kiss him. His thin fingers slid to hold your side. You pushed him to his back where he made a soft “oof” sound. You climbed on his lap and Peter pulled you closer by the hips. Your fingers curled in his hair.

You took advantage of the moment. You had a crush and who knew when something like this could happen again. You rubbed against him. The delicate material of your dress pants felt divine against his coarser pants. You felt him get hard under you. Your clit rubbed the tip of his cock through your clothes. You grinded against him while making out for a while.

A siren passing by made you jump. You pulled away and you both laughed. “It’s just an ambulance....And a second. I probably should follow it. It might be a lead...” you said getting up.

Peter sat up adjusting his pants to hide his erection. “Yeah. Okay. I need to get these photos developed. See you around?”

“Yeah for sure,” you said already climbing on the fire escape. “Call me.”

As you climbed down you texted your dad. “Thanks for that. The pat really sold it. I owe you.”

Headline the next day:

Ironman and Captain America: Secret Lovers Behind Pepper Pots Back

Will Stark Industry fall over this?

#friday night smut #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker smut #avengers #marvel #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader

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imjustthemechanic · 5 years

Photo

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals Part 16/? - The Stark Gallery

They landed at LaGuardia, where they had a quick (and expensive) lunch, and visited a kiosk to get Peggy and Howard a second set of cell phones before catching a train into the city. Peggy’s impression of twenty-first century London had been of the city she remembered but somehow more so, bigger and brighter and busier than ever before. Manhattan was, if anything, an even more extreme example. The streets were teeming with cars, dogs, and people. New, shiny buildings stood side-by-side with ones nearly a hundred years old. And like the familiar buildings in London, it hadn’t aged particularly well. Plaster was peeling and pavement was cracked, as if the entire island were crumbling away under the weight of all this human activity.

In the midst of all that, it was a bit unbalancing to find that the Fifth Avenue façade of Howard’s old mansion hadn’t changed a bit. It looked exactly as it had during the brief time Peggy and Angie had lived there – a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical architecture that probably looked refined to anybody who didn’t know the difference between the two. The magnolia trees had grown but they’d been lovingly pruned, and there were different flowers in the garden but the beds were in the same place. It looked as if Peggy could move right back in.

Except, of course, for the giant banner advertising a new exhibit of Jackson Pollock, and the massive queue of people waiting to get in. Those were very definitely new.

“That’s a hell of a thing to see,” Howard muttered, as they got in line. “A hundred people just waiting to get into your house.”

“Are you telling me that’s never happened before?” Peggy asked, skeptical.

“Those were reporters,” Howard told her. “Not members of the public.”

Peggy looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then at Toulouse herself, with blue and green locks falling out from under her knitted cap. It would be silly to keep Toulouse and Kevin out when all these other civilians were coming in, and Toulouse herself looked determined. Peggy had a feeling if she told her no, there’d be a fight.

“Not now,” she decided, “but this is just a scouting-out trip. Once we have a plan for what to do next, we may ask you to leave.” They probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than security guards, but Peggy wasn’t going to take that for granted. HYDRA might be able to find this place, too. They might even have followed them here.

“Let me know if I can help,” said Toulouse firmly.

While the main façade faced Fifth Avenue, the actual entrance to the mansion was on East Seventieth Street. Toulouse paid admission for four and then stepped into the main foyer, where Peggy discovered that Toulouse had not been joking about the interior having been preserved with its original décor. Even the wallpaper was, while not exactly what she remembered, certainly a very close replica. The coat check and small gift shop were on the right, and on the wall across from them was a large framed photograph of a family posing in the portico.

“Son of a bitch,” Howard said under his breath, and walked towards it.

The photo was in colour, and printed very large – nearly three feet tall, which rendered the image a little grainy up close. Even so, there was no mistaking the identity of the largest figure. It could only possibly be Howard himself.

Peggy came closer, too, to see how her friend had changed over the years. He definitely looked older, thinner, and more tired. His mustache was a little bushier and his hair had gone gray, and he looked more deathly serious than she could ever remember seeing him. Standing on his right and smiling gently was an attractive blonde woman, at least twenty years younger than he. Her hair fell long around her shoulders and she was dressed in a dark skirt suit and pearls. Between the adults was a little boy, three or four years old. He had a mop of dark hair and serious brown eyes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable in his little suit and tie.

There was a brass plaque below the picture. It said, Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark, September 1973.

“So that’s them, eh?” Howard murmured.

“So it is,” Peggy agreed.

It was a strange thing to see, she thought. Toulouse had mentioned that Howard would get married, but here was the proof, staring back at them across forty years. His wife, Maria, was very much Howard’s type – a petite blonde with a pretty face and a charming smile. Peggy wondered what was different about this one. What had made Howard decided that out of all those little blondes, this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Howard must have been thinking the same thing. “I wonder what she was like,” he said. “I wonder where I met her.”

“It might say on your Wikipedia article,” Toulouse suggested from behind him.

“Yeah,” Howard said distantly, and Peggy could tell that he wasn’t going to look. He didn’t want to know. Why would he? Who wanted to know that here was the love of their lives, forever beyond their reach?

Peggy knew that feeling all too well. It still came over her every so often, usually in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep. She’d told herself again and again that she was over Steve, that she couldn’t dwell on what might have been – she’d told Jason that, and it had been good advice for him as it was for her, but there was a part of her heart that just wasn’t willing to take it. Daniel had asked Peggy if she still loved him and she’d had to say yes, she always would. She knew better than to let it interfere with the rest of her life and relationships, but she was very much still in love with Steve Rogers.

Kevin and Toulouse were hanging back now, not wanting to interrupt. Peggy herself was of two minds about it. If they stayed here staring for two long, somebody might wonder why, but Howard was having to contemplate an entire life he could never live. A wife he would never meet, a son he would never hug… he would need time to cope with that. Peggy hoped they had that time.

Finally, Howard tore himself away, with honest pain in his face that he couldn’t quite hide by forcing himself to smile. “Okay,” he said. “The vault entrance will be in the library.”

“Wasn’t it in the music room?” asked Peggy with a frown. Howard had used the library. The music room was only there because fancy houses were supposed to have one.

“It was, but when I decided to hide it better I planned to move the door,” he explained. “If I got on with that, it’ll be in the library.”

The music room was circular, and was now used as an exhibit of antique instruments, including an eighteenth-century cello and a white-lacquered grand piano. They looked like the sort of things Howard would collect just because rich people were supposed to collect things. A doorway from there led into the library, which was where most of the crowd was. Not only was it home to several rare books, but the featured exhibit of three paintings by Pollock were hanging on the far wall. These were not particularly impressive as far as Peggy could tell. They all looked like they’d been made by simply throwing paint at a canvas.

Howard took no interest in the art at all. He turned immediately to the right, where the library shared a wall with the music room – the fact that the latter was round left a wedge-shaped space between them. A large Indian rug was hung there, with a plastic panel in front of it so that people couldn’t touch.

“Is this the place?” Peggy asked. Based on her memory of the music room entrance, it did seem right.

“Should be,” Howard said. “Looks like they re-wallpapered, or maybe I did that. Either way, hides the entrance completely. If I can just find the seam in the plaster…” he reached to touch the wall.

“Sir,” a security guard stepped forward. “You’re not allowed to touch that.”

Howard looked at the man and began drawing himself up to his full height, and a horrible mental picture flashed through Peggy’s head. He’d forgotten the situation, and was about to tell the guard that he could touch whatever he wanted in his own house. She grabbed his arm to drag him away.

“There’s a sign right there, Honey,” she said, in an American accent. “I know it’d look nice in your study, but I’m sure it’s not for sale. Right?” She smiled at the guard.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” the guard told her.

Howard deflated as he remembered where and when they were. “Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he said.

There was a little café in the museum courtyard. The food there was even more shockingly expensive than at the airport, but they ordered some coffee with steamed milk and some Danish pastries, and sat down to talk about their next move. Howard continued to be uncharacteristically quiet. The fact that this house no longer belonged to him was apparently as difficult for him as knowing he would never meet the woman in the photograph.

“I suppose we could always come up through the sewers, like the last people who robbed that vault,” Peggy observed.

Howard shook his head. “I filled in the hole and reinforced it. It’d take a bomb to get it out again. We’ll just chip off the plaster and go in through the door.”

“And how do we get back into the house after closing?” Peggy wanted to know. She didn’t doubt Howard knew how to do it, she only wanted to remind him that he hadn’t told her.

“Why would we leave?” Howard started to smile again. “You really think I built myself a house with only one secret room?”

“Oh, of course.” Peggy shook her head. “How very silly of me!”

“How can I help?” asked Toulouse.

The humour melted out of the conversation as Peggy and Howard exchanged a glance. Neither of them wanted Toulouse getting hurt, and the chances of them triggering some kind of alarm while doing this were very good. A technology that could create those multi-use mobile phones could do all kinds of things with surveillance.

“You can wait outside,” Peggy decided, “and let us know if the police are coming.”

Toulouse sighed. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“You’ve already been a great help,” Peggy assured her. “We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

“I know,” said Toulouse. She had a spoon in her hand, and was playing with the foam on her coffee, piling it up in to a mound that slowly collapsed again. “Daddy would agree with you. He’s all about paying to save the world, but he never goes to any of these places himself. I guess he’s afraid he’ll end up like Junior.”

Peggy had slept through the part of the conversation on the plane when Toulouse had said how her brother died. She wondered now if it might be important, but Toulouse didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about it and Peggy didn’t want to sound like she was prying. “Well, perhaps that’s a very good reason,” she said.

“I agree with them, for what that’s worth,” said Kevin. “I’m just sticking around to make sure somebody’s trying to avoid Yellowstone blowing up under me. I don’t actually want to have to fight a supervillain if I don’t have to.”

“Daddy isn’t a supervillain!” Toulouse protested.

“He kind of is,” said Kevin. “I mean, he wants to set off a volcano on purpose. That’s some top-tier supervillainy.”

“He is not a supervillain,” Toulouse told him. “Supervillains are like… are like Loki, or Ultron. They’ve got powers and stuff. Daddy isn’t a supervillain. I figure there’s got to be a reason why him and Cass are mixed up in this,” she went on. Now she was gesturing with the spoon, rather than scooping foam. “Maybe somebody’s using them. Remember I said Daddy did the investigation when HYDRA was exposed in the UK? Maybe somebody promised him something and he didn’t realize it was going to lead to this! I wish I’d been able to say something to Cass.”

Peggy wondered if she ought to be worried. It was possible that Toulouse was right, and if she told her father and brother what was going on, they’d put a stop to it. It was also possible, however, that she was dead wrong, and that trying to say anything to them would be a disaster. They needed more information before they could let her try. Before she could say anything, though, Howard spoke.

“Actually, Toulouse, Kevin, I’ve got a really important job for you two. We are going to need a distraction.”

The staircase to the second floor was between the foyer and the fountain court There was a security guard posted there to intervene if anybody decided to duck under the rope. Across from the staircase was a little marble table displaying an intricate silver-plated wine cooler. Toulouse and Kevin passed by this, and Toulouse hitched her purse up her shoulder and knocked the cooler over.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, and went to pick it up.

“No, don’t touch it, you’ll get fingerprints on it!” Kevin told her. He stuck out his foot to stop her, and bumped the thing again.

“Both of you get away from that!” the horrified guard exclaimed. He went to move them away from it, and with his back turned, Peggy and Howard slipped up the red-carpeted stairs.

“That poor cooler,” Peggy remarked.

“Eh, it’s not even real Sheffield plate,” Howard said, unconcerned.

At the top of the steps was a little room where another guard was supposed to be watching a bank of television screens that showed various views of the house. Peggy and Howard outside the door were quite clearly visible on one of them, but the guard in question was reading a comic book and not paying the slightest attention. As they tiptoed by, Peggy noticed what was hanging on the wall next to the shelves of screens.

“Is that one of those paintings from California?” she asked.

Howard glanced over his shoulder at the portrait. “I dated an artist there,” he said. “She told me I was her muse. That’s when I knew I had to leave her – I couldn’t take being anybody’s muse. Too much pressure.”

“Mmm,” said Peggy. “We’re lucky the staff didn’t recognize you, if they have to look at that all day.” Then again, perhaps they had, and just dismissed it as a coincidence.

“I wonder what happened to the ones she did of me nude,” Howard said.

“If she had any sense, she burned them.”

#fanfic #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

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reciprocityfic · 5 years

Text

a slight return home, chapter 3

Title: A Slight Return Home Fandom: The Walking Dead Pairing: Rick x Michonne Rating: T Summary: Rick’s death shakes Michonne’s world to its core. With her daughter and her remaining family, she tries to navigate her changed life, and all the struggles and surprises that come with it. Canon-compliant, for now. Spoilers up to 9x06.

Author’s Note: Hi! Long time, no see. Sorry it's taken me weeks and weeks to update. But I hope you enjoy this chapter I finally have for you.

This chapter covers a large span of time, just an FYI. And while writing, I listened to the song Holding a Heart by Toby Lightman, which is where the title comes from.

I almost just ended the whole story here, to be honest. But I do have more of this to tell, so lucky for you guys (or not lucky, depending how you feel about it, lmao) there are a handful of chapters left. I hope to have the next ones out much sooner than I had this one out!

On a side note, I just made a fandom Twitter account a few days ago. Follow me (@lizjenningss) if you want to! All I do is cry over Richonne.

Thank you for reading, and hope to see you soon!

xoxo, Rebekah

read chapter one on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter two on tumblr, archive of our own or ff.net read chapter three on archive of our own or ff.net

i’m holding a heart here in my hand

"Hey."

It's raining today. But the canopy of tree leaves above her reduces the precipitation to a modest, misting drizzle. It doesn't bother her.

"I'm here. I guess you already knew that, though. You're here, too. I...I know you are."

She takes a shaky breath, digs her fingers into the damp earth below her.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here since I showed you the picture. I was trying - I, I thought that I had to...move on, or something. Not forget you. I'll never do that. I never want to do that. But I guess I thought that I needed - that I had to...I…"

She laughs, once, and drops her head to her chest.

"I don't really know what I thought."

A silence captures her tongue. As if she's waiting for him to answer her. For him to make sense of the jumbled mess in her head. To help her, as he always did.

The rain pit-patters on the leaves above, the river flows in front of her, and she waits.

But no help comes.

"I missed you. I miss you, always. Constantly. I keep thinking that one day I'm going to wake up, and it's not going to hurt as much. That it'll alleviate itself, even just the tiniest bit. It doesn't, though. It's just as bad as the first day. It's like I'm watching that damn explosion on loop."

She tilts her head to the side, and lets out a quick breath.

"You know what, though? I don't mind it. And I don't want it to go away. I know it feels like I can't breathe, sometimes, but it's proof. Proof that you were real, and you were here. Proof that I love you. And if pain is what I get to have, in place of you, then so be it. I'd rather have something left of you, than nothing."

A roll of thunder rings out. She looks at her horse over her shoulder, the animal shifting back and forth restlessly. It's going to storm. She needs to head back soon.

She turns back around, and reaches into her pack.

"I brought you something."

She holds the little black-and-white photo in front of her. She can't help the smile that begins to turn up her lips.

"Our little shadow isn't just a shadow anymore."

She traces the shape of the baby over the shiny, smooth paper.

"They don't look quite human yet. More like a little alien. Just as beautiful as ever, of course."

She stares at the photo a moment longer, before getting up and walking to the base of the tree where she left the last ultrasound picture. There, she finds it, dirty and weathered. She knows no one has touched it since she placed it there.

It doesn't matter. She doesn't care. It's his, and this new one is, too. She printed them for him, brought them to him, and they're his.

So she places it down over the old photograph, and anchors it down with a stone.

Another peal of thunder sounds. She hears her horse whinny loudly.

She walks back towards the river, and stops where she'd been crouching a moment ago.

"I have to go now, but I'll be back sooner this time. I promise."

She closes her eyes, and wraps her arms around herself.

"Goodbye, Rick."

She stays in place for another minute, then secures her pack and katana around her, and goes to leave. She pets her horse's nose in slow strokes to soothe her, and then mounts the animal. Before she prompts the horse to move, she turns her head back towards the river, and the clearing.

"I love you. I love you so much."

***

"There's a baby in there."

She feels a tiny finger pressing into her abdomen, and looks away from where she's chopping up apples to find Judith pointing at her belly, her eyes full of a mix that's equal-parts wonder and confusion. The little girl's fascination with her ever-growing stomach has been endlessly amusing, and Michonne smiles gently at her, nodding her head in affirmation.

"Yes, there is a baby in there."

"Will Baby come out soon?"

"Let's hope not."

"Why?" Judith asks, a whining impatience clear in her voice. Ever since the pregnancy, and what it would mean for their tiny family, had been explained to her, Judith had made it very clear that she wanted to meet her new brother or sister now, and being made to wait all those weeks and months was an absolutely preposterous concept.

"Because," Michonne begins, for an innumerable time, "Baby's not done growing yet. They need to stay in there and get big and healthy before they come out to see us."

Judith humphs in disappointment, her little hands curling into fists. She sighs heavily - with a drama that only a four-year-old can properly convey - and climbs up on one of the stools by the kitchen island. For a few minutes, the only sound is Michonne's knife hitting the cutting board over and over as she continues cutting up fruit, Judith watching and stealing a slice of apple every so often.

"Momma?" she asks finally.

"Yes, little bird?"

"Will Baby have a daddy?"

Her hand holding the knife slips as the question hits her. She cuts her finger, but she hardly notices as she falls into some sort of emotionless stupor brought on by the little girl's inquiry, the feelings it stirs inside her mingling together and overloading her heart until it seems to her that she's off alone somewhere, wrapped up in a thick, gray, lonely fog.

"Momma, you're bleedin'."

Judith's next words startle her from her trance, and she jumps infinitesimally before looking down and finding a sizeable spot of blood marring the light-brown wood of the cutting board. She mumbles a quiet shit under her breath before jogging over to the sink and grabbing a towel as she turns on the water and rinses her finger.

An irrational part of her wants to be mad at Judith for asking such a question. For anyone even thinking that, somehow, their new addition would be fatherless, that she would allow her child to grow up without the knowledge and awareness of the incomparable, amazing man who helped make them, who wanted them and dreamed them up in his head and loved the mere possibility of them more than words can say. That she wouldn't tell stories of his valor and his leadership and his sacrifice, and of his heart and his warmth and his soul. Stories of the man that saved them in every possible way, over and over again, before they even existed.

But Judith isn't anyone. Judith is a child - her child - who lost her father. Who lost one of the fundamental pillars of her world.

And it's as she turns the water off, and wraps the towel around her injured finger, that she realizes she's never asked Judith an important question.

She feels a tug at her pantleg. When she looks down, she meets Judith's wide, worried eyes staring up at her.

"You okay, Momma?"

"Yeah, baby," Michonne breathes. "Yeah, I just...cut my finger. But I'm fine."

She takes a breath and closes her eyes to try and clear her head, before crouching down so that she's eye-level with her daughter. Judith still looks concerned, and Michonne takes her little hands in her larger, uninjured one.

"Judy," she starts quietly. "You know that you still have a daddy, right?"

Judith doesn't answer right away. Instead, she cuts her eyes to the floor, and the frown on her face deepens as she thinks.

"My daddy got hurt real bad and couldn't live anymore, so he had to leave Momma and me and go with Carl and my first mommy."

A shaky breath moves through the little girl's lungs after she's done reciting her own version of the words Michonne's had to speak to her over and over again since Rick's death. When she looks up at her mother again, her eyes are full of tears, and Michonne's heart breaks.

She reaches out, and cups Judith's cheek.

"Oh, my little bird."

She stands and throws the towel in the sink, checking to make sure her finger has stopped bleeding, before picking the girl up, carrying her into the living room as Judith burrows her head in the crook of her neck. She sits them down on the couch and cradles Judith to her chest, pressing her cheek to the top of her head and smoothing her hair.

"Baby, you still have a daddy," she whispers.

"But he's not here," Judith counters firmly, and Michonne can feel tears begin to soak into her skin.

"Well. He's not here on the couch. He's not here when we eat dinner, and he's not here at bedtime. But he's still here. With us."

Judith sits up, and roughly wipes at her eyes before looking at her with a helpless expression.

"I can't see him. I can't hear him. Where is he?" she pleads.

"He's still inside us," Michonne tells her, her own tears beginning to cloud her vision. "Just like Carl is, remember? We love Daddy. We still love him so, so much, right?"

Judith nods vigorously.

"Right," Michonne affirms. "So as long as we love him, he's here with us. He's just in our hearts, instead of right next to us. He lives in there."

She covers the little girl's chest with her hand, lets her fingers rest right over her beating heart.

"And as long as he's in there - as long as we love him - he'll always be with us. Always. No one can ever take him away from you. No one. Not ever."

Judith brings her hand up, and rests it over Michonne's.

"So you still have Daddy," Michonne assures her. "And Momma still has Daddy, too. And when Baby comes, they'll have Daddy."

"But Baby's never gonna meet Daddy."

"No. You're right - Baby won't know Daddy. So you and me, we have to tell them about Daddy. Just like me and Daddy tell you about Carl, we have to tell Baby about Daddy. We'll tell him who he was, and what he looked like. What he sounded like. What he liked, and what he didn't like. All his favorite things. All the stuff he used to do, and all the stuff he used to say."

"The stories he used to read me!" Judith chimes in, her frown slowly giving way to a small smile. "And how his hugs were so warm. And how he was so good at hide and seek, and how he always gave you so many kisses. And how he snored when he was sleeping. And, oh, I'll paint Baby a picture of Daddy, too!"

"See? Baby will have lots of ways to know Daddy. And then Daddy will live in Baby's heart, too."

Judith grins, and then lays back down onto Michonne's chest. The two sit there quietly for a few minutes, Michonne still playing with the little girl's long, golden hair.

"I miss Daddy," Judith says eventually. "But I'm happy he's still here. I'm happy he's in our hearts."

One tear manages to escape the corner of Michonne's eye before she closes her lids.

"Yeah," she murmurs, squeezing her daughter closer as a bittersweet smile turns up her lips. "I'm glad he's in our hearts, too."

***

"They started kicking."

She sits on the bank of the river, her legs crossed in front of her. It's sunny this time. An unusually warm autumn afternoon that hearkens back to the days of late summer. The rays shine down between the trees, through the gaps between branches where leaves have already begun to fall, and warm the bare skin of her shoulders.

"It doesn't really feel like kicking. It's more like...fluttering. I remember it being more like kicking with Andre. This one is more like butterflies. Or popping. Like popcorn."

She runs her hand over her rounded stomach. It's becoming harder to hide now, even with all the baggy shirts she's come to wearing. She can feel the people of Alexandria whispering behind her back as she walks down the street.

"Judith loves it. She was finally able to feel it about a week ago, and she freaked, Rick. I can still see her face - her eyes were so wide, and her mouth was in a little 'o'. It was adorable. And now, she's obsessed. In the evenings, we sit on the couch and she lays there with her head in my lap and just waits for them to move."

She smiles fondly.

"She's gonna be such a good big sister. She already kisses my stomach every morning and every night, and tells me that she's saying 'good morning' and 'goodnight'. She tells me how much she loves them all the time. And at night, when we're there on the couch, she's started telling them stories. Some are the ones we've told her before. Some are ones she just makes up. Most of them are about you."

She bites her lip, as tears begin to well up in her eyes.

"I've started telling them about you, too. I mean, I don't even know how well they can hear me yet. I don't remember from Andre, and I've been meaning to ask Siddiq. But I figure it can't be too early for them to start to hear about you. It would never be too early. Because, God, Rick, I just want them to know you. Everything about you. Who you were. And I want them to love you, Rick. As much as Judith does. As much as I do. So even if it's just muffled sounds to them, at least those sounds are about you."

She closes her eyes as she speaks. Pictures his face and tries to imagine he's there in front of her.

"And I know this is stupid, Rick, but when I talk about you, I swear to you that they always seem to move around more. It's like they know who it is I'm talking about, or something. Like I said, I know that's silly. It's impossible. And it's probably just wishful thinking. Me putting unrelated things together and making something out of nothing. But that's what it feels like."

She takes a shaky breath, and opens up her eyes. She goes to speak again, but stops when she feels a popping sensation over and over again in her belly.

Like popcorn.

And she almost laughs.

"See what I mean? They're kicking for you."

And they keep kicking. One corner of her mouth turns up.

"They're kicking just for their Daddy."

She rests her hand on her stomach, over their baby. The movement inside her doesn't stop, and she lets herself smile.

***

She never formally announces her pregnancy to the residents of Alexandria. She just stops trying to hide it; she wears whatever she wants, tells the few who know for sure that they don't have to keep it a secret anymore, and starts answering any questions about it as honestly and openly as she can manage.

She worries at first that the news will only increase and prolong the meandering sympathy so many still harbor for her. That the polite smiles and whispered words of generic comfort that plagued her would never end, as she went from widow to widow with child.

And while her concern is proven to be valid with some, with most she's pleasantly surprised. Interactions seem to change from being about death to being about new life. They go from focusing on the past to focusing on the imminent future.

Most people stop talking to her about Rick, and start talking to her about their baby. And for that, she is glad. For now, at least, she'd rather remember Rick only with the people who knew him best - who understood him and respected him in the way he deserved.

She finds herself sitting next to Aaron one quiet afternoon, at the playground in Alexandria, the two of them looking on as Judith and Gracie play. The lightest dusting of snow had fallen the night before - the first snow of the season - and the girls are attempting to build a snowman. There's not nearly enough accumulation, and their efforts are resulting in a tiny, abstract sculpture mostly made of grass and dirt, but Judith and Gracie are having fun anyways, and that's what matters.

She and Aaron have been mostly quiet, other than exchanging pleasantries upon meeting and an offhand comment here and there about the construction project going on in front of them.

"You've really popped this past week or so," Aaron tells her.

She sighs playfully, and looks down at her stomach, sticking out through the opening in her unzipped coat, covered up with the biggest, warmest sweater she could find in all of the ASZ. It's true; she feels like her stomach has at least doubled in size in the last few days.

"Judith keeps making fun of me for waddling around. She's always saying, 'You walk so funny, Momma! Why are you walkin' so funny?'"

The two adults chuckle together.

"She's excited for the baby, I assume? I mean, whenever her and Gracie play together, afterwards, all Gracie talks about is Judith's baby, Judith's baby."

"Oh, so she's taking all the credit for my hard work now?" Michonne asks skeptically, and Aaron laughs. "That little stinker. But yes. Excited is an understatement. I told her we only had a couple more months to go the other day, and I kid you not, she literally fell out of her chair, she was so thrilled."

"Only a couple more months? Really?"

"I'm thirty-two weeks. Eight weeks left. Siddiq wants to send me to Hilltop for one more ultrasound before the weather gets bad, just to make sure everything's okay one more time."

"Can you even ride a horse right now?"

"Definitely not. I will be riding in a cart. We have one more big trade to make with them before winter, so I'm just tagging along with the group."

Aaron hums, and the two go back to watching Judith and Gracie. They're quiet for a few minutes, and then Aaron speaks.

"And how are you?"

She sighs slowly, and her heartbeat speeds up.

"I don't know," she admits.

She knows he's not just asking the question on a surface level - if she has any heartburn today, or an upset stomach, if she woke up on the right or wrong side of the bed this morning, if her week has been eventful, what she's planning on doing for the rest of the day. He's asking about something deeper.

He's asking about Rick.

Aaron is one of the people she allows herself to reminisce with. She feels a certain kinship with him - with his loss of Eric, and his parenting of Gracie. She thinks it's why she allows herself to be so honest with him. And he takes advantage of that, to her benefit. He checks up on her in a way that, incredibly, doesn't irritate her, or make her feel like a child. And he is always straight with her, in kind.

So she allows herself to continue.

"It's like I'm stuck," she whispers. "Just stuck in this nightmare full of pain and longing, and missing him. And I keep thinking that one day I'm going to wake up and it's going to feel better. Even the littlest bit. Not because I love him any less, or miss him any less. But just because...time. 'Time heals all wounds,' and all that sort of stuff. Everyday, though, I wake up, and it hurts just as much as it did the day before. More, sometimes. And I find myself sitting there every once in a while, wondering if it's ever going to stop. Or if the rest of my life is just gonna...be like this.

"And then this," she continues, motioning to her stomach. "I don't even...I don't even know what to say. I mean, I love them, and I want them, more than anything. But it was supposed to be ours. This whole experience was supposed to be between him and me. When we decided we wanted to try for a baby, there wasn't a single part of me that ever imagined I'd end up in this position alone. Even in the world we live in, I never even considered it. It just wasn't...fathomable to me, I guess. But here I am. And now, every time I get excited about something, I just end up thinking about how he won't be here to experience it. How he'll never get to hold them. He won't get to see their first steps, or hear their first words. He'll never get to rock them to sleep. He'll never get to hear them call him Daddy."

"It's like you're constantly pulled in two different directions," Aaron interjects.

She nods, wiping at the wetness that's gathered in her eyes.

"Yeah. And sometimes I'm not quite sad, but I'm never fully happy. I never get to experience anything fully, because grief is always clouding it. But at the same time, I feel guilty for wanting to feel better, because then I feel like I'm pushing the memory of him away."

"Rick would want you to be happy," Aaron tells her immediately, urgency clear in his voice. "Even if being happy meant you forgot him altogether - which, I promise you, you never will - he would want that for you."

"The rational part of me knows that," Michonne assures him, "but I can't stop myself from feeling like I'm betraying him."

She stops, and takes a breath. The baby shifts inside her. She laces her fingers together, and then rests them on the roundest part of her belly.

"So I guess, a large part of me doesn't know what I'm doing. Doesn't know what I'm going to do," she confesses quietly. Hesitantly. She doesn't like admitting to being not in control, but if she's being truthful, she hasn't had anything together since that bridge blew up in front of her.

A silence falls over the two of them. Judith drops a handful of snow on top of Gracie's head, and the two girls' giggles fill their ears.

"There are no easy answers," Aaron muses.

Michonne glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's slouched over, elbows on his knees, chin resting in his hands.

He says, "I wish there were, and I wish I had them for you. But there aren't. Though, I will tell you that it does get better. Maybe hearing that doesn't really help anything, or maybe it's not what you want to hear right now. But it gets better. It's slow, admittedly. So slow that you might not even realize it's happening. Then, one day you'll be lying in bed, about to fall asleep, and it'll dawn on you that you didn't cry today. Or maybe even all week. Or you'll think of something Judith told you, and you'll remember that it made you laugh. I mean, really laugh. It's things like that. Stuff that you wouldn't have been able to do a month ago. And don't get me wrong, you'll still have bad moments, and awful days. That's just the nature of losing the person you love most in the world. Like with me - there are some mornings when I wake up and I miss Eric so much that it feels like I can't breathe. But that's when you have to hold onto those little things."

"I won't forget him?" she breathes.

"You won't forget him."

"Promise me, Aaron," she says sternly, turning in her seat and reaching out, taking his face between her hands and staring directly into his eyes.

Aaron brings his hands up to rest over hers.

"I promise, Michonne," he vows. "You won't forget him. Your heart won't let you."

She's reminded of what she told Judith, all those weeks ago.

And as long as he's in there - as long as we love him - he'll always be with us. Always. No one can ever take him away from you. No one. Not ever.

"And the baby," Aaron begins, letting her hands go as they begin to fall from his face. "I know it seems overwhelming right now. When I adopted Gracie, right after Eric died, a large part of me thought I was insane. But she's been the best thing that ever could've happened to me. And I know when this little one comes along, it'll be the same way for you. Every time they laugh, or smile, or, hell, look at you, you'll feel a little piece of your soul being stitched back together.

"And just think," he tells her, his lips lifting into a half smile, "they're a piece of Rick. A living, breathing piece of him that you'll get to hold in your arms every day. Tangible, physical proof of your love, and all that you meant to each other."

She stares down at her stomach, running her hand over it, and a tear falls from her eye.

"Momma!" Judith yells then, and Michonne looks up in time to see the four-year-old barreling towards her, an excited smile on her face. She crashes into her legs, hugging them, and then crawls up on the bench, settling herself between Michonne and Aaron. Gracie comes behind her, and crawls into her father's lap.

"Do you like our snowman, Momma?"

She lifts her eyes to look at the girls' creation. As predicted, he's more brown than white, with only one arm and no nose, standing lopsided, with Gracie's purple scarf thrown over his head haphazardly, and one of Judith's pink gloves stuck precariously on the end of his stick-arm.

And through her tears, Michonne laughs.

She really laughs. And then she wraps her arm around her daughter's waist, and pulls her into her side.

"Yeah, Judy," she murmurs. "I love it."

***

"It's snowing today."

The riverbank is covered with a thin blanket of white, the water covered sporadically with chunks of ice. She stands today instead of sits, bundled in her fluffy winter coat. She can't manage to zip it over her belly anymore, even if she wanted to.

She glances quickly over her shoulder. The group she traveled to The Hilltop with is just at the edge of her vision, talking among themselves. Thankfully, none of them are very close to her or her family, and none of them realize the significance of where they are. Or of the alternate route she directed them on to get them here.

"I can't stay long this time. I'm not alone. I can't ride a horse at this point, so I can't come by myself. So I'm with a group, on our way back from Hilltop. I told them I had to pee, so I have to be quick. But I had to see you. I had to."

She reaches into her pack.

"Enid gave me my last ultrasound today."

She pulls out her final photo for him.

"Our they is a he, Rick. We're having a boy."

She can't say it without getting tears in her eyes. They fall down her cheeks, sting her skin as the cold catches them.

She stares at the picture, at their little baby boy. Her third son. His second.

"I'm gonna name him after you."

She smiles as she thinks of it.

"Rick Grimes, Jr.. Rick, Jr.. Is that cheesy? I don't care. We both know that you were always a little cheesy."

She turns slowly, and walks toward their tree. With some effort, she manages to kneel down. She brushes away the snow with her hand, until she finds the other two photos. She places a kiss onto the shiny surface of the new one she holds, and then lays it down on top of the last one. Before she anchors it with the rock, she traces her thumb over his head, and his tiny feet.

"I think we'll call him RJ."

#richonne #richonne writing network #richonne fic #richonne fanfiction #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #asrh

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spooky-ghostwriter · 5 years

Text

Dressed to Kill - Chapter Fourteen

<– Previous Chapter

Next Chapter –>

It was hard to imagine for Tsukiko and Galen, but far outside the realm of plant monsters and magical clothing, there were still people living completely normal lives. Included among the majority of the population who had no idea that dryads were anything more than myth were Elizabeth Tanner and Takehiko Takenaka.

As was usual for a morning, Elizabeth looked over a newspaper with a steaming mug of coffee. Takehiko sat opposite her, polishing Shiba Kariki.

Elizabeth took a sip. Then she shook her head and pushed the mug away.

“Hotel coffee is the worst,” She decided.

“There was a Starbucks across the street,” Takehiko said. “We can stop there.”

Elizabeth stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Now that's clever.”

“Hm?”

“Think about it. The hotel and Starbucks could have a deal. Most hotels give their guests coffee for free. But if the coffee were terrible...” She jerked a condescending thumb towards her mug. “People would be more inclined to go to Starbucks. This way, the hotel makes sure people pay for something that's expected for free. And the Starbucks gets plenty of business from all the people in the hotel. It's a win-win.”

“I – I guess...”

“Well, I won't play their little game,” Elizabeth said, her voice full of determination. She grabbed the mug once more and drained as much as she could in one gulp.

“Okay!” She exhaled, newly refreshed. She spread the newspaper over the tiny table the hotel had allotted them. “Tsukiko has a show at 12:30. We should wait to talk to her until after the show, if possible.”

“Sounds good,” Takehiko agreed. “What should we do until then? I hear the Alesia Circus has lions that – ”

“Takehiko. We're not here to see lions.”

“Yes, but – ”

“We need to find Tsukiko's manager. That... Vercingetorix guy.” Elizabeth drank the last of her coffee, then made a face as she tried not to gag. “I'm betting the manager won't be out in the open, but if we can find Galen, I'm sure he'll take us to him.”

Takehiko sheathed Shiba Kariki. He reached under the table and withdrew the disguise that had allowed him to bring his katana into the hotel at all. A black, ruffled sheet slid over the decorative sheath of his sword. Combined with a fake metal tip glued to the end of the blade, what had once been unmistakably a katana now looked like a simple umbrella.

“Ready?” Elizabeth asked.

“Ready.”

The static of a walkie-talkie crackled.

“Vercingetorix here,” said the man holding it. “Come in, areas 1, 2 and 4.”

“Area 1 here, standing by.”

“Area 2, copy.”

“Area 4, copy.”

“We have a situation in Area 3,” said Vercingetorix.

The situation was a seven-foot-tall green woman. Her body was formed from thin vines, coiled tightly around each other. Shiny pointed leaves in groups of three jutted out of the plant at random. The vines lashed out, smashing a food stall to splinters.

“That was my favourite popcorn stand, you jackass!”

In charge of handling the situation was Tsukiko. She stepped between Vercingetorix and the vine-woman, brandishing the compound bow conjured from her tie.

“Please confirm that the other areas are clear,” Vercingetorix added calmly.

One by one, each voice on the walkie-talkie said some variation of “All clear.”

“Understood.” Vercingetorix allowed himself a small sigh of relief. “Make sure no guests come into area 3. Set up Stiletto's 1-o'-clock show in stage 2 instead...”

Vercingetorix sidestepped a whip-like lash of vines. What was once a hot dog stand was now a pile of rubble. “And inform the guests that some of the food stalls are undergoing maintenance.”

Tsukiko fired a handful of arrows. They flew perfectly into the dryad's torso, but the vines making up its body loosened in an instant, such that the arrows had nothing to stick into. They escaped the back of the dryad unimpeded, striking the ground a few feet behind. Tsukiko looked at her bow and frowned.

“Also, reschedule Tsukiko's 12:30 show to 12:45,” Vercingetorix said dully. “Finally, we'll need someone to bring the High Heals and Tank Top to area 3. Vercingetorix out.”

Vercingetorix put a hand on Tsukiko's shoulder. “We'll have the Tank Top in a few minutes. Just keep your distance until it arrives.”

“I can't stay too far away,” Tsukiko muttered. A wire slithered out of her bow tie and up her arm, then formed an arrow. “If its attention isn't on me, it could go after the guests.”

The creature swung an arm forward. The vines forming its hand flew, orbiting Tsukiko for a brief moment. Vercingetorix tightened his grip on her shoulder and pulled her away; the vines snapped together where her throat was a second previously.

“Keep your distance!” Vercingetorix ordered.

Now outside what they considered to be the dryad's range, he and Tsukiko circled the field. The dryad traced an opposite circle.

“There aren't any guests in this area,” Vercingetorix reiterated. “Just focus on killing it and getting out without injuries.”

“Hey! Mr. Vercingetorix!” A voice called.

“I stand corrected. There is one guest here,” Vercingetorix grumbled. He ran back, leaving Tsukiko alone with the creature.

Was that voice...? Tsukiko began a thought, but the dryad took a threatening stance; she pulled an arrow back.

Vercingetorix made his way to the perimeter of yellow tape, very clearly reading DO NOT CROSS. To his annoyance, two guests were on the wrong side of it. The man who had called his name was tall, Asian and mostly bald. Beside him stood a blonde, bespectacled woman. He felt he'd seen them somewhere before, but couldn't place -

“Mr. and Mrs. Tanner!” He realized suddenly.

“Mr. Takenaka, actually,” Elizabeth said, gesturing to her husband.

“Ah, of course,” said Vercingetorix. The three of them briefly shook hands. “I'm afraid Tsukiko is currently getting ready for her next show. I'll tell her that the two of you are here – after her show, I'm sure she'll be happy to see you.”

“That would be lovely,” said Elizabeth. “But first, we'd like to discuss something with you.”

“Ah, well...” Vercingetorix stammered. “This has been a very busy day, and unfortunately, I haven't the time.” He clasped his hands. “Please forgive my rudeness. If you come back in two days when we're packing up to leave to the next city, I'm sure I will be able to set aside a few minutes. Will that be acceptable?”

“I'm afraid not,” said Takehiko, holding his umbrella in front of his face. “We have very important matters to discuss.” He peeled away the false covering, revealing Shiba Kariki in its flower-engraved sheath. Vercingetorix eyed the sword with caution.

“Specifically, we want to talk about our daughter's safety,” Elizabeth concluded.

“Ah.” Vercingetorix said, a full octave higher than his normal speaking voice. He cleared his throat, returning his tone to normal. “I assure you, our performers take every safety precaution necessary. I understand your concerns, and the concerns of everyone who fears the worst for our performers, but Miss Tanner is in absolutely no danger during her shows.”

“During her shows,” Elizabeth repeated harshly. “That's the sort of eerily specific language I've heard from all too many liars in my business.”

“We know Tsukiko isn't in any danger during her shows,” Takehiko said, one hand climbing up to Shiba Kariki's handle. “We made sure that she and Galen made all of her tricks so safe that nothing could go wrong.”

“In twelve years of her doing magic tricks back home, the worst accident she ever had was a paper cut,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Then there is no cause for concern!” Vercingetorix said cheerfully. “Tsukiko is in full control of her shows, and Galen is still almost as involved as he was back then. The two of them – ”

“We're not talking about her shows, Mr. Vercingetorix!” Elizabeth snapped. “We're talking about what you've been pressuring her to take part in! All the dangers you've been forcing her into! The dangers that her stage magic couldn't have possibly prepared her for!”

Vercingetorix paled. They couldn't mean...

“Did you think no one would ever find out?” Takehiko demanded.

Vercingetorix grit his teeth. His crew had taken every precaution they could to clean up after dryad attacks. It was true that, in the past, he'd had situations where eye-witnesses had seen the dryads. In most cases, simply removing all evidence had been enough to avoid suspicion. Other times, he'd had to convince guests that they'd seen a secret attraction coming to the circus in the future. When all else failed, hush money worked wonders.

But the last time any citizen had any evidence of a dryad attack had been years ago. His mind raced, thinking of anything he might have missed.

They must have learned about the pumpkins from Tsukiko's Halloween show, He realized. Those pumpkins were unexpected. But still, we must have removed all the evidence. Even if they heard from someone about the dryad attacks, they couldn't have proof. I need to figure out what they know.

“I am not sure to what you are referring,” said Vercingetorix. “When she's not performing, Tsukiko spends most of her time with Galen, planning future shows.”

“You're not sure?” Elizabeth asked. “Well, let me show you something that might remind you.”

She ruffled through her coat pocket.

Impossible! Vercingetorix felt himself sweat. Physical evidence of a dryad attack?

Elizabeth withdrew a folded piece of paper.

A photo?

She unfolded it, then held it in front of Vercingetorix's face. As Vercingetorix feared, it was photographic evidence. In fact, it was a photo he recognized.

Vercingetorix had to keep himself from breathing a sigh of relief.

The photo depicted Tsukiko standing in front of a wooden target. Stiletto stood opposite her, throwing a knife. It was chosen for the website in an instant, being the only picture that had ever captured one of Stiletto's blades mid-flight.

“Tsukiko would never volunteer for something like this!” Takehiko cried.

“Now explain yourself!” Elizabeth ordered.

Vercingetorix cleared his throat. “I understand your concerns. The fact of the matter is that Tsukiko did volunteer to be Stiletto's target girl.”

“Liar!” Takehiko spat.

Elizabeth, however, stayed silent.

“This is something you'll have to discuss with Tsukiko herself,” said Vercingetorix. “I have never, nor will I ever, force anyone to be a target in one of Stiletto's shows. However, now that I'm aware of what you're talking about, I understand why you may have thought that this was my doing. In fact, when Stiletto first approached Tsukiko about the idea, Tsukiko refused and was adamant that she'd never do it.”

“Then why did she start?” Takehiko asked.

“As I said, you'll have to discuss the matter with Tsukiko herself. I cannot speak for her.” Vercingetorix spoke calmly, but his voice raised. It was full of conviction as he continued, “Having been Stiletto's target myself a few times, I can tell you with the utmost confidence that there is no danger in her act. If Tsukiko is willing to perform, I am not going to tell her not to. The only reason she has for doing what she does is that she feels perfectly safe in it. I promise you that.”

“What a load of crap,” Takehiko hissed. “Elizabeth, let's find Tsukiko and get her the hell out of here.” He began walking, aiming to move past Vercingetorix.

“Wait.”

Takehiko looked back at Elizabeth. “You don't honestly believe this guy, do you?”

“Why didn't you just tell us the picture was fake?” Elizabeth asked. “I honestly thought it was, at first. If you wanted us to believe that Tsukiko wasn't in any danger, then telling us the act was fake would have been the easiest way.”

“I would never dismiss Stiletto's skill in such a way,” Vercingetorix said adamantly. “The picture is one hundred percent real. The blades are one hundred percent real. And if Stiletto were to miss even once, someone would likely die. The act is safe because Stiletto's skill makes it safe.”

Elizabeth frowned, unsure of what to think.

“We'll still have to talk to Tsukiko,” she said. “But... thank you. I believe you.”

Takehiko shook his head.

“All right.” He said. With a sharp gaze towards Vercingetorix, he added, “But if Tsukiko says something's wrong, we'll be back.”

“Certainly,” said Vercingetorix. “Now please, enjoy the rest of your time at the Alesia Circus.”

Tsukiko's parents turned their backs to him, turning to leave.

For a moment, I truly believed they knew about the dryads, Vercingetorix thought. I suppose, as much faith as I have in Stiletto, I should have in those that clean up after battles. It is because of their hard work, skill and talent that no one but us knows the truth.

His thoughts were interrupted as Tsukiko fell from a several-foot flight, half-skidding and half-rolling through the dirt beside him. Her bow clattered to the ground. It only lasted for a moment before breaking apart into thin wires, which retracted towards Tsukiko's throat and formed a bow tie.

“Oww,” Tsukiko moaned, struggling to get back on her feet. “Vercy! Where's the damn Tank Top already? This thing's gonna kill me!”

Vercingetorix faltered.

“Oh,” said Tsukiko, only now noticing the people turning back to face Vercingetorix again. “Hi Mom. Hi Dad.”

Elizabeth and Takehiko stared in stunned silence.

Vercingetorix thought to himself about how he could explain what Tsukiko had just said. His thoughts were interrupted as he realized that Tsukiko's parents weren't staring at him, nor at Tsukiko, but behind them.

The dryad loomed overhead. It had a few metallic arrows sticking out of it, but the vines that made up its being writhed and flung them back onto the dirt. The beast roared; an eerie scream that conveyed nothing but rage and bloodlust.

The creature's arm unfurled; it swung a lash of vines towards Tsukiko. She prepared to dodge them, as she had done with other, similar attacks. Before she could, a strong weight collided into her. Her mother tackled her out of the way, the two of them rolling out of the attack's range.

Takehiko stood between the beast and his family. He threw Shiba Kariki's sheath aside; the newly-polished blade glimmered in the morning sun.

“Are you okay, Tsuki?” Elizabeth asked breathlessly.

“Yeah, but – ”

Tsukiko felt some warm liquid drip onto her stomach. She looked down; both her and Elizabeth's shirts were stained with an increasing amount of blood.

Tsukiko herself felt no pain in her stomach.

“Oh god...” Tsukiko gasped.

Elizabeth clutched her gut. The realization dawned on her slowly; that underneath her hand was not shirt nor skin, but exposed muscle and blood. She recoiled at the sight of her crimson hand. Her hand shook. Tsukiko watched in horror as her mother's eyes rolled back in their sockets; she passed out.

“Mom!” Tsukiko shrieked.

Takehiko turned his head to Tsukiko and Elizabeth. It was only for an instant, but the dryad took full advantage of his lapse in concentration. One of its arms unfurled, and the vines wrapped around him. Shiba Kariki fell out of the man's hands as the bonds tightened, trapping Takehiko against the dryad's body.

Another barrage of vines extended, grasping Elizabeth's arms and legs. Vercingetorix pulled Tsukiko to her feet, but it was too late for her mother.

In an instant, both of Tsukiko's parents were caught by the dryad; their bodies bound by the tentacle-like vines that made up its body. Elizabeth was still limp, her eyes closed. Blood continued to flow freely from the wound in her stomach. Takehiko, on the other hand, remained very much conscious; his eyes widened in terror.

The vines making up the dryad's face shifted. The way they constricted against themselves made the face more defined and more eerily human-like.

The mouth opened. This time, it was not to roar, but to speak.

“Give,” The dryad spoke, a voice unlike any human Tsukiko could imagine. “Give... bow tie... and... I release. Keep... bow tie... and I... kill.”

Tsukiko felt a shiver move down her body.

“Don't listen to it!” Vercingetorix cried.

Tsukiko stared back at her father's terrified eyes.

“You can't give it the Bow Tie!” Vercingetorix reiterated. “It's – ”

“Shut up!” Tsukiko snapped. “If it will let my parents go, then – ”

“Do you think it will keep its promise?!” Vercingetorix roared. “It's a plant. It has no concept of honour!”

“He's right!” Takehiko yelled.

Tsukiko whipped her head back towards her father in confusion.

“I don't know what this thing is, but it's just trying to make you get close to it!” Takehiko cried. “Run away, Tsuki!”

“Running isn't an option either,” Vercingetorix said quietly. “We need to keep it here. Once we have the Tank Top, we can fight properly – and save your parents.”

“I will... allow... ten... seconds,” said the dryad. The vines around Tsukiko's parents tightened.

“Nine...”

“Okay!” Tsukiko tore the Bow Tie off her neck and swung her arm forward. “You can have it!”

“Tsukiko!” Vercingetorix cried.

Tsukiko walked towards the dryad, stepping slowly.

“I can't keep this up, Vercingetorix,” Tsukiko said, tears forming in her eyes. “I know you need me to be a soldier. To not have any emotions. To be able to make any sacrifice. But I can't. I can't be that kind of person!”

By now, Tsukiko was within what she knew for sure was the dryad's range.

“I can't do whatever it takes to kill the enemy. I can't just sit here watching my parents suffer to wait for an opportunity!”

She held out her hand, the Bow Tie dangling from her fingers. The dryad released its grip on Elizabeth. It stretched out its vines, the tips of its greenery touching the Religalia for the first time.

“I'm not a soldier, Vercy.”

The dryad had an extremely human expression on its face – one of a finally-satisfied, long-standing greed. It was focused so intently on the Religalia in Tsukiko's hand.

So focused, in fact, that it didn't notice what Tsukiko's other hand held.

“I'm a stage magician.”

In one movement, Tsukiko dropped the Bow Tie from her left hand and swung Shiba Kariki with her right. The shining blade cleaved through the plant's vines; the Bow Tie and the green hand that had only just touched it fell to the ground.

Now with both hands on the katana's handle, Tsukiko readied another swing. The dryad barely had time to register Tsukiko's treachery. Tsukiko brought the sword through the dryad's head, slicing it what would have been ear to ear.

The vines relinquished their grip on Takehiko. He crawled to Elizabeth's side. Still, Tsukiko couldn't risk believing that the dryad had died so easily. She slashed again and again, each blow tearing through the vines like butter. At the beginning, her mouth had been clenched shut, but it opened as she let out a wordless cry of anger and stress. She kept slashing. The tears that had formed in her eyes during her distraction speech clouded her vision. She could barely see the dryad now, but she drove the blade into it again. She slashed and cut and stabbed, faster and faster, more and more frantically.

Takehiko, now standing behind her, put his hand on Tsukiko's shoulder.

“Tsuki. It's over.”

Tsukiko exhaled deeply. Then, the two of them looked once more towards Elizabeth's fallen form. Tsukiko felt her father's grip tighten on her shoulder.

“Vercingetorix!” a voice cried from afar – a stagehand. “We brought the Tank Top and the High Heals!”

“Bring the High Heals over here!” Vercingetorix ordered, waving his arm in the air as a signal. “And hurry!”

Slowly, the fog began to dissipate. Little by little, Elizabeth felt herself return from the dream-like state that trapped her. Eventually, she felt simply like she was asleep – and being asleep meant one could wake up.

Elizabeth's eyes opened sluggishly.

She didn't immediately recognize her location. She felt a soft bed beneath her; smaller, yet more comfortable than what the hotel had provided. The room around her felt small. Though it was hard to tell when she was lying down and still feeling groggy, it seemed that the ceiling was barely six feet from the floor.

There were no distinguishing characteristics among the plain white walls, but two familiar voices made it obvious where she must be.

“See, all I did was push the tip against the ground with my heel,” Tsukiko was saying. “That propped the sword up against my leg, and I hid it with my arm.”

“I still don't understand,” Takehiko replied. “But it sounds very impressive.”

Elizabeth pushed herself into a sitting position. The shuffling noise alerted Tsukiko and Takehiko. They turned in the folding chairs they were occupying, now facing Elizabeth.

“Mom! You're awake!”

“I'm awake...? What happened?” Elizabeth asked, clutching her forehead.

Tsukiko gave a glance to her father. The man looked to his wife and bit his lip, deep in thought.

“You...”

Takehiko paused.

“You just passed out suddenly,” He said. “One of Alesia's medics said there wasn't anything seriously wrong with you. It might have been something you ate or drank, or maybe you weren't getting enough air when we were in all those crowds earlier.”

“I'm getting old,” Elizabeth reinterpreted. “Tsukiko, don't get old.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

Elizabeth did a double-take towards Tsukiko.

“What's that on your shirt?” She asked. She looked down at herself. Both of the Tanner women had stomachs stained a deep crimson. “Oh, it's on my shirt too!”

“Uh...” Tsukiko racked the part of her brain that she'd taught to be able to deceive hundreds of people at a moment's notice.

“It's juice,” Tsukiko decided.

“Oh no, I must have been drinking it when I passed out, right?” Elizabeth asked. “Staining my daughter's best performing outfit...” She snorted. “Some mother I am.”

Tsukiko stood up immediately, knocking her folding chair to the floor. Her mind replayed Elizabeth's action. She'd jumped in between Tsukiko herself and a dryad, with no Religalia nor katana to defend herself. In all honesty, Tsukiko wasn't sure if she'd needed the help to avoid the dryad's attack, but regardless, she couldn't stand to hear even joking self deprecation.

“Mom,” Tsukiko said. “You saved me from a monster. You're the best mother ever.”

Elizabeth laughed.

“Okay, honey. I didn't hit my head that hard.”

“But – ”

“More importantly!” Elizabeth said suddenly. “We originally came here to talk about the danger you've been putting yourself in.”

“Wait, what? You know about that?”

“The knife show,” Takehiko said.

“Oh! Right! Of course that's what you meant.”

“Mr. Vercingetorix said you volunteered to be that woman's target girl,” said Elizabeth. “If he's been pressuring you to do something you're not comfortable with, we'll get you out of here. Contracts and paperwork be damned.”

“Yes,” said Takehiko. “We know that your magic shows don't put you in any danger. You and Galen are responsible enough to ensure that. But we've seen that now, you are putting yourself in situations where you could end up seriously hurt.”

Tsukiko was amused at how well her parents could turn two topics into a single conversation.

“If you can tell us that this is something you feel you need to do, then so be it,” Takehiko said. “But I want to be sure that you want to do it. Not that anyone's forcing you to. I want to know that you have your own personal reasons, whether your mother and I can understand them or not.”

Tsukiko gave a half-hearted smile. She knew how she'd describe her situation to her father. And, given Takehiko's reluctance to tell Elizabeth the truth about plant monsters, she felt she could have told her mother what she needed to hear as well.

How am I supposed to tell them both the right thing at the same time? She asked herself. Dad, you are not making this easy for me.

Then, she recalled her Halloween show. The feeling of wearing the Tank Top for the first time.

“This is something I want to do,” she said. “I studied magic to make people believe in the impossible. I want to give people something to let them escape real life, even just for a moment.”

Though Elizabeth didn't understand the importance, she noticed Tsukiko's gaze move down towards the red high-heeled shoes on her feet.

“Even knowing all the impossible things that I know, this circus is full of impossibilities,” Tsukiko said. “I can't understand how Stiletto throws knives so perfectly, or how Henry can sit on air.”

Or, she added mentally, how a pair of shoes can heal injuries.

“And it's because I don't understand that I want to be in the middle of it.”

“You want to learn how it's done?” Elizabeth asked.

“Not even that,” Tsukiko said. “It's better that I don't know.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“Sorry, Mom. I guess I can't explain it that well after all.”

“That's all right,” Elizabeth said. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd understand. Please, just stay safe.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Tsukiko said, her smile now full.

“Say, Tsukiko...” Takehiko looked around the walls of the trailer. “You look like you could use a bit of decoration in here.”

“Oh, yeah. I thought the same thing, but I don't know what to put up.”

Takehiko held his arm forward. In it, he held Shiba Kariki, hidden in its flower-engraved sheath.

“How about this?”

Elizabeth gaped. “You... you're serious?”

“What Mom said,” Tsukiko agreed. “How are you going to mow the lawn?”

“I'll think of something,” said Takehiko. “After talking to you today, I'm beginning to think it was a mistake to let you leave without Shiba. She'll protect you from whatever comes your way.”

“She? The sword's a girl?” Tsukiko asked her mother, who shrugged.

Takehiko, ignoring this, held the katana against the wall, over the window.

“Wouldn't it look great right here?”

“Maybe on the other side,” Tsukiko suggested. “That way, sunlight will shine right on the sheath and light up the flowers.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

“You'll want a small, simple wall mount,” Elizabeth suggested. “If you're friends with the knife thrower now, perhaps she can lend you something?”

“I'll ask her! Shiba Kariki is probably bigger than anything she throws – oh no, wait, she does have that battleaxe.”

The three of them spent some time discussing swords and decoration until finally, there was a knock at the door.

“Tsukiko,” Vercingetorix's voice called from outside. “You have twenty minutes before your show. Will you be able to perform today, or should I cancel the show?”

“Oh right!” Tsukiko cried. “Mom, you're feeling better, aren't you?”

“Of course, of course!” She said. “Go get ready for your show.”

For a moment, Tsukiko looked as though she was going to bolt through the door at full speed. Instead, she gave her parents a hug, and then bolted through the door at full speed.

Elizabeth and Takenaka exited their daughter's trailer, meeting Vercingetorix at the door.

“Tsukiko's shows sell out almost every time,” Vercingetorix said idly. “She and Galen bring a certain something to the circus that we didn't have before.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” said Elizabeth. “Thanks for giving her a place she fits in.”

“Oh, wait, no!” Takenaka yelled suddenly. “Her show starts in twenty minutes? And all her shows sell out...?”

Vercingetorix laughed. “Don't worry, I planned ahead.”

He held up a hand, two tickets held within it.

“Enjoy the show, Mr. Takehiko and Mrs. Tanner.”

#dressed to kill #original fiction #tsukiko

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shazyloren · 7 years

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The Dragon Club: chapter 36 - Writing and Warnings

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12018519/chapters/28216638

----------

Tuesday brought about a day of struggling with writer's block for Jon. He was worried about Rickon, missing his sexual encounters with Daenerys and Ghost had been more whiny than usual, refusing to leave his side at all times. He'd only gotten three paragraphs out of the twentyish he'd usually do, done on his current piece. Wednesday however brought about a better writing day although he'd received a phone call from Daenerys niece Rani who was struggling on her editorial piece. Daenerys' had wanted her to do one for the magazine and Rani wanted to know what he did when he was suffering from Writer's block. He'd explained that you cannot force yourself to write, sometimes it was good to just get outside and look for inspiration. He always found it when walking his dog.

Thursday was the day he'd enjoyed the most, he got to take Dany out for dinner (even if that meant Rani had to tag along) and got to enjoy human interaction with his girlfriend without work getting in the way. He also ended up finishing his article on the cruelty of dogs in China by the time their dinner engagement came about so he was happy to help Rani with hers, even if Daenerys wanted her to do it by herself. "How will she get better if it's just your words?"

"I'm not writing it, i'm proof-reading" Jon said with a slight humpf. "There's a difference"

Daenerys had just rolled her eyes and he'd ended up telling Rani that while it was a good article, if she wanted it to stand out it needed to not be so flat. It needed more of an emotive quality. She'd decided to do a piece on the history of indian fashion as Elia herself is of indian descent and always wore interesting dress pieces. Rani had said she did not know how to write more emotively. "It's always objective when I write"

"It's a lot simpler than you think, you need to use the material you're working with and think about it's history. Where does the saree come from, what are the clothes trying to portray?" Jon was enjoying a classic lasagne and a glass of red for the meal. Daenerys hair was in his favourite braid, and while he was enjoying his food, he'd sure like to be eating her. She had been very warey of his touch the past few days, as if she almost couldn't control herself around him and as she always liked to be in control (or at least she tried to be) she'd stayed away.

"Thanks Jon" Rani politely spoke as she wrote down his comments when she should've been eating her paella. Daenerys glared at them both, and understanding the look they both stopped talk of work and soon began to speak of family. "Tell me, is your brother okay?"

"He'll be fine, thankfully. Stupid boy wasn't looking what he was doing" Jon snickered. He sipped his wine. "Tell me about your family, Rani. I've met your father, what is your mother like?"

"She's... intense sometimes. But she's very loving. Aggy got told off the other day for putting a frog in her bed, her snake-like nature came out then. She apologised to him later for making him cry but you should've seen her. She was almost green with rage" Rani chuckled. "Not really funny if you were in Aggy's shoes but as it wasn't me she was shouting at I found it hilarious. Father calmed her down, he was always so good at that"

"Strange" Jon agreed. "It's usually the Targaryen's who have a fiery temperament" He said in tongue and cheek.

"Hey!" Daenerys huffed. "Have I not got better?"

"Much, actually" Jon nodded as he spoke sweetly to Dany, tucking her lose strand of hair behind her ear before kissing her cheek. "Still my little fiery dragon though"

"Guys, I don't need to see a public display of affection thank you" Rani grumbled as she pretended to cover her eyes up. She then pretended to make sick noises to which Daenerys found herself sighing deeply. Jon wondered if Rani had been a handful to love with, especially giving Dany wasn't used to anyone living with her day to day. Jon visited most nights and stayed over most nights, but they didn't work together either, they had a perfect balance.

Friday came about and it was Rani's last day with Daenerys and her company. Her father would be picking her up early Saturday morning so Jon left them be and spent the day with Arya and Gendry, helping them paint their living room. Gendry had wanted yellow and black theme which arya had instantly dismissed. So they'd con for a black feature wall with the fireplace one and painted the other walls cream. The room had black leather sofas but with deep green cushions. It looked much better than the all white room they'd had the past 14 months since moving into their house.

Jon had got home that afternoon to a message from his mate Sam who said he and Gilly were in town and wondered if he wanted to go to the pub for a catch up. Friday night meant it was going to be quite leery but with nothing better to do considering daenerys was busy he agreed and said he'd meet them at the pub on the crossroads at 7pm. This meant Jon had plenty of time to grab some dinner and take Ghost for a walk before leaving him asleep in the study and walking down a few roads to the pub. He was a few minutes late, but Sam and Gilly had already got him his favourite pint.

"Sam!" Jon exclaimed and embraced his friend in a bro-hug. Jon accidently knocked the table in the process and luckily only a small amount of beer spilt. It was crowded, the football crowds hanging around after the matches had finished. King's Landing united had come out as winners 3-1 against Dorne FC. Jon didn't care much for sport, but surprisingly Gilly was obsessed. She was joining in the chants. "How are you both?"

"We're good thank you, not as good as you, I hear" Sam chuckled.

"Who told you? Gendry? Hotpie?" Jon sighed. Daenerys, his relationship with her was everywhere.

"Neither, Arya did"

"Of course, I should've known" He'd have to bully his sister later on.

"Sorry, I don't mean to pry! I'm just happy for you, it's about time you got someone special in your life" Sam clapped him on the shoulder before they bot took their seats on the table. Gilly was swigging a lager. Jon noticed something on her finger, something shiny. It clicked instantly.

"Sam... Are you both-"

"Yes" Sam nodded.

"Congrats, man!" Jon was ecstatic for his friends. They'd been together nigh on twelve years, it was about time they tied the knot. "How did you do it?"

"Well I asked Gilly's foster father first, he said he'd been waiting for that day to come a long time and was happy for me to give Gilly away at our wedding. Then I organised a nice picnic under the stars near Horn Hill, we had a little fire burning and there was some wine and it just sort of happened" Sam went slightly red, Jon wondered if it was because he was starting to sound like a soppy man in love.

"It was the most romantic thing he'd ever done for me" Gilly swooned as Jon got confirmation she was definitely already tipsy. "He's a very romantic man"

"What about you? How did you manage to land, Daenerys Targaryen?" The next hour or so, Jon filled Sam in on everything that had happened in his life since January. He'd only seen Sam once this year, at Arya's wedding and even then he didn't get a proper catch up.

So he told him everything, the interview, the chance meetings afterwards, his evening with her friends at her dinner party, how he come to do her magazine cover and how they'd slowly fallen for each other and how they'd been official for roughly three months now. Sam was enthralled with the whole tale, he made the odd shocked sound after something went not at all how he expected. Gilly on the other hand was laughing her head off at Jon's awkwardness throughout the story. When Jon had finished, he found himself realising he'd been talking non-stop for close to two hours.

"That almost seems like a made up story except I know it's true because of all the media coverage I've seen" Sam nodded impressed. "So she's not as much a mad person anymore?"

"She has her moments, but honestly guys I find them funny more than anything. She's short and when she gets angry she's like this fiery puppy and I just love taking the piss out of it" Jon laughed in honesty.

"We need to meet her sometime" Gilly said nonchalantly.

"She's met most of the crew, she likes Sansa and Arya but she did say Bran was a bit too weird for her on the first meeting" Jon laughed. "I told him to keep the conspiracy theories at bay but does he listen, no"

"I heard he and Meera had a falling out over it" Sam nodded.

"Aye, but they made up in about half an hour" Jon cackled as he got up out of his seat. "I'm going to get another pint, you want one?" Sam and Gilly nodded so Jon made his way through the football hooligans towards the bar where he had to wait a few minutes to be served. "Two pints of Guinness please and a lager"

Jon waited for a few moments, browsing twitter as he did. He saw a picture Daenerys had put up of her and Rani in her office working on something or other. She'd put the caption 'Going to miss my niece, @RaniRainbow, working with me in the office, hope you've had a good work experience!'. Jon smiled at Daenerys in the picture. It was black and white and Dany was still smiling the most brilliant smile he'd ever seen. She almost made the photo look colour. She was hugging Rani in the photo who looked just as happy while the office desk behind them is covered in papers. Jon commented: 'Great picture, it as nice meeting you this week, Rhaenys!'

It was as this message was posted on the photograph that he got a text from an unknown number. He opened it and as he read it, he felt a chill run down his spine. He felt sweat form on his brow and a sense of dread build over him. Who was it, how did they get this number?

Stay away from my Daenerys.

#jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jon x dany #jon x dany fanfic #jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerysfanfic #au #the dragon club #got #game of thrones #modern au #modern setting

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charlottebellblr-blog · 4 years

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Charlotte Bell Professional Portrait

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[robo-gallery id=”8350″]

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I’d love to hear any other favorites you may have too! Do you have a vision of what you want to see? Maybe with the skyline of the city or on a motorcycle, diving in the water or kicking a soccer ball. We can do whatever you want. This is your senior portrait so dream big and we can do it.

This list may be helpful in your planning.

1. What makes a good portrait in your opinion?

2. Are there things that you would like to have in your photo? Like some sports objects, soccer, tennis, baseball or theater props.

3. Is there something you hate about having your photograph taken?

4. What are your plans for the future?

5. Do you have some idea of what would be fun to do when we take your photo?

6. Think about the clothes you would like to wear: something casual and something dressy.

7. Do you have a creative idea on how we should do the photo? A location for instance.

#Professional Photographer in Texas #Portrait Photography #Best Wedding Photographers in Austin #Austin Photography Studio

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